"Miracles and Mistletoe" is the dramatic tale of Marla Anders' fears over her cancer test results as Christmas approaches. Chance Yardley, urges her to keep the faith as he prays for a Christmas miracle regarding her health.

"Miracles and Mistletoe" contains all of the sights and sounds of Christmas in such vivid detail! Kimberly Grant's wonderful imagery of Christmas truly showcases her phenomenal writing talent. Her skill at evoking strong emotions is very apparent as one can feel Marla's deep anguish over the potential test results. What a powerful story!

Excerpt:

Marla passed the sewing needle through the last piece of popcorn. The fluffy kernel split into several bits and sifted to the floor. Spearmint green and candy-apple red lights shimmered and blurred beyond her lashes.

She scooped up the latest ruined bit of garland. If her fingers didn't still, she and Chance would never finish decorating the tree this Christmas Eve. But at least the popcorn pieces were more easily picked up than other fragments in her life.

Chance's warm hands gripped her shoulders, and he nuzzled her left ear. "You seem miles away."

Leaning back, she let the string of plump cranberries and white corn drape over her leg. "Just a little preoccupied."

"Don't worry." Gentle, ginger-scented kisses rained upon her cheek and chin. Chance sat down, pulled her body close and rocked her to the seasonal sounds of one-horse open sleighs playing on the radio. "If Doctor Hogan's office said they'd phone with the results, they will."

"Unless they've forgotten. Or there's bad news." Each word tasted worse, and their cumulative bitterness lingered on her tongue.

The mantel clock ticked off more seconds. In the fireplace, flames licked at the logs and spat sparks against the fire screen. One-thirty-six. Sandy, Doctor Hogan's secretary, had mentioned the office closing at three on Christmas Eve.

An hour and twenty-four minutes remained until the long holiday weekend. The churning in her belly intensified as Marla glanced out the window. In light of the weather forecast, they'd likely already gone home for the holidays. Her fingers curled into a fist and then straightened. More tears burned her eyes, and she blinked them back. Chance's shoulder massage failed to dispel the myriad feelings refusing to settle and allow her soul some respite. The wind-driven snow beyond the picture window was anything but a blessing. Definitely, a curse. A frozen, unrelenting curse cast upon her.

Seven years ago this very night, Ciara MacIain lost her fiance, Derek, in a tragic car accident. As she takes the curve in the storm—at the exact spot he died—Ciara sees a car off the road. A man flags her down asking for help, and he takes her on a journey of the souls, ending in a truth Ciara never expects.

PEARL Award Nominee 2006

Excerpt:

She stared at one drop-dead, sexy man. The jeans lovingly encased his strong thighs, and the black shirt, buttoned just once, was a slight shade tighter across the shoulders and chest. It was almost reassuring to see it didn't fit him to perfection.

That small comfort was quickly replaced with something more disturbing¯a stirring of her libido. She hadn't made love with a man since Derek's death. That part of her died with him on that wet, lonely road¯she'd thought.

Now, she was awakening to life and she wanted this man with every fiber in her pores, craved him with a force she found crippling. Her breasts grew heavy, tightening, pushing against the dampness of her bra. She attempted to swallow the knot in her throat. It didn't budge.

He came to her and took her wrist, then tugged the sweater from her grasp. Rooted to the floor, Ciara told herself to breathe as she fought against the waves of his intoxicating heat, his haunting scent. Images flashed through her. His hands grabbing hold of her derrière and lifting her, her legs wrapping around those strong, lean hips. Of his mouth feasting on her neck, taking her lips in a no-holds-barred kiss that'd fry her mind

And she'd let him. Encourage him. There wasn't a bone in her body that would offer resistance. All she had to do was take one little step toward him. Supercharged by his potent male pheromones, singed by how he turned her on, Roarke made her feel alive for the first time in years.

Just...one...little...step.

Melody had always known she was supposed to be with Trevor Wilde. But an event that happened ten years ago has kept them apart. Now Melody has a second chance but Trevor will not let her near him. Will she finally be able to tell him the truth? Ms. Bowen amazes me with her way with words. I could not stop reading to find out would happen between Melody and Trevor. I needed to know the secret.

Excerpt:

Ardmoor watched Melody and Hugh approach from the stable. Hugh looked to be arguing with her, and even from this distance Ardmoor could tell she'd put up a shield. Her ice shield. He arched his brows in surprise. So it wasn't natural, but something she erected for protection.

Why the bloody hell was she shielding herself from Hugh? Obviously she'd angered her brother. Possibly threatened to shoot something of his off.

Ardmoor positioned himself so she'd see him upon entering. At first thinking to agitate her, he decided it would be more amusing to do nothing and see her reaction. He blinked when she sailed past with a curt nod in his direction. He stared after her, then became aware of Hugh's agitation behind him. The man was pulling on his hair. Ardmoor caught some of the thoughts flying wide and grabbed Hugh, tugging him outside.

"She what?" Ardmoor exclaimed. Surely he'd misunder-stood.

"She wants to work with the magistrates to apprehend murderers and thieves."

"She can't—"

"I told her that! Then she encased herself and wouldn't listen. It's my fault. I shouldn't have made fun of her half of my soul drivel. It made her cry."

"She cries?" Difficult to imagine her crying. "What do you mean, drivel? Sounds rather poetic. Not that I feel the same way she does, of course."

Hugh paced. "Dore will...I don't know what Dore will do. Melly says he has someone selected for her, which I believe is the reason she's determined on this crazed plan of hers."

"Dore always has a suitor lined up for her," Ardmoor said. "She manages to repel them. Or so I've been told."

"She thinks she can outsmart him," Hugh continued. "She doesn't realize how gifted he is, or how ruthless. Not to mention if others found out what she was doing..."

"Yes," Ardmoor snapped. "Which is why this conversation goes no further. Surely the two of us can persuade her how dangerous this foolish idea of hers is."

Hugh shook his head. "Lady Susan knows. Melly said she encouraged her."

Ardmoor cursed. No doubt he'd have to gift the old bat another Andalusian to ensure her silence.

Desdemona 'Dezzy' Vashon confides to her cat, Simon, that all she wants for Christmas is a special man to love her. Simon wants that, too. In fact, he wants Dezzy to have the most special man of all. Only, can Simon teach Dezzy to believe in magic that will see both their wishes fulfilled? When Dezzy wakes up to a naked man in her bed, the fur flies, and surrender is inevitable.

Excerpt:

In the hours before dawn, Desdemona sighed deeply, a sound that nearly resembled a purr of contentment. She was so warm; the hot flesh curled against her and half over her was delicious. So nice to have a man to hold her.

A man?

Her eyelids flew open and she blinked, trying to see. Her vision was hazy; it took several heartbeats before she could actually focus. When she did, she stared into the smiling face of a handsome man. No, handsome failed to describe this beautiful male. She raised the cover and peeked under the duvet¯the beautiful naked male!

"Holy Moly," she told herself. "I'm dreaming."

"Morning, Dezzy." The stranger reached up to stroke her cheek, then finally inclined to her and brushed a light kiss to her shocked mouth.

The kiss felt real. Oh boy it felt real! Dezzy? That's what her dream lover called her. He smiled slyly, then started to lean in to her for another kiss. She wanted that kiss, but this was simply too much for her mind to absorb. At the last second, she put a finger to his lips to stop him. The amber eyes flashed in devilment as his tongue stroked out and laved two fingers. In response, her toes started a slow burn¯she started a slow burn.

"Kiss me, Dezzy, I've been waiting all night for you to awaken." His eyes roved over her face as if she were the most rare and precious object he'd ever seen. "Waiting for you a very long time."

Bloody hell, how was a woman to resist that? If this was a dream it was a wonderful one. "So let me dream," she whispered to herself more than him.

"No, Dezzy. This is real."

Do you believe in vampires? I sure didn't. Not until on my 16^th birthday when I discovered I'm anything but human. And to add the cherry on the freaky sundae called my life, I'm the first Vânãtor born in over 500 years. You see, it means I'm destined to be a hunter of evil. That's right; I'm a real life Buffy.

And to make matters worse, I'm falling for Ryan--this new guy at school. I never thought I'd be this love struck, hair tossing, dorky teenager. It's enough to make me want to hurl.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention that on top of all this, I have an entity stalking me that wants to use my rare blood for his own evil deeds, a girl at school who lives to make my life miserable, and a gymnastics coach who is determined to see I make it to Nationals.

Yep, things are really looking up for me. Welcome to the never boring, anything by normal, you never know what's going to happen life of Cheyenne Wilde.

Excerpt:

I whipped my head around to glance at Ryan just as he decided to do the same--our faces just an inch apart, our lips an inch apart. I drew in a quick breath. Before I had a chance to exhale, he pressed his lips to mine, sending unfamiliar sensations rippling through me. He opened his mouth a little and I followed, allowing the kiss to deepen. Tingles shot straight to my lower abdomen. He tasted like popcorn and Dr. Pepper--a salty and sweet combination that curled my toes. It wasn't as scary as I had imagined, yet so much more amazing than I had ever dreamed.

Weaving his way out of White’s front door, a young man stumbled a time or two as he departed the Gentleman’s Club. He reached his right hand out to steady himself and held fast to his carriage.

He’d just released a long sigh of relief when a head popped out of the carriage’s window.

Impertinently she told him - “You there. Get away from this vehicle or I shall summon the authorities.”

Stephen found himself staring into the face of a woman—a beautiful young woman. One he’d never seen before.

What the bloody hell was she doing in his carriage?

Excerpt:

“And the young lady?” Mrs. Brown queried, her disapproval apparent.

“Miss...my wi...wife, the new Viscountess, and I shall retire to my bedchamber.”

Elizabeth stifled a squeak. Her head turned quickly to stare at him. A wide grin spread across his face as he looked at her. Why had he said something so ridiculous?

He took her arm and started to move her toward the tall, winding staircase. Elizabeth held back, unwilling to go upstairs with him, but he tightened the grip on her arm and pulled.

Not wanting to make a scene, she followed. She glanced back to see the house-keeper standing at the foot of the stairs, the woman’s eyes clearly wide with surprise over the unforeseen announcement.

As soon as they entered his bedchamber and he closed the door, she rounded on him.

“How dare you make such a ludicrous statement? Hell would freeze over before I would ever agree to become your wife. I’m trying to avoid a marriage, not jump into one!”

He laughed. “Nor do I wish to wed, but my busybody housekeeper rushed out as soon as she heard a female voice. While speaking with her, it dawned on me I had no idea who you are. You never got around to introducing yourself, and I blurted out the first explanation I thought of.”

