PROMO: Playing With Destiny by @DianeEscalera #excerpt

Playing With Destiny (Latin Heat Trilogy #3) - PROMO Blitz

By Diane Escalera

Contemporary Romance

Date Published: May 29, 2014

    

Fate brought them together. Will Destiny keep them apart?

Destiny Quinn lives for her job. She loves being an IT Recruiter, traveling nationwide. But all work and no play has left her feeling restless. It's been a year since she's gone out on a date — or slept with a man. Suddenly, Destiny can't think about anything else. She's not looking for a relationship, just a good time and a sexy diversion. One steamy night of mind-blowing pleasure, then maybe she can get back to business.

Christian LaCosta wants to prove to his family — and himself — that he is relationship material. Lately, it seems like everyone around him is in love. Maybe it's time to give up the fast life and fast women, quit being the odd man out. Christian decides to take the plunge and join an online dating service. When he's unwittingly hooked up with a luscious neighbor named Destiny, the coincidence is too much. Christian doesn't believe in fate, but one look at Destiny, and he's seeing a whole new future. Now he must convince this career-driven beauty that work isn't everything. Take a chance on them, and she can have it all.

WARNING:  Food Play, Hot Sex, Latin Hunk

EXCERPT

What a knockout. He could stare at her all day. “Then let’s do it,” he said, pushing out his elbow so she could take his arm. She went for it, making him one happy dude.

They strode casually and comfortably, like a couple who’d known each other longer than a day. Gliding by the swimming pool, he couldn’t care less who saw him, and he didn’t even make eye contact with anyone. Destiny held her head high, her soft blond hair billowing with the dusk breeze. Every so often she glanced at him, and when she did, his strut grew more pronounced.

Christian dug out his access pass from his back pocket and swiped it. The secured glass door unlocked, and he held it open for her. His gaze rolled over her body dimensions. Crap. He had it bad.

Destiny followed a tiled hallway that led to the main entrance and elevators. Framed tropical artwork adorned the walls. Two mauve, upholstered high-back chairs, a floor lamp, and a small glass accent table made the lobby homey. Usually people were in and out, but right now they were alone. Christian reached for the elevator button at the same time Destiny did. His finger mashed hers.

She looked at him and grinned. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“Nope,” he said, showing both hands. But damn, he liked the contact.

Her mouth quirked. “What floor do you live on?”

“Eleventh,” he said, puzzled. “Are we going to my place or yours?”

“Let’s go to yours first.” Her gaze swept him from head to toe. “I want to make sure you’re who you say you are.”

No problem. He had nothing to hide. And he didn’t feel insulted either. The elevator bell chimed and the door slid open. A young good-looking guy sprung out. He nodded at Christian, and gave Destiny a brazen once-over. Christian could’ve popped the jerk.

Ladies first, Christian indicated to Destiny when the path had cleared. They stepped into the elevator, and he pressed number eleven on the panel. The door swooshed closed and soft instrumental music came on. They looked at each other and laughed.

“Don’t take it the wrong way, okay?” she asked, watching him.

He shrugged. “Hey, you can’t be too careful.” Obviously, she’d been spooked by the ex. Bastard had left her paranoid. It made his temper flare, but he didn’t want to think about that right now.

“It’s just that the last guy I trusted...” She looked down and her forehead crinkled.

He lifted her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look at him. “If it’s any consolation, I’m more afraid of you.”

Her eyes widened. “Why?”

“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?” His finger brushed her soft cheek. “Not that it makes it okay, but I could understand why a guy would lose his mind.”

She smiled. “I think his issues had little to do with me.”

The two of them alone.

An intimate space.

A fierce attraction.

Perfect time for a kiss.

But he held back. “Whatever his problem, it’s not yours anymore.” They stared each other down, her light eyes never wavering from his dark ones.

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. “No,” she agreed, grasping his upper arm.

He palmed her lower back, drew her body close to his. Destiny wanted him to kiss her. He saw it in her eyes.

