Blog Tour: Finding The Way Back to Love

Contemporary Romance

Date Published: February 4, 2015

Gwen Forrester, Ph.D., 32, gifted psychotherapist and beautiful widow, is stuck in a rut, dating hotties on the fast track. What she really wants is a life partner who’ll help her raise a family and make a difference in her home town, Tompkins Falls. New in town, Officer Peter Shaughnessy, 30, has recovered from the gunshot wound he suffered in a drug bust in the city of Syracuse, but he’s still smarting from his ex-wife’s betrayal and, before that, the years of abuse from his alcoholic father. It feels like fate to Gwen when her very-pregnant niece Haley trips the security system at Gwen’s lakeside home and Officer Shaughnessy takes the call. By joining forces to help Haley, Peter and Gwen discover they’re a good team. Long, exhilarating canoe trips convince them they’re on the same page with their life goals. Then a destructive squall lands them on the rocks, and a night of stormy passion reveals painful truths that drive them apart. Are they willing to go to any length to find their way back to love?
    

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A beautiful journey that shows that everyone has their issues and that it isn't impossible to come back from things. I appreciate the author tackling the difficult issues and bringing them full circle with the characters. I enjoyed the writing and the pacing of the novel as a whole.

Born in the upstate-New York village known as the Birthplace of Women’s Rights, Katie O’Boyle loves the Finger Lakes in every season. That’s why she set her Lakeside Porches romance novels in Tompkins Falls on Chestnut Lake. To the outside world, she is a tech-savvy college professor. To friends and readers, she is the author of warm-hearted romance. She recently finished writing book four of the Lakeside Porches romance books and novellas and is planning book five.

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Release Day: Gates of Perdition

Mystery/Thriller/Horror

Date Published: 1/31/2015

Mary watches in awe as a man plays guitar at gloomy Indianhead Reservoir. His skill is astonishing. But Mary is in the wrong place at the wrong time.

This man is a physiological oddity who suffered wicked abuse at the hands of his foster parents—for which he took revenge. He wants to be normal and whole again, but a manipulative psychiatrist has wakened the demons.

Mary will spend her last days chained in a basement—until she bears the child of a madman the media will call the Indianhead River Killer.

He will become Pennsylvania’s most prolific serial killer, and he will wreck the lives of the people in Belcorte. Twin Peaks meets The Silence of the Lambs in GATES OF PERDITION, the prequel to MIRRORS OF ANGUISH.

Excerpt

Kurst Hellerman pulled a gold key from his pocked and unlocked the door to the study.

It was then that Arthur Townsend met the Monster of Belcorte. He sat in Hellerman’s study, tucked in the leather lounge chair. His eyes were closed. Immediately Arthur noticed the scars from his abusive background. His foster parents, Kurst said, had been devoutly religious. His foster father, in fact, had been a minister. The upbringing of this patient—Kurst called him Patient X—was riddled with malevolence.

When they had entered the room, Patient X’s eyes had flickered open, but he did not speak. Only the heaving of his chest indicated his heart still beat, that blood still surged through his veins.

Kurst circled the leather chair, stood behind the patient, and placed a palm each on his shoulders. “I’ve brought a friend. Would you like to meet my friend?”

Patient X’s gaze traveled from oblivion and fell on Arthur. One side of his face was so badly burned that he looked half human and half … something else. Maybe an opossum, its fur burned down to its pink skin.

As Arthur would replay that image in his mind the next several weeks—as the months traveled by, he would remember it as an image of great horror. And sometime he would wake in the black of night, startle and jump up in bed, and that face, that terribly ruined face, was imprinted in his mind.

For now, though, he felt a wave of sadness—a sadness that squeezed his heart and pricked at his throat. Who had done these things to another human being? What cowardly monster? That his parents were responsible, that this man had suffered at the hands of parents who worshiped a figurehead named Jesus—likely a delusional schizophrenic like the Muslim Muhammad—left him not terribly surprised. And despite this wave of sadness, Arthur felt threatened. He was compelled to leave the room.