Elizabeth blushed. “Oh, well, I...ah, my name is Lady Elizabeth MacNairy.” She turned to take in her surroundings, wondering if her uncle’s actions had finally driven her to madness. She stood in a man’s bedchamber and had no idea who he was either! Despite the situation, she didn’t fear this gentle man. She turned back to face him and drew in a breath when she saw him removing his waistcoat. “And you?”

“Webber. Stephen Webber.” He moved to sit on the bed and began removing his boots. “Viscount Linden at your service, Miss MacNairy.”

He motioned to a chair beside a small table with a decanter on it. “Please, have a seat.”

Elizabeth sat, glad for the distance between them. Though she felt an instinctive trust in the Viscount, the realities of the situation were just beginning to sink in. “You said you could help me. Pray, tell me how?”

His boot thumped to the floor before he turned to her. “Later this morn, we’ll head to the bank to withdraw and protect your funds. For now, I am too tired to talk anymore. I need to sleep.”

“I know there is not much left of the night, but you mean to have me sit in this chair whilst you sleep?”

“Rubbish. You shall sleep with me.”

Elizabeth jumped to her feet. “I shall do no such thing! You said I would be safe. I should have known you would—”

“On the far side of the bed.” He swept his hand toward it. “It’s quite large, a bloody parade ground, actually. Place the pillows between us if you do not trust me. And unless you have other clothes hidden somewhere on your person, I suggest you remove your dress and sleep in your chemise. It would not do to appear at the bank in wrinkled clothes.”

Grumbling, he slipped into bed and pulled the covers over him. “It has been a long time since I’ve slept with any clothes on. Come to bed, woman. I am far too tired to ravish you.”

What a lie that was! Stephen closed his eyes, pretending to be fast asleep.

He heard the rustle of her clothes as she removed her dress. His manhood immediately hardened. The bed moved under her weight as she edged under the sheet, remaining near the rim of the bed. Bedamned! Why was he putting himself through this torment? All he had to do was roll over and slake his needs with her body. Her reputation had been ruined the minute she entered his townhouse, though he’d been too intent on playing the knight in shining armour to consider the repercussions. Pushing aside his conscience, his mind conjured images of creamy white skin and his hands filled with her full breasts.

Gads, he had to stop these thoughts. He’d promised her she’d be safe, and one thing he never did was go back on his word.

But it was going to be a long night.

Stories ranging from very old-fashioned Christmases to more modern tales of love, romance and holiday wishes. The power to believe can work miracles - wishes can come true...love heals hearts. A two book set - follow stories from Christmas Wishes to the second book Holiday in the Heart. Stories from Deborah MacGillivray, Leanne Burroughs, Amber Dawn Bell, Ann Marie Bradley, Billie Warren Chai, Cheryl Alldredge, Kimberly Ivey, Kimberly Grant, Patty Howell, Rebecca Andrews, Shelli Stevens and Gerri Bowen

A season of love. A season of cheer. To a joyful present and a well-remembered past. Five stories of the joyful gift of this holiday season. Peace, Joy, Love and Lasting Happiness. Authors - Leanne Burroughs, Polly McCrillis, Amy Blizzard, Chris Holmes, Kristy Bock

Once Upon A Time, the faery princess Keely tried to match . . .
. . . a misguided faery maiden and a surly but handsome knight, the pirate Devlin Angell and the ever-hopeful Myra, a faery under the ruse of Lord Kembell and a lady of noble birth, a blacksmith and a duchess, a flapper and a barnstormer pilot . . .
But can Keely keep her own heart?
With faery magic, anything can happen!
This enchanted carpet-ride features ten romantic faery tales, ten happy couples, and a journey through history with Keely, who grows from a kindergartner to a beautiful young faery woman.
Royalties go to Children's Tumor Foundation, ending neurofibromatosis through research. http://www.ctf.org
Excerpt:
Summer 1199

“Look at him, Shaylah,” Yana, Queen of Faeries, snapped.

I was in trouble. Again. I peered through the waters of the river separating the Faery World from Earth.

“Oh, my. He does look a bit surly.” A scowl marred the knight’s handsome face. Still, I could tell his rugged, broad-shouldered body impressed human women by the way they accidentally brushed against him as he strode through the marketplace.

“Very, very surly,” answered the queen. “Sir Darian hasn’t smiled in over a month, nor has he even so much as looked at a female human, let alone dallied with the serving wenches. Not since his cousin had the nerve to die and leave his eight children to Darian has he opened his heart to Earth’s joy.”
“A bachelor raising eight little orphans. Must have really clipped his wings.” He had such a dour look, I couldn’t see him falling in love anytime soon—and that is exactly what Queen Yana insisted I bring about just because of one itsy-bitsy blunder I’d made. Let’s just say my magic went awry, but I hadn’t planned it that way! My nervous wings fluttered in time with my racing heart, leaving sprinkles of green faery dust on the queen’s brand new carpet. “I don’t think my minor indiscretion warrants a quest of this magnitude, Your Highness.”
“Oh, you don’t? Just as you didn’t mean to turn yourself into a frog? As you didn’t mean to scare the living daylights out of the milkmaid when you popped out of her milk bucket?”
I hung my head.

“Perhaps that in itself wasn’t a punishable offense,” the queen continued, “but considering your previous ‘minor indiscretions’ in total, I believe the punishment is quite appropriate. You will complete your Queen’s Quest—help him find his true love. If you fail to do so within one moon-cycle, you will be denied the privilege of marriage and children.”
“But—”

“Now, go.” Her Highness closed the watery portal and dismissed me with a flick of her scepter.

* * * *
“’Tis a blue moon, Sir Darian.” The squire unbuckled the knight’s cuirass and removed it from his chest. “What be your wish? For it will come true.”
A pinch of faery dust rendered me invisible. I took care to fold my wings compactly and not make the teensiest bit of noise as I passed through the tent wall. But as soon as the squire removed the knight’s hauberk and bared Sir Darian’s chest, I nearly swooned. My heart raced and my face warmed at the very sight of such a muscled mass of masculine flesh, lightly sprinkled with dark hair, especially around his dusky nipples. While I contemplated how wonderful it would be to rest my cheek upon his chest, my wings unfolded and knocked over the knight’s mug of ale.

“What was that?” the squire asked.

“Must have been the wind, son.” Darian groaned as he sank into the tub of steaming water. “Get me another. Bring the whole bloody keg. My bones need prodigious amounts of ale this eve.”
“I will, but first you must make your wish on a blue moon.”

“Bah! What tripe. Wishes don’t come true and you know it. Elsewise we’d be making merry with a dozen buxom wenches instead of living in this ratty tent, soaking my bones in a tub, preparing for the next tournament.”

“It doesn’t hurt to wish, though.”

Sir Darian splashed water toward the boy. “What does it take to shut you up and get me my ale? All right, Aedwin, I wish for a beautiful, big-busted wench who smells good. I’ll have a blonde, if you please, with a nicely rounded arse and long legs made to wrap around me. A playful one who’s willing to lift her skirts and skelp at a moment’s notice.” The knight shook his fist at the squire, although I could see he didn’t really mean to harm the boy. “Now go get my ale!”

As the squire hastened from the tent, I could barely contain my glee. Sir Darian had done the hardest part of my work for me. Now I just needed to find a tall, blonde human female, preferably one of breeding or he’d not look at her as marriageable material. Too bad he didn’t want a faery woman—all of us in the green clan are tall and blonde. Ah, well, a Norse descendent couldn’t be that hard to conjure up.

Then again, conjuring (at least the faery variety) is what got me into a cauldron of hot water in the first place. I should never have skipped Faery Dust Regulations in school. Or maybe it was Charms and Enchantments 101 that did me in. I floated closer to Sir Darian’s mail, still warm from his body. It drew me, as if enchanting me. I wanted to touch his armor—put my fingertips where his flesh had warmed it—but of course I’d never invade a human’s privacy in such manner. Well, at least not until I finished my Queen’s Quest.

The mail crumpled to the ground with a clatter. With a start, I jumped back and bumped the tent wall.

“Who’s there?” Sir Darian roared as he sat up in the tub, sloshing water onto the ground. “I’ll split you from gizzard to bung hole. Now, get out!”

I daren’t say a word, but froze in place and held my breath until I was nigh to toppling over. Finally, he sank back down. “Damnable wind,” he muttered.

I vowed to take more care as I continued to survey his things in order to get to know him better. His squire had kept the mail fastidiously clean, except for its current home in the dirt, that is. He’d polished the plates of armor and oiled the leather thoroughly. And while Sir Darian roared his orders like a hungry lion, he never struck the poor lad. I’d seen other knights ill-treat their squires for far lesser offenses.

The squire ducked through the tent flap, bearing a jug of ale and a bag. “I brought roast beef, bread, and cheese, sir.”

“About time. My innards were starting to grind my backbone.”

“The Blue Moon is out.” The squire placed the meat and cheese on a trencher. “After you eat, you should gaze upon it.”

The knight stood, water shedding from his body. I gasped, never having seen a fully naked human male before. And this male was magnificent.

“Will gazing upon the moon bring my buxom blonde any quicker? Because after I eat, I’ll be ready for her.”

This was too obvious. I couldn’t stop looking at him and wondered how it would feel to touch him. Ah, but I needed to find a Norse woman for him—and quickly.

“I saw a woman today. She’d make a fine mother to the urchins.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Her name is Lady Cassandra. Were I married to her, she could stay at the manor and tend the animals, er, children, while I compete at the tournaments.”

“Lady Cassandra? But sir, she’s five and ten years older than you—past childbearing years.”

“God’s nostrils, boy. We’ve enough urchins running around now. We don’t need more children; we need someone to raise the ones we already have.”

Oh, dear, this was very bad news. I couldn’t let him marry a woman only to acquire a nurse for his children. He had to find his true love or I would spend the rest of my life childless!

* * * *

I spent the night sneaking into every tent, then every room at the castle, in search of a curvy, blonde woman with long limbs. All for naught. One idea kept popping into my mind—an idea that had considerable merit, but also carried considerable risk.

My magic has not been . . . shall we say, consistent—or maybe a more accurate term would be reliable. The unpredictability of my charms is what got me in trouble with Queen Yana in the first place. A good example was my last scrape, when I changed myself into a frog.

I wasn’t supposed to land in the milkmaid’s bucket. I still don’t know how that happened. She most certainly did overreact when I jumped out of the bucket onto the shoulder yoke and then her neck. I’d meant to land on the other side of her, not on her person. Simple mistake, similar to the time I wanted to play a little trick on the armorer.

