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"How to Tame a Beast in Seven Days" Excerpt

 To celebrate the release of Kerrelyn Sparks' newest novel, "How to Tame a Beast in Seven Days", I am happy to feature an excerpt from the book! Read on for more info about the book and the excerpt!


HOW TO TAME A BEAST IN SEVEN DAYS:
The Embraced Series
By Kerrelyn Sparks
Published by St. Martin’s Paperbacks
**On Sale March 7, 2017**
Mass Market Paperback | $7.99
ISBN: 9781250108210| Ebook ISBN: 9781250108227
Kerrelyn Spark’s previous series, Love at Stake, constantly hit the New York Times bestseller list and created a massive fan following for her witty vampires. With the end of her vampire series, comes the start of an extraordinary new fantasy romance series called The Embraced beginning with HOW TO TAME A BEAST IN SEVEN DAYS (St. Martin’s Paperbacks; March 7, 2017). Set in a medieval mythical world, the series explores a special group of people with powers born when the two moons of the world form an eclipse. In the start of the series we meet Luciana, who can speak to the dead, and the Beast of Benwick who can controlling lightening.

Luciana grew up on the Isle of Moon, hidden away because of her magical powers. But when her father arrives, he offers her a choice: remain on the island or return with him and marry the Beast of Benwick in order to save their legacy - and her father's life.

Lord Leofric, the Beast of Benwick, has not been touched since he was a child. Born with the power to harness lightning, he is a danger to everyone he touches. When he meets his betrothed, he expects a loveless, lonely marriage...until he discovers she's vastly more powerful than he realized. But is she strong enough to withstand his touch?

If they can survive, their love will alter the future of the kingdom. But will their extraordinary powers cost them everything?

Filled with romance, humor, and a beautifully imagined new world, HOW TO TAME A BEAST IN SEVEN DAYS is a fantasy in the vein of Game of Thrones with all the fun of The Princess Bride. Luciana is a vibrant leading lady that will have readers rooting for her spunk and devotion to her family while the Beast is a swoon worthy hero worth taming.

About the Author
KERRELYN SPARKS is the New York Times bestselling author of the Love at Stake series. Visit her online at www.kerrelynsparks.com.



EXCERPT:


Chapter Four



As Leo and his companions rode north, the rain began, and the rolling green landscape gave way to increasingly taller hills. Their horses went at full gallop, eating up the miles before the rain could turn the dirt road into a sea of mud.
By the time they passed the second beacon, the rain was pounding on them. Their uniforms were drenched, their hair plastered to their heads. The hills had become moun- tains, and flocks of sheep huddled in the narrow glens where a few trees could give them shelter.
Thunder clapped overhead, and Leo spotted the first flash of lightning to the west. Good. He was going to need all the power he could get. Normal people didn’t stand a chance against the winged creatures that breathed fire. People like his father.
Leo had heard the story many times over a campfire. His father’s last battle had been against the Norveshki. Cedric had plowed through a dozen of their fierce warriors, but when a dragon had attacked, all his bravery and expertise had been in vain.
Another flash of lightning, this one a little closer. Leo would need to break off from the group soon. As they
neared the village, a mountain loomed to the right, topped with craggy cliffs and a beacon tower. It was Mount Bae- dan, which the village was named after. He spotted a cliff that overlooked the village. That was the perfect place.
“My lord.” Nevis drew his attention to a horseman charg- ing toward them. A scout.
Leo and his companions slowed to a stop. “Report,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain.
The scout bowed his head, causing a puddle of rain to slosh off the brim of his cap onto his chest. “Four drag- ons from Norveshka have attacked the village of Mount Baedan.”
“No warriors?” Leo asked.
“None, my lord. Just the dragons. They swooped into the valley and set the village ablaze to force the people from their homes. While the villagers ran to a nearby cave, two of the dragons captured two small children and flew away.”
Leo stiffened, his hands tightening on the reins, as the men around him cursed under their breaths. Ten years ago, the dragons had started snatching sheep. Now they were nabbing small children.
He glanced westward, hoping to see another flash of lightning streak across the sky. He needed the power now. “The rain put out the fires,” the scout continued. “The villagers are starting to leave the cave. A group of men
rode out, hoping to rescue the two children.”
Leo swallowed hard as bile rose up his throat. The res- cue attempt would be in vain. Men on horseback could not cross the mountains as fast as a dragon could fly.
Thunder cracked overhead so loud, the men flinched. “Ride on to the village,” Leo shouted at them. “The last
two dragons could still be close by. I’ll take care of them. You protect the people.” He turned his horse and started up the slope of Mount Baedan.
Higher and higher his horse climbed, but eventually the path became too muddy. Leo dismounted and patted the horse, the quilted material now drenched through.
“Go join the others.” He gave the horse a slap on the rump, and it started down the mountain.
Leo abandoned the muddy path that snaked back and forth up the mountainside. Instead, he scrambled straight up the rocky slope. He was halfway up when a bolt of lightning shot from the sky and struck the ground thirty yards away, blasting a boulder into bits.
Yes! The lightning had found him and was zeroing in. Energy from the blast rolled toward him, seeking him out in waves he couldn’t see, but could feel. His skin tingled. His hair, which had been plastered to his head, now crack- led as it lifted into the air.
Thunder boomed overhead, sending another wave of energy toward him. It slithered under his damp clothes, giving him a slight shock. Then an increase in power. And speed. He charged up the mountainside faster than any human could go.
Anticipation swelled inside him as he reached the first set of cliffs. Another lightning bolt ripped through the sky, this one hitting only fifteen yards away. It blasted through the rocks, causing the cliff to crumble away. As the ledge beneath his feet trembled, he ran and leaped.
He landed on the next cliff six feet away as thunder cracked and the first cliff tumbled down the mountainside. More energy surged into him, and he scrambled higher up the mountain. Faster. In a race against the next strike.
He reached the highest cliff. Nearby on the mountain summit, the beacon tower stood, deserted in the storm, its flame long smothered by the rain. The village lay nestled in the valley far below. He spotted houses built of stone with their thatched roofs burned away. The chapel of En- lightenment partially destroyed. The village lookout tower stood as high as the chapel bell tower and was manned by a lone villager. No doubt, he was keeping an eye out for the last two dragons.
Nevis and his troop arrived, and the villagers poured from their homes to welcome them. Leo winced at the sight of small children running about. Dammit, Nevis, get them back into the cave.
A rumbling noise echoed through the valley, sounding much like thunder, but Leo knew better. It was the beat- ing of dragon wings. The last two dragons had waited for the people to reappear.
Leo ripped off his gloves and threw them down, along with his bow and quiver. Then he drew his sword and pointed it to the sky. “Now!”
Lightning broke through the dark clouds, racing toward him. He widened his stance and braced for impact. It struck his sword, fracturing so that a dozen smaller streaks shot off in a circle around him.
The major portion of the lightning sizzled down his sword, eager to reach his flesh. It hit his bare hand and jolted him so hard he fell to his knees and dropped the sword. The dozen fractured shards rebounded, drawn to him like a magnet. They pounded into him, jerking him back and forth. Thunder cracked over him so loud his ears rang.
Power surged through him, so fierce and scorching he thought his skin would melt, his guts would boil, and his head burst like a kernel of corn dropped into a fire. Pain and power, power and pain, he could no longer tell the dif- ference. He only knew he wanted it, wanted to drink it in, soak it up, and claim it all.
The fiery torture eased to a warm, buzzing sensation, and he found himself on all fours, gasping for air. How many times had he endured this? And it still hurt like hell. He rested back on his knees and splayed his hands in front of him. Sparks skittered around his fingers like a host of fireflies.
Good, but not enough. The Beast wanted more.
He grabbed his sword and hefted himself to his feet. “More, dammit!” He lifted his sword in the air.
Lightning struck again, driving him to his knees and knocking the sword from his grip. He cried out as both pain and power ripped through him. Nevis was right. Someday he would explode.
Thunder cracked around him as if he’d become the cen- ter of the storm. His ears grew numb, only hearing the buzz of energy pulsing around him. This time, when he examined his hands, streaks shot out a few yards. Not enough to kill a dragon.
He fumbled for his sword once again. Nevis’s question reverberated in his head, bouncing off the inside of his skull. Do you enjoy courting death? Over the years, he’d found he could take in more power each time, but what was the limit? How would he know when it was too much?
He stumbled to his feet and slowly lifted the sword. When he had the weapon only waist-high, the lightning streaked toward him. Like a desperate lover, it pounced, not even waiting till he was fully cocked. It struck hard, flinging him through the air into the wall behind him. His head cracked against stone, and he crumpled into a heap.
Rain splattered on his face, keeping him conscious. The pain was merely the price he paid for the ability to protect his people. The pain would be fleeting.
The power he could keep for months.
He rose to his feet. If he were normal, he’d have suf- fered a concussion and some broken bones. Hell, if he were normal, he’d be dead. But instead, he swelled with strength and power. Tiny streaks of lightning swirled around him so fast, he appeared to glow.
He strode to the edge of the cliff to see what was happening. The dragons were flying low, probably to avoid the lightning. They swooped down at the screaming villagers, herding them away from the cave. Making them easy to prey upon.
With the superfast speed he now possessed, Leo pulled a length of coiled rope from his sword belt and tied one end loosely to a tree deeply rooted in the rock wall of the cliff. The other end, he tied to one of his metal arrows. He grabbed his metal bow, nocked the arrow, and imbued them with some of his energy. Now, when he shot the arrow, it would fly faster and farther.
He aimed for the lookout tower and let the arrow fly. It whistled through the air and struck the top wooden beam of the tower, embedded deep. Continuing at his fast speed, Leo tightened the rope, tossed his bow and quiver over his shoulder, sheathed his sword, then looped the sword belt over the rope. He ran to the cliff’s edge and pushed off.
Hanging on to the belt, he careened down the length of the rope. Just before crashing into the tower, he swung his legs up and over the top beam and landed on the top plat- form. The lone villager gaped at him.
“Go!” he shouted. With lightning sizzling around him like a golden nimbus, he didn’t need to speak twice.
The villager scrambled down the ladder, yelling that the Beast had arrived.
After dropping his sword belt on the platform, Leo quickly readied another arrow and pivoted, searching for the dragons. Even though it was possible for him to sim- ply shoot a lightning bolt from his hand, he’d learned from experience that raw power didn’t always go exactly where he wanted it to go. Since there was a chance of hitting in- nocent bystanders or setting their homes on fire, he pre- ferred to use a metal arrow imbued with his power so he could control the force and trajectory.
There, through a steady sheet of rain, a pair of red,glowing eyes was glaring at him. The dragon was perched on the bell tower of the chapel. It sat up, expanding its chest, a sure sign it was about to breathe fire.
Leo released enough energy to make sparks pop and crackle around the metal arrow. When he shot it, the ar- row would fly with enough speed and power that it would actually pierce the dragon’s scaly skin and release an elec- tric shock wave through the creature’s body.
He aimed for the dragon’s chest, but just as he let the arrow fly, the dragon pushed off, flying straight at him. Fire erupted from the dragon’s mouth, forcing him to drop flat onto the platform. Flames shot over him, missing him by a few inches. Meanwhile, the arrow hit the dragon’s hip.
Sparks spread from the arrow, jerking the dragon around in midair. It shrieked, then shot up into the sky and turned north toward Norveshka. Leo notched an arrow to shoot again, but screams below made him look down.
The second dragon had grabbed a child. “Nevis!” Leo shouted. “Catch it!”
Nevis spurred his horse and galloped after the dragon. It was gaining altitude, now higher than the rooftops of the houses.
Leo sent a surge of energy into his bow and arrow and aimed, trying to keep a safe distance from the child. The arrow zipped through the air. Direct hit to the dragon’s tail. Sparks exploded around the wound, racing up the dragon’s body, and it jolted, bellowing in pain and dropping the child. A dress flapped in the wind. It was a little girl.
Nevis charged onward as she tumbled from the sky. Villagers screamed, then let loose a round of cheers as Nevis managed to catch her.
The dragon flew away, filling the sky with an angry roar.
Leo lowered his bow and arrow and watched through the rain as the villagers crowded around Nevis. The little girl was safely deposited in the arms of her crying mother. Nevis glanced back at Leo and gave him a thumbs- up before being dragged off his horse by a swarm of happy villagers.
With a cheer, the villagers led Nevis and his men into the cave. Boys led the horses, including Leo’s horse, to the stables. Women dashed into their homes to gather cups and jugs of beer and wine. A few men rushed into a nearby pen to slaughter a lamb. Leo wasn’t sure if the village was cel- ebrating the rescue of one child or drowning their sor- rows for the two who were lost, but clearly they intended to partake of food and drink. And even more clearly, it was a celebration he could not attend.
He glanced at his hands. Sparks still shimmered around his fingers. One false move, and lightning would streak from his fingertips, possibly killing someone. He’d been in such a hurry he’d left his gloves on the cliff. With a sigh, he picked up his sword belt, then buckled it on.
The rain was still pelting him, so he climbed down the ladder to a second platform just below. Drops of rain leaked between the wooden planks overhead, and the wind blew more rain at him, but it was an improvement. He sat in the driest corner and rested his back against a wooden pillar. For a short while, because he had released so much energy, he would feel all right. But soon the pain would start again.
He spotted two men rolling a cask toward the cave. The villagers must have run out of beer. Sounds of laughter emanated from the cave. Soon he could smell the scent of a lamb roasting over a fire. His stomach grumbled. A quick search of his pockets came up empty.
With a sigh, he leaned his head against the pillar. Alone again. It was always this way. He was too damned dan- gerous to be near anyone. Even Nevis had learned to stay away from him when he had this much power.
He closed his eyes as a memory flitted across his mind. The first time lightning had found him, he’d been only five years old. One strike had sent him flying, and he’d crum- pled onto the ground, twitching uncontrollably. His nanny had run to him. Calling out to him, she’d touched his face. Then a surge of energy had shot through her, and she’d col- lapsed beside him dead.
His first victim. Someone he’d dearly loved.
“I didn’t mean to . . .” Leo whispered, the sound whisked away with the wind. “Forgive me.”
Since then, everyone had known to keep their distance. And if a stranger didn’t know, he soon learned when he heard the new name Leo had been given.
Never touch the Beast.
Never let the Beast touch you.
The rain continued to fall. The energy inside him spread throughout his body, expanding, rebelling against the nar- row confines of his human shell, demanding to be released and used. Not now. He had to keep as much power as pos- sible so it would be available whenever he needed it.
The sun lowered in the sky, and the wind became more chilled against his wet clothes. He welcomed the cold. It made it easier to deal with the energy boiling inside him, threatening to escape like steam from a kettle.
The strains of a pipe and fiddle came from the cave. The people were dancing, their music accentuating the thud- ding rhythm in his head. The energy kept expanding, push- ing against the inner walls of his skull, pushing so hard he expected to hear the sound of bone cracking. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the pain.
Sometimes he thought this was the worst part about his gift. The headaches would torture him until either he re- leased some power or it managed to escape on its own.
“My lord?” a female voice spoke below.
He opened his eyes. On the ground by the ladder, a....



disclosure: I received an e-copy of the book in exchange for this post

"Christmas in Destiny" Excerpt

 To celebrate the release day for "Christmas in Destiny" by Toni Blake, I have an excerpt from the book, courtesy of the publisher! Enjoy! And keep your eyes peeled for my review coming soon!

