I love this story! I'm so glad to share it with you. It's on sale and a perfect story to pick up today!

Vows by Tamaria Soana

Addison Klein’s marriage is falling apart. She’s contemplating whether she should fight to keep her family together or walk away. After the sudden death of her best friend, Peyton, and a vicious fight with her husband Tyler, Addison knows she needs to finally decide her future.

Just when she thinks she's all alone in making this life altering decision, she gets a little guidance from her guardian angel. Addison rediscovers herself and realizes that the vows she said on her wedding day meant something to her... for as long as we both shall live. 

Addison sets a plan in motion to seduce her husband.


Excerpt:

Peyton's funeral was beautiful and emotionally overwhelming for me. Tyler went to his parents’ house after the church service to pick up the girls. He was never good at showing emotion or handling it when I did.

I accompanied Colin to the graveside service and the funeral brunch afterward for continued moral support. He was a wonderful man, but he wore his emotions on his sleeve. After the brunch was over, the immediate family and I went back to Colin’s house. We spent the day consoling each other and telling stories about Peyton and her antics. We talked about how she seemed to have a sixth sense, a feeling about how things were going to turn out. I finally said my goodbyes and headed home.

I looked over at the clock on my dashboard as I pulled back into the driveway and was stunned by how late it was. I was tired and emotionally drained. I just wanted to go to bed. I opened the door and set my purse and keys down on the table, slipping off my shoes.

"Nice of you finally to come home," Tyler snarked before I saw him walking into the foyer.

"What?" I asked, shaking my head and trying to figure out what he meant.

"You’ve been gone all day," he snipped.

I started to walk away from him and down the hall. "I was with Colin. Where did you think I was?" I replied just a snarky.

"Is there something going on with you and Colin?" he spat, ripping what little was left of my heart out.

I spun around to face him. "You have got to be kidding me! Really, Tyler? Is that what you think?" I took a deep breath and my body started to shake. I was on emotional overload and about to explode. "Do you really think I would do that to Peyton?” I seethed as I wiped the tears running down my cheek with the back of my hand. 

"That's what I mean. You ask if I think you could do that to Peyton and I’m wondering if you would do it to me," he yelled.

Buy Links:   Amazon     All Romance eBooks      Barnes & Noble

Watch the Trailer:   Youtube

About the Author:

Tamaria Soana is middle aged, but just feels her life has begun.

She writes sexy contemporary romance stories that always end with a ‘happily ever after’. Growing up she loved to read and make up new places in her head to escape to. In her late teens she began writing short stories and poetry; it wasn’t until her late thirties before she began to spin a full story.  She’s married and a stay-at-home-mom of two beautiful young girls, they reside in Western New York. Cuddling up with a good book under an electric throw is her way to escape the cold Buffalo nights. 

Besides writing, she co-owns Shades of Rose Marketing and hosts a talk show on Talkshoe called Live with Tamaria ~ Giving authors a voice.

Author Links:    Site     Facebook Author Page     Twitter

Giveaway:

Tamaria is giving away a $5.00 Amazon Gift Card. To enter to win just fill out the Rafflecopter below.

I'm so excited to have my favorite author, Lacey Wolfe on my blog today sharing her thoughts on dating and her latest book--Wanted: Wife!  Make sure you enter her contest using the rafflecopter below.

Wanted: Wife by Lacey Wolfe

Guest Post

Thank you so much for having me on your blog today!

The way people find dates has changed quite a bit. A few years ago, you had to actually meet a person in order to date them. But since the internet has come about, the way people meet have changed as well. Now a days, you can contact an old flame on Facebook or join a dating website. A week into an online relationship, you might be feeling those lusty feelings for the other one.  Now with keeping that in mind, how much precaution would you take before meeting a stranger?

In Wanted: Wife, while Darcy is looking for a job, she comes across an ad:

Wanted: Wife

$1000 weekly, all expenses paid.

And Darcy responds to it. When she answers the ad, she thinks it’s a complete stranger and through a few emails, agrees to meet Steven. But before the date, the only precaution that she took was telling her best friend she had a date and in the event she wasn’t home by a certain time, to get help.

Personally, I would’ve taken a whole lot more precaution. But this is meant to be a fun, light story. And before Darcy decided to go, I revealed just who Steven was.

