Aubrey Wynne's Blog, page 47

Accidental Witch Episodes 1- 3 #SexyScribblers

Accidental Witch

Episode 1 

By Luanna Stewart

Mary Reynolds clicked save and leaned back in her chair, a feeling of satisfaction at a job well done. The catering for the annual statehouse shindig had been handled by their number-one competitor for years, but thanks to her massive skillz, her employer would make the big bucks.

She glanced around the large open workspace. She’d not worked here very long, and she wasn’t exactly friends with any of the staff, but she felt accepted. Mostly. Her gaze went to the one cloud in her otherwise sunny sky. She had no clue what she’d done to piss off the pastry chef. But as her older brother always said, it is what it is.

Her office phone buzzed. The summons to the big boss’s presence. She grabbed the printout of the calendar for the next three months, nicely filled thanks to her hard work, and skipped into the lair.

“You’re fired.” He kept his gaze on the menswear catalogue he was flipping through.

“Wait, what?” Mary’s heart zipped into overdrive.

“You are fired.”

“I don’t understand.” Her boss had finally gone off the deep end. The pressure of doing dick all day had finally gotten to him.

“Which word is tripping you up?”

Bastard. Rubbing her lack of a college degree in her face as usual. She’d completed enough credits for three degrees. They just weren’t all in the same subject. Or at the same school. “Why am I fired?” Sweat trickled between her boobs.

“There’ve been too many complaints.”

Whoa. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

He flung a file across his high-tech glass and steel desk that probably cost as mush as her car. Probably more, given the sad excuse for a car she could afford. “It’s all documented, so don’t waste your time going after a wrongful dismissal suit.”

Mary snatched the folder and flicked through—shit—over a dozen incident reports. What the fuck? Inebriated? She hardly ever drank. Who could afford booze? Incomplete project? Bullshit. The only project she wasn’t happy with was when she was forced to work with that pastry bitch. Yeah, there was her signature.

“This is a witch hunt.” She shook the folder, wanting to smack him upside the head.

“And don’t try any discrimination nonsense. I believe in religious freedom as long as it doesn’t interfere with your work.” He circled a picture in the catalogue. Skinny jeans. Not in his lifetime.

“What the Hades are you talking about?”

He heaved himself from his custom leather chair, quite a feat, and circled the desk. He pulled a sheet from the stack in the folder and held it three inches from her face.

She squinted. Satanic ritual.

“Okay, this isn’t funny anymore.” She snatched the paper from his meaty hand and read further. “I lit a candle, a balsam scented candle, because it was freaking Christmas, and I wanted to create a festive atmosphere in this dungeon. It had nothing to do with summoning be-ell-za whats it.”

“Pack up your desk and leave within the hour, or I’ll call security.” He settled in his chair and sighed, done with his exercise for the day.

“We don’t have security.” Ass. What they had was a mom-and-pop catering business, located in the basement of a strip mall, operated by the spoiled brat of the mom and the pop. “You haven’t heard the last from me.”

“Threatening your boss now?”

“You’re not my boss anymore.” She left the office, slamming the door, and faced the assembled crowd. No pitchforks. But plenty of knives. Which made sense given the large space was basically a huge kitchen. She’d never felt threatened by a paring knife before, but in Johnny’s hand, dripping with the juice of strawberries he was slicing for the compote for that afternoon’s reception at the mayor’s house, the reception she’d put on their books, suddenly the atmosphere seemed menacing.

Head held high, she marched to her little corner and started emptying her desk drawers into her tote bag. A shadow fell across the desk. She knew who it was based on the smell. Waves of cloying camellia hit her nose, bringing on a sneeze.

“You got what you wanted. I have no idea why you hate me, but I take solace in that fact that karma will right this wrong.” Mary met the steely gaze of the pastry chef. “Or maybe I’ll put a curse on you.”

She smirked as the other woman turned pale, and then turned tail and scuttled back to her workstation. Bitch.

Lugging her tote and her purse, she climbed the stairs. Not to worry, she’d get another job. She was damn good at organizing other people, and she’d made valuable contacts amongst the local movers and shakers. She’d be employed in no time, certainly before her next mortgage payment was due.

She stepped outside just as the sky opened. So much for the weather forecast, which had called for another hot and sunny day. Within seconds she was soaked, and her car was at the far side of the parking lot. Bloody, bloody hell.

A sleek black foreign car pulled to a stop in front of her, and the passenger side window lowered. “Can I give you a lift?”

She leaned down to see who the idiot was blocking her path.

 

Episode Two

By Aubrey Wynne

“Gus, did you purchase my supplies?”

“Yes, sir,” the chauffeur said over his shoulder, weaving through traffic. “You will be pleased with the pendulum. It’s a brilliant clear amethyst. However, there were no white candles only red.”

“That’s fine. I only need the red for tonight.” Stirling Drake smiled at the fat raindrops now splattering against the windshield. He loved a good storm. “Did you find the sixth volume?”

“It’s on your desk, sir.” At the red light, Gus looked in the rear view mirror. “Will you be needing my assistance before the charity auction tonight?”

Stirling needed to take care of this hex before he left this evening. “No, I think can manage without assistance.” He let out a sigh. “The last thing I want to do is put on a tux tonight.”

“But it’s for a good cause, and she should be there. Speak of the…” He slowed the car. “Is that Miss Reynolds, sir?”

