YA Science-fiction/ Romance
Date Published: November 25th, 2016
What You Believe, Can Destroy You!
William and Sydney have sacrificed everything to fortify their love, so much so that William dares to brave the depths of space to find a cure for their deadly Supernova bond, leaving both her and Earth vulnerable to Torrian Alliance attack. But with a full scale rebellion in play on Fabricius, the reality of Sydney’s execution from Torrian hands is diminished, only eclipsed by the certainty of a more threats – The Third Faction and The Dagmas Clan – lead by Dominic and his insurgent recruits. With overwhelming odds mounting against them, William makes a desperate attempt to find the last of the endangered Star-children only to be captured by a new menace, where he is forced to compete in the dreaded Gauntlet of sport. Allies surge to free Fabricius, seeking alliances across the galaxy while Sydney tries to keep her identity hidden and trains to master the third phase of her Star-child evolution: Solstice. With Sarah’s mysterious return home with clues to unlock the future, Noella’s training and Bill’s symbiotic development hope is restored, but will it be enough to unite the galaxy and destroy evil for once and for all?
Series Order
Supernova
Solstice
Protostar
About the Author
Multi-Award Winning and #1 Amazon Bestselling author Braxton A. Cosby is a dreamer who transitioned his ideas on pen and paper to pixels and keyboards. He tells stories that evoke emotions and stimulate thought. PROTOSTAR: BOOK 1 OF THE STARCROSSED SAGA and THE SECT: THE WINDGATE are currently Young Adult/New Adult series he created. He has written over 10 novels, including his new Superhero adventure book, THE CAPE is book three of the Dark Spores Series. He lives in Georgia with his amazing wife and a highly energetic Morkie named StarKozy.
Contact Links
Twitter: @BraxtonACosby
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About the Book:
AMAZON #1 BESTSELLER! This Behind-the-Scenes Tell-All About Doubling for Celebrity Superstars Also Reveals the Compelling Life Story of an Insecure Hollywood Arrival Who Rises to the Top of Her Field, But Pays a Hefty Price.
Discover the magic and the tragic stories of many great films & TV shows through the eyes of a stuntwoman. Dalton reveals what it took to hang over cliffs, get hit by a moving car, drop from five stories up, dodge an avenue full of speeding cars--and to ignore the Universe's more gentle prompts that it was time to quit and follow her passion into acting full-time or teaching acting. The resulting career-ending spinal injury has a story of its own, how she researched medical and alternative paths that form the heart of what she shares with the world today. "What stands out in this book is the indomitable spirit the author has, despite the extraordinary price she paid for her stellar career--including misogyny, a miscarriage, and a life-long back injury. And each juicy story she relays in her fascinating chronicle, brings home an important life lesson for the reader--one that she learned the hard way.
Working with or doubling such superstars as Meryl Streep, Cher, Madonna, Grace Jones, Robert Redford, Katherine Hepburn, Sean Connery, Tom Hanks, Chevy Chase, Robin Williams, Ed O'Neill, Michelle Pfeiffer and more. ![]()
About the Author:
From a bullied, dyslexic, messy, freckle-faced, klutzy pixie, Lisa Loving Dalton grew into a statuesque and skillful stuntwoman, actor, director, teacher, author, filmmaker, leadership and life coach, and ceremonial minister. Always seeking and finding the silver lining, she has made the most of whatever life threw at her. She says, “I spill stuff, trip and drip all of the time so I made a career out of it. My advice: Embrace what is as perfect.” Dalton appeared in more than 200 films, television shows and commercials in New York, Hollywood and Texas, including work in Ghostbusters, Money Pit, Crocodile Dundee, Married to the Mob, FX, Legal Eagles, and Splash on the big screen and ER, HBO’s Carnivale, Dr. Quinn and Melrose Place among her many TV credits. Connect with the author: Website ~ Twitter ~ Facebook ~ Pinterest ~ Youtube ~ Instagram
A Special Guest Post By Lisa!
