Team Cerberus by Melissa Kay Clarke 💕 Series Tour & Gift Card Giveaway 💕 (Military Romantic Suspense)

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For three terrifying years, Joselyn Kendrik lived a half-life in Witness Protection hiding from a serial murderer and rapist nicknamed 'The Gardener'. After he was killed while placing a slashed teddy bear dressed as her on her father's grave, she could finally look forward to some normalcy in her life. Her newfound peace is shattered a year later when she receives a sinister gift eerily similar to others sent by The Gardener. Although assured by the police it is a copycat, she isn't as confident. Regardless of his identity, her stalker has made one thing perfectly clear; he's set his sights on her and nothing will stop him. Maddox "River" Benson is looking in the rear-view mirror at a twenty-year career with the Navy SEALs. Contemplating an uncertain future, River jumps at the chance to assist an old friend in the New Orleans Police Department. There is an unknown stalker zeroing in on an innocent young woman. Although there is only so much the police can do officially, River isn't as restricted. Protecting Joselyn is his only priority. Joselyn's schedule is a bane to River's security strategy. The feisty beauty is intent on pursuing her budding career regardless of her sexy bodyguard's advice. Although their opinions clash in the beginning, the escalating threats force them to come to a compromise. He must trust her with freedom and she must trust him with her life. Meanwhile, the growing attraction between them creates an entirely different set of issues. How can he concentrate on protecting Joselyn when thoughts of claiming her for his own continually distract him? When her stalker draws closer, will one ex-SEAL have what it takes to ensure her survival? Will River be able to Protect Joselyn? No frills? Yeah, it sounded about right. Joselyn was not one to call attention to herself. Maybe it had something to do with all those years she spent in hiding but he felt it probably was also her beautiful character shining through. He remembered how she had been with Sasha in the store. Joselyn had been caring, understanding, and giving. Yes, those three words all described this woman. He flinched when he thought about his little faux pas. His woman. He hadn't meant to say it out loud. He hoped she had forgotten about it but something told him she never forgot anything. There was going to be one extremely uncomfortable talk later. He glanced at her as she gnawed on her lip. Reaching over, he gently brushed his thumb over it, nudging it from the grip of her teeth. It was swollen and pink. Fire shot through his body as he imagined taking it into his mouth to taste. He wanted to suck and tease, run his tongue over and between until neither of them had breath left. So beautiful. So amazing. He groaned as she licked it and raised her eyes to him. His heart lurched and raced. So much faith with a touch of fear swam in the caramel colored depths. No matter how afraid she was, she trusted him to keep her safe. He wanted to puff out his chest in pride. He was taking care of her, keeping her safe and she knew without a doubt she was secure. The moment was lost as they were jostled again. He bit back a growl and pulled her tightly against his side. This was insane! The push of the crowd reminded River how unprotected Joselyn was and his patience was running out. When he had enough and was about to grab his charge and march out of the store, a young woman dressed in the store's distinctive gear approached them. Touching the tablet in her hands, she flashed them a smile. "Hi. I'm Clarisse. How may I help you today." Immediately, Joselyn warmed to the woman and explained her old telephone had been lost and she needed a new one. Flashing her a million watt smile, Clarisse motioned for them to follow her to one of the quieter kiosks in the back where additional sales people were helping other customers. "We can get you all set, no problem," she assured them before launching into a spiel about the different models of cell phones and features of each. River listened half-heartedly to the two discuss things as he continued to scan the area. He was being paranoid. Joselyn was safe. Nobody would dare to make an attempt on her with a hundred people nearby. He felt a little of the tension drain away. "And what do you think, Mr. Kendrik?" River's attention drew back to Clarisse and he frowned. "I'm sorry what?" Joselyn gave out a half laugh as her cheeks flushed. "Oh, he's not my husband," she assured the woman. "He's... ah..." River chuckled at Joselyn's stammering. She looked so cute and he couldn't help himself from teasing her. "I'm her boy toy," he whispered with a wink and laughed softly as Joselyn's blush deepened to a dark red. "You know she's got all kinds of money." He shrugged. "She supports me in a life in which I have become accustomed." Clarisse looked from one to the other, her jaw dropped open and eyes round. "You are not!" Joselyn squeaked and smacked his arm. "Cheebus, River, don't say things like that. People will believe it." Turning her attention back to the woman, she winced. "He's really not my boy toy. He's my... my friend." She turned her gaze to him and smiled. "He's my good friend." Friend. River tasted the word and found it wasn't quite right. Okay, yes, he was her friend but there was more to it besides the whole bodyguard thing. The revelation he had this morning said it all. She was more than a client, more than an acquaintance. She was slowly becoming everything and it brought forth an unfamiliar feeling. In the twenty years he had served his country, he had known fear on several different levels. Only a fool would not feel anxiety after some of the situations he had found himself. Tracking down terrorists, defusing hostile situations and generally taking care of whatever business his country demanded had given him a healthy respect for fear. But what he was feeling toward the petite author scared him more than all the Taliban in the world. She had wiggled past the walls he had erected until she was bigger than anything else in his universe. If anything happened to her... He slammed a door on the thought. No. Nothing would happen because he wouldn't allow it. He would keep her safe, regardless the consequences.