Diane Escalera

Born and raised in the Bronx, NY, Diane Escalera makes her home in coastal North Carolina. The sultry surroundings are a steady source of inspiration for her hot love stories. Diane is married, has two children and a super cute dachshund she can’t get enough of. She writes contemporary romance and is published with Kensington Publishing and Lyrical Press.

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PROMO: Blood Lust by @tlynnetolles #excerpt and #giveaway

Blood Lust  (Blood Series #3) - Week Blitz

T. Lynne Tolles

New Adult Paranormal Romance

Date Published: June 18, 2014

     

A surprise visit from Blake and Devon's uncle, Dominic, demanding both vampires, come home immediately to find what is ailing his son Anton, puts everyone on edge. Can vampires get sick? Devon doesn't appreciate Dominic's demands, but agrees to fly back to Connecticut with Darby, since Blake has a job to finish up in California. Excited to meet more of Devon's family, Darby is confused by Devon's distance and coldness since Dominic's visit.

In Connecticut, this only gets worse when a gorgeous Libby, Anton's estranged wife, shows up unexpectedly and seems to have her sights set on Devon. To top it all off, there's seems to be some pent up animosity, Anton and Devon have towards each other.

What is this strange power Libby has over the men in this family? And what's wrong with poor Anton? Why does it seem that Anton and Devon hate each other? These are all questions Darby sets out to answer in this third volume of the Blood Series.

EXCERPT

Dominic smiled at her gesture and said, “I’m sorry, miss, this is a private family matter and I just couldn’t possibly stay. You understand, don’t you?” He said this dismissively as if speaking to a servant; polite, but not sincere.

Darby saw that Devon was irritated by his uncle’s rude behavior and was about to say something, when Blake jumped out of his chair and said, “Sure, Dominic. They understand.”

He glanced at the others at the table and gave Devon an imploring look, all the while helping his uncle with his coat. “We’ll speak in the front yard, Dominic. Go back to your meal, enjoy! We’ll only be a minute,” Blake said rather apologetically to Darby still standing, stunned, in front of her seat.

Darby looked at the rest of the people at the table and said, “I’ll get some champagne flutes, to enjoy our lovely gift.” She excused herself as Devon and Blake led Dominic to the front yard.

They were almost to the black limousine, when Dominic turned to the boys. “I’m in need of your help, boys. Anton is terribly sick and I would like you both to come to Connecticut to help me determine what is ailing him.”

“I’m very sorry Anton is sick, but that does not excuse your…” Devon started.

“What Devon is trying to say, Dominic,” Blake interrupted, “is that we are not boys any longer. We have lives here, jobs, commitments, significant others. We can’t just up and leave.”

“Yes, I see you’ve hooked up with a lively bunch of hooligans. Eating at a table with witches and werewolf swine. How could you? So what, you with your Darby girl, and you with the werewolf crossbreed creature? Both witches, I presume?”

“Yes. I am with Rowan, but you don’t understand, Dominic,” Blake said.

Dominic’s eyes grew large. “How despicable, boy! Didn’t I teach you anything? Didn’t you listen to a word I told you? Your mother must be turning in her grave in shame. We are a family of noble vampire blood. What a disgrace to your heritage. Vile. Disgusting!”

“That’s enough, Dominic. You are wrong about werewolves, like many are wrong about vampires. You are mistaken…” Devon defended.

“How dare you? I am a professor of science. I most definitely am not mistaken. I saw, with my own two eyes, the horrific act of a werewolf. They are animals, not people.”

“You’re wrong, Dominic, very wrong. These are good and decent people. They’ve risked their lives for us on numerous occasions…” Blake tried to explain.

“Don’t bother explaining, Blake. He won’t change his mind. He has his view, and that is the only view he’ll ever see,” Devon said.

“I see your manners have been severely degraded by the company you keep. I demand you come to Connecticut immediately. Maybe you’ll find your manners there and remember your place in society.”