Seeing Eyes with Hi, Hi, Hi’s By Lisa Loving Dalton As a stunt gal, I came up against fear on a regular basis. So I love to write about things that can calm fear. My puppy greets me passionately each and every time I come and go, yet people don’t greet each other as well as they greet their pets. If we did, life would change. We can give each other at least that one moment of direct connection if we want the rewards it brings. But we have to get over the fear of rejection. Sometimes, I am only gone for sixty seconds to the mail box and still, the pup is panting, Hi! Hi! Hi! His endearing eyes gaze into mine with delight, furry white tail wagging with zest, “Can I kiss you, mom? Can I? Can I? How about licky kiss, please?” He doesn’t care how fat I am today or whether I have my make up on. Our pet dogs really see us. That’s perhaps the main reason we love them. They love us and they show it. They show it a lot more than most people show their love. So often, we pass through our daily moments, glazing over those around us while bemoaning the growing sense of isolation in our lives. We fail to greet each other. We fear to meet each other directly. We come and go without stopping to look straight into each other’s eyes. We neglect to see the cashier, the sales person, our neighbor. We never even notice the server. We rarely stop to breathe and see into the eyes of our loved ones. Perhaps, worst of all, we never greet ourselves. We look into a reflective surface and we fix ourselves. Whether mirror, window, selfie, or someone’s sunglasses, inevitably the first thing we do is fix what we think is wrong with us. Then we turn on others. It cuts us apart. Tips for Deeper Connections:
Most of us are living lives in search of a connection. Since the Garden of Eden, we have been looking to get past that sense of separation, hoping someone or thing will complete us. With today’s technology, our phones are the things that complete us. Let’s create a world where people are our primary connections, where we feel seen without judgment. We begin by seeing ourselves and then seeing others. I love to connect with readers so reach out. Meanwhile, thanks for reading…Bye, bye, bye! Lisa
Psychological Realism / Contemporary / Literary Fiction
Date Published: 23rd November 2016
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“Can you remember who you were before the world told you who you should be?”
Dear reader,
My character has been shaped by two opposing forces; the pressure to conform to social norms, and the pressure to be true to myself. To be honest with you, these forces have really torn me apart. They’ve pulled me one way and then the other. At times, they’ve left me questioning my whole entire existence.
But please don’t think that I’m angry or morose. I’m not. Because through adversity comes knowledge. I’ve suffered, it’s true. But I’ve learnt from my pain. I’ve become a better person.
Now, for the first time, I’m ready to tell my story. Perhaps it will inspire you. Perhaps it will encourage you to think in a whole new way. Perhaps it won’t. There’s only one way to find out…
Enjoy the book,
Yew Shodkin
Excerpt
ONE
It was my sixth birthday when the little voice first spoke to me.
Please do understand, dear reader, that it wasn’t an abstract little voice. Oh no! It belonged to a little creature who lived inside my brain. But that creature had not, up until that point, ever said a word.
That creature wasn’t human. Far from it! Although its eyes were identical to my own.
If I’m to be totally honest, I must admit that I’m not exactly sure what it was. I’ve always just called it ‘The Egot’.
The egot’s skin was as red as hellfire, its hair was as bright as the midday sun, and its belly was as round as a pearl. It had webbed feet, elfish ears and lithe claws. I assumed it was male, but it could’ve been female; it was impossible to tell.
Yet, despite its peculiar appearance, I felt comfortable whenever I saw the egot. It possessed a powerful sort charisma which always put me at ease. It’d lift its flat cap, bend one of its spiky knees, and wink in a way which made its eye sparkle. Just seeing the egot made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
The egot was familiar. It was a part of the scenery of my mind. My companion. My friend.
But it had never spoken. Not until the day I turned six.
I was at school when it happened, sitting at the set of desks which I shared with five other pupils. The waxy floor was illuminated by white light. The smell of pencil shavings wafted through the air.
Our teacher, Ms Brown, was standing at the front of that prefabricated space. She was scratching a tiny nub of chalk along an indifferent blackboard.
“As soon as those brave explorers stepped foot on that distant land, they
were attacked by a group of wild savages,” she told the class through a cloud of chalk dust.
“Ooh! Ooh!” screamed Snotty McGill.
I liked Snotty McGill. I liked all the children in my class. Back then, I think we all just tacitly assumed that we were equal. That we were all in the same boat. We didn’t really think about our different genders, races or classes. We just co- existed, like one big family.
I think Snotty McGill was actually called Sarah, but we called her ‘Snotty’ because she always had a cold. An hour seldom passed in which she didn’t either sneeze, pick her nose, or wipe a bogie onto her snot-encrusted sleeve. But she had such a lovely colour. That pink glow which comes with the flu used to engulf her like an aura. It suited her. She always looked so damn effervescent.
Anyway, as I was saying, Snotty McGill was waving her hand above her head.
“Ms! Ms!” she called. “What’s a ‘savage’?”
Ms Brown turned to face us. She looked chalky. Everything around her looked chalky. The floor was covered in chalk-dust and the skirting-boards were covered in chalky-ashes. Chalk residue glistened in Ms Brown’s bushy hair. It coated the points of her fingers.