Two million people disappear into human trafficking every year. Olivia Parker would never have believed she could be one of them. Born to a barely functional mother and caring for her dependent brother, Olivia was determined to make their future better than their troubled past. Instead, she finds herself thrown into a nightmare from which she cannot awaken Navy Seal, Grayson "Bruiser" Titus, abandoned as a baby, creates a family with his SEAL team. He would do anything for them and knows they would do the same. However, something is missing - could he find it with the intriguing beautiful sister of Jayden Parker? Meeting Olivia feels like looking at his future wrapped in a pair of deep hazel eyes. Bruiser's team would follow him into the pits of hell. It only stands to reason when Olivia disappears they rally around him. Being SEALs meant they often battled the worse dregs of humanity for God and Country. However, this is personal. Saving her is a one-in-a-million long shot, but they will do whatever it takes to bring her home. The only question is: will it be in time to save both body and mind or will her new reality finally break her spirit? ** Warning - Contains adult subject matter ** The expression on her face made his gut clench. She didn't want him to go. He didn't want to go, either, but he knew he needed to. It made him feel good that she wasn't ready to say goodnight yet. He cupped her cheek with his hand and watched the play of emotions on her face. In this light, with the way her eyes shone, she was so beautiful and vulnerable. He groaned. "Honey, please?" he pleaded. He wouldn't be able to leave her like this. She closed her eyes and looked away. "Okay," she agreed and turned toward the door. He pulled her back and curled his arms around her, pulling her protectively into his embrace. Looking down at her, he sighed. "You're getting under my skin, Olivia." She giggled. "My plan is working." He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "So it is." They stared at each other a moment longer before Bruiser lowered his face to hers. He hesitated, watching the way her thick, dark lashes brushed against her cheeks. She rose up on her toes, breaching the minuscule distance until they shared a breath. His eyes swept over her face, drinking in the exquisite beauty that was his Olivia. He wondered, Was she his? Not yet, but she would be. With his mind made up, he brushed her lips tenderly. With the first electric touch, she pressed herself against his body, winding her arms around his waist. Sliding his hand around until he cupped her neck, his thumb swept circles against her throat as his tongue mimicked the gesture against her plush lips. With a soft sigh of surrender, she granted him access, and he slipped inside easily. The taste of her was ambrosia mixed with sweet sunshine and the promise of a thousand moments of pure bliss. He was lost in her. Breathless, it deepened until they were both panting. As the kiss broke, she gave a soft whimper of hunger. The sound twisted him inside. With a groan, he recaptured her mouth in a harder kiss, taking her flavors as he nipped and sucked on her tender bottom lip. Reluctantly, he released her mouth. She laid her head against his shoulder, and he curled his fingers into her hair, tenderly stroking. He could hear her heart racing in time with his. Cripes, what this woman did to him!