Her crush from high school. Thank goodness they aren’t complete strangers. Instead, they are two people who had the hots for one another in school, but because of their status in school they never dated. And this makes for a fun, roller coaster type of romance as they attempt to keep things platonic when they are dying to live out their high school fantasies.

So tell me, if you were going to meet a stranger, what precaution would you take? Me, I’d call someone the way Darcy did, but I’d also bring along a thing of mace and a pocket knife!

Wanted: Wife by Lacey Wolfe

Help Wanted: A Wife

Darcy White can't believe she's answering a help wanted ad from someone looking to hire a wife, but she's hit rock bottom and is on the verge of being evicted from her apartment. When she learns that the guy she had a crush on in high school is the one looking to hire, she'd be crazy not to live out her fantasy.

Steven McDonald needs a wife, or at least a fiancée, before his grandfather retires or else he won't inherit the family business. He knows not just any woman will do, and in a desperate attempt to find a solution, he places a help wanted ad in the local paper. The day Darcy White answers it, his dreams begin to come true.

As Darcy and Steven pretend they're engaged, they make a promise to keep things platonic. But the more time they spend together, the harder it is to keep their hands off one another. With his grandfather's retirement approaching, and the possible end to their fake engagement, can Steven and Darcy admit their feelings to not only themselves but each other?

Content Warning: contains adult language and sensual love scenes


Excerpt:

"I'm making coffee, want any?" Darcy called from the kitchen.

As Steven entered the kitchen he said, "I'd love a cup."

Steven leaned against the counter. Darcy poured water into the coffee maker and then scooped the coffee in. After she pressed the brew button, she turned and stared back at him.

"That wasn't so bad," he said.

She nodded. "Yeah, it was okay."

Steven laughed. "Your parents were kind." He reached his hand out toward her.

Darcy walked to him, taking his hand.

"Your dad gave us his blessing."

"I had no doubt he would. Your family is well known."

Steven wasn't sure what had come over him, maybe it was the scotch he'd shared with her dad, but he couldn't resist the beautiful woman in front of him. He tugged her to him, and her body molded against his perfectly. With his free hand, he pushed her hair behind her ear and then pressed his lips to hers. He expected resistance from her, but she opened up right away, wanting the kiss as much as he did.

Sliding his hand around her neck, he tilted her head so he could deepen the kiss. Her fingers danced around his waist and the little sensation went straight to his groin. Releasing her hand, he gripped her waist and pulled her into him. He was hard and it pressed into her and she didn't seem to mind. Damn this woman! She should be pushing away from him, reminding him they were to stay friends, but instead he kept hoping her hand would find its way lower.

Could they do this once and then pretend it never happened? His erection was telling him yes, but his brain was telling him no. He started to pull away from the kiss, but Darcy wouldn't let him.

God, he was turned on and wanted to touch her, taste her, explore her. He needed her!

"Stop, Darcy." He pushed her off him.

She stepped back, a shocked look on her face.

"I can't control myself. I want to take you to bed so bad."

"I want that too." She moved closer to him again and wrapped her arm around his neck and let her other hand dangle at his waistband. "Can't we have a little fun?"

Do it or not? Yes or no? His core ached and taunted him. Taking a deep breath, he decided to listen to the head below.

He lifted Darcy up and sat her on the counter. His lips were everywhere. Her neck, collarbone. His hands were greedy as they worked the buttons on her blouse. "Stop me now, Darcy."

She gazed into his eyes and then cupped his erection through his pants. "No."

"No turning back?"

"No turning back."

Buy Links:    Beachwalk Press 

 About the Author:

Lacey Wolfe has always had a passion for words, whether it’s getting lost in a book or writing her own. From the time she was a child she would slip away to write short stories about people she knew and fantasies she wished would happen. It has always been her dream to be a published author and with her two children now of school age, she finally has the time to work on making her dream come true.

Lacey lives in Georgia with her husband, son and daughter, their six cats and one black lab who rules the house.

Author Links:    Her Site      Twitter    Facebook
 

Giveaway:
Lacey is giving away any book off her backlist to a lucky winner. To enter for a chance to win just fill out the Rafflecopter below.

We've all read Edgar Allan Poe's works. His tales are a part of our historical literature. David Niall Wilson takes a unique look at Poe's stories in his book Nevermore. David is sharing his take on history with you. What an interesting post! Also David will be lowering the price of the e-Book (on Amazon) to $2.99 for the duration of the tour. Just so you can pick it up! Make sure you enter the giveaway at the end!

