Book Bites8 - PDF Free Download (2024)

This book was given to JOANNA Rączkowska on Instafreebie. www.instafreebie.com

Authors’ Billboard Presents Book Bites 8

The Authors’ Billboard is proud to publish Book Bites 8. Enjoy a sampling —the first chapter or two — of a scintillating blend of contemporary and historical romances from award winning and NY Times and USA Today bestselling authors from two of our boxed sets: Kiss Me, Thrill Me (As Only You Can) and Rebels, Rogues, and Romantics.

Can’t figure out which flavor you’d like tonight? Maybe these will fire up your appetite. After all, your Kindle isn’t completely full, right? These twelve teasers are for lovers of romance stories of all heat levels and eras. They are available in their complete versions in: KISS ME, THRILL ME, seven contemporary yet thrilling romance novels, and REBELS, ROGUES, AND ROMANTICS, five historical romance tales that will make you wish you could go back in time to meet some of these fascinating chaps, hombres, rakes and Indian braves.

Please… feel free to visit our website, http://authorsbillboard.com to meet our authors and sign up for our weekly newsletter. It’s full of fabulous books for FREE or at special discounts, just for our wonderful subscribers. Sign up now and never miss a sale!

Hope to see you over at Authors’ Billboard soon! Mimi Barbour (Founder)

From Kiss Me, Thrill Me boxed set: Joan Reeves: Cinderella Blue Mimi Barbour: The Surrogate’s Secret Dani Haviland: Aye, I am a Fairy Alicia Street: Touch Me and Tango Mona Risk: Right Name, Wrong Man Patrice Wilton: For the Love of Candy Mona Risk: Her Greek Tycoon

From Rebels, Rogues, and Romantics: Dani Haviland: Dances Naked Taylor Lee: Aces Wild Katy Walters: Return to Rhonan Michele Hauf: Tame Me Not Suzanne Jenkins: The Liberation of Ravenna Morton

KISS ME, THRILL ME INTRODUCTION

A soft whisper against a lover’s lips, “Kiss me.” An unspoken plea in that soft whisper, “Thrill me.” Ah, yes! That’s what we all want: thrilling kisses, emotion-drenched words of love, moonlit rendezvous, and the promise of happy ever after. Kiss Me, Thrill Me offers all that and more in these seven contemporary romance novels by New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors. Some of these novels are heartwarming and some are heart-throbbing. Some will make you laugh and some will make you tear up. All will touch the hopeful romantic in you and make you believe in the magic of love. Kiss Me, Thrill Me—LOVE ME!

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Joan Reeves, NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, Cinderella Blue In this funny, sexy cop romance, Andrea–call me Andie–and Benton are two commitment-phobic cops with nothing in common—except the desire sizzling between them. Mimi Barbour, NY Times and USA Today Bestelling Author, The Surrogate’s Secret An international love story to delight the romantic. Miguel forces his dead brother’s surrogate to marry him so he can take her and her twin babies to Chile to save his beloved, sickly mother whose only cure is to see her grandchildren. Dani Haviland, USA Today Bestselling Author,

Aye, I Am a Fairy A time-travel romantic adventure with assaults, arson, a 230-year old video on a solar-powered smartphone, and two very different women awaiting the sharp British lord with a great secret. What will lovely Leah, the sassy heroine, do when she learns the truth? Alicia Street, USA Today Bestselling Author, Touch Me and Tango A lost love returns for one more dance–and a second chance at love. They fell for each other long ago, but reality intruded and broke them apart. When they meet again, the same passion flares between them. Can love prevail this time? Mona Risk, NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, Right Name, Wrong Man What’s a girl to do when she whispers another man’s name in her fiancé‘s arms? In this international medical romance, forbidden dreams about the sexy French surgeon, Dr. Yves Malroux, assail Mary-Beth at every turn. Torn between two loves, she flies to France to confront her past and the man she’d secretely loved for years. Patrice Wilton, NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, For the Love of Candy Fun, flirty, a little sexy, and a lot of humor–that’s chick lit romantic comedy at its best. Harrison Wolfe doesn’t want his twenty-year-old daughter to marry Candy’s son. Candy hasn’t met her yet, but knows they are too young. How can the parents keep them apart without their own attraction getting in the way? Mona Risk, NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, Right Name, Wrong Man What’s a girl to do when she whispers another man’s name in her fiancé‘s arms? In this international medical

romance, forbidden dreams about the sexy French surgeon, Dr. Yves Malroux, assail Mary-Beth at every turn. Torn between two loves, she flies to France to confront her past and the man she’d secretly loved for years. BONUS: Her Greek Tycoon by Mona Risk, NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author For another international romance, attraction sizzles between American attorney Ashley and Greek tycoon Stefano when they meet incognito in Mikonos Island. Later, when they meet in court, they’re ready to tear each other apart to protect their grandparents’ opposite interests. Will the heavens align for the grandchildren of thwarted lovers?

I hope you’ll fall in love with these stories and with these authors. If you do, please leave a short review. The authors will adore you for taking a few moments to do something that means so much to them. ***

CINDERELLA BLUE

Book 2, San Antone Two-Step

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author

BOOK DESCRIPTION

Available at Amazon

Cinderella Blue continues the story of San Antonio Police Detective Bruce Benton who was introduced in Nobody’s Cinderella. Confirmed player Benton meets his match in Detective Andrea Luft—Andie to her friends —when they are forced to work together to solve a case.

In Cinderella Blue, a Romantic Comedy, Love means never having to say, “You’re under arrest.” Too bad because Detective Andrea Luft—Andie to her friends—loves saying those 3 little words: “You’re under arrest.” She really loves saying them to a bad guy who so richly deserves jail time. Like the thief who’s stealing designer wedding gowns from San Antonio bridal boutiques. Andie is an undercover bride about to make an arrest when Detective Bruce Benton barges onto the scene. The suspect escapes, and, as a reward for this screw-up, Benton and Andie are paired together as partners to close the case. On the surface, this mismatched duo appear to have only one thing in common: their tendency to annoy each other. Underneath though, desire sizzles. Is it just a matter of time before these two commitment-phobic cops yield to the inevitable?

DEDICATION

Cinderella Blue is dedicated to my beautiful daughter Melanie. There are no words to say how special you are, how proud I am of you, and how much I love you. Like all of my books, Cinderella Blue is also dedicated to my husband Larry, my hero. You have my heart. Forever.

PRAISE

“I have been waiting soooo long for this book, and I am glad I finally have it. This is the story of Bruce and Andie. If you have read Nobody’s Cinderella, you will have met Bruce. Both of these characters had very large personalities, and it made for a funny book. I loved the supporting characters. This book is a great romantic comedy!” ~ Amazon Review “Curse the talented Joan Reeves when she keeps you awake all night with her latest comedic romance… romantic comedy at its best.” ~ Cheryl Bolen, Bestselling Author of Regency Romance “I’ve read almost everything she’s written because she’s a consistently excellent writer whom I’ve come to depend on for a charming, sexy, emotional read.” ~ Reader Review “Joan Reeves is one smart, professional writer who knows her genre inside and out and just how to serve it up with equal measures snappy dialogue, humor and romantic delight.” ~ Barbara Sissell, Bestselling Author of Women’s Fiction

Cinderella Blue by Joan Reeves

CHAPTER ONE

Andie Luft peered through the bridal veil, searching for the slimeball photographer who had ruined her day. She just hoped she saw Lombardo before he saw her, but looking through the white tulle was like watching television with the cable disconnected. The tickle in her nose grew more pronounced. She could practically feel the dust mites in the large storage room crawling up her nose. Desperately, she pinched her nose between her thumb and index finger, hoping to control the urge to sneeze. Damn dust. Or was it the overpowering aroma of potpourri that filled the room? She snorted in disgust. Maybe it was just the lingering scent of the cologne Lombardo marinated in. After a moment, she relaxed and moved forward again. The long paper-white satin skirt of the wedding gown and the stiff petticoat scraped against the dirty beige cinderblock wall. Andie cringed at the loud sound. She waited a heartbeat, breathing shallowly, not afraid— just royally pissed off. Nothing happened. Cautiously she moved again, progressing at a snail’s pace to the area in the cavernous room obscured by racks of hideous, rainbow-colored bridesmaid dresses, old wedding gowns yellowed with age, and mountains of silk flowers overflowing dusty dilapidated cardboard boxes. Lombardo had to be hiding there. She strained to catch a sound—any sound other than her own hushed breathing. Faint street sounds seeped in. A heavy truck chugged slowly past. A car horn sounded distantly. If Lombardo was in the room, she should be able to hear the jerk breathing. He couldn’t have sneaked out the

front door because she’d have heard the jingle of the oldfashioned bell mounted over the door. So he had to be hiding in here. Hugging the wall and hidden by one of the clothing racks, she glided forward. A stiff lace sleeve on one of the dresses on the rack snagged the veil over her face, pulling the tulle taut against her nose. The urge to sneeze returned. Damn veil. Exasperated, Andie gathered the gauzy white fabric, pulling and bunching it in her hands in an effort to reach the end of the length, but there seemed to be miles of the stuff. Why had she ever thought this veil was a good idea? If she hadn’t backed out of her own wedding, she’d have been stuck all day in this irritating mountain of satin, tulle, and lace. What had she been thinking? Thankfully, she’d come to her senses and called off the wedding. Finally she found the front edge of the veil and flung it up and back, hoping to clear the top of her head. But tossing handfuls of tulle was like throwing air balls. The sheer fabric simply tumbled forward, back into place. Biting back a curse, Andie wondered what idiot had named this thing an illusion veil? A man probably. The only illusion was that a woman could see through it. Stupid wedding traditions. You wouldn’t catch a man wearing something over his face. Just then she caught a stronger whiff of the aftershave Lombardo wore. She heard a scuttling sound across the room, behind another rack filled with ruffled dresses the color of orange juice. Lombardo had cornered the market on hideous wedding apparel it seemed. Maybe he got them at a discount from a shop called Ugly Dresses R Us. Andie tried to pinpoint the source of the sound. Her

heart hammered faster than Buddy Rich beat the drums on one of her Granddad’s old records, and her brain ordered up another gallon of adrenalin. Andie pressed her hand to her chest to steady her racing heart. Fight or flight? Her mouth curved in a smile. When you grew up as the only female in a house full of men, that choice was easy. “Lombardo, I know you’re in here. Come on out.” Silence answered her. Fed up with this cat and mouse game and with the damned veil that hampered her vision, she grabbed the tiara that anchored the veil to her hair and yanked, pulling the whole thing free, along with a half dozen bobby pins and a few long blond hairs. Wincing, she dropped it to the dingy, yellowed-vinyl floor. Damn. She rubbed her throbbing scalp. That hurt, but at least she could see now. More importantly, without the veil shrouding her, she could reach the gun tucked into the hidden pocket of the skirt. Her right hand closed over the AMT .380, and she pulled the small chunk of steel from the secret pocket. There. That felt better. She pointed the gun carefully in the air, finger lying flat against the trigger guard. With her thumb, she flicked the safety off and pressed her palm against the backup safety in the hand grip. Definitely better. Her fear ratcheted down from an eight to a four. Maybe a three because she was pretty sure she could take the wily photographer even if it came down to hand to hand. He’d just surprised her before. “Come on, Lombardo. You can’t get away. Every bride in town will be after your hide when the TV news gets hold of this story.” Not that she had any intention of talking to the media which was a shame. This was a story they would love. After all, with the exception of herself, who didn’t love a story about brides and wedding gowns? She peered

around a rack, looking at the spot where she’d last heard —or smelled—Lombardo. Late afternoon sunshine streamed through the big transom windows. The only thing that moved were dust motes floating in the sunlight. Double doors leading into the showroom were still locked open by floor bolts. If Lombardo wasn’t back here then he must have sneaked back to the front while she’d been fighting with the veil. Andie hesitated, studying the piles of old boxes that filled the room. Or the man was still hiding back here. No matter how hard she strained, she heard nothing. Stay hidden here or go to the front to make sure he didn’t simply run out the main entrance? She studied the wide doorway. If he was waiting in front, she’d be an easy target once she rose from hiding. Her heart rate kicked up a notch as did her fear. Giving Lombardo a chance to use that peashooter .25-caliber semi-automatic that had started this game of hide and seek wasn’t her idea of acceptable risk. She hoped the man had more brains than balls and wouldn’t shoot her, but if he’d been that smart, he wouldn’t have jumped her earlier. If only she’d been able to take him down then. She’d kicked him like a pro-football field goal kicker, but the full skirt had hampered her movements. She’d ended up nailing him in his thigh, not his groin. To her chagrin, he was a lot faster than she’d expected. He’d dropped to the floor and rolled under a clothes rack. By the time she’d untangled herself from the miles of fabric, he was well hidden. This time she’d make sure the dress didn’t get in her way. Quietly, she laid the gun on the floor then reached under the massive skirt and fumbled with the petticoat until she was able to tug it down. She should have done this before. She stepped out of it, and that reduced the size of the skirt so she managed to gather and twist it

around her left forearm. No way was she letting her suspect get the better of her again. Andie retrieved her gun, took a deep breath, and went for it, hurtling across the dirty vinyl floor, through the double doorway, and tucking and rolling onto the Saltillo tile of the showroom floor.

~*~

Bruce Benton cut the engine on the Ford rather than continue to burn up the tank of gas. Heat blasted him when he opened the car door and climbed out, stretching his tall frame to get the kinks out of his back. Summer in San Antonio was tough for plainclothes cops. He yawned and adjusted the indestructible gray polyester sport coat he wore to conceal the shoulder holster containing his Glock. Like many in the department, he was quite comfortable and extremely proficient with his Glock and didn’t want to switch to the Smith and Wesson M&P40 Duty Pistol they’d adopted. Besides, on scorchers like today, it didn’t matter what you carried, wearing a shoulder harness was going to be hot and damned uncomfortable. From somewhere, he could smell cilantro, onions, and peppers, and his mouth watered. His stomach took the opportunity to remind him with a loud rumble that he’d skipped lunch. Maybe the aroma came from the cafe down the street. Some fajitas would be really good with sizzling grilled onions and peppers. Or maybe some beef enchiladas swimming in chili gravy and melted cheese. Polish it off with a giant glass of iced sweet tea with a big wedge of lemon rather than the bottle of Dos Equis he usually enjoyed with Tex-Mex food. Tea was a better thirst quencher than beer in the summer heat.

July was setting new records for high temperature and low rainfall according to his favorite TV weather girl. During last night’s broadcast, the cute redhead had fried an egg on the sidewalk in front of one of the popular restaurants on San Antonio’s Riverwalk. Afterwards, when he and the redhead had dinner, their third date which should have ended in her bed, she’d been insulted when he’d remarked that the outdoor egg-frying thing had to be the oldest cliché in the meteorology book. Bruce sighed and glanced up and down the street lined with dead palms. The redhead, like too many of the women he dated, thought her ideas were unimagined by anyone on the planet before, when in reality, they weren’t even a new spin on an old idea. What she’d said next changed her status to former favorite TV weather girl. She’d started spouting a bunch of talk show buzz words, describing his chauvinistic attitude and male insensitivity. That had been the nail in the coffin of that relationship. Damn but he hated all the talking-head shrink shows that seemed to do little but perpetuate the battle between the sexes. Sometimes it seemed as if women wanted to drain every drop of testosterone from the men of the world. Each of the last few women he’d dated had soy milk in their refrigerators. Soy milk! Hadn’t they heard that soy milk could decrease male potency? Hell. Maybe that’s what modern women wanted. Hairless girly men instead of real men with hair on their chests. He hadn’t even been upset to go home alone. I mean what real guy wanted to talk about his feelings or have salad for dinner instead of steak? Or, God forbid, tofu. Bruce shuddered and rolled his shoulders in another effort to adjust the shoulder harness. Maybe he should just stop dating women who thought talk shows

were the be-all and end-all of wisdom. In his opinion, they were little better than reality shows that featured the worst of human behavior. Impatiently, he checked his watch. His partner had been gone twenty minutes. How long did it take a guy to order flowers? Luis was sweeping his girlfriend away on a cruise holiday tomorrow so why did the man need to waste money on flowers today? Exasperated, Bruce studied the trio of shops across the street. They catered to the kind of female he tried his best to avoid—women with matrimony on the brain. Maybe Ortiz couldn’t decide between roses and posies and needed his help. Heat shimmered above the pavement. There wasn’t even a breath of a breeze rattling the dead fronds of the Mexican Fan Palms. Killed by the unseasonably cold weather during the previous winter, the old palms lining the street were being replaced by the more cold resistant Texas Sabal Palms. He knew this only because his sister Darcy had told him all about it. Since she’d married and moved to the suburbs, she had developed a huge interest in xeriscape landscaping that conserved water. Judging by all the green grass on the boulevard down the street where the Hispanic gardeners were working, Darcy could give them some pointers about xeriscapes. The landscaping crew worked in silence as if they needed to direct all their energy toward hacking away at the dead palms instead of talking while they worked in the heat wave that gripped the city. Other than that, the street was quiet. Anyone with an ounce of sense was staying indoors in air conditioned comfort rather than shopping. At least that’s what he’d be doing if he wasn’t working—sitting in front of his sixtyinch flat screen with an ice cold beer or a tumbler of iced

tea in his hand and a big bag of Lay’s Potato Chips on the couch next to him. Now that was the way to spend the day when the temp hit triple digits. Bruce pulled off his sunglasses and swiped the perspiration from the bridge of his nose with his index finger. He wiped his finger on his jacket and texted Luis again. No response. With an exasperated snort, he pushed his Ray-Ban Mirrored Aviators back in place, locked the car, and dashed across the street. A photography studio, jewelry store, and flower shop created one-stop shopping for women looking to drop an amount equivalent to a luxury car purchase on a pretentious Hollywood-type wedding. Based on most of the weddings he’d attended in the last few years, with the exception of his sister Darcy’s, that was what every woman wanted. The bigger, the better. God save him from having daughters if he was ever dumb enough to get married. Darcy’s wedding had been expensive but only because she and her husband Chase Whitaker had paid for all the hotel rooms and air fares for the out of town guests. They’d had a reception with a full sit-down dinner and some of the best food he’d ever eaten. A live band played the kind of music from the last four decades that was just plain fun. The reception had been a blast. So much so that no one, except for the grandparents, had left before sunrise. Even the band had stayed. Now that had been a party. Great music and the whole family together. Since he didn’t see his brothers Royce and Marc that often, even though both were single now that Royce had divorced, it had been a chance for the three of them to gang up on Darcy. They’d told Chase every story they could think of about all the dumb things their little sister

had done. There had been a lot to tell because she’d always been in trouble. Of course, that was because she tagged along after her brothers. He and his older brothers had seemed to attract trouble like magnets attracted metal filings. His generation knew how to have fun. Unlike kids of today who seemed to think you couldn’t have fun unless an HDMI cable came attached. At least Darcy wouldn’t be raising her kid to do nothing but sit on the couch and watch TV or play video games all day. Little Sophie would grow up right. As Bruce passed the photographer’s studio, he thought about Sophie. He had dozens of pictures on his cell phone of his niece but none in the last two weeks. He hadn’t seen her due to work pressures, and kids grew fast. He glanced in the window of the studio and kept walking, thinking about dropping over this weekend to see Sophie. Four steps past the window, he frowned and stopped abruptly. He shook his head. The heat must be affecting his brain. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. He turned and walked back, seemingly strolling without purpose. This time when he passed the plate glass window, he snapped a quick focused glance at the interior then back to the street. A woman was inside the studio. Blond wisps of hair stuck up around her head like a warped halo. Big sloppy curls hung from a loose knot of hair listing to the right at the crown of her head. Unless the monolithic bridal magazines had made some proclamation he didn’t know about, guns, like the one the woman held in her right hand, had not replaced bridal bouquets. When he was out of sight, he flattened himself against the rough pink stucco wall and pulled out his cell

phone. He called Luis. True to form, the call went straight to voice mail. Damn his partner. He needed to get his brain off his girlfriend and back to police business. Bruce left a terse message and punched the end call button. Then he sent a text, waited a moment, but it too was ignored. He silenced the phone and dropped it back into his jacket pocket. Bruce drew his Glock and eased back to the edge of the window and risked a quick glance. The blonde had her back to the window now. Quickly, he analyzed the situation. Luis would arrive in a couple of minutes. They weren’t supposed to be in this part of town so he decided not to call it in and get Luis busted. Until his partner arrived, he should be able to handle one blonde in a wedding dress. Bruce eased the door open. A little bell over the door jingled. Bruce rolled his eyes. Who had something so old-fashioned in today’s world? The woman whirled. He rushed on in. “Hold it right there.” The woman pointed her gun at him and held it rock steady in the same confident shooter’s stance he used. “You hold it.” Despite the threat, he couldn’t help but notice she was one hell of a good looking woman even if her hair did look like a fright wig. She had wrapped the skirt of her dress over her left arm, revealing a nice view of long, tanned legs and blue stiletto heels. Bruce drew a breath, blew it out, and stepped forward. Where the hell was Luis? He gave the blonde his most charming smile and decided to try a friendly “isn’t-life-a-bitch” tone. “Relax, lady. Just take it easy. I can see you’re having a bad hair day, but that’s no reason to take it out on me. Right?” She looked amused, but her gun—a .380 he noticed

—never wavered from his chest even as she snapped a quick look over her shoulder to the back room. The deceptively small gun she held could blow a hole in him as easily as a bigger gun. Especially if she’d loaded thirty-eight’s instead of .380 ammo. “Look, ma’am. Maybe the photographer took some lousy pictures of you. Give the guy a chance. He can do them over.” “What on earth are you blathering about?” Something about her voice made him—geez, it sounded crazy, but it made his skin tingle. She sounded amused, and she smiled at him in a way that made that weird tingling sensation slide below his belt. He felt his interest stir. Maybe she felt that same weird sense of awareness. If so, he could use that. Maybe he could talk her down before Luis showed up. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?” Suddenly, she grinned. “You’re really cute. Anyone ever tell you that you look kind of like Karl Urban?” “Let’s not talk about some Aussie actor. Let’s talk about you. What’s your name, honey?” She didn’t answer, just gave another lightning-fast glance backward. “Who’s in the back room?” Did she have an accomplice? No, Bruce decided. She’d been hunting someone, and that someone was hiding in back. “That’s none of your business.” She still looked amused so he said, “Okay. That’s cool. Why don’t you put that gun down? I tell you, sweet thing, it’s hard to imagine why a pretty woman like you would be waving a gun around.” “Sweet thing?” Irritation flashed across her face. “In case you haven’t noticed, sweet thing,” she mocked, “my gun isn’t waving one little bit. How about you lower your

weapon. Lay it on the floor and kick it over to me.” “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sweet thing. You see I’m a —” Everything happened at once. From the room behind her, a man rushed out and slammed into her, sending her flying into Bruce. He and the woman went down in a tangle of arms, legs, and miles of white satin and lace. The bell over the door jingled wildly as the unknown assailant exited the building. With a snarl, the woman was up first, cursing a blue streak. She rushed toward the front door. Bruce scrambled up, gun leveled. “Freeze!” To his relief, she froze. It would have been a shame to shoot her, or, God forbid, have to chase her in this heat. He grinned at her scowl. “I always wanted to say that. I was pretty cool, wasn’t I, sweet thing? Just like a TV cop.” He was relieved to see her gun was no longer in her hand. “I see you lost your gun, sweet thing. Come on, honey. Turn around, and come back over here.” Slowly, she turned. She was breathing like a woman who’d been in a fight and wanted to fight some more. Her face was flushed. The strapless dress had slipped a bit, and her breasts threatened to pop out. Bruce’s smile widened. Her breasts rose and fell with each rapid inhalation. He figured he could spend all day just watching her breathe. Of course, if he wanted to do that, he’d have to hang out down at the jail because that’s where she was going. The woman no longer smiled. She frowned ferociously as she leaned over and scooped her skirt up, deftly looping it over her left forearm again. “Cool? Yeah. You’re so cool you’ve got icicles hanging from your eyelashes.”

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Bruce said. “You’re just upset because you lost your gun.” He glanced at the floor, hoping to spot it before she did. “Now, hands up, sweet thing.” The woman cursed with great fervor, but she raised her hands. “Tsk tsk. Does your daddy know you talk like that?” Bruce pulled out his cuffs and took a step toward her, wanting to secure her before any other nasty surprises popped out. “Hands on your head.” When she made no move to do that, he just grinned. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, sweet thing. I’ll probably enjoy it either way.” She gave him a look that would have melted a block of ice faster than the July sun, but she slowly raised her hands to her head. Bruce took a cautious step to close the gap between them “You made the right decision, sweet thing.” The woman snarled, “Don’t. Call. Me. Sweet. Thing.” Then she whirled. All Bruce saw was a white blur. All he felt was agony when her foot connected with his gun hand. The Glock flew out of his grip. Then a roundhouse kick to his solar plexus cut off his breath. Oxygen whooshed out of his lungs as if a vacuum cleaner had been attached to his mouth. He hit the floor so hard the vibration caused a glass display shelf of bridal portraits to collapse like a house of cards. Glass hit the Saltillo tile of the showroom floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. Wheezing like an asthmatic in need of a rescue inhaler, Bruce started to rise. “No, no, sweet thing. You stay right where you are,” the woman mocked. Through watery eyes, Bruce saw that she had found

her gun and held it in her left hand. Unfortunately for him, in her right hand, she had his Glock. Both weapons pointed unwaveringly at him. As he watched—and tried his best to repress a groan of pain—she managed, despite the gun in her left hand, to hoist up the skirt of the wedding dress. Though his hand felt like the very devil, and he was certain she’d cracked a rib, Bruce couldn’t help but admire her long sleek legs. The blue high heels she wore provided a nice contrast against all the white. “You’re looking in the wrong place, sweet thing.” She pointed her left foot and kicked out with her left leg. She pointed at her thigh, drawing his attention. Bruce’s gaze raced up her leg and collided with a blue lace garter at mid-thigh. Pinned to the garter was a badge. Just like the shield he carried in his pocket. Smiling, the blonde said, “I’m Sergeant Andrea Luft, and you’re under arrest, sweet thing.” ***End of Preview***

A Note From The Author, Joan Reeves

Thank you for reading Cinderella Blue. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I loved revisiting the characters from San Antone, the Alamo City, first introduced to readers in Nobody’s Cinderella. The power of love is the power to change lives. As a writer, and a woman, I believe that, and that’s why I write romance. A romance novel is all about change caused by love and the resulting commitment that’s made because of that love. If you loved this story, I’d like to ask you to do me a favor and leave a review. It only takes a few minutes, and you only need to write a couple of sentences telling others what you liked about Cinderella Blue. Please visit me online at my website and my blog. You can also follow me on Facebook and Twitter, and I’ll follow you back. Be sure and sign up for my mailing list and receive a free ebook, plus you’ll be the first to know about new books and giveaways. I promise your email address will never be shared. By the way, I love to hear from readers so contact me at one of the above websites or send me an oldfashioned letter to: Joan Reeves, P.O. Box 1627, Normangee TX 77871-1627.

OTHER BOOKS BY JOAN REEVES

April Fool Bride: Is it just a marriage of convenience or something more. Blame It One Chocolate: A Moment in Time Romance Short Story. Can a small town girl hook the most eligible bachelor in town? Available Valentine’s Day. Cinderella Blue: Love means never having to say: “You’re under arrest.” Heat Lightning: Secrets, lies, lost memories. What she doesn’t remember may kill her. Jane (I’m Still Single) Jones: Lots of southern charm, a ten-year-old betrayal, a man and a woman who should have ended up together. Just One Look: Kids play doctor, but these doctors play seduction games. Last Chance New Year: A Moment in Time Romance Short Story. Shy financial planner has a plan of her own on New Year’s Eve: throw herself at the man she loves and hopes he catches her. Available Valentine’s Day. Last Christmas: A funny, sexy romance about love at first sight, heartbreak, revenge, redemption, and second chances. LuvU4Ever: Free at all ebook sellers. A Moment in Time Romance Short Story. Can nine little words destroy a forever love? Nobody’s Cinderella: Darcy should have heeded the advice: be careful what you wish for! Old Enough to Know Better: A woman with a past; a man who wants to be her future. Romeo and Judy Anne: Her secret love may be the biggest scandal to hit her small town. Scents and Sensuality: Sweet lies, sweet seduction,

and hot passion. Is it Love or just Lust? Still the One: Funny, sexy marriage of INCONVENIENCE! The Trouble With Love: Hang on to your Stetson as the fun and games begin in this sexy romp that’s as hot as a bowl of Texas chili!

Nonfiction by Joan Reeves

Friday is Cake Day: A Collection of 52 Cake Recipes and more than a dozen frosting recipes from 3 generations of Joan’s family. Little Book of Sunshine for Readers and Writers: A little book of inspiration to help you when the gray clouds of dejection hover. Written Wisdom: Essays inspired by quotations from famous authors.

THE SURROGATE’S SECRET

New York Times & USA Today Bestselling author

Mimi Barbour

Acknowledgment

This story makes me think of my sister-in-law, Max. The soft-hearted lady is so baby-crazy that she chose to operate her own Daycare in her home. Those lucky children benefited greatly by her gentleness and her caring.

Praise “Mimi Barbour has done it again! There is also a lovely little twist in the novel that will make you smile.” ~ Reviewed by Leandra L. Bollinger “kelea7”

“The pull over those sweet babies and the family history just adds to the dynamics of a terrific read that I could not put down. Highly Recommend!” ~ Reviewed by Mary Leo

BOOK DESCRIPTION

AVAILABLE AT AMAZON

Surrogate mother, Sheri O’Connor, loves her adorable twins. Since the donor parents were killed before their birth, she’s gladly taken on the responsibility to raise them herself. When their Chilean Uncle, Miguel Rivera, arrives with no warning, expecting to take them back to his country, she unravels and coldly informs him that isn’t going to happen. After all, they were her eggs used in the In Vitro process. Consequently, her claim supersedes anyone else’s. Never in a million years does she dream that the South American heartstopper wants her babies so much that he will force her to marry him by threatening to withhold the money she needs for an operation for her tiny son. Miguel knows women aren’t to be trusted. Didn’t his devious fiancé give him up for dead and marry someone else while he spent months being held hostage in the jungles of Columbia? If his mother hadn’t brought a team to save him and end up getting shot during the rescue, he wouldn’t be alive. Therefore, if the only thing that can help his Mamacita from succumbing to her wounds is to adopt his dead brother’s surrogate children, then he will do anything to see that happen. Even marry the ditzy blonde whose saving grace, beside her gorgeous body and beautiful face, is her absolute devotion to her babies.