“I’m not leaving. Not for you and most definitely not for Anton,” Devon said.

“Oh, grow up, boy. That was ages ago. Let bygones be bygones already. I won’t take no for an answer. You will both march in there, pack your things, and come home.”

“Connecticut is not our home. This is our home, Oljone, California. Right here, with a bunch of great friends who are waiting for us to continue our Thanksgiving feast,” Devon said as he turned and headed back to the house.

“Wait, Devon,” Blake said. Devon stopped and slowly turned. “Dominic, won’t you please join us for dinner. Get to know these people. They are family to us.”

Devon said, “Don’t bother wasting your breath, Blake. Like I said, he’s already made up his mind about them.”

“It’s Thanksgiving. You said yourself, Devon, Thanksgiving is a time to be thankful for family, friends and loved ones. Dominic and Anton are our only blood relatives.”

“Fine. You’re right, Blake, I did say that. Dominic, would you please join us for dinner?”

“Thank you for the offer but no. I can’t. No, I won’t sit at a table with two werewolves. I am staying at the Ritz-Carlton in San Francisco. Here are your tickets. We are leaving at 10:50 AM tomorrow. I expect to see you on the plane.” He handed each of them a first class ticket.

“Whoa, wait a minute. I can’t go, Dominic. I have to work. I have a project due, deadlines, I just can’t up and leave,” Blake insisted.

“Fine, you will join us when you are done with your commitments.”

“I’m not going either, Dominic. This is my home, here with Darby. There is no love lost between Anton and me. I’m sure he doesn’t want to see me any more than I want to see him. I’m sorry he’s sick, but for God’s sake, he’s a vampire, he’ll heal. I’m sure he will be fine.”

“No, Devon. He won’t. He is rapidly declining. You must help me. I demand that you help me.”

“You demand that I help you? There’s nothing I can do for him. I’m not a doctor; you are. I’m a software engineer. So is Blake. What could we possibly do for him?”

“You’re his family. You can be his family. Maybe he will confide in you.”

“What makes you think if he hasn’t confided in you, that he would do such a thing with me or Blake?”

“Because…you are his age. You speak his language. You’re more understanding, like your mother.”

“Not where he’s concerned,” Devon muttered under his breath.

“You must do this!” Dominic yelled and turned red in the face, pounding a fist into his other hand, tears welling in his ferociously angry eyes.

Blake said, “Hang on, now. You both need to cool off a bit. Dominic, you’re going to blow a gasket. Relax. Devon, if Darby went with you to Connecticut, would you be willing to go and at least talk to Anton? See if maybe he would confide in you? You never know. And if he’s really that sick, don’t you think one of us should be there? We’re family, after all.”

“If Darby were politely invited to come, and treated appropriately, yes, I may consider going to Connecticut.”

“Dominic, would you be willing to accept Darby as a guest in your home, treating her as such, for Devon?”

He mulled this over, taking longer than Devon would have liked, but he reluctantly agreed.

“As long as her mutant sister does not come. Yes, I would accept the witch as a guest in my home providing she behaves in a proper manner.”

“What the he…” Devon started. Blake saw he was about to blow his top and interrupted.

“See, I knew this could be worked out. Now, would you at least join us for a glass of champagne and invite Darby properly, Dominic?”

Dominic grumbled and nodded.

About the Author: T. Lynne Tolles

T. Lynne Tolles can be found most days, juggling one of two cat muses and a laptop, tripping over an ancient Newfoundland dog and washing a never-ending pile of laundry. When life doesn’t get in the way, she writes paranormal romances for new adults.

Her passion for witches, ghosts, and vampires together with a light-hearted wit are reflected in her loveable characters and the adventures of mystery they unravel to find their happily ever after.

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PROMO: A Guitar With Too Many Strings by John Mellor

PRESENTED BY:

PROMO: Favorite Coffee, Favorite Crush

Favorite Coffee, Favorite Crush - PROMO Blitz

By Victoria Pinder

Contemporary Romance

Date Published: June 12, 2014

Penny moves back to Miami to start her a job with a list of things to accomplish.

