Twinkle (Sugandha) Varshney's Blog, page 83

All I Want By Megan Lowe

Author: Megan LoweTitle: All I WantSeries: Rocking Racers #5Genre: Contemporary Sports RomanceRelease Date: June 2, 2018Publisher: Hot Tree PublishingCover Designer: Soxsational Cover Art
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Cover Models: James and Michael  Preorder now for half  price! 
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Bishop Royal is a sleaze. He’s a cheat, a copycat, a bastard. He knows what you think of him and he doesn’t care. All he cares about is his best friend, Jake.
Jake Ellis has loved Bishop Royal for sixteen years. He’s been by his side through everything: deaths, hardships, and triumphs.
When Bishop’s life is pulled out from underneath him, he figures with nothing left to lose, it’s time to tell Jake how he feels.
Under pressure to be the picture-perfect boyfriend and his father’s perfect son, will Bishop fold or go after the only thing he’s ever truly wanted?

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***Rocking Racers Series!
Book 1  All buy links HERE
Book 2 All buy links HERE
Book 3 All buy links HERE
All buy links HERE

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Megan Lowe is a lost journalism graduate who after many painful years searching for a job in that field, decided if she couldn’t write news stories, she would start listening to the characters whispering stories to her and decided to write them down.  She writes primarily New Adult/Contemporary Romance stories with Sport and Music themes. She is based on the Gold Coast but her heart belongs to New York City. When she’s not writing she’s either curled up with a good book, travelling or screaming at the TV willing her sporting teams to pull out the win.

Silent Sins by Audrey Carlan

Title: Silent SinsSeries: Lotus House #5Author: Audrey CarlanGenre: Contemporary RomanceRelease Date: April 3, 2018


Blurb
My name is Honor, but I have none to speak of. I’m a high-society princess on the verge of ending it all. I have nothing to show for my life, though my bank account would say otherwise. Money and status has controlled every ounce of my world and I want no part of it. It’s what took away the most important person in my life. He’s gone and I’m alone, and no one is here to save me. Pain is the only pleasure I can feel anymore.

To find a healthier avenue to deal with my grief, I turned to Lotus House Yoga for salvation—and found it in the tall, dark, and brutally attractive Nicholas Salerno. He’s everything I’m not. Lives every day to the fullest, loves his family, and goes after what he wants with a thrust that’s unmatched. I can’t help but be swept up in his beauty as he attempts to show me the light and reawaken my desires. Except Nick doesn’t know what I’ve hidden, and I’m afraid he’ll despise what he finds…when my sins are no longer silent.

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Audrey Carlan is a #1 New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. She writes wicked hot love stories that are designed to give the reader a romantic experience that's sexy, sweet, and so hot your e-reader might melt. Some of her works include the wildly successful Calendar Girl Serial, the Trinity Trilogy and the highly anticipated International Guy Serial.
She lives in the California Valley where she enjoys her two children and the love of her life. When she's not writing, you can find her teaching yoga, sipping wine with her "soul sisters" or with her nose stuck in a wicked hot romance novel.

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The Spy Ring by Elizabeth Lynx

Title: The Spy RingA Cake Love Series NovelAuthor: Elizabeth LynxGenre: Romantic Comedy/Romantic SuspenseRelease Date: April 9, 2018


Blurb
What happened in Vegas didn’t always stay in Vegas.
Tiffany Blackburn couldn’t believe what occurred during her recent vacation in Vegas. The careful, single mom decided to let loose and took a risk for once, allowing a man to buy her a whiskey sour. Regretting it the moment she woke up alone in a stranger’s bed the next day. Naked. It only got worse, when she tried to sneak out and discovered something he left on the table. His wedding ring.
Jagger Chance never failed to deliver when he was working undercover as a spy for the government. Women found him sexy and mysterious, which the loner preferred. He was happy to take risks bringing down notorious criminals but never with his heart. Until one night in Vegas, after a lot of drinks and a beautiful woman too sweet to resist, suddenly risking his heart to say ‘I do’ didn’t seem like a bad idea.