History is in the Point of View

One of my favorite things to do as an author is to take a story, legend, bit of history, or something else very familiar to people, and look for the holes in it.  Most history is reported by survivors, for instance, and nearly all of what we think we know of the past is skewed, just like the evening news, in one direction or another.  In broad strokes, we can see the outcomes of things that have happened, but the reality of how they happened, well, that's always up for debate.

My first novel is a perfect example of this, I think.  The book is titled This is My Blood, and though it's a vampire novel, and a romance novel, it's also historical fiction.  What I did was simple.  I looked for holes in the story.  When the Devil tempted Jesus in the desert, they were there a long time according to the original story.  For all that, it only shows a couple of temptations that were offered – and the most important temptation that can be offered to a living man was left out.  Woman.

I had Lucifer raise a woman (Mary Magdalene) from among the fallen angels.  He offered her, and, when she fell in love with Jesus, rather than tempt him, he cursed her to follow in the footsteps of the Apostles, feeing on the blood of the faithful.

There are other points.  Remember in Life of Brian, when Brian stepped on the man who'd sworn a vow of silence?  Once something is proclaimed a miracle it is so – and since the Apostles survived, things like the raising of the King's daughter, and Lazarus' return from the dead, were recorded as miracles.  What if there was a dark side to each?

There is a lot more in that novel – Lilith, first woman – meets Mary and shares the experience of her love for Adam – and her betrayal.  The thing that I did NOT do was change the timeline – the events recorded in the books of The Bible.  I did this, in fact, to the point that readers have actually asked –tentatively – where I found the books of Judas in my book – were they really… real?  That is probably one of the greatest compliments a writer can receive.

Since then, I've given alternate versions of why Vlad Tepes grew up to impale so many Turks, and why the backup regiment never showed up at Little Big Horn.  I love twisting and changing history.  One day I hope to write a novel titled "The Scarlet Rose" that puts the magic and romance back into The Scarlet Letter, tells the original story well enough for kids to pass an English class by reading it, at the same time making it a story they don't hate.  That is for another time, though.

Just now I'm lost in the life and times of Edgar Allan Poe.  The Raven is one of the most famous poems ever written by an American, and yet, we have never been able to explain who it was written for.  There is so much loss, despair, and passion in those verses – but in the life of the man himself, no satisfactory answer to the question – who was Lenore?

I don't know the answer to that question, but I do know that it was a part of how I structured my newest novel, Nevermore, a Novel of Love, Loss & Edgar Allan Poe.  I learned that Poe had visited a certain hotel on the banks of the Intercoastal Waterway near where I live.  That Hotel was on the border of The Great Dismal Swamp.  The more I researched the history, the more interesting stories I found that could use a bit more detail.  All I did was sew them together.

Here's the thing.  The events in this novel could have happened without changing the timeline of history, as we know it, even slightly.  Poe was at that hotel.  Rumor has it that he wrote an early draft of The Raven while staying there.  There is a tree in the shape of a woman on the banks of Lake Drummond, and another in the shape of a deer.  If you are intrepid, the area is now a North Carolina State park, just this side of the border, and you can wander in and brave the bears to get a glimpse.

So, it makes sense to me that Edgar Allan Poe fell deeply in love at the edge of the Great Dismal Swamp, and that he set out on an adventure at that point in time that changed him forever.  Certainly his career changed when that poem was published.  And would he have written of the Raven – if there was no raven?  Would he have written of Lenore, if she didn't exist?

I like to think – not.   The next time you are reading something very old, or something historic, look for the cracks in the walls.  Try to imagine what might have been.  Maybe I'll see you there…

David Niall Wilson

About Nevermore - A Novel of Love, Loss & Edgar Allan Poe


On the banks of Lake Drummond, on the edge of The Great Dismal Swamp, there is a tree in the shape of a woman.

One dark, moonlit night, two artists met at The Lake Drummond Hotel, built directly on the borderline of North Carolina and Virginia. One was a young woman with the ability to see spirits trapped in trees and stone, anchored to the earth beyond their years. Her gift was to draw them, and then to set them free. The other was a dark man, haunted by dreams and visions that brought him stories of sadness and pain, and trapped in a life between the powers he sensed all around him, and a mundane existence attended by failure. They were Eleanore MacReady, Lenore, to her friends, and a young poet named Edgar Allan Poe, who traveled with a crow that was his secret, and almost constant companion, a bird named Grimm for the talented brothers of fairy-tale fame.

