tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32510435120985517562024-03-14T01:19:13.329-07:00"Fall Under My Spell" Tabitha Shay's Romance BlogTabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.comBlogger169125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-79057902040269194492017-03-15T12:00:00.001-07:002017-03-15T12:00:44.866-07:00Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-37334978737693520582017-03-15T11:58:00.000-07:002017-03-15T12:00:17.093-07:00THE DAY I LEARNED THERE REALLY ARE U.S. MARSHALS <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
I’m sure I never gave much thought to there really
being U.S. Marshals. If the subject ever crossed my mind, it would have been in
the form of watching Marshal Matt Dillion ride across the plains of Kansas on
his big gray horse or maybe Wyatt Earp in a shoot-out in Dodge City. Hell, I
thought U.S. Marshals died out with the Old West.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
I’m here to tell you, that isn’t true. They’re here.
And they’re likely here to stay…forever. Which is a good thing. I’m in no way
denying they’re a good thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
But the day I learned they were real was a real
eye-opener for me. I was <i>sooo</i> not
prepared to meet a U.S. Marshal, especially not with no makeup on, my hair
slicked back in a ponytail, baggy sweatpants, overly large top, plus that
little extra bit of weight a woman puts on every month. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
But, come hell or highwater, I was about to meet one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
The day started out like any other day, a nice,
cloud-free sunny sky, typical for Florida, with not a hint of warning of what
was about to happen. The only thing different that morning, was that my younger
son, Shayne was home sick with the flu. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Around nine a.m. the phone rang. You would think a
tingle of warning would slide down my spine warning me not to answer the phone,
or I would hear the theme from <i>Jaws</i>
in the back of my head telling me nothing good was about to happen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
But no. Nothing like that occurred. So, here I am, not
a forewarning in sight and me, bloated, innocent, and unprepared, answered the
phone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Hello?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Mrs. Blaylock?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Yes?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“This is Marshal Dan Trooper.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Uh-huh. Yeah, sure it is.” In the back of my mind I’m
thinking this is one of Shayne’s school buddies pulling a prank because Shayne
is absent from school. Playing along, I said, “If this is about him being
absent from school today, he’s sick with the flu.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“No, ma’am, this isn’t about him being absent from
school, but I do need you to bring him to the school.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Yeah, right. Is this a joke? You aren’t really a U.S.
Marshal. There’s no such thing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Yes, ma’am, I assure you, there really are U.S.
Marshals, and I’m one of them.” By this time, his voice was dead serious, a
thread impatient, and I’m feeling damn nervous. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
<i>Why the hell is
a U.S. Marshal calling my house? I haven’t done anything wrong. Lately.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“I need you to bring your son, Shayne to the school. I
have some questions he needs to answer.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Can you tell me what this is about?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“I’ll tell you when you get here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
<i>Huh. Okay. </i>“He’s
in the bed with the flu.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Surely, no respectable U.S. Marshal would want an
over-protective mama to get her child up and drag him out of the house to be
questioned when said child was so ill.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
And why the hell was I arguing with this man? I didn’t
mean to question him or his authority. Of course, my mind was numb. I couldn’t
think, else I’d shut my big mouth and just say, ‘Yes, sir’, ‘No, sir’, and, ‘No
problem, sir’. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
But all I could think was my son is ill. I didn’t want
to disturb him. At the same time, I was terrified. Why did a U.S. Marshall want
to question my son? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
I don’t think the man hesitated with his response. “I
need you to bring your son to the school. <i>Now.</i>
Or I’ll come get him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Holy shit! “I’ll bring him, but I have to wake him up.
He’ll have to get ready, but we’ll be there in a little bit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
By now, my gut burned, churned, and my head pounded.
My hands shook. I was ready to burst into tears. What the hell has my poor baby
done that warrants a call from a U.S. Marshal? I couldn’t think of anything. I
knew he hadn’t robbed a bank or we’d be living high on the hog. He hadn’t
kidnapped anyone. I’d know that for sure, because we lived in a trailer and
there wasn’t room for anyone extra.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Anyway, I hurried to my son’s bedroom. “Shayne, you
have to get up,” I yelled in a calm voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Mom, I’m sick.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“I know, but they want you to come to the school.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Why?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“You tell me. It was a U.S. Marshall that called.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
By now, Shayne had poked his head out from under the
covers. “U.S. Marshal? What did he want?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“He wants you at the school. <i>Now.</i> What have you done?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
My son is fifteen. He’s a typical teenager, but still,
a good kid. At least, I thought he was. I couldn’t imagine what he could have
done, what heinous crime he might have committed to warrant all this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
He flung back the covers and moved to the edge of the
bed. “I don’t think it’s anything serious, Mom.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
He says this to me and I’m thinking, <i>Oh, hell yeah, it’s serious. This is a U.S.
Marshal calling my house. I didn’t even know we still had U.S. Marshals, but I
do now. It. Is. Serious.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Not serious?” I blinked and remained calm. “You know
what this is about?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“It’s probably about the school bomb,” he said
nonchalantly. No big deal. Just a little old school bomb. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
My head reeled. My hands turned sweaty. “Bomb? School
bomb? <i>What school bomb?</i> Has the
school been bombed? <i>Why didn’t I know
that?”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“No, Mom, the school hasn’t been bombed.” So, damn
patient, when I’m on the edge of a breakdown. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“What’s going on? How are you involved in a school
bombing?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“I’m not involved in a school bombing.” Again, soft
and patient, like he was explaining to a little child.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
In that moment, I felt like a little child. I wanted
to jump in his bed and pull those covers over my head and never crawl out again,
but sadly, we all must face the real world, and today, this was my real world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“You’ll find out what it’s all about when we get to
the school, Mom. I have to get ready.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
He dismissed me, like he was the parent. Standing
there, I realized my son was too mature, too grown up for his age. In a matter
of seconds, he’d become a man in my eyes. I wanted to weep, yet at the same
time, I wanted to hug him, hold him close, protect him from the evils of the
world. My son, who was just a boy, couldn’t possibly be involved in a school
bombing in any form or fashion. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
I looked back on my years of rearing him. I’d taught
him right from wrong, taught him to be a good human being and never harm others.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
But I doubted myself. S<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">urely, I taught him
not to do such ugly things, taught him not to destroy, but to appreciate life
and all that entailed, to come to me if he had problems. I’d be there for him.
Yet, with </span><span style="text-indent: 0.3in;">something so huge looming before us, I didn’t know if
I’d be able to do anything to help him. This was serious. The long arm of the
law had reached out for my baby. I was terrified it’d take him away from me. In
these kind of moments, you aren’t sure you’ve done anything right when it comes
to turning your child into a responsible adult.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
I walked the floor and bit my thumb nail down to the
quick as I waited on him to get dressed. When he came out of his room, he
wasn’t nervous or upset, or even willing to run, which is what I wanted to do.
I wanted to take him, cover him in bubble wrap, hold him in my arms like I did
when he was a baby and lead him to my getaway car ASAP.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .3in;">
When we arrived at the school,
which was five minutes from the house, someone guided us to a room. In this
room stood a long table where several people were seated on one side. The empty
chairs on the other side were for me, my husband, and son. A tall, lanky man
stood back in a corner. I knew he was the marshal right away. He had that air
of authority about him. He didn’t crack a smile. He stood with his arms folded
across his chest and a hard look in his eyes. A, <i>Don’t Tread on me</i>, warning on his face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Sit down,” he said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
I sat down. Who was I to argue with a U.S. Marshal? I
figured I’d already used up my quota of debating with the man. Not a whisper of
disagreement escaped my lips. My husband sat down beside me. Still. Quiet. I
swear he looked paler than Death, and I felt damned ethereal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Is this Shayne?” the marshal asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
I nodded. “Yes sir, this is my son, Shayne. My
youngest son. I have three other sons.” I guess I was volunteering them if he
wanted to question them, too. “Yes, Shayne’s my baby.” Why I babbled, I have no
clue, but I couldn’t make mouth behave.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
There was another man in the room seated at the table,
the superintendent of the school. He suddenly jumped up and leaned across the
table right in Shayne’s face and shouted, “If I find out you had anything to do
with this threat to bomb the school, you’ll be expelled for the rest of the
year!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
I was so taken aback. I had no clue how to respond to
that. And I thought, ‘Oh God, if they expel him, he’ll lose a year and have to
go through that grade again’. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Before I could say a word in my son’s defense, the
U.S. Marshall plowed right in, in a no-nonsense, take-charge-kind-of-way. “It’s
my understanding that if it wasn’t for this young man reporting the threat of a
bomb, you wouldn’t know there was a threat. It’s not his fault. He’s your
witness.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Oh, yeah. <i>Take
that, dumb superintendent!</i> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Suddenly, the U.S. Marshal was my hero, my son’s
savior, my hero, my hero, my hero. The mother came out in me immediately. My
heart burst with pride and relief. My son wasn’t a terrorist/bomber, after all,
but a possible witness to the event. That changed everything. I hoped.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Now then, Shayne,” the marshal said, “why don’t you
tell us what happened, beginning yesterday. I understand this all started on
your bus ride home after school?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Yes, sir,” my son said, so polite. So, mannerly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Did I teach him that? An hour earlier, I would have
said I’d failed to teach him a damn thing, but now…now, things were different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“My buddy, Mike and I were riding behind two boys on
the bus,” Shayne continued, “and we heard them making plans to write a note to
bomb the school. We didn’t know if they were serious or just joking around, so
we tried to listen, but we couldn’t hear anything else they said.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“What happened then?” the marshal asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“The boys got off the bus and Mike and I moved up to
their seats to see if they left any evidence behind.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Did they?” the marshal inquired. He was very patient
with his questioning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“They did.” Shayne nodded. “They left a note in the
seat. Mike and I read it and thought it needed to be turned over to the school
authorities.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“What did the note say?” Again, the marshal was calm
and quiet with his questioning. Thank God, because I was on the verge of
hysterics. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Who were these boys who wanted to threaten the school?
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Were they dangerous? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Would they go after Shayne and his friend for turning
them in?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Shayne lifted a brow and shrugged. The note, written
with pencil, stated, ‘There’s a bomb at the school.’” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Duh! Simple enough to deduct.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
The marshal handed Shayne a plain piece of notebook
paper all wrinkled and a small corner torn off a sheet of paper. “Is this the
note?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Shayne looked it over. “Yes, sir, that’s the note we
found on the seat.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“And you and your friend saw them write it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
“Yes, sir.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
Then Shayne had a question of his own, which astounded
all of us. “Did you catch the boys who wrote the note?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
I didn’t think the marshal would answer him, but he
did. “We talked to them already. They won’t be attending school here for quite
some time. It seemed one of the boys has a birthday today, and he wanted the
school to close down for one day so he could celebrate without being marked
absent.” He shook his head. “He got his wish, the school is closed for today,
but as I said, neither boy will be back. If they give you any trouble, call me.
I’ll take care of them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
I was never so relieved to get out of a place in all
my life. Still, I had a big grin on my face. My son, the hero, brought about
the day I learned, there really are U.S. Marshals. <i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-23505078695004998422014-11-21T07:11:00.002-08:002014-11-21T07:11:21.414-08:00Please Welcome the Fantastic Romance Author, Flossie Benton Rogers<br />
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<img alt="Wytchfae 5 - Lord of Fire" height="320" src="http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/bmz_cache/0/036f79b185bb8611c4be276b84a387a1.image.125x187.jpg" width="213" />L<b style="text-indent: 0in;">ord of Fire – Wytchfae 5</b></div>
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Good Morning Readers,<br />
Today's special guest is the super paranormal romance author, Flossie Benton Rogers. Please make her feel welcome and leave a comment for this wonderful lady.<br />
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<b>Hi, Tabitha! Flossie
Benton Rogers here. Thank you for featuring Lord of Fire today. By the way, I
love your witch books (and your other books as well)! I thought we’d start out
by talking about the fae dimensions and a few of the beings that inhabit them.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Author Bio:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Flossie Benton Rogers is the author of the Wytchfae paranormal romance series. She is Sagittarius with a Libra ascendant and Taurus moon, or a 5<sup>th</sup> generation Floridian and freedom loving mystic. She pursues her passion for mythology by writing romances with fairies, goddesses, ghosts, angels, demons, and other magical beings. The Wytchfae world brims with dimensions parallel to our own. Some are welcoming, others dangerous and forbidding. Through the darkest night and the fright of unchained chaos, love will always shine.</div>
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<b>Blurb:</b> When The Hawk meets his Wytchfae, the result is spontaneous combustion.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Garnet McAnna chases the demon responsible for attacking and enslaving innocent fae familiars. She never expected to run headlong into a mesmerizing stranger known as The Hawk. Nor did she anticipate the way his masculine power kindles a womanly flame within her.</span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Exiled from an elite warrior's brigade, Lord of Fire Gabriel Hawk guards his heart and his solitude. He wants nothing to do with the world of men or the realm of fae. Then a beautiful Wytchfae bursts into his life, stirring desire and sparking need. Garnet is on a dangerous mission, and he can't let her face the evil alone. What else can he do but fight beside her? When she disappears, he raises hell to find her. Will he be too late? Will darkness conquer this couple or will love burn their souls into one?</span></div>
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<img alt="Wytchfae 5 - Lord of Fire" height="320" src="http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/bmz_cache/0/036f79b185bb8611c4be276b84a387a1.image.125x187.jpg" width="213" /><b style="text-indent: 0in;">The Wytchfae World: </b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">The
realms encountered in the Wytchfae series of paranormal romance / urban fantasy
novels are closer to us than a hair’s breadth. These mysterious places are
populated with faeries, witches, demons, angels, goddesses, dark guardians,
ghosts and other magical beings. The beings dwell in multiple dimensions
parallel to our own earth dimension. Some of the worlds are welcoming, others
dangerous and forbidding. Through the darkest night and the fright of unchained
chaos, love will always shine.</span></div>
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<b>Wytchfae: </b>Trained
witches who possess a smattering of fae blood. Although they live on our
regular earth plane, some of them visit other worlds as well as other times.
Different Wytchfae have different abilities.</div>
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<b>Grims: </b>Creatures
contained in a certain area of the Underworld.
Unfortunately for humans, their nourishment comes from sucking out a
person’s life energy via memories. Grims also relish the taste of human blood. </div>
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<b>Remnants:</b> Grims
who have degenerated into mindless, zombie-like slugs due to not having access
to enough “food.”</div>
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<b>Dark Guardians:</b>
Powerful male demigods who are in charge of various domains, such as the
undersea realm and the empty void between dimensions. They are often heroes of
the books.</div>
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<b>Tuatha de Danann: </b>Ancient
Celtic tribe that inspired the modern vision of fairies.</div>
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<b>Firbolg:</b> Enemies
of the Tuath. </div>
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<b>Succubi: </b>Ruled
by the demoness Lilith, a succubus will seduce dreaming men.</div>
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<b>Helios: </b>Lords of
Fire, warriors with control over fire and other dangerous elemental energies.</div>
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<b>Time Singers:</b>
Potent Wytchfae with the ability to transport others back and forth<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> in time.</div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span><b style="text-indent: 0in;">First Line Teaser:</b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">
She’d catch the demon tonight if it killed her.</span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><b style="text-indent: 0in;">Memorable Quote:</b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">
“Garnet McAnna, you’re the hottest woman in thirteen worlds.”</span></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><b style="text-indent: 0in;">Excerpt:</b></div>
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Lost
in her thoughts, Garnet ran up against something hard and springy, and a sharp
point pricked the soft flesh of her thumb. She squeezed off the pain with her
other hand. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Damned barbed wire.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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She
had already made it to the fence line and hadn’t even realized it. Sucking in a
deep breath, she cleared her mind to concentrate on the task at hand. She had
to edge around the boundary to the north side of this large piece of private
property to gain access to the portal. Then she’d hunker down in the bushes and
wait on the demon Borros.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Moving
swiftly again, she cut a wide swath away from the metal fence. Snorting sounds
came from within one of the corrals she had noted early this morning when she
skirted the property. Horses and a few cattle had grazed within. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Bearing
around the corner to head north toward the portal, a splash of incandescent
green appeared and then disappeared in front of her. Startled, she blinked and
reached into her coat pocket for the revolver. The weapon lay cold and
substantial in her hand. She stilled her body to a midnight silence.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The
eerie green reappeared and dashed around her body without spotlighting her in
any way. It formed a mysterious elongated glow. She clamped down harder on the
gun handle to stop her hand from trembling, while shifting positions to keep
the phenomenon in front of her. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Her
mind tumbled over possibilities. The light couldn’t be swamp gas, as it seemed
to proceed purposefully. Its movement created a slight whirring sound. A will
’o the wisp? Somehow she thought not, but what was it?<o:p></o:p></div>
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The
presence darted behind her. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Before
she could turn, a warm, corporeal hand covered her own and relieved her of the
weapon. Whirling around, she came face to face with—a man.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A gasp
escaped her lips. With his substantial height, he towered over her. A faint
greenish residue of light illuminated him enough so that the fierce scowl on
his face caused her heart to thump into overdrive. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She
swallowed, fingering the sheath of one of the knives in her pocket. Damn it,
next time she’d bring a backup piece. She forced herself to speak, but despite
her efforts, her voice rasped. “Give me back my weapon.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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His
sonorous growl reminded her of a feral animal. “Not so fast. What the hell are
you doing sneaking around my property with a firearm in the middle of the
night?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Video Book Trailer: </b><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTifE-174mE">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTifE-174mE</a>
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<b> </b><b style="text-indent: 0in;">Buy Links:</b></div>
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<b>Amazon </b><a href="http://amzn.to/1nzt1Bs">http://amzn.to/1nzt1Bs</a><u><span style="color: blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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<b>Secret Cravings
Publishing</b> <a href="http://bit.ly/1FKwWBu">http://bit.ly/1FKwWBu</a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b>Barnes & Noble </b><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/wytchfae-5-flossie-benton-rogers/1120627377?ean=2940046361803">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/wytchfae-5-flossie-benton-rogers/1120627377?ean=2940046361803</a><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Bookstrand </b><a href="http://www.bookstrand.com/wytchfae-5-lord-of-fire">http://www.bookstrand.com/wytchfae-5-lord-of-fire</a>
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<b>All Romance </b><a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-wytchfae5lordoffire-1654243-149.html">https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-wytchfae5lordoffire-1654243-149.html</a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b>Connect with
Flossie:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Website: <a href="http://flossiebentonrogers.com/"><span style="color: blue; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">http://flossiebentonrogers.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Facebook: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/FlossieBentonRogersAuthor"><span style="color: blue; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">http://www.facebook.com/FlossieBentonRogersAuthor</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Twitter: <a href="http://twitter.com/FrostFyre"><span style="color: blue; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">http://twitter.com/FrostFyre</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Pinterest: <a href="http://pinterest.com/Wytchfae"><span style="color: blue; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">http://pinterest.com/Wytchfae</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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LinkedIn: <a href="http://www.linkedin.com/in/flossiebentonrogers"><span style="color: blue; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">http://www.linkedin.com/in/flossiebentonrogers</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Goodreads author page: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6553203.Flossie_Benton_Rogers"><span style="color: blue; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6553203.Flossie_Benton_Rogers</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: white; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Amazon author page: </span><a href="http://amazon.com/author/flossiebentonrogers"><span style="background: white; color: blue; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">http://amazon.com/author/flossiebentonrogers</span></a><span style="background: white; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-31571315020122905442014-09-24T06:05:00.005-07:002014-09-24T06:05:52.777-07:00Please Welcome, The Amazing Romance Author, Kenzie Michaels!<div class="MsoNormal">
Here's a little bit about my special guest today. Please make Kenzie feel welcome by leaving her a comment today.</div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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<b><i>Thanks for having me today Tabs! Reminder, my contest is still going on. Comment to win your copy of Heart’s Last Chance! Winners will be chosen at the end of September, so don’t forget to leave your contact information!</i></b></div>
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When I first began reading erotic romances, they always
seemed too short. What happened once the
lovers climbed out of bed and returned to the Real World? What if someone got a phone call from an
ex-lover who suddenly wanted to get back together? What if plans to see each other for lunch or
dinner fell through because of work? I
decided that if I were to ever write an erotic romance, to at least answer the
question of ‘what happens next?’</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>For the most part, I’ve done this. Occasionally, you realize many romances may
not ‘HEA’ but in actuality, more along the ‘HEA….For Now’ lines. </div>
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<o:p> </o:p>When Brock revealed that he only had a week to gain Tricia’s
trust and devotion, I wondered how the hell I was going to handle this. It’s always been my experience that relationships
need a minimum of three months to fully develop, no matter how awesome the
chemistry or ‘instant attraction’ may be.