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I raised my cup to her. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.”She raised hers too and just before taking a sip, she stopped when she looked into the cup. “It’s green.”I nodded. “Yeah, because it’s St. Patrick’s Day. They dye the river green.”I waved toward the window even though we were nowhere near the Chicago River.Tiffany frowned. “You know Blackburn isn’t my maiden name. It’s Ryan.”“Okay,” I said and took a sip from the cup.“Dying things green doesn’t mean it’s Irish.” She folded her arms in front of her chest, plumping up her tits. It caused me to stare. She was wearing a tank top, it would be impossible for me not to stare.“Uh huh.” I nodded not really listening to what she was saying anymore.“I’ll drink this beer because it’s beer and I’m thirsty, but know I do it in protest.” She pulled her hair back as she drank from the cup.I watched her chest rise and fall in between sips.She was so sexy, even drinking green beer while packing.Tiffany drained the cup and let out a loud belch, slamming the cup down on the side table. She held up a finger and said, “One point.”I blamed her son. David and Henrik expanded on the fart game they made up to include burps. Tiffany told me she was grossed out at first by the game but was gassy one night and decided to play. She’s been champion ever since.“You know how sexy I find you when you release bodily gases,” I said as I blinked at her.She smirked. “You’re just jealous because you can’t beat me.”Tiffany picked up the tape dispenser. “David conveniently had to help his friend, Diego, with a class project. So, it’s just you and me moving the boxes when we finish packing up.”“It might be more purposely, than conveniently.” I put my cup on her dresser and stepped closer as she finished sliding the tape along the seam of a box.She put down the tape dispenser on the table and turned to me with her hands on her hips.“Did you tell David to stay away on moving day?”“Possibly,” I said slowly moving closer to her.“Possibly?” Tiffany asked.“Probably.”I reached over and slid my hands around her waist.“Probably?” She tilted her chin up and curled the corner of her sexy mouth.“Definitely,” I said as I watched her eyes darken.“Definit—” I cut her off as my hand cupped her neck and my mouth brushed over hers.She tasted like madness and as my fingers slid over her skin, her shudder felt like the sweetest indulgence. I pushed her back onto the bed and dropped to my knees.“You’re so easy,” I said as my fingers crawled slowly, but intently, until my hands had completely unbutton, unzipped, and pulled off her jeans.Then I spread her legs.





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Author Bio
Elizabeth Lynx writes romantic comedy with steam. She's a recovering comedian. Wife and mother of the male species. Believer in love & laughter. Her life consists of preventing small catastrophes and wondering if a day will exist when she doesn't have to fold laundry.

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Maxen by Stephanie Witter

Title: Maxen
Series: Kinky Shine #2Author: Stephanie WitterGenre: Steamy Contemporary Rock Star Romance
Release Date: April 10, 2018


Blurb
They were married but never kissed.
That night years ago never had consequences…until now.

“I wasn’t into the love bullshit and I didn’t really believe in forever between two people.’’

If I had my way, I would have never seen Maxen Walton again, the womanizing drummer of Kinky Shine.

When I met him in college he was already going through girls as if they were disposable. I had always hated him. Yet, for some drunken reason I ended up marrying him in Las Vegas. That night, right before I puked in the fake flowers and left the tacky chapel was the last time I had laid eyes on him.

Until my boyfriend asked me to marry him.

Now, I was in LA trying to get a divorce from my husband without the press hearing about it.

What I didn’t expect was that my famous husband affected me and that getting to know him would change a lot more than I ever planned.

“All I saw now was Lark, always and forever out of my reach, always driving me crazy.’’

I had only ever met one woman who equally drove me crazy and made me want her until I forgot my name.

Lark Hardin.

And I married her one crazy night in Las Vegas.

Freshly out of rehab and trying like hell to get back in the game while convincing my best friend I wouldn’t relapse, seeing my wife again was the last thing I needed for that.
Life liked f*cking with me, though.

Here she was, so sexy I would damn myself to be inside her just once, but she wasn’t here for me. She was here to get a divorce so her perfect boyfriend had free range to marry her.

She still hated my guts on the sole principle that I was a womanizing f*cker, but maybe she would open her eyes and see beyond that part of me.

I just hoped it wouldn’t be just for the sex because this woman had always been my weakness.

She had the power to destroy me.

