Saturday, August 6, 2016

"He wanted to touch her everywhere all at once" Brownie Boo Boggan #Giveaway! Enjoy an #excerpt from this spicy #romance #ASMSG #RPBP




Heat Level: Spicy
Book Eleven of the Plus Size Romance Series 
Genre: Contemporary Romantic Comedy 
Interracial and multicultural Romance 
Length: 214 pages 
Price: $1.99 or Free with Kindle Unlimited 

Amazon Universal Link: http://hyperurl.co/e9tiup 

Author: Lynn Cooper 

About The Book
Gina Wilde has her sights set on her hot psychology professor, Dr. Trey Stanton. Despite giving him her most seductive come-hither looks in class and sitting on the front row in skimpy outfits, he doesn’t seem to notice she’s alive. Heck, he probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash even if she balanced a brownie—the scrumptious kind she’s been baking for him all semester—on the tip of her nose while spinning around in a tutu. Nonetheless, she will not be deterred. With a relentless stubbornness, she’s determined to crack his stuffy, stoic exterior and worm her way into his heart.

It kills Trey Stanton to rebuff the beautiful, bubbly sophomore sitting in the front row lustily eyeballing him as if he was her favorite dessert. Although he’s flattered and, in another reality might reciprocate, there’s only one bone-crushingly painful reality. One where he can never again risk his damaged heart. So, no matter how she looks at him with those dark-brown, sultry eyes or how much she crosses and uncrosses those shapely legs or leans forward and reveals the swell of her creamy breasts, he must diligently resist her and her delectable, mouthwatering brownies.


Brownie Boo is part of the Plus Size Romance Series. Each book is a standalone with no overlapping characters, storylines or cliffhangers. This series is a perfect combination of romance, steamy love scenes and humor. The stories are sensual and romantic, uplifting and lighthearted. Feel-good reads that leave you feeling great!
An Excerpt To Heat Up You Senses
Even if she balanced a brownie on the tip of her nose while spinning around in a tutu, Gina Wilde doubted Trey Stanton would bat an eyelash.

A long, sexy eyelash.

For a man, he sure did have dark, luxuriously-thick ones. Of course everything about the thirty-something screamed hotness. The fact that he seemed unaware of his good looks made him all the sexier. He had longish black hair that splayed on his collar and was just starting to show a little gray, which gave him an ultra-distinguished look. His eyes were a soft, sensuous green and kept all of his female students mesmerized whether they were interested in what he was lecturing about or not.

Gina was very much interested. She hung on every word passing through those full, kissable lips.

Unlike most of her other professors, Dr. Stanton wasn’t stuffy. He didn’t wear shiny, tasseled shoes or suits with bowties. Most days he wore brown, penny loafers, khaki-colored Dockers and a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He kept the sleeves rolled halfway up his muscular forearms, which kept Gina thinking about how good those arms would feel wrapped around her.

To her knowledge, he was available. While students always knew one or two tidbits of gossip about their professors, all anyone seemed to know about him was that his wife had died ten years ago. Other than that, he was a mystery man. And a bear. Gina could tell by the thick tufts of chest hair peeking out at the opening of his shirt. God help her, but she loved a hairy man.

Even if a tutu would have grabbed Professor Stanton’s attention, Gina hadn’t worn one since she and her identical twin Tina were eight, performing in Miss Dod’s ballet recital in the O.T. Earl Elementary School auditorium. She wasn’t planning on doing any pliés or pirouettes now; but, she was determined to let her handsome professor know how unhappy she was about a certain situation. Being a big believer in discretion, she hung back and waited for the other students to leave before making her move.

As he sat at his desk, putting papers into a briefcase, Gina boldly approached him. Really working her high heels, denim miniskirt and tight, pink T-shirt, she sashayed up to his podium and planted her hand on her hip.

“Times up,” she said.

Understandably, he looked puzzled, but Gina wasn’t about to back down. Not even when his deep, honey-tinged voice reverberated through the empty classroom nearly buckling her knees. “For what?”

“For you to stop acting like an asshole and start behaving like a decent human being.”

“I see. Exactly what act of asshole-ishness have I committed, miss?”

“Don’t you even pretend you don’t know my name! I’ve been baking brownies and leaving them on your desk this entire semester. Not one damn time have you bothered to say thank you, kiss my ass or anything else. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

With a characteristic calm Gina usually found intriguing but, in this moment, was majorly irritating, Dr. Stanton pushed the Tupperware container of brownies across his desk toward her. “Thank you for the brownies, Miss Boo. I’m sure they are delicious, but I don’t need the extra calories. Perhaps you should take this batch back home with you.”

Stunned, Gina stood there blinking for a few seconds. When she finally spoke, she hated how weak and disappointed she sounded. “You didn’t even try one?”

“No offense, but I usually don’t eat things prepared by people I don’t know.”

“I’ve been in your class since January.”

“You’re being too literal.”

“What about restaurants? Don’t tell me you don’t go out to eat.”

“Of course I do. But those places are regulated by the Board of Health.”

On some level, Gina realized she was being ridiculous. Nothing said the man had to consume or even like her brownies. But she couldn’t help but feel his rejection of her confections was a rejection of her. Which hurt her heart. And, when she was hurt, she got mad.

“If you didn’t eat any, what did you do with them?”

Dr. Stanton shrugged. “I took them by the homeless shelter. I didn’t want them going to waste, and I knew they would be appreciated there.”

Damn him, she couldn’t be upset about that. Helping those less fortunate was a selfless, noble act she greatly respected. For years, she and Tina had volunteered during the summer to build houses with Homes for Habitat, strapping on their tool belts so those who couldn’t afford a place of their own could have one. Even after Tina’s death four years ago, Gina had continued volunteering after school.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Instead of letting me make a fool of myself.

“I should have. I apologize for my oversight.”

Oversight? Just because his clothes weren’t stuffy didn’t mean the man wearing them wasn’t. Sexy-as-hell or not, he was acting like a gigantic prick. She definitely needed to work on her character-judging skills.

“Well, you should,” she snapped. Snatching up the Tupperware bowl, Gina whirled and stormed out his classroom.

FEELING LIKE THE WORLD’S biggest jerk, along with being just as big a liar, Trey shut his eyes. Inwardly kicking himself, he listened to Gina Wilde’s high heels echoing down the stairs.

There was no homeless shelter; he had eaten every single one of her delectable, mouthwatering brownies. Hell, he even had to add an extra hour to his evening exercise routine to burn off the delicious treats.

It would probably take him two hours to will away the massive erection he’d kept hidden from her behind his desk. The curvy spitfire was doing things to his body no other woman had for years.

It killed him to have to rebuff her like that. But it had to be done. Trey had recognized early on that the beautiful sophomore who sat in the front row lustily eyeballed him as if he was her favorite dessert. So, during class or any other time he had crossed her path, he had gone out of his way not to encourage her.

On those many occasions when she yelled out a greeting or waved from across campus, he had pretended not to hear or see her. When he was lecturing and caught her eyes locking intently on his, he would quickly glance down at his notes.