1.      Find a place to live.

2.      Avoid her gold-digging mother.

3.      Reconnect with old high school friends: her best friend Sandra, the dramatic Eva, the dark Michael, her half-brother Wyatt, and her former crush Jay.

Jay may have kept her firmly in the “friend zone”, but that didn’t stop her from wanting more. Her five friends have stood by her through some difficult times and she’ll need their help now to accomplish her first two goals.

As soon as Jay sees Penny, he puts his plan into motion. His investors need to see him with a stable woman, one who isn’t all flash and no brains; Penny fits the bill perfectly. There’s just one hitch—he wants more.

Their pretend date sets off a whirlwind of plots. From mothers who want to control their children’s lives to the loss of her exciting new job, Penny’s world turns upside down. She knows she can overcome all obstacles except one—she’s falling for Jay all over again.

EXCERPT

“Home, sweet, err...coffee.”

Getting out of her car, Penelope brushed her worn jeans to get out a small wrinkle. Not that it mattered. She smelled the coffee drawing her to the door. The delicious aroma of freshly brewed java that could wake her up waited inside. Gainesville had coffee shops, but nothing that held her heart like this place. In high school, this place was her Mecca. Her stomach grumbled for the familiar drink.

The coffee shop looked almost the same as it had years ago, except for the aluminum tables and wooden chairs with red cushions. She remembered the plaid chairs and brown tables, but the place still calmed her, like she was coming home.

She stepped up to the counter. “I’ll have a cinnamon dulce non-fat latte, please.”

Leaving Gainesville after college had always been the plan. Just never back to Miami, but she’d changed. She could live here now.

She checked her lip gloss while she waited for the latte at the counter.

When she accepted the promotion from part-time to full-time position, she knew she would have to face her mother and the catch of the month, Lars, her mother’s plastic surgeon. What that woman would do for a free tummy tuck.

The job she’d accepted had offered to triple her salary provided she moved to the Coral Gables office. Somehow, she’d avoid her mother until necessary. What was the man’s name with money this week? Penny ignored that last call, knowing the man with the largest wallet always took precedence over whatever Penelope needed. Getting the non-fat milk, she watched the barista finish her latte. She’d succeed here, now. She had to.

She’d call Sandra, Eva, John, and Michael later. Wyatt, her half-brother, was stationed overseas, so she’d wait for his weekly call. These people were her real family.

The man handed her the latte. The first sip gave her the strength to do this. The tightness of the ride dissipated while she tasted her liquid savior. Sighing, she tasted heaven, the wake-up to her day.

“Penelope.”

Though the unmistakable voice was deeper, she knew who it was without even turning. Her high school crush, who never noticed her beyond her brain, with a deeper tone. Pulling at her pink tank top, she wished she wore better clothes. “John Jay.”

His steely blue eyes and sandy blond hair were the same color, but his build had grown more muscular. The leanness of his youth gave way to broad shoulders and hard, muscular arms. He had a straight, faded scar on his left cheek that was new--probably a bar fight. Rich boy wore his fancy perfectly fitted polo and jeans, and was definitely hotter with age. His million-dollar smile and devastating dimples sparked a warm flush that sped through her all the way to the tips of her toes.

“I’m going by Jay these days. It’s less formal.” He winked at her, turning off his tablet, pointing her to his table.

“It’s a good name, but I still prefer Dimples,” she teased. “It’s what I called you on online whenever I needed you.”

His rich, deep laugh sent that familiar spark through her.

Damn. Rich boy knew his effect on women, including her. He could manipulate her when she went quiet, but she learned a lot of in college. She’d not let him weaken her.

“When did you get back to town?”

“I’ve been in town for, like, five minutes. I stopped in for morning coffee. How have you been?”

“Good. Busy these days. You?”