“I’d spent the better part of my life hiding behind my bright smile and loud laugh, pushing everything away by using sex, but that was over.’’

**For readers over 18. Can be read as a standalone but if you want the full Kinky Shine experience don't miss the first book.**

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Stephanie Witter, in her twenties, lives in France where she comes up with book ideas on her laptop, notebook or phone. When she's not writing the day away, she likes visiting museums or shopping to add another nail polish to her already huge collection. She's also unable to resist the appeal of new books, even when she knows she can't possibly have the time to read yet another one. She's happy to have a to-read pile so high she can never put a dent into it even if she tries her best.

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The Triple Crown Club by Madison Faye

Title: The Triple Crown Club - Complete SeriesAuthor: Madison FayeGenre: Contemporary MFMM Romance
Release Date: April 10, 2018


Blurb
Four rules: No names. No pictures. No hesitations. Must be willing to be shared.
Welcome to the Triple Crown Club – the filthy, dark, secret playground of the royal elite. A place out of whispered rumor, where the powerful and royal come to indulge in the ultimate fantasy: a place where three princes share onelucky girl.…If she dares.
Totally wrong, utterly forbidden, and the scandal of the century if discovered. But with three filthy mouths, six powerful hands, and three big, huge, gorgeous…um, crowns?

Well, how’s a girl supposed say anything but “yes sirs”?

Cinderella never had this problem.

…Too bad for her.

This complete collection of modern fairytales includes Royally Shared, Royally Claimed, and Royally Tempted.Three times the completely obsessed alpha hero, three times the over-the-top fantasy, and three times the kindle-melting insta-love.
Hot, sugary-sweet, wildly unrealistic, and alpha to the max. This mfmm romance is all about her – no m/m. Safe, no cheating, and a HEA guaranteed.

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#1 bestselling contemporary romance author Madison Faye is the dirty alter ego of the very wholesome, very normal suburban housewife behind the stories. While she might be a wife, mom, and PTA organizer on the outside, there’s nothing but hot, steamy, and raunchy fantasies brewing right beneath the surface!

Tired of keeping them hidden inside or only having them come out in the bedroom, they’re all here in the form of some wickedly hot stories. Single-minded alpha hero, sinfully taboo relationships, and wildly over-the-top scenarios. If you love it extra dirty, extra hot, and extra naughty, this is the place for you! (Just don’t tell the other PTA members you saw her here…)

Join the mailing list for author updates, special prices, and TWO free starter-library books! http://eepurl.com/b-b5Pz

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A BABY FOR THE VIKING WOLF by Gwen Knight

With great passion comes great responsibility... Lucy Tullet's entire world has imploded, thanks to the two soft pink lines staring back at her. As a professional party-girl, she never considered settling down and having kids. Until she meets the blood wolf—a renowned Viking vampire hunter with a mysterious past—and spends the night in his arms. Now, thanks to him, everything has changed. Not only are there vampires running amok in town, hunting Lucy and her unborn child, but the blood wolf has staked his claim, determined to both protect her and take her as his mate.  
(Available on Kindle Unlimited)Amazon US I Amazon UK My Viking Wolf (Available on Kindle Unlimited)Amazon US I Amazon UK

Gwen Knight is a Canadian girl currently living in Jasper, AB. She graduated from the University of Lethbridge with a degree in Archaeology and Geography. Her interests consist of playing in the dirt, designing elaborate snow forts, boating, and archery.

Hothead by Stella Rhys

Title: Hothead
An Irresistible Series StandaloneAuthor: Stella RhysGenre: Contemporary RomanceRelease Date: April 3, 2018


Blurb
He's the hottest player in Major League Baseball, the most notorious playboy in all of Manhattan...
And my fake fiancé for the next three months.
I was drunk-dialing my ex the night I met him.
Six-three, sexy as sin and so incredibly rude I could smack the asshole smirk right off his face. Long story short, we got off to a bad start. But when the tabloids interpret our sparring as Drew Maddox "groveling" with a "mystery brunette," his agent presents us both a proposal:
Shacking up as a couple this summer.
It’s an alleged “win-win.” I need to prove to my ex that I'm fine. Drew needs to prove to his team that he's stable. Thanks to his on-field brawling and never-ending lady drama, Drew Maddox has suddenly found himself on the trade block - which means he needs a fast, easy way to show the team that he's settled down.
Hence this fiancé thing. 
Our fights are real, our kisses are fake, and thanks to the nonstop heat between us, I’m starting to mix up all my signs. But whether it’s real or fake, there’s one thing I do know:
I’m already addicted.