Not everyone is like that; I’ve known couples who’ve met, married after
a few weeks, and are still together 20-plus years later. </div>
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<o:p> </o:p>This excerpt shows Tricia struggling with her feelings. She knows Brock’s time constraints, but a
crisis has occurred on his planet, and she is suddenly thrust into a strange
family dynamic. The more time she spends
with his family, the more her feelings grow.
What would you do if faced with the knowledge your lover might never
again return to Earth if your feelings are insincere toward him?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYKXSViQ6Qvdfk6colrpOMaMAvVHwoq52c-X1Y4MRNLoaIy3SEKiE1C9IcsRZ2EM6g-cRVVZkeXJsz32Tchgj6V8o2Yj6y6jAynCsHK_Osu-V9ps3OEGbTunrx83-7k9axcX5u8yEeh0Ql/s1600/kenzie's%2Bcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYKXSViQ6Qvdfk6colrpOMaMAvVHwoq52c-X1Y4MRNLoaIy3SEKiE1C9IcsRZ2EM6g-cRVVZkeXJsz32Tchgj6V8o2Yj6y6jAynCsHK_Osu-V9ps3OEGbTunrx83-7k9axcX5u8yEeh0Ql/s1600/kenzie's%2Bcover.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<b>Blurb:</b></div>
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Everyone has an imaginary friend at some point, right? Well, what if you discover yours is actually
an alien who is </div>
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fascinated with Earth?
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<o:p> </o:p>Tricia Alexander's dreams are haunted by a mystery
lover. When she discovers the man she
met in a nightclub is from another planet, will she accept his story or kick
him out?</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Brock was young Tricia's imaginary friend and confidant, and
watched her grow up over the years.
After gaining permission from the leaders of his planet, he sought to
bond with her twice before, but with little results. When he's given a final chance, will he
succeed? Or will a family crisis prove
too much?</div>
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<o:p> </o:p><b>Excerpt:</b></div>
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“Brock, it gets better every time. Do you feel this?”</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>“I know.” He straightened up on wobbly legs, then assisted
her in standing. “Let’s lie down.”</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Brock led her to the bed and pulled back the covers. They
slid between the cool sheets and reached for each other, Tricia’s head against
Brock’s chest with his arms around her.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>“I love you.” He could barely make out the words.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p><i>What did you say?</i></div>
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<i> </i><i>I said I think I love
you.</i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p>He felt fresh moisture on his chest. “Tricia, please don’t
cry.” Tipping her face upwards,</div>
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Brock brushed his thumbs across her lower eyelids, wiping
away the tears.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>“I’ve never felt this much passion for a man before, or even
this much love inside for another, and it’s only been what, five days?” She sniffed,
then burrowed her face in his neck. “I think you’re right, we may be soul
mates. Why did I not recognize you the first time?”</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>“I don’t think I was patient enough. You did not know what
you wanted the first time around. I should have waited a bit longer, but I was
afraid of losing you to the wrong man.” He stroked her hair.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>“That wouldn’t have happened. The longest relationship I was
in only lasted a year and a half, and I tried to break up with him three
times.” Tricia hugged him. “I’d come to realize I was getting bored every three
months. Which makes me wonder how I’m going to feel about you in twelve weeks.”</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>SCP: </div>
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<a href="http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=941&zenid=9ji294fhhbup3dn4b1oojggvt6">http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=941&zenid=9ji294fhhbup3dn4b1oojggvt6</a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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Amazon:</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hearts-Last-Chance-Chosen-Book-ebook/dp/B00NDZK64O/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1410986865&sr=8-1&keywords=heart%27s+last+chance+kenzie+michaels">http://www.amazon.com/Hearts-Last-Chance-Chosen-Book-ebook/dp/B00NDZK64O/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1410986865&sr=8-1&keywords=heart%27s+last+chance+kenzie+michaels</a></div>
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Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-87852548647076814562014-09-22T06:08:00.006-07:002014-09-22T06:08:47.142-07:00Today's Very Special Guest: Romance Author--Violet Ingram<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Let's give Violet a big welcome. Please leave a comment for her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, here's a little bit about my guest..</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Author Bio:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Violet Ingram is a wife, mother, and
author. She and her husband have been married for over 24 years and they have 5
children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Violet’s love of books was the direct
result of having spent Saturday mornings going to libraries with her mom. Nancy
Drew, Hardy Boys, and Encyclopedia Brown were the first books she fell in love
with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Violet lives in the Midwest where she is
busy at work on her next book.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjKWIglmteD15NTyy94mXS0gVuin9x_6RoIwZIPHgVdfuN0cd48m1uXQ4zap7aJ2QXeonlQKAcQ_ubf8d2X0bnZ7XTCoOJneVqo7WJt4V7UE-iFI-ggXY4KEoPb1yjCdyMFfN88vmiDtw/s1600/DeathbyHighHeels_SM..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjKWIglmteD15NTyy94mXS0gVuin9x_6RoIwZIPHgVdfuN0cd48m1uXQ4zap7aJ2QXeonlQKAcQ_ubf8d2X0bnZ7XTCoOJneVqo7WJt4V7UE-iFI-ggXY4KEoPb1yjCdyMFfN88vmiDtw/s1600/DeathbyHighHeels_SM..jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<b>Blurb:</b></div>
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Spending time with a dead guy, being interrogated by the
cops and getting stitched up by a cute ER doc wasn't exactly the evening plans
private investigator Kimberly Murphy envisioned. Especially the getting caught
standing over a dead body, again, part. Only this time it wasn't her fault.
Just once she’d like it if homicide detective Grant Tompkins didn't assume she
was guilty. </div>
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<br /></div>
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To clear her slightly tarnished name, Kim goes after the
clever killer while avoiding a certain hot homicide detective determined to put
her in handcuffs – and not the pink, fuzzy kind – not that she’d mind. Too bad
Kim’s efforts lead to dead ends and even more dead bodies. Kim will need all
her skills and a bit of luck to outwit a killer who’d like to put an end to
Kim’s meddling permanently.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Excerpt:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sunday evening<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Cops hate it when you vomit all over
their crime scene—a mistake I had no desire to repeat. Then again, the fact I’d
just trampled all over this scene was probably a whole new mistake I should
have avoided. I stared at the corpse and fought the urge to hurl. If only I
hadn’t answered the door, I’d be eating dinner instead of standing in my
neighbor’s apartment looking at a dead guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Said dead guy was just sitting there in
the chair. You would think he was asleep—if not for all the blood and guts
spilled onto his lap. I tore my eyes from him and asked the question I most
wanted the answer to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What the heck did you hit him with?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lindsay dropped the strand of blonde
hair she’d been twirling and glanced down at the floor. “My shoe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’ve already told you. Twice. I hit him
with my shoe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Damn it, Lindsay, you can’t kill
someone with a shoe!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hello, they’re Via Spiga.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Death by High Heels available at:</b></span></div>
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<a href="http://store.sweetcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&products_id=228&zenid=1c1639b6bcf63c4e1b154012d1f3c552"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">http://store.sweetcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&products_id=228&zenid=1c1639b6bcf63c4e1b154012d1f3c552</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Death-High-Heels-Investigator-Book-ebook/dp/B00MEX9JNK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1407939482&sr=8-1&keywords=death+by+high+heels"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">http://www.amazon.com/Death-High-Heels-Investigator-Book-ebook/dp/B00MEX9JNK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1407939482&sr=8-1&keywords=death+by+high+heels</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/466637"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/466637</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-deathbyhighheels-1588019-177.html"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-deathbyhighheels-1588019-177.html</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/death-by-high-heels-violet-ingram/1120058603?ean=2940149623501"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/death-by-high-heels-violet-ingram/1120058603?ean=2940149623501</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Contact info:</b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Blog:
</span><a href="http://violetingram.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">http://violetingram.blogspot.com/</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Facebook: Violet Ingram<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Twitter:
@violetingram<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Email:
</span><a href="mailto:violetingramauthor@gmail.com"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">violetingramauthor@gmail.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-15142074187484287992014-09-07T21:20:00.001-07:002014-09-07T21:31:20.445-07:00Please Make Welcome, Romance Author, M S SpencerHello Readers,<br />
Please take a minute to say hi to, M S Spencer, and make her feel welcome. Leave a comment for a chance to win one of Ms. Spencer's novels. Please a way to contact you in case you're the winner.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgga6r-1g8Mth80AqhYHR0jfZXJSBSxhqmk_Ta5IWzaiFdI0vaWm2Z72sBtMdxdfwuw4Us6KK1elqSR_K25xG-XPFHLo26Sy09pmqO5J3M5zc4DuEk3fuM9wYhHETmXBEUvFT29QpHuIuv0/s1600/M.+S.+Spencer+Author.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgga6r-1g8Mth80AqhYHR0jfZXJSBSxhqmk_Ta5IWzaiFdI0vaWm2Z72sBtMdxdfwuw4Us6KK1elqSR_K25xG-XPFHLo26Sy09pmqO5J3M5zc4DuEk3fuM9wYhHETmXBEUvFT29QpHuIuv0/s1600/M.+S.+Spencer+Author.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>AUTHOR BIO:</b><br />
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Although she has lived or traveled in every continent except
Antarctica and Australia (bucket list), M. S. Spencer has spent the last thirty
years mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant,
speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director
and parent. She has two fabulous grown children, and currently divides her time
between the Gulf coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.</div>
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Ms. Spencer has published nine romance novels. The first
two, Lost in His Arms and Lost and Found, were published by Red Rose
Publishing. The other six—<a href="http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=22&products_id=93">Losers
Keepers</a>, <a href="http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=171">Triptych</a>,
<a href="http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=17&products_id=311">Artful
Dodging: The Torpedo Factory Murders</a>, <a href="http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=500">Mai
Tais and Mayhem: Murder at Mote Marine (a Sarasota Romance</a>, <a href="http://bit.ly/1gERZHK">Lapses of Memory</a>, and <a href="http://bit.ly/1aldxoV">the Mason's Mark</a> —were published by Secret
Cravings. Whirlwind Romance, her ninth, was released September 2014.</div>
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<br /></div>
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What do pirates, princes, Puritans, and propaganda have in
common? Lacey Delahaye, forager and jelly maker, finds out in this romantic
suspense set in the western Caribbean. A randomly chosen comment will win a
copy of this wonderful story.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholl8ybIRRpLRMxV3KH5q4lU2AOmDq0IDm4ZU99yeglQz8C7FpinQQBqc1n4b642iEHnq7etE0LpYgRofdG29B62YtZxuNRrkoIO_kejQsMV9M6_TWCdCn6yTrZ2gRv5PjHHuNYgOJGPiL/s1600/WhirlwindRomance_LRG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholl8ybIRRpLRMxV3KH5q4lU2AOmDq0IDm4ZU99yeglQz8C7FpinQQBqc1n4b642iEHnq7etE0LpYgRofdG29B62YtZxuNRrkoIO_kejQsMV9M6_TWCdCn6yTrZ2gRv5PjHHuNYgOJGPiL/s1600/WhirlwindRomance_LRG.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
<b>Blurb</b>:</div>
In the aftermath of a hurricane, Lacey Delahaye finds
herself marooned on the Gulf coast of Florida with a mysterious man. They are
immediately drawn to each other, but before Armand can confess his identity,
they are kidnapped and taken far from civilization to a tiny, remarkable island
in the western Caribbean. With the help of her son Crispin, a small, but proud
young boy named Inigo, and a cadre of extraordinary characters, Lacey and
Armand must confront pirates, power-mad ideologues, and palace intrigue if they
are to restore the once idyllic tropical paradise to its former serenity and
find lasting happiness.<br />
<br />
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<b>Excerpt (R) : A Wet Reunion<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Lacey fidgeted. Inigo said she
would see Armand, but when? And how? She enjoyed Maitea’s and Edrigu’s company,
but if she didn’t find herself in Armand’s arms soon she’d go stark raving mad.
</div>
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“Dinner is served.”</div>
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They filed into the dining room.
Lacey peered into every corner, hoping to see Armand. No one except the butler
and a footman peered back. After dinner, Maitea suggested a stroll on the
battlements. Lacey lagged behind in case Armand lay in wait for her. Nothing.
They did two circuits and, as the moon rose, Maitea yawned. “It’s been a long
day. I’m sure you’re tired. Come on, I’ll walk you to your room.”</div>
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No one waited for her there either.
She even checked the shower just in case. At last, she undressed and lay down.
She remembered this room and the bed, and a beautiful night of lovemaking. Now
she couldn’t sleep. She went out on the balcony. The moon rode high, walking a
carpet of stars. Their myriad needles of light bounced off something below. <i>A terrace? </i>No, a swimming pool. <i>Funny, I didn’t notice it the last time I
was here</i>. <i>A swim in the moonlight
might relax me</i>. She slipped out of her nightgown, threw on a thin robe, and
followed a set of rough, rock-hewn steps down.</div>
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At the bottom she found an oval
pool, almost hidden by tall pink oleander and night-blooming jasmine. A
waterfall tinkled at one end. She slipped into the water. It felt cool against
her skin. She floated on her back, gazing up at the sky. Contentment filled
her. <i>I can wait for Armand—there’s all
the time in the world. Anticipation is half the fun anyway.</i> </div>
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The whisper wafted across the
ripples. “So you have come back to me.” For a horrible second she thought
Damien—or worse, Traficant—had found her. But then a wet head rose next to her
and shook the glistening black locks out of a dear face. </div>
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“Armand!”</div>
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He swam a lap around her. “Who did
you expect?”</div>
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Dazed, she touched his face. “I’d
about given up hope for tonight.”</div>
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“I’ve been waiting here for you.
Come to me.”</div>
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If this were a scene suitable for
children, the next few minutes would allude to sighs and chaste kisses. Or
there would be a scene break with the words “romantic interlude” accompanied by
a little light music. </div>
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But it’s not. </div>
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Lacey rolled over in the water,
placed a hand on Armand’s head and ducked him under. He came up spitting and laughing.
“That’s no way to treat a prince.”</div>
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“That’s the way I treat <i>my</i> princes. Where have you been,
anyway?”</div>
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Armand didn’t answer. He ducked
under the water again. In the dark Lacey felt something gently touch her thigh,
then pull it to the right. Bubbles rose up under her, tickling the lips of her
vagina. She twisted, trying to cross her legs to get away from the sensation. A
hand grabbed her other thigh and dragged it to the left. Lips replaced the
bubbles, then a tongue speared her unprotected channel, darting in and out,
prodding the nub of her clitoris. She took hold of Armand’s shoulders and
pulled his head closer. The orgasm kindled. Just as she slid over the edge,
Armand’s head came up. He gasped and sucked in a mouthful of air. “Armand, I
was almost there! Why did you stop?”</div>
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He panted, “If you want more,
you’ll have to allow me to breathe now and then.”</div>
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“All right—go ahead and rest a bit. Catch your
breath.” She dropped below the surface, circling around to Armand’s rear.
Reaching between his legs, she hefted his balls and rolled them in her hand.