Patient X said, “I can smell her perfume on you. Where is she?”

Who was he referring to? Heaven forbid, was it Margaret, or was it one of his self-aggrandizing hussies who sat in his—

No, it was Margaret. He hadn’t lectured, not since this morning. With the word “who” on his lips, Arthur gazed across at Kurst, who was lost in his own delusional grin, those eyes burning like pilot lights.

About the Author

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R.P. was enamored of horror from a young age, where he would sneak down to the family room with his mother sleeping, turn on that big console television--think 1970s here--and watch a double shot of horror on Pittsburgh's Chiller Theater.

He then took to creative writing, borrowing pieces of his favorite films. Today, he writes a unique blend of literary mystery and horror—throw in some crime now and then. It's one part H.P. Lovecraft and one part David Lynch and one part Kurt Vonnegut—and probably some other stuff, too. He is author of three books: Mirrors of Anguish, Demon of the Fall, and Gates of Perdition. He also co-authored Dangerous Grace, a soon-to-be-released erotic thriller.

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Blog Tour: His Name is Killian by Ella Adamian

Erotic Romance

Date Published: November 25, 2014

Killian Stone paints harpies. 

Killian Stone is not into vanilla sex. 

Killian Stone suffers from mood swings. 

Killian Stone has done something very bad. 

The day the painter approaches her on the bridge and asks her to pose for him is the beginning of a lust Melissa won’t be able to bridle. When Killian Stone offers her a month of submission, she’s already too captivated to turn him down. His unhinged sexuality lets her explore her own dark fantasies, but his anger outbursts are scary and devastating. As the time goes by, Melissa realizes there’s something more than just irritability and anger. He has done something which doesn’t let him rest.

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Excerpt

I started with a short drizzle. When the first drop of molten wax made contact with the skin in the center of his chest, he winced with his whole body. He wasn’t expecting it; his arms jolted, but then he smirked and relaxed, waiting for the next drop. I didn’t make him wait. Another splash of wax spurted over his abs and slid down to his left side, cooling and solidifying on its way.

This time he grunted. And again I had that strange feeling of arousal every time the hot wax landed on his skin. Each part of his body reacted differently to the heat. He flinched when the wax nipped his chest, shuddered when it puddled over his tummy; he writhed beneath me when I dripped a drop of wax on his nipple, his breath turning into a quick gasp. I detected every movement of his muscles, watched his ribs shuffle smoothly underneath his skin, his V lines tease me with a light motion. Those moments of us together—him surrendering to me, and me toying with his body—were moments of intimacy and of deep closeness, of trusting each other, and loving each other. As the wax streamed across his skin, as hot as the blood that was snaking through his veins, his body language was telling me things no one else could decipher.

“How does it feel?” I asked, holding the candle above his chest.

“Scalding.”

I stroked his sweating face, grazed it lightly with my nails. If it was scalding then I needed to quench his fire. I grabbed an ice cube from the bucket on the tray and tipped his brow. He flinched at first, thinking I had dripped hot wax on his face. I couldn’t help giggling. Dripping hot wax on the face is a big “No.” I’d never do that, but it was funny to see how he’d already lost the ability to tell the wax from the ice.

“Let’s play a game,” I said. “We’ll call it ‘A Song of Ice and Fire.’ You’ll have to guess what I’m dipping on you. If you guess wrong, the wax will become hotter.” I bent the glass holder and sprinkled the wax over his tensed biceps. He wasn’t expecting to feel the heat on his arm and laughed nervously.

“Fire,” he whispered.

Another drop of wax landed inside his thigh.

“Fire,” he said again.

A bead of water came off the ice cube and splashed around his nipple, dissipating into his warm body.

“Fire.”

I giggled again. It seemed unbelievable how the contrasting sensations of icy and heat had become the same for him.