I just wanted to make pretty designs in the smoke from his fire. Who knew buildings could burn so well? I did put the fire out by pleading with the River Spirit to depart from his path for a short time. Did you know burning buildings float? Oddest thing I ever saw, unless you count the woman chasing geese in water up to her middle. Note: geese float better than a woman with child.

Of course I had to help her. A pinch of faery dust was all it took to pluck the geese and the woman out of the water and into a tree. I even dried her hair and styled a little curl into it. Her long face needed a little more fullness to show to its best advantage, I thought.

Wouldn’t you know, her husband nearly collapsed from fright. He seemed a bit in a muddle because his ladder had floated downstream and he didn’t know how to get his wife down from the tree limb. Since I’d gotten her up there, I kenned I should fetch her down, so I enchanted the geese to all grab a part of her frock and fly her down gently. But . . . she ended up higher in the tree than before.

Ah, well, back to my idea for the tall, blonde woman. I am tall, blonde, and have quite a nice bosom if I do say so myself. I am also playful, although not experienced in skelping, whatever that is. If a woman has to toss up her skirts to do it, though, I have a reasonably good idea.

The charm would be simple. Once I let Sir Darian see me and get me into his mind, just a pinch of faery dust would make the woman of my choice look just like me. That way, I wouldn’t have to search far and wide for the right bride. Many suitable young women lived in the immediate area, and though they didn’t match his specifications, he should be able to fall in love with the image he saw.

* * * *

The next day brought great prosperity and good cheer to the tournament champion, Sir Darian. Aedwin and the two younger squires jumped and hollered their joy. As Sir Darian received his prize, I retracted my wings and donned a gauzy green dress trimmed in gold, a frock befitting a lady of high rank. A light faery dusting to ensure he would, indeed, find me irresistibly attractive completed my preparations.

As he knelt before the tournament’s host to accept his prize, I glided behind the host making myself visible only to the victorious champion. To my delight, his gaze followed me, and when I turned invisible even to him, Sir Darian’s distraction nearly made him fumble his golden trophy.

There’s nothing quite like turning a handsome man’s head that gives a girl such an air of giddiness. I celebrated my own victory and plotted my victorious return to the Faery World. First, I wanted to see if he’d search for me, then I’d give him another little glimpse just to whet his appetite.

Skelping. I couldn’t help but giggle. If he wanted to skelp a woman, let it be his true love.

“I yearn for your touch,” I whispered into his ear. “And I want feel your loins against mine—hot and ready for me.” No one could see me and only my knight could hear me.

He couldn’t move, still in attendance to the host and the ceremony, but his clenched fists and quick breath told me I had his attention. I licked the edge of his earlobe. “I’ll be waiting in your tent.”

The very air around him tensed and I knew he wanted me. I blew him an air kiss, then backed away.

“Naked,” I promised.

Stories ranging from very old-fashioned holidays cheer to more modern tales of love, romance and wishes. The power to believe can work miracles - wishes can come true...love heals hearts. A two book set - with sequels from the first book in the set Christmas Wishes. Stories - Deborah MacGillivray, Leanne Burroughs, Aleka Nakis, Candace Gold, Heather Hiestand, Michele Ann Young, Rachel Michaels, Victoria Houseman

Air Force, Marines, Navy, Coast Guard & Army Five sweet romantic stories delving into the world of Special Operations from authors who were in the military or whose family and friends are part of the military community. The stories - MISSION MISTLETOE, CHRISTMAS TO THE RESCUE, and THE STOCKING - will bring intrigue, merriment, and joy while TIED WITH A BOW and ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS A MARINE will engage your spirit and capture your heart. ~ In HOLIDAY OP, it's a pleasurable duty charged with love. Lori Avocato, Anne Elizabeth, Tara Nina, DC DeVane, and Lia DeAngelo

All his life Johnny Fortunato had been groomed for a life he wanted nothing to do with. To rebel, he developed a 'bad boy' persona. But Johnny is all grown now, and the girl he couldn't have in high school is still available.

Will Johnny cave to his father's demands? Or will Johnny go after what he wants? A lot of time has passed since Rosemary stole a piece of his heart. Is it too late now to win the heart of the girl he fell in love with back in high school?

Excerpt:

The band started to play Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay and Johnny rose and extended his hand to Rose. They walked to the edge of the dance floor and he pulled her into his arms. She felt perfect there. He noticed a lot of the sailors with lecherous looks on their faces as they watched him dance with her. Trying to ignore them and tamp down his rising jealousy, he splayed his hands over her derrière and drew her closer. When his hands wandered lower, he discovered the reason for the lecherous looks. With her arms up around his neck while they slow danced, her short skirt barely covered her panties! With those long, luscious legs, he didn't doubt every man in the building had a major hard-on.

Startling her, he stopped dancing and pulled her behind him, heading straight for the empty cloakroom.

Eyes wide, she stared at him. "Johnny, what's wrong? Why did we quit dancing? I love that song."

He backed her into the corner, his hands braced on the wall on either side of her head, effectively trapping her and lowered his lips to hers. Fire surged through his loins with that brief touch and he wanted more. So much more. He kissed her again, this time much deeper, a sense of urgency flooding through him.

His hands lowered to her bottom and he moved her hips toward his sex, letting her feel the proof of his desire, all the while claiming her mouth. His hands caressed her breasts, feeling the weight of them in the palm of his hands. He wanted to feel the soft, smooth skin and pebbled nipples rather than the wool of her dress. Then they slid down over her thighs. Thighs he wanted opened and ready for him. Forcing himself to back away, he broke the kiss. She moaned. His eyes feasted upon her passion kissed lips, moved down to stare at her breasts—their peaks taut against the fabric of her dress. Just like his arousal pressed against the zipper of his chinos.

If he didn't get away from here right now, he'd do something stupid like make love to her in the cloakroom. Wouldn't that make an impression? He looked back into her passion filled eyes. No, when he made love to his Rose for the first time, he planned to do it right. They'd be on a soft, cushy bed and he'd worship every inch of her—from her soft lips, to her neck, to those full breasts he couldn't wait to get his hands on, to her belly, down to her... Oh yeah, he had to get out of here now.

He was scared out of his wits, and that wasn't a feeling he liked. He'd always been in control. Called the shots. And suddenly this innocent woman turned wanton was turning his world upside down. For though he knew without a shadow of a doubt she was still a virgin, the kiss she'd returned just moments earlier had been hot! And when he'd pictured claiming her body as his own, what he envisioned was them on their honeymoon!

On a cold winter night-or any night in the year- snuggle up and enjoy five delightful stories designed to put you in the Christmas spirit. Homemade Christmas by Leanne Burroughs The Black Friday stock market crash of 1929 turns the world on its heels. Mark Donovan loses his job and returns to the farm he'd turned his back on so many years before. Maddy Stepson teaches at the local school. When the man she fell in love with as a child comes home, she not only has to compete with all he fell in love with in the big city, but stresses from the Great Depression that threaten to tear them apart. Christmas Wishes and Second Chances by Amy Blizzard Last Christmas, life was in perfect order for Dr. Elle Hennessy. But within one year, her life has been turned upside down by a broken engagement and a startling discovery. Unwilling to ruin her family's holiday cheer, Elle finds herself turning to Dr. Philip Wagner, her former fiancé, during her time of need when he extends a helping hand. With Philip standing faithfully by her side, the flames of love that had grown dim are rekindled and burning brightly once again. But is Elle strong enough to believe in the power of Christmas miracles and give their relationship another chance? Connecting Flights by Judith Leigh Stormy weather delayed baggage claims on Elizabeth Rawlings' return flight to Tallahassee. A double latte sounds like the perfect time killer. The crowded coffee shop necessitates sharing a table where she receives a jolt stronger than the lightning outside. Aaron Blake noticed Beth in the luggage return area. Now here she was, asking to share his table. The high school sweetheart he'd never forgotten, or stopped loving. Can a chance meeting turn out to be a lifetime connection? Noah's Arch by Patty Howell Archer Webster, a psychologist accused of stalking, seeks a top-notch defense lawyer to represent him. Referred to the firm of Adams & Adams, he finds himself having to decide who's the craziest: the woman accusing him or the attorney defending him. Burned from a previous case, Noah Adams accepts only female clientele. When Archer Webster seeks representation by her legal firm, she uses her male given name to her advantage. Or so she thinks. She soon learns the difficulty and embarrassment of straightening out a relationship begun on a lie. Can love at first sight overcome the hurdles of lies, deception, and trickery? Bonny Blue Christmas by Susan Barclay Annika's life is full and satisfying. She owns and operates her own restaurant, teaches cooking classes at the local college, and develops recipes in her few spare moments. Even though her mamma longs for a son-in-law, who has time for a man? Enter a dark-haired, blue-eyed man, whose worldly-wise taste buds expand her appreciation for ethnic food, and whose kisses leave her wanting more. How did she ever live without him? But when Joel's hidden secret comes to light, Annika's hopes for the future come crashing down. Will she recover? Is it possible to trust again? And can she face this Christmas alone?

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Following in the footsteps of her pirate great-grandmother, Grace O'Malley takes matters into her own hands, risking her love...her life.

Owen O'Donnell views the 'Deer Stalker' as a Robin Hood to the starving villagers. Only, Lord Rushmount has vowed to stop the poacher one way or another. As suspicions grow, Owen fears he won't be able to keep Grace from harm's way.

Grace knows the perils facing them all, but cannot pull back in this most dangerous game...maddening one man...thrilling another.

Excerpt:

An Impossible Love...

As if from a far country Grace heard a voice murmuring to her, calling her beloved, using all the love words she'd ever dreamed of hearing. She wanted nothing, not even the opening of her eyes, to interfere with that voice so deep and anguished and filled with longing. She lay motionless in Owen's arms letting his love enter her soul.

His fingers touched her hair, his hand trembling as he stroked it back from her face. Could this man of iron fear she was badly hurt, dying mayhap? In truth she'd never felt so alive.

This couldn't continue. She opened her eyes right into Owen's dark gaze.

"You love me."

As if she were a hot coal, he dropped her from his grasp. "You're awake," he said and scowled. "For how long?"

"Long enough." She grinned up at him.

"You're fully recovered, I see. I'm a fool of a man."

"That is true," she said, the smile never leaving her.