His fingers gently pried her hand away and pulled her between his thighs. His
cock, hard as a shillelagh, bobbed before her. She caught it with her mouth and
ran her tongue around it. Armand kicked his feet and rose to the surface,
bringing Lacey with him. He held on to the coping with one hand to stabilize
them and let Lacey finish her work. “Oh God, Lacey, that’s it!” Warm, creamy
semen spurted out, dissipating in the water. </div>
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Armand swung her around so her back
was to the pool wall and straddled her. </div>
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“Have you caught your breath yet?”</div>
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“Oh, yes.” He held her waist and
let the still rigid penis slide into her waiting pussy. The soft water cradled
them as they moved in rhythm, making their own waves. In the dark Lacey could
make out little except the saffron flashes in Armand’s eyes. She kept her gaze
locked on them while his thrusts lifted her almost out of the water. Like
dolphins mating, they breached and plunged until the moment when man touched
the innermost part of woman and fused. The wire connecting them across the
miles, a wire that had been stretched almost to its limit, recoiled into its
natural shape—a spring tightly coiled around them as they clung together.</div>
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Armand wrapped Lacey in his arms.
“It’s been so long,” he whispered. He kissed the top of her head, her forehead,
her nose. “I've imagined this moment—”</div>
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“Every day, every hour—”</div>
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“Every second.”</div>
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His lips fastened on hers.</div>
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*****</div>
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<b>Buy Links:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Secret Cravings:</div>
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<a href="http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=934">http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=934</a></div>
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Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Whirlwind-Romance-M-S-Spencer-ebook/dp/B00N105I4E/">http://www.amazon.com/Whirlwind-Romance-M-S-Spencer-ebook/dp/B00N105I4E/</a></div>
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ARe: <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-whirlwindromance-1605591-153.html">https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-whirlwindromance-1605591-153.html</a></div>
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Bookstrand: <a href="http://www.bookstrand.com/whirlwind-romance">http://www.bookstrand.com/whirlwind-romance</a></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>Contacts:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Blog: <a href="http://msspencertalespinner.blogspot.com/">http://msspencertalespinner.blogspot.com</a>
OR</div>
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<a href="http://bit.ly/1aBzraT">http://bit.ly/1aBzraT</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/msspencertalespinner">https://www.facebook.com/msspencertalespinner</a></div>
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Twitter: <a href="http://www.twitter.com/msspencerauthor">www.twitter.com/msspencerauthor</a><br />
GoodReads:<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/msspencer">http://www.goodreads.com/msspencer</a><br />
Pinterest: <a href="http://pinterest.com/msspencerauthor/">http://pinterest.com/msspencerauthor/</a></div>
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Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-83047073017238022012014-07-28T18:56:00.000-07:002014-07-28T18:56:07.243-07:00WELCOME TO TUESDAY'S TALES<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_gXQxgH4KjpxbKJ0BNqoUYdPeG8JOG6gK8nMhEOIzZAjTxlrbcJbNauE8wrEak_optdRJcd09DNrgoFMUaMJEbpVc6cLFQGNtDgCasLilzhx8cOKxe6WBvMaDof8gPc5JwsyS-qRTJI/s640/Badge+for+TT+-+small.jpg" height="292" width="640" /><br />
<br />
Hello Readers,<br />
Welcome to this week's Tuesday Tales. The prompt for the week is "Right" .....<br />
<br />
I decided on a change of pace this week and left Ginger and the Gray Mortuary behind to move to the paranormal historical I'm working on and hope to have released later this year. It's titled, <i>Darkest Angel, </i>and is Book 2 in my<i> Angels of Deadwood Gulch Series. </i>Emily and Slade are secondary characters in the novel, but I hope you'll enjoy this snippet from when they first meet.<br />
<br />
Darkest Angel/Shay<br />
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<span style="line-height: 150%;">He come riding from the west, a tall
man in the saddle silhouetted against the setting sun. Riding slowly, he didn't
give the impression he was in a hurry, but from the way he looked around, he was
careful. When he rode into the yard, his eyes took in everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;">Emily didn't know why she wasn't
afraid, but somehow she knew he wasn't a threat, at least, not to her. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 150%;">He was cautious.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;">She didn't fault him for being so. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;">Dressed all in black, she couldn't
very well deny he looked menacing, especially with the worn leather holsters
strapped to his hips, two Colt .45s in place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;">When he got off the horse, she held
her breath. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">What did he want? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">She remained behind the waist high well
where she was drawing water to carry to the chickens. The board enclosure around the
four sides blocked most of his view of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“Ma’am,” he said politely and tipped
his dark hat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">He remained beside his horse, maybe
to assure her he meant her no harm. A gunfighter. The
second in three days she’d met—first Rio, now this stranger. Gunfighters </span><span style="line-height: 30px;">weren't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> new to the Dakota Territory, but she’d always managed to avoid them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Who was he? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Why was he here?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">She nodded a hello and </span><span style="line-height: 30px;">finished</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> pulling up the bucket of water. She hefted
the full bucket on to the top of the well. Water splashed over the sides
wetting the front of her gown, her shoes, and the boards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“That water sure looks good,” he said
in a soft drawl sliding his gaze up and down the front of her gown. “Mind
giving a stranger a drink?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Heat crawled up her face. Were his
words sincere or did they have a double meaning? Emily</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 150%;">shaded her eyes against
the evening sun and studied him for a long moment. The way his gaze kept
returning to her breasts, she was pretty sure his words were filled with
meaning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">And yes, she did mind, but she </span><span style="line-height: 30px;">wasn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> rude enough to say such words. He </span><span style="line-height: 30px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> appear uncomfortable with her
suspicious look directed at him. She </span><span style="line-height: 30px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> detect hostility, but Lord above,
she had the feeling he could get dangerous real fast, even if he was the
stillest man she'd ever seen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">He must have sensed her hesitation. “I
emptied my canteen some ways back,” he said, “but if you prefer not to share
your water, I can get back on my horse and mosey on.” He seemed intent on
reassuring her he meant no harm, but trust </span><span style="line-height: 30px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> come easy for Emily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">He tossed his reins over his saddle and
took a single step toward the well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Emily let go of the pail of water and
closed her fingers around the rifle standing at her side. From where he stood,
he </span><span style="line-height: 30px;">couldn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> see the gun, but he must have instinctively known she had a weapon
because he froze. “Ma’am, my name’s Slade. Slade McKenna. I’m a U.S. Marshall.
I’m not here to cause you grief, so if you </span><span style="line-height: 30px;">wouldn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> mind, I’d sure like it if
you’d take your hand off that rifle.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“I mind,” she said, keeping her
fingers wrapped around the barrel. “I don’t see a badge. Not on your vest. Not
on your shirt.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“No, ma’am. It’s in my pocket. I
don’t like making myself a target. There are men who like nothing better than
putting a bullet through a badge while a man’s still wearing it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“I suppose that’s true enough,” she
replied. “You can have a drink of water.” She lifted the gourd dipper off the
nail where it dangled on the well post. With her free hand, she dipped it into
the bucket of water. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“Yes, ma’am.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">He took the gourd from her, careful
to keep the well between them. “You sure are a distrusting little gal.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">She </span><span style="line-height: 30px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> reply. Emily had little
use for small talk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">He handed the dipper back to her and
backed away. Reaching his horse, he grabbed the reins. “Mind if I water my
horse at that trough over there?” He’d already turned the sorrel colored mare
before he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Startled, Emily snatched up the rifle
and leveled it on his chest. “Don’t move.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 150%;">He dropped the reins and raised his
hands in surrender. “Yes ma’am. I reckon I’ll just stand right here until you
tell me otherwise.”</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 150%;">RETURN TO <a href="http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com/">TUESDAY TALES</a></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 150%;">AND SOME WONDERFUL AUTHORS... </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-56021411697696978472014-07-21T18:54:00.001-07:002014-07-21T20:39:47.418-07:00WELCOME TO TUESDAY TALES<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_gXQxgH4KjpxbKJ0BNqoUYdPeG8JOG6gK8nMhEOIzZAjTxlrbcJbNauE8wrEak_optdRJcd09DNrgoFMUaMJEbpVc6cLFQGNtDgCasLilzhx8cOKxe6WBvMaDof8gPc5JwsyS-qRTJI/s1600/Badge+for+TT+-+small.jpg" height="183" width="400" /><br />
<br />
<br />
Hi Everyone,<br />
Every Tuesday, a small group of authors get together and post a few snippets from a WIP. It's fun, plus it lets the author know how well her work is progressing. This week's word is BLOOM...Feel free to leave a comment. Yes, authors love comments too...Hope you enjoy this weeks excerpt from a WIP, a paranormal titled <i>A Cut Above the Rest.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Continuing the tale of the Gray sisters...<br />
<br />
<span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.3in;">Ginger Gray knew the moment she
completed the infamous Y-cut down the center of the masculine chest stretched
before her on the autopsy table, and the corpse opened its eyes—it was going to
be a bad night at Gray Mortuary. “Oh my Aunt Fannie’s garters,” she declared in a slow Georgia drawl.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Unable to take her eyes off the
splendid male body before her, she drew a quivering breath, then took a
cautious step back from the fresh cadaver, a fresh cadaver, who was staring at
her as if she was a fresh bloom waiting to be plucked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Gray Mortuary—<i>where all things go bump in the night. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">But this?<i> This</i> was impossible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">She swallowed back the urge to
scream. Heck, it </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">wasn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> fair. She </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">shouldn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> even be here, let alone standing here gaping at a naked, blinking corpse. It </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">wasn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> happening. Her imagination
must be working overtime, just like she was—or else that last glass of wine she
indulged in at dinner before dear ole’ dad placed his call to her, contained more alcohol than she thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Nope, it was her imagination—else the
freaking body had nerves twitching all over the place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">She blamed the twins. If they </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">hadn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> been determined to go to that blasted Halloween party, she’d be home curled up
with a good Jaydyn Chelcee novel. She </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> know which twin placed the call to
their father begging him for the rest of the night off and suggesting Ginger fill
their shoes since she </span><i style="line-height: 150%;">never</i><span style="line-height: 150%;"> had a
date on Friday night, he caved, as usual.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“It’s my night off, damn it,” she
shouted, purely in self-defense to no avail. She didn't know if she was screaming at the breathing corpse or the room in general.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">It </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> matter if what her sister
said was true and Ginger never had a date on Friday night, she still wanted and
deserved her time off. But like her father, she always gave in when it came to
the younger twins and their demands. They </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">weren't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> bad girls. They </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">weren't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> always selfish or expected things their way. Ginger snorted. No, what they
expected was every weekend off! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">They loved pulling practical jokes on
her. This waking corpse was right down their alley, especially since it was
Halloween. It was a joke. Yeah-yeah. Maybe one of her sisters, one of the other
set of twins, either Scotlyn or Irelyn suggested this horrible prank to the
younger twins and knowing them, they went along with the idea and decided to
pull a fast one on her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Scotlyn and Irelyn were two years
younger than her. They were as big a pranksters as Kadence and Kennadee. They
were probably inside this big old building in a room somewhere with a monitor and
watching her reaction. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">She took a quick second to scan the room for a video
camera but </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> spot one. They loved to catch her unaware and pull some crazy
stunt, like the time they glued a brain to a tray. It didn't matter than the brain was fake. She thought it was real at the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Oh, but this was unacceptable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">She was a professional, and being one
required a certain, a–a certain <i>flair—</i>a–a
certain— <i>“Oh!</i> Oh, crap, don’t get up,
Mister Corpse,” she cried, startled to see him rise and perch on the side of
the autopsy </span><span style="line-height: 150%;">table.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Ahh, but, Mister Corpse </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">wasn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> listening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“I see dead people,” Ginger breathed.
“I don’t see live people on my exam table. I <i>never</i> see live people on my exam table. They don’t blink their
eyes. They don’t breathe. They <i>don’t</i> sit
up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"> Except for this one time—<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 150%;">RETURN TO <a href="http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com/">TUESDAY'S TALES</a></span></div>
Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-23906770948634764152014-07-14T10:18:00.000-07:002014-07-14T15:09:24.974-07:00TUESDAY TALES WIP!<br />
<img alt="TT_banner" src="http://trishafaye.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/tt_banner.jpg?w=300&h=105" height="140" width="400" /><br />
<br />
Hello Readers,<br />
This week's prompt is this glorious full moon. Continuing excerpts from last week's TT and one of my WIPs, let's find out what's happening to Ginger Gray in the infamous Gray Mortuary. Muhahahahah!<br />
<br />
<img height="263" src="https://scontent-a-lga.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xaf1/t1.0-9/s130x130/10402669_10203261562758671_765002505091148439_n.jpg" width="400" /><br />
<br />
EXCERPT:<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Kennadee poked her tongue out at her.
“Spoilsport. Don’t you ever like to just have fun?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“Now don’t look at me like that,
Ginger Snap,” Kadence said, her pale green eyes sparkling with silent laughter.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Her sisters always called her Ginger
Snap when they went into defensive mode. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“We couldn’t help seeing his bundle when
we cut off his clothes,” Kadence continued. “I mean, there it was in plain view,
big as a sausage roll.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Ginger rolled her eyes. “Good grief.
Just give me report and get out of here, both of you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Kennadee snickered. “We couldn’t miss
it, sis. Honest.”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“He’s dead,” Ginger said, quickly
losing patience. “Why would you want to look at a dead dick? It certainly won’t
do either one of you a bit of good.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“Don’t be gross,” Kennadee replied. “We
were discreet and respectful, but the towel slipped off and there it was, big
as life.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Ginger snatched the clipboard from
Kadence. “I doubt it was big as life since he has no blood flow to it, or, if
you want to get technical, no life at all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“I’d sure love to see it when he did
have blood flow,” Kennadee stated, slipping off her lab coat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">“Me, too,” Kadence added copying her twin
and removing her lab jacket as well. They hung their white coats on a rack in
the corner, grabbed their purses, and headed to the double doors. “Have a good
night,” Kadence called.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Yes, have a good night,” Kennadee
echoed. “And thank you for coming in and working the rest of our shift. We’ll
say hello to everyone for you at the Halloween party.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Yeah, right,” Ginger mumbled with a t</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.3in;">ouch of
sarcasm. "</span><span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Halloween and a full moon. Great combinations."</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Return to <a href="http://www.tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com/">Tuesday Tales</a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></span></div>
Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-22223941505154358342014-07-12T05:37:00.002-07:002014-07-12T05:40:53.349-07:00BACK LIST SERIES BLOG HOP!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuyOUW8XisiIzGMUR_bi2WTsi0fh4flC_BbqXm7SnGdkTHNS6I52YA-n_wCW9C9eGZftHmaIR58ew7RZGY5JKsbIKkgUogYmge3bQRD3ZAJY-Q9e9RG8pCj8og-DXfQ0PJBaEOrJaJxwD/s1600/Back+List+Blog+Hop+Badge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuyOUW8XisiIzGMUR_bi2WTsi0fh4flC_BbqXm7SnGdkTHNS6I52YA-n_wCW9C9eGZftHmaIR58ew7RZGY5JKsbIKkgUogYmge3bQRD3ZAJY-Q9e9RG8pCj8og-DXfQ0PJBaEOrJaJxwD/s1600/Back+List+Blog+Hop+Badge.jpg" height="320" width="225" /></a></div>
<br />
Good Morning Readers,<br />
Welcome to the Back List Blog hop. Sorry I'm running late posting...Something always seems to go wrong at the last minute and for some weird reason, my blog page wouldn't open for me. But I'm here now and here is my back list from my Winslow Witches of Salem Series. Something nice to know--Book 1, Witches Brew, is now free and can be found at Amazon.com// For every reader who leaves a comment, I'll drop your name in the witch's hat and hold a drawing later on for a pdf of Witch's Heart, book 2 in the series.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSa5hKQkudOFOTPynSwr_ocGTeRPY-eeQ1aUZsodYkbXlSf__vvR0s90ijQRYPRy8Q8SxhbuJd0b7sxn_kdvf2nt-3opVrC3_L-R1Z5XQ4Rkf7RfUymxBIh1Ey442914JLNaHHyTOxSfE5/s1600/WitchsBrew_SM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSa5hKQkudOFOTPynSwr_ocGTeRPY-eeQ1aUZsodYkbXlSf__vvR0s90ijQRYPRy8Q8SxhbuJd0b7sxn_kdvf2nt-3opVrC3_L-R1Z5XQ4Rkf7RfUymxBIh1Ey442914JLNaHHyTOxSfE5/s1600/WitchsBrew_SM.jpg" /></a></div>
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 114%;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 114%;">BLURB/WITCH’S BREW/BOOK ONE/SHAY</span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 114%;">Witches, wizards and magic!</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 114%;">Saylym Winslow regains forgotten magical powers, but is determined to ignore
them. No way is she a witch; magic brings nothing but trouble. But when Talon,
Waken Prince and assassin of witches is assigned to terminate Saylym by
stealing her soul, she discovers being a real, spell-casting witch is only the
beginning of her problems.<br />Talon is enchanted by Saylym's beauty and charm and refuses to do his duty. He
is given a choice by the powerful Waken Guild: Handfast with the trouble making
witch to keep her in line or they will send Drayke, the most ruthless waken
assassin, to hunt her down.<br />Sparks fly in this bewitching battle of the sexes-witch-style. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 114%;">BLURB: <i>WITCH’S HEART/BOOK TWO/SHAY<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 114%;">Journey into a world where magic rules and
death is the penalty for mistakes-return to the kingdom of Ru-Noc, where
witches, wizards, and warlocks dwell. . .<br />Hannah Miller is starting over-new life, new location, and the grand opening of
the Sugar 'N' Spice bakery with her best friend, Kirrah Walker. But Hannah soon
discovers Sanctuary is not small town America. Trapped in a world of magic
where humans are considered aliens-Hannah soon becomes the target of a waken
assassin.<br />The male witch, Sage, is sent to terminate Hannah, the impertinent human who
has dared to enter their sacred realm. Sage usually complies with the guild's
orders, but he faces this assignment with dread. He hasn't forgotten what took
place at the Salem witch trials in 1692 and has vowed to avoid all
mortals-until he sees Hannah for the first time.<br />Caught up in the immortal conflict sweeping across Ru-Noc, the star-crossed
lovers wage a different kind of war that set off more sparks than a witch's
wand. . .<br />Fall under the spell of Witch’s Heart-where Sage and Hannah discover love has a
magic all its own . . . <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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http://www.tabithashay.com</div>
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Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-90773829575683270082014-06-29T15:10:00.001-07:002014-06-30T20:20:35.060-07:00A SNIPPET FROM A WIP FOR TUESDAY TALESHi Readers,<br />
I hope you'll enjoy this snippet from a WIP I hope to have published by 2015.<br />
<br />
www.tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">Kadence tore off her gloves and
dropped them in the trash receptacle in the nearby corner and turned to face
her. “He had no I.D. Some homeless person called the police complaining that a
stranger stole his cardboard box house. The body was found behind a dumpster in
the alley in said box, an old blanket tossed over him. I </span></span><span style="line-height: 24px;">couldn't</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> determine how
long he’d been dead because his liver temperature was ice cold, as if he’d been
in a freezer. There’s no apparent cause of death…so far.” She paused, then
grinned. “You need to check out his package, sis.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;">Ginger frowned. “His package? Where…”
She glanced around looking for a wrapped gift.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;">Kadence giggled. “Not that kind of
package. That kind.” She pointed to the center of the draped body. She shook
her fingers as if they were scorched. “Wow!” she mouthed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">“For God’s sake,” Ginger snapped. “I
hope you two haven’t been inappropriate. Corpses deserve their privacy and
respect just like the living.” Knowing her sisters, especially these two, one
could never be sure. Daredevils to the tips of their Reeboks, they were also
big pranksters. She </span></span><span style="line-height: 24px;">couldn't</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> count the times they’d pulled hoaxes on her,
leaving her with the proverbial egg on her face.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">Follow this link please to read more snippets from other SCP authors.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.3in;">www.tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com</span></div>
Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-20133875347319232852014-02-28T20:29:00.002-08:002014-02-28T20:29:42.419-08:00Paranormal Romance Blog Hop!Welcome to the Secret Cravings Paranormal Blog Hop. I'm giving a pdf of Witch's Touch, Book 6 in the series and my latest release to some lucky commenter. Be sure and leave a way for me to contact you in your comment. Game: Tell what your winter's been like in your corner of the world in a few, simple words and I'll drop your name in the witch's hat. Drawing will be Sunday night and winner announced on Monday. Good luck!<br />
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BLURB:<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Death takes an unscheduled holiday…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Giver
of Life—Nyra Winters has two abilities that no witch before her has ever
possessed—the power to heal and restore life. However, her constant
interference in Death’s plans makes her a target of the angry god, King Titan,
ruler of the Underworld.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Seeker
of Death—Dym Satarius, Prince of Death, is sent to the magical realm of Ru-Noc
to collect Nyra Winters. Devoid of all emotion, Dym believes this assignment
will be no different than any other—collect the witch’s soul and return to
hell—job done—but something goes terribly wrong and he is stranded in Nyra’s
world without his powers or the ability to return to his realm.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Witch’s Touch―Where life and Death
collide…</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Don't forget to use this link back to SCP so you can check out what the other authors are posting.</span></div>
<a href="http://secretcravingspublishing.blogspot.com/">http://secretcravingspublishing.blogspot.com/</a>Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-54869031506706007832014-02-27T05:34:00.004-08:002014-02-27T05:50:12.687-08:00Please Welcome Romance Author, Laurie White! Please leave Laurie a comment.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">BIO:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">Laurie White is the
author of two romantic suspense novels published by Sweet Cravings Publishing.
