Friday, December 2, 2016

Bounty's Song by Mandy Colton - Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Mandy will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Gage Knight is a Texas bounty hunter and just doing a tough job when he’s sent to Nashville to pick up a grifting high-dollar fugitive. He arrives at the right place at almost the right time, but he makes a big mistake when he leaves.

Once a debutante, Danica Chastain is now a struggling songwriter with a dream of landing a job in the music business. On the day when her hard work seems to be heading in the right direction, a gruff man with a dark presence and wolfish eyes arrives at her door.

Although their immediate chemistry is off the charts, the two clash—for good reason. Danica is not who he thinks she is, and he’s not listening...


Enjoy an Excerpt:

That little bitch had pulled her con off so smoothly, Danica knew just like she knew her rent hadn’t been paid that Tara, if that was even her real name, the money, and her stuff was long gone. She would just wait and call the cops after her appointment at the record company tomorrow. Focus on your meeting with Hank, Danica. If that went well, she’d just find her another roommate, take what was left of her clothes, and leave this dump. She would hold her head up and keep moving forward with her mind on her future and dreams.

* * * *


The next morning, Danica spent much of her time stomping around and grumbling. Her routine was screwed. She’d found the coffee pot gone first and then, after taking her shower, found her blow dryer lifted as well. She’d had to painstakingly brush her hair dry. Then there was the underwear dilemma she’d faced next. She had none. It was all gone, and the only thing she could do was put the bra back on from the day before, which was not going to work for the panties. There had been too much freaking out the night before about bigger issues than to remember to wash them out or even worry about something as minor as going sans the drawers. She’d just have to temporarily go commando and leave early enough to buy herself some undies on the way to her appointment.

She was about ready to leave the apartment when there was a knock on the door. Danica looked out the peephole but didn’t see anyone. Hmm. She shrugged, opened the door to take a step out and look, immediately walking into a wall of man and muscle. Yelping in surprise, she quickly moved her eyes up to his face. Whoa. At first glance, the guy had a dark, daunting presence, almost intimidating as he loomed over her. A closer inspection made another thought cross her mind. What a hunk-o-man! Talk about tall, beefy, and ruggedly handsome. Not exactly swarthy but deeply tanned and a nice amount of past-five-oh-clock shadow framed a nicely chiseled jawline. The whole package made her shiver a little. She could smell the guy, he was so close, and his cologne was a heady alpha male blend of sweat, the non-stinky man-musk kind, and spice. Ooh, and leather. In fear of being zapped by a jolt of supercharged testosterone mixed with potently virile pheromones, she took a step back.

He stood there, intimidating-like, looking down his nose at her, eyeing her, nothing moving except for a pair of odd color eyes. They were mesmerizing. He cleared his throat, which broke her staring spell.

She finally said, “If you’re looking for Tara, she’s gone.” She scanned him again. At least the bitch had a little taste in who she screwed. Couldn’t say the same for the guys.

Suddenly his eyes changed and he looked a bit amused. What a pair of peepers he had on that strikingly handsome and chiseled face. The guy had bright-gray eyes, like a husky dog or a wolf. My goodness, how beautiful they were and framed by lush lashes, those making her a little jealous. Danica was curious if the eye color was real or if he might be wearing contacts. Before she had the chance to ask, he opened his mouth.

“Is that right?”

Wow. The beefcake wasn’t the meathead she was expecting, he could speak. Smooth, sexy voice too. “Yup, bitch is gone. That’s for damn sure.”

He snickered at that. “Mind if I come in?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I have somewhere I gotta be.”

The guy rudely bumped her aside with his broad chest and walked right past, making her gasp because he didn’t have permission and she was pretty sure that brief contact had created a few sparks underneath her chassis. Sparky, like after a bump in the road and your loose muffler intermittently drags the asphalt before scraping your undercarriage again with a zing. Yeah, like that.

Danica put her hands on her hips and cleared her own throat this time. “Excuse me, but I think I just told you that Tara’s not here and I have someplace to go.”

He walked right through the apartment, opened a bedroom door, and turned to grin at her. Then he walked to the other and opened it. “Mmhmm. Bet you do have some place to go, being that you just missed your court date. Again. Skipping for a second time on the same bondsman. He warned you last time. Somebody was gonna be comin’ for your lily-white ass.”

“Why are saying ‘you’? Like I did that? I don’t have a clue what you’re even talking about. I haven’t done anything, and for your information, my white ass is clean. I have never needed a bondsman.”

That made the corners of his mouth quirk upward into a smile. “Nice to know. Let’s see some ID, sweetheart.”

She still had her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at the guy. “What? You think I’m her, don’t you?” Thoroughly insulted by the thought, she continued, “Freaking Jesus H. Believe me, I could never be as bad as that nasty-ass, thieving, nympho skank is.”