Kate hadn't been just the girl next door. She'd been

A marriage in trouble. An accident on a snowy night. A husband facing death in the hospital – and a wife with life altering decisions to make. Would she make the right decision? Then again, would she even have to make one? If Pete died, her life would be altered without her doing a thing. She should just go home to be with the children. But...they'd been through so much together. Although not the place she'd choose to spend Christmas eve, she couldn't leave.

Excerpt:

Now she sat, unwilling to leave Pete's side for what might be her last vigil beside him. At last she'd found a reason to leave him, and now she might not have to. What an awful thought, she told herself, brushing away fresh tears. How awful could a person be to wish someone—her own husband—would die?

The door opened again, sending in a draught of cold, antiseptic air, and Eve zipped her hoodie up to her chin, wiping her tears with her sleeve before the nurse could see her.

"Mrs. Martin?" A male voice inquired and she snapped her head around. In the doorway stood a good-looking man about her age, well-built, with golden-blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Dressed casually, he wore a rugby shirt and chinos. Not a doctor, but a hospital ID tag hung around his neck.

"Yes?" Standing, she brushed the wrinkles from her pajama pants. She was suddenly aware of the picture she made to this stranger—a thirty-year-old mother of three, in reasonable physique, sure, but not twenty anymore, in her faded cotton pj's, with no makeup and lank, dark hair pulled back in a rather messy ponytail. And the crowning glory, a jam-stain from little Emma's hug and kiss on her left thigh.

"I'm Gabe, the hospital chaplain." He stepped forward and extended his hand. "The nurses said you might like to talk." She shook the proffered hand—warm and dry, large and strong, yet gentle. A long-forgotten thrill coursed through her. It had been a long time since any man but Pete had touched her—and it had been quite awhile since he had.

A wave of sadness washed over her as she looked up into Gabe's eyes, and she was surprised to encounter an uncompromising mirror of empathy there. For a moment, she faltered, staring at him. She'd expected him to care only for the sake of his job—a chaplain had to care, right? But he was so unlike other men, even at first meeting—so unlike Pete, that she felt a sudden and powerful attraction to him. Ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks, she recovered her voice.

"Um, sure, I suppose it would be nice to have a listening ear." She gestured to the empty chair beside hers and sat. Gabe crossed in front of her, and Pete's unconscious form came into focus beyond him. What was she doing, moving in on another man right in front of her husband on his death bed? She swallowed the momentary qualm and pacified herself. She wasn't 'moving in' on anyone, she rationalized. Merely utilizing the man's professional services. After all, if one didn't need grief counseling when one's husband was in critical condition, then when?

"So, Mrs. Martin..."

"Eve, please."

"Eve," he amended, and smiled. "You must be overwhelmed at this point. The doctors inform me your husband's case could go either way—that only time will tell?"

Eve nodded, her throat constricting reflexively.

"I'm sure you've considered the contingencies, should..."

She nodded again. "A thousand possibilities a second," she said grimly, staring at the jumping green thread of Pete's heartbeat on the monitor.

"Then perhaps it might be better to dwell on something else...the past maybe?"

Eve choked on the bitter laugh that rose, and covered the lapse with a delicate cough and a sip of water.

"Tell me your story—how did you and Mr. Martin meet?"

Eve looked at Gabe in wide-eyed amazement for a long moment. She hadn't thought about that for a long time. How long had it been since they'd met...twelve years? But Gabe looked on, clearly awaiting her response, and she forced herself to meet the memory head-on.

“What would you do to protect the people you love?”

CHRISTIANA TATUM will do anything.  But when a handsome stranger comes to Bellewyck Abbey looking into guarded secrets of the past, she finds herself not only trapped in a web of deception, but falling in love with a man who could destroy everything she has struggled to save.

DEVLIN GRAYSON, the ‘Duke of Pemberton’, learns the estate he’s inherited is in ruins. Even worse, Bellewyck’s ward is missing.  Certain of treachery, Devlin probes into the shadows of Bellewyck Abbey.  The woman who thwarts him at every turn, yet steals his heart, makes him question the foundations of everything he’s grown to believe.  Will he be able to win her trust in time to save her—or will the sense of honor that guides her actions end in her death?

Excerpt:

His kiss transcended time and space, and swept her into an enchanted kingdom ruled by desire and passion. Yet, awareness of so many details endured, from the quiet of the room to the sighs and cadence of their breathing. The texture of his clothing and the muscles she felt contracting in his back with each movement. And, of course, the scandalous sensation of his arousal pressing against the skirts of her gown.

He kissed the side of her neck, resulting in a most curious reaction. A fluttering feeling deep inside her belly grew more insistent; slick moisture gathered between her thighs. A moment later, his seductive lips slid down to place open-mouthed kisses upon the swells of her bosom, prompting her to clutch his upper arms and direct a rather unfocused gaze to the ceiling.

Do not faint.

Then, he stopped. Pulling back, his breathing harsh, ragged gasps, he flicked his hand and—much to her startled amazement—her gown slid to the floor. How had he accomplished such a thing without her knowing?

Standing before him in her half-corset, she had little time to think about the gown. His long, large masculine fingers began to release the lacings with a skill that made her blink. Pulling it off her body, he grinned. “I do so like the shorter version.”

“How did you learn—”

Shaking his head, he pressed a fingertip against her lips to stop her question. “You do not really want to know, do you sweetheart?”

“No.” She did not want to think about past lovers. Their vaporous images sprang up anyway, making her feel gauche, inept, and ignorant. As if he knew the direction of her thoughts, he led her to the side of the bed.

“Sit.”

Not knowing what he wanted or expected from her, she could only watch as he slowly removed her shoes and stockings. Her chemise remained the only article of clothing and he seemed to be debating whether or not to remove it.

Perhaps he expected her to remove it? She looked to the open draperies allowing so much light into the room. Then again, he’d seen most of her body already in the orchard. For that very reason, she stood and brazenly opened her chemise enough to let it slip from her body and pool about her feet. That action seemed to stun him.

Determined to convey a sense of worldliness, she kept her arms at her sides and waited for his slow, heated inspection to conclude. His breathing sounded labored and he swallowed hard; his nostrils flared slightly like an animal on the scent of its prey.

He moved toward her—one step, two steps. A hairsbreadth apart when he turned her about and kissed the curve of her shoulder, one hand flat against her belly while his other hand cupped one of her breasts. He groaned low, pulling her back against his chest, the hard ridge of his still confined erection pressing against her naked skin.

“You do not play fair, my sweet,” he whispered into her ear.

Take a step back in time, into the heart of Regency England, where a watering pot is not something you water flowers with, and a bluestocking is not something you wear.  So, without further jabberwocky, why not repair to the parlor, and curl up on the camelback sofa with the REGENCY RESEARCH DIARY, while a liveried footman serves us Orgeat…or Ratafia, depending upon how fuddled we plan to be before nuncheon, and enter the world of Regency.

The late Dawn Thompson, award-winning author of many Regency Era novels (The Marsh Hawk, The Privateer, Drake's Lair and The Ravencliff Bride) shares her personal diary of words that bring the authentic flavor to Regency era novels.

She traveled West to marry the man she loves…instead found the man of her dreams.

In 1873, New York City heiress Courtney Danning shuns privilege and position to follow her heart to the fledgling community of Santa Fe. Widowed the same day she’s wed, Courtney soon discovers her husband wasn’t the only man awaiting her arrival. The stranger’s indifference makes New Mexico’s summer even hotter, but what she keeps hidden might be the key to the life she’s always dreamed about.

He was hired to guard her…but forgot to guard his heart.

Ex-gunfighter Beau Hamilton's past and present are shrouded in mystery. From the moment Leif Danning hires him to watch over his pampered daughter, Beau fights his attraction. To win her love, he must find the courage to expose all, knowing the truth might become his worst nightmare.

A range war threatens…

Struggling against their unbidden love, Beau and Courtney must protect themselves from everything trying to tear them apart. When the woman he’s sworn to protect finds herself in the middle of a range war, will he send her back East and lose her forever, or will he do whatever it takes to defend her…even if it costs him his life?

Excerpt:

Courtney whacked the carpet with vengeance. She wielded the rug beater like a whip, taking another swing and another. She didn't realize her teeth were clenched until a sharp pain blasted through her jaw.

Whack! God, her shoulders hurt, and she grimaced with the next swat. The dingy gold carpet danced over the clothesline. Very little dust floated off of it anymore, but she kept on swinging the cane as she concentrated with piercing hatred on her mission.

"You can't keep on beating a dead horse," Beau told her from the back corner of the adobe."

"Can't I?" She heaved another mighty swing.

"I just rode in from town."

"Good for you."

Beau frowned. "What's eatin' you?"

She didn't answer.

He hesitated before moving closer to her. No telling what a woman bent on destruction was capable of doing. He'd best go on about his business and say what he came to tell her before she turned that wheezing beater on him.

"I figured out what Stover's planning. I recognized some new faces in town, hired guns mostly."

She halted her next blow, the cane poised in mid-air. "Hired guns?"

Beau nodded grimly. "Stover's planning to run you off your land, and he's hired the worse lot of renegades to back him. They'd as easily rip your heart out as they would fight mano a mano."

That determined look she got when she set her mind to something glazed her eyes. "There aren't enough of us to fight him."

"Being prepared is the best defense." A hint of a smile crossed his face when his eyes landed on the cane. He realized now what had prodded her temper. She'd been thinking about Stover and his wrongdoings going unpunished. "You plan on using that against Stover?"

"What?" She glanced at the cane gripped fiercely in both hands. Her eyebrows arched and she set her lips askew.

"I think you're gonna need more than a cane to beat Stover at his own game." Beau whipped out his six-guns, concealing a grin when she jumped with fright. "I'm teaching you how to shoot."

* * *

Beau planted himself behind Courtney once again. His arms lined hers as she positioned one of his Colts between her hands, the barrel pointed at a can on the fence post.

"This time, keep your hands steady and your eyes open," he directed in a tight voice.

Courtney was hard pressed to keep from laughing. Aware that she was the direct cause of his waning patience, she decided she liked frustrating him. Perhaps it wasn't fair to toy with his genuine concern for her safety. But she had Beau all to herself for now, and if she continued to mess up, he'd have to stay awhile longer.

His breath on the back of her neck gave her a chill each time he moved behind her and bent his knees in order to see the target at her level. She wondered if he noticed the goosebumps on her exposed forearms.

"Now concentrate."

Grinning, Courtney squeezed the trigger. The gun barked, rocketing her hands skyward.

"Dammit!" Beau exploded. "I told you to keep your hands steady. Were your eyes open?"

Glancing back over her shoulder, she gave him a tentative smile. Meekly, she answered, "I don't know."