Their meeting drew them together in vision, and legend, and pitted their strange powers and quick minds against the depths of the Dismal Swamp itself, ancient legends, and time.

Once, upon a shoreline dreary, there was a tree. This is her story.


Excerpt
Chapter One

The room was low-ceilinged and deep. Smoke wafted from table to table, cigars, pipes, and the pungent aroma of scented candles. Laughter floated out from the bar, separated by a low half-wall from a small dining area, where the bartender regaled the crowd with a particularly bawdy story. In the corners, more private conversations took place, and at the rear, facing the Intercoastal Waterway beyond, the door stood open to the night, letting the slightly cooler air of evening in and the sound and smoke free.

The smoke prevented the illumination from a series of gaslights and lanterns from cutting the gloom properly. Smiles gleamed from shadows and the glint of silver and gunmetal winked like stars. It was a rough crowd, into their drinks and stories, plans and schemes.

Along the back wall, facing a window that looked out over the waterway and the Great Dismal Swamp beyond, a lone figure sat with her back to the room. Her hair was long and light brown, braided back and falling over her shoulder to the center of her back. She was tall and slender with smooth, tanned skin. She was dressed for travel, in a long, floor length dress that covered her legs, while allowing ease of motion. The crowd swirled around her, but none paid her any attention.

She paid no attention to anything but the window. Her gaze was fixed on the point where an intricate pattern of branches and leaves crossed the face of the moon.

There was a sheaf of paper on the table, and she held a bit of chalk loosely between the thumb and index finger of her right hand. She formed the trees, the long strong lines of the trees, the fine mesh of branches and mist. Her fingers moved quickly, etching outlines and shading onto her sketch with practiced ease.

A serving girl wandered over to glance down at the work in progress. She stared at the paper intently, and then glanced up at the window, and the night beyond. She reached down and plucked the empty wine glass from the table.
"What are they?" she asked.

The woman glanced up. Her expression was startled, as if she'd been drawn back from some other place, or out of a trance. She followed the serving girl's gaze to the paper.

Among the branches, formed of limbs and leaves, mist and reflected light, faces gazed out, some at the tavern, some at the swamp, others down along the waterway. They mixed so subtly with the trees themselves that if you were not looking carefully, they seemed to disappear.

"I don't know," the woman said. "Not yet. Spirits, I suppose. Trapped. Tangled."

"You are a crazy woman," the girl said. There was no conviction in her words. She continued to stare at the sketch. Then, very suddenly, she stepped back. She stumbled, and nearly dropped her tray.

The woman glanced up at her sharply.

"What?"

"That…face." The girl stepped back to the table very slowly, and pointed to the center of the snarl of branches. The tip of her finger brushed along the lines of a square-jawed face. The eyes were dark and the expression was a scowl close to rage.
"I've seen him before," she said. "Last year. He…he was shot."

"Can you tell me?"

The girl shook her head. "Not now. I have to work. If I stand here longer there will be trouble. Later? I must serve until the tavern closes, a few hours…"

The artist held out her hand.

"My Name is Eleanor, Eleanor MacReady, but friends call me Lenore. I'll be here, finishing this drawing, until you close. I know that it will be late, but I am something of a night person. Can we talk then? Maybe in my room?"

The girl nodded. She glanced down at the drawing again and stepped back. Then she stumbled off into the crowded tavern and disappeared. Lenore stared after her for a long moment, brow furrowed, then turned back to the window. The moon had shifted, and the image she'd been drawing was lost. It didn't matter. The faces were locked in her mind, and she turned her attention to her wine glass, and to the paper. The basic design was complete, but there was a lot of shading and detail work remaining. She had to get the faces just right – exactly as she remembered them. Then the real work would begin.

Even as she worked, her mind drifted out toward the swamp, and toward her true destination. She didn't know the exact location of the tree, but she knew it was there, and she knew that she would find it. She didn't always see things in her dreams, but when she did, the visions were always true.

A breeze blew in through the open window, and she shivered.

The face she was working on was that of an older man. He had a sharp, beak of a nose and deep-set shadowed eyes. The expression on his face might have been surprise, or dismay. His hair was formed of strands of gray cloud blended with small twigs and wisps of fog as she carefully entered the details. 