Those sexy lips began twitching at that. She couldn’t stop focusing on them. He stuck his hand out, doing a “give it”-type motion with his fingers. “ID, please.”

Aggravated now, she grabbed her bag and snapped, “Fine! Who the hell are you, walking right in and demanding ID? Why are you here?”

“I’m a bond enforcement officer working on behalf of the bondsman in Texas. The law and bond was broken by not showing on the scheduled court date. I’m here to collect Tara Morgan and take her to jail. If you’re not her, then just kindly show me some ID and I’ll go.”


About the Author:
Mandy Colton is from Louisville, KY, and lives a very quiet life with her husband and teenage son. A fan of romance, fun adventure, drama, humor, and on occasion, sci-fi stories. Her first book, Way to Go, and the continuing series came from her years, own adventures and experiences working in the travel industry.

Although she’s a great fan of the human imagination, she is also of the opinion that there are just no better stories than those that involve a bit of true life.

If you like my books, please review on Amazon or Goodreads. Subscribe for notifications on future new releases!

WEBSITE: http://www.mandycolton.com
CAVALCADE PRESS: http://www.cavalcadepress.com
AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE: https://www.amazon.com/Mandy-Colton/e/B00X1MMJ2Q
GOODREADS: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13894995.Mandy_Colton
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/mandycoltonfiction
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/mandycoltonfic
PINTEREST: https://www.pinterest.com/mandycoltonfict/mandy-colton-fiction/

The book is FREE at Amazon.

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Thursday, December 1, 2016

Deception Island by Judith Boss - Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Judith will be awarding a $50 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

While at an archaeology dig in Afghanistan, evolutionary anthropologist Rachel St. Claire discovers a pendant with strange shifting symbols. Not long after, she receives an urgent call from her colleague, Dr. Grace McAllister, insisting Rachel come to Antarctica to examine an unusual body with ethereal properties found in an ice cave. Before Rachel can respond, bandits storm the desert dig site. Just as they are about to seize Rachel, a helicopter appears with Trevor Brookenridge, a handsome polar geophysicist sent by his Aunt Grace to bring Rachel to Antarctica. Sparks fly, but Rachel already has a fiancé. Rachel must decide who she can trust when a group of bioterrorists engaged in secret genetic experiments in an abandoned World War II Nazi base under the Antarctic ice sheet come after the pendant--and her. For it seems everyone knows a secret Rachel does not, one which will change her life forever.

Enjoy an Excerpt:

Rachel peered over the rail as the hydrofoil eased into a slip at a floating dock. Whalebones on the floor of the bay, from the days whaling ships used the harbor, could be seen through the clear water. As usual, the beach near the dock was bustling with penguins. A Snow-Cat, a sleek, bullet-shaped vehicle with yellow stripes painted on it, was parked just above the beach line.

As they disembarked and started up the beach toward an awaiting Snow-Cat, some of the gentoo penguins scattered, lurching and stumbling over the cobblestones. Others raised their bright orange beaks in protest.

“The penguins seem particularly jumpy today,” remarked one of the crew. “Like something spooked them during the night.”

Two men unloaded what looked like a body bag from the Snow-Cat and loaded it on the hydrofoil.

In the distance beyond a ridge, Rachel noticed a small hut silhouetted by the low sun. “That’s the Argentinean hut,” said Antonio, shouldering his overnight bag. After saying a quick farewell to them, he slipped on a pair of snowshoes and headed up to the hut.

“All aboard,” one of the men said. He reached out a hand and helped Rachel climb up into the cab of the Snow-Cat.

From her seat on the Snow-Cat, Rachel could see the skittish penguins watching the receding vehicle wind its way up to Shackleton Station. What had upset them? The very air seemed to bristle with angst. She glanced over at Trevor sitting across from her, but he didn't seem to notice anything amiss.


About the Author: Judith Boss (née Wager) was born in the village of Honeoye Falls, south of Rochester, New York in the heart of wine country. She attended elementary school in Irondequoit, where her family moved when she was two.

When not in school, she enjoyed wandering the woods and fields around her home and picking beans for 25¢ a basket for Mr. King, who owned the truck farm behind her house. She also loved hiking and camping and was active in the Girl Scouts throughout high school.

An avid writer, when Judy was 11 years old she wrote and illustrated her first “novel," a story about her beloved parakeet “Sparky." My Little Sparky was followed by several other short novels and a book of poems.

Following graduation from high school, Judy attended the University of Rochester for a few years before dropping out and emigrating to Australia. Both of Judy’s daughters were born in Australia. She also finished her B.A. in philosophy and anthropology at the University of Western Australia.