Her latest novel, WITHOUT A TRACE, is now available from Secret Cravings
Publishing. Laurie is a member of Romance Writers of America and Georgia Romance
Writers. Aside from writing, she enjoys reading, spending time with family,
traveling, and watching movies. She is the proud mama of four adorable cats and
lives in the hills of Tennessee.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white; mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">BLURB:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Magazine journalist
Rachel Bennett has a reputation for getting to the heart of a story. However,
when her sister disappears and is suspected of embezzling from her employer,
the story has suddenly become personal. The last thing Rachel wants right now
is the distraction of Matt Romero, the detective assigned to the case. She has
no desire for involvement with this rough-and-tumble cop...or so she thinks.</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Matt accepts the risk
that goes with his job. Two years ago, his wife was murdered, a tragedy he
blames himself for. He's vowed to protect his family and friends because he
doesn't want to go through the pain of loss again. However, the lovely
journalist soon begins breaking through the icy wall around his heart.</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As Rachel and Matt
search for answers in order to find her sister, they uncover a corruption that
puts them both in danger – and a passion that puts both their hearts at risk.</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">EXCERPT:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Something wasn't
right. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rachel Bennett felt
uneasy from the moment she'd set foot in her sister's apartment. A bead of
perspiration trickled between her shoulder blades. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She'd been unable to
reach her younger sister Paige for the past three days. She hadn't even shown
up at work. Rachel cut short a long-awaited Palm Springs vacation out of
concern for her. The three-hour drive back to Los Angeles this morning was a
blur. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Paige?” </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Something made her
almost whisper the word. She paused outside Paige's half-open bedroom door
before peering into the sun-splashed room. A hint of Paige's signature scent,
Ed Hardy, hung in the air. The bed, normally covered with a cheerful floral
comforter, sat unmade in the messy room. Unusual for her neatnik sister. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She would never just
take off like this. At least not willingly. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What's happened to my
sister? </span></i><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rachel noticed several
black smudges on the wall by the window. A nervous feeling gnawed at her.
Slowly, she stepped into the bedroom, toward the telephone. She needed to call
for help. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Police! Stop right
there.” </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The resonant male voice
was strong and authoritative. Rachel froze, confused, blood pounding in her
head. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. “I'm Rachel Bennett. My
sister, Paige Bennett, lives here. I have a key.” </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">“Okay. Turn
around.”</span> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">n slow, careful
movements, Rachel complied. Her pulse thrummed even harder as she came
face-to-face with the most overwhelming man she'd ever laid eyes on. His
features were rugged and darkly handsome, his hair black as sin. She let out a
breath she hadn’t realized she'd been holding. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">A twinge of wariness
assailed Rachel as her gaze took in the man. All in all, he made a dangerously
sexy package despite his ordinary dark gray suit and tie. He looked like no cop
she'd ever seen, but his open-legged stance and the familiarity with which he
held his</span> pistol—<span style="color: white;">aimed at her—seemed to show years of experience on the force.
Or simply a lot of practice using a gun. </span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Certainly he won't
shoot, she told herself, heart crashing hard against her chest. “Can I see your
ID?” </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The man's steely dark
eyes never left hers as he unclipped the gold badge from his belt and held it
out to her. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Matt Romero, LAPD
Detective Support and Vice,” he said. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rachel studied the
badge. In her work as a writer for Southland Life magazine, she'd seen enough
cop badges to know this was the real thing. What sort of trouble could Paige be
in? </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“How did you…?” </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“The apartment manager
let us in. We had a search warrant.” He lowered his gun, then clipped his badge
back onto his belt. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Search warrant? Has
something happened to Paige?” A cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach.
Although a part of her didn't want to know, her reporter's instinct demanded
answers. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Skepticism flickered
across Romero's face, but as he studied her he seemed to relax. He holstered
his weapon. “I saw a photo on the desk over there of you with your sister. You
resemble each other very much. Why don't we sit down?” He motioned toward the
living room. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">Rachel trudged down the
hallway, struggling to prepare herself for whatever this man was about to tell
her. Horrifying possibilities whirled in her mind. Had Paige been arrested for
some</span> <span style="color: white;">reason? Worse yet, badly hurt or even—no, she couldn't allow herself to
think about that last one. A shudder rippled through her. </span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then she felt one of the
detective's large hands on the center of her back. The guiding gesture,
although gentle, unnerved her. The heat from his palm burned through the thin
fabric of her blouse. She walked a bit faster. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: white;">In the living room, Rachel
sank into Paige's comfortable powder blue sofa. She took a deep breath to calm
herself, but her stomach knotted up when Romero </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">settled into the chair
beside the sofa, right next to her.</span> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 392.55pt;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Why are you here,
Detective? Where is Paige?” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“That's what my partner
and I are trying to find out, Ms. Bennett.” </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“What do you mean?” she
asked, managing to sound a lot less anxious—and a lot less aware of the man
across from her—than she really was. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He looked her dead in
the eye. “Your sister is missing, Ms. Bennett.”</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"> BUY LINKS:http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/</span></o:p></div>
Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-39804349727968073302013-12-16T06:54:00.001-08:002013-12-16T06:54:25.405-08:00Today's Special Guest, Romance Author, Emily A, Lawrence!
Hi Readers,<br />
Today's wonderful and amazing guest is romance author, Emily A. Lawrence. Please make her feel welcome by leaving a comment.<br />
Tabs<br />
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<b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b> </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Guardian Of My Soul<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Soul’s Desire Series<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Book 1<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSPPJ4zsQQTuFPJl0c9HUErMlCSUpXy00_UNBnn4kB2Z7W_cBPlY0eqmEVDj2siODxKjHHbwC-IIeyW3iIs09NIVJuAczATnjrdpKMuvZB4rtNRcdTyYKYDybGmgzBpCtn6Fgp6KnVnv8g/s1600/final+cover+Guardian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSPPJ4zsQQTuFPJl0c9HUErMlCSUpXy00_UNBnn4kB2Z7W_cBPlY0eqmEVDj2siODxKjHHbwC-IIeyW3iIs09NIVJuAczATnjrdpKMuvZB4rtNRcdTyYKYDybGmgzBpCtn6Fgp6KnVnv8g/s320/final+cover+Guardian.jpg" width="200" /></a><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“The Guardian Of My Soul”</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
is the first book in the Soul’s Desire Series, and tells the story of Kristen
and Alec, two people who struggle with one another, as well as with their own
fears and insecurities.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kristen Mancuso, daughter of a renowned fashion designer has
everything her heart desires, and yet she’s still unhappy. After her father’s
death, her mother’s overprotectiveness has prevented Kristen from choosing her
own path in life, and she often feels as if she's a prisoner in her own home.
Kristen thought her twenty-first birthday would magically bring her the freedom
she craved. She was wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When her mother hires Alec Warner to be her personal
bodyguard, Kristen rebels against it, unaware of the true reasons why he’s
needed and the very real danger threatening her safety. Having someone shadow
her every move is the last thing she wants. Alec is handsome, intimidating and
determined to stand between Kristen and anyone who would harm her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kristen doesn’t know what to do with Alec. She’s drawn to
him, and while he is committed to his job, he refuses to allow her to control
him the way she does with other men. Their relationship is volatile and
explosive, yet they discover they have more in common than they ever dreamed.
Together they face demons from their past and secrets which could tear them
apart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Alec and Kristen fight their attraction for one another, but
that’s one battle where losing may very well give them everything their souls
desire… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">*Content Warning: intended for mature audiences 18+</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Excerpt:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I heard a
banging at my door, not a gentle knock but a loud racket which shook the whole
door. My eyes sprang open. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What in the
world?</i> I looked around the room, trying to get my bearings. The hotel room
was bathed in warm, bright light and my heart skipped a beat when I realized it
was morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh, Kristeeen?”
Alec’s grumpy voice sounded over the loud banging.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Fred jumped off
the bed and rushed to the door wagging his tail, visibly excited to hear him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Fred, how can
you fraternize with the enemy?” I grumped, heading to the door. As soon as I
opened it my traitor of a dog jumped into Alec’s arms and licked him as if he
were his favorite person in the world, making him chuckle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Finally, the
princess decides to greet the day,” he said and grinned at me once he was done
petting the dog. Suddenly, his eyes dropped and his smile slowly faded away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I blinked
perplexed. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Is he staring at my breasts?
My God, he's staring at my breasts!</i> The realization elicited tremors all
over my body, causing my nipples to strain against the fabric of my nightgown. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy crap! My nightgown!</i> I tensed when I
remembered the transparent lace across my chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Give him to
me!” I snatched Fred out of his arms and used him to hide my aroused state.
“What’s wrong with you, hammering at my door like a crazy man?” I fussed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He cleared his
throat as if to regain his voice before he answered me. “I’ve been standing
here for more than five minutes calling you and nothing. What was I supposed to
do? You said eight sharp and it’s almost eight thirty.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Damn it!” I
hurried back inside the room and put Fred on the bed, then quickly looked for
something comfortable to change into. I took out a pair of denim shorts and a
white shirt from my suitcase, then tugged at my nightgown to pull it off over
my head. I stopped halfway when I noticed him sitting on the bed, casually
assessing me. “Alec!” I shuddered, gaping at him in shock. “What are you doing
in here? Can’t you see I’m trying to change clothes?” I stammered in
bewilderment. I couldn’t believe he’d gotten a glimpse of my equally
transparent panties.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“I’m just
waiting to take your luggage.” He smiled innocently, clearly not finding
anything wrong with his actions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Wait outside,
you peeping tom!” I was amazed by how brazen he turned out to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“My bad,” he
said dryly and left the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It took me a
moment to recover from the shock and register the warm wetness between my legs.
I sighed, once more feeling betrayed by my own body. “I can’t believe him! And
I refuse to be turned on, no matter how he makes me feel!” I grumbled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When I finally
exited the room, I found him waiting in the hallway and I marched up to him. “I
can’t believe you saw me in my underwear! I am furious with you.” I walked on,
eager to put some distance between us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Hey!” He
grabbed my arm and pulled me abruptly, my chest slamming against his hard
torso. “You’re right. What I did was inappropriate and I’m sorry. I just found
myself absentmindedly walking in. I didn’t mean to be rude.” He excused
himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“You expect me
to believe that?” I murmured flush against him, taken aback by his sudden
change in attitude.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Yes, I do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“You were
checking me out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Was not,” he
retorted calmly, his face merely a few inches away from mine. Then I caught the
smile in his eyes. He was lying like a dog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Let go of me,”
I whispered, feeling my heart pounding heavily and my chest heaving in
agitation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Being this close
to him was doing funny things to me. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. I
couldn’t breathe. Everything in me wanted to move closer, to lean in, to touch,
but I stubbornly resisted the unwelcome temptation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">What are you doing to me?</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> I cried out in
my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He leaned toward
me slowly and I panicked, my breath catching in my throat. With a sudden jerk I
managed to free myself from his grip and rushed to the elevator, never looking
back. He followed me in silence, hauling my luggage after him. We travelled
down together and I was so aware of him, my whole body reacted as if he were a
powerful magnet. I was drawn to him, hanging on to the rail just to stay
upright. His eyes held mine with an intensity which made me feel lightheaded
and I gasped for air as the space around us suddenly appeared to be too small.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Buy links:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Kindle:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Amazon US: </span></b><a href="http://amzn.to/1dTWA7A" target="_blank"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">http://amzn.to/1dTWA7A</span></span></b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Amazon UK: </span></b><a href="http://amzn.to/17NEfoL"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">http://amzn.to/17NEfoL</span></span></b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Paperback:<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Amazon US: </span></b><a href="http://amzn.to/19Xw35f"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">http://amzn.to/19Xw35f</span></span></b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Amazon UK: </span></b><a href="http://amzn.to/1b6yYJ5"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">http://amzn.to/1b6yYJ5</span></span></b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">New release...<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">A Dream Come True<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Weekend Getaways
Series<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Book 3</span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“A Dream come True” is the third book in my
“Weekend Getaways Series” published by Secret Cravings Publishing, continuing
the story of Carly and Robert. You can find the previous two (Hot Dreams of a
Lonely Soul --- Hopeful Dreams and New Beginnings) at the following link:<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<a href="http://amzn.to/1aQ4uOK"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: blue;">http://amzn.to/1aQ4uOK</span></span></b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<strong>A Dream Come True</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Book blurb: <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Hope lit up
Carly’s heart as she could finally express her needs and wishes, no longer
afraid to voice her thoughts. After putting aside her troubled past with her
abusive ex husband, Carly began a new chapter in her life along with her new
husband, Robert, the man who had brought her more joy than she had ever thought
possible. After having the wedding of her dreams, Robert surprised her with a
romantic honeymoon at a cabin in Alaska, just a few days before Christmas. But,
in spite of all the happiness, the sight of the Christmas tree brought back sad
memories that Robert fought to help her overcome. What more was left for her
life to be complete? Could all of Carly’s dreams come true at Christmas? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Buy
link:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Secret Cravings
Publishing:<span style="color: #e36c0a;"> </span></span></b><a href="http://bit.ly/1cCJpc3"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">http://bit.ly/1cCJpc3</span></span></b></a><b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Author
bio:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Emily A. Lawrence lives in Transylvania with her family, hence her love
for vampires and paranormal books. She is extremely passionate about fiction
and has been writing stories, mostly fan fiction, for years now, but only began
thinking seriously about publishing approximately a year ago. Having her
family's support, and encouraged by friends and fellow authors, she pursued her
dream of becoming a published author.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Emily loves creating new characters with whom readers can identify
themselves, and losing herself in their worlds. Usually, she writes
contemporary romance in three heat levels: sweet, sensual and erotic. However,
she would like to try her hand at other genres one day, such as paranormal or
mystery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">When she's not writing, she enjoys traveling and experiencing new
cultures, new sceneries, food and meeting new people, or simply reading a good
book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Author
contact links:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Blog:</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span><a href="http://authoremilylawrence.blogspot.ro/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">http://authoremilylawrence.blogspot.ro/</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Website:</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span><a href="http://emilyalawrence.beaucoupllc.com/index.html"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">http://emilyalawrence.beaucoupllc.com/index.html</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Facebook:</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/EmyALawrence?ref=tn_tnmn"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.facebook.com/EmyALawrence?ref=tn_tnmn</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Facebook fan
page:</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/author.emily.a.lawrence?ref=hl"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.facebook.com/author.emily.a.lawrence?ref=hl</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Twitter:</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span><a href="https://twitter.com/EmyALawrence"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">https://twitter.com/EmyALawrence</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Goodreads:</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/20344150-emily-a-lawrence"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/20344150-emily-a-lawrence</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Pinterest:</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/authorlawrence/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.pinterest.com/authorlawrence/</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> <b><o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Email:</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><a href="mailto:emilyalawrence88@gmail.com"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: blue;">emilyalawrence88@gmail.com</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Thank you, Tabitha, for hosting me on your
blog today! </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-49502278153378265472013-12-09T10:06:00.001-08:002013-12-09T10:06:04.581-08:00Chapter One/Witch's Touch/Coming Soon!Hello Readers,<br />
I know some of you have been waiting a long time for this book. For some reason, this was one of the most difficult books I've written to date. Enjoy this first chapter and get a feeling for the beautiful Nyra Winslow. Her hero, Dym, the sexy Prince of Death will arrive at her door shortly.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcOHoeI34pS7nHZnqN5zTWM8HiK6OhHn4QmZU6gV-psMVedtpIEXILlj4CBwlPyvxyaX2Qqip9HJW54tlGcapYsHqWIPtAb4FvttWrs05_81lrXkxijxIePaXHSeisFOH9oOV4ZNXX1PCF/s1600/WitchsTouch_SM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcOHoeI34pS7nHZnqN5zTWM8HiK6OhHn4QmZU6gV-psMVedtpIEXILlj4CBwlPyvxyaX2Qqip9HJW54tlGcapYsHqWIPtAb4FvttWrs05_81lrXkxijxIePaXHSeisFOH9oOV4ZNXX1PCF/s1600/WitchsTouch_SM.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
BLURB:
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Death takes an unscheduled holiday…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Giver
of Life—Nyra Winters has two abilities that no witch before her has ever
possessed—the power to heal and restore life. However, her constant
interference in Death’s plans makes her a target of the angry god, King Titan,
ruler of the Underworld.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Seeker
of Death—Dym Satarius, Prince of Death, is sent to the magical realm of Ru-Noc
to collect Nyra Winters. Devoid of all emotion, Dym believes this assignment
will be no different than any other—collect the witch’s soul and return to
hell—job done—but something goes terribly wrong and he is stranded in Nyra’s
world without his powers or the ability to return to his realm.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Witch’s Touch―Where life and Death
collide…</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> CHAPTER ONE</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p>
</o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif";">The
Present<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
“Don’t die, Mama.