Through the tinted glass, he saw the stunning honey blonde march toward the curb, a tote bag slung over her shoulder. Her purse swung wildly from her wrist as she shook her fist at what appeared to be the heavens. A wicked smile curved Stirling’s lips, and the rain immediately turned into a downpour. The thin material of her dress now clung to her delicious curves.

“I believe the damsel is in distress.” He rolled down the window of the Mercedes. “Can I give you a lift?”

She leaned down, wiped the sodden gold tendrils from her face, and gave him a disgusted look. “If you can improve my day, I’ll go anywhere with you.”

He opened the door, stretched out his long legs, and took the tote from her. “Allow me.” Mary rewarded him with a dazzling smile. She left a trail of water across the dark leather seat as she slid across.

“Mr. Drake, how nice of you. It’s been one hell of a day, and I don’t think it’s noon yet.” Her voice cracked. “I’m not a vengeful person but if I could—”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened, Miss Reynolds?” The anger flashing in those green eyes sent heat through him. This woman had stirred his blood when he first met her last month. Drake Corporation raised funds each year for literacy, and she had catered the dinner. Asking her out, he had been politely informed that dating clients went against her moral business standard. Stirling vowed then to never hire that caterer in the future.

“So I told that spiteful pastry chef that I’d put a curse on her.” Her head slammed against the back of the soft leather.

“Can you put a curse on her?” he asked in a low voice as he slid closer. Stirling’s midnight eyes locked with Gus’ tawny stare in the rear view mirror.

Her laughter seemed incongruous to the previous rant. The sudden switch in mood made her even more attractive. Yes, there was something about this female; she awakened a longing deep inside him.

“Don’t be sil… You’re not serious.” Her full lips pursed slightly, and she gave him a wary look. “Are you?”

“Of course not, Miss Reynolds. However, your misfortune is my good fortune.” He gave her his most charming smile and slowly reached out his hand and brushed a dripping curl behind her ear.

“And how is that?”

“I can no longer be considered a client if you are no longer employed. Perhaps I could share some magic with you over dinner. Would you be my date for the charity auction tonight? I believe an event you were in charge of?”

A grin curved her mouth. “Please, call me Mary.”

Episode Three

By Kishan Paul

Mary stood in front of her bathroom mirror inspecting herself. The deep purple dress fit her body like second skin and flattered her in all the right places. She turned to check out her rear and smiled. Yup, in all the right places. She grabbed the curling iron and worked on her hair.

Her stomach fluttered as an image of the brown-haired, dark-eyed man popped into her head. She’d been drawn to Stirling Drake since they first met a month ago. So drawn to him, in fact, that she tripped over her shoes when their eyes locked. Fortunately, she was able to grab on to the back of a chair before she fell on her face. The rest of the night, she had tried to stay focused and work the event while keenly aware he watched her. It had only been a few weeks since she’d started her catering job, and they’d made it clear that flirting or dating customers was grounds for immediate dismissal. As attracted as she was to him, she needed the money, and so she made it her goal to avoid him at all cost. It worked beautifully until the end, when he cornered her in the kitchen and asked her out.

Mary closed her eyes and remembered the musky scent of his cologne and his warmth when he leaned in to speak. Stirling was one of the sexiest men she’d ever met, and for reasons she didn’t understand, he wanted her. It took every ounce of self-control to turn him down but she did. Every night since, she’d seen him in her dreams—as he did things to her she could never say out loud. Images of last night’s escapades filled her head. Never had she enjoyed bedtime as much as she had the past month.

The smell of something burning brought her back to the present. She pulled the curling iron out of her hair before it ruined her locks and then fixed her lipstick. Clearly, dreaming wasn’t in her best interest. Life had taught her that lesson years ago. If she wanted something, she worked her tail off to get it no matter how many times that tail got kicked in the process. It was like her Aunt Gwen used to say, “When life gives you lemons, throw them back at the sons-of-bitches.” That was exactly what she planned to do.

Saying yes to Stirling fulfilled a very selfish goal for Mary. By going to the charity auction catered by her former asshole employer as his date, she would be wined and dined by the very people who threw her out. The cherry on top was the fact that she hoped to find out if the living, breathing Stirling was even remotely as good in bed as he was in her dreams. The doorbell rang before she could think any deeper on the subject.

Mary scanned her small apartment as she headed to the door. The room was sparsely furnished with mismatched thrift store finds but it was hers. Well, until the first of the month when they would most likely kick her out for not paying rent—until then it was hers.

She sucked in a breath, opened the door, and then stopped breathing all together. Just like in one of her favourite dreams, Stirling stood before her in a dark tuxedo with a black tie. The things he did to her with that tie…

Her face, as well as other parts of her, heated. When she finally met his gaze, she noticed the hungry way he stared at her. “You are beautiful.”

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SIX DEGREES OF SCANDAL by Caroline Linden w/ giveaway @TastyBook Tours @Caro_Linden

Enter to Win a Print Bundle of the Scandalous Series Books 1-3, 
Includes LOVE AND OTHER SCANDALS, IT TAKES A SCANDAL 
and LOVE IN THE TIME OF SCANDAL

 

 
SIX DEGREES OF SCANDAL
Scandalous #4
Caroline Linden
Releasing March 29th, 2016
Avon Books



Olivia Townsend is in trouble and out of options. Pursued by a desperate man in search of a lost treasure, which

she doesn’t have, she’s got only two things in her favor: her late husband’s diary, which she was never meant to see… and the man who was her first-and only-love. Losing him broke her heart, though she’s been careful to hide it for

the last ten years. But when he comes to her aid and vows to stand by her this time, no matter what, she can’t help but hope things will be different this time.James Weston has blamed himself for letting Olivia down when she needed him years ago, and he will not do it again. Fortunately, his unusual life has equipped him well to outsmart the villain chasing Olivia. Unfortunately, being so near her again threatens to expose every secret in his heart…even those that should stay hidden forever.