There were others. She'd counted five in all, just in that one glimpse of the swamp. She thought she could probably sit right here, at this window, and work for years without capturing them all. How many lives lay buried in the peat moss and murky water? How many had died, or been killed beside the long stretch of the Intercoastal Waterway? She tilted her head and listened. The breeze seemed to carry voices from far away, the sound of firing guns, the screams of the lost and dying.

She worked a woman's features into a knotted joint in one of the tree’s branches. The face was proud. Her lip curled down slightly at the edge, not so much in a frown, as in determination. Purpose. From the strong cheekbones and distinctive lines of the woman's nose, Lenore sensed she'd been an Indian. How had she come here, soul trapped fluttering up through the sticky fingers of the ancient trees?

Around her, the sounds of revelry, arguments of drunken, belligerent men, clink of glasses, full and empty, and the sound of a lone guitar in a far corner surrounded her. She felt cut off – isolated in some odd way from everyone, and everything but the paper beneath her fingers. Now and then she paused, reached out for her glass, and sipped her wine. 

No one troubled her and that in and of itself, was odd. A woman – an attractive woman – alone in a place like the Halfway House was an oddity. She should have been a target. She was not. A few men glanced her way, but something about her – the way she bent over her work, the intensity of her focus – kept them away. She worked steadily, and one by one, the others drifted out the doors, some to rooms, others to wander about with bottles and thoughts of their own. Eventually, there were only a few small groups, talking quietly, the bartender, and the girl. 

There was nothing more she could do. She had drawn an eerily accurate recreation of the trees over the waterway, and of the five faces she'd found trapped in their branches. She sensed things about them but knew little. She did not need to know. She knew that she had to set them free, to allow them to move on to the next level. Something had bound them – some power, or some part of themselves they were unwilling to release. They did not belong, and though she knew that most of the world either ignored, or did not sense these things at all – she did. All those trapped, helpless beings weighed on her spirit like stones. She was fine until she saw them, but once that happened, she was bound to set them free. It was her gift – her curse? Sometimes the two were too closely aligned to be differentiated.

She rose, drained the last of the wine in her cup, and gathered her pencils. She tucked the drawing into the pocket of a leather portfolio, careful not to smudge it. Soon, it would not matter, but until she'd had a chance to finish her work, it was crucial that nothing be disturbed.

The girl, who had been busy wiping the spilled remnants of ale, wine, and the night from the various tables and the surface of the bar, wandered slowly over.

"I'm in the corner room," Lenore said, smiling. "The one farthest in on the Carolina side."

The girl nodded. She glanced over at the bartender, then turned back.

"I will come as soon as I can." She glanced down at the portfolio. "You have finished?"

Lenore nodded, but only slightly. "I have finished the basic drawing, yes."

"He was a bad man," the girl said. "A very bad man. I have never seen him there – in the trees – before tonight. I don't like that he watches."

"After tonight, he will not," Lenore said, reaching to lay her hand on the girl's shoulder. "But I'd love to know who he is – who he was. I seldom know the faces I've drawn. You saw him – in my drawing, and in the trees. Most see nothing but branches."

"I will come soon," the girl said, turning and hurrying back toward the bar. 

Lenore watched her go, frowned slightly, and then turned. She had to exit through the front door and follow a long porch along the side of the building where it turned from the saloon in the center to a line of rooms on the Carolina side. There were similar rooms on the Virginia side, but her business was in the swamp, and the corner room gave her a better view of what lay beyond.

As she made her way to her room, she heard the steady drum of hooves. She stopped, and turned. A carriage had come into view, winding in from the main road that stretched between the states. It was dark, pulled by a pair of even darker horses. She stood still and watched as it came to a halt. Something moved far above, and she glanced up in time to see a dark shape flash across the pale face of the moon. A bird? At night? 

She glanced back to the carriage to see it pulling away into the night. A single figure stood, his bag in one hand. He glanced her way, nodded, and then turned toward the main door of the saloon. He was thin, with dark hair and eyes. It was hard to make his features out in the darkness, but somehow she saw into those eyes. They were filled with an odd, melancholy sadness. As he passed inside, it seemed as if his shadow remained, just for a moment, outlined in silvery light. Then it was gone.