From Australia, the family moved to Nova Scotia, Canada for graduate school. After graduate school, Judy worked for eight years as a writer/researcher for the Nova Scotia Museum. In 1979, Judy and her two daughters moved to Newport, Rhode Island where she continued to work as a writer. She also worked as a lecturer for several years at the University of Rhode Island before going back to full-time writing.

Judy currently lives in rural Rhode Island with her family and Corgi. An avid traveler, she has traveled with students from the University Of Rhode Island and Brown Medical School to work with undeserved, indigenous people in Guatemala and Mexico. Her favorite travel destination, however, is Antarctica.

Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Judith_A._Boss
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8a5CQJmAPUs
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/judyboss2
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/judith-boss-41895150?trk=hp-identity-name

Buy the book at Amazon.

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Revenge by J.A. Jackson - Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Last time, in J. A. Jackson’s steamy, romantic thriller Lovers, Players and The Seducer, the storm came…and went.

Back then, Nicholas La Cour played a very dangerous game of cat and mouse; one in which he involved his childhood friends, Kienan Egan and Quinn Rolandis. Even worse, he put his own sister, Lacey La Cour, right in the middle of that storm.

Everyone got swept away in the torrent of greed, lust and ruthless ambition. All except two ratchet lovers…

Another storm is coming, but the two ratchet lovers survive it? Find out in Jackson’s anticipated sequel, Lovers, Players The Seducer, Book II The Revenge Game. Winner takes all.


Enjoy an Excerpt:

Sutter’s Bistro was located in the heart of downtown San Jose in an old two story brick building off of First Street and East Santa Clara. Kienan parked his Escalade in the public parking lot on the corner and walked a half block to the restaurant.

Downtown San Jose had changed since he was a kid, Kienan reflected as he paused at the corner of First Street and watched the light-rail train go by. It was one of the modern conveniences that made San Jose more and more like San Francisco every day.

He walked into Sutter’s Bistro and found Thomas was waiting for him.

Thomas smiled wide in greeting. “Hey Kienan my friend. It is good to see you.”

Kienan shook his hand. “Likewise, my old friend,” he said, taking the seat across from him. “Let’s order I’m starving.”

“I already have,” Thomas replied. “That is if you still like the house special.”

“If it is still braised short ribs? You know I do,” Kienan said, without hesitation.

“Good,” Thomas said, signaling their waiter.

Their waiter appeared with two piping hot plates of the house special short ribs, sauté green beans with garlic mashed potatoes.

“Looks like retirement agrees with you,” Kienan said, taking a bite of mashed potatoes.

“Yeah, it does. And I still remember the first time I ever saw you. It was the first day of the summer mentoring program for Future Detectives. Your father was with you on the first day. You still look like that hardworking geeky young man.”

About the Author:
J.A. Jackson is the pseudonym for an author, who loves to write deliciously sultry adult romantic, suspenseful, entertaining novels with a unique twist. She lives in an enchanted little house she calls home in the Northern California foothills.

She spent over ten years working in the non-profit sector where she wrote grants, press releases and contributed many stories to their newsletter. She was their Newsletter editor for over ten years. She loves growing roses, a good pot of hot tea, chocolate, magical stories, suspense stories, ghost stories, and reading Jane Austen again and again in her past time.

AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE: https://www.amazon.com/author/jajackson
BLOG: http://jerreeceannjackson.blogspot.com
FACEBOOK: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jerreece-Ann-Jackson/204377496289139?ref=hl
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/jerreece

Buy Revenge at Amazon for only $0.99.

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Wednesday, November 30, 2016

The Christmas Tree by Allyson Charles and The Accidental Elopement by Maggie Dallen


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The authors will be awarding digital copies of both books on tour to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

It was one little fender bender. Sadie was only in picturesque Pineville, Michigan, for a day, trying to handle the ramshackle house her grandmother left her and juggle the sale of her failing design business at the same time. Her debtors don’t care that it’s almost Christmas. But then neither does the big bad contractor whose truck got squashed.

Colt McCoy might be the least festive person she’s ever met. He’s gruff, rude, and way too upset about a minor accident. Of course, he is nice to look at, with dimples hiding in his scruffy beard and a body like a lumberjack’s. And Sadie will have plenty of time to enjoy the view, since their community service sentence has put the two of them in charge of Pineville’s jinxed Christmas tree.

But as their squabbles over ornaments turn to laughter, anyone can see Colt and Sadie have something electric. The hard part is guessing if they’ll light each other up—or just keep blowing the fuse . . .

First comes love, then comes marriage—or is it the other way around?

