Then Came You Dylan Allen Publication date: February 23rd 2023 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Most people dream of falling in love.
But all I know of love is that it turns smart people into fools.
So, I don’t dream, I work.
And put distance between myself and the stain my father’s betrayal left on my family.
When I land a high powered job in London,
It feels like I finally have everything I want.
Then comes Simon, the gorgeous architect with a filthy mouth
who sets my body and my mind on fire.
I surrender to the pull of attraction and the promise of pleasure in his heated gaze.
But those smoldering dark eyes of his are also full of secrets.
Playing with that kind of fire is a fool’s game. And I am no fool.
So, when our night together ends on less than happy terms, I’m sure it’s for the best.
When a work project brings us back together,
I’m determined to keep Simon where he belongs – in my rearview.
Fate, however, has a different plan.
Simon breaks down my walls one sexy, wicked smile at a time.
And I discover that behind his brooding, secretive facade, lies a heart of pure gold.
Soon, all I do is dream…of his touch, his kisses,
and of a love good enough and strong enough to last forever.
But I’ve got secrets of my own.
And when they rear their heads,
nothing will be the same again.
I look at Simon, ready to make a quip about how they look like two kids sneaking off together. My words die in my throat at the unabashed desire in his eyes.
He doesn’t say a word. There’s no need when that look says everything.
He puts his hand out and I take it. As soon as our palms touch, I know I made the right decision. If this benign touch sends my senses into a tailspin, what’s he going to do to the rest of me?
He links our fingers and brings my hand to his mouth. I shiver at the press of his warm lips and the heated promise in his eyes. I let him lead me out of the restaurant, across the street to catch the tube. But just when I dig out my fare card, he sticks his hand out to hail a black cab.
We get in, and despite the roomy back seats, we sit next to each other, thigh to thigh, both facing forward but if the way the air in the cab cracks with chemistry and attraction is anything to go by, he’s as aware of me as I am of him.
“Where to?” The cabbie’s barked question breaks our spell momentarily and we turn to look at each other. “Is my place okay?” I ask absently, my eyes glued to his mouth.
He nods as if unable to speak. I rattle off my address to the cabbie, and he pulls away from the curb.
“Addie,” Simon’s husky voice is tinged with urgency. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
When I turn to him, his eyes are on my mouth. I lick my lower lip and he bites his.
“So are you,” I confess in a whisper and the rush of anticipation makes my whole body tingle.
“Princess, you’re killing me.” He lets out a soft groan and his head moves toward mine, and my eyes flutter closed.
Time slows making me aware of every single fraction of every single second that passes before his lips finally touch me.
They softly press to the corner of my mouth and every thought flees my mind. The touch is as light as a whisper, and yet I feel it all the way to the tips of my toes. He moves his lips across mine—brushing back and forth—and with every single touch, I am unraveling. And for once, the idea of coming apart doesn’t scare me.
Author Bio:
Dylan Allen is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling author.
She’s a Texas girl, with a serious case of wanderlust, Dylan’s travels influence her writing and she loves being able to take her readers on adventures from the comfort and safety of their favorite reading nook.
A self-proclaimed happily ever junkie, Dylan creates stories where her characters unapologetically chase their own happy endings.
When she isn’t writing or reading, eating or cooking, she and her family are planning their next adventure.
In Too Deep L.K. Shaw (To Love and Protect Series, #1) Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
In search of my missing brother, I cross paths with a sexy, but dangerous man. Everywhere I go, he watches me with a heated gaze that sets my body on fire. I’m helpless against the forbidden attraction.
But a vicious crime lord wants us both dead, and soon we’re in a fight for our lives. When the battle ends, secrets are revealed, and I discover the man I’m falling in love with isn’t who he says he is. Will I ever be able to trust him again?
“Will you stay with me tonight? I don’t think I can be alone.” My words were barely above a whisper.
Tomás’ look was pained. He shook his head. “It’s not a good idea, Ines.”
I clasped his hand between mine and squeezed it against my chest. “Please.”
He warred with indecision, but I knew the moment he made his choice. He took the keys from my hand and led me inside, closing and locking the door behind us. I flipped on the light and removed my hat, laying it on the side table. Next, I slipped out of my heels, leaving them at the door. I padded barefoot across the living room until I reached the kitchen, my body humming with awareness of the man following behind me. Tension radiated off him, and I could hear his soft footsteps. I grabbed two beers out of the fridge and popped the top off both before turning and handing him one.
Our eyes connected, and neither of us broke contact. Tomás continued his white-knuckled hold on his at the same time I took a long pull from mine. My body thrummed, and my core pulsed. A spark lit my fingers when he slipped the bottle from them, our skin grazing, and set both mine and his on the counter. In one long stride, he was almost pressed up against me. We were so close, we practically breathed in each other’s air. My nipples hardened with arousal, and when he reached up and brushed a strand of hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear, my breath hitched.
“You’re so beautiful and far too good for me.” Tomás’ voice was husky.
Slowly, he backed me up until I ran up against the counter, out of room, his arms caging my body. Not that I wanted to go anywhere. With infinite care, like he was waiting for me to stop him, Tomás dipped his head, our gazes still colliding, and brushed a kiss across my lips. His touch was featherlight, and I wanted more.
Author Bio:
LK Shaw is the bestselling author of the sexy, sinful suspense. She resides in South Carolina with her high maintenance beagle mix dog, Miss P. An avid reader since childhood, she became hooked on historical romance novels in high school. She now reads, and loves, all romance sub-genres, with dark romance and romantic suspense being her favorite. LK enjoys traveling and chocolate. Her books feature hot alpha heroes and the strong women they love.
Want a FREE short story? Be sure to sign up for her newsletter and download your copy of A Birthday Spanking, a short story set in the Doms of Club Eden world! http://bit.ly/LKShawNewsletter
This is no ordinary book club! When the group chooses a book, they are whisked away from reality to find themselves totally immersed in the story. The characters, the setting, and the murder all come to life. In order to exit the book, they’ll need to solve the mystery and reach The End.
This time, the club chooses a mystery that takes place in a quaint western town – in the old Wild West. That sounds like great fun, until they arrive in the dusty old town in the Arizona desert, among cowboys and saloons. They discover that the outhouse isn’t the worse thing about this trip.
The good news is that Paige, Glo, Zell, Frank, and the other members of the club discover plenty of surprises here, and they have a great time visiting a piece of history. They’ll get to live through many exciting moments as they unravel this cozy mystery story.
Book Details:
Genre: Paranormal Cozy Mystery Published by: Better Beginnings, Inc. Publication Date: November 2022 Number of Pages: 250 ASIN: B0BB1HS7XL Series: Magical Mystery Book Club #3 Book Links:Amazon | Goodreads
Read an excerpt from Chapter 2 of Cowboys and Chaos:
“Hey,” said Forrest. “Who’s that guy in the backyard?”
Everyone shuffled over to the window. A man was roaming around the property with what appeared to be a metal detector in his hands.