The biggest book exposition of the year is just around the corner and literary agent Annabeth Switcher is feeling the pressure. Between babysitting her newest client hell-bent on making her miserable and taking care of the thousands of little things that require her attention, she doesn't have time for a personal life. No matter how much a certain Navy SEAL enters her thoughts. Levi "Hick" Salter spotted the curvy redhead beauty at a friend's wedding. She is vivacious, brassy and so full of life, he's drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Even though they live on opposite sides of the country, their mutual attraction is too much to resist. Thus begins a long distance relationship for these "friends with benefits." They can't be more - he's committed to his duty and she's got her own life. Phone calls and the occasional meet up is the best they can hope for. The Navy combines Hick's team with the one headed by Matthew "Wolf" Steel to hunt down a terrorist cell intent on bring down Western culture. While Hick is out trying to save the world from fanatics, Annabeth's concentrating on insuring her clients have a smooth convention. Neither knew their two worlds would collide so violently. When the cell sets their sights on the literary exposition, Hick must rally the SEALs to save the day and his curvy bombshell. Nothing else matters but Rescuing Annabeth. This is a full length novel and incorporates the entire SEAL team from Susan Stoker's Seal Of Protection series. ********************** TEAM CERBERUS (Each story is complete with its own HEA) With renewed vigor, she dug into the hot pancakes, stopping only long enough to swallow some coffee or to moan appreciatively. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she enjoyed her meal, finally pushing back the plate with a satisfied burp. Hick scooted his chair back and pulled her to him. Settling her into his lap, he wrapped his arms around her. She squealed and tried to get up. "Hick! I'm too heavy. I'll break your legs or at least a chair." He snorted. "Woman, I've had to carry full-grown men for miles before. You in my lap won't hurt me. Besides, I like you where I can have my wicked way with you. Easy access and all that stuff." She settled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Have your wicked way, huh? What does that entail exactly?" Hick's hand slid up from where it rested against her hip. Slipping it into the opening where her robe closed, he splayed his hand across her warm skin as he pressed nips and kisses along her collarbone. "A little of this," he whispered huskily. He loved how her forest green eyes darkened to jade with the desire rising in her. She was so responsive to his every touch, letting him know in no uncertain terms how he affected her. "A little of that." "Hick," she whispered as her head fell back and he resumed nibbling at her neck. Fire licked his blood when she clung to him with trembling fingers. She wanted him as badly as he did her. Well, who was he to deny them both what they needed? His fingers found the knot of her robe and deftly untied it with one hand. Slowly, he pulled the thick terry cloth material off her shoulder, peppering the creamy, speckled expanse with tender kisses. Nipping her playfully, he smoothed away the sting with more kisses until her fingers dug into his arm and she squirmed in his lap. He dipped his finger into the sticky remnants of his homemade caramel sauce and painted a line from her collarbone over the plump swell of her left breast. He felt her inflamed gaze as he licked the finger clean then dove in, tracing the path with his lips. As before, Annabeth squirmed and whimpered, arching against him and pressing her heated flesh to his lips. "Please," she whispered, her voice going low and sultry. Hick couldn't keep the smugness from his voice. "Please drive you insane? Yes, I believe I will." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He watched as Annabeth made her way out of the house and sat on her sister's porch. In a small voice, she said, "I know you can't talk about it, but is everything okay there? I mean with the explosions this morning." "Yeah, it's all fine." He could hear how tight his voice was. It wasn't exactly a lie. He was fine, but that could change at the drop of a hat. "Okay." She chewed her lip. "Are we going to be able to see each other in Phoenix?" "Hopefully so, but I can't make any promises. You've seen how things are with us. We never know what's going to happen from one day to the next. But, the only way I'm not going to have you in my arms again is if I'm physically out of the country. Nothing else is going to stop me." He hesitated a moment then shoved one hand through his shaggy hair. He didn't want to scare her, but it was time to lay down the foundation. "I know I told you I wanted to have a talk with you when I get there, but I need you to be thinking about something. We've been doing this friends thing now for a while, and I think you know as well as I that there's a lot more than that between us. I want you to be thinking about us and what you desire because I've thought of little else the last few days. Then as soon as I can figure out the logistics, either at the convention in Phoenix or soon after, we are going to sit down and discuss this thoroughly. Okay?" Her eyes had gotten as big as silver dollars, and she nodded slowly. "Okay," she whispered and bit her bottom lip. "Yeah, I'd like that." "Good." The relief he felt was palpable. At least she was open to talking their relationship through. He watched her through the screen and wanted to reach out, touch her face and feel her cheek beneath his fingers. He longed to gently tug her lip out from where she was nervously chewing it and nibble on the plump pillow himself. With a groan, he closed his eyes. Lord, what she did to him and she wasn't even in the same part of the country! "Are you alright?" Worry etched on her face. He coughed. "Yeah, I'm fine Georgia, but do me a favor. Stop biting your lip. It makes me remember how you taste and I want to take a nibble for myself." She tittered then blushed again. "You're in a weird mood today." He frowned. "What do you mean 'weird'?" "You seem serious like you aren't just teasing me." "I'm not. That's part of what we're going to talk about, just not here and not now. I need to be face to face with you." There was a shout from behind her, and she turned to speak with Grace a moment. Turning back, she sighed. "I have to go. Grace needs my help catching a spider, or she won't go back to her kitchen until Kenseth gets home tonight." "That's my brave Georgia, saving the day." She rolled her eyes. "Your Georgia was promised fried chicken, black-eyed peas, and peach cobbler. That's not happening as long as a spider holds the kitchen hostage. I have ulterior motives." "Alright then, go save dinner. Let me know when you get home so I won't worry." "I'm a big girl. I'll be fine." "Humor me, Georgia. Please?" She nodded then stood. "I've got to go. I'll talk to you soon." "You sure will. Bye." The screen went blank, and Hick sat back, leaning his head on the headrest. He had to admit it; he had it bad. Georgia was everything that was good in life, and he had to find a way to fix this distance problem between them. If not for any other reason, his sanity demanded it. Annabeth Switcher was killing him, and maybe it made him crazy too, but he wanted more. He laughed. Well, at least they would be crazy together. _______________________________________________________________________ "Levi? Oh, thank God. Are you alright? I saw the video, and it about scared the life out of me. Where are you? Is everyone okay?" He couldn't help but smile even though she was rambling. She was so damn cute. It didn't escape his notice that she had called him by his given name. She tended to do that when she was upset or worried. "Slow down, Georgia. Yeah, I'm alright. We're a little beat up, but the team made it through." "They said there were some casualties." He blew out a breath. "We lost four brothers from another team." "Oh my! I'm so sorry." "Yeah, me too. " "But you're alright?" He heard the trepidation in her voice and hurried to reassure her. "Yes." He didn't like withholding the truth from her, but he knew she would freak out right now. It would be better to wait until they were alone before he told her about his wound. He didn't want her upset when there was nothing he could do right now to calm her. She obviously didn't buy it. Annabeth paused a few moments. "I want to Skype." Hick blinked slowly. "Skype? Now? Right now? Why? I'm not home yet." Her voice took on an exasperated tone. "Yes, now, so you can strip, and I can see for myself you aren't hurt." He choked. Behind him, Hick heard someone snort. Turning his head, he saw Toad watching him. "You do it, I swear to God, I'm filming it and putting it on YouTube." Ignoring him, he turned back to the conversation. "That wouldn't be a good idea, Georgia. The stripping part is definitely not a good idea right now." "Is it because you're hiding something?" "No, honey, it's because I'm on an airplane with ten guys who wouldn't appreciate me showing my Sunday best." "You got that shit right!" Finch yelled out Railroad joined in. "He strips, out he goes." "Sorry. You'll have to take my word I'm okay." Toad leaned in and shouted, "Yeah, besides the bullet hole isn't very big. He's had worse." "Bullet hole? You got shot?" Annabeth screeched. Putting his hand over his mouthpiece, he glared at Toad. "Thanks a lot, brother." "Anytime," he smirked then winked. Dropping back into his seat, Toad pulled out his cell and began playing a game.