Lenore shook her head, turned, and hurried to the door to her room. She fumbled the key from her jacket pocket, jammed it into the lock, and hurried inside. She had no idea why the sight of the man had unnerved her, but it had. And the bird. If she'd woken from a dream, she'd have believed she was meant to set him free…but she was very, very awake, and though her fingers itched to draw – to put his image on paper and tuck it away somewhere safe, she knew she could not. Not now – not yet. There was not much time before dawn, and she still had work to finish – and a story to hear. The stranger, if she ever returned to him, would have to wait.

She lit the oil lamp on the single table in her small room, opened the portfolio, and laid the drawing on the flat surface. There was a small stand nearby, and another bottle of wine rested there. She had two glasses, but had not known at the time why she'd asked for them. Another vision? She poured one for herself, and replaced the cork. 

Moments later, there was a soft rap on the door. When she opened it, the girl stood outside, shifting nervously from one foot to the other and looking up and down the long porch as if fearing to be seen.

"Come in," Lenore said.

The girl did so, and Lenore closed the door behind them.

"What shall I call you?" she asked, trying to set the girl at ease. Something had her spooked and it would simply not do to have the girl bolt without spilling her story.

"Anita," the girl said shyly, glancing at Lenore. "I am Anita."

"I'm glad to meet you," Lenore said, "and very curious to hear what you have to say about the man you saw in the trees. I see them all the time, you know. In trees, bushes, sometimes in the water or a stone. It's not very often that I meet another who is aware of them – even less often that I have a chance to hear their stories."

"It is not a good story," Anita said. "He was a very bad man."

Lenore smiled again. "He's not a man any longer, dear, so there is nothing to fear in the telling. Would you like a glass of wine?"

The girl nodded. Lenore poured a second glass from her bottle and handed it over.

"Sit down," she said. "I still have work to do, and I can work as you talk. It will relax me."

"I will tell you," Anita said, perching lightly on the corner of the bed, "but it will not relax you."

"Then it will keep me awake," Lenore said, seating herself at her desk. "You see, I don't just see those who are trapped, I have to undo whatever it is that has them trapped. I won't be finished until I've freed them all."

The girl glanced sharply over, nearly spilling her drink.

"Maybe…maybe it is best if this one stays."

Lenore pulled out her pencils, and a gum eraser.

"We'll leave him for now," she said. "There are four others, and I can only work on one at a time. Tell me your story."
Anita took a sip of her wine, and nodded. "His name is Abraham Thigpen. He died about a year ago but I remember it like today…"

Lenore listened, and worked, rearranging branches, shifting the wood slightly, picking the strong woman's face to release from the pattern first. Anita's voice droned in the background – and she faded into the story, letting it draw her back across the years as she carefully disassembled her drawing, working the faces free.

David Niall Wilson has been writing and publishing horror, dark fantasy, and science fiction since the mid-eighties. An ordained minister, once President of the Horror Writer’s Association and multiple recipient of the Bram Stoker Award, his novels include Maelstrom, The Mote in Andrea’s Eye, Deep Blue, the Grails Covenant Trilogy, Star Trek Voyager: Chrysalis, Except You Go Through Shadow, This is My Blood, Ancient Eyes, On the Third Day, The Orffyreus Wheel, and Vintage Soul – Book One of the DeChance Chronicles. The Stargate Atlantis novel “Brimstone,” written with Patricia Lee Macomber is his most recent. He has over 150 short stories published in anthologies, magazines, and five collections, the most recent of which were “Defining Moments,” published in 2007 by WFC Award winning Sarob Press, and the currently available “Ennui & Other States of Madness,” from Dark Regions Press. His work has appeared in and is due out in various anthologies and magazines. David lives and loves with Patricia Lee Macomber in the historic William R. White House in Hertford, NC with their children, Billy, Zach, Zane, and Katie, and occasionally their genius college daughter Stephanie.

I love sharing a hot lawman with you. Johnny is certainly a strong personality but will you be enough of a reader for him?? *wink*

Taming Johnny by Kaylie Newell

He's got the temperament of a lion, and she's just the one to tame him.

Police records clerk Emma Beaumont has always played it safe, never taking many risks. Quiet, shy, and a little overweight, she's convinced herself that she's comfortable with the way her life is. That is until she lays eyes on incredibly sexy Lieutenant Johnny Street. But she's never met anyone with such a terrible attitude. He's a jerk. Everyone thinks so.