The ironic thing was, he found her infatuation flattering. He even let himself be enthralled by the sensuous heat that constantly emanated from her. In another reality, he might have reciprocated.

But there was no other reality. Just the bone-crushingly painful one he had many times thought about abandoning altogether.

But, since he was still here, he needed to nip this thing with Gina Wilde in the bud. A platonic student-teacher relationship was all he could offer her.

Philosophically speaking, while these short-lived dalliances were acceptable at the college level, Trey believed such behavior was reckless. Morally, he had a problem with young, susceptible, vulnerable females being taken unfair advantage of by someone older, wiser and in a position of authority.

Psychologically speaking, college women were just beginning to blossom. To find out who they were and what they wanted from life. To his way of thinking, that meant discovering those things in the company of males their own age. Guys who were also in the first, full blush of adulthood.

He wanted that for Gina. Such a sexy, vibrant female needed youth and vitality and newness in her world—not cynicism and brokenness and memories of a misery too deep to be overcome.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile when he thought of the note she always attached to the Tupperware lid:

Dr. Stanton, may your week be filled with laughter and love.

Yours truly,

Brownie Boo.

Her nickname was every bit as cute as she was. Any red-blooded male would be attracted to such a sensual combination of womanly body and youthful, innocent exuberance.

Including him.

That was the best reason of all to keep Gina at arm’s length. For the first time since losing his wife in the tragic accident that had destroyed his world, his body had begun involuntarily responding to another woman. During the last decade, he had felt nothing more than a defeated numbness inside. The hollowness of being an empty shell. Blood flowed through him, but it was cool and placid. He breathed in and out and put one foot in front of the other because they were habits. Merely part of a routine which made up his mundane existence.

But now, every time Gina Wilde turned those dark-brown eyes on him or crossed and uncrossed those shapely legs or leaned forward and revealed the swell of her creamy breasts, his cock twitched like a damn divining rod. Because of her, he had spent most of the semester hiding a raging hard-on behind his desk and podium.

But his physical reaction to her was of no consequence. Soon enough, her crush would run its course. A young man worthy of her spirit, vivacity and even her temper would come along to turn her head. When that happened she would be extremely grateful her psych professor had behaved like a rude bastard.

Besides, her wishing him a week filled with laughter and love just proved how innocent and naïve she really was. At her age, life was still filled with rainbows and roses.

She was far too young and optimistic to be tied to a grieving widower. A man who, at the ripe old age of thirty-six, was bitter and viewed life as a cruel trap. One randomly set with heart-wrenching misery for any fool who dared to believe happiness could ever last.

There was no need for Gina to ever find out about these purely autonomic responses of his body to hers. Bodies were not hearts. Once those were crushed beyond repair, they were best left to beat in solitary silence.
About The Author
Lynn Cooper grew up in a small town in South Carolina with big dreams of becoming a ventriloquist. She ordered her first and last dummy from a Sears catalog. It didn’t take her long to realize that she was never going to be able to talk without moving her lips.

She got married at the age of twenty-three and worked for a decade in the health field as a surgical technologist and later as a dental assistant. When she grew tired of looking at people’s innards, she decided to give writing a try. As it turns out, she’s pretty good at it.

Lynn lives to write plus-size romance. It is her greatest desire to create stories that entertain and provide a sensual escape for all the amazing women who need one.

You can connect with Lynn here:
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Lynn-Cooper/e/B00LPX4HGO/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1454551014&sr=8-1

Website: http://www.writesromances.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lynn.cooper.940

Twitter: https://twitter.com/WritesRomances

Email: hotromancewriter@gmail.com

It's A Giveaway!!!
Hurry, this giveaway is for a 
LIMITED TIME ONLY! 
Buy Brownie Boo and get one of the adorable hats hand made by Lynn Cooper herself delivered to your door!
Available to US residents only at this time.
We wish we could offer this internationally, but the cost of shipping outside the US is astronomical:{
What you need to do:
Purchase your copy of Brownie Boo by Lynn Cooper, send her the proof of purchase by email to hotromancewriter@gmail.com  
~ Subject: Boggan Giveaway
But Wait, we aren't done yet.....
To make up for not being able to offer a hand made hat to you fans outside the US, Lynn is offering up a free eBook to all international purchasers!
 What you need to do:
Purchase your copy of Brownie Boo by Lynn Cooper, send her the proof of purchase by email to hotromancewriter@gmail.com  ~ Subject: Licorice Lass Giveaway. 
She will send an eBook of 'Licorice Lass' to the first three respondents! So get your copy of 'Brownie Boo' and send the proof of purchase to get 'Licorice Lass' for free!
Read about this eBook here: http://hyperurl.co/rid09j



Sunday, July 24, 2016

Even immortality may not be enough 'Selkie' by @BrandiKennedy84 #Bookblitz A #Romance #Fantasy @MyFamHrt

Selkie - Blitz Banner

BOOK INFORMATION

TITLE – Selkie SERIES (& Book #) – The Selkie Trilogy (#1) AUTHOR – Brandi Kennedy GENRE – Contemporary Romance/Fantasy PUBLICATION DATE – July 2013 LENGTH (Pages/# Words) – 314 pages (6x9 Trade Paperback), Approx 97,000 words PUBLISHER – Brandi Kennedy Books COVER ARTIST – Brandi Kennedy/Smoky Mtn. Edit & Design

Selkie EBook

BOOK SYNOPSIS

Annie Jacobs’s marriage fell apart, leaving her heart and her trust broken. Even her friends couldn’t ease the pain of betrayal and eventually, Annie packed up her life and moved on.
In peaceful Bar Harbor, Maine, Annie is finally able to find solace. She makes new friends, she finds a new routine, and she begins to pick up the shattered pieces of her confidence. Just when Annie thinks she’s found contentment once again, a series of chance disasters threatens her new life – and nearly ends her life entirely.
When the man who saves her turns out to be something more than Annie ever would have expected, her life is thrust once again into turmoil. A near-death experience takes Annie into an entirely new world, one she would never have believed existed.
It seems like death has its sights set on Annie for sure this time, and a war is closing in. Even immortality may not be enough to save her now.

Selkie

BUY & TBR LINKS


Selkie II Teaser 2

EXCERPT

"Remember when I told you that we are forever?" He waited for her nod, weakly letting him know that she was trying to understand what he was saying, and then he went on. "I meant what I said to you. Now more than ever, I will always be yours, and you will always be truly mine. We are one now Annie, by the bonds of the heart and by the mixing of our blood. My heart beats in your chest now, as yours beats in mine. Now we are handfast, not by rope but by the ancient blood vows of my people."
Helplessly, Annie nodded, the simple movement bringing the tingling pain back to life. She gasped as the tingling grew worse, watching Malik as his forehead wrinkled with concern. "Malik?" she asked, the pain bringing a shrill tone to her voice. He didn't answer; instead, he kissed her lips, gently peeling their wrists apart and placing her hand lighting on a folded towel he rested on her stomach.
"She didn't bleed the way I expected," he said, turning to call over his shoulder. "I think she'll be okay, and it's done. What now?"
A woman appeared beside him, short and portly with fluffy graying hair. "This has not been done in many years, Nephew," she said. "Now, we can only wait."