“Well,” she said. “A savage has the body of a man, but not his civility. A savage is like an animal. He doesn’t wear clothes, live in a house, study or work. He follows his base urges; to eat, drink and reproduce. But he doesn’t have an intellect. He doesn’t have any ambition. He’s smelly, hairy and uncouth. He does the least he can to survive. And he spends most of his time sleeping or playing.”
Snotty McGill looked horrified. As did Stacey Fairclough, Sleepy Sampson and Gavin Gillis. Chubby Smith looked like he was about to start a fight. Most of the class looked dumbfounded. But I felt inspired.
‘They don’t have to go to school!’ I thought with envy and intrigue. ‘They spend all their time playing! They sleep for as long as they like!’
It was as if I’d stumbled across a species of super-humans. To me, the savages sounded like gods. I knew at once that I wanted to be one. I’d never been so sure of anything in my life.
The egot smiled mischievously. It rolled a whisker between its skeletal claws and tapped one of its webbed feet.
Ms Brown continued:
“Well, when the explorers stepped ashore, a pack of savages came hurtling towards them; swinging through the trees like monkeys, beating their breasts like apes, and howling like donkeys. They flocked like birds and stampeded through the dust like a herd of untamed wildebeests.”
That was when the egot spoke for the first time.
It leaned up against the inside of my skull, just behind my nose, and crossed its spindly legs. Then it began to talk:
“If you want to be a savage, you should probably act like a savage. You know, you should probably stampede like a wildebeest. Maybe beat your breast like an ape. Perhaps you’d like to howl like a donkey? Yes, yes.”
The egot’s voice was so… so… so… So far beyond description. So subtle. So calm. So quirky. So eccentric. And so, so quiet!
The egot accentuated random letters, as if it was shocked to discover their existence. It swilled its words, like a Frenchman mulling over a glass of confused wine. And it stretched random syllables, as if it was saddened to see them go.
There was a certain melody to the egot’s voice. It didn’t so much speak as rhyme, like a Shakespearean actor on a crisp autumn night.
But the egot was quiet. Its voice was such a little voice. A little voice inside my head.
That little voice struck me dumb.
The egot strummed its lip, like a pensive philosopher, and waited for me to reply. But I was in a state of paralytic shock. I couldn’t have replied if I’d wanted to. So the egot folded its arms, in a gesture of mock offence, and then continued on:
“I’m only telling you what you want to hear,” it purred. It swirled the word ‘telling’ so much that the ‘ell’ sound reverberated five times; ‘Tell-ell-ell-ell-ell-ell-ing’.
“You don’t really want to succumb to civility. No, no. You want to be a savage. I think you want to jump between tables, like a monkey swinging between trees. If you thought you could get away with it, and no-one was judging you, you wouldn’t think twice.”
It was a moment of clarity. Bright white, unadulterated clarity. Silent. Outside of time and space.
Please do allow me to explain…
I’m a big fan of the founder of Taoism, the ancient Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu. He was a wizened old gent. His hair was as white as virgin snow and his eyes were deeper than any ocean on earth.
Well, Lao Tzu once said that ‘Knowing others is wisdom. Knowing yourself is enlightenment’.
Dear reader, that’s exactly how I felt! In that moment, I felt that I ‘knew’ myself. In that moment, I felt ‘enlightened’.
Everything was clear. It was clear that I’d been living in a cage. It was clear that freedom was mine to take. It was clear what I had to do. The egot was my clarity. Everything was clear.
I remember a sense of otherworldliness, as if I’d stepped outside of the physical realm. My legs lifted my torso, my frame stood tall, and my spirit stood still. My body melted away from my control.
I watched on as it broke free. As it leapt up onto our shared desk. As it pounded its breast like a valiant ape. And as it puffed its chest like a swashbuckling superhero.
The faint sound of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony started to fill my ears. Delicate violin strings provided a melodic backdrop for the ballet which was unravelling onstage.
My body performed a pirouette.
White paper rose up beneath my feet and span around my shins like froth on a choppy ocean.
I felt an all-encompassing surge of bliss.
One leg rose up in front of my body, forming a sharp arrow which pointed out towards an adjacent desk. I held that position perfectly still, whilst lifting my chin with a pompous sort of grace. Then I leapt like a spring deer, in slow motion, with one leg pointing forward and the other one darting back.