Lucia is an Italian spitfire with big dreams like her billionaire grandfather. But she wants to become a top tier fashion designer, not the heir to the family business in Italy. Now is her only chance to forge her own path. And what better place to start than in New York City? But working behind a bar doesn’t exactly pay the rent. Her trust fund would come in handy, but she needs to get married first. Luckily, she may have found the perfect husband candidate in her co-worker, who just happens to be the most charismatic and devastatingly gorgeous man she’s ever met . . .

There’s more to Ryan’s charming smile than meets the eye—he’s out for revenge and working for his enemy is his best bet at getting it. When Lucia comes to him with her crazy plan, he sees a perfect opportunity to make his move. But doing that could mean hurting his new wife. They say nothing’s sweeter than revenge—but “they” never met a woman like Lucia . . .


Read an Excerpt:

Sadie Wilson knew she shouldn’t do it.

It was against the rules, and the key to her ordered life had always been to follow the rules. But the ping of her phone rang in her ears, a siren’s call. It could be what she’d been waiting for.

She peered out her windshield up the street. Maple trees, bare of any leaves and wound with hundreds of white lights, lined the avenue, giving the dark night a cheery glow. Green wreaths with red bows hung from each light pole. And the dark streets were empty of traffic.

She glanced down at her phone. Shoulders slumping, she blew out a deep breath. The text wasn’t the one she’d been praying to see. And because that was just the way her life had been going lately, of course her lapse in judgment would come back to bite her in the end.

The raccoon didn’t even try to avoid her car. It was a stationary shimmer of silver fur, black mask, and a raised paw, and she swore it was giving her the middle finger. She gasped, swerved. She pumped her brakes, knuckles whitening. The Nissan Maxima skidded sideways, executed a perfect pirouette, and slid inexorably toward the sidewalk.

The light pole on the sidewalk didn’t stand a chance. The front end of her car struck the pole, her hood buckling with the crunch of metal. Her body trapped by the seatbelt, Sadie felt her head and limbs snap forward before she collapsed back into her seat.

Groaning, she rolled her head, trying to work through the ache in her neck. The raccoon waddled down the street to her left, unrepentant. But it was the movement she caught from the corner of her eye that stopped her heart. Peering through the windshield, she saw it again. A flutter of red.

Swaying in its moorings, the light pole wobbled like a metronome, the ribbon in its Christmas wreath trailing through the air.

“Please, please don’t fall,” Sadie whispered. The twinge in her neck from the collision forgotten, she prayed for further disaster to be averted.

Luck was not on her side. The thirty-foot aluminum pole tore from its bolts with a shriek and toppled away from the crumpled hood of her car, the ribbon flapping cheerfully. The cab of an F-150 Ford truck broke its fall. “Oh, God.”

A choking sound across the street made Sadie spin. A man stood in front of the large window of a darkened hair salon, mouth gaping, brown paper bag dangling from the tips of his fingers. He swiveled his head from the truck to Sadie and back again. The shock evaporated from his face, his lips pressing into a hard line, his chest expanding with a heated breath.

Roaring, he chucked his bag on the ground and ran across the street. A bear of a man, he was tall and well built, making her own five-foot-nine-inch frame feel insignificant. Or maybe it was his righteous fury that made her feel small. A black knit cap covered his head, but Sadie assumed his hair was the same color as his short beard, dark brown. A blue-checked shirt peeked out from under his worn pea coat, and jeans stretched tight across muscled thighs.

“What the hell happened to my truck?”

About the Authors:
Allyson Charles lives in Northern California. She’s the author of the “Pineville Romance” series, small-town, contemporary romances published by Lyrical Press. A former attorney, she happily ditched those suits and now works in her pajamas writing about men’s briefs instead of legal briefs. When she’s not writing, she’s probably engaged in one of her favorite hobbies: napping, eating, or martial arts (That last one almost makes up for the first two, right?). One of Allyson’s greatest disappointments is living in a state that doesn’t have any Cracker Barrels in it.

Sign up for Allyson’s newsletter at allysoncharles.com/newsletter.

WEBSITE: www.allysoncharles.com
FACEBOOK: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorAllysonCharles

Buy the book at http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/34004

Maggie Dallen is a huge fan of happily-ever-afters. She writes contemporary and YA romance and has been known to rewrite the endings to classic love stories to ensure that they end on a happy note. In Maggie's version, Ingrid Bergman does not get on the plane. She lives in Northern California and works at a yarn store to support her knitting addiction. For more info please visit maggiedallen.com.

Buy the book at Kensington Books

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Vacation to Graceland by Phillip Cornell - Interview and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Phillip Cornell will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Tell us something you hate doing. Why?

I hate repeating myself, after I spend 3 to 5 minutes explaining something. My time is precious! Please do not waste it having me to have to repeat myself. Also, do not hear me explaining an answer to a question, then ask the same question in a different way. This leads me to have to repeat myself, and I do not like that.