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Author Bio
Stella Rhys is an author of contemporary romance and can't help but write it hot, steamy and borderline filthy (just kidding, it's just flat-out filthy). Writing aside, she lives for coffee, the Knicks, the Yankees and cooking recipes way out of her league. She was born and raised in New York and now lives there with her husband and charmingly entitled fur babies.

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Marianne's Memory By Winona Kent

Historical Time Travel RomanceDate Published: March 2018

Marianne's Memory is the third novel in Winona Kent's accidental time travel / historical romance series, featuring Charlie Duran and her 19th century companion Shaun Deeley.
A Beatles badge from 1965 accidentally sends Charlie and Shaun back to London at the height of the Swinging Sixties, where they're mistaken for KGB spies and subjected to a terrifying interrogation.
Rescued by top-ranking MI5 agent Tony Quinn, they soon uncover the details of a child born out of wedlock to Charlie's mum and the uncomfortable truth about Charlie's dad's planned marriage to selfish socialite Arabella Jessop.
Further complicating their journey into the past is Magnus Swales, an 18th century highwayman turned time-travelling assassin, and the timely arrival of William Deeley, Shaun's father, who's been persuaded to leap forward from 1790 in order to save Tony from Swales's deadly mission.






Excerpt
CHAPTER 22
Friday August 13, 1965
Stoneford
Charlie couldn’t find Mr. Deeley.
She’d gone back downstairs with Justin and had walked with
him to the drawing room, where the party was now in full-swing.
Arabella, in her blue silk pyjamas, flitted between little gatherings of
people, some standing, some having made themselves at home on
the antique sofa or on similarly-upholstered armchairs.
“Buffet in the dining room!” she announced. “Two chefs,
darlings! All the way from London! And we’ve got a lovely
marquee tent set up outside for dancing…Giles’s band’s come to
play for us!”
Giles himself was lounging in a deep armchair beside the
fireplace, wearing a black velvet suit, with a navy blue shirt and a
purple brocade tie, surrounded by admirers: three impossibly-thin
girls with lavish makeup and long, straight hair who might have
been models; a bearded gentleman in a pink fur coat who was
describing his latest project—an art installation involving a square
block of concrete on top of which he’d placed a bent fork; and a
young man with a pudding-bowl mop of hair who looked
uncannily like Brian Jones from the Rolling Stones.
The air in the drawing room was filled with the smell and haze
of marijuana and hash. In another corner sat a large woman in a
flowing kaftan and sandals, strumming an autoharp which she held
WINONA KENT
170
to her shoulder like a child needing to be freed of wind. She
seemed to be entertaining no one in particular, and yet an audience
was beginning to gather in front of her as they were introduced to
one another.
Arabella was in full hostess mode, dragging Justin into their
midst.
“Darling,” she said, to a distinguished-looking gentleman who
appeared to be someone who did something important at the BBC,
“do meet my lovely Justin…and of course Portia—Lord Wintle’s
daughter—”
Lord Wintle, Charlie recalled, was a British ambassador who
was posted somewhere that was in the thick of a coup. His
daughter had a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other and
was wearing knee boots and a see-through knitted dress that clung
to her lithe body like plastic wrap.
“Charmed,” said Portia, introducing, in turn, her friends Binky
and Pierre—Binky being the daughter of an existential poet serving
a sentence in prison for setting fires, and Pierre the son of an
American actor who’d been blacklisted for being a Communist and
had fled to England, where he’d found work as a talking milk bottle
on a children’s radio program.
And still, no sign of Mr. Deeley. Or Charlie's mum. Or Tony
and William and Astrid.
Charlie turned away in frustration and negotiated her way
through the pop stars and the adult children from titled families
who were chummy with the Boswell-Thorpes, the glammy
socialites dripping in diamonds, the boutique owners and the
clothing designers and the actors and actresses and a fellow dressed
all in black who was taking candid photographs of everyone
without their permission because they all secretly longed to be
featured in one of his fabulous avant-garde exhibitions.
She found the servants’ stairs behind the breakfast room and
went down into the cellar, thinking she might find them there. But
the cellar seemed to be mostly abandoned, with all of its doors