“Bad boy,” I said, then pressed my two fingers over his belly button and poured a stream of wax on his abs, watching it course down to the spot between his tummy and groin.

“Dammit,” he hissed through pain.

The icy drops rained across his face—on his sweltering brow, and the parted lips, and the stubbly chin—and the scarce rivulets made their way to his throbbing throat.

“Ice,” he sighed out.

I bowed to his neck and licked the tiny puddle of water in the hollow beneath his Adam’s apple. “Good boy. Now try again.”

I took an ice cube and trailed it slowly over his collarbone, then across his chest and down to his hard cock.

“Ice,” he muttered, and as I dipped hot wax over his solar plexus, he again said, “Ice.”

The molten punishment cascaded down his skin. I loved how deeply he moaned, wondering if he’d still not stop me if I poured the hot wax on his genitals. I looked at his face covered with the blindfold. The lips were parted, and low, almost inaudible pants were escaping his mouth. I needed to know if those lips would give out a loud cry if I did that. I covered his cock with my hand and tested a drop of wax on the back of my palm. Although I was holding the candle almost fifteen inches above his body, the wax was still hot.

I saw him tense. Obviously he was not comfortable being cuffed down, and sometimes jerked his hands with so much strength I thought he’d break the bedposts. It has to be hard to give up power when you’re used to being in total control. His cuffed hands clenched into fists and the veins on his neck swelled. He held his breath but even then said nothing. I sat on his knees, the candle in my hand, watching him and waiting for him to stop me. I knew he had guessed my intention, but he was silent. Then I looked at his erection. Big and swollen, begging for my touch. No, that much pain I couldn’t cause him. I took a condom from the tray and sheathed him gently. When I saddled him and took his flesh inside me, a relieved moan of pleasure escaped his mouth. My poor lover, he’d really thought I’d scald his genitals. I took him deeper and began rising up and down, still holding the candle in my hand and dropping the molten wax across his chest and abs, painting his torso with narrow squiggles that slid to his sides and drew abstract patterns over his body.

I may be a meek mistress, but at least I made him come moaning out my name. Then I glanced at what I had done. The wax had cooled all over his body, a composition of blue patterns and unintelligible scrawls stretching from the top of his pecs and spreading over his taut torso. I scraped a bit of wax with my nail, and it flaked off like a thin layer of skin.

From the tray on the bed I picked up a butter knife and began to peel off the pieces of wax bit by bit. I knew it might be nibbling, but that wax had to be scraped away, and I felt like shaping him of clay, raking cautiously scales of wax with the knife or my fingernails. With every scrape he tensed then relaxed as the frozen wax broke and came off him, revealing his pink skin underneath. The hardest was when I reached his treasure trail. I didn’t know how to do that without epilating him. I tried to be gentle, but it didn’t help. He grunted when I plucked out some hairs, then cussed when I pulled another inch of wax off him. I had been shielding that spot with my palm, but the wax had still managed to spread there.

Sorry, my love, I should have been more attentive.

I took the blindfold off his face. It was soaked in sweat. He was lying with his eyes closed, detached and silent. When I laid my palm over his chest, the heat of his body passed to my skin. I put the tray on the floor, then unlocked the cuffs and took a glass of water to his lips. He drank the water greedily as I raised his head and leaned it against my shoulder.

“Hug me,” he murmured when a chill passed through his body. I covered him with a duvet, got under it and pressed my naked body to his. God, how hot he was! But despite the heat of his skin it seemed that he felt chilled. It happens after a wax play, and I continued to lay over him, caress his face and kiss gently his closed eyelids, his nose and lips, and whispered soothing words until his respiration stabilized and the tremors ceased. He raised his lids slowly and made eye contact with me. That soft, exhausted glance did something strange with my heart. It quailed suddenly with a twinge of pain, making me scowl. Killian smiled to me reassuringly, then patted the side of my face with his knuckles. How does he always know what’s going on in my head?