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To Olivia’s mingled delight and surprise, Mother herself brought up the Westons that evening. “Haverstock House!” she exclaimed. “They’ve bought Haverstock House! Everyone in town is speaking of it. What is the neighborhood coming to, Sir Alfred?”

Father grunted. “I hear Weston paid a very pretty sum for it. Lord Malke’s steward mentioned wagons of new furnishings from London.”

That gave Mother pause. “Indeed!”

“I told you: well-heeled.” Father glanced at her, sitting quietly in the corner stitching her sampler. “Their boy seemed to like our Olivia.”

Instead of protesting that she was only a child, Mother turned to look at her as if struck by a new thought. “Did he . . . ?” But although Olivia was curious to hear what her mother thought, that was the last of the conversation.

Within days, true to Jamie’s prediction, Mrs. Weston came to call on Lady Herbert. Olivia only saw her leaving, but the next day Jamie himself came to Kellan Hall. He greeted her mother very politely, even charmingly, and then glanced at Olivia. “I’ve come to escort Miss Herbert to Haverstock House.”

Olivia barely managed not to goggle at him like a fool, but her mother was beaming. “Yes, of course. Olivia, fetch your bonnet. Mrs. Weston has invited you to visit her daughters, and I consented. Good society is so important to raising young people with manners and decorum!”

“Yes, ma’am,” she managed to say, even as her heart jumped. She ran for her bonnet and pelisse.

Jamie grinned as they left her house. “I told you my mother would call.”

Olivia couldn’t keep back an excited laugh. “I just didn’t know it would result in this!”

From then on she was permitted to visit the Westons almost at will. Daphne was also invited, but she went only a few times, and stopped entirely after getting into an argument with Penelope Weston over whether ladies should be allowed to drive carriages. But Olivia was soon fast friends with both Abigail and Penelope, who became as dear as sisters to her as the years went by.

Jamie was there as well, although less frequently as they all grew older. He wasn’t sent away to school as most boys were but had a series of tutors and instructors. Mr. Weston traveled frequently on business and often he took his son with him. Olivia thought that sounded dull, but Jamie said he enjoyed it immensely.

“It’s far better than sitting at home learning Latin verbs,” he told her. “I’d much rather visit shipyards and manufactories and see how things are really done. Even visiting the bankers is more intriguing than any mathematics exercise.”

She had to smile. “When you put it that way, perhaps I agree.”

He laughed. “It’s all in the way I put it! You’re much too easy to persuade, Livie. You’d let yourself be tempted into all kinds of bad behavior, wouldn’t you?”

Only by you, she thought. He’d been able to lead her astray since that first morning in church. “I don’t know what you mean,” she told him. “I’m a very respectable girl.”

“And yet I like you anyway,” he replied gravely.

She put out her tongue at him and he pulled one of her loose curls, just like any brother and sister.

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Caroline

Linden was born a reader, not a writer. She earned a math degree from Harvard University and wrote computer software before turning to writing fiction. Ten years, twelve books, three Red Sox championships, and one dog later, she has never been happier with her decision. Her books have won the NEC Reader’s Choice Beanpot Award, the Daphne du Maurier Award, and RWA’s RITA Award. Since she never won any prizes in math, she takes this as a sign that her decision was also a smart one. Visit her online at www.carolinelinden.com.





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Spring time in my grandpa’s day  meant cleaning the outhouse. I think it was his all-time least favorite chore on the farm. In memory of my grandfather, I’m giving away a copy of my award-winning short story Pete’s Mighty Purty privies. Just sign up for my newsletter (top right of the sidebar) and I’ll send you the link! Happy spring and may the birds be chirping and the grasshoppers jumping in your backyard. 

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HER ONE TRUE LOVE by Rachel Brimble @TastyBook Tours @RachelBrimble

 Enter to Win a $20.00 Amazon eGift Card

HER ONE TRUE LOVE
Rachel Brimble
Released March 15th, 2016
Lyrical Press

 

She Can’t Forget Him…

Jane Charlotte Danes has loved the squire of her idyllic country town for as long as she can remember. He is good,

kind, and alluring beyond words… and he chose to marry another. Tired of dwelling on her futile longings, Jane plans a move to Bath, where she dreams of a new beginning. But the man who has so imprisoned her heart is only a few steps behind…

He Can’t Let Her Go…

Until now, Matthew Cleaves has endeavored to meet the responsibilities of his position with dignity and good

spirits–including his dutiful marriage. But when his wife leaves him for another man, Matthew is at last free to pursue his one true love. Only one vital question remains: will the captivating, stubborn, beautiful Jane allow

him the challenge, and the pleasure, of winning her back?…
 
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Jane’s heart ached to see such deep anguish in his gaze. There was no rage, no anger, not even a trace of the moroseness she had seen so many times in his eyes during the preceding months. He stood in front of her as the true, loyal, and honest man she’d always loved and admired.

All the months she fought her feelings for him and now he wished to be with her. Tears escaped and rolled over her cheeks. He brushed his thumbs under her eyes, and it took every ounce of her strength not to collapse against him and damn the right and wrong of her yearning.