The Surrogate’s Secret

Chapter One

Sheri O’Connor stood in the doorway of her twins’ bedroom and watched the two peacefully sleeping. A huge swell of love filled her soul while tears of thankfulness flooded her eyes. No one could love their babies more. Seeing that she was a surrogate mom, it wasn’t supposed to have ended this way. The precious little ones were to have been her gift to a woman she loved like a sister and the man who adored her. Sadly, things change. Exhausted, Sheri tiptoed forward to cover the two angels huddled close together in the same crib. She kissed her fingers then touched them to their silky hair. They had taken a while to settle this afternoon. It must be the heat. With the back of her hand, Sheri swiped at her dampened forehead. In Washington, DC, when it was hot, it scorched. A doorbell broke the silence and made her wince, then grin. Oh no! Not Charly again. Her neighbor was a worrywart about her and the children. Her help had gotten Sheri through the bad times and now they were very close, but she had promised to stay away so Sheri could catch up on some much-needed sleep. Again the doorbell pealed; this time followed by an impatient knock. Moving quickly to the front entrance, Sheri wrenched the door open. The tanned, good-looking man leaning against the doorjamb wasn’t Charly. This mysterious male reached well over six feet, and looked to be pure trouble. His head, held at a co*cky angle, and especially his cold gray

eyes affected Sheri. Maybe tiredness made her unusually grumpy, but she wanted her bed and this man looked like he had a mission. Her bare feet, naked legs, and rounded belly still recovering from recently giving birth received a laser-like scan. From his scowl, he either didn’t like her clothes or her looks. She noticed his full lips curl slightly as his eyes skimmed her mess of hair, which had escaped the confines of her clip and now hung in total disarray over her bare shoulders. Not one to dress fancy at home, Sheri nonetheless wished she’d chosen something other than the low-cut, thin cotton blouse with the frills that directed one’s eye to the protruding breasts below. The favored blouse never worn outside the apartment for that exact reason was her sheerest and therefore the coolest one she owned. Sheri straightened her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated. “Can I help you?” Her voice sounded huskier than normal. Tiredness did that to her. He eased upright and asked. “Are you Sheri O’Connor, Mary-Anne Rivera’s friend and her surrogate mother?” His voice vibrated with fake courtesy, a strong accent and a mesmerizing quality that might fool a fool. Sheri was no fool. “Yes.” The name of her deceased friend, spoken by a stranger, pierced her, forcing her to brace herself. Stepping back, she folded her arms across her stomach, this time to conceal her shaky reaction. She co*cked her head, copying his style. “Miss O’Connor, may we go inside and talk? You look ready to collapse, and I wouldn’t want to upset the mother of my brother’s baby. Come.” He clasped her arm with one hand and beckoned behind her with the other. An emotion, very like pain, registered in his expression. It

beguiled her for several seconds, until big city rules of safety kicked finally in. She wrenched her arm away from his grasp and stood her ground. “Your brother’s baby? What’s your name, and why are you here?”

Chapter Two

Apprehension attacked Sheri. Before he spoke, she clasped her hands to stop them from trembling “My name is Miguel Rivera. I am Felipe’s brother.” Taking advantage of her momentary speechlessness, the man moved forward into her space, forcing her to back up, and then grabbing his small bag, he closed the door behind them. Before she could react, his elegantly shaped fingers reached into the expensive, brown leather jacket, to the inside pocket, and he pulled out his wallet. He showed her his identification, aiming it close for her scrutiny. His ID security license from the federal government surprised her. “Trust me. I’m here to help you. May I call you Sheri?” When he spoke in the low tone and turned his head slightly, for the first time, she spotted a similarity in his facial structure to Mary-Anne’s husband. Contrary to Felipe, who’d always been fastidiously groomed, this man appeared thin, bordering on gaunt, making her wonder if he’d been sick recently. His black hair reached his shoulders with the flowing waves pushed to the back of his head, as if he’d finger forced them away from his face. A scruffy beard hinted that he’d come straight from the airport, as did the overnight case settled on the floor by his feet. Upon closer inspection, she realized she should have known right away that he was a relative of Felipe’s. Not only were their slanted eyes the same smoky-gray, and covered by thick, perfectly shaped eyebrows, but her careful scrutiny revealed their general appearance and strong features were similar also. The way he wore his expensive clothes should have been another indication, although Felipe favored suits whereas his brother’s style

looked to be more casual. ”Yes, of course.” Inwardly she scolded herself and then stopped after a few seconds. She couldn’t be blamed for not recognizing Miguel as Felipe’s relative. Even though she’d known Felipe had a brother, one he talked of quite often and had obviously adored, she’d never met him before and his cold emotionless demeanor separated the two brothers by a wide chasm. Felipe had defined South American charm and graciousness. He’d smiled more than any other man she’d ever known, whereas this man—he intimidated. Resentment pushed past her control. “Good of you to appear now, four months after your brother and MaryAnne were killed.” Where had he been when she’d sent the news of their death in a car accident? Or when the shock had started her labor pains, and she’d had to face the birth of his brother’s babies alone? “You’re right to be annoyed. I should have been here, Sheri. And I would have if at all possible.” Sheri recognized his acute frustration and stopped her recriminations. Don’t be so judgmental. He’s here now. Give the man a chance to explain. Why did her instinctive fairness always have to override the very few occasions when nastiness kicked in? Because she was a pushover, that’s why. The guy did look exhausted, and ill, and the visible misery trapped deep in his eyes coaxed her sympathy. Okay, she’d listen. If he doesn’t have a good excuse, she decided, then I’ll boot his spiffy ass outta here. “Come with me where it’s a bit cooler,” she said, her voice softened considerably. She led him to an airless crowded living room where a wobbly ceiling fan twirled, hummed and intermittently groaned. Tucked in the corner of the small space nestled a

playpen and other baby paraphernalia. A quilted baby seat sat on the floor and on every piece of mismatched furniture, some sort of evidence that babies lived in the apartment could be seen. She motioned for him to sit on her sofa while she folded into the thrift-store, ivory-colored rocker. Light filtered through the white sheers and intensified the pale green walls. The room sparkled from her ministrations of the night before when, sleepless and brimming with an overabundance of energy, she’d cleaned. Now she felt glad she hadn’t just vegged out and watched one of her pre-recorded TV shows. Sheri’s days and nights seemed to be reversed due to all the feedings she had to manage, and many times her way to deal with the latest heat wave was either to read, work, or watch some brain-dulling program. Her low-budget place looked its grungy best, but she had to admit that today extreme weariness ended up being the ultimate price. “Can I get you a glass of iced tea?” She motioned towards her dewy glass full of ice and golden-brown liquid set on the small coffee table. “No. Thank you. I’ve come as quickly as I could to see—” Unconsciously her hand lifted, palm towards him. “My friend and your brother were killed over four months ago.” She emphasized the words brother and months. Miguel’s large frame seemed to shrink right in front of her eyes. Both hands lifted to his hair as he threaded his fingers through the wild mass. Finally, he looked up. “Yes, you are right. My mother and I were out of the country. We didn’t know anything about Felipe until yesterday morning when we returned to Santiago. I’m sorrier than I can ever put into words, but our absence

was unavoidable.” He hesitated and added words that softened her heart. “And unforgivable. We will have to deal with our guilt. I understand you did everything possible to find us. I regret you could not, and that you were forced to carry on with the funeral arrangements alone—especially when you had your own grief to deal with, and a small baby to look after.” “Not one small baby. Two. A boy called Rafael and a girl, Carrie-Anne.” “Two? How wonderful!” He smiled for the first time since he’d arrived. Sheri, shocked by the difference white teeth and curved lips made, felt the ice further melt around her attitude. Now the resemblance to Felipe became undeniable. Not a person to hold grudges, and hating to be at odds with anyone, Sheri smiled as well. Because she couldn’t shake off feelings of depression once the babies were born, the doctor explained to her that many mothers underwent slight personality changes after delivery. No one could blame her for having the occasional meltdown. Especially since, she’d given birth to surrogate twins and buried their parents within the same week. After their return from the hospital, she’d struggled to stay positive and keep things going. Without the help of her neighbor Charly, she didn’t know how she could have managed. A cleared throat recaptured her attention and she raised anguished eyes. “Sorry. For a moment you looked so like your brother that it brought back memories.” “Memories of Felipe?” “Yes and Mary-Anne. She and I met in kindergarten and were closer than sisters. We grew up next door to each other and shared all our secrets. She wanted nothing more than to stay home and be a wife and

mother and I wanted to travel the world.” She sighed and smiled. “Funny thing the way life throws out unexpected hurdles. Mary-Anne left our small town in Canada to move to New York to pursue her job, while I remained to look after my father.” He returned her smile and surprisingly, her heavy spirits seemed less weighty. “But you live here in DC now?” “Yes. After my father passed away, I had nothing left to keep me home.” “No husbands or boyfriends to hold you there?” Angry disgust replaced the soft look on her face, and his reactive frown made her aware that he’d seen her change. In a clipped voice, she cut him off from the subject. “I left no one behind who mattered.” “I see.” He nodded, his attention riveted. “Mary-Anne begged me to come and live here so we could be near to each other. Once I arrived, she found me this apartment and I settled in.” “She was an editor, wasn’t she? Worked for one of the big publishing companies in New York?” “Yes, but after she met and married Felipe, they sanctioned her moving here to Washington so she could be near him. It was either move her or lose her. They gave her their blessings and a company laptop. I guess they had no choice. She would have quit because she loved him more than anything.” Emotion welled and filled her with sadness. In a husky tone, she added, “The only strain in their relationship was her overwhelming need to give Felipe children. Ironic isn’t it? He owned half of an In Vitro clinic, spent his days helping others get pregnant, and then finds his own wife can’t conceive.” “Therefore, she hired you to help them—” Did he sneer?

She cut him off. “No. I offered my services, and they both gratefully accepted my gift of love.” Seeming to realize that he’d overstepped, he backed off and added. “So he mentioned when he called home to tell us the happy news.” He’d put Sheri’s hackles up, and she felt the bitchiness return. She stood, hinting his time had run out. Then looking down she added, “Mary-Anne’s requests were clear about her remains, and because I knew nothing of Felipe’s wishes, I treated him the same. I buried some of his ashes with his wife, but I also saved some to send to his beloved Chile as soon as I could contact your family. I hope that meets with your approval?” Sheri stared at Miguel. She noticed his hands tremble as he rubbed at the beard darkening the lower part of his face. The little sign of weakness in such a strong man affected her more than anything else had in a long time. She moved over and sat on the sofa near him, then reached out involuntarily to touch his shoulder. A grim expression replaced the fleeting vulnerability. “That was very considerate of you. My mother will be pleased to have some part of him placed where she can visit often.” He kept his eyes lowered. “It’s what Mary-Anne would have wanted,” Sheri said. “She loved him so very much and felt extreme affection for you and your mother when they visited Chile on their honeymoon.” “And we thank you,” Miguel said gently. “Now, I’ve come with a proposition.” He spoke the words in a low voice, which caught her attention. In seconds, his face altered, a steely look replaced the sadness. She shivered with apprehension and eased away from him. “Whatever amount my brother offered to pay you for

having a baby for him and Mary-Anne, I will double. No, change that. I’ll pay you whatever you want. As the uncle, I claim the right to adopt the babies, and take them home with me to Chile, to live with their grandmother.” ***End of Preview***

A Note from the Author

Thank you so much for reading The Surrogate’s Secret. I loved writing this story and I hope you enjoyed reading it. If so, I would ask you for a favor. Wherever you purchased this book, please take a few minutes and leave an honest review. Authors enjoy hearing that readers like their stories, and hopefully, others will read your words and choose to buy them because of your sentiments. My website at http://mimibarbour.com now has all my books listed with links to the various publishers to make it easy for you to return to where you bought the book and to find my other work. While you’re there, I’d really appreciate it if you would sign up for my newsletter so I can keep in touch. http://mimibarbour.com/contact.html#newsletter I only send out newsletters approximately once a month and you have my word that your address will never be shared.

Other Books by Mimi Barbour

Many of Mimi’s books can be found FREE on Kindle Unlimited!! ~*~*~*~ The Vicarage Bench Series — Spirit Travel at its Best! — She’s Me (Book 1) He’s Her (Book 2) We’re One (Book 3) Vicarage Bench Anthology (Book 4 - Books 1-3) Together Again (Book 5) Together for Christmas (Book 6) Together Always (Book 7) *** Angels with Attitude Series — Angels Playing Cupid! — The Angels with Attitudes Anthology (Books 1-3) My Cheeky Angel (Book 1) His Devious Angel (Book 2) Loveable Christmas Angel (Book 3) *** Elvis Series — Make an Elvis Song a Book! — She’s Not You (Book 1) Love Me Tender (Book 2) *** Vegas Series — Action–Packed Thrillers! — Vegas Series – Complete Boxed Set Partners (Book 1) Roll the Dice (Book 2) Vegas Shuffle (Book 3) High Stakes Gamble (Book 4)

Spin the Wheel (Book 5) Let it Ride (Book 6) *** Undercover FBI Series — Popular & Compelling! — Special Agent Francesca (Book 1) Special Agent Finnegan (Book 2) Special Agent Maximilian (Book 3) Special Agent Kandice (Book 4) Special Agent Booker (Book 5) *** Mob Tracker Series Sweet Retaliation (Book #1 – to be released March 2017) *** Holiday Heartwarmers Trilogy — Truly a Christmas favorite! — Please Keep Me (Book 1) Snow Pup (Book 2) Find Me a Home (Book 3) Holiday Heartwarmers Trilogy Frosty the Snowman (Book 4) Love of my Life (Book #5 – to be released in May 2016) *** Other Titles I’m No Angel Hotshot Cowboy Big Girls Don’t Cry Christmas Runaway The Surrogate’s Secret Mimi’s Mix (Box Set) ‘ Tis the Season (Box Set) Hearts, Flowers & Romance (Box Set)

Red Hot Divas (Box Set) A Touch of Passion (Multi-author Box Set) Love, Christmas (Multi-author Box Set) Unforgettable Romances (Multi-author Box Set) Pets and Kisses (Multi-author Box Set – to be released in March 2017) Kiss Me, Thrill Me (Multi-author Box Set – to be released March 2017) *** Many of Mimi’s books can be found on her Amazon Author Page: http://bit.ly/MimiBarbourAmazon OR Website: http://mimibarbour.com

About the Author

Mimi Barbour lives on the beautiful east coast of Vancouver Island and writes her love stories with tonguein-cheek and a mad glint in her eye. Asked why she prefers romances, she answers - chuckling. “Because it’s fun! Imagination can be a lot more interesting than what happens in real life to so-called normal people. I love my characters, and my goal is to make the readers love them also. To care about what happens to them while the tale unfolds. If I can steal my booklover’s attention away from their every-day grind, absorb them into a fictional world, and make them care about the ending, then I’ve done my job.”

Contact Me: On my BlogSpot: http://mimibarbour.blogspot.com Or follow me on twitter: https://twitter.com/MimiBarbour Or on Facebook: Mimi Barbour Fan page

AYE, I AM A FAIRY (Novella Version: First part of the Mega-Novel with the same name)

The Fairies Saga

USA Today Bestselling author

Book cover by www.TheKillionGroupInc.com

BOOK DESCRIPTION Available at Amazon

Lord James Melbourne’s life is in upheaval. His pending divorce has already ruined his name and it looked as if it would also leave him penniless. Taking nothing but the sealed bundle of centuries old correspondences entrusted to him and a fistful of precious jewels, he heads to North Carolina to buy the mill offered by the mysterious Bibb Stephens. Bad guys, arson, and a 230-year-old video on a solar-powered smartphone await the sharp, yet wary man with a secret. Time travel and interaction with fictional characters had to be nonsense, but now he had proof that it was not. Should he go back in time to help family? And would the sassy yet lovely Leah go back with him if she knew the truth?

Note: If while reading, you find that someone is narrating the story—that it’s in the first person—that’s just Evie taking over. Sometimes that old lady in a young person’s body just won’t shush!

PRAISE

“A mix of mystery, history, and fantasy, with a tad of lust, a dash of violence, and a pinch of humor, with characters who will live in your head long after you’ve read the books.”

“…plenty of action, emotion and spirited characterization…protagonists are vividly drawn and

written, allowing for immersion in their internal lives and developing relationship.”

“If you love romance and fantasy, you’re going to love this book.” ~ A. Brantly

Aye, I am a Fairy

Chapter One Preface August 12, 1781 Pomeroys’Place, North Carolina “Dang, I wish there was a way I could call Leah; tell her I was sorry I had to leave, that I loved her so much, but that she had three infant siblings in the 18th century who I had to go back and take care of, that she was an adult now and could manage just fine, and, that…that…” I was exasperated and couldn’t finish my explanation, but I knew Sarah understood. “I know what you’re going through, and I think there might be a way to let her know. I mean, it’s how I keep my sanity with having my daughter in the 20th century.” Sarah reached into the cupboard and pulled out a sheet of paper, a small wooden box, and a goose feather. “What? Write to her?” I asked, stunned at her suggestion. Sarah nodded silently, lips pulled taut in a painful grimace. She set the items on the kitchen table and picked up the paring knife. She scored the end of the feather, creating a reservoir in the end of the quill, and then offered it to me. “I write her about our life, the day to day things mostly, then put the dated letters in the box and let them accumulate. Eventually, I’ll send them overseas to Barden Hall with a note for Jody’s family to hold them, unopened, until the year 1980.” Sarah opened the inlaid topped box, took out the small inkwell, and set it next to the paper and quill. “If, I mean, I’m sure Ramona and Gregg will have

contacted Sam Eastman, my best friend and former professor, by then. He was the only one I trusted to tell that I was going back, coming back here to this time. I’m certain he already figured out that’s what happened to Mona when she disappeared—that she followed me to the 18th century. And now she has returned to his time, back to the 20th century, with a husband and two children.” Sarah sighed, shrugged her shoulders, and then relaxed into a smile. “Call me a romantic,” she said as she played with the nib on the quill, running her finger over the fresh cut to make sure it was smooth. “In 1980, I went back to Barden Hall in Scotland—that’s the estate where Jody was born. I worked up the nerve to talk to the current owners. Of course, they didn’t know who I was, and I wasn’t going to tell them that I was the wife of the man who owned their place 200 years earlier!” Sarah regained her composure quickly. “I just said I was intrigued by the location, and had heard a bit of its history when I was in town. They told me times were tough and that they were going to have to sell the property. I could hear the heartbreak in their voices. I decided right then and there to do what I could to help Jody’s family, even if they were about seven generations removed from him. I bought the estate and let them stay on as caretakers. I…I didn’t know what the future held, but didn’t want the ancestral land and buildings to go to just anyone. I thought Mona might want to live there after she got out of school and was ready to settle down. Sam had the deed and was to give it to her when she graduated or got married or whenever. I left it up to him to determine when she would be receptive to the idea of living in Scotland. I told him just to make sure he gave the current occupants at least six months’notice before

they had to move out. And well, I didn’t even know if they wanted to live there after they got the money.” “So, you’re saying I should write a letter, or letters, now, and put them in your little box there, then your daughter can give it, them, to Leah?” “Well, that could work, but you might want to establish another destination—sort of an alternate backup site—for your letters, in case mine don’t make it. You know what they say about putting all your eggs in one basket…” she joked. I frowned as I realized what she had said. “Twentieth century, you said. But I came from the 21st century, 2012. Well, at least the first time. I just came back from 2013 last week. You’re writing to, what, 1980?” “It doesn’t matter which decade it is. And it probably won’t make a difference to them whether or not they even get these.” She sighed and stroked the top of the inlaid wooden box. “I mean, it’s not as if they know we’re writing them. I’m doing it for Jody and me. He writes, too. It helps us feel connected with them. I hope they get the letters, but I doubt that they’ll make a dramatic difference in their lives.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t take photographs, so they’re getting written snapshots of our lives instead.” “So you think I could write a letter now, today, and ask for someone to get in touch with my daughter two hundred and thirty years from now? That then—in our future, their present—they could let her know why I had to leave and that I’m okay?” I was starting to feel better already. “Well, continuity is the key; it has to be successfully passed down through the generations. You can write a letter and I’ll put it in with mine, and maybe the 21st century Barden Hall group will forward it to her or, or…”

If I only knew who I could send a letter to…even a card…a business card… My eyes opened wide with a clear, distinct memory— bright, shining, and sparkled with hope. Sarah’s treasure box of letters had ignited a memory for me. The business card Wallace had found in my backpack two months ago, just after the babies were born, was from a James Melbourne. I suddenly knew who he was! New memories were tumbling over each other—like a movie preview—an interesting clip, but not enough words or images to tell the whole story. I recalled meeting a charming young Englishman, a James Melbourne, and an odd little man, a Master Simon. That’s when I first encountered Simon! It was in a café in Greensboro. I figured out a map, an ancient map… I shook my head. That wasn’t important. What I needed to know was if James was from the same Melbourne line as those who were now living in London. Wallace’s Uncle Tony, Julian’s brother, was a Melbourne. And he was possibly—probably, hopefully—James Melbourne’s ancestor. Well, I knew they shared the same coat of arms, and maybe, if they shared the same residence—hmm… “Sarah,” I said, bringing myself out of my own reverie, “I know of someone now whose family will still be around in the 21st century.” I inhaled deeply and elaborated. “You said it would be best to have two sources of delivery, right? So I’ll leave my originals with yours, and then send copies to…hmm. I need to talk to Wallace. Excuse me; I’ll be write back. Get it? W.R.I.T.E. Oh, never mind.” Wallace was bringing out Aries for his daily ride. The high-strung stallion didn’t like being cooped up and was easier to handle if ridden daily. I ran outside, my arms flailing in the air, signaling for Wallace to stop before he

rode out. “Whoa, whoa, wait,” I blurted out breathlessly. “Is there something wrong?” he asked, and pulled back the reins, ready to dismount. “No, no. I just have to ask you a quick question. What are the chances your Uncle Tony would ever sell his place in England?” “Which one?” he replied. I’m sure my shocked look wasn’t what he expected. His shy grin at my reaction wasn’t the least bit rude, but still made me feel silly. “Well, I’m certain the last place he’d ever sell or relinquish would be his home in London. Country estates can come and go, but that house is as much a part of him as his right hand. He could go on without it, but wouldn’t like it.” He scowled in concern and repositioned himself in the saddle, ready again for his boot soles to touch the soil. “Are you sure you’re all right? Should I put off the ride?” “Oh, no, please don’t. It’s just that I think I found a way to tell Leah what happened—or will happen—so maybe she won’t feel so bad that I left. I’ll explain when you get back. Have a nice ride, okay?” I said, and blew him a kiss. Wallace reached out and gently retrieved the imaginary buss in the palm of his hand as if it were a butterfly, brought it to his lips, kissed it, and blew it back to me. “Share this with the children. We won’t be too long.” He reined the horse back toward the road and was off like his boots were on fire and his trousers were catching. I skipped back to the house, unable to hold back my elation at finding a way to contact Leah. I could let her know about her new family, what had happened to me, and that I hadn’t left her on purpose…at least, the first

time. I would be able to ‘ talk’to her, even across more than two centuries. Last year, I had awakened here—in what was the past for me—with amnesia. Sometime before that— probably no more than a day or two earlier and in the 21st century—I became acquainted with a descendent of Wallace’s Uncle Tony: James Melbourne. I was sure he’d help me out if I wrote to him and ask that he contact Leah and pass on my information. I grinned as I recalled our little meeting with the curious map owner and (unbeknownst to us) time traveler, Master Simon. James knew right away that there was more to the map than Simon was telling us. Well, I’d explain that to him, too, in the letter. “Mommy, Mommy; both boys want you real bad,” Jenny hollered, almost running into me, unaware that I was moving so quickly in her direction. “And Leo has a poopy clout. Do you want me to change it while you feed Judah?” I held onto Jenny’s shoulders, steadying the two of us after our minor collision. “That would be wonderful. I don’t know what I did to get such a great helper, but if I couldn’t feel you under my hands right now, I’d swear you were an angel. Come on; I’ll race you to the house.” I bent forward, dropped my hands to the ground, and crouched into a starting position. “Ready, set…hey! You were supposed to wait until I said go,” I carped, as I picked up my skirt to chase after my ten-year-old adopted daughter. It was a great day.

Chapter Two Blasted Alarm Clock

Monday, August 5, 2013 Greensboro, North Carolina Good morning, good morning, good morninnnnngggg guhh guhh! Nothing to do… Slam, thump, “Ouch! Son-a-bitchin’thing!” Leah finally got the alarm shut off on the fourth smack. She must have moved it when she got into bed last night. Or was that this morning? “Ugh,” she groaned as she turned over. She grabbed the gray stuffed hippopotamus and plopped it over her throbbing head, effectively shutting out the world with the loftiness of the velour and polyester water-horse pillow. In the town, where I was born, lived a ma’a’aan… thump. “Hah! Gotcha on the first try!” Leah exclaimed with pride, then fell back and moaned, “Oh, no,” the pain of her class one hangover trumping her momentary elation at winning the whack-the-alarm-clock contest. She rolled over and looked at it. It was 5:15. If she had to work today, she only had 15 minutes to get dressed and slug down a cup of coffee before it was time to head out the door. If she had the day off, she could roll over and sleep until noon if she wanted. It would be easy enough to check. She made sure she entered her work schedule into her smartphone every week as soon as it was posted. “Okay, where did I leave you this time?” Leah was forever misplacing her phone. She was so notorious that she even customized a message for the opening screen

page that said, “Tell Leah you found her phone. You can contact her at work at Moses H. Cone Hospital….” So far, every one of the three people who had found it had returned it. “Mom was worse than me,” she said softly, “she lost and found hers five times.” Then she saw them: the two identical solar-powered smartphones. “Oh, crap.” Traces of talcum powder were still visible on one. She had dusted it the night before, looking for the engraved initials to verify what she already knew: it was her mother’s. Her mother disappeared from Greensboro ten months ago, apparently falling off the earth without a trace. Yesterday she reappeared at her hospital’s emergency room with a musket ball in her shoulder, looking forty years younger, fifty pounds thinner, and as a nursing mother. Before they had a chance for explanations, Leah was knocked out by the phony attending doctor. He then kidnapped Mom and shuffled her out the door in a wheelchair. He forced her to drive away—drugged and still recovering—in a stolen car, leading the hospital personnel and police on a chaotic chase to a vacant lot at the edge of town. The police found the car within minutes, but not its occupants. Leah, still stunned at her mother’s sudden appearance then re-disappearance, had told her supervisor that she was related to the kidnapped woman. Nurse Gata, not wanting to be burdened with paperwork or inquiries, gave Leah the left-behind personal belongings bag. It’s only contents: the colonial-style dress her mother had been wearing when she came into the emergency room and the prototype smartphone. “I guess it wasn’t a dream after all,” she said as she softly touched the phone with the white disclosed initials DUM: Danielle Ursula Madigan.

Leah picked up her own phone, the one without the powder, and scanned her calendar. Cool, she had today off. She stumbled into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and saw the carton of orange juice. “I don’t think so,” she groaned, “What I need is the hair of the dog that bit me.” She shoved the juice aside. “Ooh, there’s an idea,” she said and grabbed the carton of vanilla-flavored soymilk coffee creamer. She took her dirty coffee cup out of the sink, gave it a fast rinse, shook off the water, and then poured a healthy slug of the sweetened coffee creamer in it. “Ah, my little friend,” she said to the bottle of Glenturret whisky on the counter and tipped a shot into the mug. She swished the cup, dipped her finger in it, and swirled the mix. She lifted the cup to her lips and sniffed. “Smells pretty good, but I’m sure it’d be better warmed.” She put the cup in the microwave, nuked it half a minute, then pulled it out and did the swish, finger dip, and swirl routine again to make sure the hot and cold spots were blended. “Ah, that’s too good,” she said as she finished sipping down half the concoction with her first taste. “That should take the edge off the hangover.” Ding dong. Leah took her cup of homemade crème liqueur to the table and sat down in front of the two phones. The notification tone wasn’t from hers—she had disabled the audio email and text message alerts long ago. She picked up her mother’s phone and slid her finger across the face of it. The little animated letter was dancing all over the screen. Her mother’s email address was still valid, although there hadn’t been any real activity on it for the last six months. The Alchemy spam blocker had virtually blocked all of the junk mail; this one must be

legitimate. Leah took another sip of her liquid courage and double-clicked the letter. ‘Remember meeting me in that little café in Greensboro last Halloween? Did that strange little man— Simon was it?—ever figure out his map? Hopefully you were able to finish your little Revolutionary War sightsee and had a safe journey home to Alaska. I will be returning to North Carolina 5th August. After I take care of some business, I would like to visit your state. Is your offer for a three-hour tour still open? Please let me know so I can schedule flights on this end. Yours sincerely, James Melbourne’ “What the fu…” Leah looked at the properties of the email. The origination was a UK internet provider and the name was ‘ Lord’ James Melbourne, MP. Last Halloween —that was when her mother had first disappeared. Maybe this man could shed some light on what happened. Leah quickly typed in her reply. ‘ Please contact me as soon as possible. This is in regards to my mother, Dani Madigan. Thank you, Leah Madigan.’ She hit send, then wondered if she should have included her phone number. “Nope. I doubt I’d be coherent over the phone. If he’s going to be here today, maybe we can meet face to face.” Leah touched her hair and realized she was a mess. She’d better clean up if she was going to meet the man—a British Lord, no less— who might have a clue about what happened to her mother last year. She wouldn’t tell him about yesterday unless… No, don’t anticipate, she admonished herself. Just take a shower and go from there. One small step at a time. Baby steps, lady, baby steps.

***End of Preview***

Do you want to know more about James and Leah? Do the two of them have a future together? The complete version of AYE, I AM A FAIRY is available on Amazon: (If you want to know more about Evie and her experience with time travel and rejuvenation, read NAKED IN THE WINTER WIND, the first book in the series) For more on The Fairies Saga, latest release information, and previews of upcoming works, check out Time Travelers Anonymous at www.danihaviland.com. Follow Dani on Facebook: Dani Haviland Author and The Fairies Saga Fans Twitter @dani_haviland Amazon Author page: https://amazon.com/Dani-Haviland/e/B0054R44KQ

Read more about the time traveling ‘fairies’ in THE FAIRIES SAGA including: NAKED IN THE WINTER WIND Read how it all began here with a little old lady from Alaska visiting her daughter in North Carolina. Amnesia, Abandoned, Adoptions. A rather lengthy novel.

DANCES NAKED Directionally-challenged Marty Melbourne helps save the day for two white women and a small tribe of Cherokee in 18th century North Carolina, but can—and will—he get back to the 21st century and his long lost loves?

THE GREAT BIG FAIRY, 6’7” Benji MacKay finds a way to return to the 18th century and his beloved grandfather, Jody Pomeroy. Can anything—or anyone—

stop him?

HA’PENNY JENNY The sweet, naïve, and psychic former orphan faces problems with the help of her new parents. Novella.

LITTLE BEAR AND THE LADIES An 18th century trapper has more than he thinks he can handle when he saves women and children from a group of Hessian mercenaries. Novella.

POOL BOY WANTED: NO EXPERIENCE PREFERRED Being 17 is tough on any young man, but even worse for the good-hearted time traveler. Held as a hostage, Benji must do what he’s told to do —or else. A rather racy novella.

LITTLE DRUMMER BOY The worst winter storm of the century is brewing. Will it stop the small group of 18th century men from going home for Christmas? Part of Love, Christmas Boxed Set.