Selkie 6x9 FINAL

AUTHOR BIO

Brandi Kennedy is an American writer who is finally living her childhood career dream. As a child, books were her world, and through adulthood the love of words has never changed. A woman of varied interests, Brandi loves photography, music of all kinds, knitting, crochet and of course, mothering her two young daughters.
Currently, she finds her home in the heart of Knoxville, Tennessee, among the mountains and the members of her extended family, where she spends her days at the computer, bringing fresh and incredibly real characters to life.

AUTHOR FOLLOW LINKS


GIVEAWAY

$10 Amazon Giftcard, a direct-to-kindle copy of the book, and a swag pack sent in the mail.
Giveaway will run for 1 full week - winner will be picked at random
Selkie II Teaser
 

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

The Narcissist:A Dark Journey by @JonDZimmer A deep #psychological #Thriller filled with #Suspense! @emsapublishing @eliseabram #Bookworm

The Narcissist: A Dark Journey
by 
author Jon D. Zimmer
Charlotte Prentice literally has everything: beauty, intellect, wealth. She is also very dangerous. Driven dispassionately to success, the reader must decide Charlotte's guilt or innocence. After reading The Narcissist: A Dark Journey, what will be your verdict in the case of Charlotte Prentice?
Genre: Psychological Thriller, Suspense
Pages: 255
Release Date: July 19, 2016
Blog Tour Date: 19 - 26 July 2016
About The Book

In The Narcissist: A Dark Journey, Charlotte Prentice is beautiful, intellectual and dangerous. She will do whatever it takes to achieve the adoration and success she desires.

Who is this woman whose beauty is only overshadowed by her intellect?

Charlotte herself doesn’t know.

Outwardly, she is a woman who fights against discrimination and poverty, an advocate of education and freedom. To the onlooker, Charlotte is perfection. But on the inside, there is something darker lurking, something that pushes her single-minded plans forward without empathy.

She and her ilk are the scourge of our society, driven to success to satisfy their needs at any cost. They are the business leaders and politicians who woo us with deceit and shallow promises. Sometimes we are amused by them. Other times we are stricken by them. But make no mistake: they are not amusing; they are calculating and dangerous.

Is she guilty of her crimes, or the victim of the ills of society? In The Narcissist: A Dark Journey, the reader is both judge and jury where Charlotte Prentice is concerned.
Buy Link
Enjoy An Excerpt
Chapter One

Charlotte Prentice's conscious life began when she was four years old. Though she had glimpses of memories before that, this was the first time she'd experienced real tragedy in her short life. This wasn't one of those childhood traumas where things just didn't turn out the way she'd wanted. No, this was a tragedy of grandiose proportions for a four old, a tragedy that she was, incredibly, able to plan, and execute all on her own.

It was a portend of things to come for Charlotte Prentice.

It all started when she began kindergarten. Her mother, Rachel, had walked with her the two blocks to school. After a week of walking together, Rachel asked Charlotte if she would like to walk to school by herself. Charlotte was beside herself, she loved the idea.

Charlotte hadn't noticed the dog until after her mother had left her completely by herself. One day, seemingly from out of nowhere, it appeared. It was a large, mongrel dog, with a big head, and short, brown hair, just standing there in the driveway. For some unknown reason, Charlotte stopped and stared at it.

At first it looked causally looked back at her, then its ears perked up, it barked a little, and began to move in her direction, slowly at first, but with a quickening pace, until it seemed to Charlotte that it was charging at her.

Charlotte was so filled with fear she couldn't move. Her mind raged as the dog grew even closer. She stood there, her mind full of images of being savagely mauled, of actually being eaten by this dog.

She the few remaining yards to school, faster than she had ever ran before. Once inside the gate she stopped and quickly turned to see if the dog was still chasing her. It wasn't. It was gone, nowhere in sight. She felt safe, and her panic and fear were gone, at least for a little while.

All day in class she thought about the dog, fixating on the dreaded walk home. Charlotte didn't tell anyone about what had happened, not wanting her classmates to know she was afraid of dogs. She had seen others being teased and tormented about similar things, and she didn't want to be the object of taunts or ridicule from her classmates, which to Charlotte was more fearful to her than the dog.

After school, she stayed behind the gate, looking for him. Though he was nowhere to be seen, the thought of having to leave the safety of the schoolyard was just too frightening. She waited as long as she could, until she was one of the last students left, when she finally found the courage to set out on her short walk home.

Charlotte got about ten or fifteen yards before panic set in. She imagined that dog jumping out of every driveway she was about to pass, and she ran as if chased by demons. When she finally arrived home, she felt the need to be safe for the second time that day, but then her thoughts turned to tomorrow, and even in the sanctuary of her own home, the fear returned.

She didn't go directly to the kitchen when she got home like she usually did. Instead, she went to her bedroom, and laid down on the bed. It felt good to be in her room. At the moment it was the one place where she felt secure.

Her mom came into the bedroom and asked, "Are you all right?"

She didn't speak for a second, feeling ashamed about being afraid of a dog, "I'm fine," she finally told her. "Just resting."

Her father came home a couple of hours later, and the rest of the evening was normal. Her mother read her a story, they all watched television, and she went to bed. Charlotte slept well, and by morning she had completely forgotten about The Beast, as she now thought of it.

She had breakfast and left for school. The dog returned to her thoughts the moment she stepped onto the sidewalk. She walked toward school, cautious to look all around her as she went. Even though there was no dog in sight, she picked up the pace a little. That was when she noticed it. There, standing in the driveway, glaring at her as she walked by.

It moved toward her, slowly at first, then a little quicker. Her mind screamed in fear, and she broke into a run, not daring to look back until she'd once more reached the safety of the school yard. It was then Charlotte turned around to look for him as she had the day before, but she saw nothing. It had gone, just like last time. It was almost as if she had been selected as the object of an apparition's haunting.

The same scenario played out on the way home as it had the day before. Upon arriving home she once more went directly to her bedroom. She laid down on her bed, and knew she had to do something. She couldn't just go through this every day of her life, her frightened and over-stimulated mind imagining she would ultimately be eaten by the beast. Nor did she not want to put her fear on display for everyone to see, so they'd think of her as a coward, or even worse, not normal, and be forced to experience her worst fear—having to suffer the brunt of her peers' ridicule.

Charlotte resolved that this was her problem, and it had to be solved by her. It was Friday, and she had the weekend to develop a plan that would hopefully end her nightmare.

She anguished over the various ways she could get rid of the dog. Maybe she could scare it by throwing rocks at it. Maybe she could find a large stick to hit it with when it came close. No matter what ideas she came up with, she discarded them out of the fear that none of them would work, and she was sure to be eaten.

It never entered her mind to go to her mother for help, tell her that a large dog was chasing after her on the walk to school each morning, and that she was concerned the dog might bite her, or worse. If she had asked for help, it might have been the end of it. She never would have been exposed as a coward, or branded abnormal as she feared, her mother would have contacted the owner, and the dog would have been locked in its backyard.