“Jane, please understand how hard it is for me to see you cry and not fix things to be with you overnight. What is starting between us, what I am feeling, cannot be ignored.”

Jane took a strengthening breath. “I am not the same woman I was a year, even six months ago, Matthew. I’ve changed. You’ve changed. Neither of us should rush headlong into the idea of us being together when there are so many other people involved.”

He frowned. “Like Elizabeth?”

She nodded. “And the villagers. And for me, the children at the boardinghouse. I can’t stop my dream to do good now that I have found the courage to pursue it.”

“Everything will work out. I will ensure it.”

He smiled softly, the gentle determination in his gaze seeping deep inside her until impassioned hope squeezed like a vise around her weakening heart.

He brushed the curls from her temple and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I have been blind. My sense of pride and loyalty to my father, a man who thought of me as little more than a cog in his ambitious wheel, has meant I wasted two years with a woman I tried hard to make happy. I refuse to waste any more of my life.”

His words twisted and tore at Jane’s heart. The last thing she wanted him to do was act impulsively and jeopardize anything that might be good for the people of Biddestone. “So what are we to do now?”

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Rachel lives with her husband and two teenage daughters in a small town near Bath in the UK. After having several novels published by small US presses, she secured agent representation in 2011. Since 2013, she has had five books

published by Harlequin Superromance (Templeton Cove Stories) and three Victorian romances by eKensington/Lyrical.
 
Rachel is a member of the Romantic Novelists Association and Romance Writers of America, and was selected to mentor the Superromance finalist of So You Think You Can Write 2014 contest. 
 
When she isn’t writing, you’ll find Rachel with her head in a book or walking the beautiful English countryside with her family. Her dream place to live is Bourton-on-the-Water in South West England.

She likes nothing more than connecting and chatting with her readers and fellow romance writers. Rachel would love to hear from you!

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The Forbidden Duke The Untouchables #1 By: Darcy Burke @TastyBook Tours @darcyburke

The Forbidden Duke

The Untouchables #1

By: Darcy Burke

Released March 15, 2016.

Self-Published

 

Blurb

Spinster Miss Eleanor Lockhart is suddenly homeless and employment is her only option. Ruined after succumbing to a scoundrel’s excessive charm nearly a decade ago, she’s lucky to obtain a position as a paid companion and committed to behaving with the utmost propriety. She definitely shouldn’t be in the arms of a man capable of utterly destroying what little remains of her reputation…

Titus St. John, Duke of Kendal, is known as the Forbidden Duke, a mysterious, intimidating figure who enters Society just once each year at his stepmother’s ball. A decade ago, he was a devil-may-care rake until his idle roguery brought about the ruin of Eleanor Lockhart—and his resulting self-imposed isolation. Now she’s back, and she needs his help. But by “saving” her, he may just ruin her life all over again.

 

Link to Follow Tour:  http://www.tastybooktours.com/2016/02/the-forbidden-duke-untouchables-1-by.html

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29417844-the-forbidden-duke

“We need to take our place,” he said, guiding her to the dance floor, where Lord and Lady Satterfield were already in place at the top of the line that was forming. Kendal positioned Nora to stand beside Lady Satterfield so that they were second in the line. The musicians, set in the far corner of the makeshift ballroom, began to play, and panic seized Nora’s chest. Would she remember the steps? Would she make a fool of herself, or worse, of him?

She felt like an imposter in a scenario she’d mistakenly stumbled into. Surely someone would point her out and tell her she needed to leave. She was a pariah, an outcast. She had no place being here, let alone dancing with a duke.

But it was far too late to run away. The dance had started, and the line traveled the length of the drawing room. This dance would last quite some time, during which Nora would be the center of everyone’s attention and the source of everyone’s gossip. She could hear the exchanges now, imagined them starting up and spreading like a freshly-ignited fire.

“Look at who he chose. Who is that Nobody?”

“Don’t you remember? She ruined herself nine years ago.”

“How dreadful.”

Lord and Lady Satterfield started, dancing their way between the lines. They were rather spry, given their age.

Nora nervously looked over at the duke. “Lady Satterfield is an excellent dancer.”

“Indeed.” The rich tone of his voice soothed her rioting nerves. “She always insists on calling the first, though it’s the only set she’ll dance.”

Nora nodded. Dancing was typically reserved for the young.

She tried not to stare at her partner, but it was difficult as he was situated directly across from her and she should look at him. Look, yes, but not gape. And he was gape-worthy. His reputation suited him for he seemed forbidden, otherworldly almost. Not in an ethereal way, but in a rustic, rough sort of manner, as if Society couldn’t possibly contain him.

Despite that or perhaps because of it, he wore his costume with ease. However, she suspected he was more comfortable in riding breeches and boots as he galloped his horse across the Lake District—she’d ascertained that was where his seat was located—his powerful thighs hugging the animal’s flanks as they moved as one.

Goodness, where had that astonishing image come from?

And then it was their turn to traverse the line. She prayed she would remember the steps and focused on the music as they moved toward each other.

“You look as if you’re headed to the guillotine,” he said just loud enough for her alone to hear.

“Do I?” She tried to laugh but was afraid she sounded like a wounded bird. She longed to ask why he’d chosen her and immediately wondered if Lady Satterfield had put him up to it. She decided she didn’t want to know.

“It’s just a dance.”

The superbly absurd comment coaxed a genuine smile to her lips and alleviated some of her discomfort. “With the ‘Forbidden Duke’ who only dances once each Season. Yes, you’re quite right to characterize it that way. Thank you for putting me at ease.”