The Rake and the Bishop’s Daughter by Julia Donner 💕 Exclusive Excerpt & Gift Card Giveaway 💕(Historical Romance)

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Society’s beloved wastrel, Sir Harry Collyns, pushes his popularity past the point of acceptability when he poses for a statue that creates a social uproar. People line up for blocks to see Handsome Harry in the nude, sculpted by a female artist! Bored with the fuss and scandal, Harry hitches up his fastest team, heads for the country, and a near fatal curricle accident. When the bandages are removed from his head days later, he discovers the angel-voiced widow who’d cared for him is neither elderly nor as mild as her tone, but a straight-laced do-gooder unimpressed with his flamboyant past and dashing good looks. Head-battered and heading for a broken heart, he falls into love with Widow Olivia St. Clair, who might be the one woman in England that Harry can’t charm into loving him back.

On the trek across the portrait hall, Olivia dredged up the courage to satisfy her curiosity. “I wonder if you would indulge me in a small request.”

Harry’s brother halted. “How may I be of service?”

“There has been so much talk of the statue done of Harry. The newspapers said Lady Asterly purchased the work. Might I see it?”

His eyebrows raised in curious surprise. He tipped his head in a bow and gestured to a side door. “This leads to a collection room not intended for public view.”

‘Oh, my!” was all she could say after she entered and saw the area crammed with statuary and paintings.