TOUCH ME AND TANGO

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

ALICIA STREET

Book Description

AVAILABLE AT AMAZON

Parker was the gardener’s son, a hardworking teen. Strong and down-to-earth, nothing knocked him off his feet until he met Tanya, who stepped out of her rich-girl tower to tease and seduce him. Neither expected to fall so hard into star-crossed love that ended badly. Over a decade has passed, and Tanya, now a rising star in the world of ballroom dance, returns home to their quiet coastal village—and runs smack into Parker. Seeing each other again ignites the same fiery attraction between them. Can they rediscover the love they once lost—or will secrets from the past destroy it once again?

Praise and Awards

USA Today Bestselling Author Daphne du Maurier Award-winning Author

Praise for Touch Me and Tango

“A very satisfying love story. Makes you want to kick up your heels and dance!” ~Romantchick “If you’ve never read a romance by Alicia Street, you’re in for a treat.” ~The Leisure Zone “So much depth, emotion, passion and love.”~Unputdownable Books

Touch Me and Tango

Chapter One

Driving samba music blared from the speakers. Tanya immersed herself in a familiar routine of turns and whisks, her hips swiveling, legs and feet moving at breakneck speed to the percussive rhythm. “You okay?” Andre asked when their heads bent close to each other’s. “Um-hm.” “You sure?” “Yes.” But how could she be? Mark’s marriage proposal at breakfast today sent her mind reeling off course. And when the mind goes off, the body tends to follow. Andre spun toward her and reached his arm out to catch Tanya’s back in a deep drop. She met him several beats behind their musical cue. He growled under his breath. “Get it together, please.” “Sorry.” Every second in a dance performance was like a lifetime. There was no room for hesitation or error, especially in the screaming fast samba they’d created to impress the crowd. Her moment of hesitation was enough to ruin their timing for the complicated lift they’d rehearsed so many times she’d run out of Advil. Andre still managed to press Tanya over his head as her leg opened in a high développé. She felt herself off kilter. On the landing, her feet fumbled slightly when she touched down, but she regained her balance and seemed solid. Until she smelled the lilacs. Or thought she did.

Am I losing it? This is a ballroom in the center of London. “Wake up,” Andre hissed. She snapped out of her daze and tried to compensate for her momentary lack of focus. But in her attempt to get back in sync, Tanya rushed a pattern of ball changes that led to her next turn. Before she knew it, her foot slipped, and she went down on her butt. She quickly flung out a dramatic arm, trying to make the fall look intentional. Andre gripped her hand and yanked her to standing, barely masking his fury. The music hit a crescendo. Tanya struck her final pose with Andre and waited for the applause. Having toured Europe and Asia for the last eight years performing in all sorts of venues and in front of all kinds of crowds, she knew the difference between a fired up audience and one that was merely being polite. Two guesses which kind they got tonight. After taking their bows, the pair bounded off hand in hand. As soon as they hit the darkened corridor leading to the dressing rooms, Andre glared at her in disbelief. He spit out his words through a thick French accent. “I hope you have a good reason for what just happened.” She heaved a remorseful sigh, grateful the show was only an exhibition and not a competition. “I’m really sorry about that, Andre. I—” “People came from miles around to see us. You have a growing reputation as an international star. Or at least you did.” Her fingers nervously twisted the shiny fringe on her dress. She couldn’t blame him for hating her right now. “I feel terrible. Something came up today, and I’m having trouble dealing with it.”

“Makes no difference. You’re a professional. And one of the best. Otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to do this program with you.” Being between partners, she’d needed Andre for this gig and had approached him a few weeks ago with thoughts of working together in the future. So much for that idea. “I apologize.” “There is no excuse.” “You’re absolutely right.” Once a dancer stepped onstage, the outside world ceased to exist. That was the ironclad rule. And that had always been the case for Tanya. Why couldn’t she make it happen tonight? Andre shook his head, eyeing her with a frown. “I’ve never seen you do anything like this. I don’t get it.” “Neither do I.” She apologized once more, then turned and marched to her dressing room, chin lifted. Tanya wasn’t about to endure another word of Andre scolding her as if she were a child. She’d paid her dues year after year and ranked higher in the field than he did, so she wasn’t about to let him shame her for the mistakes she’d made tonight. They didn’t compare to that one big mistake she regretted to this day. Was she about to make another one? Her mouth crumpled and tears formed in her eyes as she shut the dressing room door behind her. She perched on a wire-back vanity stool in front of the makeup mirror. No, she didn’t get it at all. She should be elated instead of upset. She dug through her purse and pulled out a small velvet box, opened it, and gazed at the sizable diamond in the ring’s elaborate setting between two sapphires. Why couldn’t she make herself put it on?

Her relationship with Mark was custom made. From the start it had been fast and effortless. Her catching Mark’s eye on the dance floor in a club near Piccadilly. Two Americans with a nasty case of the hots for each other. Purely physical at first, their chronic lovemaking evolved into an amiable affair of two like-minded pros dedicated to their respective careers. It had lasted over a year, a record for her. And him. Of course, Tanya credited that to the fact that they both traveled so much, rarely spent a full week together, and allowed each other a very long leash. “Who are you and what is it you want, girl?” she said to herself, staring into the makeup mirror. Most women would kill for her camera-ready face and body. And not many could wear a dress like the one she had on tonight. Short, backless, and shiny, with high slits in the skirt, a plunging neckline to highlight her full breasts, and cutout sections along the torso to reveal her tight waist. A superficial showpiece with no substance. The words still haunted her. Words spoken long ago by a man she should’ve forgotten by now. Her cell rang. It was Mark. She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. “Hi.” “How’s my little fiancée?” “Stop it, Mark. I haven’t said yes.” “Why not?” “Come on. We both know the answer to that. Must I go into it again?” He blew out an impatient sigh. “We’re already living together. What’s the difference? We can still manage an independent lifestyle. The way it is now. Except, we’ve tied the knot.” Her tone went serious. “I hate knots. You know I

don’t do love.” “Neither do I.” “Then why are you all of a sudden so keen on getting married?” There was a silent pause on the other end of the line. She could sense Mark weighing his next words. He had just admitted love wasn’t a factor here, so she couldn’t imagine what he was struggling to say. “You like money, right?” “Sure. Who doesn’t?” “What if I gave you a million dollars as a wedding gift?” She laughed. “I know you earn a lot, but you haven’t got that much.” “No, but my grandfather does. And since I just turned thirty-five I was supposed to get a cool five million. But he won’t give me anything unless I’m married.” Suddenly her intuitive resistance to his marriage proposal that had plagued her all day made sense. “How romantic.” Tanya was not exactly the most romantically inclined woman, but this was a bit much to take. “So that’s the only reason you proposed.” “No. Of course not.” He lowered his voice to a sexy murmur. “You know how much I like every part of you. And you know you’re going to say yes, Tanya. We’re good together, babe.” A flush of heat ran through her. Yeah, sex with Mark was great. But the thought of marrying him nearly brought on a panic attack. “I…I can’t answer you now.” “Why not? Why the stalling? I’m serious about the wedding gift. A million dollars all your own.” “Don’t you even see how insulting that is? Offering to buy me like a—” “No. No way. That’s not how it’s meant, babe.”

Tanya remained silent, fuming—and trying to figure out how to give him a flat-out no without hurting him. Would he be hurt? Did he actually have any tender feelings for her? Mark cleared his throat and said, “Look, we’re both practical adults. And at thirty you ain’t getting any younger.” “Oooh.” “Don’t go all hormonal on me, Tanya. That’s just not you. You’re usually so cool-headed. That’s one thing I like about you. Now, we both know there are loads of women out there whose main goal in life is finding a rich hubby who’ll dump a wad of cash on them. Is it such a terrible thing that I’m offering you that?” Tanya ran a hand over her face. “I just don’t know if I want that kind of marriage.” “Well, what do you want, for God’s sake? Come on, Tanya. Neither of us is the kind who believes in all that fairy tale hearts and flowers stuff.” Was that what she wanted? A dramatic fairy tale love to overwhelm her? No, she didn’t believe in that. All she knew was that a desperate part of her wanted to run, to escape right now. Luckily her call waiting beeped. “Gotta go, Mark. My mother’s calling from the States.” Saved. Not only from the agonizing conversation. But also from the possibility she might go ahead and walk through a door she feared would lock her in forever if she married Mark. “Hey, Mom. What are you doing up at this hour?” “This is an SOS call, Tanya.” Her mother sounded more distraught than she’d ever heard her. “I’ve got all kinds of problems, first and foremost, a broken leg. And it’s my right leg, so I can’t even drive my car, but that’s just the beginning.”

“Oh, how horrible, Mom. I’m so sorry. I know I’m an ocean away, but if there’s anything I can do to—” “I need you to come home.” “Home?” Her stomach clenched in a knot. “Yes. ASAP. I’ve never asked you to come home, dear, but I’m asking you now.” “Of course, Mom. I’ll arrange my schedule and get a flight to New York tomorrow.” Tanya asked how it happened and what was going on, but her mother avoided giving any answers and just kept saying she’d explain when she saw her. So they drifted into their usual chatter about nonessential things. Tanya couldn’t stop herself from asking her mother about him, adding in the names of a few other locals so she could pretend it was merely casual curiosity about people back home. Would she see him there? Would he even speak to her? Did he hate her? After she signed off, a tiny voice inside reminded Tanya of that one taste she’d had of love. Real love. The fairy tale, blow-your-mind kind. It also reminded her of the delicate thread she had never let go of. Flimsy as it might be, it was still there. And it kept her heart hopelessly tied to Parker Richardson.

CHAPTER TWO

Parker Richardson couldn’t shake the odd feeling he woke up with this morning. Like a storm was brewing. Not in the weather. He could usually tell what to expect on that score just by looking at how the trees and animals behaved. No, this was a people thing. He could feel it. He’d checked up on a couple friends. His mother. His two sisters. Nothing out of the ordinary. His mom needing a refill of her blood pressure meds wasn’t anything new. Telling himself it was probably that dumb TV show he’d watched two nights ago, he eased his white 4X4 van into a parking space, shut the van’s door painted with Richardson’s Landscape Gardening and Lawn Care, and stepped onto the narrow sidewalk of North Cove’s Main Street. He loved the poky ambience of this town. Turn of the century-style street lamps dotted Main Street along with a handful of one-story shops, some decked with colorful striped awnings. A post office. A diner. A little white church with a steeple. Straight out of a greeting card. Rubbing his sore shoulder, stiff from a morning spent laying flagstone for a client’s garden, he headed for the pharmacy. He’d barely crossed the sidewalk when the storm appeared. Or rather a tempest of a woman. The sight of her nearly took his breath away. What was she doing here? Why had she come back? Strange thing was she looked kind of ruffled. Like she’d been walking in the wind. But even in baggy trousers and wrinkled blazer, he could see that perfect figure eight shape of her totally female form. Bright April sunlight turned her honey-colored hair golden. And, oh

God, that heart-shaped face he used to cup in his hands still sent his heart leaping. Dipping his head, hoping she hadn’t seen him, Parker made a beeline back to his truck. He figured he’d just lay low until she drove off. “Parker? Is that really you?” Too late. He turned. A tight half smile etched his mouth. “Hey, Tanya.” She walked up to him, a study in predatory grace. “Long time. Must be, what…ten years?” “Could be,” he said, making an effort to keep his expression indifferent. But he knew how many years, months, even days had passed since that night when she’d laughed at the idea of marrying someone like him. “How’ve you been?” she asked, her soft voice stirring things inside him the same way it always had. “Same old. And you?” Was she married now? Kids? Her mother told him she’d become a ballroom dance pro and did shows throughout Europe. But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to ask what he really wanted to know. He checked her hands. No rings. “Right now I’m pretty fried,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “Just got in from London and fought my way through traffic from JFK airport in that stupid rental car.” She gestured to a white sedan. He glanced at it, relieved to see there was no man waiting in the passenger seat. “I’m here to play nursemaid and chauffeur to my mom. Did you hear that she had a car accident?” Parker nodded. He’d never been a man of many words, but with Tanya there in front of him his shields were at max. He needed to end this conversation and get away. But a part of him just wanted to stand next to her a while longer.

She looked away and said, “What happened to the grocery store that used to be there?” “Gone.” “Well, between my mom’s broken leg, her revoked drivers license, and her obsessive dieting, I doubt the food supply at the house will be up to much. ” He couldn’t stop the spontaneous grin. Smiling back at him, Tanya lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, I know. I still eat like a horse.” She’d always been ravenous. For everything. Their eyes locked on each other’s. A tense silence hung in the air. “It’s strange to be back here,” she murmured. Was he imagining it, or was her tone seductive, her gaze an invitation? Or was that just Tanya being Tanya? The honey-haired lioness who’d pulled him into her clutches and then tore his heart to shreds. He’d convinced himself what had happened between them wouldn’t matter anymore. Convinced himself he was over her. Finished. Done. But seeing her standing there now, hearing that soft, intoxicating voice, it all came rushing back. Every kiss, every touch, every word. Including the bitter ones that had ended it all. Forcing himself to make a move, he stepped back. Last thing he needed was another round with Scarlett O’Hara incarnate. “Gotta go.” He turned and headed off—filled with that same overwhelming sense of loss he’d felt the last time he walked away from her.

***End of Preview***

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Thank you for reading TOUCH ME AND TANGO. If you enjoyed it, I hope you will consider reviewing it or recommending the book to a friend. Reader reviews mean everything to an author. If you’d like updates on my new releases, sales or contest, please join my newsletter. If you’d like to send me feedback or just say hello— you can write me at [emailprotected] I love hearing from readers and always answer every message.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alicia Street is a USA Today bestselling author and a Daphne du Maurier award-winner. She writes both sweet and sexy romances and sometimes collaborates with her husband, Roy. Her years as a professional dancer, choreographer and teacher provide the inspiration behind her Dance ‘n’ Luv contemporary romance series. A compulsive reader of every genre, Alicia loves watching old black-and-white movies and inventing new recipes for soup.

Contact Information

Alicia can be found at: http://aliciastreet-roystreet.com or http://aliciastreetauthor.com/

Facebook Twitter Amazon page Goodreads

OTHER BOOKS BY ALICIA STREET

Dance ‘n’ Luv series (Contemporary Romance) Kiss Me, Dancer “A brilliant script for a chick flick we girls would love to cry and swoon about!” ~Unputdownable Books

Touch Me and Tango “A very satisfying love story. Makes you want to kick up your heels and dance!” ~Romantchick

Stars, Love and Pirouettes “Adored this book. I have read most of the Dance ‘n’ Luv series and enjoyed them all but this is definitely my favorite.” ~Loves Reading

Snow Dance “Sweet, funny and heartwarming” ~ Reader review

Tomboy Bride “Delightful story with a hunky H and spunky h, great storyline that keeps you on the edge of your seat.” ~Something Completely Different

Dance ‘n’ Luv Contemporary Romance Boxed Set “OMG love it! Didn’t put down till done!” ~Reader review

Holiday Luv series (Sweet romance)

Be Mine For Christmas The Christmas Honeymoon

The Christmas Wedding Cake

His Christmas Promise

Her Christmas Secret

Holiday Luv Bundle: Four Christmas Romances

RIGHT NAME, WRONG MAN

New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author

Mona Risk

BOOK DESCRIPTION

Available at Amazon What’s a girl to do when she whispers another man’s name in her fiancé’s arms?

When forbidden dreams about the sexy French Dr. Yves Malroux assail her at every turn, Mary-Beth puts her wedding plans on hold. The man would probably not even remember the plump nerd she was three years ago, before she lost her illusions faster than her pounds. Regardless, to be able to marry her fiancé without any reservations, Mary-Beth needs to confront her past, and flies to France for a summer training program in surgery with Yves.

But Yves never forgets an organ he removed from a patient or a woman he dated. And he never forgot the pretty student of Harvard Medical School who has turned into a stunning beauty, and now seems in need of coaching about spicing her serious life with some fun and passion.

While too many questions still swirled in her mind, her jealous fiancé summons her back home. Will MaryBeth let her heart decide who’s her right man? Will Yves break his no-strings-attached rule to offer love and commitment?

AWARDS AND PRAISE

New York Times Bestselling Author USA Today Bestselling Author Outstanding Achiever 2013 Award at Affaire de Coeur Magazine Best Romance Novel winner at Preditors & Editors Readers Poll Two-Time winner of Best Contemporary Romance Novel at Readers Favorite. EPIC’s Ebook Award Finalist. Amazon 100 top Bestselling Author list

Praise for Right Name, Wrong Man:

“Unforgettable! Pulled me in within the first chapter and kept me hooked.” ~ Seniorcitizen

“This contemporary romance has it all: a strong likeable heroine who has overcome problems that will resonate with many readers, a to-die-for hero, the perfect alpha male, and a fantastic setting in the beautiful French countryside.” ~Loves Romance

“This book was a great read. A wonderfully charming book set in France with characters that matured and became strong enough to take the risk to be together.” ~luvsbooks

Right Name, Wrong Man

CHAPTER ONE

“Love you, Yves.” Marie-Beth Drake purred and cuddled deeper against her lover’s broad chest. Already half-asleep, Steve squeezed her to his side, with a faint “Hmm” . Soon, his light snores filled the air. Sated and relaxed, she stroked his silvery hair. “Love you —” She froze. What had she called him? Oh God, oh God. Had she said Steve or… Yves? Her fiancé grumbled in his sleep. She immediately yanked her hand away from his head. Her fingers flew to her lips and her stomach somersaulted. She couldn’t have whispered the loathsome name? She’d buried it long ago and forgotten the sexy French doctor and his charismatic smile. Had Steve noticed the slip of her tongue? Heart pounding, she studied his closed eyes and slightly gaping mouth. Not to worry. Her fiancé slept as peacefully as a man content with life—as he did every night. Shivering with mortification, she slid out of his arms. Her throat ached with sudden dryness as she covered herself with a robe and rushed downstairs. In the living room, she grabbed a bottle of Merlot from the bar, filled a glass and swallowed it, and poured a second one. Her mind in shambles, she settled on the sofa to organize her thoughts. Hanging over the fireplace, her fiancé’s portrait focused a serious look at her. She blinked. “I don’t know

how it happened. Honestly,” she groaned with an apologetic grimace. Sultry images of the French surgeon obscured her vision. Yves smiling, his knuckles caressing her cheeks, his face reaching closer to hers. She snatched her head back and touched her lips, swollen from Steve’s kisses. And remembered Yves’s passionate embrace. “No, please.” Her world tilted on its axis. Weary and confused, she emptied her glass. “You’re history. Gone, Dr. Malroux.” To think he’d left Boston the next day after the blissful night she’d spent in his arms, and never came back, never called the chubby medical student she’d been then. “No more crazy dreams or heartaches,” she scolded in a strangled groan. Why did Steve have to mention his name a few days ago and ask her to participate in an exchange program of residents with his French colleague? “Nope. Not interested,” she’d immediately replied, and Steve hadn’t insisted. Training with Dr. Yves Malroux would tempt any residents but her. She’d hoped never to set eyes on him again after she’d torn his picture into a hundred pieces. With an automatic motion, she rotated the too-heavy engagement ring, token of Steve’s love and status. He’d forgotten to lock the five-carat diamond in his safe after their evening out. Dear Steve, in a few months, they’d be married, that is, if he didn’t ask awkward questions about her stupid blurt, and… She cringed, anticipating the worst. After two glasses of wine, she’d developed a splitting headache. Torturing herself over the baffling mistake didn’t do any good. She was on call tomorrow and needed her sleep and a clear head to assist in General Surgery. She lumbered up to one of the guestrooms,

sprawled on the bed and fell into an exhausted sleep. “Oh Y-Yves, yes, yes.” Sweating and trembling, she bolted awake and clutched the blanket to her throat. “Yves?” Heaving a deep breath, she shook off the haze of the haunting dream. Yves nuzzling her throat, kissing her open lips, caressing her naked flesh. Oh, God, am I losing my mind? In the morning, she shuffled down to the kitchen. Steve didn’t mention anything unusual over breakfast. His satisfied smile contrasted painfully with her restless mood. “You’re very quiet,” he said in a jovial voice that irritated her frazzled nerves. “Contrary to last night,” he added with a wink. “Oh yeah?” she muttered, sloshing coffee over the table. “You mumbled and screamed and butchered my name several times. Reeve,” he mimicked with a strident tone before bursting out in laughter. “Ah?” Thank you, she whispered, as she wiped the table. “Poor sweetheart, I shouldn’t wear you out when you have to work a long shift the next day.” The smug tilt of his lips implied he didn’t mind a repeat performance. “Don’t worry. It was good.” Her weak smile faded as the scorching dream of last night filled her with guilt. “I’m late.” Eager to end the awkward conversation, she swallowed the remaining of her burning coffee and pressed her lips to Steve’s cheek. “Bye, have a good day,” she called over her shoulder and strode out of the kitchen, her thoughts focused on the previous night. At the hospital, she sprinted to the pre-op room, and bumped into a young woman in a white coat. “Hi, Mary-Beth.” Loraine hooked her arm. “Boy, you

look terrible.” Never one to mince words, the resident in psychiatry examined her with a professional eye. “Difficult shift, last night?” “No, I wasn’t working.” Mary-Beth tried to disentangle herself and continue her way. “Sorry, I’m in a rush.” “Ah, so good old Dr. Galt gave you a rough night?” With a big laugh, Loraine patted her arm. “Lucky girl, who managed to catch the Mass General Director of Surgery.” “Steve is a great lover. No complaint here.” Mary-Beth chuckled and then sobered. “But I didn’t sleep well because— I have other things on my mind.” “That bad?” Her friend squinted at her. “Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener. I’ll practice my psychiatry on you,” she added with a kind smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not one to let emotions rule my head. It was just a stupid dream.” She snorted and raised her chin. “I can handle it.” “Anyway, you know where to find me.” Loraine continued down the corridor and Mary-Beth entered the pre-op room to scrub up and ready herself for a long day.

~*~

Exhausted from shifts and unending surgeries, MaryBeth barely saw Steve during the week. By the time he’d arrive home after a conference or late dinner with specialists, she’d have collapsed on their bed, deep asleep. Tonight was Saturday, the evening Steve reserved to entertain his special colleagues. It was also the special night he set aside to make love to her—every Saturday at 11:00 pm precisely after sharing an after-dinner drink. Driving home to his elegant colonial mansion in Beacon Hill, Mary-Beth mulled over the previous week’s incident.

Not to be repeated at any price. After a short nap and a refreshing shower, she flexed her arms and wrapped herself in a warm towel. If she could control her emotions, she’d never blurt a wrong name, right? She rubbed her wet palms against the bath sheet and muttered, “Repeat after me: Steve, Steve, Steve.” Yes, she’d be in full control, and ready to enjoy her evening out with her fiancé. She proceeded to the guestroom closet where she hung her clothes and pulled a printed turquoise outfit. “Love you, Steve. Love you, love you,” she sang with the tune of Beyoncé’s song, Dangerously in Love, to convince her subconscious of the right words to blurt. There would be no mistake tonight. The cheerful color of the dress cemented her determination to have a good time. She held it against her in front of the mirror, and then pirouetted just as Steve entered the room. “Well?” she asked, waiting for his approving comment. “Delightful but…” Arms crossed over his chest, he shook his head. “Too childish for our evening. We’re entertaining Dr. Lee and Dr. Yokamo, and the retired California University Dean of Medicine, for dinner, and then we’re attending Madame Butterfly at the opera.” “How fun,” she mumbled between her teeth as she explored her closet for a more conservative outfit to wear at the black-tie dinner. She’d have to play hostess to visitors who reminded her of great-uncles. Talk about relaxation. Her shoulders sagged at the anticipated boring evening, but it wasn’t worth arguing over clothes. She reached for a sleeveless, black chiffon evening gown with a V-neck, and slipped it on. A pair of matching high heeled pumps enhanced her recent slim figure. “Perfect. Much more elegant.” Steve zippered the back for her, and moved her hair aside to nuzzle her neck.

“Love you, Steve,” she said as she turned into his arms. A quick brush of his lips over her mouth assured her he loved her too. “You’re stunning. Lovely beyond compare.” Words like these compensated for the misery of the previous years when she dwelled in self-contempt and dejection. “Thank you.” Heck, she’d rather have Steve with his overprotective and sometimes authoritarian ways, than a womanizer of Yves’caliber. “Trust me. Didn’t I choose you for my fiancée?” He tickled her chin with his finger and grinned. “That alone attests to my good taste.” She chuckled at his confident arrogance. Here was a man who had scarcely gone out after his wife’s death, yet when he noticed Mary-Beth working late in the library and helped her with a difficult question, he’d immediately decided he wanted to marry her. Superb in his black tux, Steve opened the velvet sachet he held in his hand, slipped the splendid diamond on her finger and kissed her cheek. “We should leave now, my love.” At dinner, she dazzled her old visitors with medical stories and accepted their compliments graciously. In an exceptional effort to mingle with their guests, she accepted an extra drink after the performance. Her fiancé maintained an approving smile, then glanced at his Rolex watch. “Sweetheart, let’s go home. It’s Saturday night,” he muttered against her ear. Since Steve had proposed, she’d always looked forward to their nights together. “I know,” she said with a soft voice that ended in a silent groan when a different face danced in her mind and beckoned with a wicked smile. Go to Hell, Yves. Her cheeks heated and her

stomach clutched at the possibility of another inappropriate blurt. On the way to the parking lot, she mumbled her Love you, Steve, mantra that should wipe her apprehension. To no avail, as if a thin crust of memories had wedged between her and her fiancé. Steve gave her an assessing look before starting his Mercedes. “You look tired, sweetheart. Why don’t you nap on the way home?” She nodded and closed her eyes. Silence hovered in the car while Steve sped through highways and shortcuts. Sleep eluded her. Instead, a guilt-laden panic grew. “Slow down. I’m getting dizzy.” “What?” Doubt underlined his question and he glanced at her. “Since when are you sensitive to speed?” “It happens, sometimes, at the least expected moment.” “Fine.” He patted her knee and decelerated. Even at the slow speed, they reached home too soon. Once in the garage, Mary-Beth darted from the car to the guestroom and jumped into a long cotton nightgown, ready to claim an honest headache. A moment later, Steve stood at the door, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Come on, not that ugly thing.” Her hands clenched on the reassuring plain material as she glared at the bottle of Cognac and the two glasses in his hands. “Wear the short red silk one I bought you two weeks ago.” A suggestive smile formed on his lips. “Darling, it’s Saturday night.” His unspoken demand swirled the gourmet dinner up into her throat. She clutched her middle, gagged and dashed to the bathroom. “You’re not sick? Are you? Not tonight, for heaven’s

sake.” No, she wasn’t sick, just terrified of lying with him, making love, and screaming the wrong name again. “Sweetheart, how are you feeling?” he asked from behind the bathroom door. His concern needled her with remorse. “I’m better.” She brushed her teeth, splashed cold water on her face, dabbed it with a scented towel, and donned the tiny silk negligee over her shivering body. She took a deep breath. “I love you, Steve,” she said with a forceful voice when she opened the door. “I love you too, my precious one. I become a younger man when I hold you in my arms.” They toasted their future with a drink of Cognac and climbed into bed. In a swift movement, Steve peeled her nightgown over her head and covered her breasts with kisses. Stiff as a board, she watched him wide-eyed. Exasperated, he raised his head. “What’s wrong? I feel like I’m kissing an ice block.” “I’m sorry. I’m tense. Maybe I worked too much this past week.” Alarmed at the possibility of blurting Yves’s name again, she bit her lips. “Let me help you relax. Turn over. I’ll massage your back.” He kneaded her muscles with firm hands and she breathed easier. “Think about something nice. Our honeymoon. We’ll go to France. My friend Yves Malroux has often invited me to visit his chateau.” “No,” she snapped. “I don’t want to go to France.” “Oh, I thought you’d like it. Such a romantic place, perfect for a honeymoon.” “No, we’ll go to Italy, or Greece, or England.” Damn it, anywhere except at Yves’ chateau. If that was Steve’s way of relaxing her, it wasn’t working. “Forget the

massage. Make love to me.” She turned around and pulled him on top of her. “My pleasure. Glad I managed to put you back in the mood.” He captured her mouth with eager lips, and she concentrated on his caresses. Steve excelled at everything he did, surgery, research, social life and lovemaking. Soon enough Mary-Beth forgot her inhibitions under his expert hands and kisses. Soon enough she sighed and moaned with pleasure. After they collapsed in panting org*sms, she snuggled against his shoulder. Content, she raised her face for one more kiss. “Love you, Yves, Yv… Oh no, again? Ste-eve, Steve. Oh God. Again? Why? Oh God. Love you, Steeve.” She jammed her fist against her mouth as she jumped to her knees and stared at him. “Again?” Yanked from his happily sated semi-slumber, Steve frowned. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, but I can’t do it again. I’m not twenty anymore.” “What?” “It’s very flattering, my love, but… Why don’t you come in my arms and try to sleep?” “I’m sorry. Did I scream?” “No, you just whispered in a kiss, ‘ Love you Ste-eeeve’, several times. And you asked for an encore.” He stroked her arm. “That’s what I love about you, your passion for life, your youth. Damn it, you make me feel so good.” Off the hook one more time, she exhaled. She’d caught herself this time, but how long could she keep on saying another man’s name when her fiancé held her? And why on earth, did it happen now? Three years after Yves had left. Did she need a shrink? “You rest,” she said. “I’m going downstairs to review a report.” And ponder how to handle the situation.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he muttered, then rolled to his favorite position and started snoring. Wrapping her robe around her, she lingered an extra moment to trail the lines around his forehead, eyes and mouth, and then contemplated his silvery hair. He was handsome, and kind, and protective. He loved her and would give her a stable life, free of passionate outbursts and wrenching heartbreaks. Wouldn’t that make for a happy marriage? What more could she ask for? The past was over, damn it. Her infatuation with Yves had been a youthful mistake. It should have—it had— worn off by now. Her heart twisted in her chest. If Steve ever figured out her moaning, he’d be deeply hurt, and she’d have only herself to blame. She couldn’t destroy their relationship because of a selfish bastard who’d deceived her three years ago. The plump gullible nerd she’d been at medical school had ceased to exist. Her naiveté had vanished quicker than her pounds. But how could she suppress her inappropriate moaning? In the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of milk and carried it to Steve’s office. Her fiancé liked to have her next to him when they both worked on their laptops. She glanced at his mahogany desk and the folders piled neatly next to his computer. The white label Hôpital de la Santé, Summer Training, caught her attention. Ah, the famous folders about medical training in France. No wonder Yves’name had come to her lips. Those damn folders had been sitting on Steve’s desk for two weeks now, teasing her subconscious with unwanted memories and suggestive dreams. Imagine if she happened to scream Yves or Eel-eve on their honeymoon. How in the world could she coach her treacherous

subconscious into proper behavior? Needing reassurance, she stopped by Loraine’s office the next morning. “Hi Loraine. Just a quick question. I had a slip of the tongue.” She bit her lip, paused, and then shrugged, while Loraine patiently waited for more explanation. “I blurted the wrong name when Steve and I were—umm—well, at the wrong time. It’s no big deal, right?” Her psychiatric friend shot her one of those looks that penetrated her mind and searched for tiny details with the accuracy of a microscope. “Oh sweetie, you’re not sure about your marriage, now?” “What are you talking about? Of course, I’m sure. It’s just weird to mention a name I’ve completely, totally, utterly forgotten.” Loraine crossed her arms, glanced at her watch and squinted over her glasses. “Have a seat. Whose name?” All her secrets tumbled out of Mary-Beth’s mouth while Loraine patiently listened. “Is Yves really a lousy womanizer?” “I think, I mean—” “Can it all be in your head?” “Huh?” Her hand flew to her skull, fingering and skimming for a problematic bump. “Do you really love Steve?” “Of course.” Had she wasted a whole hour just to get that stupid question? “Passionate love?” “Yes, I think, I mean I’m sure—” “Is it possible that you think you love him because you’ve decided he was your best option?” Mary-Beth shook her head vehemently and stood to leave. This was going nowhere. Loraine bombarded her with one question after another. Soon she’d make her

doubt the wise decisions she’d reached. “It’s all in your head, Mary-Beth. You’ve repressed your emotions and tried too hard to control your feelings. You need to face the reason for your problems and analyze your reactions before you get married.” “Face…Yves? No way.” “Why not? What’s the problem if you’re convinced you don’t care about him?” “I’ve already faced him in my nightmares, and didn’t like it.” “Are you sure you didn’t like it?” Her face in flames, Mary-Beth opened her mouth and closed it. “Join the exchange program, go to France, and get some answers,” the psychiatrist said as she walked her to the door. Later at home, Mary-Beth sat in front of Steve in his office, staring at the screen of her laptop, while he opened the folder on his desk. “Sweetheart, I think you should join the training program.” Always the dedicated mentor, Steve handed her an application form. “Trust me. It will improve your experience in Surgery.” Good God, both the psychiatrist and her fiancé challenged her—for different reasons— to go to France and work with Yves for three months. Would it help her forget the French doc and put the past to rest? Would facing Yves convince her obtuse mind she didn’t give a fig about his devilish smile or his intense green gaze? ***End of Preview***

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Thank you for reading RIGHT NAME, WRONG MAN. If you enjoyed this romance novel, please recommend and review the book, and other books by the same author. Please join my Newsletter. To hear about my new novels, please join my newsletter .