I was in need of care too, so I bowed down to his face, and for a very long time we were just kissing, kissing, and kissing. I love the way he kisses, starting with short, gentle pecks, growing passionate, going down my neck and returning to my lips, slowing down again, then grabbing my jawline and taking my breath away.

“Did you date anyone these past months?” he asked me as I lay in his arms, my face buried against his warm chest.

“No,” I said. “And you?”

“Hookers.”

“Disgusting.”

“Why?”

“Never mind,” I murmured.

When his fingers dug into my hair, I yawned and plastered myself tighter to his body, which was still abnormally hot. I was feeling sleepy but didn’t want to fall asleep and miss a single touch. I had missed that blissful state so much.

Ella Adamian

Ella Adamian lives in a small country named Armenia and writes in English. She also hides her identity, so that the local law enforcement bodies won’t fine or detain her for her explicit erotic novel “His Name is Killian.” Currently she’s working on the sequel of her first book.

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Blog Tour: The Bicycle Waltz

Women's Fiction

Date Published: November 20, 2014

Haunted by a traumatic incident in his past, Alan Christiansen desperately wants to learn how to dance.  After several failed attempts, he stumbles onto Choreographed Ballroom Dance (Round Dance), and begins to make progress.  His instructors, Ray and Shelly Tenrio, are famous in the Round Dance world, popular choreographers and featured teachers on the festival circuit.  Once married, they are now divorced, but Ray seeks a reconciliation.   Shelly's world is turned upside down when one of her nephews is diagnosed with a rare case of thyroid cancer.  As his parents fly around the country searching for answers, it falls to Shelly to care for his twin brother.  Uncomfortable with children in general and boys in particular, she turns to Alan for help.   Thrown together with the sort of man she used to disparage, she discovers hitherto unsuspected talents and depth in Alan, and unsuspected and somewhat unwelcome feelings in herself.  In the end, Shelly must choose between the sort of life she's always known with Ray and a life she's only glimpsed with Alan.  Along the way, we learn about round dance, romance, thyroid cancer, Silicon Valley startups, the wit and wisdom of Bill Watterson, and what sort of vegetable goes best with tuna-chip casserole

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I didn't know what I was getting into when I started reading this. I think this is one of those stories that will stick with you. It has romance and deeper issues, but also is kept light and fun. I think the characters both main and supporting were very well developed. The plot and pacing was excellent. I truly enjoyed escaping into this novel. 

Paul and Jean Zimmer are first time authors.  “The Bicycle Waltz” began with casual remark by Jean that it would be great if somebody were to write a book featuring their favorite pastime, Choreographed Ballroom Dance (Round Dance).  That is, somebody else should write such a book.

But then a story began to form around a germ of an idea Paul had while watching some instructors at a dance festival.  Pretty soon, the story had taken on a life of its own.  Scenes played out across the kitchen table and the characters became like old friends, crying out to have their story told.  Before they knew it, the book had practically written itself.

Paul is, by training, a computer chip designer.  He has worked at several large companies, including Hewlett Packard and Cisco, as well as several start-ups, so he had the knowledge to describe this world to readers.  He has written many award-winning technical papers, but these are (or are intended to be!) non-fiction.  Writing fiction required something of a leap of faith.  

Jean trained as a speech therapist, but left the working world to become a full-time mom when their twin sons were born.  She is an avid reader, and she knows what makes a story flow.  Her detail-oriented approach was the perfect balance to Paul’s impatience to get on with the story, and she thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to help craft a story herself.

In addition to their twin sons, the Zimmers have a daughter.  It is her thyroid cancer story that Matthew lives in “The Bicycle Waltz”.

The Zimmers have traveled far and wide, and lived in Germany and England.  They currently live in Roseville, CA, near Sacramento, where they are active in the local Round Dance community.  