Don’t die, please.<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">”</span> Nyra
Winters gasped and jerked out of the trance she’d sank into. Blinking, she
tried to focus on the dimly lit room, but everything remained a blur. She
knuckled her eyes hoping it’d speed up the return of her normal vision. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
It didn’t help.
Gods, these spells were occurring way too often. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
It wasn’t so much
that she deliberately broke the coven’s laws to stay out of bygone times, but
more like something or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">someone</i>
summoned her, taking charge of her mind and plunging her into the events that
went on before. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
But who?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
She knew of no one
who wanted her to dwell on the past.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Slowly, her vision
cleared. As she grew more aware of her surroundings, Nyra’s nose twitched at
the pleasant fragrances of lavender, lemon balm, and sage, filtering beneath
her nostrils. Her precious potted herbs. She’d be lost without them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
The soft crackles
from the dying coals in the fireplace filled the room. The tortured sound of
her strangled sobs drifted away like wisps of smoke. <i>Samhain.</i> She hated
it when she journeyed to the night her mother was shot. In her mind, she still
saw her father holding the gun, his hand unsteady, eyes dark as onyx from the
Black Magick sludge that coated his brain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Nyra rubbed the
dampness from her eyes and shuddered as recollections of that terrible night
gripped her soul. She resented the fact that someone took away her control and
forced her to remember a past she’d rather forget. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
When it happened,
the darkness blanketed her mind like a black shroud. At those moments, her
vision narrowed until all she saw was a long, dark, endless tunnel to the past—and
the unfamiliar voice of a male calling her, urging her to remember—but remember
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what? <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
From experience,
she knew when she was summoned, she slipped into a deep, catatonic state where
she couldn’t see or hear anything in the present. Each cross-over took her back
to the night Elsbeth died. Every return to the present left her shaken and
floundering in a sea of daunting pain, confusion, and unanswered questions—and always,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always</i> the awareness of the dim
outline of a dark stranger who insisted she find him, free him, and bring him
to her world. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Who-who-<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">who?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Nyra smothered a
scream of frustration. So many unanswered questions. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Who was the
stranger? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
What did he want
from her? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Why hadn’t her
mother’s soul returned and claimed the body it belonged to? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Was her mother’s
spirit too weak to travel from one plane to the next?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Or had her
mother’s spirit simply been in too bad a shape to survive? To return? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
She had no ready
answers. As the centuries passed, Nyra feared Elsbeth might never return from
the dead side.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Flinging back the faded quilts, she scooted to the edge of
the old-fashioned iron-rail bed and pressed a trembling hand to her heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">And the male who called to her—was he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">waken,</i> demon, or warlock? Why was he so insistent she remember him
when she knew well she’d never laid eyes upon him? The salty tang of tears
touched her lips, startling her to the fact she was crying. Annoyed, she
sniffed. Nyra couldn’t remember the last time she’d wept. Full-blooded witches
couldn’t cry. Instead, their hearts bled when they felt sorrow, but she was an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">mpure</span>,</i>
half-human, and as such, she shed tears, but she rarely let herself lose
control and give into the urge to cry.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“I’m a healer, Mama. I can save…you.” Inwardly, Nyra
flinched. Her shoulders shook with grief. The painful memory of watching her
mother fade into the <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Realm of Souls</span>
left a hollow ache in her heart. Icy sweat dampened her body and left her skin
chilled and slick. Her thin flannel gown felt clammy against her thighs. “I’m
sorry, Mama.” A sob tore from her throat before she could suppress it.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“He summoned ye again?” </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Nyra nodded, though she knew the three-foot <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">F<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">uthar</span></i>
rabbit couldn’t see her in the shadows cast by the lit candles scattered around
the room. Even the fire glowing from the stone fireplace appeared to have lost
its enchanted spell and barely flickered. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">However, there was no hiding her despair from Karma. The
familiar’s magical senses were much stronger than a witch’s, and Karma knew her
well. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“Does he seek to lay blame on ye, Nyra?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t know what he wants. I
don’t get the feeling I’m in danger. It’s almost as if he wants me to recall
something from that night. I have no idea what it is he wants me to remember.
He never mentions blame. His voice is gentle and encouraging.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“Good. It wasn’t yer fault, Nyra.” Karma held up a bent and
twisted wand made from the branch of a magical Black Willow tree. She waved it
around drawing sparkling green symbols in the air, and muttering words only a <i>Futhar</i>
understood. “There now, yer bound to feel better soon.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Magical waves of warm sympathy floated around Nyra. As the
warmth circled and engulfed her, Nyra smiled in spite of the sorrow wrenching
her heart. After all the speech lessons she’d provided for the rabbit, the <i>Futhar</i>
still retained a bit of her familiar accent. She surmised Karma always would.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;">Futhars</span></i><span style="color: black;"> had a way of hanging onto a part of their past, and it was
usually most prevalent in their speech patterns. Their accents were as varied
as their personalities. The one thing all <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Futhars</i>
had in common was a fixation with mating. Their fascination wasn’t always
focused on their own sexual needs. Quite frequently, their obsession was with
the subject centered on the witch they claimed. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">The single most important thing to the familiar was to make
certain the witch mated with the right male or female. If there was any
question in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Futhar’s</i> mind
concerning the male for the female, then their fixation turned into a contest
of wills with the witch’s chosen mate. A <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">waken’s</i>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Futhar</i> was just as difficult and
unmanageable. However, one could hardly fault their loyalty and love.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">With unsteady hands, Nyra thrust strands of hair behind her
ears. “I tried hard to save her, Karma, but the past returns like a
punishment.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;">“Humph!</span></i><span style="color: black;"> Yer conscience is yer punishment. It eats at ya and
there’s no reason fer it.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“It was a long time ago, I know, so why does it haunt me?”
Nyra drew a long shaky breath and slowly exhaled. Her heart was soothed by the <i>Futhar’s</i>
touch of warm magic, but the ache remained in her voice, beyond the familiar’s
control. “The passage of time means nothing. The waning of centuries doesn’t
help lessen my feelings of guilt. I can still hear Papa ranting. I try
desperately to warn Mama, but I never get the words past my lips.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“Ya were a child of six, Nyra, yer magic unskilled. Yer
mama knew that. She didn’t expect ya to save her.” </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i><span style="color: black;">“I</span></i><span style="color: black;"> expected me to save
her. I’m a healer!” </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i><span style="color: black;">Some healer she’d turned out to be.</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">“Sweet</span><span style="color: black;"> child, as powerful as yer magic may be, ya cannot allow
this man to keep taking ya to such a painful place. He might mean ya no harm but,
no matter what, ya cannot change history. Yer burning yer self out, my Nyra,
like a dying star, I see you fading before my very eyes. It’s time to let go,
child.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Nyra flopped back on the mattress and flung her arms over
her eyes. “I don’t think he means me harm. He just wants me to remember him for
some reason, but I don’t, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can’t.</i> I
never see his face, so how can I? Papa was the only male I was around in those
days.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“What do you see?” Karma asked. “When he summons you to
him? What do you see?” Her voice quivered with curiosity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“His hands. Rather,
the top of his hands, and his shoulders. He has a tattoo on top of his left
hand, a pentagram, so I have to think he’s…maybe a witch, but not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">waken.</i> He never wears a shirt. His chest
is broad, shoulders wide and roped with muscle. He’s so mysterious.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;">“Humph!</span></i><span style="color: black;"> Sounds like a pervert to me. The man summons ya and hasn’t
the decency to put on a shirt?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Nyra couldn’t keep from grinning. “He’s not perverted. I
think he’s just awakened. He’s on the side of a bed, his head bowed, dark hair
falling around his face and I see —”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;">“What?”</span></i><span style="color: black;"> Karma exclaimed excitedly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“Markings on his right shoulder.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;">“Markings?</span></i><span style="color: black;"> What kind of markings?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“I don’t know.” Nyra shrugged. “A bird…I think.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“A bird?” Karma sounded puzzled. “Ya mean like a blue
bird?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“No.” Nyra shook her head. “I think it’s a blackbird, a
crow, maybe. I swear he acts like I’m the one who has summoned him, instead of
him calling to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“Hmm.” Karma wiggled her ears and twitched her tiny nose.
“Curious.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“He needs my help, Karma.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“Ya can’t help him. Ya don’t even know where he is, let
alone <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">who</i> he is. Ya can’t change
things, Nyra.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Nyra sighed. “I wish I could change one thing, Karma. I
want to prevent Mama’s death. You’re right though, something inside me dies
each time I fail to save her.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“It’s wrong, child,” Karma said gently. “King Titan never
gives back that which he has claimed, nor will he stand for ya to take what he
legally possesses. There are rules in which we all must live by. What about
this male? Can ya recall his looks?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Nyra frowned. “Only that he’s dark and has long, dark hair.
He has to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">waken,</i> yet, I sense
something different about him. Oooh, I don’t know. It’s driving me crazy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Karma sniffed her disapproval. “No matter. Ya allow this…this
person to draw ya into the past. I know as well as ya know that the only reason
ya risk going back is ya think to find yer mother’s soul and help it rejoin her
body. If ya persist in breaking King Titan’s rules, he will send Death on swift
wings fer ya.” </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“I don’t care. I–I wake up sometimes and I–I think I see
her.” Nyra’s throat tightened. She felt as if she was strangling on emotion.
“He–her blonde hair lifts in the summer breeze. Her smiles, I–I see her smile,
Karma…hear her sing. The sound of her laughter dances on the wind.” </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">The <i>Futhar</i> stepped out of the deep shadows of the
room and moved closer to Nyra. Anyone not accustomed to their magical world
would be shocked to see a three foot rabbit wearing a long blue flannel gown,
purple ruffled sleeping cap, and wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her
tiny pink nose, and walking on two legs. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Nyra sat up, her hands unsteady, and lifted the rabbit onto
the bed beside her. “Mama always smelled like daffodils and sunshine,” she
ended with a shaky sob. “Oh, Karma, she’s been gone for so long, so many
centuries, I don’t think her soul will ever find her body.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">She knew she sounded like a little girl, but at the moment,
she felt like the little girl she’d once been.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Karma slipped the wand beneath the pillow beside her and
produced a tissue from the air. She shoved it into Nyra’s hands. “There, there.”
She patted Nyra’s slender shoulders. “Yer still grieving, my Nyra. Ya couldn’t
save her. No one could. Sometimes…it’s a witch’s time to go. When it is, her
soul seeks eternal rest. I highly suspect where yer mama’s soul is involved,
that’s the case. Elsbeth would not be happy without yer father. He was her one
true love.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“He–he shot her, Karma. My papa. Th–the blood…so much red,
the color…so vivid, it stands out in my mind and I can’t bear it.” Nyra whimpered
and used the tissue to wipe away the fresh tears splotching her face. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“That just shows ya, Nyra. Yer mama’s heart was pure that
night or her blood wouldn’t have been scarlet. It would have been thick as the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Styx</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place>
and dark with the evil in that room, but she was untouched by it.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Nyra nodded and tried to breathe, but it was hard when her
spirit felt so crushed. “Dark blood doesn’t always signify evil. You know a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">waken’s</i> blood is darker than others, so
are some witches’. Sometimes, it’s the way it is…”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Her words trailed away with a sob. Nyra’s fingers trembled.
To steady them, she dug them into the blanket twisted about her hips. “Papa
just…he stood there, wild-eyed, the pistol belching smoke. The look on his face…Samhain,
his eyes were so dead and blank…but for a moment, there was a spark of life. It
was as if he couldn’t believe he’d hurt Mama. He ran, Karma. He flung down the
gun…an–and ran…out the door, into the night. With…<i>her!”</i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Karma squeezed Nyra’s icy hands. “There. There. It was a
long time ago, over three hundred years. Don’t think about it, Nyra. Troubled
times, they were. Ya know yer papa was hexed, yer only tormenting yerself.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“I know.” Nyra crawled beneath the covers. “I know it
happened a long time ago, but when I see it, when I return there in my mind,
the pain, the sorrow, it’s all fresh. It feels like it happened yesterday.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">The familiar settled on the pillow beside Nyra’s head. “I
can place a magic spell over ya,” she offered kindly. “Remove the terrible
history from yer memory.” </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;">“No.</span></i><span style="color: black;"> No matter how painful, I want to remember what happened.
They tried to take it all away from me, erase my mind of the details, but I
fought them. I’ll never allow magic to steal my memories. I want to find the
witch who destroyed my parents.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“They?”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“The coven,” Nyra whispered unsteadily. “They took my
sisters from me, separated us, and forced us to dwell in the world of humans.
No one would tell me where they’d taken my sisters.” Fierce anger heated her
blood. “I’ll never forgive the coven for keeping us apart.”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">“Be kind to them, child. They meant well. They meant only
to protect the three of you from the evil witch.” </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Nyra sniffed. “I wasn’t as lucky as Kirrah and Saylym. They
were so young, their memories easily manipulated. They forgot everything. They
forgot me, Karma. You have any idea how it feels to be forgotten? I didn’t
forget them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">As a child, she’d heard the fight unfold between her
parents. Slipping from the bed in the loft she shared with Kirrah and Saylym,
she peeped over the edge to the floor below where her parents stood arguing. Her
innocence, a child’s innocence, was shattered that night as she secretly
watched, and listened to them quarrel. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Kirrah and Saylym slept through the terrible fight, until
the booming retort of the flintlock woke them. The three of them bounded down
the rickety ladder and ran screaming to their mama. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Soon after, the coven swooped in on their besoms. They took
her and her sisters into the night, wrenching them away from the appalling
scene inside the hut. Over three hundred years passed before she saw Kirrah and
Saylym again. Even when their memories started to return, they hadn’t
remembered that night, her, or even each other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">But she—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i>
remembered everything…she’d touched the blood on her mama’s breasts. In her
child’s eyes, it had been surreal, an unnatural red that crawled across
Elsbeth’s snowy white apron, scarlet, and evil, something loathsome and alive,
devouring her mama as she lay wounded and dying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Nyra poured every bit of magic she possessed into healing
the injury that night, but the coven pulled her away, telling her it was too
late. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i><span style="color: black;">“No,”</span></i><span style="color: black;"> she screamed.
“I’m a healer. I can help her!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">For a six-year-old, the battle between her and the elder
witches raged hot and fierce. She’d fought them with everything she had,
screaming, crying, and clawing. She resisted their magical chants, argued, and
pleaded. The verbal dispute did her no good. She was a little girl, too young
to handle the fierce magic growing inside her. Too young to understand she
couldn’t save her mama, and too young to take on the powerful magic of the
older witches. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">But her mind had been strong, and though the coven made
numerous attempts to erase her memories, they hadn’t been able to without
destroying her completely. No one wanted to see that happen, so they backed
away from inflicting too much damage to her mind—to her soul. Still, in her
heart, she’d never forgiven them, and never would.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">No matter how long it had been, no matter the passing of
centuries, the grief always blindsided her. Just like her memories, the years
of loneliness couldn’t be erased. She hadn’t lost just her mama that night.