"Christmas in Destiny"

By Toni Blake
Publisher: Avon Books
Oct 25, 2016
Source: Sent by publisher


Summary: (from Goodreads)

“Go to Destiny. There’s something waiting there for you.”

Shane Dalton’s new life is waiting in Miami, complete with fast cars and faster women. But first, he’s heeding his father’s dying words and stopping off in Destiny, Ohio. The detour wasn’t supposed to include a busted pickup and a blizzard. But Candice Sheridan, the cute redhead who reluctantly offers shelter, could prove a pleasant diversion. Trouble is, she thinks Shane’s bad news. And he’s pretty sure she’s right . . .

Candice had her trust broken once before. Yet something about Shane won’t let her stay away. By Christmas, he’ll be gone. Until then, she’s itching to stop playing nice and safe . . . and try being a little naughty for once.

As their holiday romance heats up, Shane uncovers a shattering secret and Candice is preparing to face heartache once again. But there’s no better place than Destiny—especially at Christmastime—for two lost souls to find the gift of sweet, surprising love . . .

EXCERPT:

From CHRISTMAS IN DESTINY by Toni Blake. Copyright © 2016 by Toni Blake. Reprinted by permission of Avon Books, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

Bang. Bang. Bang.
Candice’s eyes sprang open as the jarring noise jolted her awake.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
What on earth? She briskly sat up, trying to get her bearings in the dark.
The sound came again. Louder this time. And as she sat there in bed, the room lit only by the deluge of white outside, she realized someone was beating on her door in the middle of the night. Which seemed almost impossible given that the weather outside was more than a little frightful.
Her heart beat rapidly as the relentless banging continued. Even while she dragged herself out of bed and headed toward the stairs, her sleep-addled brain whirled. As a woman who lived alone in an isolated area, she didn’t particularly want to answer. But what if it was Jenny or Mick—what if something was wrong with their little boy?
Flipping on the dim porch light, she made out a shadowy male figure and concluded it was Mick.  The fact that he was out in this weather, at this hour, filled her with worry.  So she flung open the door.
Then gasped.  It wasn’t Mick. 
It wasn’t Mick at all. 
She didn’t know who this was – but he looked horribly out of place, and a little bit scary.  “Wh-wh- …” Words failed her in her fright.
The tall, dark stranger regarded her through piercing blue eyes.  “Look, I know it’s late, but my pickup spun out and I hit a snow bank around that last bend.”  His voice was deep and his tone unapologetic as he pointed over his shoulder in the general direction of the road.  “Can’t get a signal on my cell, so need to use your phone.”
Strangers didn’t just show up on porches in the middle of the night in Destiny, and she simply stared at him as if he were a ghost standing at her door in the blowing snow.  The scary kind, with a lock of dark hair dipping over his forehead, a thick shadowy stubble on his chin, and even a little scar near his right eye.  Though she wasn’t sure if ghosts bothered to knock.
“Who are you going to call?” she managed to ask.  Then blinked repeatedly.  It was an unfortunate habit of hers – blinking when she was nervous.
He arched a critical brow as a cold wind blew around them, his expression implying that maybe he thought she was still half-asleep.  “A tow truck,” he said, enunciating, as if the answer was obvious.
But he was clearly uninformed about something she thought obvious.  “Have you seen the roads?  A tow truck won’t come out here when it’s like this.  I don’t know how you got any truck out here tonight.  And we don’t have a tow truck in Destiny anyway.”
His eyebrows both shot up then, though his voice came out sounding almost matter-of-fact as he said, “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I can’t.”
A heavy sigh left him as he muttered, “Jesus Christ.”
Since she was pretty sure he wasn’t making a Christmas reference, she ignored that and went on.  “Someone will have to come from Crestview,” she explained.  Then blinked and added, “But I’ll try to call anyway.  Just in case.  Wait here.”
After which she shut the door on him.  And locked it.  In a near blizzard.  Which didn’t exactly feel kind or charitable, but a woman had to protect herself.  And as for calling – despite what she’d told him, she’d decided it was worth making sure, worth a try, to get the scary stranger off her porch as efficiently as possible.
She rushed to the phone and dialed briskly.  And promptly heard a recording on the other end, saying what she already knew:  Meffler’s Towing was closed due to inclement weather and anyone in need of a tow should call back after the storm.  And they were sorry for the inconvenience.  “Me too,” she whispered to no one, hanging up.
Then she steeled herself and walked back to the front door.  Unfortunately, when she opened it, he was still standing there.  Looking cold and a little snow-covered since the snow now even blew up under the roof that covered her porch.
She just shook her head.  “They’re not answering their phones until the snow stops.”  Only then it occurred to her to ask, “What on earth are you doing out here in a blizzard anyway?”
“Got lost,” he said. 
And as he shifted his weight from one snow-covered work boot to the other, she noticed for the first time that his coat was too thin for the weather, and she thought of him trudging from around the bend in a foot of wet snow and for some crazy reason wondered if his feet had stayed dry.  She also wondered what kind of person was out in the country this late at night in this kind of weather.  Escaped convicts and serial killers came to mind. 
“Made a wrong turn looking to find a room for the night,” he said, “but I’m guessing a motel’s gonna be pretty hard to come by here, too.”
She nodded, sorry for both of them to have to deliver the bad news.  “The Half Moon Inn is miles away.”
As another heavy sigh left him, she began to realize – almost against her will – that underneath all the scary, that he was also maybe … kind of hot.  His voice was deep and a little raspy, and the thin coat he wore didn’t hide broad shoulders.  There was something visceral about him – she could somehow feel his very maleness.  And that was when he narrowed his blue gaze on her and said, “Looks like you’re stuck with me then.”

Purchase Here:

CHRISTMAS IN DESTINY – https://www.harpercollins.com/9780062392602/christmas-in-destiny#




Connect with Toni Blake:

Website -http://www.toniblake.com/

Disclosure: I received a copy of this book from the publisher in exchange for an honest review

"The Perks of Loving a Scoundrel" Excerpt

 As part of the blog tour for "The Perks of Loving a Scoundrel" by Jennifer McQuiston, I have an excerpt from the first chapter of the book!