He chuckled, and like his speaking voice, it sparked a tremor that seemed to start in her bones and move outward making her flesh tingle and her chest warm. “Don’t be nervous. And certainly don’t be nervous on my account.” He said the last with a tone so dry, she feared it might curl up and blow away in the breeze.

“That is easy for you, a duke, to say. I am just a simple girl who’s been away from London a long time.”

“I daresay you aren’t ‘just’ anything.”

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Darcy Burke is the USA Today bestselling author of hot, action-packed historical and sexy, emotional contemporary romance. Darcy wrote her first book at age 11, a happily-ever-after about a swan addicted to magic and the female swan who loved him, with exceedingly poor illustrations.

A native Oregonian, Darcy lives on the edge of wine country with her guitar-strumming husband, their two hilarious kids-who each seem to have inherited the writing gene in some form-and two Bengal cats. In her “spare” time Darcy is a serial volunteer enrolled in a 12-step program where one learns to say “no,” but she keeps having to start over. Her happy places are Disneyland and Labor Day weekend at the Gorge.

 

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What the Clocks Know by Rumer Haven #NewRelease #Guestpost

Thanks so much for hosting me, Aubrey!

Writing is such a personal endeavor as we put so much of ourselves into our stories, consciously or not. There are many specific personal experiences and inspirations that I’ve directly incorporated into What the Clocks Know, but it’s also influenced by who I am in general (for better or worse…). Whether that directly and indirectly impacts a story, the words I write come from the same demented brain that dictates all my other fancies and follies.

Care to hear a few? Ready or not, here they come!Five random facts about me:

1. Anyone who reads What the Clocks Know and my previous book, Seven for a Secret, will likely notice that I have a thing with bathrooms. I did not choose this sad reality; it chose me. Yeah, I can’t really explain it, but weird things happen to me in bathrooms (aside from the very obvious things that should happen in them), and I can’t help but work that into stories. Sorry. These are just one-off instances, luckily, but I do have an ongoing phobia of getting trapped in bathrooms now (particularly water closets). I assess my potential escape routes whenever first stepping into one. This fear may have originated from, oh say, the time I got trapped in a bathroom…(see Seven for a Secret, Chapter I).2. I have an aversion to bright lights, breathing other people’s breath, and doing dishes in the sink with a stoppered drain.

3. While not advanced and hardly ever getting the chance anymore, I love playing the piano.

4. I suspect I have an old soul, though can’t determine its age. But considering my bunions and the flannel granny cap I wear in bed on winter nights (very much to my husband’s chagrin), I think 80 is a fair guess.5. Although I love animals (pandas are my lifelong favorite), I’m not a pet person. If I had to align myself with either the Dog or Cat People in a finger-snapping gang face-off of West Side Story proportions, however, I would probably go Cat.

So, that’s a little insight into me in all my random and somewhat ornery glory. There’s actually quite a bit of me in Margot, the protagonist of What the Clocks Know…but, you know, go easy on us both. ;)


~ * ~

About What the Clocks Know:

Finding a ghost isn’t what Margot had in mind when she went ‘soul searching’, but somehow her future may depend on Charlotte’s past.

Woven between 21st-century and Victorian London, What the Clocks Know is a haunting story of love and identity. A paranormal women’s fiction, this title is available as of March 18, 2016 from Crooked Cat Publishing.

“A unique tale of the paranormal – as beautiful as it is haunting.”

~ Shani Struthers, author of Jessamine and the Psychic Surveys series

** Add it! **
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29368003-what-the-clocks-know
** Read it! **
Amazon US – http://amzn.to/21DZoCw
Amazon UK – http://amzn.to/1QsiFfr
~ * ~

Author Bio:

Rumer Haven is probably the most social recluse you could ever meet. When she’s not babbling her fool head off among friends and family, she’s pacified with a good story that she’s reading, writing, or revising—or binge-watching something on Netflix. A former teacher hailing from Chicago, she presently lives in London with her husband and probably a ghost or two. Rumer has always had a penchant for the past and paranormal, which inspires her writing to explore dimensions of time, love, and the soul. She debuted in 2014 with Seven for a Secret (in which a Jazz Age tragedy haunts a modern woman’s love life), and her award-winning short story “Four Somethings & a Sixpence” (about a bride who gets a little something she didn’t register for) was released in 2015. What the Clocks Know is her second novel.

Learn more about Rumer at:

Website – http://www.rumerhaven.com

Facebook – http://www.facebook.com/rumerhaven

Twitter – @RumerHaven

It’s the Little Things Blog Hop

 

Hi everyone my name is Aubrey Wynne and I am one of over 100 authors/bloggers/ on the Little Things Blog Hop! For those of you don’t me, I am an historical romance author and you can find me and my books on all major retailers. Browse my site and see what tickles your fancy. 

So what are the little things in your life that rate at the top of your list? For me it’s music and books. Let me share! On my visit to Ireland last summer, I met some local artists in Ennis, Co. Clare that made my trip. Meet Pat O’Connor of the Custy’s Traditional Music Shop (also a musician) and two more local artists that made us feel at home and welcome. 

The lovely chap in the middle is Cyril O’Donaghue who not only signed his CD but invited us to a pub session a few blocks away. It was our first introduction to a real local gathering, and it was everything I ever imagined. Click on the photo above, and check out the authentic Irish music at Pat’s shop, including his own instrumental collaboration. Or stop by Cyril’s Facebook page by clicking his name above.