Share a funny incident in your life?

My life is an ongoing comedy. Recently I was telling this girl at work how I had to block this girl I was flirting with on social media. She looked at me, and said, “Why did you have to be petty?” I told her that is all she understood. I put my displeasure with her actions in text, but I saw no results. Once I blocked her, her whole attitude changed.

What’s your pet peeve?

A pet peeve, is making plans with me, and canceling in a shady way. An example is, not answering your phone on the day off, or during the time of said plans. If you do not want to do something, just say that, do not waste someone else’s time.

Who was your favorite hero/heroine?

I am a huge Wolverine fan! The guy is utterly imperfect, and I love it. He is confused about who he is, but he does know he has to do something to make things right. I see myself in him sometimes, because I know there is always an opportunity to do something right. The problem is, my way might not be the correct way, just like Wolverine.

Have you ever had one character you wanted to go one way with, but after the book was done the character was totally different?

No! I know who my characters are from beginning to end. The way I write is, I see a character, and put him or her in situations. So the character stays true to themselves, but the situation changes. Sometimes a character with surprise me in how I have them handle a situation. With this being said, I will never change a character midway or near the end of a story. They are who they are, and will either mature in the writing or level out personality wise.

A man, his mother, his sister, his granny, his niece, and his nephew make a trip to Memphis Tennessee for a family reunion. During the course of the trip, the family encounter a series of circumstances that mold the trip into an unforgettable experience. Through the arguing and internal bickering within the group, they come together and strengthen the blood bond they share with each other. Reflecting on each and every situation encountered, the man realizes the trip is an overall social, emotional, and educational journey.

Read an excerpt:

The idea of a family trip started, when my mom devised a plan to take my granny on a weekend trip. This was difficult because my granny was on a weekly dialysis schedule, so my mom had to come up with a way to keep her schedule and transport her from one city to the next without any problems. My grandma had been on dialysis for the past 2 ½ years, and with her increasing age and decreasing health, she needed more attention from care givers and family members.

The living arrangement in my mom’s house was setup like this. My mom, my sister Brandi, and my granny all lived there constantly. My other sister Crissy and her children did not live there, but they would visit often. I myself would visit quite often also. My job was 2 miles from my mom’s house, so it was nothing for me to visit on my lunch break or when I got off work. My granny anticipated me coming over many times. She would cook a meal for me, and place my name on the plate. It was not the perfect living arrangement, but it definitely had a strong family feel tied into it.

My granny kept close tabs on what my mom and sister were always doing, because that is just who she was. She still liked to get out the house ever once in a while. Her favorite pastime was people watching. If there was one thing that she enjoyed, it was talking about other people. This is a trait that has been handed down from generation to generation, and I myself am guilty of doing it also. Discussing people in a humorous light, that downgrades their physical appearance or personality, is second nature to me now. I can easily do it without any effort or stress. The thoughts just come to my head, and I let the mild form of slander flow. I have never been embarrassed of this, and like me, my granny has never been either.

About the Author:
Phillip Cornell is a college graduate. He gained his degree in Biological Sciences, and currently works at a local pharmacy. He is the only son of Harron and Connie Cornell, and the youngest of 3 children. In 2006 his father passed away due to colon cancer, and his mom became an inspiration to him and his family in the way she supported everyone. He has a passion for all types of competitive activity, with sports being the favorite. Overall he lives for different experiences to stimulate the mind, and firmly believes that life is something that has to be lived, read about, and dissected. His biggest weakness is beautiful women, and the thought of being a failure. Firmly believing everyone deserves their moment no matter how long or short it is, Phillip listens to anyone who has something to say. The more he writes. The more he realizes what he creates, is something that needs to be shared with someone other than himself.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Phillipthedeal
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/phillipthedeal/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/phillip.cornell.5
SnapChat: http://www.snapchat.com/Phillipthedeal2

Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

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Tuesday, November 29, 2016

The Woven Ring by M.D. Presley - Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author is awarding a randomly drawn commenter a handcrafted silver ring. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

A fantasy reimagining of the American Civil War that pits muskets against magic, massive war machines against mind readers, and glass sabers against soldiers in psychic exoskeletons.

In exile since the civil war, former spy and turncoat Marta Childress wants to quietly live out her remaining days in the West. But then her manipulative brother arrives with one final mission: Transport the daughter of a hated inventor deep into the East. Forced to decide between safely delivering the girl and assassinating the inventor, Marta is torn between ensuring peace or sparking a second civil war.

Enjoy an Excerpt:

To her surprise Carmichael blinked uncomprehendingly at the name. It had been rattling around Marta’s head like a Breath in a bottle for the last three months, but to him it seemed meaningless. Then the corners of his mouth curled up, Carmichael finally remembering.