"Jesus! How the hell are you going to defend this ranch against Stover's bunch?" he blustered, then expelled a long breath of hard-fought patience. "All right," he said, his tone more subdued. "We've been at this for an hour. Let's get a rifle in your grip."

While he explained how to load the weapon, Courtney observed him closely. Frustration carved gullies on his handsome face. The discoloration was gone and only a few minor scars were left as a reminder of what Stover's men had done to him. She almost felt badly for Beau. He was trying his best to teach her, and she was making it more difficult than it actually was.

He bent his head forward, and his hair rested carelessly about his neck, caressing his shirt collar and catching on the stubbles at his jaw. Unconsciously, he pulled the strands away. Courtney smiled fondly. But the second he looked at her again, she quickly put on her sweetest face. She really shouldn't do this to him.

"Press the butt against your shoulder or you'll break it."

"The butt?" she asked innocently.

"Your shoulder!" he snapped.

"Don't get testy."

"Don't get…" he repeated, then clamped his teeth against the retort she knew clawed to get out.

Doing as he instructed, Courtney turned her back to him, grinning again. "Like this?"

He positioned the rifle against her shoulder. "Now, do you think you can squeeze back gently this time?"

"I'll try," she said sweetly.

The rifle exploded, forcing Courtney back into Beau. Taking him unaware, he lost his balance, and they toppled together to the dirt.

"Goddammit, woman!" Sitting, he pushed her to sit between his outstretched legs. "I said gently." Gripping her elbow, he helped her stand as he got to his feet. "You don't yank on the trigger like it was an udder."

Pretending to react to his harsh words, Courtney revealed her impertinent side. "I didn't yank on it. Maybe you don't know how to teach me to shoot. Ever think of that?"

"Damn me if I ever volunteer to teach anyone to do anything ever again," he mumbled.

Courtney snapped her shoulders back indignantly. "Well, damn you for being so short-tempered and impatient."

Beau shoved her shoulder to turn her attention back to the target. "Try it again. And this time—"

"I know. Squeeeeze gently." She bit the inside of her lip to stop a grin as she gently applied pressure as if holding an egg between her fingers. "I did it! I hit the fence post," she said excitedly.

"It's about time." Beau scratched his head, obviously confounded by her clumsiness with a weapon. "Lady, I think you gave me a few white hairs."

Kieran Fraser realizes that something is missing from his life…and on the eve of a Blue Moon he makes a wish…a wish to find someone that will fill the holes in his life. Lady Meredith has been informed that she will have to marry the cruel Lord Langdon and all of her childhood dreams of marrying her knight are crushed. Looking for one more chance at a happy ending she makes a wish on the Blue Moon. When a Scottish laird rides into her glen and kidnaps her she has to wonder. Has the magical moon answered her prayers? Has she found a love that will defy all?

Excerpt:

The full moon glowed an incandescent blue in the night sky. The second full moon that month. Meredith fondly remembered her mother telling of the magic that was about on such a night. It was good luck to wish on such a moon.

And if Meredith ever needed the magic of a Blue Moon it was now.

Closing her eyes, she made a wish on the Blue Moon, a wish of finding a love that would defy all, one to fill her heart. In her minds eye she pictured a dark knight on a handsome steed. A man who would risk all to love her and keep her safe.

She wanted a child's fairy tale, her logical side chided.

Ah, it was a silly wish but on a night such as this it seemed fitting.

She sat up and looked longingly at the pond. Images of the water's cool caress upon her heated flesh lured her to the water’s  edge. Deciding a small swim would buoy her spirits, she stood and made her way to the beckoning pool.

She promised not to tarry long. Removing her gown, she walked into the silken water and dove under the surface.

For the first time since her father's return home, Meredith smiled. The smile turned into laugh, sounding musical to her ears.

The simple pleasures of a midnight swim on the night of a magical full moon.

Yes, magic was afoot this night.

Suddenly, she knew somehow she would be happy.

Many authors find trying to make their own book trailer a daunting task. It does not have to be so…it can actually be addicting once you get started. Many professional sites want between $200 and thousands of dollars for these…with varying degrees of quality in my opinion. I have personally seen some trailers by amateurs far surpass some of those produced by professional sites. The total cost of the trailer should be around 30 dollars. Less if you have great pictures you can use.

Man's best friend has always been said to be his dog. Women know differently . . . there is nothing more dear to a man's heart than the roar of the true beast of the jungle. . . his Harley. Makes it hard for a woman to compete. Some ladies find if you can't beat them, then join them and teach the lads a trick or two.

The roaring thunder of powerful engines--and emotions! Come along for the ride of your life...if you dare!

Excerpt:

* Secrets and Lies by Rebecca Andrews

* Ella Peterson's brother is being blackmailed, so he calls in a favor to an old friend to protect his sister. When Wess McKade shows up on his Harley all the old memories she had long tucked away came flooding back. Wess thought Ella looked better than ever, but he needed to not mix business with pleasure; the moment she was seated behind him on his Harley, all that changed. A ten year secret is about to be revealed, and Wess must do everything in his power to keep this nerd to knockout, winner of his heart safe. He must also tell her the reason he left 10 years ago without so much as a goodbye.

* Leader of the Pack by Debi Farr

* Charlie Fox was all decked out in her hooker gear when she had a flat tire. Falling down in a ditch was mortifying enough, let alone having a sexy cop help her out and flirt with her the whole time. Charlie was on her way to a "Come-As-You- Aren't" party, and she was definitely not the hooker type. Derek Eiken was dressed as a cop, on his way to the same party when he found Charlie in the ditch, trying to explain that he was really not a police officer, he figured he might as well let her figure things out the hard way. Charlie wasn't a big fan of motorcycle riders after one killed her dog Max, hopefully her feelings would change once she climbed on the back of one with Derek.

* Hitting Paydirt by Billie Warren Chai

* MaryVictoria Abbot was a beauty, she was strong, dependable and an oil driller. Covered from head to toe with mud, she was late for her brother's wedding rehearsal and really had no plans of leaving the job site... that is until the Major showed up. Craig Ferguson had eyes for MaryVic for years but with an over protective brother, he never acted upon his feelings. The night she stepped out of her room in a micro mini and lace-up heels, he couldn't hold back those feelings any longer. Craig would forever protect MaryVic, but when someone kidnaps her, he is out of his mind with anger and grief. A love that had never let itself be known is now stronger than ever . . . he must now find a way to break it to MaryVic's overprotective brother, and his best friend. Wedding anyone?

* Teaching Love by Patricia Frank

* Jennifer Marlowe was on her way home from some much needed skiing when she hit a patch of black ice throwing her car off the road. To her rescue came a man on a chrome beast, she wasn't so sure of either, the man or his ride . . . she really had no choice. Trust was an issue for her, Jen's husband had been dead for about 3 years and she still blamed herself, although the more time she spent with her rescuer, Tree Surgeon Dan Giovanni she thought of her late husband less and less. Dan Giovanni also had a heartbreaking past, leaving him afraid to become too close to Jen. one day he abruptly leaves because there are things he must sort out. Jen is hurt, angry, and understanding, when he walks back in her life, she will help him heal the best way she knows how . . . with love and he'll give her something a little different as an engagement gift.

* The Man Rides A Harley by Diane Davis White

* Susannah Davis could kill her twin sister for talking her into riding on a Harley in the parade with a man she doesn't even know, especially one that is so rude to her! After a little accident Duke Mansfield, none to nicely takes her to his mother's home so that she can change before he takes her home. He has not been the most gracious host, but he feels such a connection to this timid little mouse that has been accused of embezzlement. Duke knows Susannah's situation and will get her out of this mess, being a roughneck biker has its advantages but he is much more than that. Susannah finds out that Duke blames himself for his sister's death and that is the reason for his attitude, I mean he isn't even her type. The first kiss will surely not be the last, and hopefully her new lawyer has more brains than the brawn he has shown her since they first met.

* Bad to the Bone by Deborah MacGillivray

* After 20 years, Gabriel Sinclair returns back to his childhood home, he's not sure why Kentucky beckons him but he is soon to find out. The girl he secretly loved as a child is no longer in town, but he finds a way to make her come home again . . . by buying her old house. Jocelyn Bouchard was always attracted to Gabriel, but her grandmother said he was white trash and warned her to stay away. Wanting to please the Bouchard woman she complied and regretted every moment. Gabriel is now back in her life as a potential buyer for the home she can't keep up, but he wants more than just to show her how far he's come in life. He wants her heart. A night of tornado's, a cramped cellar, and a searing kiss sparks up the hidden old flame. The Windmill restaurant's Wurlitzer is kicking up some music, and Gabriel shows Jocelyn what she's been missing out in all of these years. Gabriel is still the Angel of Sin that he was in high school, he even has the same motorcycle, Jocelyn is still afraid to throw caution to the wind but she's about to learn what it's like to let loose for once.

]]> bookstore@coffeetimeromance.com (Coffee Time Romance eBook Store) http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/pubs_product_book_info/love-on-a-harley-p-2057 Sat, 02 Jul 2011 21:19:17 -0400 2.99 USD 2057 Highland Press 1 978-0-9818550-1-1 http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/images/large/200x300-LOAH_LRG.jpg http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/pubs_product_book_info/love-under-the-mistletoe-p-4404 http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/product_reviews/love-under-the-mistletoe-p-4404 Love Under the Mistletoe is a fun anthology that infuses the beauty of the season with fun characters and unforgettable situations. A wonderful compilation of holiday stories. Perfect year round! 6 stories of the holiday season sure to please. Deborah MacGillivray, Leanne Burroughs, Amy Blizzard, Gerri Bowen, Billie Warren Chai, Judith Leigh

]]> bookstore@coffeetimeromance.com (Coffee Time Romance eBook Store) http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/pubs_product_book_info/love-under-the-mistletoe-p-4404 Sat, 02 Jul 2011 21:18:43 -0400 2.99 USD 4404 Highland Press 1 978-0980035629 http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/images/large/2x3%20-%20LUTM_LRG.jpg http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/pubs_product_book_info/love-and-silver-bells-p-4400 http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/product_reviews/love-and-silver-bells-p-4400 Christmas! A time of love. A time of miracles. A time when children visit Santa and dreams come true. A time when they can come true for adults, too. If only they will believe. Sleigh bells...jingle bells...silver bells. Love and Silver Bells - what a magical combination.