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Blog Tour: Occult .45

Horror

Date Published: June 1, 2014

Preston Cobb is always looking to make a quick buck selling any kind of gun he can get his hands on, but when the denizens of the weird west get in the way, Preston's his own best customer. Now collected in one omnibus, join Preston as he faces an ancient evil in the snowy Sierra Nevadas in ABOMINABLE, finds romance and bloody mystery in Nevada mining country in SILVER MOON, and squares off with the undead south of the border in DEAD TO RITES. Finally, Cobb finds retirement more exciting than he'd like in an exclusive bonus short story: GUNRUNNER TO THE STARS.

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REVIEW

A compilation of adventures for Cobb. He encounters a wide variety of characters throughout the course of the novel. I love the fact that Cobb's personality stays the same and we can be invested in him and follow him through each short. 

Nick Carcano spent his childhood pulling cactus out of his feet and listening to coyotes howl in the California high desert. He speaks rusty Mandarin and Spanish. When he's not writing his day job involves literally saving the world, which sometimes involves shooting zombies, but usually involves a lot of e-mail.  If you like dim sum, RPGs, sci-fi, or corgis, you should be his friend.  He’s currently working on The Big Weird One a series of sci-fi/horror short stories set during WWII and will release his first novel, Boom: A Wild West Heist, in fall 2015. 

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Release Day: Crossing Danger

Mystery
Date Published: April 27, 2015



Shelby Nichols isn’t your average soccer-mom turned private investigator. She’s more on the quirky side with a little wild thrown in. That’s because a near-fatal gunshot wound to the head left her with the ability to read minds. This lands her in all kinds of trouble, and this time is no exception. Helping a reporter, Billie Jo, get the low-down on a case is just the tip of the iceberg. When her best friend’s niece goes missing, Shelby is pulled into a conspiracy that involves the police and the leader of a violent drug ring. Add to that a stranger in town with ties to the mob-boss she works for, along with a known assassin out to kill him, and Shelby is crossing danger at every turn. Will she find the answers in time? Or will this be her last adventure?