That this never entered her mind was because as far as Charlotte was concerned, there was only one way to solve her problem, and that was Charlotte's Way. Even at this very early age she resolved to solve this problem, regardless if it ended tragically. As long as it ended with no consequences for her, the fallout wasn't her concern.

The only solution she could imagine at this point was to kill the dog. But how might she go about that? She had no knowledge of death, or how to kill anything, other than maybe a bug. Her mind was at a standstill, and she resigned herself to perpetual torment by The Beast.

That Saturday morning, she was overwhelmed by a helplessness due to the inadequacies she felt at being unable to resolve her problem. She tried to forget everything associated with The Beast. To help, she asked her mother to turn on the television after breakfast so she could see her cartoons.

After watching for a few minutes, she saw the solution to her problem, right there in front of her. In the cartoons, everybody and everything was injuring or killing each other.

She watched intently, looking for something she might employ to kill that dog. All the characters were slapping or hitting or chasing; cars slammed into all sorts of things. She saw nothing she felt capable of doing, but continued to watch anyway, hoping to find something she might ultimately use.

Finally she was rewarded. One of the cartoons had a car chase, the climax of which depicted the car hitting a group of people who went flying like bowling pins just hit by the ball. That’s it, she thought. Getting the dog hit by a car was the answer. This would solve two problems for her as she would not be directly involved, and the dog would be gone.

The question now was, how might she get a car to hit it? Then it came to her: she would have to do the one thing her mother told her never to do under any circumstance—cross the street. Disobeying her mother this one time would be worth the risk, if it got rid of The Beast.

Her plan was simple. On the way to school in the morning she would cross the street a couple of homes before the driveway where the dog lived. There were always parked cars on the other side of the street that she could hide behind. Then, when a car approached, she would jump out from between two of the parked cars and taunt the dog with the hope it would charge after her as it had every day it saw her, and then one of the cars would hit it as The Beast crossed the street to eat her.

She left for school on Monday morning with a purpose. Charlotte never considered what she was about to do was wrong--how could it be when it was either her, or The Beast?

Everything went according to plan. Charlotte crossed the street, and positioned herself behind a car where she had visibility of the street in both directions. That was when she saw it, The Beast, lying in the driveway directly across the street from where she was hiding, waiting for her, waiting to pounce.

Charlotte calmly waited. At last, she saw her opportunity—two cars were coming toward her, one on each side of the street, approaching in opposite directions. This was it, she thought. She was sure she could get one of them to hit The Beast. Charlotte moved out from between the two cars so she'd be visible to the dog.

Its ears perked up when it saw her. It rose and started walking toward her, but when it got to the street, it stopped without crossing.

The approaching cars were getting closer. Charlotte had to do something to lure it into the street, and fast, so she started gyrating and making subdued noises—it wouldn't do if her plan were discovered because she was heard or seen.

It worked. The dog darted into the street just as both cars crossed in front of her. Her vision was momentarily obscured, but she heard a thud, followed by a loud yelp, and she knew The Beast had been struck by one of the cars.

The driver of the car stopped his vehicle about twenty feet in front of Charlotte. The dog had been thrown about five feet in front of his car, and lay there on its side, whimpering in the street, then he fell silent.

The owner of the dog, a young woman, came running out of her house, and rushed to the now motionless figure in the street.

She lay down next to her dog and wept. The driver picked the dog up and put it in his car. The lady got into the car with him, and they sped away.

Charlotte couldn't hear what they were saying, nor had she any idea where they were going. She left the scene immediately, so no one would know she was there.

It took her no more than three or four minutes to get to school from where the accident had taken place. No one at school was aware of what had transpired, except, of course, Charlotte, and she liked that. The rest of the school day was one of her most pleasant. She no longer spent the day dreading the walk home. She had smote The Mighty Beast. It was gone, and so were her agony and her fear.

She got home that afternoon still feeling a sense of happiness and accomplishment. Her plan had worked perfectly. She was enjoying her newly acquired sense of security and pride when she overheard her parents talking about Mrs. Williams' dog being hit by a car.

Her mother said, "Poor Mrs. Williams. She loved that dog. It was her husband's, and after he died in Korea the dog helped to fill some of the void in her life. It was like he'd left a part of himself behind. I don't know what she'll do now."

Jeffery was silent as he listened to his wife. His eyes watered slightly—rather than the war hardening him, it had done just the opposite, making him a more sensitive person. He spoke softly. "Can you think of anything we can do to help her?"

She shook her head. "All we can do is just pray the dog survives. I heard from Joan, her next door neighbor, that he's in critical condition at the veterinarian's."

Charlotte couldn't believe her ears—The Beast still lived! Another revelation was that her parents knew the owner of the dog. After hearing Mrs. Williams' tragic story, she began to feel sorry for the woman, a woman for whom she had just caused so much suffering.

Charlotte felt conflicted. She wanted the dog dead, but she didn't want Mrs. Williams to suffer. There was nothing she could do about the situation, but if worse came to worse, her fear overrode Mrs. Williams' grief, and she much preferred the death of the dog.

Two nights later she again overheard her parents talking about Mrs. Williams and her dog. "I talked to Joan today," her mom said, "and she told me the dog was going to live, but that he would be crippled. He will be able to walk, but not to run."

"That’s great!" her dad said. "The important thing is that Mrs. Williams will get her dog back."

Charlotte thought about what she'd just heard, and the fear began to creep back in, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized this was the best of both worlds—Mrs. Williams would get her dog back and he wouldn't be able to ever chase her again. Charlotte was now even more pleased with the outcome of her plan than she was before.

The next morning, Charlotte walked to school, confident that The Beast no longer posed a threat to her, but as was her nature, she had to see it before she would believe it. After all, she'd only heard about the dog being crippled from her parents' conversation, and that wasn't enough to make it real for her.

Charlotte planned to test the ability of the beast by tempting it to chase her. As she approached the once dreaded driveway, she still experienced a little fear, but it wasn't enough to stop her from needing to see the damaged, living thing.

When she got close enough to the property she saw it there, lying on its side, next to the side door of the house. Mrs. Williams sat beside it, softly stroking its fur, cooing to it, "How does my precious feel today? You'll be much better soon. I'll be here…" Her voice tailed off when she saw Charlotte standing in front of the driveway, watching her. Mrs. Williams smiled, and asked how she was.

Charlotte, still a little concerned about The Beast's physical status, replied, "I'm fine. I heard about your dog being hit by a car. Is he okay?"

Mrs. Williams said, "Roger is doing fine. He just won't be able to do the things he used to, but he can walk well enough to get around. The main thing is he has no more pain."

"I'm so glad he's all right," a very joyous Charlotte said. "I have to get to school now, but I really am happy he can get around a little bit." Charlotte said goodbye, turned away, and left for school.

Her world was hers again, unencumbered by anything that might give her displeasure. She had solved the problem herself, she didn't need anyone's help, and she'd orchestrated the best possible outcome: The Beast could no longer catch and eat her, and Mrs. Williams still had Roger. Charlotte was overwhelmed with a sense of joy and pride, as she had made this happen all by herself.