CONTACT

Mona Risk can be found at: Website Twitter Facebook Amazon Page

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A tireless traveler, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Mona Risk writes contemporary romance, medical romance, and romantic suspense novels, all simmering with emotion. Sprinkled with a good dose of humor, her stories are set in the fascinating places she visits— or in Florida, her paradise on earth.

OTHER BOOKS BY MONA RISK

SWEET ROMANCES:

An Unusual Christmas: In a far away country, a baby girl, four little boys, and a handsome doctor may teach Dr. Jillian the true meaning of Christmas.

Holiday Babies Series: Holly Jolly Christmas: Prequel to the series. Christmas Babies: A sweet and powerful Christmas Story. Valentine Babies: Can he love a woman expecting another man’s baby? Mother’s Day Babies: Never too late to find love and happiness. Wedding Surprise: Is it the worst or best wedding surprise? Christmas Papa: Who’s my Papa, Mommy? On Christmas Eve: We want a mommy for Christmas.

The Senator’s Family Series: Her Christmas Cruise: The perfect fiancé is a cheater and the fabulous Christmas wedding is off. But the would-be honeymoon cruise may fulfill the dreams of Julia and her unexpected companion. Two Loves For Christmas: Her German shepherd is her only friend until a senator’s son refuses to have her for fake fiancée and teams up with her dog to protect her.

CONTEMPORARY ROMANCES: Set in romantic or exotic international places, these romance novels are sizzling with passion, emotion and sensual tension.

Her Greek Tycoon: A sexy and humorous Romeo and Juliette Greek style, set in Mykonos Island. Her Russian Hero: Clash of cultures and intrigues between an American scientist and the Major General of Belarus. Her French Count: Are his statue and chateau worth endangering the life of the impetuous young woman who’s turned his life upside down Neighbors and More: Too close for comfort for condo owners in a Florida High Rise after a man drowns in a hot spa. Husband for a Week: Sicilian vendetta, fake husband, and an irascible matchmaking grandmother complicate Jonathan and Isabella’s lives. Can love conquer all?

Doctor’s Orders: Babies in the Bargain: “ER” and “Grey’s Anatomy” in the NICU. Right Name, Wrong Man: What’s a girl to do when she whispers another man’s name in her fiancé’s arms? No More Lies: A lie that brings a smile or a truth drawing tears?

FOR THE LOVE OF CANDY

New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author

Patrice Wilton

BOOK DESCRIPTION

Available at Amazon

The Candy Bar is in trouble. Crime and corruption have changed the landscape of the street. Candy can stay and fight it, or sell and run. She has called an emergency meeting with her dear friends, the sisters of her heart, to tell them her decision. Enter Harrison Wolfe—Boston lawyer, probably a Mayflower descendent by his arrogance and arresting good looks. He has come to the Candy Bar to tell her that his daughter is engaged to her son Billy. He’s only 21 and graduating from college, and is certainly not ready to take on the responsibilities of marriage. Harrison is also strongly opposed to this engagement and wants to put an end to it before it even begins. Thunder cracks open the sky, lightning strikes, and Harrison and Candy are caught up in the magic and madness. Now they have to fight their attraction—and keep their pants on—to stay focused on keeping their children apart.

PRAISE

“Patrice is a wonderful author and I would recommend this series to everyone who loves a fantastic story. Can’t wait for the next book.” ~ Diana Justus

“I loved this book! It was sweet and romantic and had me from page one. This was a really well-written, enjoyable, and entertaining read. I am looking forward to reading more from Patrice Wilton.” ~ C.N.

For the Love of Candy

CHAPTER ONE

Sunshine filtered through the stained-glass windows as I opened the door to the Candy Bar, but the cavernous interior remained dark and gloomy. It was always this way until the room filled with people, then the sound of laughter and bubbly good times turned this old Mission Inn into something magical. I maneuvered through the clusters of tables and chairs, then dumped my keys and handbag on the mahogany bar, turning the lights on dim. For the past ten years the Candy Bar has been my home, bringing pride, joy and a comfort of living that I never expected. Still, nothing remains static. The rivers of life keep flowing and a girl has to adapt to the sudden change of current, or drown. One thing for sure—I’m great at adapting. I took the lemons life tossed at me and created a profitable lemonade stand. Kicked out of my house with a baby on the way, I’d had to scrape out a living. It hadn’t always been easy and it hadn’t been pretty, but I’d done what I needed to do. Successfully, on my terms. And so I would again. I’d tell my friends, sisters of the heart, that it was a business decision and we all needed to keep our emotions out of it. Right? As if that would happen. I stepped behind the bar and wiped my damp palms with a dry cloth. Perspiration dotted my upper lip and my brow, but I knew it wasn’t the Miami humidity. A nervous stomach was the culprit. I lifted my chin and glanced in the mirror. “Buck up,

Candy Thompson,” I told myself. “This isn’t your first rodeo and it isn’t your last. The girls will understand.” My eyes told me differently. I sucked in a breath. Okay, telling them I was going to sell would break their hearts. I knew that. It was also breaking mine. There was nothing to do about it; the decision was made and it was final. I expected them to arrive any minute, but I couldn’t sit down to wait. Instead I grabbed the cloth and began to polish the already perfectly polished bar. Once that was done, I played with the liquor bottles in front of the brick wall, rearranging them attractively so they lined up in a row. I was still puttering when the door opened. Momentarily blinded by sunlight, I blinked and made out a tall, svelte body topped with fiery red hair. I gripped the edge of the slick wood. “Hey, Lydia,” I greeted her as though I didn’t have a care in the world. “You’re the first to arrive.” A lawyer, a mother, a wonderful friend—who still made time in her busy schedule to see me in the middle of the day. I closed my eyes against the onslaught of memories and walked around the bar, into her hug. My smile was as big as it was false. “Candy,” she cried, searching my face for clues. “What’s up? You’re scaring the heck out of us, calling this emergency meeting.” “I’ll tell you as soon as the others get here.” I laughed weakly. “Middle-aged drama. Nothing life threatening.” Lydia sniffed. “Middle-aged? Hardly. You’re younger than Fran and me, although outside of this room, I’d deny it.” She stepped back and crossed her arms to study me, knowing there was more to it. “The rest of us have drama, but you always handle things in stride.” “Guess I’m due for a meltdown, then.” I hoped the

others arrived soon so I could explain my decision just once. As if on cue, Fran and Susie entered together and I breathed a sigh of relief. After warm hugs, I gestured them to their barstools. For years they’d each parked their butts in the same order along the bar. Lydia, Fran, Susie. I looked at their beautiful faces and choked up, my airway clogged with emotion but no way would I cry. How could I tell my dear friends that it was time for me to move on? I knew they’d do anything, say anything to rope me down and keep me here. I returned to my spot behind the bar, my source of comfort. I sucked in a couple of deep breaths and then straightened my shoulders, determined to say what had to be said. My stomach rolled with nerves. “As you all know, the Candy Bar hasn’t been doing so well lately. Business has slowed to a trickle during the week, and is about half of what we used to bring in on the weekends.” “It’s the end of the season. Things always get slow,” Lydia said, her tone defensive. I shook my head, and fought back my emotions. The head had to overrule the heart. “This neighborhood has changed in the last couple of years. It used to be quiet, set back from South Beach, but the action has crept here. I’ve seen drug deals go down on the streets and I’m pretty sure there’s some prostitution three blocks over by the gas station.” Before they could speak, I rushed on. “The cops are everywhere, but they don’t, or can’t, stop the progression of crime. It’s killing my bottom line. I need to sell before it’s too late to see even a small profit.” Although it wasn’t about the money. Not really.

Fran’s brow creased with concern. Her honey-toned pixie spikes bobbed as her chin rose. “There’s a new sports bar down the street, and that dance club, Dominique’s, which opened last year.” She rubbed her fingers together. “They are packing in the crowds, and don’t seem worried about the crime element.” Probably paying off the right people, I thought. Fran was like a determined terrier-once she sunk her teeth into something, she’d hang on to the bitter end. “So, if it’s just slow business, we’ll think of something to bring the crowd back here. Won’t we, girls?” I rested my elbow on the bar. “My regulars are disappearing and it’s not likely they’ll be coming back. Not unless I sink a lot of money into the place.” My friends opened their lips to argue, so I raised my hand and continued, “And the club crowd, well, they are so young and flaky, that I’m just as happy not serving them. Jake and I had to crack down on fake ID. It hasn’t made us popular. We don’t condone drug use on the property, which has become a real problem.” “Drugs are a problem everywhere,” Lydia said. “And it seems the criminals are getting younger every year.” I expelled a breath. “I don’t want the Candy Bar taking a nose-dive. I worked too hard to make it a place to be proud of, not some cheap pick-up spot for hustlers.” “It won’t. Not this magical place,” Susie said with some heat. Her delicate features belied a strong will. “This is the best bar in South Beach, isn’t it girls?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You don’t have to worry about the riff-raff. You’ve created a sophisticated ambiance, and you’re the savviest person around. Plus you’ve got Jake, the best looking hunk of a bartender in the state of Florida, and magic, to boot. The other bars can stick their head down a toilet, because the Candy Bar is here to stay.”

I slowly shook my head. “You can’t sell.” Fran twisted her hands in her lap, her face blotchy. “You can’t. This is as much our place as it is yours.” Her cheeks turned a solid crimson. “Fran,” I said, my heart aching. “This was a hard decision to make, but I have to get out from under the bar before it buries me.” I also needed a change. It was time to be something more. Fran cleared her throat and lifted her chin, a pint-sized country rock maven ready to do battle. “That sounded selfish of me, but I don’t care.” Her lovely voice rose with passion. “Hell, Candy. You can’t do this.” She glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on the empty stage, and then back at her friends. “This is the place where we found our true loves. Where dreams come true. Susie’s right. It’s a magical place, and you can’t let it go. Not for love or money,” she paused and added, “or someone like Jay.” I backed up a step, struck. “Jay has nothing to do with it.” Other than being an impetus toward getting my life together. What had I been thinking, hoping to change a man who liked all women? I’d never accept being one of his groupies, so I had to end it, or continue down a path of heartache and self-loathing. It had been fun for awhile, but that short affair was over. “Well, then,” Lydia said, searching my face. “If it’s really just a financial decision, we can work something out. I agree with Fran, and I don’t want you to sell.” She reached for her expensive leather purse and pulled out her checkbook. “I’m going to give you a little something until things get back in full swing again.” I raised my chin and straightened my shoulders. Even at the lowest point in my life I hadn’t taken handouts. “Put that back. I’m selling. That’s my final decision.”

Susie slid from her barstool and walked behind the bar, grabbing a chilled bottle of Sonoma Cutrer. “Candy, you better open this. It might only be three-thirty, but we’re going to need it for this conversation.” She thumped it on the counter then took her seat on the other side of the bar. “Yes, you may be the sole proprietor, but we have a stake in this place too.” I opened the bottle and filled four glasses, then we all just looked at each other, knowing that somehow we’d reached a crossroad. Four friends that had found each other, supported one another—even though we each embarked on separate journeys, they all led back to here. Susie broke the silence, and lifted her glass. “If it hadn’t been for that art show I might not have reconnected with Brett. I’d still be sitting here meeting men from on-line dating services who looked nothing like their pictures.” “I remember watching you, thinking what is that beautiful girl doing, wasting her time on loser after loser?” I clinked my glass with Susie’s. “We were married at this bar,” she whispered with tears in her bright blue eyes. It was difficult to stay strong in the gale of her memories, but I stiffened my spine. “I met Jed here,” Lydia spoke quietly. “The storm, the magic–we conceived Braden that night.” I nodded. “We hadn’t met yet, but I clearly remember the magnum of champagne you’d ordered, and that you were celebrating something. Your friend got a little wasted.” “Client.” Lydia said with a shrug. “A very good, affluent client who used my services through three of her divorces.”

Like it had been yesterday, I could still remember how Lydia had looked professional and composed, taking care to feed her client and order a cab, as the lady waved the bottle around, and flirted with every guy around. “After you called her a cab,” Lydia spoke quietly, “I left during the tropical storm and found my car with a dead battery. Jed jumpstarted me in more ways than one,” she added with a grin. Fran took a quick sip of her wine, then pushed the glass aside. She jerked her chin toward the small dance floor. “I saw John when I was up on that stage singing. The way our eyes connected, well, it was like a shot of electricity had gone right through us. We were two lonely people who hadn’t been out on a date in years. But in that moment everything changed—and I became quite the vamp.” She laughed. “Took him to bed that very night, I did.” “Candy Bar magic worked for all three of you. You found true love. We came together, and I couldn’t ask for better friends.” I gave a weary sigh. It would break my heart to sell this place, but I couldn’t afford to hang on to it for sentimental reasons. “It’s gotta go.” “Jed and I could help out,” Lydia offered, without touching her purse again, thank heaven. She didn’t understand that there was more than just the money behind my decision. Probably because I hadn’t told them that I wanted more—something new to sink my teeth into. “An interest free loan,” Lydia said softly, “if you won’t accept the gift. I insist.” “Oh, no you don’t,” Susie said, brushing her long blonde hair to the side with slender artist’s fingers. “My paintings have been selling well, and Brett and I have a little extra to spare. We want to invest. Right here. “She indicated the first four seats. “This is our corner of the

bar. We own it. I’m going to buy these seats right now.” Fran smacked the counter with typical determination. “Whoa. Wait a dang minute. My career started on that stage, and if anyone is going to put money down, it’s me. So back off, everybody. This is personal.” I’d known they’d be upset, but to fight over giving me money? It was enough to bring me to tears. I glanced away and sucked them back. “I figured you’d be upset, but I never thought you’d try and rescue me. I should have though. It’s what we do.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. No crying, damn it. “I love you crazy girls to death, but I don’t want any one of you to float me a loan. This is a business decision, and one that I alone will make.” I met their confused, questioning gazes, imploring them to understand. “You see…I want a clean break. To go someplace fresh. Live life for a change and stop working all the time.” “You want to leave South Beach? Leave us?” Fran asked, her voice full of hurt. My heart ached so badly I had to look away. My glance rested on the mural that Susie had painted, the stage where Fran had sang—so many happy memories, and ones I would always treasure. Still, as much as I loved the place, I couldn’t weaken now, or I’d be stuck here behind the bar—forever. “You all have your own lives now, and nothing stays the same. It’s my turn to move on. I’m getting too old to be a barmaid.” I removed my straw hat and ran a loving finger across the brim. “Too old to be dressed like some sexy cowgirl.” “You’re not old,” Susie said. “And if you take off your hat and start dressing all prim and proper,” she sniffed, “then I guess I’ll have to do the same. All of us will. No

more party girls. No more Candy Ops. No more fun. Let the boring times begin.” I grimaced at Susie’s dramatic prediction for our future. “Put your hat back on,” Fran demanded. She grabbed it from the bar and shoved it back on my head, then continued yelling as though I were stone deaf. “What do you think you’re doing? You don’t quit. None of us do. We’re survivors, dammit, and we’ll figure a way out of this mess without selling our magical place.” “You keep saying this is a business decision. So why won’t you take a loan?” Lydia narrowed her eyes. “You sure this isn’t about Jay Carpenter? Didn’t you go see him last week?” I turned away from the girls, hiding the truth. “He’s not a part of my life anymore, and not a part of this decision, that’s for damn sure.” The only way Jay had influenced me was to show me what I didn’t have in my life, and what I still may want. “Why?” Fran asked, zeroing in like a hawk on prey. “What happened in Tampa?” She reached out and touched my shoulder, turning me around. I tugged at the brim of my hat. “Same old,” I said, like it didn’t bother me. “Found him in bed with another girl.” I grabbed my neglected glass of wine, and took a large swallow. “She was younger and prettier than the last.” With great pretense, I gave a carefree shrug. “I finally realized that there’d always be another one, a continuous parade of women competing for Jay’s attention. Who was I to think I might change him? That man doesn’t want to be corralled, and I for one have lost interest in trying.” I tossed my head, sending my straw hat flying toward the row of booze on the bar. “I’m ready to move on. He’s not invited.” “Oh, Candy,” Susie said softly. “I’m so sorry. You really

liked him. He seemed so into you.” “Into me, and anybody else he could nail.” That had been the hardest part for me to accept. I’d understood Jay’s celebrity status gave him carte blanche to party like a rock star. What had hurt was realizing I wasn’t special enough to tame the man. For a while, it had been fun trying. “Did you love him?” Susie asked, compassion in her tone. “No,” I answered honestly. “I don’t even like him so much anymore.” “Ah,” Susie said. Lydia’s eyes welled and Fran’s cheeks turned red as if they all felt my misery. Unbidden, hot tears of disappointment coursed down my cheeks, my shoulders shook and I couldn’t catch a breath. Gasping, I sobbed gut-wrenching tears. Crying like I hadn’t cried since leaving home at sixteen—pregnant, rejected by my family who disowned me, sending me off to find my own place in the world. The Candy Bar had become my place. Could I really leave it behind? My friends abandoned their barstools and came around the bar, locking me in a protective group hug. Lydia smelled like expensive perfume, Susie sandalwood and Fran like hair gel. “We’ll always be friends,” I said, clearing my throat and pushing out of their circle. “This is so embarrassing.” I whispered. “Carrying on like this. I’m fine. Really.” Secretly, during my weak moments I’d always build myself up by thinking of myself as Candy the Conqueror. Well, that Candy had just lost total control and was blubbering like a baby. Lydia looked like I’d smacked her in the face. “Embarrassing? We’re not only your friends, we’re your family.” She used an embossed co*cktail napkin to dab at my tears. “And don’t you forget it.”

Fran stepped back, her lower lip jutted out. “I’m going to kill that Jay Carpenter. Worse, I’m going to call every person I know and have him permanently black listed.” The idea perked me up a little and I forced a smile. “You can’t do that. His name is bigger than yours.” She tilted her pug nose in the air. “Not for long. And once I do a proper smear campaign, no one will want to touch him. Not even his faithful groupies.” “Need help?” Susie asked, her angelic face a mask of beautiful fury. “You twitter, and I’ll tackle Facebook.” “No one is going to do anything,” I told them, pushing them back toward their barstools. “Even if he is a twotiming whor*. Darn, I can’t even call him that. He makes no bones that he screws anyone he pleases, so he doesn’t really cheat. He was honest about it from the start. That makes me stupid, not him.” My bottom lip trembled so I bit it viciously and tasted blood. “Don’t you dare stand up for him,” Lydia said savagely. “I don’t care who he screws, as long as it isn’t you.” “When I saw him like that—in bed with another woman, I was so filled with disgust—for him and for myself. He’d made it perfectly clear where I stood on his priority list, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like who I was. On the drive home, I came to terms with the fact I’m almost forty. My son is a legal adult graduating from college.” I took a deep breath, smoothing my fingers across the bar. “Billy is starting new, too. It’s time I thought about finding someone to spend the rest of my life with. Someone who doesn’t sleep around and who’ll cherish me. I deserve that, don’t I?” “You do, Candy,” they said in unison, as if they’d been practicing all week. Who needed a sexy cowboy you could ride all night and leave you cross-legged in the morning, when you had women like these at your back?

“So selling the Candy Bar isn’t just about the money.” Lydia reached for the almost empty bottle of wine. Passing it over, I shook my head. “The neighborhood is going downhill. Just like me.” “Will you stop saying that?” Susie frowned. “You are beautiful.” “I saw a gray hair this morning,” I answered. “So? You just pull them out,” Lydia responded. “Doesn’t mean you’re not hot stuff.” “Well, I think you’re one of the most beautiful women, I know,” Fran said. “And maybe tonight some cute guy will walk in, and you’ll find your magic just like we all did.” She beamed. “Why not? Your bar, your turn.” The Candy Bar was an old mission inn, built on an ancient Indian burial ground. We didn’t have any factual proof of any mysterious forces at work, but we liked to think that the Indians were up to old tricks. During tropical storms when the skies opened up and lightning crackled in the air, the brick wall behind the bar would begin to sweat. Inside the bar, candles flickered, lights dimmed, and whoever was the lucky or unlucky recipient of this electrical current would get zapped by magic. By now, most of the customers knew the routine. I’d shout out “make a wish,” and the lucky recipient would wish for something and it would be granted. Since it’s never happened to me, I’m not sure what I’d wish for. I’d like a husband, but it wasn’t the top priority in my life. I wanted to give back to the people who had once supported me. I’d eventually ended up at a women’s shelter, and they had let me stay until the baby was born. Without their nurturing care, I’m not sure if either Billy or I would have survived. So I like to think that if the magic struck me, I’d be a bigger, better person and not ask for love, but a

means to help other unwed mothers. “It’s not going to happen. I think I’m immune.” “Next time,” Lydia suggested, “throw yourself in front of it. Don’t let anyone else steal your wish. It’s your turn for love, girlfriend.” “I need a lot of other things first, like a demolition crew to clean this neighborhood up. That’s the only thing that will keep this business alive long enough for me to sell to a solid buyer. If I only have one wish, I sure can’t make it a man.” I was independent and quite capable, and well used to doing things for myself. A man would keep me warm at night, but then so would a blanket. And if I wanted affection, I could always get a puppy. “Make it a rich man,” Susie said with a devilish grin. “And a drop dead gorgeous one. Go for the whole enchilada!” “Clear skies today, girls,” I said, reaching for another bottle of wine. One of the perks of owning the place was drinking the finest wine with the best friends any girl could have. My heart twisted as I thought of somebody else behind the bar. My bar. Had I made my decision to sell too quickly? No…it was time. The door swung open, allowing the late afternoon sun to illuminate the dim bar. I tossed my hair back, narrowing my eyes to bring the shape of broad shoulders wearing a suit into focus. He paused at the door, surveying the room before finding the four of us in the near gloom. I flicked a switch, softly lighting the area around the bar tables–he could see us, and we could see him. He moved forward with a confident stride. Tall—really tall. Perhaps 6 foot 6, with dark hair. His suit was tailored, the fabric expensive even from a distance. Something

about him screamed trouble and I wiped my palms on the front of my jeans. “I’m looking for the owner,” he said, with a deep rich timber to his voice. Trouble, yes, but from where? He was too smooth to be one of the jackasses who’d been after me for protection money for the bar. Maybe he was interested in buying the place, though I’d just listed the property last night with a realtor. I came around the bar, with a reserved smile. I was wearing a hot pink tee that read Candy Bar in silver sequins across my considerable bosom. And hot pink cowboy boots. My attire suited the Candy Bar. Suited me. But for some reason, it made me feel ever-so-tacky next to Wall Street Ken. I held out my hand. “I’m Candy.” For better or worse, that’s me. ***End of Preview***

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Thank you for reading FOR THE LOVE OF CANDY. If you enjoyed this book, I’d appreciate it if you’d help others find it so they can enjoy it too. • Lend it: This e-book is lending-enabled, so feel free to share it with your friends. • Recommend it: Please help other readers find this book by recommending it to friends, readers’groups, and discussion boards. • Review it: Let other potential readers know what you liked or didn’t like about.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Patrice Wilton was born in Vancouver, Canada, and knew from the age of twelve that she wanted to be a writer. She also knew that she had to grow up first and see the world that she wanted to write about, so she became a flight attendant and for seventeen years traveled the world. At the age of forty, she sat down to write her first novel in longhand! She is the proud mother of two, with four lovely granddaughters and a wonderful,

supportive man at her side. They live in West Palm Beach, Florida, where he teaches her golf, and she teaches him patience.

OTHER BOOKS BY PATRICE WILTON

REPLACING BARNIE – Romantic comedy - lst book in the Candy Bar Series

WHERE WISHES COME TRUE – 2nd book in Candy Bar series

NIGHT MUSIC – 3rd book in Candy Bar series

CATERED AFFAIR – Contemporary Romance

A HERO LIES WITHIN – Contemporary Romance

HANDLE WITH CARE – Contemporary Romance

AT FIRST SIGHT – Contemporary Romance

SERENDIPITY FALLS – Romantic Comedy series

WEDDING FEVER – 2nd book in Serendipity Falls series

LOVE STRUCK – 3RD BOOK in Serendipity Falls series

PARADISE COVE — Book 1 in Paradise Cove series

HOOKED ON YOU — Book 2 in Paradise Cove series

PLAY RIGHT BY ME — Book 3 in Paradise Cove series

A HEAVENLY CHRISTMAS — Book 1 in Heavenly Christmas series

SOMEONE TO LOVE — Book 2 in Heavenly

Christmas series

HER GREEK TYCOON

New York Times And USA Today Bestselling Author

Mona Risk

AWARDS AND PRAISE

Praise for Her Greek Romance

“This story is steamy with the feisty Ashley meeting up with her very own sexy Greek god where sparks fly and motives clash.” ~Debbie A.

“Ashley and Stefano set the beach on fire. This is basically two memorable love stories in one, and I enjoyed them both. I can’t wait for her next novel.” ~Seniorcitizen

“The tenderness melded with fiery passion is perfect for that gorgeous setting.” ~Beth Trissel

Her Greek Tycoon

CHAPTER ONE

Revenge would taste sweet. Yet Stefano Kostapoulos sought no revenge. A sad page of his family’s history needed to be turned once and for all. We will forget the past, he vowed. Jaws locked in anger, he scanned the one-story brick house hunkered down on a dune facing the Aegean Sea. A useless shack, frozen in time and abandoned. How he hated the old villa that spoiled the beauty of Mykonos Island. His lips still curving in disdain, he slowly squinted. Not that frozen or abandoned, if he was to believe the sight suddenly offered by his binoculars. The wrought-iron gate leading to the dilapidated yard slowly opened. And… No way. A beach bag in her hand, a young woman came out and closed the gate behind her. What was going on there? No one had stepped into the Pink Villa since his grandmother Elena became so sick four months ago. Unable to believe his eyes, Stefano slapped his free palm on the railing at the bow of his yacht and leaned forward. His breath caught in his throat. “I’ll…be…damned.” The woman was a vision. Aphrodite in a green sarong. Her reddish blond hair cascaded down her back in a glorious mane. Stefano extended his arm—a wishful gesture to catch the curly strands flying in the gentle breeze.

Raising his binoculars, he followed the alluring sway of her hips as she crossed the street, ambled along the boardwalk, and stepped onto the sand. After a short pause, she sauntered toward a striped umbrella and dropped her bag on a vacant lounge chair under the shade. Without wasting another minute, Stefano unhooked his phone from his belt and punched in his lawyer’s number. “Kalimera, Ted, good morning. I’m on the Athena. I saw a woman coming out of the old house. Should we anticipate trouble?” “I haven’t heard anything from my American counterpart.” A shuffling noise indicated Ted was searching through his notes. After a few seconds of silence, he cleared his throat. “This woman may be a cleaning maid.” Stefano brought the binoculars back to his eyes for a thorough check. Poise and natural elegance emanated from the young woman. “Too classy, with a figure to damn a saint, and hair about to set the beach on fire. Definitely no maid here.” On the other end of the phone line, a burst of laughter interrupted his enthusiastic description. “Sounds like you’re already on fire. Take a cold drink while I make a few phone calls. I’ll get back to you.” “See that you do. Tomorrow we have to win our case in court and get a permit to demolish the dump. I don’t want any surprises.” Breathing deeply to calm his growing nervousness, he inhaled the salty air of the Mediterranean Sea and hooked the cell phone to his belt. Determined to keep a vigil on the potential threat created by the presence of a stranger in his grandmother’s house—and what a stranger—Stefano

lifted the binoculars again and surveyed the scenario unfolding on the shore. The young woman untied her beach wrap to reveal perfect curves molded by the bikini like a second skin and then she threw her cover on the back of the lounge chair. “Lovely.” The word escaped him with a groan. Stefano blinked, assessing and admiring. Aphrodite’s hands slid behind her back and remained hidden for a good moment. What was she up to? She turned around. This time he could see her profile and her fingers clasped on the hook of her bikini top. With impatient twists, he fiddled with his binoculars. To no avail. It was already in perfect focus. Eyes narrowed, Stefano stiffened and zeroed in his attention on the beach. Her head swiveled right then left. Was she scanning the stretch of sand carpeted with topless sunbathers? Guessing the woman’s intention, he swallowed hard. Take it off or not take it off? What a dilemma. She must be a foreigner. Probably a bashful American on her first visit to Greece. No doubt about it. A European beauty wouldn’t have hesitated to remove her bra on a beach where topless was the norm and full bathing suits the exception. His senses on alert, Stefano stilled and focused. Would she shy away from revealing herself or follow the locals’ example? Her breasts swelled and rose while she seemed to struggle with her thoughts. Her fingers clenched behind her back on the thin strip of material. With a swift gesture, she unhooked the clasp, snatched the bikini top off, and crumpled it in her palm. Stefano sucked in his breath. Simply gorgeous. His

hands fisted, and flexed, and he almost dropped his binoculars. Did she sense she was being watched? The woman crossed her arms in front of her, and plopped onto the lounge chair, hiding her magnificent breasts from his hungry gaze. What was he doing, ogling a foreigner? He raked his hair, embarrassment dousing his excitement. Thousands of beauties lay topless on the Greek shores. He’d never bothered to grant them more than a passing glance. Yeah, but none had hair as fiery as this siren, a skin whiter than his favorite whipped cream, and a figure to revive a dead man. His own body quivered with life, tenting his navy blue shorts. He threw a glance over his shoulder. Luckily, his steward was busy mopping the aft deck. “Mikhali, let’s go closer to shore.” Stefano didn’t waste time to weigh his decision. He wanted to meet the beautiful redhead. Besides, he needed to discover why she’d visited the old, decrepit place where his grandmother Elena had hidden her grief and tears once a month for half a century. His cell phone ring interrupted his musing. He glanced at the number displayed. “Ted, what’s up?” “I called the clerk at the court. He received a fax today saying that Mr. Zanis’lawyer is arriving from America to contest your application for a permit to demolish the Pink Villa.” “Damn Zanis and his lawyer. They can’t stop me. My Yaya had suffered for years from the lousy memories held in this place. Stick to the plan.” It was too late for his Yaya now. His dear grandmother had died five weeks ago. She hadn’t minded his suggestion to build a beautiful resort on the lot of the old

house, but she’d insisted he notify the American coowner, George Zanis. The snake had protested long and loud, threatened to take all the Kostapoulos to court, and promised to send his attorney. Next Monday—after forty days of mourning according to the Greek custom—their family lawyer would read the will. Stefano straightened, never doubting the outcome of the meeting and the court’s decision. Soon the despicable Pink Villa would be his to demolish. With the reminder of the painful past crushed to the ground, he’d build a luxury resort on the premium land and replace the painful past with the laughter of joyful visitors. The sooner, the better. “Stefano, the lawyer is a Miss Sheppard. She’s staying at the Poseidon Hotel and she visited the Pink Villa this morning. She will appear in court on Monday with a local attorney to contest your petition to demolish the villa.” “I’ll be damned.” The image of a lovely figure with blazing hair and gorgeous breasts popped into his mind. The opposition lawyer. Pity. Tomorrow, he’d have to fight her in court, rip her apart if needed. “Ted, arrange a meeting with this woman without telling her who I am. My name is a mouthful anyway. Instead of Dimitri Stefano Alexios Kostapoulos, use Stefano Alexios. I’ll try to prevent her from appearing in court. We need to demolish the Pink Villa. No matter what it takes. I don’t want my family to suffer any longer.” The yacht had swiftly reached the bay where it usually anchored. Stefano pitched a savage look beyond the turquoise waves unfurling on the golden sand of Mykonos, the island where he’d lived all his life. With the villa gone, his parents and relatives would regain peace of mind and stop cursing the coward George Zanis who’d dishonored

and abandoned Yaya Elena years ago.

