B K Nault
Harold Donaldson, a hermit-like computer forensics analyst, unwillingly becomes the custodian of a beautiful, handcrafted kaleidoscope that changes lives when it shows viewers an image from their future. As evil operatives willing to kill for the technology close in, Harold’s forced to rely on the very people he’d formerly scorned for their help in solving its mysteries. Together with his new posse, including Pepper, a breast cancer survivor and Rhashan the Rastafarian, Harold sets out to discover the source of the ’scope’s inexplicable powers. Just as he’s focusing in on the secrets, Harold sees disturbing truths he’s run from all his life. Multi-layered and blending together several genres, “The Kaleidoscope” includes mystery, romance, and a bit of sci-fi, spinning Harold’s world from black-and-white boring into Technicolor adventure.
Wild Rose Press/Crimson - http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/maincatalog_v151/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=1210
Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/Kaleidoscope-B-K-Nault-ebook/dp/B00W2MH3OK/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid=
Barnes & Noble - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-kaleidoscope-b-k-nault/1121876955?ean=2940151328708
Book Movement (book club site) http://www.bookmovement.com/searchReadingGuide/search/kaleidoscope/title/ASC/
Ruddy complexions were like skywriting, a girl in high school had told him once. The message may appear slowly, but everyone can see it for miles around and remember it for days. “I have to get back to work.” He gathered up his trash and headed for the can. When he turned around, Pepper was standing close, nose to his chin. “Tell Glenda hello.” Before he could go, she grabbed his arm.
“Harry, I really mean it. I am glad I saw...what I saw. Where did you get it again? Could I get one like it, or is that a one-of-a-kind thing?”
He told her about the encounter in the park with the homeless man. “It’s a mystery why he picked me.” He pictured the day of the handoff, the police hurrying the old guy away before he could explain himself. The police responding to his own complaint about the vagrants camping out. She was the first person he shared this with.
“You have been given much responsibility in many areas.” With that, she stood on tiptoe and pecked him on the cheek. “You have been given a gift. Thank you for sharing your magical looking-piece with me.”
“Um. You’re welcome. And thanks.” He demurred, dropping his hand from her grip. “But I don’t believe in magic.”
“A man of science and numbers, I get it.” She tipped her head sideways, considering him. “The mysteries of the universe reveal more than we see with our eyes or hear with our ears. If we slow down and really absorb what it’s trying to teach us, we might be surprised and delighted.” She poked a slender finger at his chest. “I choose to keep my mind open to the possibilities. What about you, Harry?”
About the Author
B K Nault writes both fiction and nonfiction (also writes as Beverly Nault). Empty-nested and downsized, she and husband Gary live full time in their RV they call Flight Risk - nicknamed Fly. Gary power-glides in "The Gnat" while Beverly safely explores new horizons on her Kindle, banging the keyboard creating new worlds from her off-beat imagination. They're "livin' life at the speed of diesel."
Books and Awards
More books by Beverly:
The Seasons of Cherryvale, Series, Jubilee Press 2011-2013
Fresh Start Summer
Grace & Maggie Across the Pond
Murder, Most Sincerely, Jubilee Press 2013
“Camouflaged Christmas,” 21 Days of Christmas Fiction Devotionals, Broadstreet Publishing 2015
Lessons from the Mountain, What I Learned from Erin Walton
With actress Mary McDonough, Kensington 2011
Awards and Recognition
Amazon #1 Bestseller (Lessons from the Mountain)
Ella Dickey Literacy Award (Lessons from the Mountain)
Gold Medal Reader’s Favorite (Lessons from the Mountain)
San Diego Christian Writers’ Nancy Bayless Excellence in Writing (Fresh Start Summer)
21 Great Summer Reads -Real Simple (Fresh Start Summer)
Reader’s Favorite Five Star and Honorable Mention (Fresh Start Summer)
Grace Awards Finalist (Fresh Start Summer)
AuthorsDB Silver Award Cover Art (Spring Blossoms)
San Diego Christian Writer’s Guild
Romance Writers of America
Website - http://beverlynault.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Beverly-Nault/363697507748?ref=hl
Pinterest - https://www.pinterest.com/bevnault/
Eat Crow and Die (A P.J. Benson Mystery - Book 3)
by Maris Soule
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Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Five Star Publishing
Release Date: May 20, 2015
Length: 281 Pages
P.J. Benson knows Sheriff’s Detective Wade Kingsley wouldn’t blow up his own boat to kill his ex-wife and her new husband, Michael Brewster. Sure, Wade wasn’t happy that his ex was taking their six-year-old son, Jason, to live in California, but Wade and Jason were also onboard the boat when it blew up. Wade would never have endangered his son that way. Nevertheless, the investigating detectives consider Wade their prime suspect, and Wade’s ex in-laws loudly accuse him and threaten to file for custody of Jason.