Little by little, Emma is forced to uncover a stronger, spunkier part of herself, one that isn't afraid to stand up to him. As she gets to know him, she starts seeing glimpses of a very different man. A man who has known great heartache, and as it turns out, has good reason for embracing such bitterness. Behind his sharp tongue and harsh demeanor, lies a young man who's desperately afraid of losing what's left of himself.

As Emma's intense desire for Johnny turns to love, she will have to ask herself how far she'll go to chip away at his frosty heart. And at what cost.

Content Warning: contains sensual sex and strong language

                                                                ~~~~~~~~

Excerpt:

"So this is it, huh?"

Johnny could tell she was on the verge of tears.

"You're going to completely shut down, or whatever you do, and not acknowledge what happened between us."

"What's to acknowledge? I was drunk. End of story." Opening the door, he turned. "I don't know what you're hoping for, Beaumont, but I'm not it. Go find a nice accountant or something."

She pursed her lips until they practically disappeared. Her cheeks were on fire. "How dare you? How dare you treat me like that? We're not at work. I didn't have to come here, and you know it. I came here to do you a favor."

"You came here because you wanted to get laid."

She threw her hands in the air. "No wonder no one can stand you! You're unbelievable."

Maybe. But it was working. She'd leave him alone after this.

"They may not like me, but I've never pretended to be something I'm not. Unlike you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She was breathing heavily, her breasts straining underneath the sheer pink blouse that was just a little too tight for business attire. His throat was bone dry, and all of a sudden he wanted another beer. Anything to make whatever this was go away.

"It means that innocent act you put on is a load of crap." That was a lie. He knew damned well she didn't sleep around.

Her mouth hung open. "Excuse me?"

Time to move in for the kill. He leaned closer, ignoring how she smelled, ignoring how her pulse drummed at the hollow of her throat. Ignoring everything but the overwhelming instinct to push her away. "Let's just say I know I wouldn't be the first, Beaumont, or the last."

With cat-like quickness, she slapped him across the face. Hard. "Go to hell."

Before she could turn away, he clamped onto her wrist and yanked her back around.

"You're hurting me."

"Don't ever do that again." He pulled her close. She was rigid, furious. She tried pulling free, but he just tightened his grip.Let her go, Street. Now.

A long, honey colored strand of hair had fallen over one of her eyes, which were settled on him with such hostility that he almost did let her go. Almost. The skin on the inside of her wrist slid against the pad of his fingers like silk. He yanked her even closer, hating himself for being so rough, but not knowing how to be anything else. Her chest brushed up against his, her face only inches away.

"You know what I think?" he said.

Refusing to answer, she continued looking at him like she wanted to stick a knife between his ribs.

"I don't think you want me to let you go." He looked from her eyes, to her lips, to her chest, barely able to stand still next to her. "I think you like this."

She yanked her wrist free with surprising strength, but made no move to back away. "You make me sick."

"You wish I made you sick." As fast as she'd slapped him, he cupped the back of her head and crushed his lips to hers.

Buy Links:    Beachwalk Press

                                                                    ~~~~~~~~~
About the Author:

For Kaylie Newell, storytelling is in the blood. Growing up the daughter of two gifted writers, she knew eventually she’d want to follow in their footsteps. While she’s written short stories her whole life, it wasn’t until after her kids were born that she decided to shoot for the moon and write her first romance novel. She hasn’t looked back since!

Kaylie lives in Southern Oregon with her husband, two little girls, an elderly Chihuahua mix, and two indifferent cats.

Author Links:   Site    Facebook    Twitter

 

Giveaway:

Kaylie is giving away an eCopy of Taming Johnny. For a chance to win please fill out the Rafflecopter below.

Book tours are an important way for authors to get their names out there. I love showcasing different books and different authors on my site. This looks like a "killer" book! Jacqui will be awarding Loose Tea and Chipnuts to two randomly drawn commenters during this tour and the Virtual Reviews Tour combined.  Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here: http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2013/06/virtual-super-book-blast-vigilante-by.html

The Vigilante

by Jacqui Morrison

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLURB:

It isn’t safe for men who work in the porn business in the city of Toronto.

When porn producer Sal Turbit is found dead in his apartment, no one seems to care. No one, that is, except Detective Lynette Wilton. Lynette has been a homicide detective for only three months, and has yet to earn her stripes.

Murder is murder no matter who the victim is—and Lynette is out to catch a killer. 