~*~

Ashley Sheppard blew out a breath of exasperation. Following the local customs hadn’t prevented her from attracting unwanted attention. What more could she do? She had donned a skimpy bikini and taken off the darn bra to blend with the crowd of topless sunbathers. And yet strollers kept staring at her as if she wore a sign labeled, “It’s my first time here.” She couldn’t spend the rest of the afternoon with her arms crossed over her chest. Behind her sunglasses she narrowed her eyes, examining the colorful throng swarming the beach for a clue. What could be different about her? Other women walked around or lay almost nude without eliciting any special interest from their neighbors. Young and old, blonde-haired and brunettes, tanned or…white. White? Could that be her problem? With a scowl, she reached into her beach bag for a plastic bottle and squirted out a generous portion of sunscreen to slather over her lily-white breasts. In a sudden frenzy, she emptied the bottle all over her body and furiously rubbed it in. Too bad the lotion couldn’t dye her skin instantaneously. But its strong perfume overpowered the refreshing smell of the sea and warm sand. Keeping one arm strategically positioned to hide part of her breasts, she smoothed her hair to tame the unruly strands flying over her face. It suddenly occurred to her she was the only redhead around here. Easy enough to fix. She dug out her cap from the bag and fumbled to tuck up her hair without uncovering her chest. Exhaling

with relief, she relaxed, determined to enjoy a quiet afternoon before starting serious work tomorrow. “Kyria, separakalo.” Ashley raised her head toward the young man in a waiter’s apron. “Miss, please,” he repeated in broken English, “two gentlemen, there.” He pointed to the sidewalk café across the street. “They ask you, for kaffe and pastry.” He held out a card. Annoyed, she ignored the card. Her arms still wrapped around her chest, she spun her head toward the street and saw the two men, in shorts and t-shirts, sitting at a table, one of them smoking a cigarette. They acknowledged her with a nod. The gall of these locals. “Kyria, please. The card,” the waiter insisted, probably worried about losing his tip. With a sigh, she took the card and frowned while reading the name. Her heart double-flipped. Theodore Pastroudis. The lawyer of that Greek SOB, Dimitri Kostapoulos, who was responsible for her dear grandpa’s heart attack. The same devil’s spawn who wanted to destroy her grandfather’s villa. She’d immediately studied the case when she got wind of their sneaky deal. They could both go to hell. She wouldn’t meet with the enemy’s lawyer. “Kyria, look at back, please,” the waiter begged. What now? Her brow arched and she flipped the card impatiently. “Miss Sheppard, it would be in our best interests to get acquainted today in a friendly environment before meeting in court.” She deciphered the words scribbled and gasped, hardly believing her eyes. “How on earth did he find out my name? Has he been following me?” Taken aback by her glare, the waiter lowered his head

with uncertainty. “Scuse-me, kyria? Me no understand.” She shouldn’t blame him for the message he’d delivered. She took a deep breath to calm her jumbled nerves. “There will be no answer.” She reached into her bag for her wallet and dropped a coin in his hand. “You may go now,” she added in a tone of voice that brooked no discussion. “Efkharisto, kyria. Thank you, Miss.” He turned his back and rushed away. Her sunbathing spoiled by the unpleasant episode, Ashley decided not to linger half naked around the beach. The nasty lawyer might not take no for an answer. The last thing she needed now was for him to show up in front of her while she used her arms in lieu of a bra. Bending forward, she fumbled in her bag for the top of her bikini. “Miss Sheppard. A moment, please.” An American voice? Oh no. And he knew her name. Her fingers buried in the bag, she frantically searched for the tiny piece of material, while her other arm covered her breasts. “Go away. Please, go away.” Where was her towel? Already spread on the sand but too far out of reach. “I need to speak to you.” Too close for comfort, the deep masculine voice scattered goose bumps along her arms and froze her hand inside the bag. “Not now,” she said with the forceful tone she used in court. No way she’d carry a conversation in the buff. Or semi-buff. Especially with a compatriot. “I’m very busy.” “Really?” Heavy sarcasm underlined his question. From the corner of her eye, she saw the man approaching her chair. In a second, he’d be staring at… Without hesitation, she plunged forward and landed half on the towel and half on the sand. At least now, she

didn’t feel exposed. Still she flattened herself on her stomach and stiffened, both arms bent against her sides for a partial shield of her vulnerability. “Miss Sheppard, I just need a minute of your time.” The jerk now stood in front of her, his ankles at the level of her eyes. “I’m Ted Pastroudis.” The opposition lawyer. Lifting her head a tiny bit, she scowled at his hairy legs. “Mr. Pastroudis, don’t you think you’re going too far?” The man crouched in front of her, holding her gaze. “What are you doing here? Why did you come, Miss Sheppard?” Pressing her arms closer to the curves of her breasts, she twisted her head to his side. “Mr. Pastroudis,” she spat, her anger escalating with her desperation at hiding the topless part of her body. “This is harassment.” Irritating man. She glared at him, and then frowned. She’d never seen Pastroudis before and yet she could swear he looked familiar. Dark hair, hazel eyes, aquiline nose, and the general appearance of a thin, nervous man always on the go. His brows shot up as he surveyed her. Surprise replaced his professional aggressiveness. “Ashley? From Harvard Law School?” “Yes. And you are…Teddy,” she said, after a brief hesitation to scan her memory. “We worked together on a student paper in second year, remember?” She nodded and lowered her head. Of all the awkward situations. She couldn’t continue to converse in this position. With a former comrade from school. “I never knew your last name.” “And I didn’t make the connection. I’ll be damned.” He offered her a congenial smile.

“Teddy.” Her hiss should warn him she wasn’t in a mood to exchange niceties right now. “Please go away.” “Pastroudis, stop.” A strong male voice called from behind them, and continued in Greek with an authoritative edge. Ted straightened up. His legs finally ambled out of her field of vision. “Miss,” the newcomer said with a softer tone. “I’m sorry we’ve intruded on your privacy.” He spoke perfect English with a hint of Greek accent. “Here are your things. Ted will be waiting at the boardwalk to apologize.” A sigh of relief escaped her when her bag and seethrough wrap landed in a heap next to her hands. “Thank you.” She twisted her neck and caught a glimpse of a pair of bronzed legs elongated into muscled thighs that could make a woman drool. “I really appreciate it,” she called after Strong-Legs. He strutted away from her umbrella. Without bothering to wipe off the sand sticking to her skin, she pulled her bra from the bag, slipped it on, and fastened the clasp. While still lying on her stomach, she threw the wrap over her back. Finally decent again. The stiffness in her shoulders relaxed and she scrambled up to tie the edges of the soft material between her breasts. Gathering her bag and flip-flops, she folded her towel and turned around. Teddy stood by himself fifty feet away. Where had Strong-Legs gone? Sunshine burned her naked back and sensitive neck as she trudged through the blazing sand to reach the boardwalk. Teddy waved to her but remained in place until she reached him. “Is everything okay?” “You could say that.” At least, now, she was ready to talk with her usual calm.

“Ashley, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you or embarrass you.” The meekness in his voice surprised her. Was it due to the tongue-lashing he’d received a moment ago? “It’s okay. What was so important to discuss?” “My client saw you coming out of the Pink Villa. Are you representing Mr. George Zanis or is your presence here a coincidence?” She tilted her head, arching a brow. “We learned in Law School that most coincidences have logical causes.” “I see. So you are here to work on the Pink Villa case.” “Yes, with a Greek attorney. Tomorrow, we’ll meet in court.” “And we’ll tear each other apart.” “Probably.” Since she’d graduated from Harvard, Ashley had joined a well-known firm and built a solid reputation, fighting tooth and nail in court to defend her clients. In this case, her client was her cherished grandfather who had entrusted her with the villa so dear to his heart. “Ashley, I’ve never lost a case. It may be ugly tomorrow.” She shrugged. “It’s always ugly.” “Yeah, but you’re my former classmate, and it’s your first day in Mykonos.” “Having premature remorse?” she asked without smiling. “Tell your client to drop his request to level the house. It’s not his to destroy.” “Fifty percent of the shares belong to his grandmother. My client is ready to generously compensate Mr. Zanis for his part.” “For sentimental reasons you’ll never understand, Mr. Zanis refuses to see the Pink Villa demolished. And that is not negotiable.”

“Careful, Ashley, we’ll have a war tomorrow.” “So be it. See you later.” Ted fiddled with his sunglasses and threw a glance toward the café. Was he waiting for reinforcement? She turned to leave, but he touched her arm. “At least, can I invite you for a cup of coffee? For old-time’s sake?” Not knowing what to make of his invitation, she narrowed her eyes at him. “We’re lawyers. Do I need to remind you, it’s unethical to discuss a case, even though we’re not in the U.S.” He burst out laughing. “Deal. We won’t talk about the case. This way, please. I have a friend waiting for me at the café.” “A friend?” “Yes, he handed you your things a moment ago. Please, join us.” The man with strong legs and broad shoulders. The one who talked with enough authority to intimidate a lawyer of Pastroudis’caliber. She’d like to meet this Greek. Hanging the straps of her bag on her shoulder, she nodded. “Only for a short while. I have work to do.” Teddy led her to a sidewalk café where a sign greeted the tourists in Greek and English: Welcome to Kaffe Paradizio. Proper attire required. NO bikinis or half bikinis on premises. Ashley snorted inwardly. At least here, she wouldn’t feel out of place. To hell with local customs. For once she’d given in to well-intended advice about blending with the crowd, and ended up with a wasted day and a severe headache. She should have remained locked in her grandfather’s house to work on her case—the Pink Villa her grandpa had bought for the woman he loved half a century ago. So romantic… and frustrating. Envy and puzzlement filled

Ashley’s heart, and she glanced in the direction of the Pink Villa. How had that Greek woman, Elena, managed to inflame Grandpa George with a love that endured a fiftyyear separation? Irritation pinched Ashley’s insides. Her own romances had never lasted more than a year, earning Grandpa’s reproachful looks and his never-wavering advice. Look for a Greek man who can love you unconditionally. Did Greek men belong to a special brand of lovers whose passion could survive the test of time and distance? Well, the few locals who had stared—leered at her was more correct—didn’t strike her as the kind of heroes who’d love forever, or even long enough to walk to the altar. But maybe all Greeks were not that bad. A moment ago, Strong-Legs had acted like a gentleman. Ted navigated his way through the crowded area and waved his hand. “Here’s my friend.” A hunk sprang to his feet and waved back. Tall, lean, solid, his body matched the legs she’d admired a moment ago. Bulging muscles stretched the beige t-shirt that contrasted with the bronze of his skin. And she thought gods belonged only to mythology. “Ashley, this is Stefano, my lifelong friend and former roommate. He also spent eight years in Boston, but he studied Architecture and then went on for a Master in Business Administration. Stefano, Ashley Sheppard is another Harvard graduate.” Ted had forgotten to mention Stefano’s last name. By mistake or on purpose? She flicked a guarded glance from the lawyer to his friend. “Stefano Alexios,” the hunk specified. She nodded and extended her hand. He enfolded it in

his warm palm and held it a moment too long. “Nice to meet you, Ashley.” His voice drifted velvet-smooth, tinged with a hint of accent. A faint scent of lemon and spice tickled her senses while his heart-stopping smile numbed her mind. He pulled a chair for her into the shade of the white and blue canopy. “You’ll be more comfortable here.” He sat next to her at the small table. Dark curls ruffled in the breeze and fluttered over his gold-rimmed, polarized sunglasses. She’d bet her bikini bra he’d have dark chocolate eyes to match that tanned skin. As if reading her thoughts, he took off his glasses. Lo and behold, his eyes were turquoise blue, similar in color to the sea surrounding his island. She’d eat her tongue before making another bet in her life. The noon temperature suddenly seemed unbearable. A rush of blood coursed to her face, creating a tiny sheen of perspiration. She wiped her forehead and removed her sunglasses to rub at her temples. Stefano peered at her face. What was wrong now? She stilled. “Forgive me for staring.” His eyebrows quirked. Yet he didn’t avert his gaze, his admiration almost palpable. “Green eyes and reddish blond hair. An unusual combination we’re not used to seeing around here.” “Oh.” Her cheeks aflame, she fiddled with her sunglasses and debated whether she should put them back on to hide her embarrassment. Ted settled across from them and asked, “Coffee?” Grateful for his interruption, she glanced at him. Today, Ted would be kind and courteous for old-time’s sake before verbally shredding her in court tomorrow, on behalf of his client. “I’d rather have a cold co*ke.” Her throat felt like dry parchment.

“And a baklava, of course,” Stefano suggested with a bone-melting smile that turned her insides to jelly. So much sex-appeal in one body should be forbidden. He looked at her, waiting. She inwardly groaned. What had he said? Oh, the baklava. With a nod, she mentally slapped herself back into consciousness and smiled. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss the chance to taste the local pastry.” “Ted told me you’re here on a business trip.” Stefano reclined against the back of his chair. “For how long, if I may ask?” “As long as needed.” Ted laughed. “I promised Ashley we wouldn’t talk about work.” “Who’s talking about work in this dream place?” Stefano emphatically gestured toward the sea. “Actually, I was going to suggest a boat ride around the island.” “It would have been lovely, but I really can’t. Tomorrow, I’ll be very busy.” The waiter deposited a tray with their orders on the table. Ashley reached for her glass of co*ke with ice cubes floating in it and sipped with delight. Stefano ate his pastry slowly. His gaze trailed over her face and flicked to the transparent beach wrap. Energy and potent masculinity zeroed in on her and clutched her inescapably. Heat whooshed to her throat creating an intolerable frustration. After toying with the knot of her wrap, she flattened her hand on her chest to create an extra layer of insulation. She was used to intimidating lawyers and criminals with her acerbic attacks, but now she suppressed a squirm as if she stood at the examination table herself. Counselor Sheppard. Please. Get a grip. A flicker of amusem*nt danced over his striking

features. “Well, how about this afternoon? Do you plan to go back to the beach?” And face another awkward experience of topless inhibition? No way. Imagining Stefano’s intense gaze skimming over her naked flesh brought a burning flush to her cheeks. She fiddled with her sunglasses and set them on her nose as a protective barrier to her feelings. “Nothing beats the view of Mykonos from the sea.” Pride underlined Stefano’s casual assessment. “Stefano has a yacht anchored at the end of the island, beyond the Pink Villa,” Ted added nonchalantly. The Pink Villa? That got her attention. She could take a panoramic picture of Grandpa’s house, a nice one with the ocean in the forefront, and e-mail it to him. That would cheer her dear grandfather and help him cope with the stress of the coming days. She bit her lip, hesitating. “I wouldn’t want to keep you away from your usual business.” “No business on Sunday,” Ted immediately replied. “Stefano loves to brag about his island. He was born in Mikonos and knows it well. Believe me, you’ll enjoy the ride.” The fact that Ted would be part of the excursion reassured her enough. “In that case, I accept. But first I’d like to stop at the hotel to change.” And wear a more decent outfit. The transparent wrap presented no protection against Stefano’s scorching gaze. “Change? Why? You are wearing a bathing suit. We can swim to the Athena or if you are too tired we can ride the dinghy.” Stefano pointed to a yellow inflatable raft parked on the sand. “I don’t mind swimming.” The refreshing exercise would cool her overheated body. While Stefano paid for their orders, she gathered her

bag and checked that she had a pair of shorts, a top and another bikini to use after her swim. Framed by two handsome Greeks, she left the café and strolled to the beach. Except for a superb yacht moored about fivehundred yards in the sea, she didn’t see any boat. “Where is your Athena?” “Just in front of you. It’s the only boat close to the shore right now.” This was his private boat? Ashley’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. Grandpa’s twenty-seven footer didn’t compare to Stefano’s dream yacht. Maybe her Greek host would let her handle the steering wheel. “It’s a beauty,” she whispered, still in awe. “Are you familiar with boats?” Stefano eyed her with interest. “I’ve sailed my grandfather’s on the Florida Intracoastal Canal. A small boat. Nothing like yours.” A sideways glance at her companion convinced her that this cruise promised to be very different from the rides in her grandpa’s sailboat. Stefano turned toward his prized possession with a satisfied grin. Ted pulled the inflatable dinghy to the water and jumped into it. Stefano took off his shirt, cap, glasses and slippers, and shoved them into a large bag in the rear of the dinghy. Ashley followed suit, removing the clothes covering her bikini and stuffing her things in her beach bag that she handed to Ted. “I am ready to—” The rest of her sentence remained clogged in her throat as she caught Stefano’s gaze roaming over her chest, belly, and all the way down her legs. “Me too,” he answered with a smile that made her think of the Big Bad Wolf about to eat Little Red Riding Hood. No Little Red Riding Hood here waiting to be gulped.

In one swift motion she dove into the sea, grateful for the water’s coolness, and swam away from the dinghy. A burst of laughter reached her, and a second later, Stefano joined her and then slowed down his strokes to maintain an equal speed. “Don’t swim too hard or you’ll exhaust yourself quickly.” “Good advice.” She wasn’t in a rush to reach the yacht now and enjoyed the feel of the water on her skin. After what seemed an interminable stretch of time, she raised her head assessing the distance to the yacht and sighed. They had covered only half the distance. “See that buoy.” His chin tilted, indicating a barrel-like float. “We’ll hold on to it and rest for a moment.” Out of breath, she nodded, and used her last burst of energy to reach the buoy. Not too far from them, Ted called from the dinghy, “Do you want to climb aboard?” “No thank you, I’m good.” There was no way on earth she’d just sit in front of those two men in a clinging bikini. “We’re doing great, Ted. We just need a moment to rest,” Stefano said with so much understanding that she regretted judging him badly a moment ago. After a few minutes, she released the buoy and took a deep breath. “I can continue now.” Gently bobbing upon the waves, the dinghy was waiting when they reached the yacht. Stefano hoisted himself on the swim platform of the yacht. “Not too tired?” he asked softly. “Not at all.” She smiled to reassure him. Ted maneuvered the dinghy close to the deck, and both men helped her aboard the yacht. Stefano offered her a green towel to wrap herself in. “Thank you.” Why had she been so worried about sharing their company? She and Ted sitting on opposite

benches in court tomorrow didn’t mean that Ted and Stefano couldn’t behave like gentlemen the day before. Besides, Stefano had nothing to do with her mission and the lawsuit. “Here’s your bag, Ashley.” Ted handed her the beach bag and tossed Stefano’s oversized bundle onto the deck. “See you later. Have a fun tour.” Before she recovered from her surprise, he’d swiveled the dinghy around and raced away over the waves. “But —” she swallowed wrong and spun toward Stefano. A tête-à-tête with him was not exactly the way she’d anticipated the cruise. He shot her his mind-boggling smile. “Welcome aboard the Athena.” ***End of Preview***

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Thank you for reading Her Greek Tycoon. If you enjoyed this romance novel, please recommend and review the book, and other books by the same author. Please join my Newsletter. To hear about my new novels, please join my newsletter .

CONTACT

Mona Risk can be found at: Website Twitter Facebook Amazon Page

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OTHER BOOKS BY MONA RISK

SWEET ROMANCES:

An Unusual Christmas: In a far away country, a baby girl, four little boys, and a handsome doctor may teach Dr. Jillian the true meaning of Christmas.

CONTEMPORARY ROMANCES: Set in romantic or exotic international places, these romance novels are sizzling with passion, emotion and sensual tension.

Rebels, Rogues, and Romantics

INTRODUCTION He’s too much a REBEL! I could never love anyone as inconsiderate and rash or coarse. Such a ROGUE. I can’t abide someone who can’t or won’t follow the rules or obey the law of the land. His smile, his soft voice, those gentle words… He’s so ROMANTIC. How could I ever resist? Who cares if he’s a rebel or a rogue?

REBELS, ROGUES, AND ROMANTICS Throughout history, women have been susceptible to their charms. Share the adventures of a few of the more memorable ones in this collection of historical tales written by award winning authors:

Dani Haviland, USA Today Bestselling author. The Cherokee call him Dances Naked. Can this crazy white man help his new friends with their dilemma of near

starvation and what to do with the two white women who want to join their tribe? A time travel novel.

Taylor Lee, USA Today Bestselling author. Aces Wild. They call him Angel, but every woman he meets sees the devil in his eyes. Angel’s Avengers Book 1. A sizzling historical romantic suspense novel.

Katy Walters, USA Today Bestselling author. Return to Rhonan. Inspired by the Land Clearances in Scotland, this supernatural story of love, passion, hauntings, terror and retribution will have you gripping your Kindle. First book in The Lords of Rhonan Regency romance suspense series.

Michele Hauf, USA Today Bestselling author. Tame Me Not. Headstrong, free, and untamed. Can she win the musketeer’s heart? Book 1 in The SaintSylvestres historical romance set.

Suzanne Jenkins, award-winning author, The Liberation of Ravenna Morton. Ravenna would rather not have to deal with secrets from her lifelong affair with Mike, but granddaughter Esme has different ideas as she digs to uncover the tragedies of Ravenna Morton’s youth. A Native American historical romance based in Michigan.

DANCES NAKED

by Dani Haviland USA TODAY Bestselling Author

Part of The Fairies Saga Time travel series Dances Naked and The Fairies Saga are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously for the reader’s entertainment. Any resemblance to persons, living, dead, or fictional, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2011 by Dani Haviland All rights reserved

Book Description:

Lord Marty Melbourne has traveled from present day back to 1781 and is now hopelessly lost in Cherokee territory, North Carolina. His troubles increase when he’s assaulted and robbed of his shoes and horse by the callous Grant MacLeod. Life becomes even more complicated with the arrival of a Cherokee hunting party. The chief wonders if this crazy white man, who he calls Dances Naked, could be Nûñnë’hĩ, an eternal one…a fairy.

Praise for DANCES NAKED:

This is one of the best time travel books I have ever read, and I read a lot of them. ~ Arctic Widow, Amazon Review

To say I enjoyed the story would be to damn it with faint praise. I couldn’t put it down. …the story was well told, fast paced and kept me wondering what would come next. ~ Robert E. Johnson, Author

Note: If someone is speaking in the first person, that’s just Evie, an older 21st century woman who was rejuvenated into a young woman’s body and wound up in the 18th century. You can learn more about her (if you’d like to) in Naked in the Winter Wind, first book in The Fairies Saga series.

Dances Naked Preface

Fairies, Nûñnë’hĩ the Cherokee called them, the Eternal Ones. They traveled to wherever they wanted without being seen. And to whenever, too. They were invisible unless they wanted to be seen, were small, barely the height of a full-grown man’s knee, and had long, black hair. They were friendly and helpful and, if you were nice to them, they’d be nice to you, and even bring you food. This crazy white man, Dances Naked, was all this but he was easy to see, very tall and had curly silver hair and a beard. He couldn’t be a fairy. Or could he? *** 20th century-born Lord Martin Melbourne had received his master’s degree from Oxford, but was also well learned in folklore and the Tuatha De’ Danann legends. He knew that fairies weren’t pastel-colored, exaggerated flying insects with big eyes — they were real entities with remarkable skills. They could move from one place to another easily — or from one time to another. He had studied The Letters, the centuries’ old epistles written by the time traveler Evie to her 21st century daughter Leah, and learned that a human, too, could move through time. He had done it himself, travelled back to 1781, and saved the life of his sons’ ancestor. Now he wanted to go back home to 2013. But he was lost in the wilds of North Carolina. He needed his new Cherokee friend to show him the way back to The Trees, the magnetic time portal between the centuries. But first he’d have to wait until Red Shirt was done with him. ***

Chapter 1: Strangers on the Road Pomeroy’s Place, North Carolina August 12, 1781 late morning

Sarah Pomeroy watched the odd procession thread its way down the road. The scrawny, stringy-haired girl was overloaded with babies, one infant over her shoulder, the other in her belly. A dirty and disheveled man marched five steps ahead of her, his nose in the air, an overstuffed satchel slung over his shoulder. The mother didn’t have anything other than her baby to carry but Sarah remembered the fatigue and discomfort of an advanced pregnancy and sympathized with her. The woman-child shuffled behind the man then stopped, shifted the squalling baby to her other shoulder, then continued her trudge. The scruffy man halted, snorted indignantly and waited for her to catch up. Well, almost catch up. As soon as she was five steps behind him, he picked up his long stride again, apparently not wanting her to be near him. Sarah stepped away from her semi-secluded position in the tall weeds at the side of the road and waited to be seen. She didn’t want to frighten them or call out until they were near enough to converse. Maybe they had news about the war. The man looked up and saw her but didn’t acknowledge her presence. He acted like he had seen a crow or maybe a butterfly; she was a part of the fauna in the landscape and of no importance to him. Well, to hell with him and his rudeness, too, Sarah thought. She would hear any news soon enough. Yes, but the young mother needed a break. If they stopped to speak with her then the woman could rest for a few moments at least. “Hallo,” Sarah hollered. The man looked up toward

her. Well, actually he looked right through her, as if she didn’t exist, and then continued his journey. “I say hallo,” she repeated with an insistence that was hard to ignore. “Is there any news of the fighting?” she asked, now assuming a civil tone although at this point she wasn’t feeling very cordial. “Nope,” he said without missing a step. “Hold on there a minute,” Sarah called out as she rushed over to them; it looked like the pregnant woman was ready to fall down. “Would you like to stop for a drink? I have some water here,” she offered in desperation. Sarah could tell by the man’s stance that he was going to turn her down and that the swollen, downtrodden woman wasn’t going to speak up for herself. Sarah decided it was time to get bossy. “Hey, I think this woman needs a break,” she declared. She changed her focus to the overheated young woman carrying the snot-faced baby. “Why don’t you come sit a while in the shade and, here, I’ll take the child,” she said as she extracted the baby’s fists from the mother’s hair, not giving her a chance to refuse. The very young woman, more a child than an adult, reluctantly relinquished her hold then stepped away from Sarah, not wanting to be familiar with her. She breathed a loud sigh of relief at losing her burden then arched her spine and rubbed her lower back with both hands. The baby was not big; he was actually scrawny and Sarah could tell why. The woman was most likely trying to nurse the child while in the advanced stages of pregnancy. Mother, youngster and in utero infant were all suffering as a result. “Would you care to share my lunch?” she asked the girl then offered her a hand to help sit down in the shade of the maple tree.

The woman accepted the help then got settled. “If you’re sure you have enough,” she answered softly, allowing Sarah to see her smile of gratitude but still keeping her head bowed low, avoiding eye contact. Sarah gave her a cheese-filled tortilla wrap sandwich then poured out a cup of water from her canteen and handed it to her. She sat down beside her new acquaintance and laid out the baby, placing it on the skirts of her dress. She took the kerchief out of her pocket, wet it with water from the canteen and used it as a washcloth to wipe the baby’s mucous matted face and eyes. The baby’s clout was soaked and stinking but there was nothing she could do about it here and now. She didn’t have a dry one with her although there were plenty at the house. She briefly thought of inviting the little family to her home but knew she should find out more about them first. The woman seemed safe enough but the man had an aura of evil about him that disturbed her. “Where are you headed?” Sarah asked nonchalantly as she pulled the baby’s sticky and sweaty gown away from her, or was it his, body. The child was covered in heat rash. “None a yer business,” boomed the man who had come over to investigate their little picnic site. Sarah had expected as much from him by his appearance but it still took her by surprise when the rude words came out with such disdain. She turned to see the woman’s reaction. Apparently she didn’t care what he said. All she cared about was eating the cheese burrito and gulping the last of the water in her cup then stealing glances at the canteen. Sarah took the hint and poured the woman’s cup half full. She wanted to make sure she didn’t give it all to her. It was a long walk home and the little bit of water in the jug was all she had.