At this point in her life, Charlotte felt no remorse for taking whatever action was necessary to lead to her pleasure, or resolved a problem that was annoying her.

More importantly, her peer image had remained pristine.

Guest Post
WHY I WRITE
by
 Jon D. Zimmer, author of The Narcissist: A Dark Journey

When I started college I majored in English. I wanted to be a writer. I had written several short stories when I was eighteen, and felt like I was about to join the hallowed halls of Shakespeare and Hemingway, but reality seems to have a way of trumping fantasy. I got married, changed my major to business, and had a successful career. However, I didn't like the cold world of profits at all cost, particularly the human cost.

As soon as I was able I retired, left that dispassionate world, and began to write. To me, writing was a pathway of expression, of sharing the ideas and emotions that we all feel, of creating characters and events that the reader can relate to. And I didn't limit myself to any particular genre. I wrote The Trinity Pact, a spiritual book; The Cozy Place, a murder mystery; An American Dynasty, historical; The Secret Invasion: Book One of the God Chronicles, a fantasy; and my latest novel, The Narcissist: A Dark Journey, a psychological thriller.

Though they were different genres, I was able to express the human condition at its best, and at its worst. In The Cozy Place, a consuming love begets a serial killer, exemplifying love at its worst, however, we all sometimes show our love in a less than a loving way. We abuse, physically and psychologically, we deceive, and we lie to those we love, and when we do it, we wish we hadn't, as sometimes it takes more than a lifetime to make it up.

In An American Dynasty I took an American family through four generations of American history to depict the absolute role that politics and wealth plays in the lives that we lead. Throughout history, wealth has been able to control, and in many instances, enslave populations. It could happen here and now, to us. I love politics.

My latest novel, The Narcissist: A Dark Journey, is a psychological trip through the psyche of one Charlotte Prentice. She literally has everything: beauty, intellect, wealth--and yet she is a very dangerous person. She is someone we all know, or know of, and in ourselves. She and her ilk are dispassionately driven to success, and are our scourge, but in this novel I have left any judgement of guilt up to the reader. How would you judge Charlotte?

I am almost finished with Book Two of the God Chronicles, a fantasy in the event humankind continues after this life. In this new life, I have tried to remove all of the reasons for our really bad, nasty habits. There is no requirement for sustenance, there is no celebrity, no gender, no sickness, but I am really challenged, even with all of those things that cause us to do naughty, bad things, to eliminate the nature of humanity. But I think I have. That's the beauty of writing.

About The Author



Graduated from Valley College, attended Cal State Northridge University, and the masters program at Pepperdine University, Jon Zimmer began a career in business, running several divisions of large corporations, and started up two companies.


The Narcissist: A Dark Journey is his fifth novel. His other titles include: The Trinity Pact, The Cozy Place, Generations-Birth of an American Aristocracy, The Secret Invasion Book One of the God Chronicles, and The Dark Journey of Charlotte Prentice.
Author Links
Enter The Giveaway!!!

Friday, July 15, 2016

The Last Airship From Khartoum-A #NewRelease from @ChrisStoesen An #Alternative #History #Military #Adventure #RPBP

The Last Airship from Khartoum: 
A Thomas Devareaux Alternative History Military Adventure 
(The Thomas Sumter Devareaux Series Book 2) 
About The Book
Old Enemies are closing in. Richmond sends them away.
Will Devareaux find disaster or glory over the skies of Khartoum?

Devareaux's command is being hunted. He must battle traitors at home before being sent on a goodwill mission to secure favor with their ally Great Britain. Now promoted and in command of a squadron of airships, Devareaux and his men must fight against not only hordes of enemies but the perceptions of his allies as well. Drawn across the sweeping drama of the fall of Khartoum to the forces of the Mahdi, Devareaux must try to convince General Gordon that his position is untenable and help the man escape before they miss the Last Airship out of Khartoum.
​
The Last Airship from Khartoum begins with old enemies attempting to settle a score with Thomas Devareaux and his former crew. From Virginia to South Carolina to Cairo and Sudan, Devareaux and his company fight for their lives. Just when they believe that they have the upper hand, the President of the Confederacy, James L Kemper, sends Devareaux halfway across the globe to support the British in their fight against the Mahdi's siege of Khartoum. He and his men are not only caught in the crossfire of political ambitions, they are enemy targets. Will Devareaux find disaster or glory in the skies above Africa? The Last Airship from Khartoum is a work of alternative history. The action takes place in the air, over sea, and on land as these heroes battle to defend their country. It is the second book in the Thomas Devareaux series by author Chris Stoesen. ​​

Get Your Copy and get reading: http://bit.ly/LastAirshipBuy
About The Author
Who Is Chris Stoesen?
Chris is an amateur author with interests in both historical and fictional subjects. He was born in 1970 and raised by fantastic parents in Tampa, Florida. So all of his shortcomings are of his own making and not their fault. His single greatest achievement is being married to the same wonderful woman for over 23 years. He and his family, live in the Atlanta area.

Chris is relatively new to publishing on Amazon but so far has found it to be a pleasant experience. Most of his writing thus far has been related to Historical War Game Scenarios such as In the Name of Roma which is available on Amazon as well. You can find his other work on the web store of the TooFatLardies. This includes titles such as "This Land Divided," "With Fire and Sword," 'Rock the Casbah," "The Campaign For Greece" and "Call This a Ruddy Picnic?" His most recent book is "From Empire to Revolution" that covers the Austro-Hungarian and Russian Empires during World War One.

The first fictional book in the Thomas Devareaux series is now complete and work has started on the second book of the series. He has also written The Home, a zombie themed short story.

He has some short stories and some potential stories that he is working on at the Amazon WriteOn site: http://goo.gl/Kq44ZU Please stop by and let him know what you think.

To get an email whenever the author releases a new title, sign up for the VIP newsletter at:http://chrisstoesenfiction.blogspot.com/p/mailing-list.html

Thursday, July 14, 2016

"So many things I loved about this novel!" ~'I Was, Am, Will Be Alice' by @eliseabram~5Star #TimeTravel #Fantasy #lovetoread #RPBP



Winner of the 2015 A Woman's Write Competition for fiction!
Genre: YA, Contemporary, Science Fiction, Time Travel, Girls & Women

Pages: 310
Release Date: 12 July 16
Blog Tour Date: 11 - 19 July 16
When 9 year old Alice Carroll disappears during a school shooting she is left wondering if time travel is all it's cracked up to be.

About The Book

When Alice Carroll is in grade three she narrowly escapes losing her life in a school shooting. All she remembers is the woman comforting her in the moments before the gunshot, and that one second she was there, the next she wasn't.

It's bad enough coming to terms with surviving while others, including her favourite teacher, didn't, let alone dealing with the fact that she might wink out of existence at any time.


Alice spends the next few years seeing specialists about her Post Traumatic Stress as a result of VD--Voldemort Day--but it's not until she has a nightmare about The Day That Shall Not Be Mentioned, disappears from her bed, is found by police, and taken home to meet her four-year-old self that she realizes she's been time travelling.