She’d lost her sisters and her papa, too, her entire family gone before she had
time to realize everything was tragically changing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">She’d stood there helpless, her mama’s blood dripping from
her fingertips, and the coven shuffling her away. They hustled her and her
sisters into the night, into a life none of them could have foreseen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Living close to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Salem</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Village</st1:placetype></st1:place> had been
dangerous for witches. After her mama’s death, and all the hangings, Nyra’s use
of magic was forbidden. The coven ordered her to leave the dead, dead. Her
magical powers were concealed from human eyes, unused in the mortal world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Like a delicate flower strangled by a patch of weeds, <span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">Nyra</span> choked by degrees in the <i>illumrof</i> realm,
alone, except for her Aunt Glorma, who wasn’t really her aunt, but a member of
the coven assigned the task of parenting her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">Nyra knew she’d never healed from all that happened that
terrible night. She’d never quite learned to trust anyone with her heart, soul,
or her life. She vowed no one would take control of her magic again or forbid
her the use of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">She’d settled in Sanctuary now, back in the realm of
Ru-Noc. Back to the land of witches and <i>wakens</i>. Home. Nyra brandished
her magic as she saw fit, even though she knew it made her the target of some
very unsavory demons and worse. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">But no one was ever telling her what she could or couldn’t
do with her skills again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">No one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">And if that meant King Titan got pissed at her, well then—what
was one old god’s wrath compared to her magical skills? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;">She’d handle him when the time came.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-78548245083714324982013-11-15T03:44:00.005-08:002013-11-15T03:58:22.743-08:00Welcome Romance Author, Gioconda Lyss!Today's special guest is the amazingly talented, Gioconda Lyss, whose books have received four and five star reviews. Please leave Gio a comment and make her feel welcome!<br />
<br />
<strong>BIO:</strong><br />
“Heaven on Earth” is Gioconda Lyss’ first erotic romance
novella. Born and raised in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Romania</st1:country-region>,
she now lives in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Nevada</st1:place></st1:state>
with her family, and the world’s most spoiled cat and dog. Visit her at <a href="http://www.giocondalyss.com/"><span style="color: blue;">www.giocondalyss.com</span></a> and friend her on
Facebook <a href="https://www.facebook.com/gioconda.lyss"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.facebook.com/gioconda.lyss</span></a><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7SFhw2x-LxTLwA_Kxcl8z0tlh-xUxiA0a5Bm_TC6p_xqCw47NmiUjjh4m0FycHI_5ocssMM4FCAZby4BEI6M6ApHR4WHqTHmVL1_gFbutCSMgV2iTnYhZtyt3frrXm0Ohqd7Q4agZwKCY/s1600/HeavenonEarth_LRG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7SFhw2x-LxTLwA_Kxcl8z0tlh-xUxiA0a5Bm_TC6p_xqCw47NmiUjjh4m0FycHI_5ocssMM4FCAZby4BEI6M6ApHR4WHqTHmVL1_gFbutCSMgV2iTnYhZtyt3frrXm0Ohqd7Q4agZwKCY/s320/HeavenonEarth_LRG.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>BLURB:</strong><br />
<span style="background: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: white;">Gwen McAllister
and Desmond Blankenship have both had their share of disappointment in love and
marriage. Gwen is a divorced woman who swears never to love again. Desmond is a
businessman who finds his wife in bed with a friend. The two meet at a party in
<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Phoenix</st1:place></st1:city> and
soon begin a long-distance relationship. While Desmond knows Gwen is the woman
he wants to be with, Gwen is reluctant about facing her feelings for Desmond.
Just when Desmond is ready to declare his true feelings for Gwen, Gwen’s life
take an unexpected turn. Leticia Martinez, Gwen’s long- time friend and
occasional lover, makes an unexpected visit. At first, Leticia and Desmond
express an instant dislike for one another. Will Gwen have to choose between
the two people she loves the most, or will they make the relationship work for
all three of them?</span><br />
<span style="background: white; color: black;"></span><br />
<span style="background: white; color: black;"></span><br />
<br />
<strong>EXCERPT:</strong>
HEAVEN ON EARTH
<br />
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Thank
goodness for showers and blessed be the person who invented them. Desmond
replayed the fun they’d had lathering one another up. Soapy hands going in and
out of body crevices, touching, tickling, arousing.</div>
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Taking
a shower with two women had been an experience in itself. Having two sets of
hands touching him, stroking him, arousing him, was beyond any dream he’d ever
had. Watching them laughing and shrieking with delight, interacting with one
another, it was obvious to Desmond that these two women had great affection for
one another. It became apparent that there was some kind of bond between them
that could never be broken. A friendship bordering on sisterhood, a sisterhood
bordering on marriage, a marriage bordering on two halves of a whole.</div>
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That
Gwen and Leti’s relationship had become physical over time had just been the
next natural step for them, Desmond realized. Well, now the two halves were
becoming thirds, by taking him to their bosoms. And how lucky he was that they
chose him! Gratitude filled his heart to the point of bursting.</div>
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Minutes
later, when they were all squeaky clean and towel-dried, they collapsed on the
bed-a mingle of legs and arms that contrasted and mixed together splendidly.
Desmond’s black skin, Leticia's caramel, and Gwen's white. They were different
in coloring, but they were united in love and affection.</div>
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Gwen
crawled to the foot of the bed, expectant and giddy as a child. Warm color
filled her cheeks.</div>
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Desmond
looked at her, question marks in his eyes.</div>
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“I
want you to kiss Leti,” she told him without any further ado.</div>
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“Is
this okay with you?” He turned his attention on Leti.</div>
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Leticia
nodded and tipped her head back to be kissed.</div>
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Their
lips came together tentatively. Desmond brushed his lips on Leti’s and stopped,
suddenly unsure of what he should do next. It was Leticia who took the kiss to
the next level, gripping the sides of his head and pressing her lips harder on
his. Her tongue snaked deeply into his mouth and licked the roof. Her kiss was
different from the way Gwen’s lips felt on his, different from Gwen’s kisses.
But he was amazed at the strong reaction he got from just that one kiss. Desire
surged through him and his cock became erect, pushing against her belly. Leti
gasped and squirmed against him. He wanted to take her, but he was also very
aware that Gwen watched them. He wanted to see her reaction. How did she feel
about it? Was she truly okay with this?</div>
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He
broke the kiss and looked at Gwen. Gwen's pale face had turned a deep shade of
pink, and her eyes were glossy with lust. She sucked a sharp breath in, and bit
her lower lip.</div>
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“Don’t
stop,” Gwen murmured, while she slid her hand down south, toward her pussy. She
half-closed her eyes. He watched her hand sliding between her shapely legs and
beginning to finger herself.</div>
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Christ,
how much he loved seeing her aroused like this! He couldn’t wait to see what
new heights of arousal and pleasure he could bring her to. He would be willing
to do anything to make Gwen happy!</div>
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He
leaned toward Gwen and took her in his arms. He kissed her deeply,
passionately. He got drunk on her wonderful taste. He wanted the moment to go
on forever. If the planet stopped spinning in that moment, he couldn’t have
cared less. They kissed long and hard, their tongues dancing with one another.</div>
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When
she pulled away slowly from his embrace he let go reluctantly. He knew they
were about to cross a line that would make a difference in their relationship,
a line which, when closed, they will not be able to take back. He remembered
Gwen’s words about “taking it slow” and almost laughed. Did she have this-–a
threesome—in mind when she uttered those words? He almost opened his mouth to
ask that very question, but at that precise moment Gwen leaned in and took his
cock in her mouth, giving it a swift lick and a kiss on the head.</div>
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“I
want you to fuck her,” she said simply when she came up.</div>
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Desmond
did as he was told.</div>
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He
eased himself on top on Leticia who was already fingering herself and pulling
on her small, dark wine-colored nipples. Leti gave him a small nod and opened
her legs for him. She took his cock and guided it to the opening of her sex.</div>
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Desmond
groaned as he pushed himself inside Leti. Leticia’s pussy was tight and
surprisingly wet, considering that he hadn’t done much in the way of foreplay
to arouse her. Then he remembered how aroused Gwen was from watching him
kissing Leti. The girls got off on watching one another. Exhilaration made his
body tremble. The feeling was all-encompassing, and a totally new high.</div>
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He
thrust inside Leti’s opening, feeling her inner muscles relax around his shaft.
Gwen caressed his back with her fingernails; the sensation sent pleasurable
shivers through his body, directly to his groin. At the nape of his neck he
felt Gwen’s mouth placing kisses, which continued in a trail down toward his
shoulders. Gwen then slid toward Leti, kissing her small, perky breasts before
moving up to her plump mouth. Seeing Gwen kiss Leti sent Desmond toward the top
of the precipice. He stopped, drawing breath into his lungs. The sensation was
almost too much. Gwen turned her head, her eyes searching him.</div>
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“Are
you okay?”</div>
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“Uh-huh.”</div>
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She
took his head in her hands and kissed him to reassure him that he was doing the
right thing. Their tongues danced together, entwined, fought and then she
sucked his into her mouth. Tremors shook his body at the delicious feeling and
he began moving again inside Leti. Gwen’s kiss excited him to no end. Gwen
urged him on with kisses on his shoulder and scratches on his back, and when
Leti told him she was coming, he crossed the edge with her.</div>
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BUY LINKS: <br />
Amazon:<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Heaven-Earth-Gioconda-Lyss-ebook/dp/B00FE3RIX0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382124869&sr=8-1&keywords=gioconda+lyss">http://www.amazon.com/Heaven-Earth-Gioconda-Lyss-ebook/dp/B00FE3RIX0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382124869&sr=8-1&keywords=gioconda+lyss</a><br />
Amazon.co.uk:http://www.amazon.co.uk/Heaven-Earth-Gioconda-Lyss-ebook/dp/B00FE3RIX0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382125092&sr=8-1&keywords=gioconda+lyss<br />
B&N:<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/gioconda-lyss?store=allproducts&keyword=gioconda+lyss">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/gioconda-lyss?store=allproducts&keyword=gioconda+lyss</a><br />
Other books: I published a short story in "Passion Beyond Words.<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Passion-Beyond-Words-Mona-Castillo/dp/1492347868/ref=la_B00FW6LN4E_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1382125824&sr=1-1">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Passion-Beyond-Words-Mona-Castillo/dp/1492347868/ref=la_B00FW6LN4E_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1382125824&sr=1-1</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Passion-Beyond-Words-Volume-1/dp/1492347868/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1382125896&sr=8-2&keywords=gioconda+lyss">http://www.amazon.com/Passion-Beyond-Words-Volume-1/dp/1492347868/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1382125896&sr=8-2&keywords=gioconda+lyss</a><br />
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<strong></strong><br />Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-40824277573215113642013-11-05T02:48:00.002-08:002013-11-05T03:30:01.092-08:00Lydia Michaels, Romance Guest Author!Good Morning Readers,<br />
Please make welcome today's wonderful romance author, Lydia Michaels. Leave her a comment, please!<br />
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<span style="background: rgb(253, 249, 211); color: #202020; font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><strong>AUTHOR BIO:</strong></span><br />
<span style="background: rgb(253, 249, 211); color: #202020; font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Award
winning author, Lydia Michaels, writes all forms of hot romance. She presses
the bounds of love and surprises readers just when they assume they have her
stories figured out. From Amish vampyres, to wild Irishmen, to broken heroes,
and heroines no man can match, Lydia takes readers on an emotional journey of
the heart, mind, and soul with every story she pens. Her books are
intellectual, erotic, haunting, always centered on love. Lydia Michaels loves
to here from readers! She can be found of Facebook or contacted by email
at </span><a href="mailto:Lydia@LydiaMichaels.org"><span style="background: rgb(253, 249, 211); color: #202020; font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Lydia@LydiaMichaels.org</span></a><br />
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<strong>BLURB:A SIMPLE MAN<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Months
after Shane Martin’s sister vanishes, life crashes down and he finds himself
the guardian of a nephew he never knew existed. Blissfully ignorant, Shane
trades in his musician status, full of late nights and fast women, for midnight
feedings and lullabies. But when Kate McAlister, his prissy, stuck up
caseworker, arrives unexpectedly, he realizes he could lose everything.</span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Kate isn’t
impressed by Shane’s messy bachelor pad, rocker image, or sexy tattoos. As a
matter of fact she finds it all very sophomoric. The sooner she’s off the case
the better. Everything from his long hair to his sarcastic attitude threatens
her professionalism. But when he lowers his guard and asks for help, she
discovers a side to this tattooed musician she can’t resist. Behind this simple
man is an unsung hero.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>EXCERPT: A SIMPLE MAN BY LYDIA MICHAELS</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
When Duce left, Shane sifted through the bag. There were tiny diapers, wipes, some sort of yoga mat thing, a bunch of creams. He laughed when he saw something called Butt Paste. That was self-explanatory.<br />There was something resembling a miniature turkey baster. He found clothes, itty-bitty socks, a knit cap, a few rattles, two containers of formula, some bottles, and a small booklet with doctor’s visits listed in it. He recognized the writing as his sister’s and a strange, sad nostalgia settled over him.<br />Was she here watching him now? “He’s beautiful, Noel,” he whispered. “I’m gonna do this. Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out and I’ll take good care of him for you. You’ll see.”<br />By the time Duce returned Shane was reading the bottle of formula. “What’s that?” his friend asked as he plopped down the paper takeout bag of food.<br />“Formula. I didn’t find any food. Do you think I should wake him to eat?”<br />“Uh, isn’t there some rule about never waking a sleeping baby?”<br />Shane shrugged. “Maybe I should make up a bottle so it’s ready when he does wake. He’s been sleeping for two hours. He’s gotta be hungry.”<br />Shane wished he had Internet. He wasn’t really computer savvy, but people were always talking about finding shit online. Duce was staring at him with a peculiar look. “What?”<br />“I think you should give him back.”<br />“Give him back? There is no back. I’m it.”<br />“He’s just all perfect and small. What if you fuck him up?”<br />“Hey, don’t curse in front of him. And I’m not going to mess him up. I just need some practice. I’ll figure it out.”<br />“Maybe you should ask someone who has kids what to do.”<br />Shane reached for an egg roll. “I don’t know anyone with kids. I have to take a class and I have a crap load of reading material.”<br />“When do you take the class? Maybe that was something you should have done beforehand.”<br />“It starts tomorrow night. I’ll be fine.”<br />They ate and zoned out to some reality TV. Baby Shane was so quiet they’d almost forgotten about him. Then Duce’s face began to twitch. “Dude, what’s that smell?”<br />Shane sniffed and choked. Whatever it was, it was powerful enough to make his eyes water. “Aw man, did you fart?”<br />“Wasn’t me.”<br />In unison, they slowly turned to the baby who still slept soundly. He leaned over and sniffed, almost gagging as he jerked back. “Holy crap! How could something so pintsize smell that bad?”<br />Duce covered his mouth and went to the window, quickly opening it to let some air in. The little guy made a tiny nook-nook sound and his miniature fist curled up by his chin in a dainty stretch. He looked like the fighting Irish.<br />“It’s moving,” Duce whispered as though the baby were a bomb about to detonate. And suddenly an explosion happened.<br />Baby Shane’s face screwed up tight, turning an unnatural shade of red. His mouth opened wide, showing nothing but pink gums, and an unholy squawk roared out of him.<br />They jumped and stared as the baby screamed, his little chest working in quick breaths as he drew in only enough air to force out another shrill, squawking cry.<br />“Do something!” Duce demanded.<br />Shane panicked. He reached for the book and began to thumb through, not sure what he was looking for.<br />“Don’t fucking read! Pick it up!” Duce snapped.<br />Shane tossed the book on the couch and quickly kneeled in front of the angry baby. He wailed and Shane began to freak. Was he in pain? Ugh, the smell coming off of him was burning the back of his throat. “Sweet Jesus, he stinks!”<br />He quickly removed the soft blanket. Shane was strapped down with some sort of five-point harness a person needed a degree in engineering to figure out. He pressed buttons and undid latches, shaking with the urgent need to make him stop screaming.<br />Sweat seeped through the baby’s tiny cotton jumper. The closer he got the worse the stench became.<br />“I thought babies were supposed to smell good?” Duce said, fanning the front door to let some air in.<br />“So did I. I can’t figure out how to unbuckle him!”<br />“Hit the red buttons on the side. You gotta get the handle out of the way.”<br />Sweat trickled into his eyes as he tried to dismantle the carrier. Finally he had the harness undone. “Now what?”<br />“Pick it up!”<br />“He stinks!”<br />Duce scowled. “So, my ear drums are about to burst. You gotta get in there. Tough it out. Take one for the team!”<br />Shane carefully picked up the screaming baby. He held him in front of his chest like a potted plant. He was so incredibly light. “What now?”<br />“I don’t know. You’re the one who’s supposed to be Mr. Mom. Comfort it. Pat its back. Sing or something!”<br />Shane stood and awkwardly turned, swaying slightly. He didn’t want to shake him and break him. He sang the first song that came to his mind, wincing at the lyrics about loaded guns.<br />Duce’s mouth fell open. “Teen Spirit? Really? How about Rock-a-bye Baby?”<br />“I don’t know Rock-a-bye Baby. Nirvana’s the first thing that popped into my head.”<br />“It’s not really appropriate, Shane,” Duce said coolly as if he were suddenly more qualified than him with babies.<br />“You wanna try?”<br />“No, I’m set.”<br />He continued to sing Teen Spirit and eventually Baby Shane quieted. Blue eyes stared back at him and slowly the world began to settle.<br />Shane was sweating and Duce looked petrified.<br />“Hi,” Shane said. The baby blinked. “I’m your Uncle Shane.”<br />“I don’t think he can talk.”<br />“No shit, Sherlock.”</span></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><strong>TRAILER/A SIMPLE MAN</strong></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwSnY5u_sak"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwSnY5u_sak</span></a>
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</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Buy Links: <o:p></o:p></span></b></o:p></span><br />
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</span><a href="http://www.lydiamichaels.org/"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: blue;">www.LydiaMichaels.org</span></span></a><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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</span><a href="http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=736&zenid=3a35226c8c546aac1f9dc4ba86c933a0"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: blue;">http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=736&zenid=3a35226c8c546aac1f9dc4ba86c933a0</span></span></a><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-46462997601161764252013-10-25T06:04:00.004-07:002013-10-25T06:29:10.384-07:00Layna Pimental/Cover Reveal!Welcome Readers!<br />
Woo-Hoo! There's nothing more exciting for an author than to get the new cover for her next book release, unless, of course, she/he receives an email from a reader/fan. Today, Romance authoer, Layna Pimental has a copy of latest cover and wants to share it with all of you. Please make her feel welcome and leave a comment!<br />
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<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><strong>BIOGRAPHY: Layna Pimental...</strong></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Born and raised in Toronto, Ontario, Layna
discovered her love of reading at an early age. When she isn’t devouring
salacious romance novels or writing, she enjoys losing herself in researching
ancient history and mythology, weaponry, and hiking. She lives in Northern
Ontario, with her husband and two daughters.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA"></span><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Layna is a member of the Romance Writers of
America, and is a monthly contributor at 69 Shades of Smut. For updates on her
upcoming releases, or to leave her a comment, you can find at:</span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Releasing November 11, 2013</span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Publisher: </span><a href="http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=products_all&zenid=bae6dc1b586589fbccd9b215570173d2&filter_author=199&disp_order=6"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: Garamond;">Secret
Cravings Publishing</span></a></span></div>
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Genre: Historical
Erotic Romance</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Warning: This
book has elements of: light bondage, and ménages.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Length: Novella</span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: small;"><strong>Blurb:</strong></span></span></div>
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</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Bastian Wycliffe, the Earl
of Wendelhem, has finally moved on</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">…<span style="color: black;">or so he
thought. En-route to a hunting trip after over-indulging the night before, he
endures a frightful and terribly embarrassing swoon. He’s seen a ghost and her
name is Cordelia Waite, the Duchess of Downsbury.</span></span><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mrs. Weylen, formerly </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">a<span style="color: black;"> duchess, has a secret. All it took was </span>the<span style="color: black;"> chance meeting in the inn that fateful night</span><span style="color: #cd232c;"> </span><span style="color: black;">for her memories
to come back and haunt her. She makes haste returning to London incognito with
the intent to clear up misconceptions</span><span style="color: #cd232c;"> </span><span style="color: black;">and to deliver an ultimatum to her former lover.</span></span><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yet, when a new found
obsession refuses to accept the truth, and her imprisoned husband discovers
she’s still alive, </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">their lives and relationship may be in
danger.<span style="color: black;"> Second chances have never been more
precarious.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Related books: </span><a href="http://www.laynapimentel.com/#!pleasuregardenfollies/csmt"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: Garamond;"><em>Scandal at
Vauxhall (Book One), A Sinful Education (Book Two)</em></span></a></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Want to be the first to catch some sneak peeks into this book?