Asterly gestured to a marble statue on her right. Almost nine feet high with the addition of its pedestal, the figure had been covered with a lurid green, silk banyan. Harry’s features gazed down, his head angled slightly to the left, his expression distant, contemplative. Cold, smooth stone captured the perfection of his brow and elegant cheekbones that contrasted with the uncompromising contour of his jaw. His mouth curved with wistful humor.

Asterly’s strong, tanned hand reached out and with a gentle tug, slid the banyan off the statue. Green silk slithered to the floor and pooled beneath Harry’s stone bare feet. In a relaxed stance, his long limbs and lean muscle glided in a fluid, visual flow. He held an unraveled scroll in front of his hips for modesty’s sake.

Blunt-spoken when surprised, Olivia almost blurted that he hadn’t posed entirely nude, as the newspapers had reported. Only one aspect of the rendering was inaccurate. The curved mounds of his backside were actually rounder, higher, and dimpled at the base of his spine. She doubted she would ever forget the sight of him rising up from the bed that sunny afternoon at Beechgate Cottage, going to fetch eggs for their luncheon. Before her father had arrived and ruined the most extraordinary day of her life.

She murmured, “No wonder there was such a commotion and public outcry when this was removed from display. It rivals the David.”

“Would you like me to ask my wife to give it to you as a wedding gift?”

Still caught up in its ethereal beauty, she answered, “If Harry would like it, thank you. For my part, what do I need with a statue to look at when I shall have the real thing?”

The odd noise Asterly made sounded like a swallowed laugh, causing her to review what she’d said. Mortified, she whirled and retraced their steps, escaping from her stupid remark that still echoed in the private collection room. She waited in the gallery, furious that she blushed over the slightest thing, until Asterly rejoined her—and blessedly, without a word—escorted her to the foyer.

During the tour!

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Take Back the Memory by Augustine Sam 💕 Book Tour & Gift Card Giveaway 💕 (Romantic Suspense)

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Paige Lyman, an accomplished psychiatrist, is on the verge of madness but she doesn't know it yet. The madness begins when she gets it into her head to write her memoirs. As her brilliant mind assembles bits and pieces of her life for the book, ugly skeletons, long forgotten in the closet, begin to rear their heads.

It had all begun with a simple act of love. And love, for her, was a blond-haired Irish boy named Bill, so when Bill abandoned her for priesthood the world around her collapsed. Seized by a different passion—vengeance—she seeks her proverbial pound of flesh in the beds of various priests...

But that is before she meets Stern W, a medical researcher, who sweeps into her life like a hurricane and marries her, and they live happily ever after until he dies in a helicopter crash and she discovers the startling truth about who he really was.

Take Back the Memory is the saga of her compelling backward journey through her own life on a psychotherapist's couch.