She pushed back her hair, twisting her wrist, telling herself she was not the nerdy girl with a one-sided attraction any longer.

“I have a lot going on.”

“Flirty, Warm Eyes. How come you never came home after college? The past few months you’ve been out of touch.”

“Warm Eyes” sounded new. She refused to dwell. “You noticed? I’m surprised.”

“I noticed.”

She almost lost her balance looking at those dimples.

About the Author:

Victoria Pinder grew up in Irish Catholic Boston before moving to the Miami sun. She’s worked in engineering, after passing many tests proving how easy Math came to her. Then hating her life at the age of twenty four, she decided to go to law school. Four years later, after passing the bar and practicing very little, she realized that she hates the practice of law. She refused to one day turn 50 and realize she had nothing but her career and hours at a desk. After realizing she needed change, she became a high school teacher. Teaching is rewarding, but writing is a passion.

During all this time, she always wrote stories to entertain herself or calm down. Her parents are practical minded people demanding a job, and Victoria spent too many years living other people’s dreams, but when she sat down to see what skill she had that matched what she enjoyed doing, writing became so obvious. The middle school year book when someone wrote in it that one day she’d be a writer made sense when she turned thirty.

Besides her full time job of teaching, in 2013 and 2014, she sold on her own sold books to three different publishers. The Zoastra Affair, Chaperoning Paris, Borrowing the Doctor, and Electing Love will be published from Soul mate Publishing. Mything the Throne will be published with Double Dragon Ebooks. Favorite Coffee, Favorite Crush will be published with Jupiter Press.

Now she is represented by Dawn Dowdle of Blue Ridge Literary Agency and she hopes to continue selling her novels that she writes. Moving up to the next level from hard work and determination is rewarding, and partnerships bring new opportunities.

Also she’s the Vice President of Programs for the Florida Romance Writers. She’s gone to multiple conferences and intends to continue. She learns and meets so many people at conferences. Her website is www.victoriapinder.com, and she’ll continue to grow my web presence. She is working hard on other projects and found the time to plan her wedding this year.

Before writing, her father had taken her to many star trek conventions and on her own she grew up as the only girl in the 90s at the comic book store. Science Fiction was her first love, but contemporary romance was her second. She’s sticking with contemporaries for the near future.

Member of Florida Romance Writers, Contemporary Romance, Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal chapter of RWA, Celtic Hearts and Savvy Authors.

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New Release: An Etiquette Guide to the End Times

An Etiquette Guide to the End Times - Cover Reveal

By Maia Sepp

Women's Fiction / Dystopian

Date Published: June 6, 2014

   Good manners never go out of style…do they?

There aren’t any zombies (yet), but the world is still at the brink of destruction: It’s 2028 and global warming has led to rising oceans, crazy weather, and resource scarcity. On top of that, someone just turned the Internet off. Seeing as how it’s humanity’s last chance to turn things around manners are, understandably, a bit frayed.

Etiquette buff Olive O’Malley is busy microfarming her urban property and minding her own business (and her chickens) when the government comes calling. Their goal is to push the populace towards carbon-neutrality while keeping kvetching to a minimum, and they come with a proposal: transition Olive’s popular etiquette column to a radio show for the masses, and they’ll help Olive find her grandfather, who’s gone missing.

Olive doesn’t trust the hipster government officials who try to bribe her with delicious-but-probably-a-little-evil chocolate pastries, and declines their offer. (Politely, of course.) But they won't take no for an answer, and soon Olive is knee-deep in turmoil, eco-terrorism, and missing chickens. Now she has to untangle herself from their demands and figure out how to make sure her family (and her poultry) are safe before it’s too late.

*Note* This Novel is Written in Canadian English. 

Excerpt

My superhero power is definitely not sleeping. When I was looking for a house, my realtor rhapsodized about this bedroom’s perfect southern exposure, about the tastefully herbaceous wall treatment and charming old-world feel. Right now my room could be more accurately described as a floral-wallpapered sauna, full of an impossible heat, like three Julys stuffed into one. It isn’t helping.