THE PERKS OF LOVING A SCOUNDREL

By Jennifer McQuiston

Avon Books

September 27, 2016

ISBN: 9780062335142; $$7.99

E-ISBN 9780062335159; $5.99



About the Book


New York Times bestselling author Jennifer McQuiston continues her enchanting Seduction Diaries series as a bookish spinster and an unrepentant rogue unite to unmask a traitor.


Every girl dreams of a hero….

No one loves books more than Miss Mary Channing. Perhaps that’s why she’s reached the ripe old age of six-and-twenty without ever being kissed. Her future may be as bland as milk toast, but Mary is content to simply dream about the heroes and adventures she reads about in her books. That way she won’t end up with a villain instead.

But sometimes only a scoundrel will do.

When she unexpectedly finds herself in the arms of Geoffrey Westmore, London’s most notorious scoundrel, it feels a bit like a plot from one of her favorite novels. Suddenly, Mary understands why even the smartest heroines can fall prey to a handsome face. And Westmore’s is more handsome than most. But far worse than the damage to her reputation, the moment’s indiscretion uncovers an assassination plot that reaches to the highest levels of society and threatens the course of the entire country.

When a tight-laced miss and a scoundrel of epic proportions put their minds together, nothing can stand in their way. But unless they put their hearts together as well, a happy ending is anything but assured.

Excerpt from THE PERKS OF LOVING A SCOUNDREL:



From the Diary of Miss Mary Channing

May 24, 1858



Eleanor wrote today. I should have been glad to hear from her, given that she is my twin sister and I love her dearly, but it would be untruthful to say the contents of her letter pleased me. Her new husband, Lord Ashington, has been called away on business and she’s asked me to come to London to keep her company during the last two months of her confinement.

Can you imagine? Me, in London?

My family says I must get my nose out of my books and begin to live in the world around me. It is true I’ve never been further afield than a day trip from home, and that I have never slept a night outside my own bed. But why would I ever want to leave, when I have my books to keep me company? And a trip to London is not without its perils. I could very well end up like one of the characters in my beloved stories, snubbed by the popular crowd. Whispered about behind lace fans. Or worse . . . led astray by a handsome villain and then abandoned to my fate.

Yet, how could I not go? Eleanor is my sister, and she needs me. So I shall put on a brave face. Pack a trunk. Smile, if I must. But I can’t help but wonder . . . which worries me more?

The many things that could happen in London?

Or the thought of seeing Eleanor, with her handsome new husband, and her shining, lovely life, and everything I am afraid of wanting?


EXCERPT:
Chapter 1



London, May 29, 1858



The smell should have been worse.

She’d expected something foul, air made surly by the summer heat. Just last week she’d read about the Thames, that great, roiling river that carried with it the filth of the entire city and choked its inhabitants to tears. Her rampant imagination, spurred on by countless books and newspaper articles, had conjured a city of fetid smells, each more terrible than the last. But as Miss Mary Channing opened her bedroom window and breathed in her first London morning, her nose filled with nothing more offensive than the fragrance of . . .

Flowers.

Disconcerted, she peeked out over the sill. Dawn was just breaking over the back of Grosvenor Square. The gaslights were still burning and the windows of the other houses were dark. By eight o’clock, she imagined industrious housemaids would be down on their knees, whiting their masters’ stoops. The central garden would fill with nurses and their charges, heading west toward Hyde Park.

But for now the city—and its smells—belonged solely to her.

She breathed in again. Was she dreaming? Imagining things, as she was often wont to do? She was well over two hundred miles from home, but it smelled very much like her family’s ornamental garden in Yorkshire. She didn’t remember seeing a garden last night, but then, she had arrived quite late, the gaslight shadows obscuring all but the front steps. She’d been too weary to think, so sickened by the ceaseless motion of the train that she’d not even been able to read a book, much less ponder the underpinnings of the air she breathed.

She supposed she might have missed a garden. Good heavens, she probably would have missed a funeral parade, complete with an eight-horse coach and a brass band.

After the long, tiresome journey, she’d only wanted to find a bed.

And yet now . . . at five o’clock in the morning . . . she couldn’t sleep.

Not on a mattress that felt so strange, and not in a bedroom that wasn’t her own.

Pulling her head back inside, she eyed the four-poster bed, with its rumpled covers and profusion of pretty pillows. It was a perfectly nice bed. Her sister, Eleanor, had clearly put some thought into the choice of fabrics and furniture. Most women would love such a room. And most women would love such an opportunity—two whole months in London, with shops and shows and distractions of every flavor at their fingertips.

But Mary wasn’t most women. She preferred her distractions in the form of a good book, not shopping on Regent Street. And these two looming months felt like prison, not paradise.

The scent of roses lingered in the air, and as she breathed in, her mind settled on a new hope. If there was a flower garden she might escape to—a place where she might read her books and write in her journal—perhaps it would not be so terrible?

Picking up the novel she had not been able to read on the train, Mary slipped out of the strange bedroom, her bare feet silent on the stairs. She had always been an early riser, waking before even the most industrious servants back home in Yorkshire. At home, the cook knew to leave her out a bit of breakfast—bread and cheese wrapped in a napkin—but no one here would know to do that for her yet.

Ever since she’d been a young girl, morning had been her own time, quiet hours spent curled up on a garden bench with a book in her lap, nibbling on her pocket repast, the day lightening around her. The notion that she might still keep to such a routine in a place like London gave her hope for the coming two months.

She drifted down the hallway until she found a doorway that looked promising, solid oak, with a key still in the lock. With a deep breath, she turned the key and pulled it open. She braced herself for knife-wielding brigands. Herds of ragged street urchins, hands rifling through her pockets. The sort of London dangers she’d always read about.

Instead, the scent of flowers washed over her like a lovely, welcome tide.

Oh, thank goodness.

She hadn’t been imagining things after all.

Something hopeful nudged her over the threshold of the door, then bade her to take one step, then another. In the thin light of dawn, she saw flowers in every color and fashion: bloodred rose blooms, a cascade of yellow flowers dripping down the wrought iron fence. Her fingers loosened over the cover of her book. Oh, but it would be lovely to read here. She could even hear the light patter of a fountain, beckoning her deeper.

But then she heard something else above those pleasant, tinkling notes.

An almost inhuman groan of pleasure.

With a startled gasp, she spun around. Her eyes swam through the early morning light to settle on a gentleman on the street, some ten feet or so away on the other side of the wrought iron fence. But the fact of their separation did little to relieve her anxiety, because the street light illuminated him in unfortunate, horrific clarity.

He was urinating.

Through the fence.

Onto one of her sister’s rosebushes.

The book fell from Mary’s hand. In all her imaginings of what dreadful things she might encounter on the streets of London, she’d never envisioned anything like this. She ought to bolt. She ought to scream. She ought to . . . well . . . she ought to at least look away.

But as if he was made of words on a page, her eyes insisted on staying for a proper read. His eyes were closed, his mouth open in a grimace of relief. Objectively, he was a handsome mess, lean and long-limbed, a shock of disheveled blond hair peeking out from his top hat. But handsome was always matter of opinion, and this one had “villain” stamped on his skin.

As if he could hear her flailing thoughts, one eye cracked open, then the other. “Oh, ho, would you look at that, Grant? I’ve an audience, it seems.”

Somewhere down the street, another voice rang out. “Piss off!” A snigger followed. “Oh, wait, you already are.”