Alice is unsure if her getting unstuck in time should be considered an ability or a liability, until she disappears right in front of her high school at dismissal time, the busiest time of day. Worried that someone may find out about her problem before long, Alice enlists her best friend (and maybe boyfriend), Pete, to help her try to control her shifting through time with limited success. She's just about ready to give up when the shooter is caught. Alice resolves to take control of her time travelling in order to go back to That Day, stop the shooting, and figure out the identity of the stranger who'd shielded Alice's body with her own.


Buy Links

About The Author

Elise Abram is high school teacher of English and Computer Studies, former archaeologist, editor, publisher, award winning author, avid reader of literary and science fiction, and student of the human condition. Everything she does, watches, reads and hears is fodder for her writing. She is passionate about writing and language, cooking, and ABC’s Once Upon A Time. In her spare time she experiments with paleo cookery, knits badly, and writes. She also bakes. Most of the time it doesn’t burn. Her family doesn’t seem to mind.

Connect With Elise Here

Enjoy An Excerpt
Alice is 9

The first time it happens, it happens like this:

I'm huddled beside the bench in the grade three cloakroom, head scrunched against my knees, hands clasped behind my head. I hear the shots, three of them, and I swear my heart stops pumping each time. There's a woman next to me, kneeling, whispering in my ear, telling me it's going to be okay, but I'm either too frightened or it was too long ago to remember exactly what she says. Her hand grips my shoulder firmly, and there's a familiar quality to her voice that's somewhat soothing. The man's heels clack into the cloakroom and the gun cracks as he readies it for the next shot. The woman stands and I can tell by the air she moves with her that she's taken a step toward him. Her lips make a wet sound as if she's parted them, and she draws in a breath as if to speak, and then the gun booms─it's deafening─and she goes down.

I scream and I go away.

When I come back the woman is gone. So is the man with the gun. The classroom door opens with a whoosh. My breath catches in my throat and my heart thumps in my chest and I hear shoe clacks again…

"Alice?" a man says when the clacking stops. It's loud enough to snap me from my trance. "You're covered in blood! Are you okay?" 

I blink at him. "I don't think it's mine."

The man, Principal Cotton, clucks his tongue and says, "For God's sake, girl, why are you still here?"

I shrug my shoulders. I have no idea.

His shoes click away. When they click back he has a woolen blanket in his hands. I feel the warmth of his body as he nears and the wet warmth of his breath at the back of my neck as he drapes the blanket over me. He's a smoker. I can tell.

The blanket's scratchy, like Daddy's beard on a weekend morning. It starts to slide off me, but I grab as much of it as I can and pull it close.

Mr. Cotton holds his hand out to me. I take it and let him lead me to the office.

* * *

It’s weird sitting in the Bad Kid Chairs, and I get A Case of the Nerves waiting for my parents to come. I have to breathe deeply and evenly; the last time I got A Case of the Nerves, I went away, and I don’t want to do that again. Not here. Not now.

By the time my parents come for me, Mr. Cotton has let me get washed up. My clothes are sticky in places where the blood is still wet and hard where it's dried in others. We sit in his office, the four of us around a small, round table. I try to picture us sitting this way in a coffee shop, waiting for the waitress to take our orders. Mom orders a latte, lactose free and with three sugars. Dad orders something slushy. Mr. Cotton looks like a tea man to me. I order something fruity and icy with lots of whipped cream.

Mr. Cotton says, "She was curled into a ball when I found her," spoiling the illusion. "She was just glued to the spot, huddled into a ball and holding her breath."

"Where did the blood come from?" Mom sniffles. I hate it when she cries.

"We don't know. She seems physically unharmed." Mr. Cotton shuffles the papers on the table in front of him. "I want to give you this." He hands her a pamphlet. "Grief councillors will be here for the foreseeable future to talk to the children who need it, but seeing as Alice was so close to…well, to the action, Post Traumatic Stress is a likely possibility."

Mom gasps. "Oh God!" Dad reaches for her hand. I sit in my chair taking long, deep breaths, willing myself to grow smaller and smaller until I disappear.

"Call this number, Mrs. Carroll. There are councillors there to help you cope, too. Support groups and the like."

Mom reaches for a tissue from the box on the table. She blows her nose, looks at her lap, and continues to weep.

"Thank you, Mr. Cotton," Dad says. He stands up and shakes the principal’s hand. He touches Mom’s shoulder and she stands, too. She nods and forces a smile at Mr. Cotton.

"Come, sweetie," Dad says to me. He takes my hand and pulls me from my chair.

* * *

The drive home would be silent, but for Mom’s sniffles and snorts and gasps. When we get there, she announces, "I’m going to lie down for a bit." She smiles at me and says, "You can lie with me if you like, Alice," as an afterthought.

I nod. I don’t feel like being comforted by my mother. I feel embarrassed at losing control. Ashamed at being found by Mr. Cotton of all people, just sitting there, crying like a baby. I want to eat chocolate cake till I puke and crawl into a hole somewhere and die.

"Ice cream sundaes, kiddo?" Dad asks.

I nod and smile in spite of myself and follow him into the kitchen.

Guest Post
~Read-Alikes
My latest novel, I Was, Am, Will Be Alice releases the week of 12 July 16. In the book, 9 year old Alice Carroll disappears from her classroom during a school shooting. She later learns she is able to time travel when under extreme stress, a situation she is determined to learn to control in order to go back to the day of the shooting to save the lives of her teacher and classmates and to discover the identity of the woman who sacrificed herself so Alice could live.

Here are some excellent read-alikes, books with similar themes or in similar genres that have inspired me and my writing, especially with respect to I Was, Am, Will Be Alice. If you liked these books, you are sure to love Alice (and vice-versa):

The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
Life Henry, Alice travels through time, but due to a different genetic anomaly. Also like Henry, Alice's episodes of time travel centre around the most traumatic event in her life - being caught in a school shooting. Unlike The Time Traveler's Wife, Alice eventually learns how to control her traveling and tries to use it to prevent the shooting from happening. The novel is not primarily a romance, but rather, a coming of age story in which Alice learns that the curves life has thrown her do not have to define her. It is about a young girl coming to terms with her disability and using it to empower herself.

Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
Names and phrases were borrowed from Alice in Wonderland, but aside from my Alice feeling as if she's stepped into the bizzaro world of the looking glass, the story does not compare. I include Wonderland in this list with the hope that it might inspire my readers to go back and take a look at the classic work that inspired me, if not the story.

The Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes
In The Shining Girls, Kirby is the victim of a time traveller. She uses her traumatic event--nearly being murdered by serial killer, Harper--and her job as a reporter, to turn the event around and bring her attacker to justice. Like Alice, Kirby uses the curves life has thrown her to empower herself and overcome her past. In The Shining Girls, it is Harper who does the travelling through a door in a magical house. Kirby is assisted by fellow reporter, Dan, in her investigation and there are hints of a romance, much like Alice is assisted by Pete, and there are hints of a romance.