]]> bookstore@coffeetimeromance.com (Coffee Time Romance eBook Store) http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/pubs_product_book_info/love-and-silver-bells-p-4400 Sat, 02 Jul 2011 21:12:42 -0400 2.99 USD 4400 Highland Press 1 978-0981855066 http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/images/large/2x3%20-%20LASB_LRG.jpg http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/pubs_product_book_info/forever-love-p-1007 http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/product_reviews/forever-love-p-1007

Jessica Ashbury has lived a life of luxury, so moving out West will be an adventure. Meeting Henry Morrison Beaumont, known to his friends as Hank, was certainly not part of her plans. Since they partners in the hotel and salon, they need to spend a lot of time together. Jessica is not sure what to do with her feelings about Hank and as for Hank, he is twisted in knots and cannot see himself in a relationship. Ms. Burroughs took the world of the 1800s and brought it to life again. Jessica and Hank have to deal with real issues. Sparks fly between them. Can they let themselves go? 

Excerpt:

Jessie? Had he just called her Jessie? She started to push her chair back to stand, but he stopped her by covering her hand with his.  

She pulled her hand from beneath his. If she didn't put some distance between them, she'd probably shame herself with her actions. She wanted him to hold her again. Like he had on the day they'd met. The day he'd rescued her. Only this time she wanted it to be because he wanted to. She doubted he'd ever do that. 

"Is this where I get the The Hotel's Haunted lecture?" She offered him a knowing smile. 

He looked surprised. "You've heard?" 

She laughed. "Of course I've heard. From many people. Some of the visitors who've checked in have actually asked if I've seen the ghosts myself." She glanced up to the top of the staircase banister and gestured with her forefinger. "It appears that area up there seems to be one of their favorite spots. Obviously, I had to tell the guests I was sorry I hadn't, that if that's what they were here for, I certainly hoped they would. I think they were greatly disappointed." 

"And you haven't rushed back to Boston?" he asked in disbelief. 

Jessica fingered the black ribbon on her arm, looked down at her dark green dress, then back up to Hank. "Nope, appears I'm still here." She smiled. "I don't scare easily, Mister Beaumont. Geoffrey thought coming out here would be good for me. For a time, I strongly disagreed with him, yet I've changed my mind since. I see his wisdom now. It's not easy living in the West, but I rather like it here. You're not going to anger me enough to send me back, and you're not going to scare me away with ghost stories you made up to bring in customers. I own part of this hotel, Mister Beaumont, and you're stuck with me whether you like it or not." 

A strange look flitted across Hank's eyes. Surely not desire. No, she was seeing what she wanted to see and it was no more than wishful thinking on her part. This man had absolutely no interest in her as anything other than a business partner. 

Hank walked around the table and grasped her arms. "This isn't a joke, Jessie. You may think we're a bunch of uncivilized people, but Angel and Beau are real. They're my grandparents. I may not be as good as some folk, not knowing who my pa was, but I know who my grandparents were. And they were good people. I'd hate for you to…" He dropped his hands and she saw pain in his eyes. "Aw, hell, never mind. You're going to do what you want anyway. Just don't say you weren't warned." He slowly headed for the front door.  

"Mr. Beaumont," she called out. He kept walking. "Hank, please…" He didn't look back. 

And her heart broke.

LOVE… ILLUSION…

When a god desires a mortal woman…

Accompanied by Gwenhwyfar, King Arthur is healed on the holy isle of Avalon. But Avalon is surrounded by the ever-shifting Land of Faerie. When Myrddin attempts to pass them through, Cernunnos, god of the
Wild Hunt, captures Gwenhwyfar and keeps her in Avalon, intending to make her his mistress.

Can a half-fey prince keep her from her Fate?

Enraged that Gwenhwyfar has been abducted, Lancelot swears he will bring her back to Camelot. A vision of the Holy Grail allows him to find the portal to the Land of Faerie, but Morgan le Fey has other designs for him.

Will Lancelot's love for Gwenhwyfar be strong enough to endure in a world where Time is distorted and illusion reigns?

Excerpt:

Lancelot clamped a hand…over Gwenhwyfar's mouth and pulled her back through the trees, holding her against him. "Don't scream. It's Lancelot. We're going home."

Wildly, she twisted to look at him. Her eyes were blank and he saw no recognition there. She began to struggle.

He gave her a little shake. "Gwen. Come to your senses. It's Lance. Arthur is waiting. We're leaving the land of Faerie."

Her eyes widened a little, but there was still fear.

"We've got to go. You have to come with me. You'll be safe."

She moved her head negatively and tried to pull away.

He spun her around quickly and kissed her before she had time to scream. She did not respond; nearly desperate, he cradled her head and prodded her mouth open with his thumbs, thrusting his tongue inside, letting her taste him. His arms moved around her and his hands kneaded her back. Mother, Goddess, don't let me be too late. Not after all of this. Then suddenly she was kissing him back, clinging to him, sobbing in the back of her throat. He leaned back a little, watching her.

"Lancelot!" She was crying now, her arms wound tightly around his neck. "It is you? I'm not living another illusion?"

"No, my love. But we must hurry." Already the sounds of fury behind them had begun to diminish. Lancelot took her hand and they began to run.

The Marquis de Fournier is a dandy of the ton by day, but under the moonlight he is a highwayman know as the Devil in Spurs.  This night he rides a road of vengeance, and to stave his younger brother from the hangman's noose.  He will do anything, including kidnapping Lady Ashlyn Findlater and her decrepit cat, Cyril.  Only he gets more than he bargained for in this captive, for it's truly he who is caught in her web. 

PEARL Award Nominee 2006 for story in Best Anthology

Excerpt:  

“Oh, Desdein, is this ravishing?”

His mouth released the hold oh her nipple to reply.  He lifted her onto the bed, as he began to undress.  “It is indeed.”

“Can a man ravish a woman more than once in a night?” she asked in seriousness.

His smile was predatory.  “He can…should he enjoy it.”

“Will you…enjoy ravishing me, Desdein?”

As he pulled off his shirt, the sly minx leaned to him and her mouth latched onto his hard male nipple, her actions mimicking his.  He sucked in a sharp breath to steady himself as his groin nearly exploded with the wildfire she set off in him.  “Enjoy?  Hmm, ah…yes…I think that is a distinct possibility.  Enough!  I cannot think with you doing that.”

 He pushed her back on the bed, dancing on one foot then the other as he pulled off the jackboots.  Ashlyn laughed and lay back on the bed, watching him with hungry eyes until he finally was naked.  Putting a knee on the bed, he slid over her, careful to keep his weight on his elbows.

“Why are you laughing, you scatty woman?”  He slid one of his legs between hers, pushing them apart, smiling at her lack of resistance.

She loosely wrapped her arms about his neck.  “I think Aunt Dora’s comments on ravishment to be grossly misconstrued."

“Shall I teach you the right of it, my pet?”

Her radiant countenance, bathed in shadow and firelight, turned solemn.  Her grey eyes stared into his, so open, so needing him.  “Teach me, Desdein.”

Morgan Galloway made the mistake of allowing Kaelyn Reynolds to slip through his fingers.  Both too young, and too many years between them, he didn't know just how precious love was until it was gone.  Fate had finally brought Kaelyn back to Pandora's Landing.  When a winter snowstorm sends Morgan to playing 'Welcome Wagon,' he plans on making this a Christmas to remember. 

Excerpt:

As Kaelyn stared unspeaking into Morgan's countenance, it was clear he bore the stamp of both parents.  Mason's Black Irish coloring mixed with Dora's loveliness and her fey eyes to produce a son who was beautiful, yet in a way that was pure male.  Totally unprepared to face the man who had haunted her dreams throughout her life, she couldn't function.  Suddenly, nineteen years ago was only yesterday. Her blood sped through her, burning like fire, hitting her heart to where it was painful.  The memories rushed back, flooding through her entire being, their power paralyzing her. "Kaylee."  His sensual mouth spread into a smile, it reaching those pale eyes. Morgan had always persisted in teasing her by calling her Kaylee girl, one of the few things which told her that he even knew she existed. She always assumed it was his way of taunting the doe-eyed kid who followed him around, just hoping he'd look at her. 

Pretending she didn't recall, she corrected, "Kaelyn." 

"Yes, I remember.  But I called you Kaylee girl to get your dander up."  Seeing she had her footing back, he finally released her.  "Are you spending the holidays in your aunt and uncle's cottage?"   "It's mine now.  I guess I'm trying to decide whether to keep it or not."  Kaelyn wanted to run away from all these raw emotions, sort out what she was feeling, convince herself it was merely seeing him again that brought out the old love.  Feigning interest in the small hand basket which she had dropped, she knelt and started to gather the items that had spilled out.   Morgan squatted and snagged the rolling can of oysters, a brow arching as he read the label on the side.  His mouth quirked up sexily at one corner, silently remarking on the seafood's aphrodisiac properties.  "You do remember me, Kaylee, don't you?"

She was pretending to ignore him as she collected the supplies, but his words caused her to glance up and their stares collided.  He held her spellbound, breathless.  Morgan had changed from the young man of twenty-five who'd stolen her heart.  Only now, gone were those safety cushions she'd conjured over the years¯no potbelly, no balding head, and while she couldn't see his arse from this angle, she figured that it didn't sag, judging by the rest of him.  Age, if anything, had only made Morgan Galloway more devastatingly attractive.  His body carried more weight, muscle not fat, that masculinity which hits men when they reach their middle thirties, leaving the boy behind and moving to M-A-N.  The change imbued them with a raw sexuality they lacked before.  There was a harder edge to Morgan's face, as if life had put marks on his soul, a face still too damn beautiful. A knife to her heart, she knew it didn't matter.  He was still out of reach for her.  And only now did she recognize she had never stopped loving him. 

Kaelyn swallowed hard.  "Yes, Morgan.  I remember you." They seemed stuck in an awkward staring contest, old friends, and yet never really friends.  The whole situation was embarrassing, made more so because she could merely gaze at Morgan and want him with the same old longing, only worse now¯she desired him as a woman.  Nevertheless, all the yearning in the world wouldn't make it so¯and she knew it.

Catonia Fleming is furious with Remy Kinross.  His pesky cat, Bubba, keeps bringing her gifts.  While it's sweet the kitty adores her, the "gifts" leave something to be desired, and she wants it stopped now.  Remy has decided Catonia is the woman for him--and Bubba--but the feisty lady is going to take some wooing, and cooking Chicken What De Hell for her is just the starting point for his siege to win her heart.

Excerpt:  

“Cats take care of their people.  It’s their nature.  Bubba doesn’t want you to go hungry.  You should praise the lad for such diligent behavior.”