“Cork it, you sodding fool!” the blond villain shouted back. “Can’t you see we’re in the presence of a lady?” He grinned. “Apologies for such language, luv. Though . . . given the way you are staring, perhaps you don’t mind?” He rocked back on his heels, striking a jaunty pose even as the urine rained down. “If you come a little closer, I’d be happy to give you a better peek.”

Mary’s heart scrambled against her ribs. She might be a naive thing, fresh from the country, and she might now be regretting her presumption that it was permissible to read a book in a London garden in her bare feet, but she wasn’t so unworldly that she didn’t know this one pertinent fact: she was not—under any circumstances—coming a little closer.

Or getting a better peek.

Mortified, she wrapped her arms about her middle. “I . . .that is . . . couldn’t you manage to hold it?” she somehow choked out. There. She’d managed a phrase, and it was a properly scathing one, too. As good as any of her books’ heroines might have done.

A grin spread across his face. Much like the puddle at the base of the rosebush. “Well, luv, the thing is, I’m thinking I’d rather let you hold it.” The stream trickled to a stop, though he added a few more drips for good measure. He shook himself off and began to button his trousers. “But alas, it seems you’ve waited too long for the pleasure.” He tipped a finger to the brim of his top hat in a sort of salute. “My friend awaits. Perhaps another time?”

Mary gasped. Or rather, she squeaked.

She could manage little else.

He chuckled. “It seems I’ve got a shy little mouse on my hands. Well, squeak squeak, run along then.” He set off down the street, swaying a bit. “But I’ll leave you with a word of advice, Miss Mouse,” he tossed back over one shoulder. “You’re a right tempting sight, standing there in your unutterables. But you might want to wear shoes the next time you ogle a gentleman’s prick. Never know when you’ll need to run.”


Purchase Here:

THE PERKS OF LOVING A SCOUNDREL – https://www.harpercollins.com/9780062335142/the-perks-of-loving-a-scoundrel



About the Author

A veterinarian and infectious disease researcher by training, Jennifer McQuiston has always preferred reading romance to scientific textbooks. She resides in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband, their two girls, and an odd assortment of pets, including the pony she promised her children if mommy ever got a book deal.



Connect with Jennifer McQuiston:

Website - http://www.jenmcquiston.com/

Twitter – https://twitter.com/jenmcqwrites

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/jennifermcquistonauthor

"Lady Pirate" Excerpt

 Lynsay Sands' "Lady Pirate" has a brand new cover! Let's celebrate this gorgeous re-issie with an excerpt!

LADY PIRATE
By Lynsay Sands
Avon Books
May 31, 2016
ISBN: 9780062019738; $7.99
E-ISBN 9780062024909 * $7.99
Source: received from publisher

Synopsis (from Goodreads):

Valoree no longer has to masquerade as her murdered brother and scourge the oceans as Captain Red. She no longer has to command his pirate band in a quest to regain his birthright. She has been named heir to Ainsley Castle. But no executor would ever hand over the estate to an unmarried pirate wench and her infamous crew—no matter to whom she’d been born. And the will distinctly states that in order to inherit, Valoree must be married to a nobleman . . . and pregnant.

Upon learning that, the virgin captain is ready to return to the seas—but her crew has other ideas— and for those rascally cusses she would do anything. If they could find a way to put on her a sweet face that would fool the ton, she would handle the rest, even with a drunken prostitute as an “aunt” and her merry cutthroat crew as “servants.” But to herself she swears one thing: she will only marry a man who fires her blood, a man who is not afraid of a . . . Lady Pirate



Purchase Links:

LADY PIRATE – https://www.harpercollins.com/9780062019738/lady-pirate

About the Author

LYNSAY SANDS is the nationally bestselling author of the Argeneau/Rogue Hunter vampire series, as well as numerous historicals and anthologies. She’s been writing stories since grade school and considers herself incredibly lucky to be able to make a career out of it. Her hope is that readers can get away from their everyday stress through her stories, and if there’s occasional uncontrollable fits of laughter, that’s just a big bonus.



Connect with Lynsay Sands

Website - www.lynsaysands.net

Goodreads- https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17059.Lynsay_Sands

Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/Lynsay-Sands- 125138040836322/

Excerpt:

The Caribbean- late 1700s
The water was flat as a looking glass, capturing the moonlight and stars that twinkled down from above and reflecting just enough light that the ship gliding ahead of them appeared black and ghostlike in the darkness.
From her position at the front of the small dugout canoe in which she rode, Valoree motioned, and the men at the oars immediately slowed their rowing. At another signal, the sailors raised their oars out of the water, and the craft slid silently up beside the larger craft.
Immediately those on the left side of the canoe with drew hooks on long ropes and sent them whistling through the air to catch on the rail above. For a moment they waited, staring breathlessly up the side of the large galleon and holding the lines, allowing their craft to be dragged along by the larger ship’s momentum. At last, when a hue and cry failed to arise, all eyes slowly returned to Valoree.
She stared back, knowing these men all saw her as a slender young man- little more than a boy, really. All of them but Henry. He alone knew that their deceased captain’s younger brother Valerian, who had served as a cabin boy these last eight years, was really a girl. Of course he knew; he’d been the one who had suggested the charade so many years before, when he’d realized that Jeremy- his captain and her brother- intended to keep her aboard a ship full of pirates.
Aye, these men all thought her a lad, young and untried. And yet, they had vowed to follow her. Only a desire for vengeance could make these two dozen men, cutthroats and hooligans all, follow someone they had always looked upon as a green lad, a little brother or son to be coddled and spoiled. And vengeance they would have.
Glancing down into the water, Valoree took in her reflection. Her body was slim- she was lean rather than muscular- and it trembled with anticipation. For a moment she imagined that her eyes were no longer those of the youth who had moved easily among these men, laughing and chatting as she’d gone about her chores. Nay, her eyes now seemed old, hard, bitter with fresh loss. A loss these men shared as well.
Her brother had been a good man and a fair captain, and his ship, the Valor, had been the only home most of his crew had known for the last eight years. The men who now accompanied her were the last of that crew. She glanced around at them, then back at her reflection.
Though her shirt was her own, she now wore her brother’s breeches, along with his hat and jacket. Jeremy’s boarding ax and pike were hooked through the thick belt at her waist, and a brass-barreled flintlock was sticking out of those baggy, too-large pants. The captain’s cutlass rested in its sheath where it hung at her side. She had taken his clothing when she had sworn vengeance for his death- and she had not bathed since.
Every inch of her body, every item, every inch of cloth, wood, and metal was covered with its owner’s dried blood, as were Valoree’s face, hands, and feet. Even her long hair was crusty with the stuff. Though it was normally a vibrant, fiery red- as her brother’s had been- it was now streaked through with crimson, marked by the red blood of her brother’s death- a reminder of her vow.
Her brother had not died easily. He had not died quickly. He, along with the majority of his men, had died slowly and in torment. And for that, Valoree and the remainder of Jeremy’s crew had vowed, these Spaniards would pay.
She glanced toward Skully and nodded. The cadaverous man immediately reached for his tools, and Valoree turned her back as he began to bore holes in the bottom of their craft. She regarded her crew, awaiting their reaction. She did not have long to wait. Skully was still working on the second hole when the last of them turned to her in understanding. In their faces she read approval and a grudging respect. To reassure them of her intent, she half hissed, half whispered, “We take this ship or we die. There is no escape. We fight not only to avenge the deaths of good men, but for our lives.”
“For our lives and vengeance,” Henry vowed beside her in a hushed tone. His words were immediately taken up by the others.
“Life and vengeance!”
She relaxed somewhat at their acceptance, an odd calm overtaking her as she silently watched Skully finish boring the holes in the bottom of their boat. The holes were relatively small, but even so, by the time he had started on the sixth, the boat was already gathering water and beginning to sink.
As Skully hurriedly returned his tools to his satchel, Valoree drew her brother’s cutlass from its sheath. Moving to the side of their slowly sinking ship, she led the men in a stealthy climb up the side of the Spanish galleon. Her bare hands and feet moved surely up the rope until she reached the top, the others close behind. Pausing there, Valoree peered over the side and glared about.
Several men, taking advantage of the night breeze, were sleeping out in the open air of the deck. Valoree glanced toward the helm and smiled grimly upon seeing the helmsman. The man, while still at his post, had nodded off and was now dozing away his shift, sense less. There was no one to give an alarm. The Spaniards would be taken completely by surprise.
Slipping silently over the side, Valoree hunkered low, sticking to the shadows. Her men followed. As the last of them slid to the deck, she gestured silently, dividing them into two groups with one simple wave of her hand, then gesturing for one group to stay above deck, while directing the others toward the dark hole that was the entrance to the cabins. They all began to move at once, separating and moving all over the ship. The men above deck positioned themselves among the sleeping Spaniards, ready to set to work, but waiting the few moments necessary to allow those men slip ping through the hole to reach their targets, lest some sound or death cry warn their enemies below.
Leaving the rest of the crew to the others, Valoree moved stealthily toward the helmsman. She had nearly reached him when something startled the man awake.
Drawing a sword, the Spaniard peered blearily at her. She froze, but his gaze found her anyway. Taking in Jeremy’s bloody clothes and her red hair flowing about her blood-streaked face, he blinked.
“Rojo... El Capitan Rojo?”
Valoree stiffened at the words, recognizing the name the Spanish used for her brother. Captain Red, because of his red hair.
“Regresa del muerto... El Rojo,” the man whispered faintly, then straightened abruptly, shrieking. “Regresa del muerto. El Rojo!”
His cry awoke others nearby, and the sleepy-eyed men turned to gape at her in horror. The helmsman’s cry was taken up again and again. “Regresa del muerto. El Rojo!”
For a moment, everyone was still. The others she’d brought with her, startled by the shouting, turned to peer at Valoree. She drew back, annoyed, then peered about at the frozen tableau. Her crewmates seemed as transfixed as the Spaniards. With a glance at the near est of the men, she snapped irritably, “What the devil is he saying, Henry?”
Drawn out of his startled state by the question, the quartermaster relaxed and grimly smiled. Then he shrugged. “He’s thinkin’ ye’re yer own brother, Captain Red. He’s thinkin’ ye’re back from the dead. He’s screamin’ “Back-from-the-Dead Red,”” he explained. The cry continued around them.
“Regresa del muerto. El Rojo!”
“Back-from-the-Dead Red?” Valoree repeated, then frowned at the terrified Spaniards. “Well, at least they shall know why they die”. Raising Jeremy’s cutlass, she advanced on the helmsman, but much to her consternation, the man immediately dropped his weapon. For a moment, Valoree was nonplussed, but the sudden chorus of metal against wood drew her attention to the fact that every Spaniard aboard the ship was now giving up his weapon unasked, all dropping them to the deck floor.
“What the devil are they doing?” Valoree cried in dismay. “Are they not going to fight?”
Henry glanced around, then turned to face her. “Well,” he drawled, scratching at his ear. “I’m thinkin’ they’re thinkin’ that since ye’re a ghost and all, there ain’t no sense in afightin’ ye. Most like they think we’re the rest of the men that were kilt... and ye cain’t kill someone what’s already dead.”
“El Rojo.”
Valoree glanced up at hearing again the helmsman’s terrified murmur. The Spaniard was now tugging his pistol free and dropping it on the deck beside his sword. Throughout, he continued mumbling, “Regresa del muerto. El Rojo.”
Before she could decide on a course of action, a scuffle at the entrance to the cabins drew her attention. Valoree glanced over as the men who had gone below returned, pushing several captives ahead of them. The first was obviously the captain, and he looked angry. He also looked willing to fight, Valoree saw with relief. At least someone would. It was hard to take revenge when the enemy refused to fight. She wouldn’t simply kill unarmed men; that was not fair. She was just about to move to confront the Spanish captain when the helmsman spotted his commander. He immediately shrieked, “El Rojo! Regresa del muerto!”
The captain started to glance toward the man, but his gaze caught and stayed on Valoree. The whipping wind filled the cloth of Jeremy’s jacket, making her appear larger than she was, and she had to fight to keep her bloody red hair from covering her eyes. She pulled Jeremy’s hat down further onto her head and glared at the Spaniard with hatred. The man gaped, then murmured, “El Rojo?”
“S’aai,” the helmsman cried. “El Rojo, regresa del muerto.”
“Shut up!” Valoree said in a growl to the mouthy sailor. She was sick of hearing those words. Stark terror entered the captain’s face as well. “Tell him to shut up, Henry,” she said hurriedly.
Henry translated the order into Spanish, but the panicked helmsman could not have obeyed had he wished to. He seemed able only to repeat himself over and over. Irritated, Valoree drew Jeremy’s flintlock pistol and shot him.
The man dropped to the deck with a shriek, grabbing for the wound in his leg.
As if that were the signal for some preplanned form of action, the Spaniards all made a sudden exodus to ward the sides of the ship. Taken by surprise, Valoree and the others could only watch in amazement as the crew of the galleon, as one, cast themselves screaming into shark-infested water.
Cursing under her breath, Valoree stalked to the side of the ship and peered down at the men in the sea below. They were thrashing about in the water, moving in the general direction of the nearest island. “The gunny cowards,” she muttered.
“Aye,” Henry agreed. He and the rest of the men had moved closer to peer down at their fleeing adversaries.
Slamming a palm down on the rail in frustration, Valoree cursed. “Jumping rather than fighting, can you imagine?”
Henry shook his head. “Spineless Spanish bastards.”
Sighing, she frowned at the water below. A moment later, One-Eye let out a dismayed oath. Glancing up, Valoree peered over at where he was pointing. The helmsman was on his feet, and had hopped to the side of the ship. He was now balancing himself precariously on the railing. As she watched in amazement, the man hefted himself over the side of the boat to land with a splash in the water behind his comrades. It seemed that swimming with sharks was more attractive than keeping company with ghosts, even for the wounded man.
“Ye want we should shoot them?” One-Eye asked with little enthusiasm.
Valoree shook her head in disgust. “Leave go. They are not likely to make it to shore. ‘Sides, none of them bore the scar.” She desired revenge, but there was no pleasure in killing cowards.
The others nodded in agreement. Besides, this was apparently not the ship of their true enemy. One of the few things they had learned from Jeremy, ere he took his last breath, was that the Spaniard who had ordered the torturous deaths of her brother and so many of his men bore a scar in the shape of a question mark on his neck. And the captain of this vessel had borne no such scar.
Sighing, Valoree straightened and turned to survey the Spanish galleon. “Well,” she said softly, “it would seem we have a ship.”
“Aye,” Henry murmured. “That it would.”
“Have we enough men to sail it?”
Henry surveyed the small number of their remaining crew. “Aye,” he said. “Enough to get to port and pick up more men... Captain.”
Valoree glanced at him sharply. “Captain?”
He nodded solemnly. “Aye. Of this, the Valor II. I’m thinkin’ we’ve got us a fine captain. Ye’ve the spirit, the courage, the determination... and, better yet, ye’ve already got yerself a reputation and title.” When she looked bewildered, he shrugged. “Ye’ve already taken yer first ship. If any of those men out there survive their swim, all will hear about their terrifying encounter with Back-from-the-Dead Red.”
Valoree rolled her eyes and glanced at the others. All of them were standing about, nodding in agree ment. It seemed she had not only stepped into her brother’s clothes, but she had also stepped into his command. Back-from-the-Dead Red, indeed. Thanks to a load of superstitious Spaniards, she was now the captain of some of the most bloodthirsty cutthroats it had ever been her misfortune to meet- if she wanted them. She was only nineteen. That was young to be a captain. But then, Jeremy had been only eighteen when she had helped him purchase and outfit the Valor. And as for her gender, they already thought her a boy.
Seeing her hesitation, Henry moved closer. “Now, think on it for a minute before ye go making up your mind. Cap’n Red - yer brother Jeremy - he did this only to make some money; then he planned to go claim your family estate, set it to rights, settle down, and start a family.”
“Aye, but – “
“But nothing. Now that dream is yours.”
Valoree blinked at that. “What mean you, now that dream is mine?” she asked suspiciously.
“I mean, with him gone, ye have to make his dream come true for him. Claim the inheritance, settle down, start a family.”
Valoree was silent for a moment, then frowned. “But I do not have the money to – “
“Well, that there is true enough. That was what Jeremy was doin, earnin’ the money to claim the estate. It’s not been lived in since ye was a wee babe. He said he needed a fair sum to put the place to rights.”
“And he had earned it,” One-Eye put in bitterly. “More than enough to claim the land and set it to rights. We were all to have homes there,” he reminded her. “He promised all of us a cottage and a little plot of land. He – “
“The boy knows all about that, One-Eye,” Henry interrupted, silencing the first-mate.
“Aye, I know.” Valoree sighed. “But the Spaniards took the riches when they killed Jeremy.”
Henry nodded. “Aye. And that means we would have to start over.”
“Start over!” Valoree glared at him. “Eight years it took my brother to acquire that money. Do not tell me you now want to waste another eight years.”
The man hesitated at that, then cleared his throat. “Well, now, I been thinkin’ on that, too. It occurs to me that out there somewhere is a Spanish galleon with yer brother’s treasure on it- or someone who knows where it is. If we could just manage to find that...”
“The Spaniard with the scar!” Valoree exclaimed. Henry nodded solemnly.
“We could kill two birds with one stone. We could have revenge and settle down in England all nice and proper, too.”
“For life and vengeance,” she murmured thoughtfully.
“Aye,” the quartermaster agreed. “For our life, and Jeremy’s vengeance.”