Subscribe to my blog or my Facebook page. I’ll be posting some surprise teasers
until release day.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Blog: </span><a href="http://laynap.wordpress.com/"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: Garamond;">laynap.wordpress.com</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Garamond;">
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<span lang="EN-CA"></span><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Website: </span><a href="http://www.laynapimentel.com/"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: Garamond;">www.laynapimentel.com</span></span></a></span></div>
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Twitter: </span><a href="http://www.twitter.com/LaynaPimentel"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: Garamond;">www.twitter.com/LaynaPimentel</span></span></a></span><br />
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Facebook: </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/AuthorLaynaPimentel"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: Garamond;">www.facebook.com/AuthorLaynaPimentel</span></span></a></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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</v:imagedata></v:shape></span>Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-80109227525674548562013-09-13T05:43:00.005-07:002013-09-14T23:18:03.935-07:00Romance Author, Whitney K-E!Good Morning Readers!<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Despite my debut novel, <em>What Happens in
Ireland,</em> out for over three months now, I haven’t often talked about my
Aussie heroine, Kate Barrow. My readers consider Kate many things. Feisty,
witty, a professional horsewoman and ultimately, the woman of my Irish hero’s
heart.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I relate to Kate a lot. And I wanted to
make her a character my readers could relate to as well. So, I made her a
romance book Junkie! It’s kind of Kate’s dirty little secret. A bit of a shrew,
she puts up an iron façade and wards most male advances off with her
sharp-tongued wit. But at heart, Kate’s a romantic. And lucky her, she gets her
tall, dark and incredibly handsome Irishman.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Kate loves a good romance. She reads
across sub-genres – Historical, contempories and paranormals are her favorites!
And of course, her dream spot to read is on a window seat. And like a lot of
Kate’s fantasies, she finds her dream reading nook in Ireland! Can you imagine?
Rugged up on a nippy winter’s day with the fire going, a coffee (or hot
chocolate if you prefer) sitting beside you, a good book in hand and beautiful
Ireland (whilst maybe a little dreary, right outside the window. I don’t know
about you, but I wouldn’t mind being Kate. Especially if it meant I shared my
seat with a silver-tongued Irishman, hehe! </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So, as a treat today, I have a snippet
to share! </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But before I leave you to experience a
few moments in Ireland, I’d like to know where you like to read? What’s your
dream reading nook?</span><br />
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<strong>BLURB:</strong></div>
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When Australian, Kate Barrow, meets a handsome Irishman in a Dublin bar, she has no idea that he’s about to turn her world upside-down and inside-out.</div>
In Ireland to take on a position on a thoroughbred stud, Kate is shocked when her manager-in-co reveals himself to be the same man she’d met in Dublin.<br />
Jack is drawn to Kate. The problem is, she won’t have him. But Jack has always loved a challenge and the intriguing woman from Oz is one he cannot resist.<br />
Harboring the sting of another man’s betrayal, Kate is certain she wants nothing to do with love and nothing to do with Jack O’Reilly. But when naked torsos, Mother Nature and dysfunctional umbrellas start plotting against her resolve, she realizes the charms of an Irishman are going to be hard to resist.<br />
‘Unashamedly romantic and sentimental in parts, hot and steamy in others…I have no hesitation at all in recommending this novel to readers of romance fiction. And in particular, to readers of romance who love Ireland…<br />
<br />
<strong>Excerpt:</strong><br />
Not twenty meters from the stables stood a small, adorable cottage. Like the other buildings it was made of stone and covered in vines. A small veranda graced the front and a white cane loveseat was positioned to provide the perfect view of the sunset through the trees. A narrow chimney ascended up one side of the structure and Kate experienced a surge of excitement at the prospect of spending her nights lazing before the fireplace, a coffee in one hand and a book in the other. <br />
The cottage looked wonderful. <br />
Jack turned and fixed her with a grin, her suitcase still in hand. “What are ye thinkin’?” <br />
“Is…Is there anything on this property that is remotely ugly?” she asked. <br />
“Nope.” His cheeks dimpled as he turned to climb the front steps and opened the door. “And that includes the people on it.” </div>
Kate’s faced warmed. She’d just given him an opening and already, it was too late to close it. <br />
Men… <br />
Following him inside, she quickly forgot the smart remark on her lips when she entered. She was sure she must resemble a fox caught in the headlights, her eyes widening with wonder at each new sight. <br />
The cottage was small, made up of only three rooms: the kitchen, dining room and lounge room joined to form one, a bathroom and bedroom. The fireplace was positioned thoughtfully to warm the entire house and the furnishings were all the same shade of lacquered hardwood, every piece possessing its own character. The kitchen was modern and the lounge begged her to collapse into it. <br />
Portraits similar to those in the main house decorated the walls and a bookcase overflowing with books stood in the corner of the room, the worn spines tempting her fingertips. Stepping past Jack who’d paused to watch her reaction, she walked over to stand in the center of the room. Turning to look back at him, she returned his amused grin before letting her gaze sweep the room. She shrieked suddenly with delight. <br />
Running past Jack, she flung herself up onto the window seat nestled in the corner of the room. Curling her feet up beneath her, she leaned against the wall and shut her eyes. <br />
I’m in love! <br />
When she opened them, Jack’s raised eyebrows were the first thing she saw. <br />
“I take it ye like the place,” he said, walking over to lean against the wall. <br />
Kate felt her cheeks warm a little. “I’ve always wanted a window seat,” she explained, shifting her gaze to the panorama outside the window. <br />
What little sunlight could escape through the clouds above was fading with the minutes left in the day, causing a pale yellow glow through the trees. Equines grazed in a paddock not too far away and the faint sound of birds could be heard. It was as if the seat had been built just for the purpose of showcasing this view.<br />
“A window seat?” <br />
Turning back to Jack, Kate looked up in mock shock. <br />
“Are you telling me you’ve never yearned for a window seat?” Her lips twitched with the effort it took to keep her amusement hidden. <br />
“Yer excited... over a window seat?” He pulled a face that expressed his concern for her mental state. <br />
Kate laughed. “I’ve always wanted a one,” she said, her chin resting childishly on her drawn-up knees. “They’re perfect for reading.” <br />
“Ye like to read?” Jack walked over to the bookcase. <br />
Leaping up, Kate joined him. “I love to,” she confirmed, running a fingertip over the spines of the books. <br />
She recognized a few of the titles but she was definitely going to have to bring in a few of her favorites. <br />
“What genre?” Jack pried, removing a book that looked as if it might disintegrate beneath his touch. <br />
“Mostly romance.” <br />
Kate’s finger froze when she realized her mistake. <br />
Bloody hell! Why don’t I just pick up a shovel and dig myself a bloody hole. <br />
“Romance?” A knowing grin shape Jack’s lips. “Now, isn’t that interestin’.” <br />
Her body tensed. <br />
She was not going to let this get to her. She was not going to let this get to her… <br />
“I don’t mind a bit of romance myself actually,” Jack added. <br />
“Now you’re talking bullshit.” <br />
Was it seriously possible for a man to be so irritatingly confident? <br />
“I don’t bullshit,” Jack defended himself, his folded arms emphasizing his muscled chest. “I only speak the truth.” <br />
Kate wasn’t listening. But she was drooling over him.<br />
If he’d told her he was a girl—which he obviously, was not—she’d have found it easier to believe. Then again, the smile he was wearing was rather persuasive. Who knew what she might do under its influence. <br />
“Really? Because I find that most of the things you say are bullshit.” <br />
Turning away from him, she moved on to inspect the remaining rooms. Looking smug, Jack followed. <br />
Can’t he even be slightly offended?<br />
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<b>REVIEW:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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‘<i>Unashamedly romantic and sentimental in parts,
hot and steamy in others…I have no hesitation at all in recommending this novel
to readers of romance fiction. And in particular, to readers of romance who
love Ireland…’ – Maria Mohan<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i>Buy Links:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></i></b></div>
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can also connect Whitney on the following social media sites:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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</span><a href="http://theromanticmuse.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The Romantic Muse blog </span></a><strong></strong><br />
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Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-86965770606100394212013-08-23T02:11:00.002-07:002013-08-23T02:49:01.987-07:00Welcome Multi-Published, Jennifer Labelle!Good Morning, Readers, or Afternoon, whichever it may be. Today's wonderful guest is romance author, Jennifer Labelle. Please leave her a comment!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05SqDSiOCxnbFLDOoJYrnW-HzEBEjY2cY8T1WouqP7-PTE51ZrYlGFmEbRI6uuMh5RLbYCS7Mz7kANDyaSG5RxiW7CmzJrkC1SLW71JIl287LeUuAVOPZWzX-YYxO9Lehio7VjmEEEF1Z/s1600/01moi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05SqDSiOCxnbFLDOoJYrnW-HzEBEjY2cY8T1WouqP7-PTE51ZrYlGFmEbRI6uuMh5RLbYCS7Mz7kANDyaSG5RxiW7CmzJrkC1SLW71JIl287LeUuAVOPZWzX-YYxO9Lehio7VjmEEEF1Z/s1600/01moi.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<strong>Author Bio:</strong><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Jennifer
Labelle resides in Ottawa, Ontario Canada with her husband and three beautiful
children. After her third child she became a stay at home mom. In her busy
household, Jennifer likes to spend her down time engrossed in the stories she
creates. She is an avid reader of romance (especially historical), mystery, and
anything paranormal. With an education in Addictions work, she’s decided to
take a less stressful approach in life and hopes that you enjoy, as she shares
some of her imagination with all of you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Book blurb: <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Jenna Baker is shaken up
after her recovery with a near death experience. As if, being haunted with
visions and losing her husband in a car accident weren’t hard enough. Could she
be losing her mind? She finally moves on, only to have the husband she thought
was dead suddenly reappear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the shocking task of convincing Jenna
that she’s not seeing his ghost, Tyler becomes overwhelmed with guilt for
saving himself and leaving her to almost die. Jenna’s recovery takes its toll
while Tyler’s vulnerability gets the best of him. He’s harboring secrets that
will devastate her and as Jenna unravels the truth her life takes an unexpected
journey. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Excerpt: </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">He
smiled again, taking the last plate from her to dry and shook off the extra
suds. Drips of water and soap suds flew through the air getting her wet in the
process, and he laughed at her shocked expression. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh, really,” she said in the mood to play.
Taking the sprayer hose from the faucet, she turned it on and gave him a
squirt. She laughed, and it was his turn to pause in shock.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She could tell by his expression that this
meant war and made a run for it, laughing the whole way. She made it into the
living room before he extended his arm to catch her, swooping her up as if she
was feather light. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">“Got
ye.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They both laughed, but when she turned to
face him, he became serious suddenly. She knew then that the games were over.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face and pulled her towards him. Slowly
moving his face closer, his eyes sparkled and completely absorbed hers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The kiss started out slow, and she wanted
him to take his time with it. She held back a groan when his mouth pulled away
and pulled him tighter against her. Her adrenaline pumped faster, and she could
feel the warmth coursing throughout her body. There was no thinking twice about
it; her desire consumed her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pushing him against the wall, she kissed him
hard, wanting him in that moment more than she’d ever wanted anything. She
liked where this was going, liked being in control, needed it in that moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Placing her hands on
his chest, she slowly moved them down his beautifully sculptured abs. “Stay,”
she whispered, taking a step back so that he could watch as she unzipped her
dress. It slowly slid to the floor <span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">exposing
her bare breasts and the sexy black thong she wore. She kicked it out of the
way, pulled his shirt off, and pressed herself against him again, flesh against
flesh. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><strong>AMAZON LINK: <o:p></o:p></strong></span></o:p></span></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Meant-To-Be-ebook/dp/B004OYTSHE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AZC9TZ4UC9CFC&s=digital-text&qid=1298595348&sr=1-1"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 18pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.amazon.com/Meant-To-Be-ebook/dp/B004OYTSHE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AZC9TZ4UC9CFC&s=digital-text&qid=1298595348&sr=1-1</span></span></a></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Author
contact links:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;">Website: </span></b><a href="http://www.jenniferlabelle.com/"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.jenniferlabelle.com</span></span></b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;">Blog: </span></b><a href="http://labellebooks.blogspot.com/"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: blue;">http://labellebooks.blogspot.com</span></span></b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;">Twitter: </span></b><a href="http://twitter.com/1JenniferLabell"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: blue;">http://twitter.com/1JenniferLabell</span></span></b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;">Facebook:</span></b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Jennifer-Labelle/168414043184292#!/pages/Author-Jennifer-Labelle/168414043184292"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Jennifer-Labelle/168414043184292#!/pages/Author-Jennifer-Labelle/168414043184292</span></span></b></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><strong>Goodreads: </strong></span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4649930.Jennifer_Labelle"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4649930.Jennifer_Labelle</span></strong></span></a><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></o:p></span></div>
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Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-6457579576074830652013-08-04T10:05:00.003-07:002013-08-04T10:11:35.692-07:00Welcome to the Summer Loving Blog Hop!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhIpeb2mRfwBzmuu62dnyTAPoI2D0HCoABPkXx5Es3xMXHU4xrLzlH9BOvoyQ8NbOpyHVJgrTDVORw8o4q1YTH7TxT672GV-xUuu5wxSQ4rzMygWJ3BzGcZdwl8rE8xCzYG6j52iIvtI0/s1600/SummerLovinBlogHop+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhIpeb2mRfwBzmuu62dnyTAPoI2D0HCoABPkXx5Es3xMXHU4xrLzlH9BOvoyQ8NbOpyHVJgrTDVORw8o4q1YTH7TxT672GV-xUuu5wxSQ4rzMygWJ3BzGcZdwl8rE8xCzYG6j52iIvtI0/s320/SummerLovinBlogHop+(1).jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
Welcome Readers!<br />
Have you ever wanted something so much, you were willing to risk about anything to get it? Well let me tell you a quick tale about hot summer fun on the beach in Florida.<br />
It was the year Hurricane Andrew was headed to Miami and we were headed to Ft. Walton Beach, a permanent move. We knew very little about hurricanes, the ocean, or anything tropical. Driving there, we noticed all the cars were headed west and we were the only ones headed east. I remember laughing and saying maybe we should turn around, but no, Florida was where we were headed, and by darn, Florida was where we would end up at.<br />
We were lucky that we didn't hit the hurricane, but settled in a nice little area in the panhandle. I think that was in August.<br />
By December, even though most Floridians were wearing jackets, we were still wearing shorts and burning up.<br />
We decided to go for a swim in the Gulf Coast waters. Yes, even in December, it was still hot enough to get in the water.<br />
Hubby, being a big, brave man, dived into the water and took off. He was far enough out that I could hear what he was shouting at me, but I knew something was terribly wrong, because he was swimming like a mad man toward me. I swear, I thought he was going to walk on water for a few minutes there.<br />
He finally got close enough I could hear him shouting, "Shark! Shark! Get out of the water!"<br />
I barely had one foot in the ocean. I was too smart to jump in and just take off like a frightened rabbit.<br />
Still I jumped back when I saw two fins headed straight toward us (by this time the hubs had reached me).<br />
I started laughing when I saw the *sea monsters*. Two little baby dolphins had chased hubby all the way back to the chore. They zipped by us so fat. I know they were laughing at hubby. I was.<br />
So there's just one of my tales about us and the hot summer fun in Florida.<br />
I hope you'll enjoy the blurb and excerpt of my latest release. Leave a comment for a chance to win a pdf. copy of Send Him an Angel.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYr89ueJhj85WrbdsFiqDoRuacSIHn1jcwZFgpZ-Uy0NcP1DeUnFAMNWaNeSzlYy9xy328CK4Z5OZZrQURSx2JUwwOpZQ9V0fZ-JHCY6R_T2nIFoqVPNg5akznt69ScpaiARLtgVBEwfzT/s1600/SendHimAnAngel_SM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYr89ueJhj85WrbdsFiqDoRuacSIHn1jcwZFgpZ-Uy0NcP1DeUnFAMNWaNeSzlYy9xy328CK4Z5OZZrQURSx2JUwwOpZQ9V0fZ-JHCY6R_T2nIFoqVPNg5akznt69ScpaiARLtgVBEwfzT/s1600/SendHimAnAngel_SM.jpg" /></a>
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<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; font-size: 12pt;">B</span><span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; font-size: 12pt;">LURB/SEND
HIM AN ANGEL/ SHAY</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: white; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; font-size: 12pt;"><em><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;">In
the Badlands of the Dakota Territory, a war rages between good and evil,
between <o:p></o:p></span></span></em></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; font-size: 12pt;"><em><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;">angels
and Satan’s three sons…<o:p></o:p></span></span></em></span></div>
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Angel —Elizabeth Bonner’s plans for her wedding dissolve when she discovers her
fiancé cheating. To escape the pain and humiliation, she flees to the rowdy
mining town of Deadwood Gulch where one person stands between her and
hell—Gabriel King.<o:p></o:p></em></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; font-size: 12pt;"><em><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;">Dark
Angel —Gabriel is feared by most, but he meets his match with Elizabeth. 1876,
Dakota Territory is no place for a lady whose innocence is tempting as sin.