 Her brow crinkled at the lad slip, but then let it pass.  She had more important things on her agenda.  “But he’s not my cat.  I’m not kidding, Kinross.  I hate snakes¯” She glared pointedly at him.  “The kind that slither through the grass and the two-legged ones.  Sometimes, I’m not sure which the bigger menace is.  However, I do know I don’t like coming in and finding that the Monster of Trelonge has left me a present.  That scared me out of ten years of my life!”

“Ah, cher, Bubba is in love.  He’s only trying to see you have plenty of food.  Let me make it up to you.  Stay, I’ll cook supper for you.  Something special.  We could dine in the gazebo.  There’s a full moon tonight.”

She flashed him the same look she did the dead snake.  “While I am impressed with a man who can actually cook, I want nothing to do with you¯or that stupid cat.”

 Bubba’s head snapped back and he blinked.

“Now you’ve done it, cher.  Gone and hurt Bubba’s feelings.”

“I mean it, Kinross.  Stay away from me¯and keep that snake killing Grendel away as well.”  She stared at him for a minute, confusion flittering through her haunting eyes, then she stormed out of the old plantation house, screen door slamming in her wake.

The cat bounced on his paws then leaned over against Royce’s shoulder with a thud, Bubba’s heart on his kitty sleeve.  “Sorry, Bubba.  I don’t care if you take that pretty lady snakes twice a week.  Won’t do you any good.  She’s mine, all mine.  I’d hike my tail and spray her leg to mark my property, but I don’t think she’d get the point in the fashion it was offered.”

He watched her speed down his gravel driveway, driving like a bat out of hell.

Smiling, he wondered if she made love the same way.

Nearly 200 years ago, Lord Robert Archer's fiancée disappeared the night before their wedding. A Shaman cast a spell around the grieving lord, promising Lord Archer's soulmate would return under the sign of a Blue Moon. Modern day Claire Jacobs takes a job redecorating an old hotel and finds a portrait of Lord Archer. She has sensual dreams of him and wishes on a star the night of a Blue Moon that her dream man was real. And the magic begins.

Excerpt:

"Omigod!”

 A castle. Not just any castle, but her castle. Well, not hers, really, but the one that had haunted her dreams since she was a child. And now here it was in plain view. Sitting on the white sands of Key West, Florida. Claire Jacobs peered out the window of the taxi. Hotel Castle called to her. Built in 1886, the hotel had been fashioned after a European country castle, complete with round, ivy-covered towers and turrets. The taxi continued down the flagstone drive. Claire closed her eyes and pictured a grand horse-drawn carriage transporting her home to the castle in her dreams - and her prince.

Tired of being passed over for promotions and having senior partners take credit for her ideas at the interior design firm where she worked in New York, Claire had scanned the internet for jobs. When she’d come across the advertisement calling for someone to turn the more-than-one-hundred-year-old, run-down Hotel Castle into a twenty-first century luxury resort, she knew it was the job of her dreams and mailed her resumé.  Rob Archer, owner of Hotel Castle, must have been impressed with her credentials, because he’d replied immediately. The offer of more money than she’d made in the past five years and the perfect job of a lifetime redecorating the wonderful old hotel had been impossible to turn down. Claire wanted this job, somehow knew it was right for her. Risking everything, she quit her job and accepted the position. Archer’s attorney had sent a plane ticket and advance, so here she was. Anticipation stirred in her along with nagging doubts. Did she really have the ability to revamp and redecorate such a large building?

A doorman dressed in a Robin Hood wanna-be green tunic and tights held the entrance door open for her and pointed out the manager. Claire stepped inside and stopped dead in her tracks as she surveyed the one-hundred-foot square lobby. “Ooooooo,” she said. She spun in circles to take in the entire lobby. Spotting the magnificent tapestries that hung on the red brick walls, she smiled.  But at the sight of the elaborate chandelier hanging from the ceiling, she exhaled an “Ahhhhh.” Never mind the carpet was faded. Never mind the upholstered chairs were worn—the hotel was perfect.

A deep, rich voice pulled her from her daydream. "Welcome to Hotel Castle, Miss Jacobs. We’ve been expecting you.” A man who looked to be in his mid-fifties extended his hand. “I’m Fred Miller, the manager.”

 Claire cleared her throat to ease the embarrassment, sure her mouth had been hanging open. "Thank you.” She gripped his hand with a shaky grasp. "The hotel is breathtaking - just like a fairy-tale castle. I can’t explain it, but I feel I’m coming home.”

The manager smiled. "It affects most of our female visitors that way, the Cinderella syndrome. Lord Archer, Fifth Earl of Sundrey, had this place built exactly like his castle in Europe for his fiancée. They meant to live here, but she disappeared a week before they were to marry. When she didn’t return, he died shortly thereafter of a broken heart. It then fell to a distant relation and the new owner turned it into a hotel. Folks say Lord Archer haunts the place.” His face lit up in a wide, friendly grin.

"They never found her – the fiancée?”

"No. Lord Archer posted a hefty reward, even searched himself, but to no avail. It’s said grief overwhelmed him and he lost his will to live.”

]]> bookstore@coffeetimeromance.com (Coffee Time Romance eBook Store) http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/pubs_product_book_info/blue-moon-magic-a-short-story-p-1741 Sat, 02 Jul 2011 20:14:57 -0400 0.99 USD 1741 Highland Press 1 0-9746249-7-7 http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/images/large/Blue%20Moon%20Magic_LRG.jpg http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/pubs_product_book_info/belle-of-the-blue-moon-ball-p-976 http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/product_reviews/belle-of-the-blue-moon-ball-p-976

A delightful tale of how the King of the Faeries, Oberon, and Puck unite Lady Arabella Gilmartin with the Earl of Everton, Nigel. Puck and Oberon's exploits are priceless and readers will relish their antics in this historical story as Puck manages to enchant the bowl of claret, with all the party members drinking it except the two they are aiming for!

Excerpt:

"Now you've gone and done it," Oberon said standing over Nigel, crumpled on the cobblestones. No one could see or hear Oberon or his strange companion. "Is there no finesse in you, Puck? Must you always blunder about like a rampant bull in a glass house?" 

"Who, me?" the goat-like, nature spirit squeaked. "I was only trying to make him look up. It was the perfect moment for their eyes to meet—for their hearts to flutter." He gestured absurdly. "These things aren't easy, you know, Oberon, and time is of the essence. 'The poor girl cannot stand another Season with no takers else she put on biggins' you said. You were the one who called me here for drastic measures."

The king of the faeries pulled a face. "Yes, but I didn't want you to kill him! You aren't blundering about in the forest here now. These silly mortal folk are civilized." 

"Pish-posh! He is not dead…see? He stirs," Puck said, plucking a nasturtium from Nigel's hair. To all humans gathered there, it was as though the gentle zephyr that had risen whisked the blossom away.  

"Here! What are you doing with that?" Oberon said, clearly out of patience now.

 "Nasturtium," Puck pronounced. "Very tasty in a salad." 

Oberon leaked an unattractive snort and slapped it out of Puck's hand. "Do you think of naught but your stomach?" 

"Waste not, want not."

 "I am not liking this," Oberon said. "We only have the moon this night to work our magic, a blue moon at that, and the bridegroom groans, but does not wake thanks to you. Not to mention neither one of them has made their wish."

 "He will rally. See? His valet collects him." 

"And how, pray, will you work your magic on an unconscious man, friend Puck?" 

"Easily, sire," Puck replied, with a wink. "I will do what you brought me here to do…what I do best…I will bring him dreams…"

Precocious Allison has a plan.  With daddy firmly wrapped around her little finger, she figured getting a pony, a kitty, a hula-hoop...and a mother for Christmas should be an easy chore—especially when her beautiful ballet teacher, Leslie Seaforth, comes with Alvin the kitty and Edward the pony.  It's one stop shopping in Allison's mind.  When Keon Challenger takes one look at his daughter's teacher, Allison knows she's made Santa's work a lot easier this year. 

Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence Finalist 2006

Excerpt:

It took a panicked breath to realize Keon's right arm was around her waist; his left had a hold of the ladder, securing them.  He remained that way, letting her regain her balance. 

As the vertigo subsided, she became aware of other things, like the deceptive power of the man.  He was strong, much stronger than the John Phillip's suit of the high-powered businessman had revealed.  He obviously exercised regularly, for the arms felt like bands of steel, protecting her from falling.  The strong pounding of his heart against her back.  His radiant heat poured through her, calming her fear.  It was so tempting to turn and bury her face against his neck, inhale the super-charged pheromones exuded by the sexy man.  Let arousal drive the fear away. 

"You all right?" he asked, his head against hers. 

Leslie managed a faint nod.  "Just a spot of dizziness." 

"Spot, my arse."  He growled.  "I'm stepping down a rung and I want you to do the same.  I won't let go.  Just step when I say.  We won't move until you have your footing." 

Leslie did as Keon said and felt an utter fool for the whole episode. She was sweating by the time her feet touched the stage floor. Trembling, the worst of her fear ebbing, she allowed Keon to wrap his arms about her and just let her shaking fade.  She welcomed that high body heat.  Felt she could stay there for an hour.  She liked standing in Challenger's embrace too much. 

Keon finally stepped back, put his hands on his hips and fixed her with those stormy eyes.  "You suffer vertigo?" 

She nodded. 

"Then why the bloody hell were you up on a ten-foot ladder?  Of all the stupid, moronic, imbecilic…" 

Allison came over with Alvin twining around her legs.  She patted Challenger's thigh.  "That's okay, Miz Leslie.  Daddy's a Scrooge grouch with me, too.  He just needs to play hide the pickle and get laid, then he'll smile more."

1645 England was not what Ben Lightson had in mind when he wished to be anywhere but Dudleyville, Arizona at Christmas. 

But when a postcard is making the travel arrangements, it's impossible to argue the particulars. 

Lady Vania is in hiding from the Mad Cavalier who wants her for his bride. She must flee to save herself, Ben must find his way home. One day with each other is not enough, but will have to last…until another lifetime. 

Excerpt:

Ben held his breath, utterly consumed by the miniature scene unfolding before him. The door opened further and the shadow that had cast gray upon the light bloomed into a shape. A defined shape. The light, which he could now make out as a lantern, rose, illuminating a face, its details blurred into a misty foreground. 

He swiveled so the floor lamp shone directly onto the card. His jaw dropped when the figure drew back, as though trying to hide from his light. The door began to close. 

"No, wait!" he called. "Who…what are you?" 

Movement halted. The face rematerialized. Liquid blue eyes peered around the edge of the door. 