He removed his brown fedora, and his wild brown hair joined his golden scarf to blow wildly in the wind. He methodically ran the device back and forth over the lawn. Every few minutes he would stop and kneel on the grass, leaving wet spots on the knees of his khaki cargo pants. He’d put his ear to the ground, then pop up with a gleeful look on his face and continue scanning the lawn. He reached into one of the pockets of his brown safari jacket and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He aimed them around the yard and then up into the sky.
I opened the back door and stepped outside.
“Hello? Excuse me?” I called. “Can I help you?”
The man walked briskly over to us. He thrust out his hand toward me. “Dr. Atticus Papadopoulos. A pleasure.”
“Paige Erickson. Nice to meet you.” Even in shock, my manners prevailed.
The group had followed me outside and were standing in a circle gawking at him. The man put down his device and efficiently went from person to person. He reached out and shook each person’s hand. He looked each one in the eye and listened intently to their name as if he were memorizing it. He even reached down and shook Frank’s paw.
Frank looked him up and down and examined his archaeological professor-like outfit. “Hello Dr. Jones. Welcome to the Snapdragon Inn.”
“Ah! Wonderful, wonderful. The cat speaks! Marvelous!” He clapped his hands. “Actually, it’s Dr. Papadopoulos, but you can call me Atticus,” he said, totally missing Frank’s reference to Dr. Indiana Jones from Raiders of the Lost Ark. “Your ability to communicate is one more sign that the crossover exists at this point! Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!”
When he completed the circle, he verified my suspicion that he’d been memorizing our names by pointing at each person in turn. “Paige. Glo. Zell, Sebastian, Vee, Moonbeam, Forrest. And of course, the fascinating, remarkable Frank.”
The cat stood taller, and I could just about see his head growing in size. Exactly what we needed, a person to boost Frank’s already bursting ego.
“Sooo, Atticus. What are you doing here?” Glo asked as she came to stand beside me, hands on her hips, looking the stranger in the eye.
“Yeah,” said Zell, charging to the front of the group and standing nearly toe to toe with him. She looked up into his face, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. With her diminutive size and cotton ball-like hair she looked anything but intimidating. “And what’s with the metal detector? Looking for buried treasure?”
“Ah, good question, Zell. This is not a meager metal detector. It alerts me to points of extraterrestrial energy.”
“Are you a kook, then?”
Atticus threw back his head and laughed, his wild hair flopping back and forth with the movement. “No, madam, not a kook. I am a doctor of astrobiology; my major area of interest is extraterrestrial technology and travel.”
“What the heck is astrobiology?” Zell squinted her eyes at him.
“A woman with a curious mind. I like it.” He nodded in approval.
I glanced at Glo and rolled my eyes. Great. Now another ego being stroked. Zell and Frank were already impossible to live with, this would boost their annoy-ability level.
“Astrobiology is the academic field that studies the origins of life on our Earth and the existence of life elsewhere in our universe. The study of extraterrestrial visits is my main area of interest. Your inn happens to be at a key crossover point for a confluence of energy.” He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels looking pleased with his discovery.
Zell had an abnormally studious look on her face. “What do you mean by a confluence of energy, Doctor?”
Glo and I chuckled, since Zell’s normal response to him would have been, “Huh? Whatcha talking about?”
“Excellent question, again.” He pointed at Zell with a snappy movement. “Energy encircles our planet both horizontally and vertically.” His arms flailed about as he demonstrated the circles, then he crossed his arms, one atop the other. “At certain points the lines join and there is a high level of intra-space energy. These locations are an ideal landing spot for extraterrestrials, or for the creation of a time/space portal. This inn sits directly atop a high energy confluence crossover point.”
“Well, that’s not a surprise,” said Zell. “We do have an enchanted library with magical books that take us inside them for adventures.”
“Zell!” We all yelled as one.
“Yes! I knew it!” Atticus pumped his arm. “I want in. Can you take me on one of your adventures?”
***
Excerpt from Cowboys and Chaos by Elizabeth Pantley. Copyright 2022 by Elizabeth Pantley. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Pantley. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Elizabeth Pantley says that writing her Mystery and Magic book series is the most fun she’s ever had at work. Fans of the series say her joy is evident through the engaging stories she tells. Elizabeth is also the international bestselling author of The No-Cry Sleep Solution and twelve other books for parents. Her books have been published in over twenty languages. She lives in the Pacific Northwest, a beautiful inspiration for her enchanted worlds.
Maggie’s Mark Michelle Cornish (Ceiba Cartel, #1) Publication date: January 31st 2021 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense
The CIA told me to hunt him down. Instead, I fell in love with him.
It’s 1987 and CIA officer Maggie Barnes has the opportunity of her life—take down Ricardo Ceiba Colombia’s most prominent drug lord.
But the more Maggie learns about Ricardo and the deeper she goes undercover, the more she sees Ricardo for who he really is. Her mission becomes an impossible choice—take down the man she loves or betray her country.
Ricardo leaned in close to Maggie and Garcia. “Why don’t we talk outside?” he asked. “It’s a little quieter out there. Not much . . .” he glanced at the band “. . . but a little.” He shrugged and offered his hand to her again, and she accepted, following him out onto the balcony.
When they arrived on the balcony, she was surprised Garcia and Carlos hadn’t followed them. She tried to peer inside to see if they’d sat back down on the couch, but there were too many people dancing to the salsa band to see through the crowd. She knew the brothers didn’t make decisions without consulting each other. This was likely a ploy to get her away from Garcia.
A waiter arrived at their side, holding a tray of drinks, and Ricardo lifted a flute of champagne off the tray and handed it to Maggie. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had champagne, but of course, Magdalena Sanchez would not have refused the glass.
“Thank you,” she said, meeting Ricardo’s gaze. He was a sophisticatedly handsome man. His warm brown eyes were almost intimidating. She could see why he was so respected. If she didn’t know he was a cartel boss, she’d think he was another type of businessman, maybe an investment banker. Although he was dressed much more casually than an investment banker might dress. He wore a powder blue polo shirt, beige khakis, and dark brown loafers.
He grabbed a champagne flute of his own then clinked it against her glass. “Welcome to Bogota.”
She smiled and sipped the champagne, keeping her eyes locked on his the whole time. There was something about him. She swallowed her champagne then inhaled deeply, catching a waft of his woodsy cologne.
“Shall we sit?” He gestured to a seating area where white wicker furniture with bright yellow cushions welcomed them. A yellow orchid perched on an end table next to one of the chairs. “Magdalena,” he said once they were seated. “Such a beautiful name.”
“Thank you.” She took another sip of her champagne, surprised that her glass was almost empty. Why did this man make her so nervous? Where she would have expected to feel the same disgust she felt for his brother, there was only intrigue.
Maggie eyed the orchid next to Ricardo. She had never seen one with so many blooms. He turned to the plant and plucked one of its flowers then leaned closer to her and tucked it behind her ear.
She lightly touched it with her fingers, not wanting to disrupt it. Ricardo trailed a finger along her jawline and her skin tingled beneath his touch. She closed her eyes briefly, then stood and walked to the balcony railing.