Beethoven’s Ninth sounded glorious as it purred through the gears. Violas joined violins and cellos joined those violas. Double basses began to hum and flutes began to whistle.
I landed with my feet together; an angel of the air, a demon of the sea. My mind floated atop an infinite ocean.
My legs leapt on through the infinite air. They bounded from table to table with ever-increasing speed; gaining momentum, gaining height. I could see my monkey soul. I could hear the monkey calls which were emanating from my open mouth.
I could hear Beethoven’s Ninth reach its first crescendo, as the brass section began its battle cry. Flutes became one with clarinets. Bassoons boomed. Trumpets and horns squealed with uncontrollable delight.
I howled like a donkey at the moment of sexual climax. My lungs filled with pure spirit.
I landed on all fours, looking like a bison. My shoulders were bulging out of my back and my temples were as erect as horns.
I leapt like a giant frog. And I stampeded between desks like a herd of untamed wildebeests; leaving a trail of overturned chairs, twisted students and miscellaneous debris in my wake.
Beethoven’s Ninth called out for redemption, glory and release. It was an impassioned cry. It was a fury-filled yell.
“Yew! Yew! Yew!” Ms Brown yelled. “Yew! Yew! Yew!”
Ms Brown had been yelling since the moment I stood up. But I’d been on a different plane. I hadn’t heard a thing.
My teacher’s voice pierced my ether, burst my euphoria, and threw me down amongst the shards of my shattered pride. To my left; a small calculator bled black ink, a wonky table rocked back and forth like a sober addict, and a potted plant spewed crumbs of soil all across the vinyl flooring. To my right; Aisha Ali was crying into her collar, Tina Thompson was rubbing her shin, and Chubby Smith was holding his belly.
“Yew! Yew! Yew!” Ms Brown yelled.
(I’m called Yew by the way. I think I forgot to mention that).
“Yew! What on earth do you think you’re doing? What’s come over you? I,I, I…”
Ms Brown choked on her words, lifted a hand to her throat, coughed up some chalk-dust, and then gulped down a stodgy chunk of passive air.
She shook her head.
“You’re usually such a good boy!”
She exhaled.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. Whatever came over you? Look at this place! Just look at this place! I… I… I just can’t believe it! Oh my.”
I looked around.
The debris of my liberation assaulted my torrid eyes. The disgrace of my emancipation flushed through my dusty veins. And my glorious body became a tepid vase for the desert’s tears.
“I’m not angry,” Ms Brown sighed. “I’m just disappointed.”
That hurt. It hurt a lot.
I was fond of Ms Brown. She was such a sweet person. She was warm. So her disappointment really cut through me.
It was a heavy sort of disappointment; weighed down by the burden of expectation and the gravity of my situation. And it was an overpowering sort of disappointment. It pinned me to the floor.
My world inverted. Ignorance replaced enlightenment. Darkness replaced light. Density replaced levity.
My euphoria was usurped by a deathly sort of anxiety, which shook me from side to side and made me shiver to the core. Beethoven’s Ninth was snuffed out by the booming of my incessant heart. I was sucked down into a black-hole at the centre of my being; paralysed by my teacher’s disappointment and frozen by my own sense of fear. I felt trapped, small and base.
“Disappointed,” Ms Brown repeated. “Yew! That’s not how you’re supposed to behave. That’s not what society expects of you.”
Ms Brown shook her head, which caused chalk-dust to float up into the air. It glistened in the bright-white light. It sparkled.
Ms Brown tutted.
Then she sent me to see the headmaster.
About the Author
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Joss Sheldon is a scruffy nomad, unshaven layabout, and good for nothing hobo. Born in 1982, he was brought up in one of the anonymous suburbs which wrap themselves around London's beating heart. And then he escaped!
With a degree from the London School of Economics to his name, Sheldon had spells selling falafel at music festivals, being a ski-bum, and failing to turn the English Midlands into a haven of rugby league.
Then, in 2013, he went to McLeod Ganj in India; a village which plays home to thousands of angry monkeys, hundreds of Tibetan refugees, and the Dalai Lama himself. It was there that Sheldon wrote his first novel, 'Involution & Evolution'.
With several positive reviews to his name, Sheldon had caught the writing bug. So he travelled around Palestine and Kurdistan before writing his second novel, 'Occupied'; a dystopian 'masterpiece' unlike any other story you've ever read!
Now Joss has returned with his third, and most radical novel yet. 'The Little Voice' takes a swipe at the external forces which come to shape our personalities. It's psychological. And it will make you think about the world in a whole new way. As the Huffington Post put it, The Little Voice is probably "The most thought-provoking novel of 2016"...