I watch the overhead fan stop again, gyrate, and then restart before I roll over, the sheets coming with me. After a minute I shift to the other side, flinging the covers away with a sigh. The fan finally grinds to a halt, probably the victim of a wiring problem I haven’t been able to pin down, although lately I’ve been thinking it might just hate me.

I relocate to the living room and angle the pedestal fan my way. God, it’s hot. I close my eyes and lean back on the couch for a minute, hoping sleep will take me. The sofa is a faux leather hand-me-down that’s supple after years of wear, smelling faintly earthy, soft against my skin.

Eventually I switch the TV on. Our cable hasn’t worked properly in months, service so erratic it’s like the people running the company are legless, as my grandfather Fred would say–a charming Irish way of saying spectacularly drunk, even though my grandfather hasn’t seen Ireland since he was a child. My eyes land on Fred’s easy chair, a pale green monstrosity he could barely squeeze through the front door when I finally convinced him to move in with me. His pipe, his books, and his old-man slippers are still where he left them.

After flipping through a bunch of static, I shut the TV off and switch to the radio, which promptly announces it’s five-thirty in the morning. I ponder what to do next, discarding juggling, mind reading, and origami, although I spend more time thinking about mind reading than I probably should, considering I’m the only one here. Finally I pull my computer tablet onto my lap and turn it on. I write an etiquette column for a spunky arts and culture website, and my latest instalment is due on Friday; other people’s problems are always a delightful way to get my mind off my own. I start to page through the letters, which all start with Dear Olive. Dear Olive, I’m convinced my neighbour is milking my goat. Dear Olive, my neighbour’s windmill is keeping me up at night. Dear Olive, my wife is hoarding solar panels. What do I do?

Three crashing noises erupt above my head, each more ominous than the next. I wait for it to stop, but twenty minutes later I’m clinging to the side of my house, staring down a pair of raccoons who seem intent on defiling my solar array. For a long while it’s just the three of us, locked in visual combat, but it’s my roof and unless they start paying rent, they’ve got to go.  Eventually they get spooked by the noise of the six a.m. domestic surveillance drone overhead, which would make this the first time I’ve ever been happy to see a drone. I watch as it starts its first pass of the morning. They’re smaller than the military version–sleek, modern, ever-watchful. Rumour is they’re even biodegradable, although that hasn’t exactly endeared them to the population.

After the raccoons finally lumber off I pull myself onto the roof and take a look at the solar panel they’ve sullied, the wires connecting the array to my house almost stripped. It’s not easy to carry out rooftop repairs quietly at six in the morning, and it definitely wouldn’t be polite to wake anyone up, but I don’t want to be back up here tomorrow, either. If I leave the panel like this, they’ll come back and finish the job, I know it. They’re organized.

I look up when a newfangled Town Car, still boxy and authoritarian but now electric-powered, turns onto my street. I watch it as it goes; there are almost no cars on the roads these days, and the sight makes a faint sense of unease pulse through me. I hope whoever’s in that car isn’t carrying bad news for one of my neighbours.

After it eases past my house I try to concentrate on how to get myself off this roof. I’ve brought my very last roll of duct tape with me and after a moment of conflict, I wrestle a piece off and start to fix the panel, but my foot slips and my right hip ends up bouncing off the shingles. I pull myself into a sitting position to gather my wits, my stomach clenched into the size of a peanut, my breath suddenly ragged and shaky. I don’t want to go splat on the driveway beside my house. It’s a bungalow, true, and not that far to fall, but it’s still a worry.

Over my left shoulder the sunrise glows on the horizon, beautiful in a terrifying sort of way. It’s hard not to be nervous about what the sun will do to us today; so far the summer of 2028 has broken four temperature records, slow-cooking our city under our feet, making everything smell like asphalt and failure.

About the Author : Maia Sepp

Maia left the tech sector to write about sock thievery, migraines, and...the tech sector.