Beyond the floodlights of the mansion was the vast jungle. It was under darkness now, and she sensed danger could easily lurk there. No wonder there were so many armed men out front. To the right of where the stone patio led into the jungle was a pool lit from underwater. The aquamarine water was peaceful and still it resembled glass.
Palm trees rustled in the jungle below, and alarm bells rang in her head. As she turned to warn Ricardo, somebody yelled, and the rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun blared through the air.
Author Bio:
Michelle strives to write the kinds of books she enjoys reading–complicated characters, a little romance, and a lot of mystery and intrigue. Strong women in sticky situations is her specialty!
You can find Michelle at www.michellecornishauthor.com. She also writes children’s books with her kids as A.J. Kormon.
Hearthstone Alpha A.C. Melody (Midgard Úlfrinn, #1) Publication date: February 15th 2023 Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance
Úlfr.
It’s the one thing they told her never to be, but can she keep that vow when it’s more than just her heart at stake?
Returning to Pine Grove should’ve been a golden opportunity, but things have changed in Reyna’s absence. Her childhood home is full of gorgeous men led by the magnetizing and infuriating Corbyn Bruschard. He threatens to unravel everything she believes is right, triggering her defenses. She’s determined to uphold the promises made to her parents. But the connection she feels to Corbyn makes her yearn for things they warned were too dangerous.
Corbyn walks a precarious line between animal instincts and human sensibilities. He knew Reyna was his the moment he scented her, luring him into a battle he hadn’t foreseen. His beautiful mate is a Valkyrie in Úlfr clothing, her proverbial shield deflecting him at every turn. But Corbyn knows the dangers that lurk in her denial. Their enemies are circling, rising from every direction, and there’s no bigger target than an Alpha’s Mate.
Corbyn will have to use every means necessary to keep Reyna safe, even those she fears the most.
“I’m not going to stay locked up in that house forever, Corbyn,” she stated firmly.
He actually snarled at her. Like she’d seen Breton do to Shayd her first night back. To her surprise, it did nothing but heighten the lust still churning wildly in her gut.
“Do you have any idea the things that went through my head when your brother called, scared to death to find you gone?” he demanded.
Okay. That snuffed the lust like a lid slamming down on a flame. Reyna swallowed hard, but she wasn’t about to back down.
“I know how to handle myself,” she stated stubbornly. “I’m from Chicago—”
“This isn’t the same, Reyna, and you know it,” he cut her off viciously.
“How am I supposed to know anything?” she shot back. “No one will talk to me. You all keep your mouths shut, expecting Serena and me to just follow orders without question yet never give us a reason why. I’m not going to stop, Corbyn. I haven’t answered to anyone in over seven years. I’m certainly not going to start now. So, if you’re going to sit there and tell me that I’m going to be treated like a damn prisoner, I will pack my things today and be done with it.”
Corbyn tensed, his gaze boring into hers as if he wanted nothing more than to call her bluff. But Reyna wasn’t bluffing. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and glowered out the windshield. His knuckles whitened before he grabbed the gear shift and put it in first. Just as quickly, he changed his mind and put it back into neutral, spinning on her.
“Dammit, Reyna, there’s got to be a compromise here, somewhere.”
Crap, really?
“What kind of compromise?” she asked suspiciously.
“No sneaking out at five in the morning for starters,” he stated heatedly, obviously needing to highlight that little tidbit first.
“I like to jog.”
He didn’t budge.
She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll wait until after breakfast, happy?”
“No. Sneaking. Out. Period,” he reiterated. “Tell someone. You’ll also be exchanging numbers with everyone today, and start carrying your phone with you at all times.”
Reasonable. It’s reasonable. There’s no need to throw a tantrum.
“Is that all?” she ground out.
“Hardly,” he answered. “Starting today, we will be taking turns staying with you, Serena, and Justin until we feel it’s safe enough not to.”
“And how is that not making us feel like prisoners, again?” Reyna balked.
Forget tantrum; she was going to deck him right in that perfectly sculpted jaw!
“It’s going to happen whether you like it or not,” he informed her. “We can’t focus on what needs to be done if we’re worried about the three of you. Even you pointed that out yesterday while avoiding the real subject.”
Reyna fumed. Damn him for turning her words against her and knowing why she’d used them.
“Sounds to me like your idea of compromising is all one-sided,” she pointed out heatedly. “I have things to do. Can I go now?”
The automatic locks engaged as he continued staring at her. “You’re on vacation—”
“Not anymore,” she cut him off. “My boss is expecting me downtown this morning, and I have to go unless I want to lose my job—which I don’t.”
“Then, Breton will take you,” Corbyn replied, his tone strained as if he were holding back a completely different reply. “And pick you up when you’re finished.”
Reyna’s jaw dropped as she glared holes into his profile. “You can’t be serious.”
“Very,” he deadpanned, though his tone was somewhat calmer.
He looked at her, his eyes roaming her freely again rather than trying to penetrate her bones.
“Won’t that leave Serena and Justin alone?”
“No,” he answered, leveling her with a stern look. “You’re not going to win this argument, Reyna. There’s no way in hell we’re leaving anything to chance, not with those who matter most to us. Now, get over here.”
She scoffed. As if.
“Please?” he added gently.
It took Reyna about ten seconds to reluctantly scoot across the bench seat, leaving a good arm’s length between them because it appeared he wasn’t going to drive anywhere until she did. If Corbyn thought she was done with her side of their little compromising barter, though, he was in for a big surprise.
Reyna inhaled sharply when he hooked his arm around her waist, lifted her, and set her down across his lap. With her feet facing the passenger door across the bench seat, her back was cradled in the crook of Corbyn’s left arm, though he still clutched the steering wheel.
Desire unraveled in Reyna’s veins, starting in her toes and working up to the roots of her hair. Every inch of her was once again hyper-aware of every inch of him, and she fought hard to keep her composure intact.
“Do you really think distance keeps you safe, falleg?” Corbyn asked softly, tugging her ponytail out from between the back of her head and his shoulder.
Fawk…what?
“Did you just call me fugly?” she snapped.
“Not even close,” he replied. “Answer the question, Reyna. I’m on to your evasion tactics.”
Well, aren’t we clever?
Author Bio:
A.C. Melody is a hybrid author of Erotic Romance and all its savory sub-genres. Confessed javaholic, introverted geeky girl with a twisted sense of humor and a wretched muse. She has a weakness for hard ass Alphas and the strong women who capture their hearts, without damaging their rough edges.
A lifetime lover of fairytales, myths, legends, and ancient pantheons, A.C. spends more time researching than writing. Her biggest goal is to provide new, captivating angles on old, favorite tales with enticing twists and characters that redefine preset expectations.
She’s 100% guilty of placing all her money on the underdogs, anti-heroes and shameless whores.
I LOVE THE COVER! After reading the first book, River Of Ashes by Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor, there was no way I was going to let the chance to read River Of Wrath go by. I enjoyed the illustrations inside too.