Toss in a couple of trouble-making cherubs, and the Old West will never be the
same.<o:p></o:p></span></span></em></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: white; font-size: 12pt;"><em>Elizabeth
and Gabriel —more than one war is brewing in the Black Hills…</em></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><em></em></span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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<a href="http://www/tabithashay.com">http://www/tabithashay.com</a></div>
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Please scope out the other author's blogs for a chance at great prizes.</div>
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Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-16155192832034872312013-07-26T20:06:00.003-07:002013-07-26T20:19:22.771-07:00Welcome to the SCP Historical Romance Blog Hop Weekend!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcFrsxmxZHGbUS-kTL535fQGP9sC_erXPXcsML70XwQImPsq7ME-xn-V-MnB1tKVHA1zJ8Ax1XbhwWrDhQR_mPy__3vLQRYIYxyEg7ZNLrPXz8ynWPOb0djoeqP6bntv3_H9a1QFrkwm7/s1600/New+Image+for+SCP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcFrsxmxZHGbUS-kTL535fQGP9sC_erXPXcsML70XwQImPsq7ME-xn-V-MnB1tKVHA1zJ8Ax1XbhwWrDhQR_mPy__3vLQRYIYxyEg7ZNLrPXz8ynWPOb0djoeqP6bntv3_H9a1QFrkwm7/s320/New+Image+for+SCP.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Good Morning Readers,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m paranormal romance author, Tabitha Shay. Welcome
to my blog site. I know there are some of you out there who probably wonder
just how much research goes into writing a novel. Well the answer is, at least
for me, sometimes a lot, sometimes not so much. When I wrote <em>Witch’s</em> <em>Brew</em>, I
thought I’d never finish researching Salem and witches, *giggles* but when I
wrote <em>Send Him an Angel</em>, it was a totally different thing. I was lucky that I’d
been to Deadwood, S.D., so was quite familiar with the history and the tales
behind the history. Like, I bet most of you believe there was something special
between Calamity Jane and Wild Bill Hickok. According to the tour guides and
historians from Deadwood, nope, there wasn’t. In fact, Will Bill barely
tolerated Calamity Jane. But as a final joke on poor old Bill, the citizens of
Deadwood, at the time of Calamity’s death, decided to bury her beside Bill. So
their final resting place is side by side. One of the things I found
interesting when we visited Mount Moriah Cemetery, was the fact that there was
money lying all over his grave and no one touched it or tried to take it. I
guess there are some who wished to give him the money to play a final round of
poker. Hey, we’re guilty too. We left a little cash on his grave for him also.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As hubby and I were walking down the narrow streets
of Deadwood, a funny thing happened. I looked up and coming toward us was this
slender, dapper dressed man with a big mustache and a gun strapped to his hip,
long hair, and certainly Wild Bill would have been impressed with this
impersonator. It was like a blast from the past. He stopped to chat with for a
minute and I asked him if he was the man who got shot in the back of the head.
His reply, “Every damn day, three times a day.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Strolling through the town and entering saloon after
saloon (mostly gift shops these days) it got me to thinking. The niggling of a
story started growing in the back of my head. I thought of all the *soiled
doves* who once walked the streets of Deadwood or worked in the numerous
saloons and I thought instead, why not angels? Why not have angels on the
streets of Deadwood, instead of the women who worked and died in such a cruel
way? And so my book, <em>Send Him an Angel</em> was born.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I hope you enjoy the blurb and excerpt from my
latest release. Be sure and scope out the other SCP author’s blog sites this
weekend for some great prizes. Please leave a comment for a chance to win a pdf
copy of Send him an Angel, and oh yes, I highly recommend Deadwood and the surrounding
area for a wonderful vacation spot. You won’t regret it.</span><br />
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<span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;">BLURB/SEND
HIM AN ANGEL/ SHAY<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; color: black; font-size: 12pt;">In
the Badlands of the Dakota Territory, a war rages between good and evil,
between </span><span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; color: black; font-size: 12pt;">angels
and Satan’s three sons…<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: white; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;">Earth
Angel —Elizabeth Bonner’s plans for her wedding dissolve when she discovers her
fiancé cheating. To escape the pain and humiliation, she flees to the rowdy
mining town of Deadwood Gulch where one person stands between her and
hell—Gabriel King.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"></span><br />
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<span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;">Dark
Angel —Gabriel is feared by most, but he meets his match with Elizabeth. 1876,
Dakota Territory is no place for a lady whose innocence is tempting as sin.
Toss in a couple of trouble-making cherubs, and the Old West will never be the
same.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: white; font-size: 12pt;">Elizabeth
and Gabriel —more than one war is brewing in the Black Hills…</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 12pt;"></span> </div>
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<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">EXCERPT/SEND HIM AN ANGEL/SHAY</span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
spread the makeshift covers over both of them and drifted into sleep. Elizabeth
closed her eyes and joined him in blissful sleep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
didn’t know how long she slept, but the oddest sensation of being watched
tugged her out of the light sleep she’d drifted into. Opening her eyes, she
squeaked at the sight of horse’s hoofs surrounding their small bed. About ten
sets of horses circled them. “What?” She rose halfway up careful to hold the
clothes against her bosom. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Gabe
slid his arm around her waist. “What is it?” he mumbled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Elizabeth
dug her nails in his hand, her breath caught in her throat. “Wake up,” she
whispered urgently.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“What?”
Gabe sat up, his face registering surprise. “Oh, shit.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Yeah,
that’s kind of what I thought. Who are they?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Cheyenne.
Let’s hope to hell they’re peaceful.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Elizabeth
eyed the younger man in the group. He sat astride his painted pony, straight
and proud, his long, black hair hanging around his shoulders. He was handsome,
but a bit scary and intimidating. He stared back at her, his expression solemn
as a fence post, but she had the awful feeling he was laughing at them. There
was something in his dark eyes, a touch of smugness she couldn’t quite define.
Then she knew. He’d seen them making love. For whatever reasons, he and his
whole little band of natives had observed them being intimate. “Oh, God,” she
whispered. “They know what we did.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Gabe
nodded. “I believe you’re right. Damn.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Oh,
God,” she repeated, and lowered her head, embarrassed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Look
at this way, sweetheart. None of them likely speak English, so aren’t apt to
tell anyone we know what they witnessed.” Gabe grabbed his pants and slipped
them on under the cover. “Downright degrading catching a man with his pants
down,” he uttered. Cautiously, he rose to his feet, bare-chested and
bare-footed. “I’m Gabriel King. This is my wife, Elizabeth.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
Indian nodded, his lips quirking. “I’m Grey Wolf. I speak English very well, as
do all the members of my small band, but we don’t gossip like old women.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Elizabeth
squeaked and hid her face under the covers. “Can’t speak English, huh?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
heard masculine laughter and peeped over the covers. What the heck did those
savages find so funny?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one called Grey Wolf nodded at her. “I
understand a riverboat exploded. Are you two survivors?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Elizabeth
swallowed back a sharp breath at his perfect English.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Gabe
nodded. “We could use a ride to Yankton. That is, if you’d be willing to give
us one.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Grey
Wolf nodded. He said something in his native tongue and one of the men slid off
his horse. “You can take Little Eagle’s mare. Do not worry about returning it.
Keep it. It’s a gift.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“But…we
can’t just take a man’s horse,” Elizabeth protested.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Maybe
one day, I will need a favor from you,” Grey Wolf said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><a href="http://www.tabithashay.com/">http://www.tabithashay.com</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><a href="http://www.secretcravingspublishing.com/">http://www.secretcravingspublishing.com</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">/Be sure and scope out the other SCP author's blog sites for prizes and great stories.//<a href="http://secretcravingspublishing.blogspot.com/">http://secretcravingspublishing.blogspot.com/</a> There are lots of prizes.</span></div>
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Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-14475430384182300752013-07-26T12:21:00.000-07:002013-07-26T12:21:15.402-07:00Coming Soon From Secret Cravings Publishing!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTko7u4pk3e5G2Nvc2L0Z4sapMK_nuXauO-itpL4DnvkKg3R1iayZv1TKv0wWFG_1oT09Bl7l-RFsp_qi5AFvuh4w6Bikix4jZ5uoruq5_gMasRXOof_7jmdFRf6Q0oCXjwZQ0kZ1d27j8/s1600/WitchsTouch_MED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTko7u4pk3e5G2Nvc2L0Z4sapMK_nuXauO-itpL4DnvkKg3R1iayZv1TKv0wWFG_1oT09Bl7l-RFsp_qi5AFvuh4w6Bikix4jZ5uoruq5_gMasRXOof_7jmdFRf6Q0oCXjwZQ0kZ1d27j8/s320/WitchsTouch_MED.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Death takes an unscheduled holiday…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Giver
of Life—Nyra Winters has two abilities that no witch before her has ever
possessed—the power to heal and restore life. However, her constant
interference in Death’s plans makes her a target of the angry god, King Titan,
ruler of the Underworld.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Seeker
of Death—Dym Satarius, Prince of Death, is sent to the magical realm of Ru-Noc
to collect Nyra Winters. Devoid of all emotion, Dym believes this assignment
will be no different than any other—collect the witch’s soul and return to
hell—job done—but something goes terribly wrong and he is stranded in Nyra’s
world without his powers or the ability to return to his realm.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Witch’s Touch―Where life and Death
collide…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-42165610114818585522013-07-12T06:00:00.002-07:002013-07-13T12:14:16.211-07:00The Amazing Ginger Simpson!Welcome Readers,<br />
Please join me today to welcome the most wonderful romance author and one of my best friends, Ginger Simpson. I've had the pleasure to work with this lady a few times over the years and she's taught me so much about the publishing world. Her books simply terrific. Please leave Miz Ging a comment!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7KKET5aj3yZELZyYb1h_t-qugPRgTFVf_eFZUNp_HsNudVxXbHXMC45eLwzEqtn2kuYiSnGI8K0DBqnpUGcnqDPTk4zCeRkTAF47NIqYEoeMHZ9L1ucz4zjPXiMJlmqnPBiolFuu0o0J/s1600/Simpson-CultureShock200x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7KKET5aj3yZELZyYb1h_t-qugPRgTFVf_eFZUNp_HsNudVxXbHXMC45eLwzEqtn2kuYiSnGI8K0DBqnpUGcnqDPTk4zCeRkTAF47NIqYEoeMHZ9L1ucz4zjPXiMJlmqnPBiolFuu0o0J/s1600/Simpson-CultureShock200x300.jpg" /></a></div>
My latest release is Culture Shock.<br />
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Faulty wiring can cause a lot more than a power outage.<br />
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The annoying alarm sounded. Alex awoke with a terrible stomachache. Not the start to the day he had hoped for since he spent all evening helping Cynthia clean up the mess from the break-in and listening to her berate his actions. Hopefully, the crime had been the act of a random burglar. He'd worried all night it might have been more, but his concern at the moment was this awful pain. He grasped his belly as the aching intensified.<br />
Forcing himself out of bed, he stumbled to the bathroom. When he used the toilet tissue, a crimson stain caught his attention. "Oh, my God, what's wrong?"<br />
Despite his heart climbing into his throat, he managed to draw in a deep breath. The cause of the blood dawned on him, he was having a period. "Oh for Christ's sake, I don't believe this." He looked upward. "Why do you hate me?"<br />
Luckily, he wasn't totally ignorant. After all, he'd lived with a woman before, and there was absolutely nothing that wasn't advertised on TV these days. Nothing was sacred. How many times had he been forced to watch tampon commercials and other feminine hygiene products?<br />
Rummaging under the sink, he searched for whatever it was Cynthia used during her monthly. He found the very item he'd seen advertised so often. Pulling a cylinder from the box, he grimaced and began reading the instructions on the back of the carton.<br />
He squinted at the small print. "Warning: Do not insert cardboard cylinder." That seemed rather obvious to him, but then hairdryers came with warnings not to use them in the bathtub or shower. Obviously there were some ignorant people in the world.<br />
But ... what the hell did he do with the string? He dangled the tampon in the air and studied it for a moment, then following the diagram, he propped one foot on the closed toilet lid, but hesitated. "I can't do this." How did a woman…especially one with long talons?<br />
Reality gave him a stern reminder. Using the tampon was a necessary evil given his situation. With clenched teeth and squinted eyes, he probed for an opening and inserted the cotton torpedo, leaving the string dangling for removal. A queasy feeling seized him, and he plopped down on the commode. This was the last time he was going through this torture. He had to find a way to get back into his own skin and the comfort he missed so much.<br />
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Cynthia stopped by on her way to work and found Alex, still clad in a bathrobe and, curled in a fetal position on the couch. She arched a brow at him. "Why aren't you ready to go?"<br />
He glared up at her. "You started your period. My stomach is killing me."<br />
"Oh, is that all?" She clucked her tongue against her teeth. "It's called cramps. Now you know what it feels like. Get up and get dressed."<br />
He adjusted his position and closed his eyes. "I'd prefer not to. I think I'm dying."<br />
She bent over and shoved her face close to his. "No one ever died of cramps. Get up!"<br />
"I can't," he whined.<br />
"You're pathetic!" She straightened and shook her head. "Good thing you aren't pregnant. I've always heard that if men were the child bearers, every family would only have one. I don't think you'd live through the first birth. I never realized what a wimp you are."<br />
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Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/author/gingersimpsonTabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3251043512098551756.post-20664453376271175562013-06-28T04:54:00.000-07:002013-06-28T05:00:22.143-07:00ANNIVERSARY TIME IS COMING!<div class="MsoNormal">
Hello Readers,</div>
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My special guest today is romance author, Christina Cole. She has a very special topic to talk about, something that's dear to every woman's heart, and especially mine since my own anniversary is coming up July 16th. Yes, the hubs and I will be married thirty-seven years on that date. We plan to celebrate by going to Eureka Springs, Arkansas, and on to Branson, Missouri. I always search for candle shops when I'm on a trip. I love discovering new fragrances. Of course, I hit the candy shops too. So readers, leave a comment and share with us how many years you've been married and your special plans for your next anniversary...</div>
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Tabs/Jaydyn</div>
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I’d like to thank Tabitha -- or “Tabs” as many of us
affectionately call her -- for inviting me to be her guest today. I truly enjoy
gadding about and visiting with other writers in this vast cyberspace known as
the “blogosphere”. </div>
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Note: If you really want to have a good laugh, check out the
Urban Dictionary and its definitions for “blogosphere”.</div>
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<a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=blogosphere">Urban
Dictionary: Blogosphere</a></div>
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But, I digress...as I so often do. </div>
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Usually when I “guest” at a blog, I’m asked to write about
writing. Dear, sweet Tabs, however, gave me complete freedom of choice. I could
write about whatever I wanted, she said. </div>
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And today, I don’t want to write about writing.</div>
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I have enough writing to do later, so before I get busy
working -- and make no mistake about it, writing <i>is</i> work, even though it’s something we authors love to do -- I’m
going to play a little, and I’m hoping a few readers might join in the fun and
help me out a bit.</div>
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Here’s the deal. Anniversary time is coming up. Hubby and I
do have tickets to see one of our favorite musicals at a dinner-theatre, but
we’ve also been thinking of trips we might take, special places we might go,
things we might want to do to celebrate our anniversary.</div>
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To me, any time and any place can be romantic if you’re with
the one you truly love. Yet I’m willing to concede that there are certain
things that add to the romantic atmosphere. My list of “romantic props” would
include candlelight, exotic fragrances -- jasmine, musk, frankincense, nag
champa -- and classical music. Or maybe a bit of ambient “space” music. I’ve
always loved rainstorms, and I think being snowbound could be very romantic
under the right circumstances -- meaning plenty of food and necessities on
hand, and no pressing obligations. Fireplaces are romantic, and so are
campfires, if you ask me. Deserted stretches of beach...oh, yes. Hard to find,
though. I also think strolling hand in hand, watching the sun go down, and
going on picnics are all very romantic things to do. And flowers! How could I
forget about flowers? Little surprises are always romantic, too. A gift doesn’t
have to be expensive to express love. Sometimes it’s the simplest things that
best show our feelings, I think.</div>
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As far as romantic places...I’d have to say Paris, most
definitely. Maybe Venice, although I’ve heard it actually stinks...LOL. With my
warped psyche, I’ve always thought there was something romantic about “the
Badlands”, and for some reason I’d love to visit Quebec someday. </div>
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How about you? What places in this world do you consider
“most romantic”? And if you’re more of a “stay-home-to-celebrate” sort of
lover, what makes a night romantic for you? Is chocolate required? Wine?
Strawberries? Steak? Fresh-baked cookies?</div>
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Please share your thoughts and help us make this anniversary
a very special one. </div>
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About Christina: </div>
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Christina fell in love with words when she was very long,
and it’s been life-long love affair. She’s published poetry, essays, short
stories, inspirational pieces, confession stories, and several full-length
historical romance novels. Her latest release is “Happily Ever After”,
published by Sweet Cravings Publishing, and she will have a new title,
“Summertime”, coming out in August.</div>
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You can visit Christina at her website, <a href="http://www.christinacolelovenotes.com/">Christina Cole’s Love Notes<span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">. </span><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> <o:p></o:p></span></a></div>
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Tabitha Shayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05972042366495721348noreply@blogger.com5