Here is the CD I have been listening to for St. Patrick’s Day. Click on the image and watch both Blackey O’Connell and Cyril creating some lovely music together! Or visit Blackey’s Facebook page by clicking on his name. 

My other little thing I couldn’t live without is a good book. I write, I edit, and I read. But lately, my love of a good story has been renewed by audiobooks. There is something about a great plot partnered with a strong narrator that makes a story come to life. My latest fascination has been the combination of Laura Kinsale’s extraordinary prose combined with the voice of Nicholas Boulton. I am on my third book with this team and enthralled. Listen for yourself by clicking the cover below!

My question to you: Which of my little things appeals to you the most? Music or the written word? A random commenter will win a $5 Amazon gift card. But first, follow my blog by email (it’s just a quick entry on the sidebar near the top.)
Right now, I’m offering over $100 in my Everybody Wins Giveaway as I boost my newsletter recipients. Then click the image below to see all the prizes being offered. And remember to enjoy the little things in life!    

To enter the rafflecopter below: Like and share this post!

Luck of the Irish $250 Cash Giveaway!

Luck of the Irish $250 Giveaway
March 17th to 31st
$250 Amazon.com Gift Code or $250 in Paypal Cash

 

When Irish Cows Are Mooing…

Have you been to the lovely Emerald Isle? Let me share some pictures from last summer’s vacation. The people and views could not have been lovelier. The pubs? Absolutely Craic!

The view from our vacation house overlooking Galway Bay.

A wee bit of a disagreement in the local pub! But all was solved with another round of Guinness and a handshake!

My nephew is ready for his first hawking lesson at Ashford Castle.

A romantic moment at the Quiet Man’s cottage in the village of Cong.

“There’ll be no locked doors between us, Mary Kate!

A hike across the Burren.

Feeling a bit of the Irish luck? Enter my Giveaway for cash and swag. 

Thanks to this Awesome Group of Authors & Bloggers have joined with me to bring you this fabulous prize!!

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Giveaway Details

$250 in Paypal Cash or a $250 Amazon.com eGift Card

Ends 3/31/16

Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use money sent via Paypal. Winning Entry will be verified prior to prize being awarded. No purchase necessary. You must be 18 or older to enter or have your parent enter for you. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter and announced here as well as emailed and will have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. This giveaway is in no way associated with Facebook, Twitter, Rafflecopter or any other entity unless otherwise specified. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. Giveaway was organized by Kathy from I Am A Reader and sponsored by the authors, bloggers and publishers on the sponsor list. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED BY LAW.

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Fall of Poppies: Stories of Love and the Great War @TastyBook Tours @WmMorrowBks

Enter to Win a Print Copy of FALL OF POPPIES

Fall of Poppies
Stories of Love and the Great War
Contributions by: 
Hazel Gaynor, Beatriz Williams, Jennifer Robson, 
Jessica Brockmole, Kate Kerrigan, Evangeline Holland, 
Lauren Willig, Marci Jefferson, edited by Heather Webb
Releasing March 1st, 2016 
William Morrow



Top voices in historical fiction deliver an intensely moving collection of short stories about loss, longing, and hope in the aftermath of World War I—featuring bestselling authors such as Hazel Gaynor, Jennifer Robson, Beatriz Williams, and Lauren Willig and edited by Heather Webb.

A squadron commander searches for meaning in the tattered photo of a girl he’s never met…

A Belgian rebel hides from the world, only to find herself nursing the enemy…

A young airman marries a stranger to save her honor—and prays to survive long enough to love her…The peace treaty signed on November 11, 1918, may herald the end of the Great War but for its survivors, the smoke is only beginning to clear. Picking up the pieces of shattered lives will take courage, resilience, and trust.

Within crumbled city walls and scarred souls, war’s echoes linger. But when the fighting ceases, renewal begins…and hope takes root in a fall of poppies.

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from “Hour of the Bells” by Heather Webb

Beatrix whisked around the showroom, feather duster in hand. Not a speck of dirt could remain or Joseph would be disappointed. The hour struck noon. A chorus of clocks whirred, their birds popping out from hiding to announce midday. Maidens twirled in their frocks with braids down their backs, woodcutters clacked their axes against pine, and the odd sawmill wheel spun in tune to the melody of a nursery rhyme. Two dozen cuckoos warbled and dinged, each crafted with loving detail by the same pair of hands—those with thick fingers and a steady grip.

Beatrix paused in her cleaning. One clock chimed to its own rhythm, apart from the others.

She could turn them off—the tinkling melodies, the incessant clatter of pendulums, wheels, and cogs, with the levers located near the weights—just as their creator had done before bed each evening, but she could not bring herself to do the same. To silence their music was to silence him, her husband, Joseph. The Great War had already done that; ravaged his gentle nature, stolen his final breath, and silenced him forever.

In a rush, Beatrix scurried from one clock to the next, assessing which needed oiling. With the final stroke of twelve, she found the offending clock. Its walnut face, less ornate than the others, had been her favorite, always. A winter scene displayed a cluster of snow-topped evergreens; rabbits and fawns danced in the drifts when the music began, and a scarlet cardinal dipped its head and opened its beak to the beauty of the music. The animals’ simplicity appealed to her now more than ever. With care, she removed the weights and pendulum, and unscrewed the back of the clock. She was grateful she had watched her husband tend to them so often. She could still see Joseph, blue eyes peering over his spectacles, focused on a figurine as he painted detailing on the linden wood. His patient hands had caressed the figures lovingly, as he had caressed her.