After the first few chapters, it all came back to me. That is a sign of a good book to me, that the author includes a recap to refresh our minds of what has happened in the past.
“Come not within the measure of my wrath.” William Shakespeare
Louisiana Sheriff Kent Davis…I can see him in his Stetson. Kent had moved to Tammany Parrish to get away from all the murders he had to deal with in New Orleans. Looks like they followed him. I am bracing myself for more horrific events, after what happened in River Of Ashes and I wasn’t disappointed. We start with receding flood waters and a dead body. There were already three unsolved murders.The deaths have all taken place around the river and St Benedict, a burned out abbey where the kids used to hang out.
A legend surrounds St Benedict of a lady in white and her wild dogs.
‘When the dogs appear, death is near.’
Leslie Moore’s sister, Dawn, had been murdered. A deal was struck…to make the murderer pay. But, be careful. When you make a deal with the devil, it can come with a very high cost. Would the cost be too much? Would the secrets come out regardless of those involved wanting them to stay hidden? Leslie can’t let it go. Her regrets and guilt haunt her. The murdered are gone, it’s the families that are left trying to cope, unable to move on with their lives, needing answers.
We meet a new character, Luke Cross. What’s up with him? I love when my spidey senses tingle, telling me to beware, to keep my eye on him. Sometimes they are good people, sometimes not. New people rarely come to town, so anyone that does deserves a look see.
One family, more or less, runs the town. The Devereauxs. Their history is cloudy and the entire town is affected by their past, present and future.
Does Leslie have some paranormal ability? Her dreams/nightmares show her the truth. Are they premonitions, or is it her intuition putting the pieces together. Leslie had always been the strong one. Now, she stumbles. She was lost when her other half, her twin Dawn, was murdered. She is growing stronger, preparing herself to face what is to come.
I almost need a playbook to track the players and their motivations.
River of Wrath has plenty of intrigue and suspense, with a gothic feel. Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Aster have some twists and turns to keep us on our toes. At times, my mind was spinning, trying to figure out who did what to who. If you are looking for ONE villain, you will have to look again.
I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of River Of Wrath by Alexandrea Weis.
4 Stars
Synopsis:
More secrets are about to be uncovered, beginning with the arrival of a handsome stranger, and the discovery of bones long buried beneath the river …
Leslie Moore is struggling to get through her last semester at St. Benedict High. Even her relationship with her boyfriend Derek is falling apart. But after receding floodwaters from the Bogue Falaya River expose the bones of a woman, Leslie becomes obsessed with tracking down the killer.
Sightings of an apparition haunting The Abbey send Leslie and her friends back to the scene of the horrors from last Halloween, but no one is prepared for what they find.
After a stranger—the handsome Luke Cross—arrives in town, another girl goes missing, and the sheriff suspects the newcomer is hiding something. Leslie believes the Devereaux family is connected to everything going wrong in St. Benedict. And she means to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.
Not all secrets can be kept silent. Some eventually find their way home.
Book Details:
Genre: Mystery/Thriller/Suspense/Horror Published by: Vesuvian Books Publication Date: January 2023 Number of Pages: 270 ISBN: 9781645480174 Series: St. Benedict series, Book 2 Book Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Vesuvian Media Group
Read an excerpt:
“Come not within the measure of my wrath.”
~William Shakespeare
CHAPTER ONE
Sweat gathered under the brim of Kent Davis’s Stetson as he walked the sandy beach along the Bogue Falaya River. He didn’t feel the brisk January breeze or pay attention to the mutterings of the forensic team. The unease burning in his gut shut out all distractions. He rested his hand on his belt, brushing against his Louisiana sheriff’s badge. The rub of metal reminded him of the oath he’d sworn to protect and serve, but on days like this, he hated his job.
Dispatch had initially deemed the early morning call from a frantic jogger a hoax. After an officer confirmed there was a body, Kent arrived at the scene to confront his worst nightmare—another murder. He already had three unsolved deaths weighing heavily on his department. Two high school students and a woman from out of town had died there in a matter of months. City leaders had been breathing down his neck for answers.
Kent studied the black body bag the technicians carried. This was only going to make his job harder.
His crew combed the beach, where receding floodwaters had exposed a young woman’s grave. From the looks of her bleached bones, partially covered in the remnants of a red dress, she’d been there for quite some time. He doubted they’d find anything admissible. There would be trace evidence, but no footprints, no debris, no blood, and no signs of struggle.
He climbed the steep hill from the beach to the parking area, scanning for any clues. Everywhere was a potential crime scene. After years of being in law enforcement, he doubted he could see the world in any other way.
“I don’t like this one bit, Bill,” Kent said, approaching the heavyset coroner waiting by the open doors of his van.
“What’s there to like. We got a dead girl who’s been buried here a long time.” Dr. Bill Broussard removed a pair of black-framed glasses from his egg-shaped head. “You might find a lead in old missing persons reports.”
“I’ll access the St. Tammany Parish database when I get to the station. Until then, she’s a Jane Doe.” Kent eyed the coroner’s van. “How long will it take to know something?”
Bill cleaned his glasses and moved out of the way while a technician slammed the doors closed. He waited until the man climbed into the driver’s side before responding. “You realize workin’ with old bones makes it harder to identify the cause of death. Let me get her to the lab, then we’ll see.”
“I got enough going on with Beau Devereaux, Dawn Moore, and Andrea Harrison.” Kent tipped back his hat. “This makes four bodies and no leads.”
“As soon as people catch wind of this, the gossip mill will run wild.” Bill motioned to the van. “We already got enough rumors flying around about serial killers and rapists on the loose.”
“But at least we know this isn’t a serial killer.”
“Do we?” Bill flipped through a few pictures on his phone and showed Kent the screen.
Kent looked at the bloody mess that had comprised the remains of Beau Devereaux. The golden boy of St. Benedict had been a football star and heir to the Devereaux fortune. The day Kent found his mutilated body along the river had been one of the worst of his career. Beau’s death, on the heels of the rape and grisly murder of Dawn Moore, had shattered his faith in their small town.
He squinted at the picture. “What am I missing?”
Bill pointed at Beau’s bruised and bloody neck. “Trachea isn’t midline. It’s in two pieces. In the autopsy, I discovered his neck had been broken.”
Kent thought of the murder cases that cluttered his desk. “Same as the Harrison girl. Her neck was broken. Any chance wild dogs could have done this?”
Bill’s meaty lips thinned into a line. “Harrison had no bite marks. Only Beau suffered extensive puncture wounds. For a dog to snap someone’s neck, it would have to be big and have impressive jaw strength. Until your men find me an animal like that, I’m leaving Beau’s death a homicide.” He wiped his damp brow. “What worries me is this woman’s bones show there might be a break in her neck, too. If that’s the case, someone around here could have a long history of murder.”
Kent grew irate. He’d left the turmoil of working for the New Orleans Police Department to get away from the steady dose of homicides. Ten years ago, St. Benedict had been the answer to a prayer for him, his wife, and their two boys. He didn’t want to think such horror could have remained hidden for so long in the idyllic town.