“This is about our older sister? I forgot about her entirely.”

His dismissal of her months of misery infuriated Marta all the more, the girl fighting harder against his grip. Her helplessness stoked her anger further, fanning it into blazing rage.

And with the rage came clarity, Marta suddenly aware of each Breath within her body. There were the usual three all humans were born with, one in the center of the chest to representing the Body, the second in the middle of the forehead for the Mind, and the third at the crown of the head signifying the Soul. But in that moment of clarity, Marta could feel a fourth Breath nestled deep in her chest next to the Body. Were she not so angry, she might have been surprised to find it, to feel it thrumming with its own frequency. It had a resonance, a musical identity all its own that only she could hear.

So she inhaled, filling that Breath with both her air and anger.

The fourth Breath stirred, summoned by Marta’s will and obeying on her exhale. Though its base remained firmly in her chest, she felt it elongate as it stretched through her throat and out towards her mouth. The appendage was entirely new to her, but it felt natural as she experienced each sensation through this fresh limb: the light scrape as it edged over her teeth, the sudden coolness of the air outside her body; the crunch of her brother’s bones as it collided with his nose.


About the Author:
Never passing up the opportunity to speak about himself in the third person, M.D. Presley is not nearly as clever as he thinks he is. Born and raised in Texas, he spent several years on the East Coast and now waits for the West Coast to shake him loose. His favorite words include defenestrate, callipygian, and Algonquin. The fact that monosyllabic is such a long word keeps him up at night.

His blogs and short stories can be found at his cleverly titled website: mdpresley.com
Or join him on Facebook at: facebook.com/solsharvest

And you can always pick up his book here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01IALGCDE?ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_BouHxbKEZD2BZ&tag=kpembed-20&linkCode=kpe

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Monday, November 28, 2016

Angles by Erin Lockwood - Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Erin will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

This story is about friendship and relationship triangles, love and protection, love and understanding, and love and true love.

Read an excerpt:

By the time I get back to dancing with Dean, I feel something, someone, watching me. The feeling I felt before my speech is stronger now. There’s something consuming my surroundings—an invisible, sweltering blanket over me. As soon as I have the chance, I look around and try to find the source of this feeling—the burning eyes I can’t see, yet, but I sense are focused on me.

I casually scan the room between dips and twirls.

My breath catches. There they are—the eyes I’ve been searching for. A man, a gorgeous man, in a perfectly tailored suit is staring at me. It’s no mistake. Now that I see him, I know his eyes are the source of this feeling I’ve been having.

There are worse people to have stare at you. He might be a little older, but he’s very attractive. He wears his dark brown hair slicked and styled up and back. It looks soft enough to run my fingers through and short enough to create a little edge to it. His blackish gray suit blends in with his olive, tan skin. Every part of him is dark and smoky, except his eyes. His turquoise-blue eyes are so bright; they’re like headlights shining at me. A lighthouse warning me not to come too close or my boat will crash.


About the Author:
Erin Lockwood grew up in Castro Valley, California, and attended the University of Oregon where she graduated with a degree in journalism in 2003. From there, she moved to Denver, Colorado, and spent the next seven years searching for the love of her life and building the family of her dreams.

It wasn’t long until, with children starting preschool and more time on her hands, Erin refocused on her career, beginning with a successful entry into the world of residential real estate as a realtor. Free time was spent reading book after book—and binge-watching the subsequent films—in the New Adult genre. Hopelessly in love with her husband, she wrote him a short story for their fifth wedding anniversary. That’s when she discovered her tireless passion to share her experience of falling in love through fictional characters. That story evolved into the first novel in the Angles Trilogy.

Erin still lives in Denver with her husband, Phil, and their three children. They spend most of their summers and holidays on the beautiful island of Coronado where Erin and Phil wish to retire someday.

Learn more about Erin and the Angles Trilogy at www.anglestrilogy.com, Facebook, and Twitter. Buy the book at Barnes and Noble or Amazon. a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sunday, November 27, 2016

Mystic Mistletoe Murders by Sally J. Smith and Jean Steffens


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Sally J. Smith & Jean Steffens will be awarding a $25 Amazon GC (USA only) to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

'Tis the season at The Mansion on Mystic Isle, and Melanie Hamilton, resident tattoo artist at the resort renown for its supernatural atmosphere, can feel the holiday spirit everywhere in the Louisiana bayou. The festive mood runs deeper than just the tinsel, mistletoe, and twinkling lights, as the milk of human kindness is flowing with gift giving, good cheer, and donations. But when Papa Noël turns up as dead as the Ghost of Christmas Past, and all the bounty from a recent charity drive is stolen, Melanie turns to Jack Stockton, the handsome resort's general manager, to help her find the killer and get it all back.