Under the circumstances, P.J. is certain this isn’t the right time to tell Wade she’s pregnant, but bouts of morning sickness give her away. Wade is upset by the news. P.J. wonders if it’s because he’s afraid he’ll be put in prison for a double homicide he didn’t commit, or if he’s afraid the new baby will cause P.J. to become schizophrenic, as was the case with her mother. Even P.J. is worried about that. Although Wade doesn’t want her playing detective, P.J. soon discovers that Michael Brewster wasn’t as great a guy as everyone thought. But did anyone hate the man enough to kill him?
As I headed for the room number Ginny had given me, I thought back over the four months I’ve known Wade. The first time I saw him, he reminded me of Nicolas Cage and Tom Cruise wrapped up in one man. He certainly didn’t look like a homicide detective. Back then he thought I’d murdered someone. That or I was crazy, like my mother. We've had a couple more misunderstandings since then, but for the most part we’ve gotten along quite well—in bed and out. On the other hand, there are times when he can be stubborn, irritating, and unreasonable. As I neared his room, it sounded like he was being all three.
“I’m fine,” he bellowed. “I do not need to be in bed.”
“Until the doctor releases you,” a feminine voice said, “you need to stay put.”
“Damn the doctor. I told them downstairs I need to get back to South Haven.”
“Are you giving the nurse a bad time?” I asked as I entered the room.
Wade made a grunting sound as he looked my way. “They’re treating me as if I’m sick. I hit my head, that’s all.”
The poor nurse looked at me and shook her head. “He’s supposed to rest.”
“Be a good boy, Wade. Do as she says. Put your legs back up on the bed and rest.”
He glared at me—at both the nurse and me—but he put his legs back up on the mattress and allowed her to pull a sheet up to his waist. He didn’t lay back, so I asked, “Can he have the bed cranked up, so he can be in a seated position?”
“If it will keep him in bed, I guess so.”
She didn’t make a move, and neither did Wade, so I stepped closer and pushed the button that raised the back so Wade could be in a fully seated position. “That better?” I asked.
He grumbled, but gave a slight nod, then winced.
He had a four-inch square bandage on his forehead, and I could see some discoloration along the side of his face, but it wasn’t until he went to lean back against the pillow behind him and grimaced that I knew it wasn’t just his forehead that had been injured.
“If you need anything, press that button,” the nurse said, indicating the red one on the corded remote.
Wade grunted, and she quickly left. I’m sure she was glad to leave him to me. He clearly wasn’t in a good mood.
“You seen Jason?”
“I just left him. He’s with Ginny.”
“He seems fine. They’re waiting for the results on a couple of tests, then, Ginny said, she’ll bring him by your room.”
“That or I’ll pick him up as I leave.”
“I don’t think they want you leaving today.”
Again the glare. “I’m fine. I hit my head, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. And how many stitches?” I asked, pointing at the bandage on his forehead.
“I don’t know.” He gave me a crooked smile. “Maybe fifteen.”
“And the back of your head?”
“I have a little goose-egg, that’s all.”
I reached behind his head, but I’d barely touched his scalp before he let out a yelp. From what I could feel, his “little goose-egg” was more like an ostrich egg. “How did you hit both the back and the front of your head?”
“I don’t know.” He let out a deep sigh. “I don’t remember anything from the time Linda and that arrogant bastard she married finally arrived at the boat with Jason until I found myself on a stretcher, being lifted into a helicopter.” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t even remember that very well. It wasn’t until they poked my head with a needle that I really started focusing on what was happening.”
“You don’t remember taking the boat out on Lake Michigan?”
He started to shake his head, but immediately stopped. “Not a thing.”
The pupils of his eyes were dilated, and since Wade doesn’t do drugs, and it was fairly light in the room, I figured the doctors were right, he did have a concussion. I’d heard how people who had concussions often couldn’t remember what happened before or even after the accident. Some lost entire days. Sometimes the memories came back; sometimes they never did.
“I do remember Linda said they didn’t want to fish,” Wade grumbled. “Here she insists she wants to go on this fishing trip with Jason and me, that both she and Brewster want to go along, and then as soon as she arrives—an hour late, at that—she starts making a fuss about going fishing. I’d even brought fishing poles for the two of them.”
“But they did go out on the boat with you? With you and Jason?”
“They must have.” Wade looked out beyond the end of the bed, and I could tell he was trying to remember.