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
In The Lovely Bones, Susie is raped and murdered. She spends the book in heaven, looking down on her friends and family as her murder investigation unfolds. Susie must come to terms with her death as she hopes her murderer will be caught. As the story progresses, Susie comes of age as she accepts her fate and learns of a clue that has been uncovered that will ultimately lead to the capture of her murderer. Alice is very much alive throughout the novel. The parallel here is the trauma and the need to come to terms with how the character's life has changed as a result of the trauma. As the character comes of age, she learns to use her trauma as a tool for empowerment, rather than defeat.

The Half-Life of Molly Pierce by Katrina Leno
Molly suffers from split-personality disorder. The book opens with a trauma - Molly witnesses a boy on a motorcycle as he is hit and killed in a car accident - and she doesn't know what to make of it. Because life around her goes on and each of Molly's personalities are only aware of half of it, she must learn to overcome her disability in order to figure out who the boy on the motorcycle was, to regain her memory, and to get better. In other words, like Alice, she must also learn to come to terms with her disability, and she eventually uses it to piece her life together, thus empowering herself so she can get well.
Enter The Giveaway

"A Sweepingly Romantic Tale"~'Running Scarred' by @wackyjackyful #romance #mystery #excerpt #99cents #RPBP


Running Scarred (Book 1 in the Scarred Series)
2nd round placements (top 400) in the ABNA competition
 2013 and 2014
Suitable for age 16+
About The Book

He once had it all, but for three years retired special services expert, Patrick has hidden himself and his terrible war wounds from the world.

But when a bright, beautiful woman buys the ruined château and estate on which his own home
stands, it is more than Patrick’s unerring control can bear. For her to flinch from his injuries would be terrible, but for her to pity him would be the final insult. His only option is to make sure she never sees him at all.

Ellen doesn’t give a damn what Patrick looks like. With one glimpse of his shaded figure, one touch of his work roughened hands, one hint of his masculine scent, she is his. Forever.

Buying the abandoned French château had been a dream, her only desire since her brother was blown up in Afghanistan, if she could only capture the elusive Patrick, her world will be complete.

But Patrick is hiding from far more than himself.

Devastated when her wounded hero abandons her for a flame haired beauty, and terrified when her selfish ex fiancé reappears, Ellen discovers that she might not only lose her lover but also her life.

Can Patrick escape in time to save the woman who loves and accepts him exactly as he is, or will she be lost to him forever while he has been Running Scarred for far too long?

2015 revised edition. Running Scarred is a sensual military romance, gently exploring the emotions stirred by disability caused by war. 

An Excerpt From The Book
Chapter 4
Patrick stared at her from the other side of the rhododendrons. They had arrived only a few moments before him and he’d been too late to leave the hat and key and get out of sight again. He’d remained hidden, praying they would leave quickly, but as soon as he saw the way her hand moved gently across the stone walls, he knew it was hopeless. She looked completely in love with the place already. And when she sat down, he knew there would be no getting rid of her. He would have to show himself.

He shook himself defiantly. What was the matter with him? He wasn’t some idiot kid with a schoolboy crush. He was thirty-two. Retired Special Services, amongst other things. He had killed people. Lots of them, if he cared to count, which he didn’t. They had all been worse than bad and deserved to die, so he wasn’t going to worry himself over that. But here he was getting himself into a sweat, worrying over meeting this woman in daylight. For God’s sake! He had to get over this. It wasn’t as if he was some kind of ogre. Anton was his friend and he had overcome his fears for the market place. A mere slip of a girl shouldn’t scare him.

He only wished that she wasn’t quite so beautiful. Last night he had thought that perhaps the moonlight was being kind to her, but after seeing her earlier as she jumped from her car, he knew it was no trick of the light. She was stunning, completely entrancing. The nearly forgotten passions began stirring again and he took a deep breath to calm them.

This was going to be harder than he had anticipated. He didn’t want to see her expression when he finally limped into view. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He knew it was Anton, he could see the man with his own mobile pressed to his ear.

He huffed out an annoyed breath. Get a bloody grip and move! He squared his shoulders, stood up as straight as possible and shoved forwards through the bush.

“Anton! I’m here. I was held up at the market,” he called out as he revealed himself. He saw the woman’s head come up and he stared hard at her, lifting his chin, challenging her and bracing himself as he waited for the shock to register.

He waited for her to drop her gaze. He waited for the fixed smile. He waited for her to be embarrassed, waited for the pity in her eyes…

Nothing…

Absolutely no reaction at all. She didn’t bat an eyelid, merely stood up and came down the steps towards him, smiling a genuine smile that crinkled the outer edges of her beautiful brown eyes and sent sudden stabs of sharp pain directly into his heart. She bent to pick up a bag at the bottom of the steps and then walked right up to him.

“Hello again. I brought your coat. Sorry I rushed off with it last night, but thanks for the loan and thanks for taking me back to the hotel. I’m Ellen Phillips. From Essex.” She finished, smiling up at him again. Though she had known he was big, she hadn’t realized how tall he was the night before. It had been so dark and they had been stooping beneath low branches and scrub. The tone of his voice hadn’t told her much about his age either. She’d guessed about the same age as her brother. Now she could see that he was a little older, probably in his early thirties, well over six feet tall, muscled and fit.

He stared down at her open gaze, his brows creased into a solid line of confusion.

Well, this was a new one on him. What the hell was the matter with her? Why wasn’t she running for the hills? He lifted his hand to his face, wondering if, by some miracle, the disgusting hard, white skin was gone, but dropped it immediately as he touched the horrible numb, waxy texture. The scars were still there, the same as always, cold and terrible under his fingertips.

She was still looking at him directly, holding out a bag. Feeling a complete idiot, he reached out and took it from her. He looked briefly inside the bag and saw the thick lining of his coat. A wonderful delicate fragrance wafted up at him. Curiosity replaced his frown. He didn’t think she could have worn it long enough for her scent to transfer. He hoped she hadn’t sprayed it with perfume to mask the smell of his open fire. He looked right back at her.

“No problem, glad to have been of help. I’m Patrick Reeves, from Essex too, but you guessed that already. Thanks for bringing this back. Not that I need it so much, now that the weather is improving.” He sucked in the words, feeling a complete fool for discussing the weather with someone so young and beautiful while desperately hoping that he wasn’t dribbling from the scarred corner of his mouth. He lifted the back of his hand to check. No, it was dry, thank God!

She turned towards the château.

“Did you manage to find the key? I’m dying for a look inside. I think it’s going to be just what I want.”

“Huh! You hardly need a key.” He grunted doubtfully, as he looked down at her. “I think you might change your mind when you take a closer look. It’s pretty bad.”

He put the coat down on the balustrade and fumbled in his pocket, then limped up the stone steps. Now she did glance down, frowning as he walked past.

“Why do you still have one of the old models? Anton says you’ve been out here nearly two years. Have you been offered the new update?” She asked as he walked unevenly towards the château door.

He stopped immediately.

“What? What do you mean?” He turned sharply, his dark blue eyes looked fiercely down at her and he dropped the key.

She raised her eyebrows in exasperation.