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Romantic Suspense
Date Published: November 9, 2016
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Raised in a dysfunctional family, Cassandra Devlyn Ferguson has tried to leave the past behind and carve out a new life with her husband, former Black Ops specialist, Sean Ferguson. Her family's shady business dealings never involved her, and she intends to keep it that way.
Sean wants nothing more than to be a devoted, loving husband. But his new job sends him to the front lines at some of the world's most dangerous spots. For years, he's blamed his Irish wanderlust for the risks, but the truth is ' he enjoys the rush of adrenaline danger brings. When the Devlyn family's mistakes come looking for Cassie, it's up to Sean to bring her home safely.
The one positive? Cassie knows all about her family's true nature and is willing to walk away from everything to stay with him. The negative? Someone wants them dead and will stop at nothing to keep all the skeletons in the closet.
About the Author
Born in the North, raised in the South, Nancy S Reece grew up surrounded by books. Now living with three horses, three dogs, three cats, two children, and one very supportive spouse, when she isn't writing, Nancy can be found wandering old abandoned buildings looking for inspiration.
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Espionage Thriller
Date Published: March 2016
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Former British intelligence agent Mark Savannah escapes the international arrest warrant hanging over his head by taking refuge among the Tuareg of Mali. In 2008 the resurgence of fighting in the North of the country causes him to change his plans, forcing him into hiding in the Democratic Republic of Congo, where he works undercover as a doctor at the hospital in Kinshasa. Trying to survive the widespread corruption in the country, Mark becomes a direct witness to the devastating and deadly effects of a transgenic plant project funded by an international consortium that is looking for breakthrough OMG production strains while ruthlessly taking huge risks with the native population’s health. Approached once again by British intelligence to investigate the activities of the consortium, Mark finds himself involved in violent clashes between several countries’ intelligence services as they fight for control over the territory and its markets. Mark once again finds himself facing a deadly confrontation with his mortal enemy and the "sniper" who has never stopped hunting him.
First Book in the Series:
Date Published: December 8, 2013
Mark Savannah has already lived two lives and now he is looking for a third, but he is trapped by a past he can’t escape.
Professor Zimmermann of the University of Buenos Aires has warned him: "They have been able to cover up the whole affair and destroy all the evidence".
Mark has discovered an extraordinary secret hidden deep in CIA director Colonel Reed's past and in the neural transplant operations of Biosketch Technologies Inc., a biotech company set up by Reed.
Mark came into contact with Biosketch Technologies Inc. and the diabolical Project “Transtem 1.1″ while studying civilian and military neural transplant patients. As Mark attempts to uncover the truth, he is pursued by Anaïs Degann, a CIA agent with orders to terminate him.
Project “Transtem 1.1″ is just the tip of the iceberg of Reed’s dark plans and, in order to get his life back, Mark has to break the ties connecting Colonel Reed with Colonel Kozlov of the Russian counterintelligence service. Reed’s links to Russian intelligence threaten to compromise international security and Mark must stop him at all costs.
About the Authors
Baibin Nighthawk writes spy fiction, thrillers and science fiction. She is the co-author of the Mark Savannah espionage series and of the Dhungwana Chronicles. She holds a bachelor’s degree in Economics and a Certificate in Art (Martenot Arts Plastiques, Paris).
Dominick Fencer writes spy fiction, thrillers and science fiction. He is the co-author of the Mark Savannah espionage series and of the Dhungwana Chronicles. He holds a bachelor’s degree in Biological Sciences and an MBA.
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On Sale For $1.99 From November 21st – November 27th
On Tour with Prism Book Tours.
Book Tour Grand Finale for
My Father's House
By Rose Chandler Johnson
Suspense and romance mix in this inspiring story. We hope you enjoyed the tour! If you missed any of the stops, go back and check them out now...
Launch - The Inspiration for My Father's House
The setting needed to play a critical part in the story as well. So, with my roots firmly planted in Georgia, I modeled my fictional town after so many small Southern towns, and I set in some of my love of nature. Being a Southerner, I had definite ideas about elements I needed for this story to come alive. Besides fascinating characters and a distinctive setting, there had to be a little crazy, eccentric, and some downright meanness, mixed with suspense, romance, and lots of southern charm. And if the story makes you long for dirt roads and blackberry picking, shade trees and front porch visiting, then I’ve done my job.