Who wanted Papa Noël dead and why? Was it the bag of loot they were after, and Papa just got in the way? Or was it a more personal attack on the jolly man in the red suit? Not only does Mel find herself in a fight to prove one of her co-workers innocent, but she's also in a race against a ticking clock to save the life of a sick child. Before long, she closes in on the killer—or maybe it's the killer closing in on Mel!

Read an excerpt:

Jack offered me the crook of his arm, and we entered the Ghostly Christmas Gala.

…The room was alive with charm. Old Marley, the Ghost of Christmas Past, née Lurch, dragged this chains around the salon, dust, née Johnson's Baby Powder from the scent of it, floating off his shredded garb as he moved. His deep and miserable moan was pretty scary and would have frightened children if there had been any in attendance.

Odeo, the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come, lumbered the room as the grim reaper, sickle and all. His face and dark skin sunken back into the cowl made the place where his features should have been look eerily like a black hole.

…And Melvin, the little person who'd performed Lurch's Christmas elf counterpart made a fine Tiny Tim, crutch under one arm, knickers, and knee socks.

He hobbled over when we walked in and glared up at Jack. "I go out to the levee with you and knock a few heads together on your behalf, and this is the thanks I get? What the heck? Tiny Tim? I mean, could we be any more cliché here?"

Jack looked truly repentant. "Hey, Melvin, believe me." He ran one hand from his own head downward. "None of this was my idea. Tonight, we play the roles we're assigned."

Melvin snorted. "Still. I mean, really?" and hobbled away.

"Not a happy Tiny Tim, is he?" I said."

"Hm-mm." Jack said. "Man, I hope he doesn't hit anybody with that crutch."


About the Authors:
The USA Today Best-selling writing team of Sally J. Smith (right brain) and Jean Steffens (left brain) make up equal halves of one totally functional writer’s mind. Creative and intuitive and organized and systematic? What could be better than that?

The two desert dwellers work together side-by-side, literally finishing each other’s sentences, putting together their novels faster and more efficiently than they ever could individually.

When their heads aren’t together over a manuscript, you’ll find them with their families, at a movie, the yoga studio, the mall, or out-to-lunch—in the food sense, not the spaced-out sense, well…most of the time. Their current series include Jordan Welsh & Eddie Marino Novels, Mystic Isle Mysteries, Danger Cove Pet Sitter Mysteries, Aloha Lagoon Gabby LeClair Mysteries, and Digby Sloan Mysteries. Visit our website, look around, and sign up for our newsletter. We love hearing from our readers and always answer our e-mails: smithandsteffens@cox.net.

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Website: http://www.smithandsteffens.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Smith-and-Steffens/406147242823342?fref=ts
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SmithSteffens

Mystic Mistletoe Murder will be $0.99 during the tour - https://www.amazon.com/Mystic-Mistletoe-Murder-Isle-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B01M32CZUL/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1480301619&sr=8-1&keywords=mystic+mistletoe+murder.

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Friday, November 25, 2016

Doc's Codicil by Gary F. Jones



This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Gary F. Jones will be awarding a $20 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Five Things We’d Probably Never Guess About Gary F. Jones


1. Every four years I become a major irritant to the body politic. I volunteer for one campaign or another and make phone calls. The only thing more unpleasant than getting the phone calls is making them. I’m something of an introvert, so I hate doing it. My self-respect barely survives.

I made 110 phone calls in about an hour last week. Ninety-seven people didn’t answer, four told me never to call again, three hung up without commenting, five answered quickly to get me off the line, and one elderly lady spent five minutes telling me about her sciatica and her ungrateful son. I would have been happy to talk to her for twice that long. Just having someone pleased to talk to me helped restore the tattered shreds of ego I had left.

2. We had a British Vice President of research at a company I worked for twenty years ago. I’d written a research report that had been accepted by the American Journal of Veterinary Research. The paper had survived the reviewers and the fussy comments of the editors. Any revision in the paper at that point would have been difficult to make. That was the point at which John, the VP of research, decided to review the paper.

He asked me to stop by his office to discuss the paper. He objected to the spelling of “feces” and “hemorrhage.” Being British, he thought they should be spelled “faeces” and “haemorrhage.” I told him I’d used the American spelling for the words, as it was an American journal.

He got out his medical dictionary and made sure that I, the three reviewers, and the two editors had gotten it right.

Thereafter, my goal in life was to write another paper, use the word, “fortnight,” and spell it incorrectly. John would catch the mistake, and I’d tell him that whatever spelling I’d used was the American spelling. Both John and I left the company before I could do it. Was I setting my sights too high?