The Sock Wars is her debut novel. The first chapter of The Sock Wars was published as a short story/novel excerpt titled Irish Drinking Socks, and became a Kobo bestselling short story. The Sock Wars has been a top-100 digital bestseller on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and the iBookstore, as well as a genre and Writing Life bestseller on Kobo.

Maia's second novel is The Migraine Mafia, a story about a nerdy thirtysomething's quest to come to terms with a chronic illness. It is available online everywhere.

Her latest is a humorous near-future dystopian novella, titled, An Etiquette Guide to the End Times, available June 2014. To be notified about new releases, please add yourself to Maia's mailing list: http://www.maiasepp.com/mailing_list.html.

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PROMO: Late Night Campfire Chillers

Late Night Campfire Chillers - PROMO Blitz

By Rajeev Bhargava

Horror

Date Published: November 19, 2013

    

The Aztec demon is unleashed. The green bottle is his “trick.” They’re his bait.

When a group of friends decide to take a break for the night, pitching camp around a crackling fire, their team leader sees a creepy green bottle embedded in the ground. It looks ancient. He pulls it out, deciding to use it as a “spinner.”

And so, they all take turns to tell their tale, unaware that within this bottle abides an ancient creepy Aztec demon spirit, vowing to teach them all a lesson; one they will never forget.

Will they make it through the night? Or will the forces of evil prevail?

EXCERPT

The kitchen curtains were never drawn. They projected silvery moonlight onto Tom’s face. Tonight he was restless. He opened the fridge door and rooted around inside. His eyes lit up when he found a wine bottle.

“Caaw...Caaw.”

“What the hell!” He shuffled to his feet and plodded to the window. The crow still sat perched on the ashes of her love letters. As long as it stayed put, Tom didn’t mind the old crow. But wasn’t it odd that a stuffy old bird, black as night, should sit in solitude, cawing every night.

“Mother would have shot you. That’s why I won’t.”

Returning to the fridge, he uncorked the bottle with his long fingernails. It dripped all over his chest. But what he saw was not wine. It was blood.

“All right, Tom, take it easy old boy. You’re still under shock. That romantic old fluff is taunting you. Go back to bed quietly.”

Consoling himself, he lay down, humming.

 “Caaw! Caaw!” It was the old crow.

Tom shuffled to his feet again, upset. His stomach stiffened and a jet of blood trickled from his belly-button. “W-what’s happening? Am I cracking?”

It was 6:30 a.m. The dimming moonlight tempted Tom to peer outside to get a better look at the crow; that was not difficult. The darn thing never moved an inch. But why was it perched there, on her love letters?

“It’s not there. It’s...not there!” Now Tom really was scared. Overcome with giddiness, he fought back. “M-must...resist...mustn’t fall down.”

But the forces of evil were bent on destruction tonight of all nights. Nine days since the night. Nine days since his mother vowed to come back for her beloved son. It was then that the crow appeared before him...and for the first time, revealed its putrefied face.

“Nighty night, Tom.”

Tom screamed until the crow’s sharp beak tore at his throat, cutting off his cries.

About the Author:


Rajeev Bhargava lives in Harrow, Greater London.

He enjoys writing stories on various themes, some of which include horror, science fiction, fantasy, mythology, adventure and for children. He also enjoys writing poetry and doing illustrations. His writing career began in 1991, and since then, to-date, his works have been appearing frequently in various small press and main stream magazines and books. His all-time favorite publication is Night to Dawn magazine, which he enjoys reading and writing for, and where his most recent works continue to appear.

To contact him, e-mail him at: TSilverPhoenix@aol.com.

Visit him at: silver.phoenix.3591@facebook.com

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Cover Reveal: Just Not Mine by Rosalind James

Just Not Mine - Cover Reveal

Rosalind James

Contemporary Romance

Date Published: June 5, 2014

  

  

Destiny has a way of sneaking up on you .  . . or of smacking you in the face.