Thanks to Avon Romance for the awesome excerpt! Who else loves pirates? I know I do!


 
Disclosure: I received a copy of this book from the publisher in exchange for this post.

"Bounce" Blog Tour! Excerpt and Giveaway!

 Today, I'm happy to participate in the blog tour for "Bounce" by Noelle August!! Read on for an excerpt and a tour-wide giveaway!!


"Bounce"
by Noelle August

bounce 
Synopsis:
This final chapter in the fun and steamy New Adult trilogy by Noelle August (authors Veronica Rossi and Lorin Oberweger) features two aspiring musicians who must choose between their careers…and their sizzling attraction for each other.


Playing the occasional club gig just isn’t cutting it for twenty-two-year-old cellist Skyler Canby, who’s trying to support herself and her mother back home in Kentucky. Persuaded by her best friend Beth to accompany her on an audition for the first feature film launched by Blackwood Entertainment, she figures why not? Beth’s a shoe-in for the lead, but maybe Skyler’s newly dyed pink hair will help her stand out enough to score a small speaking part.

Never in her wildest dreams does Skyler imagine she’ll land the lead role or that she’ll have her shoes knocked off her feet by the kiss her audition partner, Grey Blackwood, plants on her—a kiss that feels very real and not at all “acted. ”

After throwing a party that causes thousands of dollars of damage to his older brother’s home, reckless musician Grey Blackwood gets roped into working off his debt on the set of his CEO brother’s newest project. Grey spends his days fetching coffee and doing odd jobs around the studio, but he lives for nights when he performs with his band. He knows if he can stay focused, success as a singer is just around the corner. But that’s tough with a distracting pink-haired girl occupying his every waking thought.

Skyler and Grey have every reason to resist each other. But, like a song neither of them can get out of their minds, they have no choice but to go where the music takes them.

Excerpt:
 
Skyler's Point-of-View, Chapter 20
"Good lord in a basket, it’s him all right. Grey. Illuminated by the golden lights coming on along Venice Boulevard. With suds and water sluicing off his ridiculously ripped body, cascading from his massive tattooed biceps, running down his taut muscled abdomen. His swimsuit sags dangerously low, clinging to his sturdy thighs, making, um, everything, pretty evident.


And evidently pretty impressive.

Probably, this would be a good time to actually speak some words, but even in a town full of hot, hot people, this is kind of stratospheric.

“Yep, it’s me.” Grey reaches back to turn off the shower, which breaks the spell, so I can at least avert my gaze like a decent person. Then he rubs a towel vigorously over his gleaming body and tucks it around his waist.

He has a strange look on his face—peevish, embarrassed, and it feels suddenly like we’re intruding on something. Or maybe it’s just me. I think about that moment in my trailer. His fingers on my skin. My wanting and not knowing what to want.

“Uh, so, what are you up to?” I ask in an effort to win the prize for most obvious question ever. “I mean, I can see what you were up to.” Seriously, Sky? “But, uh, were you just in the water? What brings you out here?”

“I’m crashing nearby. At the garage where my band rehearses.”

“Really?” asks Mia. “Why?”

Grey looks from me to Mia and then back to me, weighing something. Maybe whether or not he can trust us. He’s got this hot, coiled energy all the time, like he’s always holding back. Like he’s an animal caged inside a human body.

“Just staying there for a few weeks.”

“Because of your mom?” I ask. It was obvious from their interaction on set that there’s some bad blood there, though compared to my mom, she seems kind and thoughtful, whip-smart and curious without being overbearing. Which makes sense, given her offspring.

Then I remember that Grey’s not really her offspring. He said “stepmother,” and the way he said it really answers my question.

Which is good, because he doesn’t actually answer it. Instead, he gathers up his stuff—surfboard, wetsuit—and gives us a grin. “I gotta head out,” he says, as though nothing’s hanging there between us. He looks away for a second, following the path of a guy in an Obama mask as he weaves his way up the boardwalk on a ribbon-festooned unicycle. “Told some friends I’d hook up with them tonight.”

“Wait,” says Mia. “So, you’re just sleeping in a garage? Like on an air-mattress or something?”