The man remained standing over the two women, lording over them with the stance and tone he had taken. He brought out his own canteen, sneered at the women then started drinking heartily from it. Sarah doubted that it was water; it had the distinctive smell of raw alcohol. “How about you—when are you due?” Sarah asked. Hopefully the woman was just tired from the walk and not really as dense as she appeared. The only answer she gave was a shrug of her shoulders. She either didn’t know or was afraid to answer. “Soon enough,” the man answered for her. “Come on, let’s go. There’s no reason to laze about while the sun’s still shinin’.” Sarah took pity on the woman as she struggled to get to her feet. She ignored her own better judgment and asked compulsively, “Would you two like to come to our place for dinner? You could sleep the night in the barn on clean straw and get a fresh start in the morning?” The man looked as if he was getting ready to say no so Sarah played her trump card. “We have meat,” she said. “And fresh milk—it would be good for your wife.” The woman’s eyes stole a look at the man then cut back to watching the ground. Sarah could tell that she wanted to go but he was a hard case. “I could pack you a little bit of food for the road tomorrow, too,” she added, not wanting to beg but very concerned about the girl. The man looked up toward the sun then down the road that they still had to travel. “I guess we could take a break. We still have a couple a days to go and I could do with some meat. Do you have whisky?” he asked greedily. Sarah didn’t know how to answer that. The lure of having meat should have been enough of an enticement for the couple. She shook her head slowly then looked away, knowing that he would be able to tell that she was

lying if he saw her face. “I think that my husband traded the last of the whisky for some wheat.” She turned to face him, “We do have some ale though,” she added truthfully, letting him see that she was being honest, at least with her last remark. He sighed. “Lead the way then.” He smiled to himself —maybe there were other things worth stopping for.

NAKED IN THE WINTER WIND, the first book in THE FAIRIES SAGA, tells the story of Dani Madigan, a plump and perky older Alaskan lady who takes a vacation to Greensboro, North Carolina to visit her daughter, Leah the nurse. Through an accident involving the mysterious Master Simon, she falls through time on October 31, 2012 and awakens in 1780, without her memory and in a younger, thinner body. She rescues a mountain man, Ian Kincaid, who names her Evie and claims her as his wife. Months later Ian takes her to visit his aunt, the time traveling fairy Sarah Pomeroy, where he abandons her. Many events and people impact Evie’s life, including the generous Little Bear and the evil British Captain, Atholl MacLeod, who shoots her in cold blood. Critically wounded Evie is sent on an emergency medical trip back to the 21st century where she reencounters Leah. Moments later Evie is kidnapped and taken back to the 18th century before she can explain to her daughter what has happened, where she’s been the last year, and why she now has a youthful body. *** AYE, I AM A FAIRY continues the story with Leah finding clues about her mother’s whereabouts in the solar-powered smartphone that she left behind. James Melbourne, a British lord her mother met the day she disappeared, contacts Leah and tells her he has more information about her mother’s disappearance in his bundle of ancient Letters. In the first of The Letters, Mom explains where she is and also reveals that several characters from Lost, the historical romance novel by Lisa Sinclaire, are real and that some of them are now her new family. Leah and her new friend James suddenly have to ward off attacks by the numbered heirs of Atholl MacLeod who are searching for The Letters and the

treasure they lead to. Another old letter is received, apparently from Marty Melbourne, asking James to go back in time to save his ancestor. But it looks like he won’t be traveling solo—Leah wants to go back, too. *** THE GREAT BIG FAIRY introduces six-foot seveninch tall Benji MacKay, an amiable soul born in the 18th century who returned with his parents to the 20th century as a child. Benji has read some of The Letters and heard about Evie. He searches out her 21st century daughter, Leah, meaning to travel back in time with her. But he’s too late. Life doesn’t go as planned for The Great Big Fairy but he makes the most out of what he has, and helps many people on his great big journey to go back in time to see his Grandpa Jody.

The Fairies Saga novellas (historical fiction; no time travel involved) Ha’Penny Jenny Find out more about the sweet young psychic. Little Bear and the Ladies More about our favorite 18th century bachelor trapper. Little Drummer Boy: Can a half-breed youth help a group of Revolutionary War soldiers survive one of the biggest snow storms of the century? Pool Boy Wanted: No Experience Preferred (a rather randy novella prequel to The Great Big Fairy)

Contact information Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/dani.haviland Twitter: @dani_haviland Newsletter: Time Travelers Anonymous Website: www.danihaviland.com

Email: [emailprotected] For free books by all sorts of great authors, check out The Authors Billboard. New books and features — and some pretty interesting and random blogs — weekly, at least!

Aces Wild

Taylor Lee

Aces Wild Copyright, 2012 by Taylor Lee idesire publications

Praise for Aces Wild… “They call him Angel, but every woman he meets sees the devil in his eyes.” J. John

“If they needed men smarter than hell and as violent as their adversaries, even the mob turned to Angel’s Avengers.” Action Junkie “She’s temptingly innocent; he is savagely sexy. Neither one plans on falling in love.” Lisa Takamiya

“When the infamous Tong leader’s family is threatened by a vicious killer, he turns to Angel’s Avengers. As the danger escalates so does the attraction between the wouldbe-savior and the young woman he’s hired to protect.” David Adams

“Sizzling Romantic Suspense at its best! As the danger rages, their passions flare!” EJM

Aces Wild

Prologue

“I hear you work for Chinks, Angel.” Gabe smiled at the taunt from the fat little man across the table. It was an obvious tell. Shamus must not have made his straight. Damn, you’d think the f*cker would learn. But then Shamus never learned. Hell, the last time they played, he almost pissed his pants in excitement and bet the pot on a four flush. He lost that time, too. Gabe took him for nearly a grand on that hand alone. Gabe raised a brow and grinned at the red-faced man scowling down at his cards. “Think you heard wrong, Shamus. We work for any man wealthy enough to pay our fee.” Shamus glared at Gabe, confirming that his hand had busted. “Even if they’re Chinks?” Gabe chuckled. “Hell, Shamus, we even work for Micks. Although it’s hard to find many that can afford us.” Shamus’s florid face flushed a darker shade of red. His voice was hard, threatening. “That’s no way to talk about your people, Angel. What would your father say if he heard you talkin’ like that?” Gabe smiled as he turned over his three nines, any one of which would have made Shamus’s straight. He scooped up the pot from the middle of the table and shrugged. “Probably that nothing I said or did would surprise him.” Ignoring the disgusted grunt from the red-faced Irishman, Gabe turned to Finn with a look of false apology.

“Hell, Finn, that was impolite of me. Should have let you show me your pair of threes before I took the pot.” Finn’s eyes widened. He peered down at his cards and then back up at Gabe, a look of wonder spreading across his face. “Damn, Angel. You got eyes in the back of your head or somethin?” He looked again at his crap hand and shook his head, tossing down the pair of threes. “Hell, I ain’t never seen anything like it.” Gabe threw Gunnar a surreptitious warning, not that it was necessary. He knew his partner could see the fury smoldering in Shamus’s eyes. They both knew the volatile Irishman wasn’t far from blowing. Gunnar tugged at the leather cord tying back his sun-streaked shoulderlength hair, and acknowledged the danger with an almost imperceptible nod. Picking up the bottle of whisky beside him, Gunnar’s dark blue eyes gleamed. “Anybody need a refill?” He filled his glass to the brim and held up the bottle to the guy sitting beside him. A resounding series of grunts from the men at the table who were enviously eying the impressive pile of chips in front of Gabe, confirmed that whisky was a welcome distraction. For the next several hands, the only sounds were muttered expletives and disgusted grunts when another bad hand hit the table. Gabe glanced around the room, thinking how familiar it was. Hell, they were half a decade away from the end of the century and within riding distance to San Francisco. Even so, every few miles, a pitiful little town like this sprang up — as if to claim a piece of the West before it was gone. Gabe knew these enclaves well. It didn’t matter if fifteen people or a hundred called it home.

The same establishments anchored the dirt and provided a minimal sense of community. There was the church, the saloon, and in the bigger better towns, a brothel above the saloon. The crap ones had a bunny hutch out the side door. The patrons were lucky if it had more than one room. The only thing you could count on were a few iron cots with dirty mattresses offering the facade of comfort. And, of course, there was the graveyard. Inevitably, the graveyard had more inhabitants than the town. Knowing that Shamus was smarting from losing a small fortune to him ten days ago, it had been easy for Gabe to engineer a rematch with the swaggering little rooster. Gabe looked forward to taking Shamus’s money. Plus, Gabe had a message to deliver to Shamus’s boss. He hoped this time Rory Flannigan had the sense God gave fleas, and would listen up. Typical that Shamus would pick a joint like this, Gabe thought with disgust. It was as shabby and repugnant as the man himself. But then what could you expect? In any joint owned by Rory Flannigan you could count on three things: filth, smells that made you glad you hadn’t eaten that day, and cheap booze. Despicable cheap bastard that he was, Rory always watered his booze. You could only hope he had the decency to take the water from the pump — not the horse trough or some animal piss he dredged up. But, hell, Gabe had to admit, all he needed for his work was a deck of cards, a relatively honest dealer, and a splashy pot to lure the suckers. And all three of them were at the table in front of him. Gabe watched as Shamus drained the last of the whisky and tossed the bottle over his shoulder. It landed with a crash inches away from the trembling woman behind him. He heaved his bulk up in his chair and

jerked toward her. “Don’t just stand there, woman. Get your useless ass over there and bring me another bottle of booze.” The thin woman, likely no more than twenty although she looked twice that, hugged her arms protectively across her chest and scurried to the cabinet. Keeping her eyes glued to the floor, she slid the unopened bottle in front of him, then darted back to rest against the wall. The dirt on her shabby dress echoed the streaks on her face. Her stringy hair completed the dismal picture. Shamus popped open the bottle and filled his glass, splashing the excess on the table. He looked over his shoulder and glared at the pale woman. Turning back to the men at the table, he said, his voice thick with revulsion. “Can you believe this whor* was once a decent lookin’ woman?” Silence met his ugly words. Aiming to goad Gabe, he persisted. “How about it, Angel? I hear there ain’t a woman across the state that hasn’t warmed your sheets. And that you and your big Swede friend here don’t mind a bit, sharin’ their honey pots. Hell, I hear you even share with this Injun pal of yours. He threw a disgusted look at Eagle standing several feet behind Gunnar’s chair. The co*cky little Irishman missed the potent danger radiating from the enormous brown–skinned man. Gabe almost felt sorry for him. Eagle could squeeze the life out of Shamus with one hand. Hell, Gabe had seen him do it — on more than one occasion — to men less offensive than Shamus. Gabe wondered how much deeper Shamus would dig his own grave, when Shamus obliged him and scooped up another shovelful of dirt. “What do you say, Angel?” Shamus emptied the glass at his elbow and shot Gabe a watery smirk. In a voice slurred from a mix of whisky and lust, he quirked a

finger at the frightened woman pressed against the wall. “C’mere, Sadie. Wiggle that bony ass of yours over here.” Looking back at Gabe, he growled, “How about I toss in the whor* and you and me play this next hand, man to man. Winner takes the pot and the bitch.” He mused, “Hell, even her name fits. Sadie, sad little Sadie!” He cracked her bottom with a hard smack when he sang out her name. The woman barely flinched, confirming that she was no stranger to the vile bully’s punishing hand. From years of practice, Gabe kept his expression impassive, refusing to let his fury shine through. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and eyed the measly pile of chips in front of Shamus. Twisting up in his chair to get a better look, he pinned a quizzical frown on the front of the repulsive little man’s trousers. “That’s mighty big talk from a guy with such a small… small pile of chips.” Hearty guffaws and a chuckle or two greeted the blatant reference to Shamus’s manhood. Shamus flushed an impossible shade of purple at Gabe’s taunt. “Why, you arrogant son of a bitch. I’ll show you who’s got chips. Match this, asshole!” Shamus stood, puffing up like an enraged toad, his gut hanging over his belt buckle. He jerked a leather pouch out of his back pocket and threw it on the table. A splash of gold coins spilled across the tattered green felt. “This here is Rory’s weekly earnings from the scum he protects. He’ll be pleased as hell when I double his money. Specially when he knows I took it from the biggest sumbitch that ever sat his co*cky ass down at a poker table. Put your money where that flappin’ mouth of yours is, Angel.” Gabe quirked a brow. “What’ll it be, Shamus?

Showdown? Five card stud?” Shamus grunted his assent and added, “Last card’s down.” Gabe gave him an agreeable smile and pushed his chips to the middle of the table. “Not sure those gold nuggets equal all of this, given your embarrassingly small… pile of chips,” Gabe added with an easy grin, “But I’ll spot you the difference.” Ignoring Shamus’s angry growl, Gabe glanced at the nervous ashen-faced dealer. Though he was Shamus’s stoolie, the frail-looking man was smart enough not to mess with Gabe — or “Angel,” as so many knew him. Gabe focused on the deck in the man’s trembling fingers, gratified that the cards were talking to him. Nodding to the dealer, he said, “I believe Shamus and I are ready, Sean. Please deal the cards.” The tension in the room thickened. Palpable apprehension settled over the table. Shamus’s cohorts stared at the dirty felt, preparing for the inevitable explosion when Gabe won. Gabe and the Swede made eye contact, and Gabe nodded subtly when he saw Gunnar’s hand ease under the table just in case. Anyone who misread Gunnar’s golden boy good looks did so at their peril. He was a walking time bomb, and as smart as he was lethal. Hell, he could even outdraw Gabe, and that was saying something. Without looking, Gabe knew that one of Eagle’s hands was near his holster and the other seconds away from the knife in his boot. As dangerous as the Indian was with a gun or a knife, Eagle’s forte was his brute strength — and the simmering rage that drove it. The shuffling was over; the first card hit the table with a soft smack. Shamus grabbed his card and didn’t

hide the smile that jerked his lips. Gabe didn’t look at his own card, just nodded to Sean to deal the first of the three community cards. It was the two of spades. He nodded again and the next card, the queen of spades, joined the deuce. Gabe heard but didn’t acknowledge Shamus’s hiss when the he saw the queen. Gabe leaned back in his chair. He reached in his vest pocket and withdrew an embossed gold cigarette case. Selecting one of his custom Turkish cigarettes, he rolled it between his fingers and drank in the exotic spicy smell. In the glare of the match, he met Sean’s gaze and motioned to him to deal the final up card. Gabe smiled to himself, watching Shamus shift restlessly in his chair. Christ, he thought, the guy isn’t smart enough to try to hide his strain. Dribbles of greasy moisture leaked from the brim of Shamus’s sweat-stained hat. The pungent smell emanating from the damp circles under his arms swamped the table. Gabe flicked an ash off the end of his cigarette and met Shamus’s glower with a pleasant smile. Shamus barked, “You best not be cheatin,’ Angel. If you got this hand rigged in one of your fancy plays, I’m tellin you it’ll be last goddamn game you ever play.” Gabe allowed his smile to widen. “Hell, Shamus, there’s no need to cheat when I face such piss poor competition.” “You smart-assed little f*cker,” Shamus spit out. He rose an inch or two out of his chair, his face tight with anger. He started toward Gabe. Then, seeming to decide against a more aggressive move, he slunk back down, clutching the corner of his hole card. His furious glare warned the dealer him to deal a good card. But first came the last shared card; Shamus’s face lit

up when the ace of hearts hit the table. He looked like a banty rooster ready to strut across the barnyard. If he could have crowed, he would. His eyes focused on the pile of chips in the middle of the table and he licked his moist lips, drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth. Gabe took a lazy drag off his cigarette and nodded to the dealer to deal each player their last card. As Shamus had ordered, it was a down card to each man. Without waiting, Shamus leapt to his feet. With a triumphant roar he flipped over the ace in his hand and put it beside the one on the table. He pranced around his chair, his fat rump swinging from side to side, a revolting dance of rippling flesh. When Shamus reached out to grab the pile of chips chortling in excitement, Gabe held up his hand. Taking a drag off his cigarette, he nudged the queen of spades into the center of the table. As silence descended over the room, he flipped up one and then the other of his hole cards, placing each of his two hole card queens beside the one in the middle. Shamus’s roar, an agonized “Noooooooo!” shattered the silence. He made a dismal effort to control himself, to save face. But it was no use. His body trembled with rage. His beet-red face swelled, ready to explode. Gripping the edge of the table, he sunk back in his chair. He turned in fury to Gabe and spit out the challenging threat. “You’re a cheater, Angel, a goddamn f*cking cheater. You hear me? I’m callin’ you a cheater.” He added with a taunting sneer, his hand snaking under the table to where his gun rested. “What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?” Gabe quirked a brow. His ever-ready grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“It seems as though I don’t have a choice, Shamus. I’m gonna have to take you down.” The muscles in Shamus’s neck tightened, his beady eyes darkened with hate. “Take me down? How you gonna do that, Angel? Shoot me? You’re kinda outnumbered, pretty boy.” He gloated, glancing at his men. His face paled slightly, however, when all four avoided his stare and gazed at the table. Shamus swallowed hard, but his reckless fury overcame his caution. “Guess it’s between you and me, asshole.” Shamus pulled himself up, reaching for his gun. “Guess for once you’re right, Shamus,” Gabe agreed. No sooner were the words out of Angel’s mouth, than a flash of a blade sliced through the air, landing in Shamus’s throat. His eyes widened in shock. With a gurgle, the little man pitched forward. His forehead smacked the table, shooting blood from the horizontal gash in his neck. The silence in the room seemed to last an eternity. “Damn, Angel.” Pete, one of Shamus’s henchmen, spoke for the rest of them, his voice a shrill squeak, “Holy mother of God! I never saw your hand leave the table.” Sean’s voice shook when he quaked, “And for Christ’s sake, you’re still smokin’ your goddamn cigarette.” Before the shaken men could recover, Gunnar’s firm voice rang out. “Hands on the table, assholes, if you value those jewels cringing in your trousers.” To underscore his partner’s order, Eagle clicked the hammers on both guns he held in his hands, aiming at the cowering men at the table. Ignoring the disbelieving stares from the four

traumatized men, Gabe unwound himself from his chair, his six foot four inch frame towering over the table. Jerking his chin at the man sprawled on the table, a widening pool of blood seeping from his throat, Gabe spoke to Pete. “Tell Rory: the next time he steals from a rival gang, he better know who they hired for protection. You can add that the blast that took out his six month store of booze, is courtesy of Angel.” He added, his voice rich with irony, “Hell, I probably did him a favor. Better I blow it up, than all those Micks he hires drink it up.” Reaching over Shamus’s head, Gabe grabbed the pouch to keep the oozing blood from staining the leather. He leveled the gangsters with a fierce stare. “Now, all of you, get the hell out of here. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t stop riding until morning.” He added as an afterthought, “You can also tell Rory that if I ever again hear of him forcing fathers to pay off their debts with the bodies of their daughters, I’m gonna burn that chippy joint of his to the ground — with him inside.” The four men jumped up from the table, knocking their chairs to the floor behind them. They scrambled to the door, jockeying each other out of the way trying to be the first one out. Gabe watched their retreating backs, disgust flooding him. At the sound of a frightened animal-like moan, he looked up to see Sadie staring at the crumpled body of her now-dead tormenter. Her hands were fisted in her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Gabe eased over to her and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Tell you what, Sadie, you take this.” He held out the leather pouch full of gold coins to the terrified woman. She stared at him, then jumped back. She shook her

head from side to side, her hair flaring out in stringy clumps. She protested. “No, Angel, no! I…I couldna ever do that. No, no! You won it. Fair and square.” When he shook his head, pressing the pouch toward her, a knowing gleam flashed across her face. Her eyes widened with understanding. “Oh, ’course. I hears you, Angel. I understand. You wantin’ what mens always want.” Her sallow cheeks pinked slightly. With a shy nod, she added, “Well, sure, Angel. You sure nuff earned it.” She glanced at the table, “Uh, you wanna do it here, Angel? Or… or we could go in the back room if that’s your preference.” Taking in the resigned expression on the pitiful woman’s face, Gabe’s gut clenched. Bile bubbled up in his throat. Goddamn, he wished he’d beaten Shamus to death. A blade in the throat was too easy a death for the despicable animal. He kept his voice as gentle as his smile. “Ah, Sadie, Girl, you’ve had enough from big bad men tonight. Go get some rest.” She looked up at him in surprise. Shooting a longing glance at the pouch in his hand, she stammered, “You… you mean I don’t have to… to do nuthin’ to get it?” “Hell, Sadie,” Gabe sighed with a fierce glare at the body lying on the table, the blood beginning to cake, “You earned what’s in this pouch a thousand times over, just being in the same room with that piece of scum.” He tried to hand her the pouch, but she still resisted. Sadie looked up at him, a faint flush coloring her sallow cheeks. “I… I… not that I’d mind, Angel. The wimmen at the Bunny Hutch say you really know how to please a girl.” Gabe grinned, his eyes twinkling with false modesty,

“Ah, Sadie, don’t believe everything you hear. Hell, compared to men like Shamus here, a rabid dog would be a welcome change.” Sadie stood up taller, her cheeks flushing brighter. Desire brought back a little of the provocative glow that a couple of years with Shamus must have beaten out of her. Her face cracked with what could have passed for a flirtatious smile. Dipping into her Irish brogue, she teased, “I dunno, Angel. The poker players call you Angel. But from that dancin’ light sparklin’ in them bonny green eyes of yours, I’m bettin’ you’re more of devil between the sheets than an angel.” Gabe laughed and winked at her, a sure signal to confirm her suspicions. Gunnar called him from the doorway. Gabe shoved the pouch in Sadie’s hand and gave her fingers a little squeeze. “Excuse me, Sadie. I have to see what Gunnar needs.” Gabe joined his partners in the yard. The light of the moon flickering through the clouds lit the full saddlebags Gunnar and Eagle had packed on their horses. The three of them exchanged a satisfied smile. Gunnar spoke for all three. “This may be some of the easiest money we ever made. Hell, we get the money Dominic is paying us and then you skim off over $10,000 playing poker with those misfits. I gotta ask, Gabe, how the hell did you know you could take him in that last hand?” Gabe grinned. “Ah, Gunnar, you know the cards speak to me. Hell, this time they were screaming. They were as eager to thwart that asshole as I was.” After their celebratory laughter died down, Gunnar turned to Gabe, “This is the first chance I’ve had to give

you this message. Chao Li wants you to come to his villa. Says he needs to see you in person.” Gabe frowned. “Must be something serious. Chao’s never called me to his home. We’ve always met at one of his offices.” While Eagle went to get their horses, Gabe’s thoughtful frown deepened. He turned to his partner. “Gunnar, you and Eagle go ahead. Scout it out. See what you hear. Chao’s gotta be in trouble.” Gunnar nodded and mounted his horse. Gabe flung one strong leg up over his black Arabian stallion. Seating himself easily in the saddle, he took the reins Eagle held out to him. He turned back to see Sadie in the doorway. Already the lines around her eyes were softer, her expression less pained. Gabe gave her a little salute. “Get some rest, Sadie.” As the three partners headed out, Gabe pulled up and called back over his shoulder. “And, Sadie, a little advice. Stay away from poker players. I hear they’re a bad lot.”

Chapter 1

Ana shoved her fist into her mouth to swallow her scandalized gasp. Sucking in a shallow breath as she peered into the barn, she scrabbled for air. She squinted hard, not believing what she saw, or heard. But there was no denying it: Molly’s bare white arse was hiked up over the sawhorse, her legs spread wide apart. Even if Ana could mistake the sight, there was no mistaking the sounds. Spellbound by the shocking display, Ana inched closer, clinging to the stall railing, hunting for cover. At the sound of a low manly groan, Ana ducked into an empty stall and huddled against the wide boards, taking tiny silent sips of air. Her face burned. She struggled against fear, shame. She was horrified, but couldn’t force her eyes to look away. Shielded by the stall door, she choked back her embarrassment and peeked through the slats, mesmerized by the sight. Even though Ana couldn’t see her face, there was no question it was Molly. Ana had never seen her naked, but there weren’t many maids with that broad a bottom. Her arse looked like dimpled, fleshy lumps of bread dough. The man’s large hands, his fingers spread wide apart, couldn’t contain the soft spongy spread. And that was definitely Molly’s giggle, her throaty come-hither laugh. The one that made the ranch hands hitch up their trousers and growl in anticipation. Yes, it was definitely Molly. Who else — except maybe Caitlin — would let someone copulate with her in the barn in broad daylight? Even thinking the more descriptive word shocked her. But, damn, Ana thought, there was only one other word to describe what the man was doing to a very willing

Molly, and Ana didn’t dare say it — even to herself. As appalled as she was at the sight of Molly’s bare butt, Ana was stunned by the man. She had never seen him before. He was tall, dark. A stranger. Even bent over Molly’s naked backside, he looked huge. His shoulders were broad, his muscular legs strained against the tight warp of his pants. Ana noted with a start that, incongruously, the big man was fully clothed. Unlike Molly, whose arse and legs were bare to the world, her breasts overflowing the twisted bodice of her dress, he even had on his cowboy hat. Well, not fully dressed, Ana corrected herself. She didn’t need to see the front of him to guess at the exposed appendage wringing desperate guttural pleas from Molly. Glancing up at the rafters, Ana throttled a gasp. Not only were Molly’s legs spread wide apart, held open by his strong thighs, but her hands were tied at the wrists. The rope manacling them was hooked over the tack clamp hanging from the center beam. For a whisper of a second, Ana wondered if the man was hurting Molly, forcing her to do this disgraceful act. But if Ana needed evidence that Molly was an enthusiastic participant, Molly’s soft, grunting pleas were evidence enough. “Ah, yes, me man. Like that! More, harder!” Molly begged. The man seemed more than able to meet her breathy demands. His voice was low, an amused rumbling sound. As though he was teasing her, manipulating her groaning passion, he pulled back then pressed forward, plunging in and out of Molly’s impatient flesh. Ana might be naïve, but she wasn’t stupid. She had seen plenty of animals mating. And she knew what the ranch hands did with the maids at night. She overheard

the maids giggling about their escapades, sharing bawdy tales, comparing the physical traits of the eager men who traded them like marbles in the schoolyard. But this? Even the coarsest of the hands wouldn’t dare to do what this man was doing in the middle of the day. Her father would fire him, after having him whipped. Ana knew Molly was a slu*t. But for God’s sake, it was mid-morning. Molly was supposed to be working in the kitchen, scrubbing floors, washing the sheets, ironing her clothes, not… not allowing, no encouraging… begging! a strange man to… to… f*ck her in the barn. Even from behind, Ana could tell this man was different, not like the other cowboys she knew. He was powerful, strong. But it was his voice, low, crooning, and commanding, that sent shivers coursing through her body. She tried to ignore the sensations flooding her. This was wrong. Bad. Who was he? How dare he come to a strange place uninvited and behave so disreputably? She chided herself. I have to get out of here. I must leave. What if he sees me? But she couldn’t go. Instead, she moved closer. Dammit, why couldn’t she look away? Why did she want to get closer, press harder against the stall gate to hear what he was saying? Why did she need to know the words that were making Molly beg, and pant, and groan? And, damn, why couldn’t she take her eyes off the rope that held Molly exactly where the big man wanted her, a willing prisoner to his lewd demands. Ana clamped her hands over her mouth to smother the moans she couldn’t contain, when the big man hoisted Molly’s arse higher in the air and began thrusting in earnest. He held one hand over Molly’s mouth to stifle what would have been a piercing shriek. And then it was over. With a practiced flick of his hand, the man freed Molly’s hands and lifted her off her perch, settling her on

the ground. The slight twitch of his tight butt confirmed that he closed the flap on his pants and stood fully dressed before the disheveled maid. Molly’s bright red cheeks, heaving breasts, and wide glowing eyes said what words couldn’t. The man chucked her under her chin and chuckled. His words were as shocking to Ana as his actions. “Thank you, lass. A most enjoyable way to make your acquaintance.” His voice was pleasant, unconcerned, as though she had given him a glass of water, not spread her legs and opened her womanhood to a total stranger. As though such a disgraceful act was not out of the ordinary; rather, that it was expected, appropriate. Molly tossed her head with a wide grin, straightened her wrinkled skirt, and tucked her breasts back inside her bodice. Ana noted with a silent snort that Molly’s pretend effort at latent modesty only emphasized the plump freckled mounds. Flushing brighter, her eyes dancing with mischief, Molly curtseyed, her eyes darting to the placket of the man’s trousers. Her voice was coarse, insinuating, pretending to an innocence belied by her brash appraising glance. “It was me pleasure, sir. You sure’n do know how to make a maiden blush. I donna know what came over me. I never done this before with a stranger.” His tone was faintly mocking, his words knowing. “I’m sure you haven’t, miss. Excuse me, but I didn’t catch your name – nor did I introduce myself.” Molly giggled. “Me name is Molly, sir. I’m the head maid to the young mistress.” Ana scowled at the blatant lie from the simpering maid. The big man bowed slightly. “I’m pleased to make

your acquaintance, Molly. My name is Gabriel McKenna.” He added with a chuckle, “My friends call me Gabe.” Molly tossed her head with an impudent grin. “Can I be callin’ you Gabe, or should I be sayin’ Mr. McKenna.” The man laughed. “Molly, I think that Gabe is quite in order.” At the sound of voices in the yard, Molly started and jerked toward the entrance. “I… I best be goin’, Mr. Gabe. Me mistress is a tyrant, a spiteful little lass. She wouldna be pleased to see me makin’ your acquaintance in such a familiar way.” The man leaned back against the post, amusem*nt filtering his response. “I understand, Molly. Mistresses, especially spiteful ones, often resent the charms of a ‘maiden’ like you.” His ironic emphasis on the word was lost on Molly. With a saucy twitch of her butt, she flounced to the doorway and waved back at him over her shoulder. Annoyance roiled in Ana’s craw at her maid’s disgraceful assertions, but her anger was short lived. At that moment, Gabe McKenna turned toward her. For the first time Ana saw him full-face. She couldn’t contain her gasp. She knew from his name and the slight lilt in his voice that he likely was Irish. But nothing could have prepared her for the sight of him. Curly black hair hung carelessly close to his collar. His skin was dark gold, tanned by the sun. A web of fine lines circled his eyes, confirming that his smile was not an aberration. His high cheekbones, firm chin, and full, sensuous lips made her bite down hard, to stop hers from trembling. But it was his eyes that stole her breath. Dark forest green, shot with a rainbow of competing shades of gold, they twinkled as if he were still amused at his most recent

conquest. Ana had heard of black Irish, their stark beauty the stuff of legends, but this man was real. She had never seen anything like him. Reaching in his vest pocket, he pulled out an elaborately carved gold cigarette case. Removing a custom-rolled cigarette, he struck a match and lit it. He took a lazy drag, then blew a puff of aromatic smoke in the air, momentarily shielding his face. When the smoke cleared, he held the cigarette between his lips and began unwinding the rope from the hook. He coiled it over his shoulder in a practiced loop. The sight of his strong hands manipulating the sturdy rope shot a rush of sensation to Ana’s heated core. Unable to catch herself, she stumbled, knocking against the stall gate. Gabe started at the noise, then a slow grin spread across his face. He eased toward the stall with the lithe grace of a panther, easy, quick, menacing. Tossing the cigarette on the floor, he snuffed it out with his boot heel before kicking open the door.

***End of preview***

AFTERWORD Thank you for reading Aces Wild. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much I enjoyed writing it. I love all my characters – their strengths as well as their weaknesses. Gabe is my favorite kind of hero. Haunted by the past but with the love of a good woman sees the future. And Ana—what can I say? I love her! (And, I have to admit, one of my favorite past times is playing poker.) If you enjoyed Aces Wild, do me a huge favor. Go back to www.Amazon.com, and please leave an honest review. Authors live and die by their reviews. The few extra seconds it takes really helps us authors out. Thank you!