EXCERPT

I stood inside the small women’s locker room dressed in white drawstring pants that ended several inches above my ankles, and a robe-like top that crisscrossed to close in front. Luckily, I wore a black tank top underneath, since there wasn’t anything besides a white belt to hold it together.
I tied the belt in a knot and let out a breath, hoping I’d done it right. The white training uniform was a bit stiff, and worse, felt like a poufy marshmallow around me. I let out a disgusted huff, knowing that I looked like the womanly version of the Pillsbury dough-boy.
Billie Jo waited just outside the door, but it was hard to step out there dressed like this. Did I really need to do this? Especially since I’d know what everyone was thinking about me? Reading minds often came in handy, but not in situations like this.
Of course, the fact that a serial killer had recently taken me hostage and nearly killed me certainly helped. It was time to learn some self-defense, so nothing like that could ever happen to me again.
So what if I looked silly, and that with my ‘superpower’ of reading minds I’d know what everyone thought of me. I could take it. Besides, I had to start somewhere, right?
I took a calming breath and opened the door.
Billie smiled encouragingly before glancing down at the way I’d tied my belt. Her brows drew sharply together, and she was thinking it looked like a disaster. No way did she want me out on the mat looking like that. “Here…let me help you with that. Tie it this way…” She demonstrated how to do it, then pulled it tight. “Okay. Now you’re good to go.”
“Um…thanks,” I said.
She didn’t miss the embarrassed flush creeping up my neck and was thinking I should just suck it up and be grateful she was there to keep me from looking like a dork. With an indulgent smile that contradicted her thoughts, she turned and led the way to the mat.
Swallowing my pride, I followed behind, noting that her black skirt-like pants with the waist-high belt looked ten times better than my outfit. Compared to her, I looked like I was still in my underwear and had forgotten to put my pants on.
A vision of getting out there and everyone laughing at me crossed my mind but, given how Billie made sure my belt was right, I didn’t think she’d let me embarrass her like that. Still, once we got to the mat, I let out a relieved breath to find I wasn’t the only one wearing white training pants.
Billie did a quick bow before stepping onto the mat, so I bowed as well. I followed her to stand in a line before the teacher, or Sensei, as everyone called him. He wore the same black pants as Billie but, on him, they seemed more dignified and masterful. He was also a big, tall and brawny kind of guy. With his long, gray-black hair pulled back into a ponytail, he intimidated the crap out of me.
He caught my gaze and nodded a cool greeting while I tried to hide my jittering nerves. After he introduced me to the rest of the class, we began with a few stretches and warm-ups. Then he taught us that the most important part of Aikido was learning how to fall safely and then roll around to get back up.
Besides Billie, there was only one other woman in the class. Her name was Melissa, and she was a second-degree black belt like Billie. With the two of them paying special attention to me, I began to relax and actually started to enjoy myself. Even the rolling-around part didn’t seem so bad. They showed me some basic techniques, and my confidence grew.
Near the end of class, Sensei asked if I had any questions, so I blurted out the one thing I’d been thinking about all night. “Yeah. I was just wondering…if someone was to get me in a choke hold with his elbow around my neck and started dragging me backwards, would I be able to get away?”
His gaze caught mine, and his eyes narrowed. He was thinking that, from the fear in my eyes and the tone of my voice, it probably wasn’t a rhetorical question. No. I had the look of someone who’d been there, and a spike of anger rushed over him. He’d seen it more times than he liked, and it always made him furious.
“Yes you can. I’ll show you how.” He turned his gaze to Melissa and asked her to help him demonstrate the technique. Since she was about my size, and he was huge, I was interested to see how she could possibly take him on and come out on top.
He stood behind her and clamped his elbow around her neck beneath her chin. “The first thing you do is tuck your chin down so they can’t choke you.” She did this, and Sensei proceeded to explain how she needed to pull down on his elbow and step back, then grab his wrist and forcefully push outward with his elbow still bent. “At this point, you will break his arm.”
Whoa! That sounded pretty awesome, and I couldn’t help smiling with wicked delight. He demonstrated the technique a few more times, adding different variations to the attack, and then asked me to practice with him. Him! The biggest guy in the class!
I nervously licked my lips and, as he put his arm around my neck, that feeling of helplessness washed over me. But he patiently talked me through the moves and, after breaking his hold a few times, confidence replaced my fear. I even forced him to the mat once. Who would have thought? By the end of class, I was pumped. This was the right place for me, and I could hardly wait to come back and learn more.



About the Author

As the author of the Shelby Nichols Adventure Series, Colleen is often asked if Shelby Nichols is her alter-ego. "Definitely," she says. "Shelby is the epitome of everything I wish I dared to be." Known for her laugh since she was a kid, Colleen has always tried to find the humor in every situation and continues to enjoy writing about Shelby's adventures. "I love getting Shelby into trouble...I just don't always know how to get her out of it!" Colleen lives in the Rocky Mountains with her family. Besides writing, she loves a good book, biking, hiking, and playing board and card games with family and friends. She loves to connect with readers and admits that fans of the series keep her writing.

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PROMO: For the Love of a Gypsy

Historical Romance
Date Published: April 17, 2015




Can she betray the Gypsy clan who saved her for the love of a stranger?

Martine Petrulengo is stifled by the traditions of her adopted Gypsy clan. They gave her new life when she was left all alone. And now she is expected to marry in order to forge clan allegiances. When she nurses handsome and charming Lord Declan Forrester back to health, she is lured by the seductive idea of life outside of the clan—and the prospect of love with the Irishman.

Can he prove his innocence in order to claim his Gypsy?
Lord Declan Forrester trades prison bars for a loveless marriage in order to save his soul. And now he’s trying to prove his innocence not only as a traitor, but that of his wife’s murder.  When the lovely and beguiling Martine saves him, he falls in love for the first time. Yet, the obstacles of his past seem insurmountable.

Martine and Declan must fight tradition, prejudice and the haunting ghosts of their past in order to fight for their love and ensure their future.