Grey shrugs. “A couch. It’s okay.”

“And taking freezing cold showers out on the beach? That doesn’t sound great, does it, Sky?”

“No, it doesn’t,” I say, but I’m afraid of where she’s going with this.

“Can’t you stay at a hotel or something?”

He shakes his head. “Money’s a little tight right now. I’m giving Adam almost every penny to pay him back for the house, and I don’t really have…” Again, he goes silent, and I can feel, literally, the tension of him wanting to talk, wanting to say more to someone. Needing it.

“Why don’t you come stay at our place?” Mia blurts. We have that in common. The blurting thing. “I mean, I’m just about all moved out, so there’s room.”

Ay, dios. No. No.

But I can’t say anything. I can’t tell my best friend, who knows I’m talking to Brooks, starting to maybe, sort of, think about where that could go, that having Grey in my apartment, so close all the time, is a very dangerous, very bad idea.

Grey shakes his head. “Nah, I appreciate it, but I’m cool here. I promise. Thanks, though.” He takes a few steps toward a squat gray building with weather-beaten shutters and a tiny, shed-like garage in the back. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Hang on,” says Mia, pulling me along. She gives me a look, tipping her head in his direction, like she’s tapping me in for the debate. “You’re cool with it, right, Sky?”

“Of course.” Not. In no way. “But it seems like he’s got it under control here. So, if—”

My words disappear, though, because Grey’s pulled up the garage door, the muscles of his broad back and shoulders shifting smoothly as he thrusts the door up along its rusting track.

“See?” he says, pointing to a lumpy white couch sporting what looks like a half-century’s worth of mystery stains—a perfect complement to the funk of beer and weed and sweat potent enough to make my eyes water. “Perfectly fine, right?”

But, like me, he’s lousy at hiding his feelings. Even turned away to shove some empty beer cans into a garbage bag, his body language tells me everything.

He doesn’t want to be here in this musty space, crowded with furniture and audio equipment, the only natural light coming in from the tiny half-moon windows set into the garage door, which faces a dim alleyway.

“You should come stay with us,” I say, surprising the hell out of us both. “I mean, this is…”

“It’s fine,” Grey insists. “I don’t need much, and I’m hardly ever here.”

I think how different he is from Brooks, who says what he means, tells you—without hesitation—what he wants.

“Come on,” says Mia.

“Seriously,” he tells us. “It’s really nice of you to ask, but I’m fine. I can’t afford—”

“I paid up on the place through the end of the lease,” Mia says. “You can just chip in on food and utilities. I’m sure you can manage that, right? It’s only for a few weeks. And you’d be rooming with two awesome, super hot girls. How can you say no to that?”

He looks at me, and I can see he’s worried about the same things I am. Rooming together. Being too close, constantly one second away from making a really dumb choice. He’s young and too reckless for me. And a musician, on top of it all. He’s everything I don’t need sharing my space.

But something tugs at me, makes me put all of those concerns aside. I see it in his smoke-gray eyes, which are so alive, so deep and full of thoughts. Some pain or fear lives there. Something that makes it so hard for him to accept. To take a simple kindness. It’s not just about me but about trusting. Anything.

Seeing that, I can’t let him spend another night in this crappy place. Just…alone.

"You should come home with us,” I say. 'It will be…a lot better than this, I promise.'"-- Noelle August, Bounce

About the Authors:
Question: What do you get when friends pen a story with heart, plenty of laughs, and toe-curling kissing scenes? Answer: Noelle August, the pseudonym for renowned editor and award-winning writer Lorin Oberweger and New York Times bestselling YA author Veronica Rossi, the masterminds behind the Boomerang series.

Connect with them:
Website-Twitter-Facebook

Check out the series on Amazon:


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"The Scoundrel and the Debutante" Q&A with Julia London

Today, I'm happy to welcome Julia London to In the Hammock for a Q and A. Let's celebrate the release of "The Scoundrel and the Debutante" the third book in the Cabot Sisters series.

THE SCOUNDREL AND THE DEBUTANTE
by Julia London
Harlequin; May 1, 2015

The dust of the Cabot sisters' shocking plans to rescue their family from certain ruin may have settled, but
Prudence Cabot is left standing in the rubble of scandal. Now regarded as an unsuitable bride, she's tainted among the ton. Yet this unwilling wallflower is ripe for her own adventure. And when an irresistibly sexy American stranger on a desperate mission enlists her help, she simply can't deny the temptation.

The fate of Roan Matheson's family depends on how quickly he can find his runaway sister and persuade her to return to her betrothed. Scouring the rustic English countryside with the sensually wicked Prudence at his side—and in his bed—he's out of his element. But once Roan has a taste of the sizzling passion that can lead to forever, he must choose between his heart's obligations and its forbidden desires.

 

Julia London is the New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of more than thirty romantic fiction novels. She is the author of the popular Cabot Sisters historical series, including The Trouble with Honor, The Devil Takes a Bride, and The Scoundrel and the Debutante. She is also the author of several contemporary romances, including Homecoming Ranch, Return to Homecoming Ranch and The Perfect Homecoming.

Julia is the recipient of the RT Bookclub Award for Best Historical Romance and a six-time finalist for the prestigious RITA award for excellence in romantic fiction. She lives in Austin, Texas.


Q and A with Julia London: 


1.      If you could live during any time period from the past, when would it be and why?
I guess it’s obvious that I would have to try living in the Regency era. But I would have to be among the wealthy. I wouldn’t want to be crammed into any tight living quarters with a lot of people and maybe even some animals. I would need one of those big Georgian mansions, a butler, a ladies’ maid, and a very handsome and rich husband. Oh, and the gowns. I would need a lot of those beautiful gowns. I have always been a student and fan of history, but, in the end, knowing what I know, I like the creature comforts of the twenty-first century.

2.      How much research goes into writing historical romance?
That depends on the period. I have written so many historical romances set in a very confined time period (the Regency era spanned about twenty years), and have collected so many research books, that I have become a bit of a mini-expert in that time period. I know what was going on, and if I have any questions, I know exactly where to look to find the answer. However, I am starting a new historical series and setting it about one hundred years earlier, when Scotland and England united. I’m reading a couple of different books to get up to speed. But, unlike historical fiction, where the actual history is often a character in the story, in historical romance the history is always part of the background and not the main feature—the love story is—so a writer needs to know enough to set the tone, the milieu and the place, but doesn’t need to memorize any acts of Parliament or know the names of the king’s children.

3.      You’ve written over thirty historical romances and you’ve also published several contemporary romances. What is it like to switch back and forth from one type of romance to the other?
First, I don’t think of them as different subgenres although, technically, they are. I just think of them as another story. No matter what the setting, these books are about people and falling in love, and that is timeless. The inherent conflicts between men and women are timeless. So if a man is wearing pantaloons or jeans, when he falls in love, he feels the same way. From a technical standpoint, I like switching between time period settings—I think it keeps me fresh. The cadence of the language changes slightly, and sometimes I am so relieved I can just put people in a car and move them somewhere as opposed to readying a coach and a team of four and having to deal with a coachman and the butler just to get out the door. But those are minor details. Historical or contemporary, women’s fiction or whatever I am writing, it’s all about the story to me.




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Disclosure: I received copies of the books from the publicist in exchange for this post. Questions in the Q and A were provided by the publicist.