Taylor Lee loves to hear from readers! My characters are arrogant alpha males and the feisty women who bring them to their knees – and vice versa… They fight hard, love hard and don’t mince words. They are dangerous men and women in dangerous times. Love, passion and ridding the world of evil? What’s not to like? Contact me at: Email: [emailprotected] Twitter: @taylorleewrites Facebook: taylorleewrites Blog: www.taylorleebooks.com AND please go to my website www.taylorleebooks for my publishing schedule and lots of FREE stuff! Sign up for my newsletter. It is the way I stay connected to my glorious readers.

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Collections The Justice Brother Series: Taylor Lee’s HOT NEW Suspense Collection

JARED: Prequel; The Justice Brothers Series JUDE: Book 2 JORDEN: Book 3 The Justice Brothers JAKE: Book 4 JUDGE: Short Story Finale: Book 5 JUSTICE BROTHERS COMPLETE SERIES: Book 6

Return to Rhonan A Paranormal Romance by Katy Walters

Copyright 2012 Katy Walters Oakwood House Publishing License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is

entirely coincidental.

Praise

The rich layers and textures to be found here were a wonderful discovery. The writing explodes with energy for life and love. This isn’t the ordinary, everyday romance novel. Weaved into it is the mysticism of dreams and past lives, the pull of history, the poignancy and grace of poetry. ZM, Amazon review

This is the second book I have read by this author and I continue to be amazed at her ability to create wonderful characters that you can relate to along with an exciting storyline that keeps you turning the pages. Janice, Amazon review

Dedication

To my sister Helen with love

Return to Rhonan

CHAPTER 1 PRESENT DAY - JESSICA NEW YORK

She knew even before the cell phone vibrated, even before she clicked on the text. ‘Mom passed away - 10 mins ago. Wait for U at home. Unc Tim.’ Fighting back fat tears she texted back: ‘Will be 20 mins. Got client.’ Jessica looked over to her patient deep in hypnotic trance. It would take time to bring her back from a Past Life, time that no longer existed for her step-mother. She wanted to squash time, to be with her immediately. Grief flayed her heart, as she struggled to keep calm. Jolting a person out of a Past Life could cause cardiac arrest. Often on surfacing from a deep trance, patients were excited and eager to tell of their experiences. Mystified, others told of a life in a distant age, whilst a few returned heartbroken. It took time to bring them back fully into this life. ‘Megan, I want you to start coming back now. As I count to five, so you are leaving the past in the past where it belongs, you are bringing nothing with you. You will be calm, relaxed and confident. So now, one … two….’ *** Standing by her stepmother’s still body, Jessica felt an icy breeze swirl through the open window, blowing the voile curtains around her face. Smoothing down the folds, she shivered, unaware of a transparent figure float through to hover by her side. Her tears fell, as she

recalled their latest argument. ‘You can’t desert us. This isn’t just a business; it’s in our blood.’ ‘Your blood Mom, not mine.’ ‘This is an empire you’re throwing away. Our ancestors started with nothing - forced onto coffin ships from Scotland. So many died.’ Jessica turned away, ready to leave the kitchen. ‘That was over two hundred years ago. I can’t live my life in the past.’ ‘Grandma Morag worked day and night washing, cooking, scrubbing until the blood ran. Some winters she damn well starved. She knew what it was to suffer. She built an empire from a lodging shack for lumberjacks.’ ‘I can’t give up my life - it’s just a business.’ ‘She’ll haunt you - there’re some in the family have seen her.’ ‘Why should she haunt me for doing what I believe in?’ Now, Jessie knelt by the side of the bed, her hot tears falling on the still hand, as she said, ‘I’m sorry, so sorry.’ She sobbed laying her head on the still chest, her long red hair covering them both. Jessie raised her head to the squeak of the bedroom door opening. ‘Uncle Tim? Oh God - I want her back - I want her back.’ She clung on to her stepmother’s hand trying to pull her from Death. But, Death grinned. An elderly man strode across to the four-poster bed. ‘Jessie, my dear child. It’s an awful shock….’ ‘I wish I hadn’t hurt her. But, I couldn’t go into the business. Why didn’t she understand?’ ‘Prissy loved you Jess, but she was a strong woman. Had to be, to run an empire. It was in her blood, her main reason for living besides you.’ ‘My heart is in psychology. I never wanted anything

else.’ ‘You’re so like your birth mother. Now it was her ambition to be a nurse, but she had you instead. You follow her Jess. She’d have been so proud of you.’ ‘Why did she leave me? Why did she take her life Uncle Tim? I just wish I knew her. I killed her didn’t I?’ ‘Now, now Jess don’t say that. No one realized she was ill. Prissy blamed herself for not seeing the signs we all did. But, Prissy loved you from the moment she laid eyes on you. Everything was for you.’ ‘Now you make me feel awful. I should have—’ ‘No - no. You gave Prissy something to live for - to love. Thank God you did; she could have been a monster.’ ‘How can I go on without her?’ Taking her hand he said, ‘You have to be strong my darling. He broke off as he sniffed the air. “Seaweed? Now where is that coming from?’ Jessie smelt it too, ‘We’re not far from the docks.’ Neither saw the wraithlike figure beside her, a skeletal arm reaching out. Gently, the old man handed Jessie a tissue as he led her to a carved mahogany chair. ‘Come, come and sit down.’ ‘I just wish my mother could have known.’ ‘Maybe she does my darling - maybe she does.’ As the elderly man stooped to comfort her, neither saw the ghostly figure, stretched emaciated fingers to stroke Jessie’s bright hair. *** St. Brigid’s thronged with mourners and parishioners paying their respects to Priscilla Elizabeth McGregor. Jessie sat at the front of the church whilst representatives of charities, hospitals, orphanages, too many to name, packed the cathedral alongside friends and family.

She fingered the locket handed down through the generations from Grandma Morag. Prissy always kept it locked away in her safe. Yet, as if having a premonition of her death, she gave it to Jess. Jess could almost sense her stepmother’s fingers on the old gold; hear her voice. ‘This is for you now Jess. Keep it safe. She turned the page of the hymnbook her voice choking over the words, ‘Abide with me, fast falls the eventide.’ Later at the reception, mingling among the guests, Jessie glanced at the maids in black calf length dresses with frilled white aprons serving canapés whilst young male waiters offered drinks or champagne from sterling silver trays. Struggling to keep her face composed, she looked over to her cousin Dinah, helping to carry the load of greeting and listening to the mourners who flocked to the wake. They’d been friends for years, sharing a room at University. Now they had a therapy practice together. Today, Dinah looked sophisticated with her pale white skin and dark-brown hair swept up into a sleek chignon, her ample curves snugly fitting a tailored black dress. . Jess sighed as she picked up her drink. The guests showed signs of leaving. She saw Dinah break away from a group and come towards her. ‘Jess, how are you keeping up?’ ‘Not too good Di’ It just wish she’d had a chance to go to Scotland - that was her dream you know, find a cottage by a loch, search for our ancestors.’ ‘Then why don’t we do that?’ Jess felt the tears fill her eyes. ‘I’d like to Di’, but we can’t leave the practice.’ ‘Already done. I have two loc*ms lined up. They would be happy to take over for a few weeks.’ ‘No - I couldn’t Di - not now. I’d be deserting her.’

‘Jess - you’d be closer to her - fulfilling her dream. Her spirit would be with you in Scotland, in the land she loved.’ ‘Look you need a break, we both do.’ *** As sleep evaded her, Jessie laid thinking about the impending journey to Scotland. The phantom figures of Muriall and Duncan rose in her mind. She didn’t even remember slipping into the dream, into their world. Muriall walked towards him; the soaking cheesecloth of her chemise clinging to every curve. As he looked up into her eyes, the colour of emeralds, he said, ‘You look like a mermaid, wet and beautiful.’ She fell on the blanket beside him, playfully shaking her soaked Titian locks over him. ‘I wish we could be together all the time Duncan -not escaping here when we can. How long can we go on like this? You know your father will find out. Max hasn’t said a word yet, but we can’t trust him. If it isn’t him, it will be some spiteful servant who will tell him. Then your father will send me away.’ ‘Never my sweet. Father is frail, his health failing. His room stinks of potions and unguents.’ ‘Don’t speak so; it is as if you wish his death. ‘He is denying food and shelter to thousands, yes thousands of our tenants. He is about to evict whole families from their crofts. He is treacherous, without pity for the men women and children starving on our estates. One day we will rule Rhonan, and we will redeem our tenants, give them back their tenures, and they will thrive under our care.’ ‘I hear tell from Alice and Robbie that many are thinking of emigrating - some say to America or Canada. It is something the Scots have always done throughout the centuries, but this emigration is far worse as they have no

choice.’ ‘So I shall tender to those who are left. One day Muriall, you will be Countess of Rhonan.’ . Jessie moaned, as her eyes opened to the darkness of the room, her heart hammering. The dream had always been the same, but tonight there was a difference - tonight Duncan spoke of his father, and one possible clue, the Countess of Rhonan. If there was any truth in dreams, then this was a definite lead. Those three small letters ‘Mur’, on the tattered piece of paper handed down through the generations could possibly read Muriall. *** End of Preview***

FROM THE AUTHOR: I do hope you enjoyed Return to Rhonan. If you have, I would be so grateful if you would leave a small review. It does help us authors If you would like to comment, or have a query please contact me at: [emailprotected] Please have a look at the following for updates and news on further works. You can find further information on my books from: http://katywaltersnewsandviews.com/ http://katysreviewsandnews.blogspot.co.uk/ Website http://katy-walters.com Blog: https://katywaltersnewsandviews.com Blog 2. http://katysreviewsandnews.blogspot.co.uk/ Twitter https://twitter.com/@katywalters07 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Katy.Walters2

Regency Historical Romance With the Lords of Sussex Regency Romance, I spend weeks in research and enjoy every moment, often visiting areas to such regency towns as Brighton, Bath, Chichester, and the little town of Bognor Regis the bane of King George the Vth life. Yet it is a place where the late Princess Diana’s family owned a retreat right on the beach. All these towns exude the aura of those times right down to cobbled streets, mullioned windows of tiny teashops and ancient shops where the mannequins vie with riding habits, saddles, and hunting crops. Return to Rhonan Possessed at Rhonan Reunited at Rhonan

Historical Paranormal Romance The Lords of Rhonan Supernatural Series is set in the wild North-West of Scotland. For part of the research, I travelled to a small village just outside of Edinburgh where I stayed in a small drover’s cottage beside a loch. This series of books crosses the genres embracing romance, time travel, the supernatural, and history. A Lady’s Plight #1 Lady Henrietta’s Dilemma #2 Lady Phillipa’s Peril # 3 Lady Venetia’s Vow # 4 Kantara – First Vampire Queen Romance, Death Marks DCI Redd & DS Dove, Homicide Squad #1 in the Sussex Police Series Where are the Children DCI Redd & DS Dove. Death Chords DCI Redd & DS Dove.

Coming Soon: Lady of the Forest – Medieval Time TravelRomances Sands of Seduction ~ Time Travel Regency Romance Sleigh Ride ~ A Regency Romance.

Tame Me Not

Michele Hauf

USA Today Bestselling Author

Copyright © 1999 by Michele Hauf Previously published by Zebra Books in October, 1999 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Tame Me Not by Michele Hauf Chapter One France—1660

Apprehension setting her high on the saddle, Mignonne Saint-Sylvestre looked to her brother, Adrian. He remained cool and calm, in complete control, while her hand clutched the leather reins. Excitement caught and curled about her bones like a hot flame—a flame laced with fear. “Now!” Adrian commanded in a low hiss. With a spur to her horse’s flanks, Min was off through the hazy fog that shrouded the French countryside in a veil of ethereal whiteness. The previous night’s rain had softened the road, but the horses took the pliable surface well, their hooves spitting up stinging clumps of pebble-laden mud. Min’s pockets were full of tonight’s booty. Her blood raced with the rush of success. Laughter pushed over her lips and dispersed through the fog. She had to admit that joining her brother on his midnight raid was a thrill to match no other. But such cunning play would never dissuade her from her goal of a more honest profession. The twosome did not stop until they reached home. The grounds behind the Saint-Sylvestre chateau glittered with an assortment of thick ivory cathedral candles placed on heavy iron bases and nestled in the dewy grass. Mignonne and Adrian slowed their mounts to a walk. “He’s at it again,” Adrian said of their older brother, Alexandre. “God only knows what the man does with his flowers in the dark of night.” Min dismounted and exchanged the bundled reins

that Adrian had cut from their victim’s horses for the lumpy suede pouch of jewels she held. “Clever,” she said as she tapped the curled reins against her wrist. “Makes it rather hard for a coach and four to follow, eh?” With a knowing wink, Adrian stuffed the pouch inside his vest and nodded towards the reins. “Save those.” His words were exhilarated gasps. “Alexandre will have use for them to secure those seedling lindens out back. But if you value your freedom, you’ll not let Armand see.” “I won’t,” Min said. Armand, the eldest of the four siblings, would surely be outraged should he discover her venture into criminal activities this evening. “I’ll be along soon. First I want to see what Alexandre is doing.” Pulling off her leather gloves and tossing them to Adrian, Min sprinted across the clover-dotted lawn to the large garden where she could always be assured of finding the middle brother sitting amongst his flowers with drawing paper and charcoal in hand. The oblong flowerbed sparkled like a fantasy fairyland in the candlelight. Colors took on a jewel-like brilliance, nearly rivaling the booty that jingled in Adrian’s pouch. Red roses became rubies; tissue-thin morning glories, their petals shut for the evening, were sapphires winding up the trellis; the soft summer moss beneath Min’s boots, a carpet of emeralds. Tender, fragrant petals were tipped with diamonds of moisture from the fog. The garden never failed to seduce her; she became lost within the heavy fragrances and lush textures. Min stopped just behind Alexandre, observing over his shoulder as he sketched. “You look a mess,” he muttered, his attention barely straying from his drawing. “I’ve been riding.”

She straightened and looked over herself. Mud splattered her leather doublet and chamois breeches, hand-me-downs from Adrian. Both suede boots were mottled gray with caked mud. Her left boot had slipped down to reveal her water-soaked hose and the silverhandled dagger she always kept hidden near her ankle; the dagger had been a gift from Armand. She reached down and tugged on the wide brim of her boot. “You’ve been on the prowl with Adrian,” he said. “Our brothers are extremely fortunate they have never been caught, Mignonne. I pray every time they leave SaintSylvestre land they are not. But what of you?” The narrow stick of charcoal lingered over his drawing pad as Alexandre turned and flipped long strands of ebony hair from his eyes, meeting Min’s matching dark gaze. “I am a bit surprised. I know you do not want the same life that our brothers have chosen.” He knew her well. Alexandre was the only brother Min trusted with her dreams and secrets. Save one. “I went along with Adrian thinking we might have a chance to talk. I so wish he and Armand would give up the road and become the musketeers our father wanted them to be.” “And you thought you could convince Adrian of this? A man who lives with a wench in one hand and her purse in the other?” Min matched her brother’s smirking grin with a gentle chuckle. “I thought it would be far easier than trying to convince Armand. I thought if I could see what it was that made the life of a highwayman so attractive, I’d better know how to change it.” “And did you succeed?” “Well.” She toed the mounded dirt that circled a

newly planted rosebush. “It was rather exhilarating.” “Mignonne!” Min spun around at the familiar voice. “Armand!” It had been nearly a fortnight since they’d last spoken. co*cking her arms akimbo to look him over, Min’s tiny frame was shadowed by her eldest brother’s statuesque build. He’d regrown his mustache since his last adventure. She liked it because it covered the thin, silvery scar that trailed from his upper lip to his nose. A lucky man he was that his opponent’s sword had not cut deeper than it had. “Come from la Chaize?” Alexandre said with nary a glance toward his brother. His charcoal resumed its long brushing sweeps. “And many thousand livres richer, dear brother.” Armand tousled a broad hand through Min’s hair, shaking dried crumbles of mud from the mussed queue. Min had listened to Armand plot and plan this escapade for all of a month in hopes of snaring great riches from the widowed la Chaize sisters. Besides working the high roads, Armand was an excellent pretender. Judging from the stories Min had heard from Adrian and Alexandre, Armand could move himself into a person’s life to charm and seduce the very shoes from their feet. “Ah, but what of you, Alexandre? How go your studies?” “Oh, yes.” Min suddenly remembered she was not the only one with aspirations for an honest lifestyle. “How goes it?” “I’ve an appointment with Le Notre in two days at the Louvre.” Alexandre’s eyes beamed with a child’s delight. “He’s very interested in my botanical studies and wishes to incorporate my findings into the gardens at Vaux-le-

Vicomte. If all goes well, I may be granted a commission.” “Magnificent!” Armand placed a congratulatory kiss on his brother’s cheek. “It is late, Alexandre,” Min said. “Come inside, and we’ll have a celebratory toast on your behalf. Then we’ll sit around the fire and interrogate Armand about his exploits.” “Always the one for intrigue.” Armand took his little sister under his arm. But his hand slipped down to her waist before Min could stop him. “What’s this?” He held up the cut reins and they uncoiled to the ground like a sun-dried snake carcass. “Er—” Armand’s dark eyes grew wide beneath the spray of fashionably curled hair that washed over his shoulders. He clenched the leather as tightly as his teeth. “These are carriage reins. Where did you get them?” Min flinched at Armand’s look. She cast a pleading glance toward Alexandre in hopes that he would speak for her. But he remained silent as he gathered his drawing tools. He was always irritatingly impartial. “I asked where you got them.” Don’t tell Armand… Min bit her lower lip. “I, er, well…” “You’ve been out with Adrian!” Armand’s voice boomed in the still of the fog and candle flame. “Have you not?” She wanted to simply whisper “Not,” but she was never good at telling lies. Especially when her eldest brother was looking so sternly at her. “I know you have. Always, he cuts the reins!” Armand turned and stalked towards the chateau. Min followed on his heels, her spurs kicking up tufts of grass behind her. She couldn’t let Adrian take the

blame. He hadn’t planned the robbery. Heaven knew, she had only wanted to talk to him. But when the opportunity had presented itself…well, she had pressed Adrian to let her try her hand at thievery. Odd, how the heat of the moment provided for irrational thinking. “It just happened,” she pleaded to her brother’s back as she scrambled after him. “He’s not to blame, Armand. I begged him! I wanted to know what it was like.” Armand’s furious pace took him through the house and to the bottom of the stairwell, where a path of faded emerald carpeting began its snaking journey upwards. “Adrian!” Their housemaid, Camille, scurried in to take Armand’s black wool cape and leather gloves, then quickly sped away. Off in the hearth room, the cries of a tiny baby matched the incessant coos of a frantic female voice. Min ground her jaw, knowing from the wails that her sister-inlaw was still up nursing the twins. It was just what Sophie enjoyed most—seeing her in trouble, and lots of it. Adrian appeared at the top of the stairs in a paisley dressing gown and slippers, his wet hair resting limply on his shoulders. He smiled to see his oft-absent brother. But the smile fell from his face when he saw the fury in Armand’s eyes. “You’ve taken her with you!” Armand shook the severed reins before him, the signature of Adrian’s highway robberies. Min cringed as she caught Adrian’s cruel glance. She could hear his silent accusation: How could you? “I didn’t plan this one,” Adrian defended himself. “He didn’t,” Min offered feebly. “She was just there—” “Just there?” Armand whipped the reins against the

bottom stair and the loud crack made Min jump. “Why did you do it at all? Have I not told you many times before that you were never to bring her along on any of these midnight prowlings of yours?” Adrian chuckled and casually passed his brother, walking into the hearth room where Camille had started a fire. “They are your midnight prowlings too, Armand,” he called over his shoulder. “I was well disguised,” Min pleaded to Armand’s damasked back. “We were discreet,” Adrian explained. “No one will know.” “No one will know?” Armand threw the reins at Adrian’s slippered feet and reached behind him to grab Min by the shoulders. Min felt like a string of sausage on display at a butcher’s shop as she was thrust forward for all to examine. “She’s but a girl! A very young and misguided girl who does not need to become a criminal like her brothers.” Min twisted her shoulders in protest, but Armand’s firm hold persisted. “Look at her! What do you see?” Sophie, one twin still at her breast, stood and sauntered across the room, her wrinkled heather skirts dusting the floor. Min felt her fingernails dig into her palms. Oh, how she despised Sophie! The woman had not once been kind to her since marrying Alexandre a year ago. A displaced Parisian tart sulking in the country air, she was. “I see,” Sophie drawled, her dark-circled eyes falling cruelly upon Min, “a bespattered little boy.” “Exactly!” Armand agreed. “We’ve turned the ragamuffin into a boy! This body has never seen fine lace or known the elegant manners of a refined lady.” “I don’t like those stuffy dresses,” Min chimed in her

defense. “You’ll never get me to wear one.” “You see!” Armand looked to say more, but finally he could only shake his head and pace before the fire, his back to Min and her cohort. “You promised you wouldn’t tell,” Adrian whispered while keeping a keen eye on his brother’s stiff shoulders. “I didn’t,” Min hissed. “He saw me with the reins. I didn’t know what to say.” “She means”—like a grass snake, Sophie appeared over Adrian’s shoulder, her golden eyes glinting with a gleeful menace—“she never has been a good liar.” “Coming from an expert?” Min spat sarcastically. Sophie smirked at Min, the satisfaction at seeing her under such vicious scrutiny turning her thin lips into a semblance of a smile. “What is all the commotion?” Alexandre appeared, pushing a dirt-smeared hand through his flyaway hair, which released a sprig of green leaf to the floor. He pressed a fatherly palm to the head of the infant nursing at Sophie’s breast, though his retraction was a bit too quick for Sophie’s eager fingers to grasp his. “It seems Armand has had a change of mind regarding our dear Mignonne,” Adrian offered. “What’s fit for the gander is not fit for the goose.” “He wants me to start wearing dresses,” Min complained. Alexandre’s eyes widened beneath bushy brows, though he couldn’t disguise his mirth. “She means”—Sophie slithered up behind Alexandre —“he wants her to become a member of the female population. How else will she ever be considered for betrothal?” Armand swung around. “Thanks to the la Chaize widows, I’ve now enough money for her dowry—”

“Dowry?” Min had known it was coming. But not so quickly! “Yes,” Armand said. “I’ve been talking to the Montesquies of Bigorre. We may be able to make your betrothal yet this summer. That is…” He did nothing to disguise his disgust with her appearance. “If you can ever learn to act as a lady. The Montesquies are of the noblesse d’épée.” “Bosh! And so are we, if you remember. But I see the years of thievery have clouded your memory. I don’t want to be a lady,” Min proclaimed. “And I will not marry a man I have never seen, nor one I do not love. I want freedom. The same freedom I’ve had since birth. Ladies do not have freedom. Their entire life is a sacrifice.” She cast a disgusted glance towards Sophie. “They are imprisoned by their clothes, by the expectations of society, by their men. I won’t have it, I just won’t!” A burst of pride shuddered through Min, lacing her voice with a brave confidence. “I seek a far more honest profession than you or Adrian have chosen. I want to become a musketeer!” Deafening silence filled the room. Sudden regret stiffened Min’s neck. She jerked her gaze from one opened-mouth face to another. Fools, she thought. They would never understand the desire that burned within her. Why had she told? “A musketeer? You?” Armand broke the silence with a rash of sarcastic laughter. “Madness,” Sophie hissed. “You could never.” “I can.” Min matched Armand’s defiant pose as well as she could. The fact that he towered a head above her petite figure made it a challenge. But a thrust of her chin made her feel a bit taller.

“You,” Armand spat at her, “obviously have not looked in a mirror lately. The musketeers would have you in their ranks,” he said, grinning, “but not for fighting purposes.” “Armand,” Alexandre reprimanded. Armand waved his brother off with a curt hand. “She needs an education in domesticity. Mignonne must learn how to be a lady. She needs a man to take care of—” “A man?” Min pulled away from Armand’s grasp and smeared her hands down the front of her breeches, leaving a dirty trail on the tan chamois. “Whatever should I need a man for? I can do anything a man can do. And even better than most! I’ve no need to be taken care of, thank you.” “And do you think Adrian and I can work the high roads forever?” Tension pulsed Armand’s jaw and fire flashed in his coal-dark eyes. “It’s hard enough that we have the twins to support. ‘Tis high time we secured a betrothal for you. But that will never happen in your present condition.” “My con—” “First,” Armand continued, “you need some taming. And I know just the thing that will do it.” He thrust his hands before him, as if presenting a great gift to the king, and laid his revelation upon the family. “We will take her to a convent.” “What!” Min felt as if her jaw would touch her neck. “A convent?” Adrian and Alexandre both chimed. “Oh, yes,” Sophie chuckled. “‘Tis the only way. Do you not see what we’ve done?” Too shocked to react, Min felt her body move against its will as Armand placed firm hands on her shoulders and turned her toward her brothers for inspection in the glowing light of the fire. Bits of dirt fell at her feet as she

felt her brother mess about with the fragile pins tangled in her hair. “Look here,” Armand said. “Who will have her? She is a savage. She is unmarriageable. She eats, acts, thinks, and sleeps like a man. She rides horses astride, fights like an alley cat, and can out-fence any master I know. Over the years, we have been so busy with ourselves that we’ve been completely blind to our petite one. And now this musketeer nonsense.” “But father was a musketeer!” Min managed to snap. “Perhaps it isn’t nonsense,” Adrian meekly interjected. “We could—” Armand stifled his younger brother’s words with an icy glare. “I won’t have you bring that up again. It’s over. The tradition died with our father.” Swallowing, Adrian acquiesced with a regretful nod and stepped to Alexandre’s side before the hearth. Armand turned his gaze on Min. “Father was a man. Men serve in the king’s guards. Not women. You, my untamed spitfire of a sister, must now look to domesticating yourself.” “I won’t go to a convent!” Min declared and crossed her arms over her soiled clothes. “You’ll have to drag me behind a herd of cows to make me go. And even then I would rather die.” “Don’t you think a convent is a little harsh?” Alexandre interjected. “Perhaps if we leave her to Sophie —” “Oh, no.” Min cast a glare at the smirking woman. Sophie returned the look with deadly daggers. Armand pushed a hand through his hair, ending in a sharp slice through the air. “No. I have thought on this for months now. There is Aunt Huguette.” “Aunt Huguette?” Min cried. “But she’s—”

“She is Mother Superior at Val-de-Grace,” Alexandre finished, in shock. “Yes, that is it! She can help us.” “Aunt Huguette is a vicious old witch. My knuckles still ache to recall that cane of hers.” “Well, if you had stayed out of her rose garden…” Adrian said on a chuckle. Min stomped her boot. She couldn’t believe they were holding this inane conversation. She’d grown up running in the footsteps of her brothers. Hers was a life of freedom and discovery, each day bringing new wonders and yet another task she could learn and perform better than any male. She knew nothing else. And now, all of a sudden, they thought to change her? In a pig’s eye! “Whatever can some frumpy old nuns teach me that I cannot learn by observing my brothers or the maids?” Sophie opened her mouth to speak but was silenced with a look from Min. “Manners,” Alexandre interjected thoughtfully. He counted off on his green-stained fingers. “Writing, Latin, embroidery, obedience—” “Obedience?” Min stalked over to Alexandre. “You approve of this? How can you? And you, Adrian.” She turned on her brother. “Stop him. This is preposterous!” “She does know a few things,” Adrian said with a shrug. A spew of delirious giggles erupted from Sophie, but stopped abruptly when Min flashed her another silencing glare. “She could use some taming,” the bedraggled mother pouted. “It is settled,” Armand announced. “We leave for Valde-Grace at daybreak.” ***End of Preview***

THANKS!

I hope you enjoyed Mignonne’s story. The next book in the series is about Min’s eldest brother Armand. It’s turn to face his past crimes and try to make a better life for himself in BETRAY ME NOT. And the third book is ENCHANT ME NOT, which stars Alexandre as he fulfills his dreams as king’s gardener at Versailles.

For another story about musketeers, but unrelated to this series, please check out THE UNFORGIVEN: ATHOS, which grants Dumas’s Athos the love he deserves.

CONTACT INFORMATION

For more information on Michele’s romances, check out MicheleHauf.com.

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The Liberation of Ravenna Morton

A novel by Suzanne Jenkins

Created in digital format in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in blog posts and articles and in reviews. The Liberation of Ravenna Morton is a complete and total work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

For information on the Greektown trilogy, the Pam of Babylon series, and other works by author Suzanne Jenkins, please refer to the ‘Also by…’ section at the end of this novel.

Book Description:

Ravenna would rather not have to deal with secrets from the past, but Esme, a young woman from White Plains, has different ideas as she digs to uncover the tragedies of Ravenna Morton’s youth. In the meantime, a chance for a new life begins for Esme when she meets Wiley Hoffman, the heartthrob of the village.