“Send me the preliminary results of the autopsy as soon as you get them.” Kent pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off a headache. “I want it in my hand when I tell Gage Devereaux what we found. He might recall someone who went missing. He’s lived here all his life and is bound to have heard something.”
Bill swatted at a passing fly. “He won’t be happy to hear about another body. You know how protective he is of St. Benedict.”
“Yep. I expect this will piss him off.”
The patriarch and owner of the biggest employer, Benedict Brewery, Gage oversaw everything in the town. Some called him a control freak—a trait many had seen in his son, Beau—but to Kent, Gage was thorough, detail-oriented, and would have made a great detective if he hadn’t taken over the family business.
“He’s gonna ask you if this has anything to do with the investigation into Beau’s death.” Bill frowned. “What’re you gonna tell him?”
Kent clenched his jaw. “We don’t know if any of these deaths are related.”
“Yet,” Bill added. “Seems like an awfully big coincidence to me.”
Kent pulled keys from the front pocket of his jeans. “There’re too many coincidences going on around here, and they all seem to center on this damned river. When can you get me a DNA report?”
“Might take a while.” Bill scratched his head. “Budget constraints and the backlog of cases clogging the system have slowed everything down.”
“How long are we talking? A week?”
Bill snorted. “More like weeks. A long-dead Jane Doe isn’t exactly a priority. Otherwise, we could get a rush on it.”
“Then we’ll just have to wait and see what we get back,” Kent grumbled.
Bill went to the driver’s side of the van and spoke to the technician. He then waved at Kent before walking away.
The sheriff waited as the van slowly eased onto the main road, with Bill’s black SUV following close behind.
Alone, Kent removed his hat and gazed up at the tall pines rimming the parking lot. Cresting above the tallest of the trees was The Abbey’s single charred limestone spire—its twin lost in the fire.
The serene place had witnessed so many atrocities—suicide, fire, and Dawn Moore’s murder. Kent would never understand what the Benedictine monks who founded the seminary ever saw in that cursed land. Legends about the abandoned abbey and its wild dogs had floated around the community for as long as anyone could remember.
When the dogs appear, death is near.
He’d never believed any of the stories until now. Kent feared there might be some truth to the legend, after all.
And the worst was yet to come.
***
Excerpt from River of Wrath by Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor. Copyright 2023 by Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor. Reproduced with permission from Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor. All rights reserved.
Author Bios:
Alexandrea Weis:
Author Alexandrea Weis, RN-CS, PhD, is an award-winning author, advanced practice registered nurse, and wildlife rehabber who was born and raised in the French Quarter. She has taught at major universities and worked with victims of sexual assault, abuse, and mental illness in a clinical setting at many New Orleans area hospitals. She is a member of the International Thriller Writers Organization and Horror Writers Association.
Co-author Lucas Astor is an award-winning author and poet with a penchant for telling stories that delve into the dark side of the human psyche. He likes to explore the evil that exists, not just in the world, but next door behind a smiling face. Astor currently lives outside of Nashville, TN.
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Teach Me L. L. Ash Publication date: February 14th 2023 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
From the Bestselling Author of HIM.
Mia
I’ve been trying to get that TA job ever since my senior year at college. I’m in my last semester of my Master’s degree and finally got the job. Only problem is our new professor is a sexy, middle aged, brilliant writer and an even better teacher. He runs the English department and now he’s my boss, my professor, and the center of every last one of my fantasies. There’s no way I should want him this much, but it’s those dang glasses and that smile and that little dimple in his chin. I was swooning the moment I met Professor Harlo, but the moment he opened his mouth, I fell in love.
Owen
This is the last thing I wanted. I’m fresh off a divorce and with two kids and two demanding careers, I don’t have the time or energy for this. Except, this girl sticks inside my brain like ABC gum and I can’t shake her. Doesn’t help that we’re crammed in my office grading papers several days a week for hours at a time. The whole innocent thing she has going on kept me away, but she’s a writer too, and I made the mistake of reading her half finished romance book. Unfortunately for me, the things I love about this girl are her mind and spirit, and those are the two things I can’t say no to.
And I’m not joking about that. If I couldn’t write, I would be absolutely useless to society. Some people take antidepressants, or do yoga or hike, or eat really good chocolate ice cream. For me, I write. It’s my therapy, if you will.
So, to say that my creative writing class was my favorite my first year of college was a bit of an understatement. I mean, I’d taken it every year since I started college. When I became knowledgeable enough to become the class’s TA, oh my God, it was like a dream come true.
Sure, being a teaching assistant was mostly just correcting tests, reading papers and doing the grunt work that my professor didn’t have time to do, but I didn’t care. I was going to be learning from some of the best, and my writing was going to benefit. Hell, maybe I’d even try to publish!
Now, the big obstacle ahead of me was getting the job.
I stood outside my professor’s office door, waiting for time to tick by because I was ten minutes early.
“Goddamnit!” I heard from behind the office door and my eyes widened.
Professor Harlo was new, replacing my recently retired professor. A spike of worry shot through me, wondering if the man had a temper.
The door swung open and there Professor Harlo was, over six feet tall, in slacks and a white shirt, deft fingers ripping off his tie.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered, jumping a little when he saw me there outside his door. “You here for the TA job?”
I nodded dumbly, my head bobbing up and down while he dabbed at his shirt. The big brown coffee stain on the front of his shirt finally grabbed my attention.
“Are you ok?” I finally bumbled, grabbing the tissue out of his hand so I could vigorously rub at the stain. “Did it burn you?”
Professor Harlo raised an eyebrow at me and watched me make a bloody fool of myself while I cleaned off my professor.
Oh God…
I finally blinked, realizing what I was doing, and shoved the napkin back at him.
“Sorry, I don’t know what I was…”
“Know how to get this out?” he asked, pointing to the spot and interrupting my apology.
I nodded.
“Good,” he said, waving me into his office as he wandered back in himself.
Those fingers, long and dexterous, started unbuttoning his shirt, starting from the neck down. I watched slack-jawed while he didn’t even bother glancing at me.
“Consider this a trial run,” he said finally, sliding his shirt off his arms before he bunched it against his bare chest.
Uh, yes, bare chest. And what a chest it was! His skin was pale, but there were muscles there that many academic men never bothered to develop. A dusting of freckles sprinkled across his pecs, and a peppering of dark hair trailed down into the band of his slacks.
“Hey,” he called, making the ‘I’m watching you’ motion with his fingers and eyes. “Get this all cleaned up and you’ve got the job.”
I blinked, clearing my mind as he shoved the shirt at me and pulled on an old man cardigan that fit him so well; the horn rimmed glasses on his face accentuating his dark, carmel colored eyes.
“What’s your name, by the way?” he asked once he was dressed again.
I drew my eyes away from the little triangle of chest and neck I was staring at and looked him in the face.
“Mia,” I stammered. “Mia Miller.”
“That’s fun enunciation,” he said with a grunt. “Ok, Miss Mia Miller. I want that back by tomorrow. Can you handle it?”
I lifted my eyebrows and nodded.