The door of the consulting studio swung open at 9.00 a.m. and Dr. Wilson, a slender, pipe-smoking clinical psychologist stuck his hoary head in the doorway. His face lit up at the sight of Paige sitting cross-legged in the cozy waiting room.
“Hello Dr. Lyman,” he smiled courteously, “I had no idea you were here already.”
Paige glanced up, her face a frozen scowl, and gazed at him. She had expected them to be on first-name basis this morning; the unexpected formality fazed her quite a bit.
“Good morning, Dr. Wilson,” she said wryly. “Sorry I’m early, a habit, I guess.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” he said quickly, the smile on his lips waning. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
She nodded and looked away as he disappeared back into the consulting room. Left alone, she gazed across the lounge. The psychotherapist’s studio was illuminated by the sun’s rays through an opened Venetian blind, and the balmy sunlit ambiance fascinated her.
“Like the cheery whisper of an admirer after a heartbreak,” she said wistfully and rose.
As she did so, echoes of distant traffic momentarily brought her to a state of mental alertness. Palms sweaty, Paige walked to the window and opened it. She gazed, mesmerized, at the sun-drenched avenue on the breezy late September morning and noted the peak time for fall foliage in New York was weeks away yet. She closed the window.
Shrugging, she walked back to her seat and plopped down. Her hand trembled slightly on the black zebra-print clutch bag in her lap.
“Darn,” she mumbled, her thoughts turning to her daughter, who had convinced her to come.
“I shouldn’t be here, Diane,” she whispered savagely. “I just shouldn’t.”
Anxious to gain control of herself, she heaved a sigh and leaned back on the comfortable davenport, puckering her lips.
She wore a rose-tinted shirt with a low-cut neckline that revealed plenty of cleavage. A cherry, handcrafted silk scarf encircled her neck. Knee-high black boots matched the color of her fringed skirt, accentuating its beauty. Angry with herself for letting Diane convince her to come, she sat up, agitated.
She started at the sound of a latch unfastening, as the door of the consulting room swung open again.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Dr. Wilson said from the doorway and then walked to where she was sitting.
Paige rose slowly. Her eyes on his face, she smoothed her skirt and noticed his courteous smile had not waned completely. Without altering his gait, Dr. Wilson thrust his hand in front of her. Paige took the outstretched hand and shook it gently.
“Can I come in now?”
“Yes, please do,” he said, gesturing with his hand.
Clean-shaven, he wore no tie. His fawn-striped shirt, unlike hers, was buttoned all the way up. Expensive clothing testified to a successful practice. He wore black semi-brogues and walked with a slight shuffle. Paige followed him into his office, full of expectation.
“Please sit down.” He indicated the black, buckskin couch. “Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
Paige sat on the familiar couch. As she gazed at him from the corner of her eyes on the chair that should be hers, the magnitude of the moment escaped her.
In the magnifying silence of the room, Dr. Wilson sat composed on his standard, comfortable chair, the tip of his pen held against his lip the way men who smoked would usually hold a pipe. His eyes remained on her, and hers were on his. For several seconds their eyes locked; at first warily, like two professionals trying to find a meeting ground, a starting point.
“Diane made me come,” she said, frowning. “Frankly, I don’t know why I’m here.”
“You’re here to talk to me,” he said, crossing one leg over the other. “I guess both as a colleague and as a patient, and I’ll love to listen to you as much as I’ve loved reading your work.”
She uncrossed her legs and quickly re-crossed them, and then she leaned back on the couch, her fringed skirt shifting upwards. She noticed his eyes, unlike those of most men, remained on her face and not on her legs.
“Don’t patronize me. Even my own daughter thinks I’m going mad. Don’t lie to me. You think so, too, but I can still sit on that chair and listen to patients.”
“You certainly can,” he responded indulgently. “You were one of the best. However, we both know things aren’t the way they used to be. If you were on this chair, the first thing you would tell the patient would be to admit their situation and talk to you about it.” He paused a moment. “I think you have admitted that much within you,” he said without looking at her. “That’s why you allowed Diane to convince you to come. So, let’s talk, my friend. Let’s talk about the situation.”
Paige regarded him suspiciously. Let’s talk about the situation. Talk about the situation? Dr. Wilson’s words jangled in her head like the howl of a campanile. What was there to talk about?
Irritation rose inside her like the beginning of a toothache. Yet, she knew he was right. Things were not the way they used to be. In the course of her checkered life and career, especially in recent years, nothing was the same. It hurt her quite a bit the way everyone seemed to think she had gone mad, the way she had been transformed from psychiatrist to patient.
“Be frank with me,” she said. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“Aren’t we all?” he laughed mirthlessly. “Come on, this is not about you being crazy.”
“What is it about?”
“It’s about you and me having a nice little talk so we can understand how things are.”
She was silent for a while. She wished he could give her a reason to scream. She wanted desperately to scream at someone this morning, so why not this psychologist, with his calm, upper-class manners? After what seemed like a long time, she realized, not without some satisfaction, that he was determined to be courteous with her this morning.
“I’m at a loss,” she whined and turned on the couch to face away from him. “I don’t know where to begin. I don’t even know what to talk about. I mean, there are so many things to explore.”
“Let’s start with the endearing subject of your book. Are you convinced you want to tell it as it is?”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
“Every little detail.”
He watched her calmly. “I know you’ve never been afraid to bare your mind, but between me and you, is there any aspect of this memoir that disturbs you a bit?”
“Yes.” She turned and smiled at him. “But an autobiography has to be frank. What’s the point writing it if you are going to shy away from the ugly part? I can’t keep it all inside. I want to let it out.”
“Very well,” he said, his eyes agreeing with her. “Maybe we should talk about some of the traumatizing aspects of the experiences you have recalled and want to write about.”
She gazed at him without a word. Her mind began to tumble backward slowly, very slowly.
“I think it all began with a simple act of love,” she said at length, her voice surprisingly nostalgic. “A simple act of love,” she emphasized, “between me and Bill when we were kids.”
“I’m listening.”
She sat upright on the couch. “My life is like a soap opera,” she muttered, grimacing. “A distressing mélange spiced with love, heartbreak, and a hidden truth. It will silence your thoughts.”
“I take it you loved this Bill.”
“Don’t interrupt me,” she snapped at him and the psychologist pursed his lips but did not smile. “What Bill and I shared wasn’t a sensual scream, okay? We were kids.”
“Okay,” he mumbled, nodding.
“We grew up together in Kenya,” she told him. “We were on an unending safari. Bill was a handsome Irish boy. You must understand, there weren’t many white boys around to connect to, so I fell desperately in love with him and thought I would marry him someday.” She paused and stared at the rug on the floor of the consulting room, her thoughts a riot.
She hated to remember that back then while she was nursing her infantile dreams of matrimony, Bill’s father was formulating a different program for his son. “Into the service of God you’ll go,” he had told the boy. “A priest, that’s what you are going to be.” Paige glanced up sharply and thoughts jangled in her head. It might have been different, she mused, if Bill had been a Protestant Irish and not Catholic.
She gazed at Dr. Wilson’s shoes as memories flooded her mind. She tried to speak and her voice broke, but the psychologist’s gentle manners soothed her. She and Bill had attended the same school for expatriate kids in Nairobi, she explained. After the boy’s primary school education, his father bundled him into the junior seminary in Ireland, and the world was never the same again. With all contact between them lost, she willed herself to be heartbroken for long, sad years while Bill went on to earn a degree in Theology and was subsequently ordained a priest, or so she thought.
“Did you eventually recover from this heartbreak?” Dr. Wilson said.
“Maybe I did, in my own way.”
“What happened when you recovered?” He spoke warily.
Her eyes didn’t meet his. “A different passion engulfed me then.”
“What kind of passion?”
“Maybe you’ll call it vengeance.”
“Was it vengeance?” Dr. Wilson, like her, uncrossed and re-crossed his legs.
“Yes. A strange kind though.”
Their eyes locked. “A strange kind of vengeance, you say?”
Paige nodded and looked away. “It was priesthood that caused Bill to jilt me,” she said in a defensive voice. “So, I figured a settling of scores might heal me.” She paused, sighed, and then spoke. “I decided to wage a very personal war against priests.”
Dr. Wilson slowly narrowed his eyes. “You mean, like secretly assassinating priests?”
“No,” she frowned, staring at her skirt.
“But a personal war...”
“A personal war that made nonsense of their vow, if you know what I mean.”
“Not really.”
She gritted her teeth. “I seduced them, damn it, and then I made them suffer.”
Wilson gaped at her, “You seduced priests to get back at Bill for abandoning you for priesthood?”
“Yes.” She looked up at the psychologist now. “That is only part of the story.”