locked. Even the big 19th century kitchen, which in 1825 had been
bustling with a cook and her assistant and assorted serving staff,
was inaccessible and dark, the Boswell-Thorpes having installed a
much more convenient—and functional—kitchen upstairs, beside
the breakfast room.
Annoyed, and still frustrated, Charlie made her way back to the
MARIANNE’S MEMORY
171
main floor and outside, to see if Mr. Deeley was in the big marquee
tent that had been erected next to the manor’s west wing.
* * *
Shaun had, in fact, located both his father and Tony Quinn. His
father had been lingering in a hallway in the west wing of the
manor, between the dining room with the sitting room. It was not
so much a connecting passage as a room of its own, with a lavish
oriental Axminster carpet of blue, red and gold, and ceiling-to-floor
leaded windows embedded with patterns of stained glass and,
occupying pride of place, several full sets of armour, assembled and
erected as if ready to do battle.
“But this is marvellous,” William said, spying Shaun as he
entered from the dining room. “This is beyond anything I have
ever beheld…if only Lord and Lady Ellington could be here to
share my wonder.”
“I suspect,” Shaun observed, “that if Lord and Lady Ellington
were here, they might be confounded by your mingling with the
master and mistress and their numerous guests.”
“As am I,” William confessed. “I find I am awkward in their
presence. I would feel far more at home below stairs with the
servants.”
“However, there are no servants,” Shaun provided, “other than
Mr. Brindlesworth, the butler, who is on loan from the Boswell-
Thorpes’s house in London.”
“This is by far the most discomforting of my experiences,” said
William, shaking his head. “No staff and no household routine. No
servants to look after the daily needs of the family. A complete
absence of structure. I have met people tonight who, in my time,
would be considered beneath contempt. And yet they are treated
with reverence by ladies and gentlemen of good breeding, with
titles, education and property.”
“These are all things which I have, myself, also observed,”
Shaun replied. “And my reactions, at first, were very much the
same as yours. But I have grown accustomed to the discrepancies.
It is refreshing once again to be reminded of the time I originally
came from—and for this, I owe you many thanks.”
“You are most welcome,” William said, surprised.
“Do you know where Mr. Quinn is?”
WINONA KENT
172
“I do, in fact. Would you like me to take you to him?”
* * *
Tony Quinn was outside.
William led Shaun up the grand staircase to the manor’s second
floor, and then back into the building’s west wing. Here, there was
a narrow hallway which Shaun vaguely recalled, led to several of
the manor’s grand bedrooms. He could see one of these through
its open door, its walls and ceiling painted white, its fireplace
surrounded by exquisite white stone.
Halfway along the narrow hallway was another door, which,
upon investigation, opened onto a little set of stone steps leading
up to the roof.
Tony was sitting near its furthest edge, well concealed, with a
view overlooking the top of the marquee tent and the roofless,
brick-walled enclosure Shaun recognized as the kitchen garden,
where Monsieur Duran the Lesser had often taken great delight in
shooting at hedgehogs.
Tony put his finger to his lips as William and Shaun
approached, cautioning them into silence and, furthermore, into
lowered visibility.
Shaun crouched down—as did William—and, after ensuring
that he was nowhere near any point that might precipitate his
falling, peered carefully over the edge.
“Surveillance,” Tony provided, in a whisper. “I’m pleased
you’ve arrived safely. Now do me a favour and go away.”
* * *
Shaun had done as he was told.
He had gone back downstairs—in the company of William—
with the thought that he might try to locate Jackie Lewis and
perhaps prevent her from making the gravest mistake of her life.
She was not, however, anywhere to be found.
With William, he wandered again into the drawing room, whose
population had been diminished somewhat by an announcement
that the concert promised by Arabella’s brother was about to begin
in the tent outside. Indeed, Shaun could hear noises which
indicated that the band was preparing to play—portions of tunes, a
MARIANNE’S MEMORY
173
crashing of drums and cymbals, a testing of microphones and the
boxes which amplified the sounds made by the guitars.
Those few left behind in the drawing room seemed to be
imbued with a sort of lethargy—perhaps caused by an
overindulgence in the special tobacco Mrs. Collins had described
earlier. The music on the record player had ceased.
“Not interested in the goings on outside?” a woman inquired,