“Good,” was all he said before grabbing his leather briefcase bag and moving past me through the door, locking it on the way out. “By lunch tomorrow!”
I watched him saunter off after locking his office door behind us, and felt like my entire world had just imploded in that tiny room.
Once he was gone though, it was easier to breathe, and when I got some oxygen into my brain, I was able to finally convince myself of how idiotic my little instant crush was. Not only was my professor likely ‘over the hill’ and in his forties, but he was going to be my boss. Because yeah, I was getting the darn job, and no amount of coffee stained shirts were going to get in my way.
Shutting off the blood flow to my little love button, I stuffed the shirt into my backpack and hurried to my next class. Math. Yuck.
Author Bio:
L.L. Ash is a Washington-born writer who has traveled and lived across the western coast of the US. Ash has been writing fiction since she was a pre-teen, and while her writing has improved since then, her love for literature has not changed.
Oftentimes you can find Ash reading an indie romance or enjoying a historical fiction. Dabbling in culinary arts and music, Ash has been an artist for decades but found her true love and passion in romances.
Jonah Ali Lucia Sky (Somnolence, #3) Publication date: February 14th 2023 Genres: New Adult, Paranormal, Romance
The most heartbreaking truth is finding that you aren’t the master of your own destiny.
Lizzy Phillips is healing from an attack that she suffered at a Somnolence concert years ago, and struggling with facts that came to light during the last tour. Feeling like the odd girl out, she can’t find her footing in this world.
The only thing Jonah Creed has ever known is that Lizzy and he are Written in the Stars. They are destined to be, and knowing she’s his Tether only reaffirms that. Until she ran from his arms during the last tour.
Now he has her back, but she’s not what either of them expected and they both have hungers to feed.
Please be advised by the trigger warning inside the book.
It’s recommended that you read the series in order beginning with RAIDEN.
Listen, little one. I’m not going to tell you that I like the little shit, but I will tell you that you can’t continue avoiding your mate. It’s unnatural and unhealthy.” Nix tosses up a blade and catches it by its handle.
Harrison nods, not looking from the financial papers and contracts sent over from CypherSphere Records, the label that Somnolence and Grimm Fables are on. He hums. “Nix does have a point.”
“Really, Harrison? I hope you are talking about the one at the end of the knife he’s playing with.” My tone is surly but ever since I heard about this Tether nonsense, I’ve been grouchy. The way it sounds to me is, Jonah’s only with me because of some mystical mojo and not because he really and truly loves me. That’s a deal breaker. A real no-go for me, even though I yearn for him.
Harrison tsks. “I know Lilah explained Tethers to all of you. You needn’t have any more spelled out to you, do you?”
I snort like a child in response to Harrison’s comment. “I don’t believe in predestination.”
Nix smirks and laughs in a mocking way that makes me want to crawl over the table and fork him in the eye. He taps the blade on his bottom lip as he grins. “Well sure, not since it more or less was proved to exist to you. Why go with the flow when you can be a petulant child? Before all this, you were roses and hearts. ‘Jo says it’s written in the stars’ this and ‘Jo says we belong together’ that. Destiny was fine then. Now that it has meaning in the grand scheme of things… what?”
“It’s a trap, Nix,” I toss out brattily. “A great lie. A scam. We’re all just data in some part of a matrix program.”
“You watch too much Netflix,” Harrison says distractedly.
“It was on Hulu,” I correct.
Harrison slides half his grapefruit my way. “Go ahead, you clearly need some fruit, Elizabeth.”
Nix snickers.
Harrison’s phone chimes with a personal ringtone of “A Bushel and a Peck” by Doris Day announcing it’s Vivi’s mom, Leona, on the other end.
“Hello, dearest,” he answers, sounding like a lovelorn man from the past.
Nix puckers his lips blowing me a kiss and then mouthing hello dearest, before laughing.
I kick him in return. He narrows his eyes, holds up his knife and points it in my direction. It’s a KA-BAR Becker 1095 Black Harpoon Point. I got it for him as a thank you for being awesome. It would be ironic if he slipped now and cut off an appendage while acting like a fool.
I know he’d never really hurt me with it. He’s uncouth, difficult, and hates all humans except for me–he treats me like he would a priceless gift and family member.
I get up with a sigh and point his way, then do the universal sign for ‘I have eyes on you’ while heading to my room at Harrison’s. True love between adults is creepy, and I’m not hanging around to listen to the mushy gushy way Harrison talks to Leona.
Author Bio:
Ali Lucia Sky is the author of The Powers That Be and Somnolence series. She lives in Southern California with her husband and a house full of kitty cats, a yard full of crows, a backyard of ferals and a possum affectionately named Garcia.
She loves laughing, drinking good coffee, vegan food, and supporting animal rescues.
When she isn’t writing or dreaming of new stories, she can be found planning her next vacation because traveling is life.
If you encounter her in the wild, don’t be offended if she should run away. She’s timid with strangers, but can be plied with shiny things and pictures of your cat or dog.
Young architect Wren Fontaine lands her dream job: restoring Greenleaf House, New York’s finest Gilded-Age mansion, to its glory days. But old homes have old secrets: Stephen Greenleaf—heir to what’s left of his family’s legacy—refuses to reveal what his plans are once the renovation is completed. And still living in a corner of the home is Stephen’s 90-year-old Aunt Agnes who’s lost in the past, brooding over a long-forgotten scandal while watching Wren with mistrust.
Wren’s job becomes more complex when a shady developer who was trying to acquire Greenleaf House is found murdered. And after breaking into a sealed attic, Wren finds a skeleton stuffed in a trunk. She soon realizes the two deaths, a century apart, are strangely related. Meanwhile, a distraction of a different kind appears in the form of her client’s niece, the beautiful and seductive Hadley Vanderwerf. As Wren gingerly approaches a romance, she finds that Hadley has her own secrets.
Then a third murder occurs, and the introverted architect is forced to think about people, and about how ill-fated love affairs and obsessions continue to haunt the Greenleafs. In the end, Wren risks her own life to uncover a pair of murderers, separated by a century but connected by motive. She reveals an odd twist in the family tree that forever changes the lives of the Greenleafs, the people who served them, the mansion they all called home—and even Wren herself.
Praise for The Greenleaf Murders:
“A delightful who-done-it in which the house is as engaging as the wonderful heroine. Readers will want to get lost in these rooms and these pages.”
Cate Holahan, USA Today bestselling author of Her Three Lives
“If you love houses and puzzles – which I do – you will be captivated by THE GREENLEAF MURDERS, the first in Richard Koreto’s new series. Equally sure-footed in the gilded age of the mansion’s heyday and the contemporary world of its decline, Koreto has woven a pretzel of a plot, introduced a charming new heroine, and whetted appetites for more grave deeds and grandeur.”
Catriona McPherson, multi-award-winning author of the Dandy Gilver series
“The Greenleaf Murders mixes a modern suspense mystery with the love of old-world mansions and iconic High Society. Buried secrets threaten a family clinging to their former glory as two murders surface, a century apart. Koreto weaves a story that creates the perfect tension between the beauty of the golden era and the fear of a killer in plain sight.”