The Silver Dagger Scriptorium - A Sketch of Lily Rose’s Father, Michael Cates
Lily Rose’s relationship with her father sets the stage for her life and the story, My Father’s House. Although the reader gets only glimpses of her “Daddy”, they are telling glimpses which reveal who he is. Michael Cates takes the dominant role in his daughter’s early life and development. In that brief first chapter, the reader learns he takes particular pride and joy in his wife and daughter.
![]() Wishful Endings - Excerpt
I followed him out onto the porch and watched him walk to the truck, stop, and turn. He fixed his gaze on me, and I knew he didn’t want to leave. I smiled then, and he nodded before getting in and backing down the driveway. He waved, and something about his smile and the gentle blue of the sky strengthened my heart. I watched him disappear down the street before I turned and walked back inside.
Falling Leaves - Excerpt
Something about his presence excited me. Maybe it was the way he lingered beside me and caressed me with his eyes. It was hard for me not to stare at his smooth olive hands as they moved back and forth around our table.
I suppose I got caught up in the moment because without thinking, I asked, “Would you take our picture?” I held the camera out at arm’s length to the dreamy eyed waiter. I smiled before saying “please” as sweet as pie.
![]() Rockin' Book Reviews - Review
"What an excellent story! I really enjoyed reading it. . . . It was a good clean story with lots of action and suspense. I would recommend this book to all readers."
Tell Tale Book Reviews - Character Sketch of Lily Rose Cates
This dark-haired, green-eyed, slip of a girl is the protagonist of My Father’s House and the emotional heart of the story. The reader is drawn into her story that pulses with life, and can’t help feeling her joys, fears, and hopes. The development of Lily Rose’s character is central to the novel. As a child, she was nurtured and sheltered from the harsher realities of life. Innocent, good-hearted, with no experience with the evils of the world, the reader watches her struggle with her own naiveté and illusions of love.
Jessica and Gracie's Tree - The Antagonist and His Foil in My Father’s House
Sam is a foil to Manuel. Whereas Manny is controlling and harsh, Sam is soft spoken, easy-going and kind. Lily associates Manuel with cars, work, and high powered city living; whereas she constantly associates Sam with the animals, the outdoors, and community.
Don't forget to enter the giveaway below...
by Rose Chandler Johnson
Inspirational Romantic Suspense
Paperback & ebook, 314 pages March 13th 2016 Growing up, life is idyllic for Lily Rose Cates due to her one constant – her father’s love. But in her sixteenth summer, all that changes without warning with her father’s sudden death. There begins Lily’s struggle to find herself and a life she thinks is gone forever. Marriage to her prince charming promises fulfillment, but their happily-ever-after barely survives the honeymoon. Beneath the sophisticated façade lies a brooding man who hides dark secrets. When all Lily’s illusions of happiness shatter, she must make hard choices – abandon her husband or risk losing much more than her marriage. She flees their home in Detroit and sets out on a fearful journey to a house in Georgia that her husband knows nothing about. In spite of heartbreak and regrets, will she find the strength to survive whatever comes? Or will her husband find her and shatter all her hopes . . . again. This is one woman’s compelling tale of love and survival as she finds her way back home to faith and who she’s meant to be . . . in her father’s house.
Tour Giveaway
Ends November 26th
Cozy mystery
Date Published: December 5, 2016
Book 3 in the Death by Cupcake series. Can be read as a standalone.
Kristie is kind with a capital K, so it’s quite the surprise when she wakes up next to a dead man with no recollection of the previous night. Even worse? She’s naked. Kristie may be a sweetheart out to save the world, but sticking her nose into an investigation of rapes across campus makes her the target of a murderer. Before she knows it, Callie is smack dab in the middle of a murder investigation with her colleagues Callie and Anna. If that’s not enough to drive a sane person up the wall, a friend has decided he’s going to keep her safe whether she wants him to or not. And, oh yeah, he’s her man and that’s that.
Come join us at Callie’s Cakes, where murder investigations are on the menu. You are most welcome, but you may need to serve yourself as our barista Kristie is busy trying to save the world.
Warning: Although there are plenty of moments that will make you shake your head and laugh at the antics of the ladies of Callie’s Cakes, the subject matter – rape on college campuses – is very real and somewhat darker than your usual cozy mystery.