“Your leg of course. I wondered about it last night, but now that Anton has confirmed that you’ve been here two years I just assumed that you’re still using the old model. You’re entitled to the new one. It has much improved ankle movement and uses a better suction cup at the top. More comfortable apparently. A lot less friction and a lot more mobility.”

Patrick looked down at his leg. It was completely covered by his dark denim jeans and his brown boots were identical. How could she possibly know he had a prosthetic limb rather than just a limp? He looked harshly, accusingly at Anton, but the man just shook his head and shrugged.

Patrick stooped to pick up the fallen key. His voice was stiff.

“I’ve been told, but I haven’t got round to it yet. I haven’t been back to the U.K since I bought the cottage, and I’ve sort of got used to this one now.” He was uncomfortable answering her question, but she didn’t appear the least bit embarrassed, her eyes just grew wide in amazement.

“Well, you want to get yourself back there and get it sorted out. You can’t let the government get away with making you put up with second best. You can always keep this one too, but I would have thought it was quite restricting and it must be a pain in the ass to drag about in all this undergrowth.” She indicated the bushes where he had been hiding.

He gawped at her incredulously, feeling the anger rise in him. Who the hell did she think she was? Preaching to him as though she would have any idea of what it was like to be blown apart and find your life completely ruined in less than a second.

He gritted his teeth before he spoke.

“I’ll wear whatever type of leg I damn well like, thank you.” He turned away from her sharply and growled over his shoulder. “Now do you want to see this place or not?” He held up the key and the hat.

She jogged up the steps behind him, completely unfazed by his angry tone.

“Yes please. Come on, you can take me round. Anton is afraid of the ghosts. Apparently there are the unhappy spirits of raging German despots, missing French prisoners, war wounded and displaced mad people.” She counted them out on her fingers. “Should make for an interesting tour.” She gave a pretend shiver as she grinned and lifted her chin towards Anton who was staring open mouthed at their exchange.

Patrick’s furious tone disappeared immediately as he gazed incredulously towards his friend. He put his hands over his stomach and burst out laughing. The sound rang round the forest clearing and bounced off the walls of the château.

“Ghosts! You’re kidding me! Anton, really, is that the best you could come up with?” He shook his head as he calmed his laughter. “I should have thought that the dry rot was scarier than any unfortunate, forgotten spirit.”

Ellen looked up at Patrick in mock horror, noticing the deep blue eyes now sparkling under his dark hair. He was incredibly handsome. Even the vicious scars couldn’t disguise his square jaw and generous mouth.

“Dry rot?” She gave a real shiver this time. “Now that really is scary. Lucky you came along, Patrick. You don’t look as though you would ever be scared of anything.” She looked rather obviously across his broad shoulders and then down his wide chest to his slim waist, then even further to where she could just see the cup outlined below his muscled thigh. She raised her eyes again and felt herself blush as she realized that Patrick was staring right back at her, but her gaze still never faltered.

Patrick gawped at her. Was she flirting with him? Impossible, surely? He turned away sharply, not wanting to see her embarrassment at being caught out, but then something made him glance back over his shoulder at her. His heartbeat quickened. She was still looking at him, not curiously, not with pity and certainly not afraid. She was checking out his arse! And looking as though she liked what she saw. He turned to face her as he felt his own face become hot under her open stare and his stomach gave an unexpected rumble. It sounded very loud in the stillness.

She gaze lifted to his flat waistline. And then, he could scarcely believe it, her dark eyes dropped even lower. Was she staring at his crotch? He fought to keep his libido under control as his stomach rumbled yet again, and she looked up at last, smiling widely at the sound. At least he hoped it was at the sound, and not at what he’d failed to stop swelling in his pants.

“Sorry. Have I made you late for lunch?” She grinned up at him.

He felt himself become even hotter as he beat down the violent surge of desire that had suddenly descended to his groin, and he turned to shove his way through the great doors.

“No, more like breakfast actually. I went to the market to get bread and cheese, but I was delayed. My French is still a bit crappy.”

She was standing right beside him and he caught the hint of the same exotic perfume that had wafted up from his coat. He bent and picked up the hard hat and jammed it on her head. He limped forwards, pulling a flashlight from his pocket and shining it around in the darkness. She followed him into the vast open hallway.

“What about your hat? Anton has one outside for you.”

He laughed grimly.

“Huh! What’s the point? If anything falls on my head, it can’t possibly do any more damage, can it? Just mind where you tread.” He stomped forwards, kicking a few shards of glass out of the way and she followed quickly. He shone his torch around in the gloom and she moved away from the shadows, closer to his shoulder.

Running Scarred is the first book in the Scarred Series! 
What people are saying about 'Running Scarred'
~First in the series had me hooked~
~It is a story told with bold conviction and who can ask for more in a book? Highly recommended.~
~Very compelling characters, felt very real, not contrived. I can't wait for more in the series.~
~A perceptive, emotionally satisfying, contemporary love story.~
Coming soon is book six, 'Scarred Surrender'!
In honor of this new release, the author Jackie Williams has lowered the price of Book One, Running Scarred to just 99c/99p!
If you haven't started the series yet, now's the time!
For the Complete series:
Running Scarred: viewBook.at/B0089UMGAK
Scarred Beginnings: myBook.to/Scarred2
Forever Scarred: viewBook.at/B00EMMD1Y4
Scarred Horizon: myBook.to/ScarredH
Scarred Survival: myBook.to/Scarred5

About The Author
Jackie Williams, Romance writer.

I was born in Essex, England during the mid sixties but I missed all the fun. Being only young, I assumed that all Beatles were six legged creatures and Flower Power was something to do with the vigorous way my mother kneaded the bread dough.


My wonderful parents brought me up with a huge love of books. We read anything and everything. Bedtime stories were a treasured time of adventure and mystery. My sister and I sat wide eyed in wonder and to this day I worry about Dinah and Dorinda being pricked with pins because they grew so fat, and I never pull faces at the a waning moon (or was it a waxing one?) just in case my chops stay that way . (The Wind On The Moon)

I began reading romance while still at school. The fuel for many a teenage fantasy leapt from between the covers of wildly romantic books and my passion still lingers now for all those dark haired heroes.

My own beautiful teenage daughter persuaded me to write my first romance. She was only fourteen at the time and between books for children and adults. She couldn't find anything that ticked all her numerous and particular boxes and so she asked me to write a book, with all the exact ingredients just for her. Though not just a book for teens, she enjoyed the resulting tale so much that she shared it with her friends and I eventually published A Perfect Summer as an ebook on amazon.

But I have discovered that writing is not easily stopped once you start. It has turned into a grand passion that I just cannot hold back. The fingertips start tapping the keys and ideas suddenly come flooding, far too many for just one book and so I began another and then another. Fourteen books later I am still nowhere near done. Book twenty two (Scarred Surrender) is on its way and only just the other night I woke from a wild and wonderful dream with book twenty three fully formed in my head.

I hope you enjoy all of my efforts and I look forward to your comments and reviews.


You can reach Jackie on any of the following: 
Rukia Publishing: FBTW