L.A. Chandlar, national best selling author of the Art Deco Mystery Series
“One would think that a murder mystery featuring old homes, architecture, and rich blue bloods would be a dull read, but that’s not the case with R.J. Koreto’s finely-written “The Greenleaf Murders.” Filled with twists and turns and sharply-drawn characters, this well-done novel is very much recommended.”
Brendan DuBois, award-wining and New York Times bestselling author
Book Details:
Genre: Cozy Mystery Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: November 2022 Number of Pages: 264 ISBN: 9781685122089 Series: Historic Homes Mysteries, #1 Book Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Level Best Books
Read an excerpt:
Last night, Wren had dreamt she went to Manderley again.
When she was fifteen, her mother had given her a copy of Rebecca, saying it was one of her favorites. A voracious reader, Wren finished it in a few days, but her reaction was not what her mother had hoped for.
“Rebecca was horrible, but Maxim was no prize either. And the second Mrs. De Winter—kind of wimpy.”
“You didn’t like anyone in that book?” asked her exasperated mother.
“I liked Mrs. Danvers. I know she was insane, but she really appreciated the house. If people had been nicer to her, maybe she wouldn’t have burned it down. The best part of the book was Manderley. I’d have liked to live there, in splendid isolation, and Mrs. Danvers would take care of things. She was the only one in the book who knew how to do something.”
Her mother just stared. What teenaged girl talked about living by herself in an ivy-covered British mansion? She kissed her daughter on her forehead. “Wren, you really are an old soul.”
But although Manderley was her first love, Wren proved fickle, and also fell in love with Holyrood House, Blenheim Palace, and Versailles.
A succession of guidance counselors worried about Wren, although she gradually learned to make friends, and even go on dates. However, nothing could replace her love for houses, and it was a foregone conclusion by college that she would become an architect like her father and spend as much time as possible working with houses and not people. And not just any houses, but the kind no one had lived in for a long time.
As Wren approached 30, her father made her a junior partner and told her if he could close the deal with Stephen Greenleaf, he’d let her take full responsibility for Greenleaf House. Once the proposal they had worked on so hard had been completed, Wren couldn’t think about anything beyond spending her days in that Gilded Age gem, one of the largest private residences ever built in New York City. Over the years, like the second Mrs. De Winter, she dreamed of Manderley, never more than when she was hoping for the Greenleaf job.
She came home late one evening after visiting a job site and found her father in the study of the home they still shared. Living at home had become a temporary convenience while she was at graduate school, which turned into a habit, as they liked each other’s company. Not that either would admit it.
She watched him sketch. Although the firm had an office in midtown Manhattan, her father preferred to work in the study of their Brooklyn townhouse. For normal work, she knew it was safe to interrupt him, but not while he did the sketches—his avocation, his passion, just him and his pencils, creating columns and cornices, chair railings, and gargoyles. The only light poured from the desk lamp, illuminating the fine paper and her father’s high-domed forehead. She wanted to know if he had heard anything—but had to wait patiently.
Eventually, the scratching stopped, and he put his pencil down.
“If you haven’t eaten yet, Ada left her spaghetti and meat sauce in the refrigerator. She’s a fine housekeeper, but that particular dish is a little common.”
“Only you would describe a dish of pasta as ‘common.’”
“You know what I mean. And if you don’t understand the context, you shouldn’t be an architect.”
“Fine. But I think it’s delicious.”
“Yes,” he said, with a touch of impatience. “I didn’t say it wasn’t delicious. I said it was common.” He swiveled in his chair and smiled. “But you’re really here to ask if I’ve heard from Greenleaf? I told him today that we couldn’t put aside our other projects indefinitely. And that Bobby Fiore was the only contractor we could trust, and we couldn’t ask him to postpone other jobs, so with a few arguments about the price, he agreed.”
Wren laughed, did a little dance, and punched the air. Then she ran and hugged her father, which he tolerated. “I knew you’d convince him. You are the most wonderful father.”
“Wren. Take a seat.” He said it in his even, measured tone, the one he used for serious discussions. Wren wiped the smile from her face, pulled up a chair, and tucked a rebellious lock of hair behind her ear. In the half-dark room, he took her hands in his.
“I have no doubt that you have the technical skills for this job. My concern is the personal skills. These are the Greenleafs. They were a force in this city when it was still New Amsterdam. We see their house merely as an architectural jewel. The family sees it as a symbol of how tightly they are tied to the history of this city. They are different from other people.”
“People are people,” she said.
“First of all, no. People are different. And even if you were right, people are not your strong suit.”
“I’ve worked well with our clients,” she said defensively.
“You referred to one of our clients as ‘a pompous bourgeois vulgarian.’”
Wren rolled her eyes. “Let’s not go there again. I didn’t say it to his face, just to you.”
“Do you think you hid your feelings?”
“You’ve said worse,” she countered. Then realized she had lost the argument when his eyes went up to the framed certificate on the wall—the Pritzker Prize, often called the Nobel Prize of architecture. I’ve earned my right to arrogance. You have a long way to go.
“Just remember that these people pay our bills. I know we often work to protect them from their own worse instincts, but let’s try to be a little more politic. Your mother used to say you lived in your own special world. But you have to join the rest of humanity every now and then. And that brings me back to Greenleaf House. This is the very important symbol of what was once one of the most important families in this city. Keep that in mind when dealing with Stephen Greenleaf.”
“We’ve already had several meetings, don’t forget. He didn’t seem that unusual to me—runs his own asset management firm. I’ve dealt with Wall Street types before. It won’t be a problem.”
“Wren.” Again, heavy on her name—all her life, this had been the sign of a serious conversation. “The Greenleafs made their money before there was a Wall Street. People like this are unusually touchy about their families and histories. Now that you’re actually starting, his behavior may change. There could be some emotional repercussions. To make this a success, you will have to watch out for those feelings and manage them.”
“And you’re about to say—again—that I understand houses but not people.”
“Let’s just say it’s more of an effort for you. You can work with people. You just don’t like to. But I made you a partner. So you can’t just do the fun parts of your job. You have to do it all.”
“Yes, father,” she said. He was serious, so there could be no more pushback from her. No verbal fencing. He wanted her to live up to his expectations.
“It isn’t your father who’s asking you, Wren. It’s the senior partner of this firm, Ms. Fontaine.”
She nodded. “I understand, Ezra.”
And then he lightened his face with a smile. “But before we move on to the particulars, there is one more piece of advice, this time from your father. It may be hard to remember in any residence we work on, but especially in one with more than 70 rooms, it is not just a house. It’s someone’s home. It was Mr. Greenleaf’s childhood home, in fact, and his aunt has lived there her entire life. You’re not very sentimental Wren—and that’s fine. Neither am I. But please remember that—it’s not just a building. It’s a home.”