The memory of him sliced her open. She laid her head on the table as black pain stole over her body, pooling in every hidden pocket and filling her up until she could scarcely breathe.

“Give it time,” her friend Adelaide had said, as she set a basket of jam and dried sausages on the table; treasures in these times of rations, yet meager condolence for what Beatrix had lost.

“Time?” Beatrix had laughed, a hollow sound, and moved to the window overlooking the grassy patch of yard. The Vosges mountains rose in the distance, lording over the line between France and Germany along the battle front. Time’s passage never escaped her—not for a moment. The clocks made sure of it. There weren’t enough minutes, enough hours, to erase her loss.

As quickly as the grief came, it fled. Though always powerful, its timing perplexed her. Pain stole through the night, or erupted at unlikely moments, until she feared its onslaught the way others feared death. Death felt easier, somehow.

Beatrix raised her head and pushed herself up from the table to finish her task. Joseph would not want her to mourn, after two long years. He would want to see her strength, her resilience, especially for their son. She pretended Adrien was away at school, though he had enlisted, too. His enlistment had been her fault. A vision of her son cutting barbed wire, sleeping in trenches, and pointing a gun at another man reignited the pain and it began to pool again. She suppressed the horrid thoughts quickly, and locked them away in a corner of her mind.

With a light touch she cleaned the clock’s bellows and dials, and anointed its oil bath with a few glistening drops. Once satisfied with her work, she hung the clock in its rightful place above the phonograph, where a disk waited patiently on the spool. She spun the disk once and watched the printed words on its center blur. Adrien had played Quand Madelon over and over, belting out the patriotic lyrics in time with the music. To him, it was a show of his support for his country. To Beatrix it had been a siren, a warning her only son would soon join the fight. His father’s death was the final push he had needed. The lure of patrimoine, of country, throbbed inside of him as it did in other men. They talked of war as women spoke of tea sets and linens, yearned for it as women yearned for children. Now, the war had seduced her Adrien. She stopped the spinning disk and plucked it from its wheel, the urge to destroy it pulsing in her hands.

She must try to be more optimistic. Surely God would not take all she had left.

Reprinted Courtesy of HarperCollins Publishers

 

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Jessica Brockmole is the author of the internationally bestselling Letters

from Skye, an epistolary love story spanning an ocean and two wars. Named

one of Publisher’s Weekly’s Best Books of 2013, Letters

From Skye has been published in seventeen countries.


Website  | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads

Hazel Gaynor is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling

author of The Girl Who Came Home and A Memory of

Violets. She writes regularly for the national press, magazines and

websites in Ireland and the UK.
 
Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads

 Evangeline Holland is the founder and editor of

Edwardian Promenade, the number one blog for lovers of World War I, the Gilded

Age, and Belle Époque France with nearly forty thousand unique viewers a month.

In addition, she blogs at Modern Belles of History. Her fiction includes An

Ideal Duchess and its sequel, crafted in the tradition of Edith

Warton.
 
 Website | Twitter | GoodReads

Marci Jefferson is the author of Girl on the Golden Coin: A Novel of

Frances Stuart, which Publisher’s Weekly called

“intoxicating.” Her second novel, The Enchantress of Paris, will

release in Spring 2015 from Thomas Dunne Books.
 
Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads

Kate Kerrigan is the New York Times bestselling author of The

Ellis Island trilogy. In addition she has written for the Irish Tatler,

a Dublin-based newspaper, as well as The Irish Mail and a RTE

radio show, Sunday Miscellany.
 
Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads

Jennifer Robson is the USA Today and international bestselling

author of Somewhere in France and After the War is Over. She holds

a doctorate in Modern History from the University of Oxford, where she was a

Commonwealth Scholar and SSHRC Doctoral Fellow. Jennifer lives in Toronto with

her husband and young children.
 
Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads

Heather Webb is an author, freelance editor, and blogger at award-winning

writing sites WriterUnboxed.com and RomanceUniversity.org. Heather is a member of

the Historical Novel Society and the Women’s Fiction Writers Association, and

she may also be found teaching craft-based courses at a local college
 
Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads

Beatriz Williams is the New York Times, USA Today, and

international bestselling author of The Secret Life of Violet

Grant and A Hundred Summers. A graduate of Stanford

University with an MBA from Columbia, Beatriz spent several years in New York

and London hiding her early attempts at fiction, first on company laptops as a

corporate and communications strategy consultant, and then as an at-home

producer of small persons. She now lives with her husband and four children

near the Connecticut shore, where she divides her time between writing and

laundry. William Morrow will publish her forthcoming hardcover, A

Certain Age, in the summer of 2016. 
 
Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads

Lauren Willig is the New York Times bestselling author of

eleven works of historical fiction. Her books have been translated into over a

dozen languages, awarded the RITA, Booksellers Best and Golden Leaf awards, and

chosen for the American Library Association’s annual list of the best genre

fiction. She lives in New York City, where she now writes full time.
 

The Infamous Heir by Elizabeth Michels w/ Guest post & #Giveaway

I admit it, I have a weakness.  And my weakness is romantic comedies.  There have been so many Saturday afternoons I’ve lost by walking through the living room when one of my favorites is playing on TV.  Laundry and errands?  What laundry and errands?  I have to spend the next few hours curled up on the sofa, watching Dirty Dancing for the 473rd time.  It’s this same magnetic pull toward a love story that inspired me to read romance novels, and to write them.  So I thought I would share with you one of my favorite romantic comedies, and the romance novel it reminds me of.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall and It Happened One Wedding

   

In Forgetting Sarah Marshall, the hero goes on vacation to mend a broken heart.  He soon finds not only his ex-girlfriend at the same resort with a new lover, but also his new love at the front desk of the hotel.  Who doesn’t love a romance that happens while on vacation?  In Julie James’ It Happened One Wedding, the heroine is also mending a broken heart.  But in this story, she is at her sister’s wedding, and is thrown together with the best man.  Did I mention he’s a FBI agent? Happy reading!