Can't Stand the Heat by Peggy Jaeger 💕 Book Tour & Gift Card Giveaway 💕 (Contemporary Romance)

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With three successful TV series under her belt, including her cousin Kandy’s, executive producer Stacy Peters is ready to helm her own show. But to make that happen, she has to do her network boss one favor first—spend two months on a ranch in Montana wrangling the notoriously difficult director of Beef Battles. Apparently, he eats producers for breakfast. Yet all Stacy can think when she meets the lean, rugged man is how hungry he makes her . . .

Dominic Stamp—Nikko to his very few friends—has had enough interference from TV newbies. And when Stacy climbs out of the car in Montana, he’s not convinced she’s even old enough to drive, much less produce his show. But he can’t deny that the long-legged blonde with the stubborn will and the dazzling smile whets his appetite. And as Stacy proves her talent with the crew and the budget alike, Nikko vows to prove to her that love is on the menu for both of them . . .

Advice for writers

by Peggy Jaeger

I’ll be honest: I hate getting advice. From anyone. Especially unsolicited.
But….

There are some things I wish other, more experienced, writers would have told me when I got my first publishing contract. This is the one time I would have gladly accepted any advice and run with it. I started on this journey later in life than the norm. My first book was published when I was 55. I had five decades of ignorant bliss behind me when I signed that first contract on the dotted line. Oh, how I wish I could go back to that day with the knowledge I have now.

So, in no particular order:

~ Writing a book is the easy part. SELLING it is where the hard work begins.
In the olden days, like twenty years ago(!), publishing houses had publicity teams and marketing divisions devoted to getting the word out about your book. 50 city book tours and signings at major retail bookstores were the norm. The expensive norm. Not so any more. Production costs, the elevated costs of print copies, salaries, have all forced that publicity blitzkrieg to go the way of the dinosaur. Now, the AUTHOR is the one in charge of their own publicity and book promotion. Most of us who are just starting out don’t have the financial luxury to hire a publicist, so the work of selling, promoting, and marketing the book falls to the writer.