causing Shaun to turn around in order to attach a face to the voice.
It was not an English voice. In fact, it sounded quite American.
The American voice belonged to a woman with an abundance
of flax-coloured hair which seemed to have been artificially built up
over the crown of her head. She was wearing a bright red silk cape,
beneath which was a black satin floor-length gown.
“Layla,” she said. “Layla Hancock.”
“I am…John Drake. And this is my colleague…”
“Phinneas Phelps,” William provided. “We are honoured to
make your acquaintance.”
“Mr. Drake and Mr. Phelps. So pleased to meet you as well. I’ve
been hired by Miss Jessop to provide…amusements…to the more
discerning of her gentlemen guests. Might my services be of
interest to either of you…?”
Shaun looked at his father.
“I think not,” he decided, “but we are very grateful for your
kind attention nonetheless.”
Miss Hancock seemed disappointed.
But then she brightened.
“Perhaps then you’d like a little nibble of my confectionary?”
She produced a square of cake, dark brown in colour, and
finished with a layer of what appeared to be chocolate icing.
“Many thanks,” William said, “but, alas, cake tends to be a
disagreeable companion to the fluctuating state of my digestion.”
“It’s not cake,” Miss Hancock whispered, conspiratorially. “It’s
called a brownie. Nobody’s heard of it over here but it’s one of my
specialties. And it’s a very special brownie.” She lifted the square to
Shaun’s lips. “Go on. Give it a try.”
Shaun did. And found it altogether delightful, although it left a
slightly peculiar aftertaste which reminded him, unaccountably, of
freshly mown hay.
“Good, isn’t it?”
“Very good,” he agreed. “Unusual.”
WINONA KENT
174
“Have the rest of it. I’ve got lots more.”
Shaun accepted the offer and sat down on the sofa so as to
avoid dropping crumbs on the expensive carpet.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the beginnings of
Giles Jessop’s pop band’s concert. He listened, finding the tune
pleasing to his ears.
“I shall return to the armoury,” his father decided, “if you have
no objections.”
“None whatsoever,” Shaun replied, amused, applying himself
again to the baked chocolate square.
William’s place on the sofa was taken by Miss Hancock, who
seemed also to be very taken by the music of Brighton Peer.
There passed a period of time, perhaps thirty minutes, during
which Shaun engaged Miss Hancock in polite and trivial
conversation, although none of it was particularly enlightening or,
in truth, of much interest to him.
And then, Shaun saw Jackie. She was wearing a plain black dress
with a white collar and long sleeves with white cuffs. Her legs were
encased in black stockings and in her hair she wore black ribbons.
She walked into the drawing room and lingered for a moment,
observing who was there. And then, obviously seeing no one she
recognized, she turned, and left.
Shaun got to his feet.
“Hey lover, where you going?” Miss Hancock reached out to
take his hand.
“I must excuse myself. Please forgive me.”
He tried to pull free, but Miss Hancock would not let go.
“Stay awhile, lover. I’m all on my own here.”
Shaun managed to release himself and made for the door. But
he was too late. Jackie had disappeared. He looked to the right and
to the left. She was gone.
And something else was happening. He felt most peculiar.
Things were slowing down, as if he was mired in jelly. It seemed as
if his mind was occupying one particular place, while his body—his
hands and feet, his legs, his arms—were most definitely elsewhere,
and not connected in any logical way whatsoever.
“How are you feeling, lover?”
It was Miss Hancock again, her voice dancing around his head.
It took Shaun a few moments to process what she had said.
“I am…content,” he said.
MARIANNE’S MEMORY
175
“That’s the secret of my special brownies. They make you very
very very content. And I do like to make my gentleman
acquaintances happy. Why don’t you come with me?”
Shaun wanted to object. He knew he ought to. He was acutely
aware that Miss Hancock’s suggestion would not be condoned by
Mrs. Collins, and that he needed to be here and alert and most of
all, locating Jackie Lewis…and not being led by the hand to the
servants’ staircase, and most certainly not allowing himself to be
taken down into the cellar.
Where Miss Hancock was leading him was familiar. She
produced a key and unlocked the door. It was the door to his old
bedroom, the one where he had slept every night while in the
employ of Monsieur Duran as his head groom.
“Have you never tried hash before, Mr. Drake?” she inquired.
“I have not,” said Shaun. His voice was somewhere else as well,
and most definitely had not come from anywhere within his body.
“Mmmm,” said Miss Hancock. “A virgin. My favourite.