EXCERPT

A rider urged his horse forward. He wore a leather doublet of a quality she’d never seen. The black hide was pierced with metal and thick stitching formed elaborate Celtic designs. Regal and rich. His breeches hugged his thighs so closely ’twas indecent, but that didn’t stop her gaze from venturing along the hard expanse of his legs. Heat crept up her neck and flushed her face like a flame.

He tipped his head in her brother’s direction. Martine gasped.

The stranger from the glen.

“We’ve business,” was all he said.

Rafe nodded, but didn’t twitch a muscle. Martine wanted to run from the confrontation, hide in her grandmother’s berth safe from the bewitching blue eyes of the intruder. But her feet stayed rooted to the ground.

Och, this man was handsome. Strong jaw, brilliant eyes, and a broad mouth composed a man so striking. His face was a composite of hard planes of granite that matched the intense glare of his eyes.

The man sighed and his comrades inched closer to his side. They dressed as he did, except their clothing lacked the obvious quality she could see stitched in the leather of his.

“The villagers are concerned with your presence, Gypsy.”

She could feel the tension in the tight line of her brother’s shoulders, taste the anger in the air that hummed about him and the stranger. His jaw clenched and he remained silent.

“I’ve come to ask you to leave. Gypsies bring foul memories to Riverton.” His voice was rough, husky, as he commanded her brother.

Rafe stepped forward. She knew he wished to throttle the tactless man. “We’re Tinkers. Men and women with skills and trade.”

“And itchy fingers if Lady Bannon’s sheep have say of it,” the man behind the stranger spouted. The other men chortled and slapped the man on the back.

The stranger held up his hand and was rewarded with instant silence.

Her brother shrugged, a harmless action unless you were Rafe Petrulengo. “My clan has no need of other people’s sheep.”

Martine took a step forward.

The stranger’s head snapped in her direction.

He leaned forward in his saddle. “You’ll leave my land, or pay the consequences.” His tone brooked no room for argument.

“We’re people of the land, trainers of dogs, and masters of horses.”

Her brother’s words seemed to befuddle the stranger’s friends. They looked to one another, smirks creasing their faces. If only they knew her brother’s genius.

“I’m Lord Declan Forrester, Earl of Riverton,” the stranger pompously said. “This is my land—and you are to leave.”

Rafe bowed deep at the waist, his extended arm almost grazing the dirt before him. “As you wish.”

“Be gone by morning. ’Tis all the time I’ll give you.”

A shiver ran up her spine at the cold gruffness of his voice. He clucked his horse forward, a magnificent animal, well-muscled with a gleaming coat of black.

Martine was so aware of the lord’s presence, her skin tingled. And she knew without looking up that trouble was about to ensue. He stopped the horse before her and just sat. When her gaze met his, the lord nodded his head and gave a mocking salute.

She sighed, not knowing why she was reacting so unlike herself, why she was enthralled with the stranger.

With a nudge to his horse’s side, he was off without a backward glance at her or her brother.

One look at Rafe and she knew he’d witnessed what had transpired. Rage boiled in his dark eyes and tension pulsed his jaw. He tapped a pointy leather boot against the packed earth. The women of the clan weren’t to be appraised by Gajos. Especially a Gajo who’d ordered the Kapo to leave.

No matter, she thought with a smile of satisfaction. Lord Forrester had acknowledged her, and the realization swept through her with unparalleled warmth.



About the Author

Madelyn Hill has always loved the written word. From the time she could read and all through her school years, she'd sneak books into her textbooks during school. And she devoured books daily. At the age of 10 she proclaimed she wanted to be a writer. After being a "closet" writer for several years, she sent her manuscripts out there and is now published with Soul Mate Publishing. And she couldn't be happier! A resident of Western New York, she moved from one Rochester to another Rochester to be with the love of her life. They now have 3 children and keep busy cooking, watching their children's sporting events, and of course reading!

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