About the Author
I grew up reading everything I could get my hands on from my mom's Harlequin romances to Nancy Drew to Little Women. When I wasn't flipping pages in a library book, I was penning horrendous poems, writing songs no one should ever sing, or drafting stories which have thankfully been destroyed. College and a stint in the U.S. Army came along, robbing me of free time to write and read, although I did manage, every once in a while, to sneak a book into my rucksack between rolled up socks, MRIs, t-shirts, and cold weather gear. After surviving the army experience, I went back to school and got my law degree. I jumped ship and joined the hubby in the Netherlands before the graduation ceremony could even begin. A few years into my legal career, I was exhausted, fed up, and just plain done. I quit my job and sat down to write a manuscript, which I promptly hid in the attic after returning to the law. But being a lawyer really wasn’t my thing, so I quit (again!) and went off to Germany to start a B&B. Turns out being a B&B owner wasn’t my thing either. I decided to follow the husband to Istanbul for a few years where I managed to churn out book after book. But ten years was too many to stay away from ‘home’. I packed up again and moved to The Hague where I’m currently working on my next book. I hope I’ll always be working on my next book.
Contact Links
Email: [email protected]
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Levels of Exposure by Aimee McNeil
Release Date: December 20, 2016
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Limitless Publishing
Blurb:
Lexie Wilder is caught in the clutches of the very man her mother tried to protect her from…
Separated from her mother and locked in a strange room, Lexie soon realizes the amount of control John Stodden has over all of them. She finally understands why her mother went to such lengths to shield her from the truth—a truth that has put everyone she cares about in danger.
But now she is faced with the daunting possibility that there might be something much stronger tying her to the heartless crime lord…like the very blood running through her veins.
Lines are about to be crossed as promises that cannot be kept are made…
Losing Lexie is not an option for Jackson Finley. He will risk anything in order to save her and take down the infamous crime boss who has remained untouched—until now. Willing to lay down his badge, and to break the laws he has sworn to uphold, Jackson will not stop until she is safe.
But when he accepts the help of Lexie’s late boyfriend’s brother, Evan, things start spiraling out of control and he’s forced to act fast if he wants to keep Evan from being swallowed by the darkness.
With a new evil lurking in the shadows, no one is safe...
Lexie’s best friend is missing, and now everyone realizes that the dangers run much deeper than what her mother had depicted in her diary. Will Lexie be able to save the people she loves, and will she be able to put her trust in the hands of a man who has claimed more of her heart than she ever thought possible?
Meet the Author:
Aimee McNeil was born and raised in Nova Scotia, Canada, where she continues to live today with her husband and three children. She is a stay-at-home mother that loves every colorful moment with her family.
Aimee spends most of her free time indulging in her love of writing. You can also find her lost in the pages of a good book, or making a mess with her paints. Aimee loves to explore anything that promotes creativity. It is one of the many reason she enjoys writing.
Connect with the Author:
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Paranormal Romance
Date Published: Originally August 31, 2010, New release Nov. 21st
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Divided by Centuries
Diana Dearborn knows all about romance, at least in the books she writes. But passion eludes her in real life—until she’s offered the chance to travel back in time to Camelot. The world of King Arthur and Guinevere is nothing like she pictured, and neither is the knight she encounters upon her return to San Francisco: Gawain, the hero of her current project. He’s complicated, mysterious, and sexier than anything her imagination could conjure. And he’s been waiting for her…
Entwined by Desire
Now, joined together in a desperate race, Diana and Gawain must prevent an ancient, evil force from wreaking mayhem in the all-too-real present. Diana must learn to trust Gawain, even while she encounters secrets about her own past. But even if their mission succeeds, does Diana’s destiny lie with this man from another time—and will their love alter history forever?
EXCERPT
Making love to her had been a miracle. Gawain couldn’t regret it. The way she opened to him, the way she trusted him. He’d worried when she was so hesitant. He’d wondered if she was too damaged by her previous experience.
Had he been gentle enough with her? It had cost him every ounce of his control to go as slowly has he had, when he wanted to claim her as his own, fast and fierce, with the right to protect and defend her, the right to make love to her, for them to bear children together and stand together against all comers.
Gawain felt her stir in his arms. She still had her sleep shirt on, though it was entirely unbuttoned, leaving her soft breasts pressed against his chest. He had captured her thigh between his own as she dozed after sex. This was how they should sleep together, always.
She wiggled the leg between his. He opened his thigh immediately. “Did your leg go to sleep?”
“No. I just liked the feel of it against your, uh, you know.’
He raised his brows. “Against my ‘you know’? Those are my bollocks and my cock you’re speaking of.”
Her eyes went dark. “Yes.”
“I know you know those words. You use them in your books.”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Well, it’s a little different saying them to someone in real life.” She cleared her throat again. “I, uh, I hope it was okay for you.”