Hugh Latimer's coping with a few problems just now. A broken hand, missing the European rugby tour . . . and a half-brother and sister who are playing havoc with his love life. Instead of packing down in the scrum, he's driving the carpool to ballet--or forgetting it's his turn. When he hears his neighbor wailing out bad pop in the wee hours, it's the last straw.

Josie Pae Ata is a fortunate woman. A new house, good friends, a gorgeous boyfriend--oh, and stardom, too. Getting involved with her new neighbors would bring risks she doesn't need. But life has a way of changing the rules. And when you get more than you can handle, sometimes all you can do is hang on for the ride.

EXCERPT

        

And then he was standing just the other side of the kitchen bench, and she was looking at the depth of his chest, being reminded about the size of his arms, and he was smiling at her, and her hands had stilled on her knife.

“Do the ballet run, then?” she asked him, forcing herself to start cutting through the dense orange flesh again.

“Yeh. I take it you finished the job? Get your swim?”

“Yeh.” She smiled herself. “Bet I had a better time.”

He laughed. “Bet you did. I was going to say I’d take the kids home, because we all need showers, but d’you need a hand here first?”

She needed to stop smiling at him. “Again, a hand’s what it’d be. Don’t think you could do too much with one.”

“I can do quite a lot with one,” he said, the look in his eyes letting her know exactly what he could do, and suddenly, her oven wasn’t the only thing warming up. All he was doing was standing there, and he was still sending tingles to places they had no business being, evoking every shivery, delicious sensation that the most heated on-screen kiss failed to arouse, and it took all the training she had not to show it.

She looked down again hastily, resumed her hacking progress. “Nah, got this. Go take your shower. Then come back and help me christen my new deck.”

He glanced sharply at her, opened his mouth to say something, then shut it, and she realized what she’d said and very nearly blushed. She never got flustered with men, and she’d worked with, dated, been chatted up for years by men infinitely more handsome, polished, and urbane than Hugh could dream of being, but she was flustered now.

All he said, though, was, “Right. See you in a bit. Hour or so OK? Enough time?”

“Perfect,” she said. “See you then.” And kept chopping her vegies, moving around her dark little kitchen in her bare feet, and did her best to pretend that this was about a thank-you and nothing more.

Rosalind James

PERSONAL STUFF: I met my husband Rick at UC Berkeley when I was 21, so I really do believe in True Love and Happily Ever After—which helps a lot in writing about them! We renewed our vows a few years ago with the help of our two grown sons. Our home base when we’re not having our own adventures is in Berkeley, California, where the summers are foggy and the food shopping is the greatest.

WHY NEW ZEALAND: My husband’s job as an engineer, and mine as a marketing consultant, have given us the opportunity to live in many different wonderful places in the U.S., Australia, and New Zealand. During the latest stint, 15 months living and working in Auckland, I fell in love with New Zealand: the beauty and diversity of the landscape (not to mention the seascapes), the Maori culture and its integration into the country’s life, and, perhaps more than anything, the people: modest, good-humored, unfailingly polite and hospitable, and so very funny.  I wanted to share what I loved so much about the country with everyone I knew—and didn’t know!

THE BOOKS: We had traveled to Wellington to watch the final of the Rugby World Cup in a pub as the start of a North Island holiday. I was absolutely overwhelmed by the intensity of All Black fever that gripped the entire nation during the World Cup, and the stature of the players themselves at all times. I had never seen anything remotely like it. I started wondering what it would be like to be so intensely admired and instantly recognizable in a country that has zero tolerance for bad behavior—and how hard it would be to find the right partner in that kind of spotlight. And that is where JUST THIS ONCE was born—walking through the rhododendron gardens of Mt. Taranaki, two days after the World Cup final. Writing that first page was terrifying, but within weeks, I knew that I’d finally figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up.

WHEN I’M NOT WRITING: I raise bantam chickens, foster Labrador Retrievers, and try to remember to cook dinner for my long-suffering husband.

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