“Do you have any idea where you and Jason were when the boat blew up?”
“No.” Wade looked back at me. “You haven’t heard anything about Linda?”
“So they’re not here, not in the hospital?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think so.”
From his expression, I knew what Wade was thinking. If Linda and her husband were on the boat and had been thrown to safety, Linda would be with Jason now. The woman had become paranoid since telling Wade that she and her new husband were moving to California and taking Jason with them. She was sure Wade was going to do something to stop her.
“If she was on the boat . . .” I started to say, but didn’t finish. The thought of what might have happened to Linda—to both Wade’s ex and her new husband—caused my stomach to lurch.
About Award-Winning Author Maris Soule
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Writer, teacher, artist, wife, mother, dog trainer, horse rider, boater. Maris Soule can list an array of occupations and avocations. Even as a writer her 29 published books span a variety of genres and subgenres, ranging from short stories to romances, romantic suspense, and mystery. A two-time RITA finalist, Soule has placed in and won several writing contests. Born and raised in California, Soule and her husband now spend their summers in Michigan and their winters in Florida.
If you’re in the mood for a quickie (ahem), you’ll love this collection of eleven sexy short stories from New York Times and USA Today bestselling erotic romance author, Shoshanna Evers —“Queen of the erotic novellas.” (Fandom Fanatic). This collection pulls Evers’ published stories together from nine different anthologies into one volume. Includes a never-before-published story, plus the bestselling Overheated!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Shoshanna Evers has written dozens of sexy stories, including The Man Who Holds the Whip (part of the NYT bestselling MAKE ME anthology), I Am Not Your Melody (from the NYT bestselling Cowboy 12-Pack), Beauty & the Beast: an erotic reimagining (from the USA Today bestselling Wicked Hot Reads), The Enslaved Trilogy and The Pulse Trilogy from Simon & Schuster Pocket Star, and the national bestseller, The Tycoon’s Convenient Bride...and Baby.
Her work has been featured in Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and Best Bondage Erotica 2013, the Penguin/Berkley Heat anthology Agony/Ecstasy, and numerous erotic BDSM novellas including Chastity Belt and Punishing the Art Thief, originally from Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
The non-fiction anthology Shoshanna Evers edited and contributed to, How To Write Hot Sex, is a #1 Bestseller in the Authorship, Erotica Writing Reference, and Romance Writing categories.
Shoshanna is also the cofounder of SelfPubBookCovers.com, the largest selection of one-of-a-kind, premade book covers in the world.
Shoshanna is a New York native who now lives with her family and three big dogs in Northern Idaho. She welcomes emails from readers and writers, and loves to interact on Twitter and Facebook.
Sexily *Evers* After… ShoshannaEvers.com
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Excerpt from Melting Ice
Copyright 2015 Shoshanna Evers. All Rights Reserved.
There was a simple floral comforter on a queen-sized bed in the center of her bedroom, positioned to accentuate the feng shui of the space. She had paid handsomely for a beautiful wrought-iron bed frame with lots of decorative swirls, imagining how her future boyfriend would make use of the frame to tie her up.
But there was no boyfriend. Hadn’t been for a long time. And when there was a man in the picture, somehow Amanda couldn’t quite find the courage to reveal her basest desires.
With self-bondage, there was no way out if things went wrong. No one to save her. No safewords to stop the game. She supposed that should make her less interested in trying it out, but instead it made her even more turned-on. The thought of being completely bound and truly helpless made her wet.
She took the cuffs to the bed, and snapped one half around her wrist, shivering with excitement at the sound of the metal clicking into place, even though her other hand was still free and holding the key.
She pressed her wrists together, pretending both her hands were cuffed, and practiced using the key in that awkward position to unlock the cuffs and free herself. It was so simple she laughed.
Downstairs, she watched the clock, determined to wait two whole hours to make sure her ice was fully frozen around the key. In the meantime, the other ice cube she had set aside in a dish took one hour and forty-five minutes to melt completely. That was surprising—who knew it would take one measly cube so long to melt?
She kicked the thermostat up a few degrees. That way she’d be comfortable naked, and the ice would melt a bit faster. She wasn’t sure how much faster—but there was no time for another experiment. The key was frozen in the lock, and if she didn’t get to come now she thought she might die.
Soon, she knew she’d have more than her fill of orgasms—because she was going to cuff herself to the bed with a vibrator tied to her. The thought alone was enough to make her panties damp. Plucking the cube with the key frozen dead set in the center out of its tray, she slipped the ice into a shallow custard dish and carried it upstairs to the bedroom, placing it by her pillow. The clock was ticking, the ice imperceptibly melting already.
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Musings from Michigan