Welcome to my dungeon, Mr. Virgin.”
The room was unmistakably his, but unrecognizable. Gone
were his upright wooden wardrobe, his books and his framed
paintings of horses and the brass harness decorations he had used
as paperweights. There was a bed. It was not his simple bed, but an
elaborately large one, with four brass posts, laid with a black satin
sheet and a similarly encased pillow. And it appeared to be the only
article of furniture there aside from a small round table and a
candelabrum, its five branches fitted with white wax candles.
Miss Hancock switched off the electric light—an embellishment
that had been added in his absence—and lit the candelabrum, then
closed and secured the door. And then she kissed him, quite
forwardly, and loosened the tie that Mrs. Collins had expertly
knotted for him earlier in the evening, and slid it over his head.
“Would you like to be flogged, my lovely virgin?” she
whispered, into his ear.
“No, I would not,” Shaun replied.
Miss Hancock removed her red satin cape and stepped out of
her gown and revealed what she was wearing underneath—a black
corset and stockings and suspenders, very similar to the stockings
and suspenders and corset Mrs. Collins had donned in Mr.
Tavistock's gentlemen's club, which were now causing some
familiar stirrings within him. “Are you absolutely sure about
WINONA KENT
176
that…?”
“I have been flogged in the past and I am not overly anxious to
suffer the punishment again,” he objected, finding it increasingly
more difficult to put into words what was drifting through his
mind. “Especially as I have done nothing to deserve it.”
Miss Hancock bestowed another kiss upon him and undid the
buttons of his shirt.
“But you and I both know you’ve been a very, very naughty
boy,” she whispered, slipping his shirt down and removing it,
expertly. “And you know what happens to naughty boys.”
She turned him around.
“Oh!” she said, surprised. “You really have been flogged!
You’ve got scars.”
“I would not tell you an untruth.”
“How many lashes?” She began to count them, touching each
faint mark with a curious finger.
“A dozen,” Shaun supplied, “and one for good measure.
However, the instrument of punishment was a cat, so you may
multiply that figure by nine.”
“You have no idea how much this turns me on,” Miss Hancock
whispered, kissing each mark on his back. “I’m going to strip you
naked and tie you to that bed and have my wicked wicked way with
you.”
She turned him around again and pushed him onto the bed,
face up, and had fastened his wrists to each of the brass posts
before he could object. Now she was undoing his trousers…they
were off…and what he was wearing beneath…and his boots and
his socks…and his ankles were tied to the posts at the foot of the
bed…and it had all happened in an instant, a completely irrationally
slow instant.
“And now,” said Miss Hancock, reaching for the candelabrum,
“I’m going to visit every inch of your exquisite body, top to
bottom, and…perhaps…drop a tiny splash of candle wax along the
way…to heighten your senses…to explore the pain…”
As she tipped the candles, there was a knock upon the door, an
urgent-sounding rat-a-tat.
“What?” Miss Hancock shouted in an annoyed voice, replacing
the candelabrum upon the little table.
Shaun recognized the gentleman’s voice instantly. “Might I
inquire as to whether you are entertaining Mr. Drake within?”
MARIANNE’S MEMORY
177
“We’re busy!”
But William would not be dissuaded.
“I must insist. Mr. Drake’s presence is urgently required
upstairs.”
“By who?”
“By his good wife, Mrs. Drake, who is the mother of his four
children, the youngest of which suffers from an ailment which has
worsened this past hour. She has come from the village. He must
hasten to his home immediately.”
Miss Hancock clambered off the bed and opened the door.
“For real?” she said.
William shielded his eyes, both from the sight of Miss Hancock
in her revealing costume, and the sight of Shaun, completely
unclothed and bound to the bed.
“The child is feverish and the physician has been summoned.
Mrs. Drake has collapsed from the strain but has been brought
back to consciousness with a judicious dose of sal volatile.”
“OK,” said Miss Hancock. “You win. This is too weird.”
She shut the door and quickly unfastened Shaun’s wrists and
ankles.
“Just my luck,” she said, handing him his clothes. “Maybe next
time, hey?”
* * *
William was waiting for Shaun beside the servants’ staircase.
“I apologise for the interruption however I observed your
departure with Miss Hancock and thought it wise to intervene.”
“I am indebted to you,” Shaun replied, heavily. “Have you seen
Mrs. Collins…?”
“I have not. But I promise I shall safeguard your secret, Mr.
Patrick. Shall we rejoin the party?”

