Bound Across Time by Annie R McEwen #ParanormalRomance

Bound Across TimeBook OneAnnie R McEwen 
Genre: Paranormal Romance, Ghost RomancePublisher: Harbor Lane BooksDate of Publication: May 7, 2024ASIN: B0CV4RPDDXNumber of pages: 324
Tagline: In a castle on the shores of the Irish Sea, she’s met the love of her life. Clever, witty, strong, fiercely attractive.  What’s the catch? He’s a ghost.
Book Description:
Historian CeCe’s dream job in a Welsh castle goes sideways when she’s ordered to ditch the history and lead ghost walks. That’s the worst of her worries until she meets Patrick: strong, handsome, irresistible…and dead since 1761.
Desire and hope flare in Patrick’s heart when CeCe touches him while, for CeCe, Patrick is everything. But she’s in the bright world of the living while he’s trapped in the shadows. 
Loving a ghost is deadly business. Patrick and CeCe struggle to outrace fate as it hurtles them toward disaster. Can the ancient riddle of an Irish seer save them? The spells of Welsh witches? 
Or can powers CeCe didn’t even know she possessed bridge time and defeat death?
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Book Trailer: https://shorturl.at/ajuE0

Excerpt from Bound Across Time, by Annie R McEwen

You’rean idjit, Patrick. Death was always too good for you.

Heshould have gone slower with her, no doubt about it. He was a lout, a brute, tostartle her so thoroughly, and that was never his intent. He could have—no, heshould have—whispered, or moaned, or shimmered from a distance. Instead, he washasty.

Hasty?He was a burning brand of desire. Who could blame him after twohundred-fifty…how long had it been? He’d lost count of the years.

Thatwas still no reason to be an imbecilic knave, popping up like codswallopingPunch on a puppet stage while wearing the same filthy linen he was tippedoverboard in when the Earl didn’t have the decency to give him a proper burial.At least the sea water had washed away the blood.

Hishonor, his common sense—perhaps they’d washed away as well. Within reach ofthis woman, he could remember nothing he’d learned of subtle romance andcourtly manners. All he could think of was making her his, now until the end oftime.

Whatan embarrassment he was, to his sainted mother, to his upbringing, to thegentleman he was reared to be. An embarrassment to every Irish bard who eversang songs or wrote poems about women who were doves, and lilies, and otherthings he couldn’t remember.

Hedid remember that they were fragile and easily startled. Easily driven away.
Next time, I will be slow. I will slowly and gently explain things to her.Unusual things. Highly unusual, uncanny, frightening, nigh incomprehensiblethings.

Sure,now, Patrick, me boyo, that’ll be a stroll along the banks of the Shannon.

Bythe right hand of God, but she was beautiful. Slumbering on the stone floor,her skin smooth ivory but gilded, as though the sun had kissed her once andthen fallen in love, unable to leave. She’d lost her cap, and her hair—rich,deep brown and burnished with red, like brandy—tumbled around her neck andshoulders. Her sun-brushed skin, high and perfect cheekbones, the delicateslant of her eyes, the plump swell of her breasts above the top edge of her bodice,the curves of the body he could imagine pressed to his own aching and lonelyone…

Beautyitself, she was, not only of body but of mind. In the weeks before she’d seenhim, he’d watched her exercise that beautiful mind among the slower thinkers ofthe Castle, who doubtless envied her. She was stubborn, spirited, andquick-witted—he liked that.
He crouched over her crumpled form, not touching, only taking in her scent.Rose attar and mint—he liked that, too.

Theonly thing he didn’t care for was the name she went by, See-see. What sort ofname was that? It was something you called a canary. He would never call herthat, not when the French name with which she’d been christened was just likeher.

Céleste,meaning heavenly.

Shewas waking now. He rose and backed away. Time for him to depart, as he must,and breathe a prayer. Not for himself, there was no point to that. If God hadever listened to him, he wouldn’t be where he was, and he deserved no better.His prayer would be for her, the angel who defied or escaped God’s curse tolight his endless night.

Come back, Céleste Gowdie. Please come back.

About the Author:
Annie R McEwen is a career historian who’s lived in six countries, under every roof from a canvas tent to a Georgian Era manor house and driven herself to work in everything from a donkey cart to a vintage Peugeot. For her, it feels perfectly natural to create stories of desperate love and powerful secrets in faraway times and places.
Winner of the 2022 Page Turners Award, Genre (Romance) Category, Annie also garnered the First Place 2022 RTTA (Romance Through Ages Award from Romance Writers of America; Post-Victorian to WWI Category), the 2023 MAGGIE Award, and the 2023 Daphne du Maurier Award. Her Regency murder mystery “Death at Dunarven” appears in the 2024 Murder Most International Anthology. 
Annie’s books are published by Harbor Lane Books (US), Bloodhound Books (UK), and The Wild Rose Press. When she’s not in her 1920s bungalow in Florida, Annie lives, writes, and explores castles in Wales. 
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