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.
Three to Get Ready Skye Warren (One for the Money, #3) Publication date: February 16th 2023 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
There’s a ticking time bomb in Finn Hughes’s head.
That means he has to prepare everyone. Eva. The baby. The company, which is in an uproar after the announcement. He needs to get them ready. Because when the curse hits, it will be too late to say goodbye.
Welcome to the Midnight Dynasty… The warring Morelli and Constantine families have enough bad blood to fill an ocean, and their brand new stories will be told by your favorite dangerous romance authors.
WARNING: This book is intended for readers eighteen years old and over. It contains material that some readers could find disturbing. Enter at your own risk…
Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dangerous romance. Her books have sold over one million copies. She makes her home in Texas with her loving family, sweet dogs, and evil cat.
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.
Wined and Died in New Orleans (A Vintage Cookbook) by Ellen Byron
About Wined and Died in New Orleans
Wined and Died in New Orleans (A Vintage Cookbook) Cozy Mystery 2nd in Series Setting – Louisiana Berkley (February 7, 2023) Mass Market Paperback : 288 pages ISBN-10 : 0593437632 ISBN-13 : 978-0593437636 Digital ASIN : B09TZPW81C
The second in a fantastic new cozy mystery series with a vintage flair from USA Today bestselling and Agatha Award–winning author Ellen Byron.
It’s hurricane season in New Orleans and vintage cookbook fan Ricki James-Diaz is trying to shelve her weather-related fears and focus on her business, Miss Vee’s Vintage Cookbook and Kitchenware Shop, housed in the magnificent Bon Vee Culinary House Museum.
Repairs on the property unearth crates of very old, very valuable French wine, buried by the home’s builder, Jean-Louis Charbonnet. Ricki, who’s been struggling to attract more customers to Miss Vee’s, is thrilled when her post about the discovery of this long-buried treasure goes viral. She’s less thrilled when the post brings distant Charbonnet family members out of the woodwork, all clamoring for a cut of the wine’s sale.
When a dead body turns up in Bon Vee’s cheery fall decorations, the NOPD zeroes in on Eugenia Charbonnet Felice as the prime suspect, figuring that as head of the Charbonnet family, she has the most to gain. Ricki is determined to uncover the real culprit, but she can’t help noticing that Eugenia is acting strangely. Ricki wonders what kind of secret her mentor has bottled up, and fears what might happen if she uncorks it.
In the second Vintage Cookbook Mystery, Ricki has to help solve a murder, untangle family secrets, and grow her business, all while living under the threat of a hurricane that could wipe out everything from her home to Bon Vee.
About Ellen Byron
Ellen’s Cajun Country Mysteries have won the Agatha Award for Best Contemporary Novel and multiple Lefty Awards for Best Humorous Mystery. Bayou Book Thief will be the first book in her new Vintage Cookbook Mysteries. She also writes the Catering Hall Mystery series under the name Maria DiRico.
Ellen is an award-winning playwright, and non-award-winning TV writer of comedies like Wings, Just Shoot Me, and Fairly Odd Parents. She has written over two hundred articles for national magazines but considers her most impressive credit working as a cater-waiter for Martha Stewart. An alum of New Orleans’ Tulane University, she blogs with Chicks on the Case, is a lifetime member of the Writers Guild of America and will be the 2023 Left Coast Crime Toastmaster. Please visit her at https://www.ellenbyron.com/
Book Title: Two Floors Above Grief: A Memoir of Two Families in the Unique Place We Called Home by Kevin M. O’Connor Category: Adult Non-Fiction (18+), 318 pages Genre: Non-Fiction, Memoir Publisher: 18th Floor Publishing Release date: November 2022 Content Rating: PG for two languages use and use of F-word.
Book Description:
As a child in the 1950s, Kevin O’Connor knew his house was different than those of his friends. A stately, three-story, nineteenth century Victorian. His bed tucked next to a stage in a former ballroom. His uncle and aunt lived with their three daughters on the floor below. A large electric organ stood stately in a corner of the first-floor mortuary business. Stacked caskets and an embalming room filled the basement.
Nobody had a house like his.
Set from the 1920s to ‘80s, Two Floors Above Grief is full of fascinating details and anecdotes about his upbringing as a funeral home child, brought to vivid life through a compelling collection of letters written by various family members who lived and worked together at the O’Connor Funeral Home in Elgin, Illinois. Blending the twenty-four-hour business of death and its constantly ringing phone with joy experienced through music, radios, pets, backyard basketball games, co-parenting, faith, and celebrations, O’Connor offers a reflective tale affirming the love of family and embracing life.
Kevin O’Connor enjoys chronicling the stories of families and friends through tracing genealogical histories and writing. His prior writing includes a dissertation, personal letters, articles, anthologies, and presentations delivered at conferences, seminars, and webinars. He brings people together personally and professionally. Collaborating with friends and relatives, he plans family and class reunions.
He sings and performs in theaters and is active with SMART Ride, a bicycling group that rides annually from Miami to Key West, raising funds for HIV awareness, treatment, and education. Kevin was an elementary teacher, principal, professor, and curriculum coordinator in California, Illinois, and Florida from 1973 to 2020. He authored content and provided training in areas including support for substitute teachers, LGBTQ advocacy, and Sexual Health/Family Life.
Kevin resides in Ft. Lauderdale with his husband, Leon. Their family includes five sons and seven granddaughters.
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.
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,
Book Details: Book Title: Standing Strong: The Real Life Story of Overcoming Adversity and Becoming Unstoppable in Life and Businessby Tina Brandau Category: Adult Non-Fiction (18+), 154 pages Genre: Memoir / Self-Help / Inspirational Publisher:Red Sky Publishing Publication Date: May 3, 2022 Content Rating: G: no bad language no sex etc
Book Description:
Is it possible to stand strong regardless of what life throws at you?
Standing Strongis a vulnerable, candid, and dramatic look into a forty-year-old woman’s journey when she found herself in the midst of a long healing process after a sudden and unimaginable accident. The doctors said she would never again function beyond that of a young child. Tina shares the story, the steps she took, and the life lessons she learned, including the unique view of the world she experienced along the way. No one gets out of this life unscathed, everyone faces stresses, challenges, setbacks, and adversity. Can you stand strong regardless of what life throws at you? Yes! Let Tina Brandau share with you the system, principles, and practices she used to help you see that anything is possible.
Tina Brandau is the premier life, leadership, and business “Success Coach.” She is an author, international speaker, coach, and founder of Success Coaching Solutions as well as a business executive of thirty years, wife, mom, lifelong learner, and serial entrepreneur. She believes the biggest challenge in life is to become all that you have the possibility of becoming.