About the Author

Winona Kent was born in London, England. She immigrated to Canada with her parents at age 3, and grew up in Regina, Saskatchewan, where she received her BA in English from the University of Regina. After settling in Vancouver, she graduated from UBC with an MFA in Creative Writing. More recently, she received her diploma in Writing for Screen and TV from Vancouver Film School.
Winona has been a temporary secretary, a travel agent and the Managing Editor of a literary magazine. Her writing breakthrough came many years ago when she won First Prize in the Flare Magazine Fiction Contest with her short story about an all-night radio newsman, Tower of Power. More short stories followed, and then novels: Skywatcher, The Cilla Rose Affair, Cold Play, Persistence of Memory and In Loving Memory. Marianne’s Memory is Winona’s sixth novel.
Winona currently lives in Vancouver and works as a Graduate Programs Assistant at the University of British Columbia.


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Passage By Indie Gantz

YA Fantasy/SciFiPublisher: Cromulent PressDate Published: 3/20/18 Paperback. 3/13/18 E-book

Uncover a Lifetime of Lies in this Fantasy Adventure!On Day One, Charlie Damuzi and her mute twin brother, Tirigan, are blissfully unaware of the dangerous world they live in. They may be aliens living on Earth after the extinction of humans, but to Charlie, life is pretty mundane. On Day Two, the Damuzi family is ripped apart by a secret that forces the twins to flee the only home they've ever known. Determined to reunite their family, Charlie and Tirigan travel to uncharted territory in search of their salvation. But that's just Charlie's side of the story. In the future, forty days from when we first meet the Damuzi twins, Tirigan is on the move. His destination is unknown, as are the people he's surrounded himself with, but his mission is still the same. Keep his sister safe and reunite their family. However, as Tirigan attempts to navigate the complex bonds he's formed with his companions, he's forced to confront the one thing in life he has yet to fully understand. Himself. Family. Deception. Power. Destruction. It all begins on Day One.

About the Author

Indie Gantz grew up in Northern Virginia and received her Psychology degree at George Mason University. Despite her passion and curiosity for the human mind, Indie left her chosen field of study to finally give voice to the many imagined minds she has created. Indie lives with her family in North Carolina. She spends her days drinking tea and clacking keys.






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T - The Getaway Car by Leddy Harper

Title: The Getaway CarAuthor: Leddy HarperGenre: Contemporary RomanceRelease Date: April 5, 2018


Blurb
I needed to get out of town but didn’t have a car.
He had nowhere to go and offered to drive.
Forty-eight hours was all we were given.
A lifetime wouldn't have been enough.

She had something of mine.
And I was determined to get it back.
I thought it was just my car she'd stolen.I had no idea she'd captured my heart as well.
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Leddy Harper had to use her imagination often as a child. She grew up the only girl in a house full of boys. At the age of fourteen, she decided to use that imagination and wrote her first book, and never stopped.

She often calls writing her therapy, using it as a way to deal with issues through the eyes of her characters.

She is now a mother of three girls, leaving her husband as the only man in a house full of females.

The decision to publish her first book was made as a way of showing her children to go after whatever it is they want to. Love what you do and do it well. Most importantly Leddy wanted to teach them what it means to overcome their fears.

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