Do you have a favorite romantic comedy?  Does the plot remind you of a book you enjoyed?

Title: The Infamous Heir

Author: Elizabeth Michels

Series: Spare Heirs, #1

Pubdate: March 1st, 2016

ISBN: 9781492621331

Praise for The Infamous Heir:

“Michels’s latest is the complete package: a captivating romance with gripping suspense wrapped up in a novel to be savored.”

— Publishers Weekly, STARRED Review

“Readers are treated to Michels’ strongest story yet. The engaging characters, intricate plotline and powerful love story hold readers from beginning to end as they watch the changing relationship between headstrong lovers as they unravel a mystery. Savor this tale.” — RT Book Reviews, 4.5 Stars and March Top Pick!

The Spare Heirs Society Cordially Invites You to Meet Ethan Moore: The Scoundrel

Lady Roselyn Grey’s debut has finally arrived, and of course, she has every flounce and flutter planned. She’ll wear the perfect gowns and marry the perfect gentleman…that is, if the formerly disinherited brother of the man she intends to marry doesn’t ruin everything first.

Ethan Moore is a prize-fighting second son and proud founding member of the Spare Heirs Society—and that’s all he ever should have been. But, in an instant, his brother’s noble title is his, the eyes of the ton are upon him, and the lady he’s loved for years would rather meet him in the boxing ring than the ballroom.

He’s faced worse. With the help of his Spare Heirs brotherhood, Ethan’s certain he can get to the bottom of his brother’s unexpected demise and win the impossible lady who has haunted his dreams for as long as he can remember…

An Excerpt:

“You can’t spare a footman to haul my trunks and valise inside?” Roselyn asked.

Mr. Ethan Moore didn’t seem to mind the rain that splashed down on them in the drive. “I’m afraid not.”

“Not a single servant to assist your guests as they arrive? And I thought Ormesby Place to be a welcoming, organized home. The devil it is.” She muttered the last bit under her breath, sure he hadn’t heard her.

“What was that, my lady?” he asked, leaning in.

“Oh, nothing.” How had he heard her comment? She always tried to be so careful of such things. It was as if the ugly habits she’d worked so diligently to eliminate from her life were rising to the surface against her will. And she blamed Mr. Ethan Moore for every bit of it.

“If your precious possessions mean so much to you, princess, I will personally assist you with your things.”

Finally he was going to see reason. She smiled in relief. “Well, that was all I required. Thank you.”

He bent and lifted the small valise from the top of the pile of trunks, slinging it over his shoulder with a grin. “That trunk looks light enough. You should be able to manage it.” With those careless words, he turned and began to stroll away toward the door.

Was he whistling? What an infuriating man!

Roselyn stood rooted to the ground in shock for a moment, watching him walk away through the rain. Then, something snapped within her. The gently bred lady she tried to portray was stripped away, leaving behind the young, reckless girl she thought she’d outgrown years ago. He couldn’t walk away from her in such a manner.

She took two steps to the edge of a flower bed, scooped up a fistful of fresh soil within her white- gloved hand and flung it as hard as she could at Mr. Moore’s back. Watching as it splattered across his upper arm, slinging droplets onto his cheek, she felt a moment of visceral triumph. Then she gaped at him.

What had she done? She hadn’t even considered doing anything so childish in years— not since that summer when she’d set a trap to trip him as he crossed one of the fields, then laughed as he tugged her down into the dirt with him. The memory of her laughter faded as reality set in. Her plans! What had she been thinking? But, of course, she hadn’t been thinking.

He turned, an affronted look crossing his face as he stared at her.

In that moment, in spite of their current ages, he was the boy next door again, chasing Katie and her through the woods as they cackled with glee. She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

He glanced down at his arm in disbelief, dropped her valise to the ground, and began prowling toward her. Oh. Perhaps this had been a mistake. A challenging gleam filled his eyes, turning them as dark as black water in a cold lake.

Oh dear. She blinked once, twice, then turned and ran.

She’d made it to the corner of the house where the edge of the lush gardens overlooked the moors when she felt a large hand wrap around her upper arm, dragging her to a halt. She could feel the heat of him behind her. She had never been so close to a man before. Her heart hammered within her body. Even Lord Ayton had never dared touch her like this. She’d never felt a gentleman’s body pressed into hers as Mr. Moore’s was now.

“Leaving so soon?” he murmured, his lips almost grazing the rim of her ear.

 

Buy Links:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/23p6nxn

Apple: http://apple.co/1SHlOgP

BAM: http://bit.ly/1WLmPUb

B&N: http://bit.ly/1OKXLtv

Chapters: http://bit.ly/1Py2ufd

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1KAGy21

Elizabeth Michels grew up on a Christmas tree farm in rural South Carolina. After tip-toeing her way through school with her focus on ballet steps and her nose in a book, she met a boy and followed him a thousand miles away from home to Kansas City, Missouri, before settling down in North Carolina.

 

 A Giveaway Complete Set of the Tricks of the Ton Series

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