***
Excerpt from The Greenleaf Murders by R.J. Koreto. Copyright 2022 by R.J. Koreto. Reproduced with permission from R.J. Koreto. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
R.J. Koreto is the author of the Historic Home mystery series, set in modern New York City; the Lady Frances Ffolkes mystery series, set in Edwardian England; and the Alice Roosevelt mystery series, set in turn-of-the-century New York. His short stories have been published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, as well as various anthologies.
In his day job, he works as a business and financial journalist. Over the years, he’s been a magazine writer and editor, website manager, PR consultant, book author, and seaman in the U.S. Merchant Marine. Like his heroine, Lady Frances Ffolkes, he’s a graduate of Vassar College.
With his wife and daughters, he divides his time between Rockland County, N.Y., and Martha’s Vineyard, Mass.
The Matchmaker’s Royal Mess Frieda J. Downing Publication date: November 25th 2022 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
She’d rather give a mountain lion a bikini wax than mess with love again.
Been there, went viral, never going back. Hattie Montague’s life as a backcountry guide for the spoiled and famous suits her just fine, thanks. It’s the only place she feels completely safe being herself. So what if she has nightmares that she can only speak squirrel and craves pine cones for breakfast? It beats leaving yourself vulnerable to humans. Fine, all of them aren’t bad. She likes probably three, so when one needs her help, she drags herself back to civilization. If she can navigate white water rapids, she can babysit a matchmaking office for a weekend. It’s not like she’ll have to deal with people or, you know, be nice. Ew.
Alexander Greye ruined her life ten years ago. Not his proudest moment. Known as the Winter Warlocke, he’s a man born and raised to lead a country with logical precision. Yet around her, he can’t seem to think rationally. He’s never met anyone who dives into the unknown like she does or tames chaos like she can. In a world as perfectly controlled as his, that makes her irresistible and utterly dangerous. And he’s willing to risk it all to thaw his frozen heart.
It’s half past too late when he realizes his carefully laid plans to win her over covered everything except the theft of the Crown Jewels, an abandoned mine where they’d have to face their deepest fears, and the betrayal that forces them to let go.Quite literally.
Warning: Not for the faint of heart. Sassy romantic adventure, with instances of chaos, misunderstandings, and feels. Oh, and the occasional sheep. Sparks will fly, it’s gonna get awkward, and the Happily-Ever-After will be well-earned.
Since the office doesn’t have a bathtub, I get resourceful. The closet, unfortunately, is a disaster of pillow guts and shelving covered in sheep-sized bite marks. No one would confuse me for a sheep expert, but I always thought it was goats that chewed everything to pieces. Maybe Calambity is part goat. Thankfully, the blue pillow tub is in one piece.
I carry it to the kitchenette and place it on the tile next to the sink. Once I have it situated, I pull the large plastic dustpan off the broom and place the wide bit under the faucet of the tiny sink with the narrow handle hanging off the side. When I crank the hot water, I watch the makeshift waterfall begin to fill my soon-to-be luxurious bath. I shut the curtains in Zoe’s office, then lay out the single towel I had packed. After I strip down, I test the water one more time. A quick soak to freshen up, then I’ll curl up with my pizza and catch up on some Netflix until CataXanderclysm shows.
I snort, rather pleased with myself for that one, then put some tunes on my phone. A summery, reggae sounding track fills the office. With arms overhead, I dance over to Zoe’s desk and snag the bath bomb I found earlier when I was looking for printer ink. Since Zoe said help yourself to anything, I’m doing just that. I’ll replace it tomorrow, along with everything else.
At long last, I get the thin, clingy plastic off the blue ball and, lifting it in a toast to the peace and quiet, I ease myself into the oversized bucket. If I were a tall girl, this could’ve been problematic. As it is, I have to bend my legs all the way for them to fit. It mostly works; only my knees poke out of the water. Despite that, it’s pure bliss. I drop the bright bath bomb in with a satisfying bloop. Tiny bubbles escape and an indigo cloud disperses. To my delight, it also appears to be a low-powered bubble bath. It doesn’t produce heaping mounds of fluff, but it’s enough to cover the surface with bluish white foam and fill my nose with the tantalizing fragrance of cupcakes. I close my eyes, inhale, and settle in as far as my coiled up appendages will let me. I savor the warmth and scent as they wrap around me. Since I don’t know the upbeat song playing, I make up words so I can sing along my way.
I can feel my hair still sticking up in all directions, so I tip first to one side, then the other to wet it down. However, I can’t get the middle strip, so I take a scoop of bubbles and form the remaining dry hair into a floppy fauxhawk. After that, I splash some of the scented water across my face. In the midst of one of those scrubbing sessions, the door to the office opens. Surprised, I suck in bath water and spend a solid ten seconds coughing and sputtering.
Lo-and-behold, my Personal Pain in the Stuff Sack leans against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest, one ankle casually crossed over the other. Too bad GQ isn’t here with cameras because Xander is cover model material in the flesh. The navy, single button suit he wears looks more expensive than most of the furniture in this office. Unfortunately, it also sets off his stormy eyes, making it practically impossible to notice anything but him. A smug grin creeps over his arrogant mug. “You look a little crazy right now.”
I scowl and hug my arms to my chest, doing my best to hide my panic. Natalie’s reminder to lock the door chooses that moment to waft through my brain, taunting me. “Why thank you. I owe it all to you. What on earth are you doing here?”
His grin grows. “I love what you’re wearing for our date.”
I hunker down deeper in the plastic storage tub and pull my knees a little tighter to my breasts. My heart’s pounding so hard it may be enough to churn more bubbles all by itself. How can he just stand there and flirt? “You act like you’ve never seen a woman having a bath before. Do us a favor and grow up.”
His lips twitch. “I’ve never seen you having a bath before. There’s a very important difference. Also, in all fairness, I’ve never seen any woman bathe in a storage bin, nor turn herself blue doing so.”
“Blue?” I glance down, then hiss. “Son of a cupcake scented bath bomb.”
Author Bio:
Nice to meet you. I’m Frieda. I write sweet contemporary romance as well as romantic adventure.
I blame it on my childhood babysitters. For some reason they thought I shouldn’t ride our family’s buffalo. Believe me, I was just as shocked as you. Though I never did get that buffalo ride, I found plenty of other creative outlets for my adventure needs. Some were good clean fun, some got me kicked out of various and sundry events, and others ended with me getting lost in catacombs. (Not metaphorically speaking. Somewhere there’s an Austrian catacomb caretaker? guy whom I owe dinner and a large apology.)
I like to think I’ve gotten a tiny bit wiser.
I married my best friend and dove head first into the magnificent cyclone known as raising kids. I mountain bike every chance I get, lose my coffee cup daily, and bake a mean lemon merengue pie, if I do say so myself. I may indulge in shenanigans on a regular basis, but I plead the fifth every time.
I suppose it’s important to me that you know how very much I love us crazy, broken humans. We dream so big. We try so hard. Yet somehow, so often, things just go terribly, horribly wrong.
That’s where my books begin… because that’s where the real love story’s found. I hope you enjoy reading them. Most of all, I wish you adventure, joy, and more love than you knew was possible,