Praise:

I love the way Suzanne Jenkins’ characters are so real that I have dreams about them. I feel like I’m part of whatever family is being written about. ~ LindaMic, Amazon review

This is a new favorite author. I’ve lost track of how many books of hers I’ve read. From a devoted avid voracious reader of many genres of books, this woman can write. Her characters are visible with the artistry of her words. ~ JEC, Amazon review

The Liberation of Ravenna Morton

Chapter 1

Esme Wynd looked out the plane window as it prepared to land in Grand Rapids, thinking, I hope I’m not making a big mistake. She’d walked away from her life in New York, shocking friends and family who worried she might be having a meltdown because of her mother’s death. It was because of it, but not the way they thought. The view out the window was like other generic landscapes; farmland juxtaposed against urban sprawl, relatively flat compared to New York. But the topography wasn’t what was worrying her. The flight attendant reminded passengers to remain seated until the plane came to a stop at the gate, but the people around Esme ignored the warning, unbuckling their seatbelts and gathering up belongings. She felt a little anxiety about getting off the plane; it would mean facing the unknown. After everyone seated behind her had passed by, she got her carry-on bag out of the overhead bin. In the baggage compartment down below stowed the remainder of her life: two large suitcases and a box with her files. Everything else she owned she’d given away save the few things that were too cumbersome to bring, like her sewing machine, which her father promised to ship once she settled in. The hallway to the baggage compartment was one one-hundredth of the length of the shortest concourse at JFK. The few people walking from the gate were smiling and polite. “I’m not in New York anymore,” Esme whispered. Reaching the baggage claim, an older man with white hair and a bushy white mustache stood near the exit with

a sign hand-printed in big black letters: WIND. It had to be for her. She approached him, smiling. “I’m Esme Wynd.” “Welcome to Grand Rapids, Miss Wynd. I’m Magnus Johnson, but call me Magnus,” he said. “Let’s get your suitcase, and we can be on our way. Your coach is waiting right outside these doors.” She followed him to the carousel to wait for her baggage. “I also have two suitcases and a box,” she explained. He smiled at her, raising an eyebrow. “Staying a while?” She just raised her eyebrows in return and smiled. She didn’t know for sure what she would ultimately do and didn’t feel like going into too much detail with a stranger. “My daughter owns the Green Leaf Inn,” he said. “We’re the best place to stay in town—the best beds, the best location, and the best food. You picked the right place.” After a short wait, Esme’s bags arrived, and they managed to drag everything outside with no catastrophes. “You weren’t kidding about a coach!” Esme exclaimed when she saw the classic Lincoln at the curb. “It’s a 1941,” Magnus said. “I’m the original owner.” “No way!” “What do you drive?” he asked. “Nothing. I don’t even have a license,” Esme said. “No need where I come from.” “Well, that may not work for you here, if you decide to stay,” Magnus said. He lifted the last suitcase in the trunk. “Hop in, miss. Front seat would be fine. Then I can point out landmarks to you as we go.” Esme did as he suggested. The interior of the car

smelled like old leather and motor oil; taking a deep breath, there was something reminiscent about the smell, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. A combination of exhaustion from traveling all day and anticipation fogged her mind. She struggled to keep her eyes opened as Magnus steered the car onto the highway. As though reading her mind, he opened the air vent up. They drove for miles in silence. “We’re going through Holland now,” he said. “There’s not much to see from the highway, but the town is lovely. Mind if I ask why you’re here?” The dreaded question. And then an innocuous, “Vacation or business?” I don’t need to read more into what everyone is saying. “Oh, just a chance to get away, I guess,” she said. What could she say to him? That her mother had made a deathbed confession? That her mother’s siblings, six adults she’d never have the opportunity to meet, had made a feeble attempt to contact her, only to discover she was dying? Truly, she didn’t really know herself why she was here. “A wild-goose chase,” her father had said. “How do you know those people don’t want something from you?” She wasn’t worried about being taken advantage of, but leaving her job and a comfortable life because of a dream may have been a mistake. Shortly after her mother died, she’d wake up screaming in the middle of the night. She wasn’t afraid, and nothing frightened her in her waking hours. She had no idea why she was doing it. Finally, after a few months of scaring her father to death every night, she went to her friend Beth, who was also a therapist. “What changed after your mother died?” Beth asked. Esme knew the answer right away. A month before, her mother, Maria Wynd, had discovered she was

adopted, when April Freeman, a birth sister, contacted her. Maria refused to talk to her when April called, horrified to discover at sixty-two years of age and dying of lung cancer that Penny and Gus Patos were not her real parents after all. If the shock precipitated her death, no one blamed April. Esme and her therapist decided the night terrors were a combination of sadness and regret; regret that her mother died not knowing who she really was, and for Esme, that meant not knowing who she really was, too. April wrote Esme after hearing the news that Maria had died. She was apologetic, saying her brothers and sister were devastated. It would be too late to have a family reunion, but maybe not for Esme. Magnus said, “This is a good place to get away. Or to hide, if you’re lookin’ to do that.” He smiled at Esme. In spite of his encouragement, she wasn’t going to divulge her reasons for being there. The car pulled off the highway onto a road that appeared to wind through a pine forest. “This is the edge of the Allegan Forest,” Magnus said. “See that high point?” He pointed in the distance to a ridgeline high above. “The river carved out a nice basin to flow through. Saugatuck’s built on the harbor. You’ll see. It’s magnificent.” As they approached the town, Esme could see what he meant. Although it was autumn, there were still sailboats in the water. A large, lighted sign, Saugatuck, with an artist’s palette in neon, guarded the entrance to the town. The large car wound around the serpentine road leading to the town center. Summer cottages lined the road; the homes on the river side with docks and boat slips, those on the opposite side with wooded yards. Built at the foot of what was known as the “Hill”, treacherous-

looking driveways went up the hill on scary angles. “How do they get cars up that hill in winter?” she asked. “Oh, Michiganders don’t let a little snow keep them down. Many of these homes are occupied year round now, although just a few years ago it was a sleepy town after Labor Day.” Esme looked out the window, thinking the little town reminded her of many of those on the East Coast but without the quaint factor, happily. She didn’t see one chain restaurant, either. Magnus followed the road through a flashing traffic light, the only one in town, and around a bend that matched the curve of the river. He came to a brick driveway between two Victorian homes, whose lower floors were a gallery and a restaurant respectively. Going through lovely, wrought-iron gates, Esme glanced up at the ivy-covered structure. This might be her home for the time being, and her first instinct was that she’d picked the right place to stay. Magnus instructed her to go to the desk to register, and he’d get her things up to her room. The desk clerk, an attractive woman about Esme’s age, was waiting for her. “I see Magnus found you! I’m Rhonda. How was your flight?” “Just fine. Magnus gave me a great introduction to the area on the way here,” Esme said. “Are there any good places to eat?” She was tired and hungry, and it was making her edgy. “We have a dining room. The menu is limited now that the season is over, but I’m sure you’ll find something you like. Would you like to wait to see your room?” “Is my starvation that obvious?” Esme laughed. “The room first is fine.” Rhonda came out from around the desk and led the

way up a wide staircase. Esme looked around the large reception area; it was comfortable and welcoming, with overstuffed furniture, books and good reading light, just what she was hoping for. Her room was nice, simply decorated and clean, with an iron bedstead and a handmade quilt covering it. A large window called her over to see that it overlooked the Kalamazoo River, autumn sunlight at just the right angle dappling on the water’s surface. A small writing table and chair positioned in front of the window invited contemplation; Esme knew she’d be spending a lot of time sitting at the desk, writing or not. Rhonda regarded the large suitcases and box Magnus left. “If you need any storage, there are locked closets out in the hall. Because you’ve taken the room for a month, you can use one free of charge.” She glanced around the room to see if everything was in place. “If you think of anything you need, just call the desk. There are extra pillows and blankets in the wardrobe. It gets chilly at night, although Indian summer is upon us now. People are still using the pool, so it’s open for the time being. It’s too cold for me. Once the leaves start to fall, that will be it for the season.” Esme appreciated the information, but she wanted to unpack and settle in. She didn’t engage Rhonda but smiled in appreciation. “Okay, well, if you’re all set, I’ll leave you be. The dining room serves until eight.” “Thank you, Rhonda,” Esme said. After she left, Esme sat on the bed. Although the pleasant surroundings and kind people calmed her anxiety a little, there was still a nagging worry permeating her thoughts. She went to the writing table and set her computer bag on it, removing her pencil jar, phone and a

small china owl. It was already feeling like home. She wanted to call April Freeman before doing anything else. Getting out her phone, she keyed in the number, and April answered on the first ring. “Oh, I am so happy you called me. I can’t believe you’re really here. How was your flight?” They made small talk for a few minutes and then got down to business. “Are you too tired to meet with me tonight?” April asked. Esme was tempted to say yes; tiredness would be a good excuse for not going through with what she was afraid might end up being life changing. Emotions on a roller coaster, she knew she was being fickle, so she agreed to meet April after dinner, at a coffee shop around the block on Hoffman. Esme freshened up her makeup and put a brush through her hair. Though she’d made peace with her looks years ago, their origins were not what she had originally thought. Scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror, she looked like other Greek women because she looked just like her mother, although aunts and cousins ranged from slender, athletic types to voluptuous earth mothers. Esme’s appearance fell somewhere between those two extremes. Maria and Esme had darker skin than anyone else in the family who had to keep under cover because light olive skin burned easily, while theirs turned toasty brown in the sun. “You look like a Mexican,” an old boyfriend once said to her, “or someone from Peru.” She had high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. Now she knew why. She was one-quarter Native American. She could very well fit in with a Mexican family or someone from South America. Without meaning to, she started to cry. Not from sadness, although she was

sad her mother couldn’t have shared this with her, it was partly joy, having discovered something about herself that would help lead to completion. She knew who she was. Thinking back sadly to her mother’s last days; Maria Wynd had always known there was a missing piece to the puzzle of her life. The Patos family had been wonderful to her, but she didn’t look like her parents, and that always bothered her. Although they would deny it, her grandparents and relatives treated her differently. It gave her a sense of shame she couldn’t find the source of, a sense of never belonging. That her parents had adopted her never crossed her mind. When the truth was revealed, she thought, Of course! It was so simple, yet so maddening. That was why Maria couldn’t talk to April again. She didn’t have the time to resolve anything; the little energy she had left, she wanted to spend telling her husband and daughter how fabulously in love with them she was. She gave Esme a final edict: “Find out what you can. If you think it’s worth the effort, tell them about me. But more importantly, find out about you.” Then Maria made a confession. “I didn’t know who you were when you were born.” Esme was confused. “Mom, what does that mean?” “I knew when I saw you, right after you came out of my body, that you were of some genetic material that was unfamiliar to me. I almost wondered if there had been some kind of miracle.” Maria began to weep. “I always knew I was different from the rest of the family, but I didn’t trust my own inner voice, my own intellect. Whom can you trust if you can’t trust yourself? And now I know the truth.” She fell back against the pillows. “I didn’t investigate because I was afraid. You know the life we led.”

Esme knew what she meant. They were from an insular family. If it wasn’t Greek, it wasn’t a consideration. They were almost a sect, the isolation was so intense. When she made the decision to work in Manhattan, she thought her father would have a heart attack. Her mother insisted that they allow her the freedom to commute into the city every day, and even move there if she wanted. Esme was a little too dependent on her family to make that final move, so year after year she became more integrated into the structure of the family. She’d be the unmarried daughter who would live at home until she died. Last year, her mother became ill. A nebulous complaint of shortness of breath when she was gardening was the first sign. “I must be developing hay fever,” Maria said. Then she started to lose weight, although she looked at that as a boon. “Oh my God! Could I finally be getting hold of my appetite at this late stage?” A routine chest X-ray done before she had her bunions removed revealed what the real problem was; she had a tumor. The doctors removed it, leaving her with a six-inch scar that wound around her flank. She had two rounds of killer chemotherapy. Her luxurious dark brown locks with just a hint of gray fell out, leaving her completely bald. She looked like a tiny, baby bird. Her mother, who had been statuesque, big hipped and busted, was now the size of a ten-year-old. She took to wearing the terry athletic suits Esme bought, her favorite a bright, baby pink, so Esme bought her several more. After the chemo, her energy returned, and her hair gradually grew in, like white down. She’d gone gray overnight. Then, they found out the cancer had spread

throughout her body, and she had just a few months of life left. Esme was furious with the doctors. They said there was “nothing they could do.” Esme thought a few classes in therapeutic communication might have helped, but realized she was lashing out. They couldn’t save her mother, and therefore, they were to blame for the hopelessness. John Wynd stayed in denial. He wouldn’t or couldn’t talk about it. So Esme stepped in. As much as it hurt, she wanted to be with her mother. She wanted Maria to be free to speak every thought and feeling, to make every second they had together count. When she took family leave from her job as an editor at one of the largest publishing companies left in the country, she knew she wasn’t going back. How could she? If her mother died, life in White Plains no longer existed for Esme, either. It would be as though they both had died. Now, in the foreign land of Saugatuck, Michigan, Esme Wynd prepared for an audience with her mother’s sister, April. Aunt April. She ran down the staircase to the dining room, and was led to a table overlooking the beautiful river. The sun was going down and the light was the opalescent gray of dusk in the fall, when the angle of the sun permeates every surface, and seems to last long after its descent beyond the horizon. Enough light shined from buildings along the other side of the river that she could see it clearly. In the tourist book left for her in the room, she read that there were two methods to get over the river: a ferry that was propelled along by a chain that lay at the river bottom, and the Blue Star Highway. She made a promise to herself to hire Magnus to take her to what the locals called “the beautiful Oval Beach.” After dinner, she walked around the block to the

coffee shop. A tall, attractive young woman was waiting there for her, and Esme recognized her right away. April went to her, and she grasped her hands, seemingly unable to speak. Esme didn’t know what she expected, but the beautiful, professionally dressed April Freeman was not it. She was younger than Esme thought; they might be the same age. Maria was almost sixty-three when she died. Secondly, they looked alike. Anyone would say they were related, even sisters. They had the same small mouth and almond eyes. Their noses were the feature they liked least, small but slightly beaked. Maria used to say to John, “Where did that nose come from?” “Oh my God, now I know where I got my nose,” Esme said, refusing to succumb to tears. She was grateful April didn’t hug her; that would have pushed her over the emotional edge. “We are definitely related,” April said. “You look every bit Ojibwe.” Not sure what April was referring to, Esme asked her to clarify what she meant. “From the Ojibwe tribe,” April said, smiling. “We’re Ojibwe.” Trying to take what she’d just revealed in, Esme wished Maria was alive to hear it. “We look so much alike, it’s a little scary. I guess I must be more Indian than I thought,” Esme said. “Well, I’m Greek, too,” April said. Esme sat back in her chair with her mouth open. “How many Greek/Native American families are there in Saugatuck?” she asked, shocked. “Just one.” April laughed. “We are Greek/Ojibwa. Anyway, Freeman is my married name. My husband is Ojibwa. My father’s last name is Hetris.”

“He’s my mother’s father, too?” Esme wasn’t aware that she’d started shaking. Could her grandfather be alive? He was her grandfather, although she’d called Maria’s father, Gus Patos, papou, Greek for grandfather. April nodded her head. “And he wants to meet you. Everyone does.” She got up to order from the counter. “Decaf?” But Esme was still at “he wants to meet you,” unprepared for this news. April brought back two paper cups of hot coffee and went back a second time for a plate of sugared pastries. “I’m sorry, can’t resist. They bake these every day.” “How many others are there?” Esme asked. April reached across the table and grasped her hand again. “It’ll be okay; you’ll see. You don’t need to be frightened. There are six kids and our mother and father.” Esme couldn’t believe her ears. “Your mother is still alive too?” Shocked, unable to keep the tone out of her voice, Esme fought to remain in control. Maria’s mother was alive all along; she’d outlived her daughter. Maria didn’t know her birth mother was still alive, the saddest thing of all. “She was only thirteen when your mother was born. She’s a young seventy-six. They aren’t married, you know. Just so you won’t be shocked. It’s really pretty scandalous around here.” “I don’t know anything,” Esme said. “My mother only knew what you told her. That she was adopted and had six brothers and sisters who wanted to meet her. Why didn’t you tell her that her mother was alive? That could have been the game changer.” Not meaning to challenge the stranger, Esme could feel something building in her, some powerful emotion that she couldn’t pinpoint, either anger or extreme

sadness or a renewed grief. She took a deep breath. She certainly didn’t want to direct any negative emotion toward April. “We never got that far in our conversation. I knew it would upset her to hear the news. We always knew about your mother. Our parents made sure she was part of our lives. But we had to wait for her adoptive parents to die before we could approach her,” she said, taking a sip of coffee. “It was part of the deal that was made when she was born and the Patos family adopted her. When Gus died last year, we were finally able to come forward.” “You’ll have to forgive me. I feel irrational right now. My mother’s only been dead a few months, so maybe that has something to do with it.” Esme willed the tears to stay behind her eyes, but one snuck out and tried to roll down her cheek before she caught it with a paper napkin. “Oh, I am sorry. It must be awful. We feel terrible about everything; believe me,” April said. “My mother is heartbroken. It is so unfair that they couldn’t meet before Maria died. She wants you to come to see her tomorrow if you can. I have court, so I won’t be able to come with you, and my sister and brothers all work during the day, too.” Esme sensed April’s regret and her compassion, but she would never know what it was like to lose her mother and then find out later that not only were her mother’s birth brothers and sisters looking for her, but her birth mother and father as well. Wanting to leave the coffee shop to either run back to White Plains or to get into bed and pull the covers over her head, she decided to stick it out with April and let her guard down as much as she was able. “It’s so sad. Her birth mother, alive! I had no idea, or I would have insisted that she talk to her at the very least.”

Would she have? Or was this wishful thinking? Maria could be as narrow-minded as her husband and the rest of the family. They all thought the same way. Moreover, talking about painful topics was at the top of the list of things to avoid. It could be stifling. And to discover her mother was half Ojibwa Indian? Esme gave out a laugh and then had to explain. “I’m thinking of what this news will mean to the rest of my family. I’m a quarter Ojibwa. Not one hundred percent Greek. It will mean something to them, trust me. “I think I just had a breakthrough. Maybe this is how I should be thinking, not how this news would’ve affected my mother, which means nothing now, or what the family back East will think. I should only care how it affects me. It’s what my mother would have wanted.” “Wow!” April exclaimed. “If you’re able to do that, it would be wonderful.” Esme wasn’t sure she’d be able to accomplish it, but recognizing this experience boiled down to her alone took some of the pressure off. Coffee finished, they made the move to get up. “I’m not really ready to call it a night. There’s so much I want to ask you about your mother. Are you up for it?” April asked. “What do you have in mind?” Esme glanced around as they left the coffee shop. “It doesn’t look like much is open.” April had a sheepish look on her face. “I was thinking we could walk to my dad’s studio. He lives just a few blocks that way,” she said, pointing toward the river. “Right above the bait shop. He’s not home, but I’d like you to see his place.” Esme was ready to retort no way, but since he wasn’t home, she’d go. Emotionally raw and not at her best, she

wanted to have her wits about her when she met her grandparents. “Well, all right. Will he mind if we go in while he’s gone?” Esme asked, wondering why he wasn’t living with April’s mother. April shook her head. “He’s visiting my mother like he does every evening.” Having answered Esme’s unanswered question, they started walking down the street toward the river. “Shall I tell you a little about them?” April asked, forgetting she wanted to ask about Maria. Esme nodded. “I’ve already told you they aren’t married.” Esme didn’t react negatively to the news because it didn’t mean anything to her. She’d been past judging people for their matrimonial status since she was fifteen. “I know, some would say ‘immoral.’ They are devoted to each other, and that’s all they need. They’ve been in a relationship since they were teenagers. My dad was married to another woman, a Greek woman, and then she got tired of his lingering feelings for my mother and divorced him years ago. Afterward, he and my mother got back together. He says he wasn’t unfaithful to his wife with my mom. Not physically anyway. I don’t think they even spoke to each other.” Esme was trying to take it all in. She wasn’t feeling much except her dead mother was missing all of this; it was the same, depressing feeling she’d been stifling all along trying to rear its ugly head again. “Here’s my dad’s place,” April said as they came to a string of storefronts along the river: a deli, a charter boat tour office, and the bait shop. A wooden stairway along the north side led to an apartment occupied by Mike Hetris. Esme followed April up the stairs and waited as

she unlocked the door. April stepped aside so Esme could pass by. Not expecting what she saw in front of her—a loftlike space with a ceiling vaulted to the river-facing side of the apartment, with a huge window overlooking the Kalamazoo as it wound its way to Lake Michigan—Esme gasped. Dead ahead was majestic Mount Baldhead, or Mount Baldy as it was affectionately called; the tallest point around at six hundred feet, it’s staircase to the top was well-lit in the darkness of the pine forest that grew on the giant sand dune. “We’ll come back in daylight sometime. My dad has the best view in town,” April said. Esme turned around, and that’s when she saw the paintings. There was an easel with a large canvas near the window, covered with a paint-stained white sheet. April was turning on lights directed upon the many beautiful landscapes hung on the walls. She smiled at Esme. “Your grandfather’s an artist.” Esme walked to the painting closest to the window, a landscape of what she surmised were the dunes leading to the lake. It was lovely; the sun must have been just overhead when he captured the light, the entire scene bathed in gold. “This is really beautiful.” She walked to the next, a larger canvas depicting the vast blue of Lake Michigan, with a beach in the forefront. “That’s Oval Beach. We’ll get over there one of these days. It’s pretty wonderful when the tourists have left.” The next canvas was a work in progress, something which didn’t seem to fit in with the theme of local landscapes, a gigantic, stylized tree surrounded by penciled-in wildlife. She tried to get up closer to see what they were, but it was too dark in that area of the studio. Esme stifled a yawn, but April caught it. “You must

be exhausted. I forgot you traveled all day,” she said. “Come. Let’s get you back to your room.” She walked toward the door, and Esme followed her. The idea that she would come here again, maybe become a frequent visitor, simmered on the periphery of her mind. Everything was happening so fast, not at all what she’d imagined. What did I imagine? “Oh, I talked the whole time and never gave you a chance to talk about your mother,” April said, embarrassed. Esme smiled, but didn’t respond, not ready to share her mother with strangers yet anyway. “Get a good night’s sleep, and in the morning come back to the bait shop and ask for Wiley. He’ll take you to my mother’s in his boat. It’s about a fifteen-minute ride. Dress in layers. The river is cold and windy in the fall. One of these days, I’ll show you how to hike in. And my mother heats with wood, so her place is usually chilly.” She could’ve been speaking a foreign language. Do people still live in wood-heated cabins so deep in the woods that you have to hike in? Or take a boat? It’s your grandmother. Esme took another deep breath in an attempt to ward off an anxiety attack. You can do this!

***End of Preview***

If you enjoyed The Liberation of Ravenna Morton, Ravenna’s Dream is a lovely segue as we wait for the next book. Ravenna’s Dream As Christmas approaches, family discord upsets Ravenna Morton’s plans for the usual holiday gathering at her cabin on the Kalamazoo River. After a disappointing Christmas Eve, a visitor in the night guides Ravenna on a path toward healing and selfforgiveness. Surprises come later on Christmas, saving the holiday. A beautiful companion piece to The Liberation of Ravenna Morton, available on Amazon, and a taste of the sequel, Oh Beautiful, coming soon.

If you haven’t already, be sure to subscribe to my email list at Suzannejenkins.com to received the periodic Free stories.

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friends and neighbors learn that perfect someone is right down the beach. A wedding shakes things up; a discovery is made during the honeymoon, and a love triangle is formed when Lisa opens her heart again. Things seem to be on the right path finally, but as usual, a secret of Jack’s is exposed, shaking it up once again.

Gladys and Ed’s Big Adventure Short Story Prequel to #14 Pam’s Adventures in Babylon

Beautiful Heartbreaker A Pam of Babylon Novella Don’t look now, but Jack Smith is right behind you,” Marian whispered. A flush of pleasure cruised through Genevieve’s body, but later, she thought it might have been a warning.

The years of Jack Smith’s coming of age occurred during the best and worst times in Manhattan’s history. The son of Upper West Side elitists, raised with the best of everything, one secret aspect of his childhood set him apart from others in his class.

Beautiful Heartbreaker tells the story of Jack’s transformation from a young, innocent boy to a larger than life icon who took the city by storm.

For followers of Pam of Babylon, Beautiful Heartbreaker fills in some of the blanks his death left unanswered. Will the mystery of Jack ever be unlocked?

Pam’s Adventures in Babylon Life at the beach takes on a new twist as Pam embraces the children Jack left behind. The triad of Lisa, Allison, and Ryan grows closer, then further apart when Ryan’s lust gets out of control. Even the reappearance of someone from Ryan’s past

isn’t enough to keep him in check. The rest of the players cope with life as each drama is thrown their way. Discover what Dan and Julie, Cara and Roger, Sandra and Tim, Gladys and Ed, Ted and Jeanie, the Great Neck Gang, Claire Maddox, and the rest are up to. #15 brewing!

Pam of Babylon Video

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Perfect for Him Romance in the time of death, Perfect for Him skims the surface of a marriage before plunging into the abyss of heartbreak. Perfect for Him is a tale of two lovers whose lifetime romance sustains them, as an unwanted ending looms in the near future. Pathos and heartbreak intermingles with expectation and the comedy that only a close-knit family can generate. At the end, joy and hope reign, thanks to Harley’s unselfish love.

Perfect for Him Video ~ ~ ~

The Donut Shop Murder A prequel to the series. Four days before Thanksgiving, the dead body of a paralegal is found dumped on a residential street in Midtown Detroit. A receipt for two cups of coffee in the gutter near her body leads Detectives Zannos and Wong to the New Delhi Donut shop. Questions arise – who killed her, and why did the murderer break her fingers and move her body?

The Greeks of Beaubien Street is the Second book in The Greektown Stories. Although it may be read as a

stand-alone novel, character development is on the continuum of all the books in the series.

Nestled below the skyline of Detroit you’ll find Greektown, a few short blocks of colorful bliss, warm people and Greek food. In spite of growing up immersed in the safety of her family and their rich culture, Jill Zannos doesn’t fit in. A Detroit homicide detective, she manages to keep one foot planted firmly in the traditions started by her grandparents, while the other navigates the most devastated neighborhoods in the city she can’t help but love. She is a no-nonsense workaholic with no girlfriends, an odd boyfriend who refuses to grow up, and an uncanny intuition, inherited from her mystic grandmother that acts as her secret weapon to crime-solving success. Her story winds around tales of her family and their secret-laden history, while she investigates the most despicable murder of her career.

The Greeks of Beaubien Street is a modern tale of a family grounded in old world, sometimes archaic, tradition as they seek acceptance in American society. They could be any nationality, but they are Greek.

Adult themes with graphic depictions of rape and murder.

The Princess of Greektown Jill investigates the messiest crime of her career, while her family suffers a loss that changes the way life will be lived in Greektown.

Christmas in Greektown As Christmastime approaches, the family prepares for another get-together in Greektown. Relationships blossom and some end during the hardest time of the year. But as Jill and others discover, when one door closes, another opens, often

with more wonderful opportunities.

A Greektown Wedding After Christmas was over, the family could finally focus on other things, like love! The jam-packed fourth volume of the Greektown Stories Saga, A Greektown Wedding takes you on the emotional roller coaster the other books introduced you to as the Zannos’s have another family dinner in Greektown, but this time with a wedding.

Greek Style coming soon.

The Greektown Books Video

The Burn District Science Fiction Series

Burn District: The Short Story Prequel Laura and Mike Davis and their four children build an idyllic life with friends and family nearby in the beautiful Brandywine River Valley. Dreams and goals come to an abrupt end soon after Hurricane Sandy hits the east coast. Discovered in wood soaked by seawater, a virus thought to have the potential to decimate the population becomes the excuse to relocate thousands of citizens from beach towns. Fire is the only known way to eradicate the virus. Rumors spread that napalm is used to burn without evacuating the people. A neighbor warns Laura and Mike that their town is next as the destruction moves inland. Is it a drastic way to halt the spread of disease, or is there another catalyst?

Burn District 1 The family flees to Steve Hayward’s ranch in the desert at the Mexican Border, outside of Yuma, Arizona to build an encampment there. The government no longer exists. Lies, looting and lack of

power are now the norm of life in the United States. Believers and Rumors coexist, as life appears to reach normalcy. But it will be short-lived.

Burn District 2 After the New Year, Jenna Hayward regretfully accepted that she had waited too long to leave Jacksonville for her father’s Arizona ranch. An unknown benefactor provided buses for the stragglers last minute exodus. While she waited to board with the other doubters, her sister, Laura, and father, Steve toiled along with the rest of the camp dwellers, attempting to turn the barren desert into a homestead. At the end of book #1, as they tried to settle in to a new life, waves of pandemonium hitting the camp became the new normal. The camp dwellers asked themselves if they’d found asylum in the desert, or was the illusion of safety a flimsy veil?

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Alice’s Summertime Adventure We meet Alice Bradshaw when she is at a crossroad. She’s just beaten cancer and is suddenly unsure of what her next move should be. Looking back on where she’s been and what the future may hold, she knows she needs to make a big change in her life. Then her car dies on the highway after an argument with her daughter. Dave, a stranger on a motorcycle, pulls alongside her and saves the day. He offers Alice a chance at adventure. She jumps on it, much to the dismay of her children. The adventure starts a chain of events that will have Alice and her children, as well as Dave, questioning every aspect of their lives. There will be a few casualties along the way, a lot of anger, life changes and a few shocking surprises. Alice’s Summertime Adventure is the story of an average

American family as they struggle with dilemmas we all have, and making choices that aren’t for everyone.

Someone Like You Life gets in the way as upstate NY sisters, Marley and Abigail cling to each other and their young children. But a babysitter introduces them both to Jay Malik, a medical student from India who becomes their lifeline to happiness, forgiveness and healing. “Another tear-jerker from Jenkins. Have the tissue ready.”

The Savant of Chelsea From Publisher’s Weekly April 2014 “This gripping novel from Jenkins delivers complex twists and turns from start to finish. Alexandra Donicka is a talented but unstable brain surgeon living in New York City. When her mother dies, Alexandra travels to New Orleans to face the tragedies and secrets of her youth. These include childhood abuse and the birth of a child, who was taken from Alexandra by her mother more than two decades ago. As Alexandra searches for her daughter, she must grapple with long-hidden emotions and discover her own humanity. Jenkins creates fully realized, believable characters and ably portrays mental illness in this dark tale that provides nonstop thrills and culminates in an explosive and unexpected finale.”

Gracefully, Like a Living Thing: The Sequel to The Savant of Chelsea So many possibilities existed at the explosive ending of The Savant of Chelsea. The author wanted readers to believe whatever they wanted. The doctor lives out her new life as a mother while the pendulum swings between lucidity and abject insanity.

Slow Dancing After midnight, a mysterious stranger appears at the edge of the woods and the peaceful life fifteen-year-old Ellen Fisher has with her beloved stepfather Frank is turned upside down. Small town gossip, jealousy and murder strive to tear them apart in a tale of secrets and unrequited love.

The Liberation of Ravenna Morton Ravenna Morton is an American Indian woman living a very old-fashioned life in a primitive cabin at the edge of the Kalamazoo River. Facing modern problems when her lifelong affair with a Greek artist is closely examined by their children after a child she gave up for adoption dies, The Liberation of Ravenna Morton captures the small-town dynamic of a family’s private secrets being exposed to the world. A poignant look at the melding of two Americanized cultures observed under a microscope.

Ravenna’s Dream As Christmas approaches, family discord upsets Ravenna Morton’s plans for the usual holiday gathering at her cabin on the Kalamazoo River. After a disappointing Christmas Eve, a visitor in the night guides Ravenna on a path toward healing and selfforgiveness. Surprises come later on Christmas, saving the holiday. A beautiful companion piece to The Liberation of Ravenna Morton, available on Amazon, and a taste of the sequel, Oh Beautiful, coming soon.

Mademoiselle Gorgeous Pipi Wiener’s family changes forever when their dad is tragically killed in the Vietnam War. Maybe because of it, marriage and family, mother’s objective for all her daughters, is the last thing on Pipi’s mind. Pipi’s thrilling goal is to work in Manhattan, writing for Mademoiselle, a glossy fashion magazine she grows

up with, having four older sisters. Then, handsome Walter Spencer walks into her life, upsetting her perfectly executed plot. Too strong to give into love, Pipi is determined to stick to her plan. Taking a job with the Department of Defense to run from his broken heart, Walter never forgets beautiful Pipi. In the end, Pipi has a choice to make – will she follow her exciting dream? Or is there an even greater plan, including everlasting, love waiting for her? SuzanneJenkins.net

Thank you for reading Book Bites 8, with previews of the 12 great novels included in two fantastic boxed sets: KISS ME, THRILL ME and REBELS, ROGUES, AND ROMANTICS!

If you’d take a moment to leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads, we’d appreciate it. Great reviews are like oxygen to authors: necessary for a clear mind and happy attitude.

Warm regards from all of us,

Joan Reeves Mimi Barbour Dani Haviland Alicia Street Mona Risk Patrice Wilton Taylor Lee Katy Walters Michele Hauf Suzanne Jenkins

For more great reads in boxed sets, check out:

Unforgettable Romances: Unforgettable Heroes Dangerous Encounters Risky Encounters Mystic Lovers

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Book Bites8 - PDF Free Download (2024)

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