~Have a visible social media presence before your book is released.
Social media rules the world. If you don’t have a social media presence you can’t reach new readers. You’ve got this great book, and aside from the 50 or so people who know and love you, no one else knows about it. Before the book is birthed to the world, have your website up and running, your Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Triberr, and any other cyber networks you feel confident about being part of, available. And use them. Don’t just think that because you now have a website that traffic is going to automatically and magically appear on it. You must provide something the public wants to see in the form of blogs, or a newsletter, or even promotions and announcements about when your book will be available. And you not only have to post/blog, you have to do it often. One and done doesn’t cut it. I have a writer-friend who likens Twitter to a drive by shooting. Blink and you miss it. Post. Post a lot. Post at different times and posts different things. If you keep sending the same message over and over, pretty soon people will just glaze over it and not engage at all with anything you are trying to promote.

~Devise a marketing/promotional plan
The moment I had my publication date and my book cover, I started thinking about how I was going to promote the two so that I got pre-orders and dredged up “noise” about the book before it was released. My beautiful daughter is a marketing specialist, as is my best friend, so I picked their brains raw and instituted every single one of their suggestions, then evaluated how they worked so I would know what to keep and what to toss with the release of book 2. Write your plan down. Use a spreadsheet if you’re comfortable with them, or write it out longhand in a notebook you refer to often. Any way you can keep track of what you are doing, how it is paying off for you ( in the way of clicks, shares, likes, and most important, SALES) and what you want to keep or discard for the future.

~Marketing and promotion don’t stop the day the book is released.
There’s an old writing adage that the number one thing to do after you have your first book published is to write your next book. This is true. You don’t want to be a one-trick-wonder. This is your career now, so you need to devote yourself to it. But, while you are writing book two, you need to keep promoting book 1. Facebook parties, Goodreads, even your newsletter, are all ways to find new readers. And new readers will buy your next book if they like the first one. But they will never buy your first book if they don’t know what it is or who you are.

~Don’t be shy.
You need to become a salesperson. Your own biggest cheerleader. The general attention span of an adult is less than twenty seconds. If you are not engaging them, enlightening them about why your book is something they need to read, then they will pass you by and go to the next person, who is doing those things.

“I wish you’d do that more often,” he said, his hand circling her upper arm as he turned her, slowly, back to face him.

“What? Leave?”

He stared at her a beat, the line between his brows deepening. “Smile.”

Flabbergasted, she stood, rooted.

“More specifically,” he added, “smile at me. You do at everyone else. From Dixon, to his son; the crew. Even Melora. Everyone, but me.”

“I—“

His grip tightened a little as he pulled her in closer, their torsos almost touching.

“Why? Why can you show everyone else that little piece of yourself, but not me?”

“I…I don’t know how to answer that,” she said. “I know I was thrust on you without you wanting me here. I know you don’t like me, I—“

“That’s not true. I didn’t want to like you,” he admitted. “There’s a difference. You’re a producer. A bottom line watcher. An annoying necessity. Liking you goes against the grain.”

At that she did smile, because she knew it was true.

“See now,” he said, as he slid his other hand up her arm to settle on the back of her neck, fingers curling up into her hair to hold on. “When you do that? When you smile at me like that, so openly, so…freely? I can’t think about anything else.”

A gentle tug and he had her head pillowed in his spread palms as he bent his own down to hers.

Through her glasses she watched the fine whiskey in his eyes blend with the ink of his pupils as they dilated.

“I haven’t been able to think clearly about anything for the past few days.” His mouth was a whisper from hers. His gaze skimmed from her eyes to her mouth and back again in one slow string of heat. “Except for this.”

She thought she’d be prepared for the feel of his lips on hers again. After all, she’d done little else but reminisce about their texture and taste for days. But she was wrong.

So wrong.

Nothing could have ever prepared her for the way the slight pressure he placed on the back of her neck as he brought her closer sent a shiver of such carnal delight down her spine she almost hummed. Or the way his breath, warm and full, felt as it washed over her cheeks. And she certainly wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of emotions he released within her when he quite expertly parted her lips and deepened the kiss, pulling at her very soul.

No, nothing in her life had equipped her with how to deal with Nikko Stamp’s kiss.

So she simply let go of all thought, fear, and concern, and surrendered to it.