“Yelling is a clue. You don’t often get yelling.”
She tried to suppress a smile and looked down.
He felt his cock springing to new life. Would he ever get enough of her? “I’m not sure your research is yet complete if you have to resort to ‘you know’ to describe things.” He rolled over on his back and scooted her over next to him. “Don’t you think you should explore a little yourself? Just in the name of research.”
She grinned but looked away.
“You can’t possibly be shy after opening to my mouth the way you did.”
“Was…was I too brazen?” She looked stricken.
“A man likes his woman to be lady in public and brazen in bed. You were perfect.”
“So, uh, I should be brazen now.” She slid a glance down to his groin.
“Yes.”
She took her lip between her teeth as though she were girding her own loins. “I suppose you know that all those things I wrote in my books—they were pretty much just words to me. I know the words well enough but…”
“But you should explore the reality,” he said.
She smiled shyly. “If you’re sure you wouldn’t mind.”
“I’ll bear up.” At least this time he could wait. He’d had one hell of an orgasm less than an hour ago.
“Well, I think I’ll start with your nipples. I was very curious earlier, but I didn’t like to, uh, just.... Well, you know.”
“You think you’re conveying something with this phrase ‘you know.’ But you’re not. Could you mean ‘lick them’?”
She sighed as if relieved. “Yes. Lick them.”
She bent over him and touched her tongue to his right nipple. Sensation shot to his groin. He hadn’t expected that. Not from just a nipple. Not after having spent himself so forcefully less than an hour before. She ran her tongue over it and then sucked gently. He cleared his throat. Now she raked her teeth across it, not biting, but the mere possibility of biting made him feel open and vulnerable to her. She continued working at it, alternating techniques while her other small hand gravitated toward his other nipple and began to tweak it.
She pulled up. “Now, describe how that feels please.”
“Good.”
She frowned at him. “I can’t just say it feels ‘good’ in my books.”
“Well, I’m a man. Men don’t wax flowery over…over things like that.” He took a breath. “That doesn’t mean you have to stop.”
She slipped down and slid her tongue into his navel. “I have other fish to fry right now. I’ll try to get back to them later.” She pulled his thighs apart and he obliged her. “I’ve read,” she said meditatively, “that the area just behind the testicles is very sensitive.” She took two fingers and rubbed the spot in question slowly, deeply. Lord, he was hard as a rock already. Could things get any more intense? “Is that true?” she asked.
“Uh, yes.” Where did she read these kinds of things? In books like hers?
“Pleasurable?”
“That would be yes.”
“And balls, do you like them caressed if I promise to be very gentle?”
“I, uh, I don’t know. No one’s ever done, uh, that exactly to me.”
“You surprise me.” She gave a knowing smile. “A man with your experience?”
The last woman he’d had was the Green Knight’s wife, and that was many years ago. At the thought of the Green Knight and his failure of honor, his heart contracted. He had to put that failure away. This was for Diana. He would perform the act of loving with her, for her, as a healing rite. That was the height of honor. And if it wasn’t, then honor be damned.
About the Author
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Susan Squires grew up among the giant redwoods of California. She thought she was being practical by changing her major in college from theater to English literature. Immersed in a PhD. Program, she slowly realized that none of her graduating friends had work. So she dropped out after receiving a Master’s degree to take an paying job in the business world.
As an executive in a Fortune 500 company, she returned to her love of writing while continuing to hold her day-job, much to the amusement of her fellow executives. Her novel Danegeld, had already been purchased by Dorchester by the time she accepted a Golden Heart for Best Unpublished Paranormal Manuscript from Romance Writers of America. It was the first of an eclectic group of historical and contemporary paranormal stories known for their intensity. Body Electric was named by Publishers Weekly one of the ten most influential paperbacks of 2002, for blending romance and science-fiction. Book List compared No More Lies to the works of Robin Cook and Michael Crichton, but it was also a Rita finalist for Best Published Paranormal Romance by Romance Writers of America.
Susan’s Companion Series for St. Martin’s Press continued to garner attention with admiring reviews and several visits to the New York Times Bestseller List. Publishers Weekly named One with the Shadows a Best Book of the Year, and several of the series received starred reviews. Her books have won the many regional contests for published works of paranormal romantic fiction.
Susan no longer has to use tales of romance and adventure to escape budgets and projects. She finally left her day job, and researches and writes her books at the beach in Southern California, supported by three Belgian Sheepdogs and a wonderful husband named Harry who writes occult mysteries as H.R. Knight
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