Could the killer be Wanda Chambers, a mentally ill woman who hates the “scumbags” who prey on the vulnerable? Wanda’s beloved sister, Cathy, was one such woman. Cathy became a porn actress and then took her own life when her sleazy manager/boyfriend, Gil Lee, wouldn’t let her go.

Lynette’s sergeant doesn’t think it’s possible. Wanda has a debilitating illness. But Lynette believes that Wanda’s hatred and harsh childhood make her a prime suspect, and she proves it by catching Wanda in the act of attempting to shoot Lee.

Renowned defense lawyer Maxine Swayman takes on Wanda’s case; Maxine has a different view of the accused. She wants to help Wanda get the help that she needs, and it’s not going to happen in a prison cell.

As the trial proceeds, will Maxine prevail and save Wanda, or will Lynette be able to tie Wanda to Turbit’s murder as well? 

"Morrison knows how to create suspense! She brings readers on a roller-coaster ride that leaves you breathless from start to finish!" —Trey Anthony, star and producer “Da Kink in Da Hair”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:
Chapter 1

“Hey,” Sal said, “come on in. You’re right on time. Good to meet ya.” He left the visitor in the living room of his shabby apartment in a grungy, low-rent building, and slipped into the kitchen. The metallic pop of a beer bottle opening echoed in the other room. Then another.

Six empty beer bottles, a heaping ashtray, and assorted marijuana paraphernalia were already strewn across his table. The grandfather clock struck four times. Sal stumbled back into the room. “I got you a beer.”

Glassy-eyed, Sal said, “I’ve got lots of great products for you to move today.” He showed the visitor the cover of a DVD. “This one is new. It’ll sell out. She’s a real sweet thing. Told me she was eighteen ’n had the ID to prove it. Likely just some little tramp from nowhere-ville. Came to the big, bad city for excitement––”

The metal felt cool as the visitor pulled out a gun.

“What the hell?” Sal screamed, just before the bullet penetrated his skull.

He fell onto the sofa, blood oozing out the back of his head. His face was contorted, almost angry looking. Certainly surprised.

The spent cartridge from the handgun ricocheted against a metal garbage can––reminiscent of the pop of a beer cap––and then landed on the carpet.

The murderer studied the victim’s splayed body, feeling a sense of elation and satisfaction. Out came a Swiss Army knife, and the killer wordlessly hacked off a section of Sal’s hair, stuffed it into a small plastic bag, and then threw it into a knapsack. The killer then picked up the half-spilled beer that Sal had been handing over when the shot was fired. Perfect. Grinning, the murderer chugged the beer, retrieved the spent cartridge, and smugly looked at Sal Turbit’s still body, now surrounded by pooling blood.

Still wearing leather gloves, the murderer put the beer bottle and hot metal bullet charge into a knapsack and fled, smiling, into the dense night.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

I am Jacqui Morrison. I started writing poems and short stories as a child. I also enjoyed public speaking in elementary school and at University. In High School, a great teacher, Lenore Hawley, inspired me and in 1995 I pursued my life-long passion for writing.

 My career is a complicated web and includes: owning an ice cream parlour and fine food shop, teaching life-skills management to adults, teaching computer applications, social service work and marketing.

From 1994 to 2003, I assisted survivors of domestic violence in both criminal and family court as a support worker. I’ve always had a strong interest in law and justice.

I love to write and I am happiest writing or encouraging others to fulfill their writing dreams. I facilitate writing seminars for Canadore College and various agencies.

I live in northern Ontario, Canada with my daughter Alison, my husband Wayne, and a three-legged dog named Willow. Our daughter has convinced us to adopt four cats so Felix, Sasha, Nikke and Angel round out our family. Angel, at four-months-of-age was abandoned by its owner and we rescued her in -15 degree weather.

Alison has a future in politics, animal rescue work or sales … because I’m not really a cat person and she’s persuaded me to adopt four.

My parents are the late Drs John and Irene Morrison. Mom was a family physician and a competitive swimmer. My father worked for the Provincial Parole Board. Dad enjoyed to write fictional stories in his spare time. He was my mentor, my editor and my hero. I have one sister named Trish. She is a competitive swimming coach. Trish resides in southern Ontario with her husband, four children, two dogs and a cat.

In our spare time we like to cruise Georgian Bay on our boat or spend quality family time.

Her Website: http://jacquimorrison.ca/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jacqui.morrison