3. I enjoy cooking. One of my favorite soups is prepared by poaching a chicken breast in beef bouillon with carrots, celery, and onions. The vegetables and broth are discarded and the chicken breast chopped. The chopped chicken is simmered in chicken broth with apples, onions, and bananas that were sautéed in butter and curry powder.

Puree the soup in a blender. Pour the thick, green soup into a heavy pan and begin cleaning the soup you spilled off the oven, counter, and even the wall if the blender lid wasn't held down. Is the soup on the walls? Good. Everything's going according to plan then. The dog will help clean the floor.

This ends the first evening. You’re tired, and your wife won't be on speaking terms with you for a week once she sees her kitchen, but worry about that tomorrow. Isn't cooking fun?

Did I mention that this is snail soup? Don’t skimp on the escargot. Cheap cans of escargot have an odor all their own. Let them keep it.

Chop the escargot and sautée in butter with shallots. Chop the escargot finely so your guests don’t figure out what they’re eating. Flambé the escargot mixture with brandy (Taste the brandy to verify quality. Be aware that wives often don’t understand the care you’re taking.) Quench the flames with beef bouillon, unless you’ve managed to ignite the drapes. Use water on those.

Add the escargot mixture to the soup base, salt and pepper to taste, and heat. Ladle individual servings of curried soup into oven proof bowls. Cover each bowl of soup with unsweetened whipped cream and slide into the oven under the broiler.

Brown the point on the whipped cream and serve immediately, or whenever the EMT folks leave if you were careless with the flambê and had to have your burns treated.

Describe the soup to your guests slowly, so that you come to the escargot only after they’re finished eating. Some may be queasy about eating snails.

4 and 5. A shopping trip and a seminar. These are in the memoir part of Doc’s Codicil. Each has a chapter of its own.

When Wisconsin veterinarian Doc dies, his family learns that to inherit his fortune, they must decipher the cryptic codicil he added to his will—“Take Doofus squirrel-fishing”—and they can only do that by talking to Doc’s friends, reading the memoir Doc wrote of a Christmas season decades earlier, searching through Doc’s correspondence, and discovering clues around them. Humor abounds as this mismatched lot tries to find time in their hectic lives to work together to solve the puzzle. In the end, will they realize that fortune comes in many guises?

Doc’s Codicil is a mystery told with gentle humor. It tells the story of a veterinarian who teaches his heirs a lesson from the grave.

Read an excerpt:

The house was dark except for the pool of light thrown by a lamp behind my chair and small multi-colored Christmas lights surrounding the window on my left. The lights gave a dim but cheerful glow to the edge of the room. The crystal, silver, and pastel globes on the Christmas tree standing against the opposite wall reflected that light, and as the furnace kicked in, the reflections danced across the wall, betraying currents of warm air moving gently about the room.

Heat, wonderful heat. I gave my wine glass a twist to celebrate feeling my toes again. The liquid ruby swirled round the glass, as I offered a silent toast to Mary, may she sleep soundly tonight. On the second glass, I was startled by a swoosh of air exhaled by the cushion of a wing-backed chair to my left. I glanced at the chair, but couldn’t bring it into focus. Contacts must be dirty, I thought and returned to my book.

I . . . poured a third glass. This had to be the last. Tomorrow would be another fourteen-hour workday. I took another bite of Stilton, crumbly yet creamy, a pungent and savory blue with a background of cheddar, when I heard a throat clear.

I put my book down and looked around the room. Empty.

. . . A shadow moved in the dining room . . . “Who’s there? What the hell is going on?” I whispered.

A man’s voice came from the kitchen. “Cripes, some host you are.”


About the Author:
According to Gary Jones, his life has been a testament to questionable decisions and wishful thinking. His wife of forty years, however, says she knows of nothing in the record to justify such unfettered optimism. Jones says the book is a work of fiction; that's his story, and he’s sticking to it. He’s part of the last generation of rural veterinarians who worked with cows that had names and personalities, and with dairymen who worked in the barn with their families. He’s also one of those baby boomers, crusty codgers who are writing their wills and grousing about kids who can be damned condescending at times.

Gary practiced bovine medicine in rural Wisconsin for nineteen years. He then returned to graduate school at the University of Minnesota, earned a PhD in microbiology, and spent the next nineteen years working on the development of bovine and swine vaccines.

Doc's Codicil is the bronze medal winner of Foreward's INDIEFAB Book of The Year awards, humor category.

Website: http://www.garyfjones.com
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25774974-doc-s-codicil?from_search=true
BQB Publishing: https://bqbpublishing.com/product/docs-codicil/
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2/154-2736874-7210510?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Doc%27s+codicil
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/docs-codicil-gary-f-jones/1121269584?ean=9781939371836

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