"Shh," a tiny voice responded. "They will hear you, sir. Please, do not give us away." 

'They'? 'We'? Who was this…this voice talking about? A distinctly female voice. One laced with fear. His rescue instinct barreled through him. 

"Give you away? Where…?"  

Christ, he was conversing with a postcard.

Marine Biologist Celine takes a backpacking trip to Scotland to study the seals. She's heard of the selkies before -- mysterious beings who can transform at will from seals to people. She dismissed the stories, until she met a stranger on a Scottish beach who may be more than he seems.

Lonely American Robyne Arthur, a special needs bus driver, pops into an alternate universe where it is always 1862 London. There she meets the intimidating Edward, Earl of Chester, and falls in love with him and the needy children of the realm. Can she find a place for herself in Victoriana?

Excerpt: 

The bell above the door rang as another customer entered. The open door let the wind in, and a rush of evergreen-scented air wafted over Robyne. She closed her eyes, breathing in the energizing scent of Christmas. 

When she looked again, she saw a Christmas cracker on the shelf below the teacups. Perfect! All you had to do with a cracker was pull the ends apart, and then you got a satisfying boom and the toys or other goodies tucked inside. Please let there be more than one. 

The light didn't reach into the lower shelves very well. Robyne thought she felt the shiny paper of additional crackers as she reached down. Her hand only grasped one dusty object. She blew on it, and a spray of dust filled the air. When the dust settled, it revealed a surprisingly ornate multi-color design of red, yellow and blue. 

She blew again. This time the central image on the cracker was revealed, a charming little world. Giving it an experimental shake, she was disappointed when nothing rattled inside. Maybe it wasn't any good, or had something boring like a paper hat in it?

Trying to think of other gift ideas, she tugged absently at the two ends of the item in her hands. Boom! A large explosion knocked Robyne backwards, and the world around her dimmed.

Cursed from birth with a physical flaw, Arthur Cameron can't seem to get past the feeling that he has way too little to offer the beautiful high-born daughter of a wealthy Scottish earl. Alicia McCray has everything she wants, doting parents, privilege, money...what seems out of her reach is the man of her dreams, a prickly, self-conscious, handsome young man who apparently can't grasp that she loves him for what he is on the inside, not what his limitations are on the outside. Male stubbornness and female determination clash under the pale moonlight...

Excerpt:

Taking hold of one thick branch, Lady Alicia McCray eased over the sill of the window, her long skirts bunched in one hand. Luckily, even though it was late, the moon was full and brilliant in a velvet, summer night sky, so she could see fairly well. In a rustle of silk and narcotic ivy leaves, she began to climb downward, using her feet to feel for purchase against the stone walls of the manor house, the ancient vines as big as her wrist and firmly anchored to the structure for time out of mind.
This had better work, she thought wryly, since she was risking her neck.
And—even more fragile—risking her heart.
The gardens below were shadowed when she finally dropped the last few feet, landing in a flurry of long skirts and involuntarily crushing a small green plant with drooping pink flowers. Brushing her skirts and dislodging a small shower of fragrant petals, Alicia straightened and glanced down the path.
Mrs. McCreary, the housekeeper, had sworn Arthur always cut through the gardens on his way back from the stables. It made sense, with his disability he would want to take the shortest route.
Squaring her shoulders, Alicia skirted the towering bulk of a rhododendron and slipped toward the more formal outline of the rose garden. The blooms filled the air with the heady, seductive scent of literally hundreds of flowers, the bushes thick with glossy leaves. There was a small stone bench by the side of the flagstone path with a little statue next to it—which, she saw as she approached, proved to be a cavorting cupid, complete with bow and poised arrow.
If this wasn’t a sign, she didn’t know what was. Seating herself, she took a deep breath to ease her nervousness, and prepared to wait.
Waiting for Arthur Cameron, she mused with an inward pang, was something she was well-used to doing. First she’d waited years until she was old enough for him to even consider as a woman. Then she’d waited for him to give any sign he might be interested, and worse…she’d just endured nearly a week of him openly avoiding her company. At dinner, he had barely spoken more than two or three polite words in her direction, and escaped as soon as possible.
A slight sound made her look up sharply and go tense, the tell-tale thud of a footfall followed by the lighter scrape of wood on stone telling her that Mrs. McCreary had not failed her. When his tall form materialized out of the shadows, moving swiftly down the path with amazing grace for someone using a crutch, all she could do was say ineffectually, “Hello.”
Her quarry froze, the wooden brace under his arm shooting out to keep his balance at the abrupt stop, his right knee slightly bent to keep his deformed and inwardly turned foot off the ground. In the moonlight, Alicia could clearly see the surprise on his handsome face change to wary question. After a moment, he said neutrally, “Hello. Rather late to be taking a stroll in the gardens, isn’t it?”
God, she loved the sound of his voice. It was deep and smooth—the slight brogue of the Borders different enough from where she lived farther north that it lent a sexy, husky timbre to each word. What’s more, he was well-muscled and tall, his dark hair a bit overlong and slightly curly, his shoulders impressively wide. For someone so singularly aware of his defect, he was apparently ignorant of his startling good looks, though by all accounts, the village girls were not, and flirted shamelessly whenever he was around.
But she hadn’t fallen in love with him because he was beautiful in a completely masculine way—though, if she were honest, that was perhaps a little of it. She’d fallen in love with his dry wit, cool intelligence, the gentle but effective way he had with his beloved horses…and, of course, because she simply couldn’t help it. Considering his prickly standoffishness when it came to letting anyone close, she gladly would have picked some other man, perhaps one of the eager suitors pestering her father for her hand now that she was of age…but it wasn’t that simple.
She loved Arthur Cameron, lame leg and all.
“I wasn’t really strolling,” Alicia said, clearing her throat when she heard how off-key her voice sounded. “I was waiting for you.”
“Oh?” He still stood several paces away, looking remarkably like an animal poised for flight. “I find it a little hard to believe your father would approve.”
“I climbed out my window. I…need to talk to you.”
His gaze narrowed a fraction. “It’s two stories up, you reckless little fool. Whatever do you have to say that could be that important?”
She patted the cool stone of the bench. “Perhaps you could sit next to me.”
He was too much of a gentleman to refuse—she had counted on that. After a brief hesitation, he came forward and lowered himself onto the spot she’d indicated. And the moment he rested his crutch against the stone, she grabbed it and stood up, quickly moving out of reach.
Openly startled, Arthur said, “What are you doing?”
There was a small yew tree down the path on the other side, part of a pattern designed by some clever Cameron gardener. Leaning the crutch against it, Alicia turned and smiled with effort, though her heart pounded and her palms were damp. “I’m removing the temptation of you getting up and leaving before I’m finished.”
His gaze glittered and his mouth was tight as he stared at her. “I’m afraid I have to shatter your illusion that I’m so dependent on a crutch that I can’t walk, my lady. It isn’t pretty, but I can get around.”
“But I doubt you would somehow, not in front of me.”
She’d struck a nerve—she could tell it well-enough from the way a small muscle twitched in his cheek. “I have some pride,” he responded, “so you’re undoubtedly correct.”
He probably had no idea how attractive he looked, gilded by moonlight like some wounded fallen angel, his chiseled features washed to planes and shadows, the beautiful silver of his eyes veiled by long, thick lashes. Forcing herself to walk forward, Alicia sat down next to him. Close. So close her thigh was snug against his, her skirts cascading over the material of his tailored breeches and spilling across his boots. He carried the faint tang of fine whiskey, tobacco, and something indefinable but completely his—the scent devastatingly male.
Courage.

Dawn Thompson's enchanting tale, Under a Faery Blue Moon continues the antics of Oberon and Puck after the misadventures previously encountered in Belle of the Blue Moon Ball in BLUE MOON MAGIC. Tatiana, Queen of the Faeries, follows after them only to find herself an accidental victim of their pranks. Under a Faery Blue Moon is a humorous tale showcasing the spectacular wit of Dawn Thompson. While this story stands alone on its own merits, fans will eagerly rush to purchase the first anthology to see just what else happens when Oberon and Puck begin their scheming. Ms. Thompson's lyrical writing style opens this anthology on just the right note! 

Excerpt: 

Tatiana traveled the length of the portal between the physical plane and the land of the fey. She had paced there beside the abyss so long she'd worn a trench in the sweet myrtle, and totally trampled the meadowsweet to pollen spores. What was keeping Puck and Oberon?  They should have returned long ago. It could only mean trouble. It always meant trouble when those two went off together. 

She should have gone with them, of course. But there were good reasons why she hadn't. For one thing, somebody had to keep an eye upon the forest. The mist faeries, dryads, red-caps, and tree spirits were the worst to control under a normal full moon, they were impossible when the blue moon wove its magic. For another thing, Oberon always behaved like a lovesick satyr under a blue moon—or any other kind of moon, for that matter. She was looking forward to a breather, until he took Robin Goodfellow, the inimitable Puck, along. That alone flagged danger. All they had to do was unite two soulmates, just as they had hundreds of times. Now they were behindhand. It did not bode well. 

Should she go, or should she stay?  Should she tell the others she was leaving or simply slip away letting them think she was hiding somewhere watching them?  It was hard work being Queen of the Faeries, without all this drama. There was nothing for it. She would definitely go, and she would most definitely slip away. To announce her departure for however a brief length of time would only give the forest folk license to run amok engaging in all manner of mischief. That decided, she cast a quick glance over her shoulder, took a deep breath, and stepped into the abyss that folded a pleat in time to align the parallel worlds for thru traffic. 

Tatiana appeared in the place Puck and Oberon had come to ground, the sculptured gardens of the Dowager Lady Raintree's Mayfair townhouse. Although there were plenty of people milling about, none could see her. Humans couldn't see the fey, unless, of course the fey wanted them to. These humans seemed drunk on something; men and women alike in their cups. While that would not have been amiss at a Blue Moon Ball, their behavior under the influence was quite shocking. Distinguished gentlemen were chasing chambermaids. Countesses and ladies young and old, were reveling with counts and earls and dukes whom Tatiana surmised were not their spouses. With unabashed abandon, the entire congregation—the Dowager Lady Raintree included—ran helter-skelter over the property rooting out the rhododendrons, and trampling primrose beds. It was passing strange, reminding Tatiana of the faery ring revels at home. The handiwork of Puck and Oberon, she had no doubt. She craned her neck in search of the mischievous pair, but there was no sign of them. Had they caused this chaos and fled?

What other explanation could there be?  She hadn't come a minute too soon.

Tatiana peeked in through the ballroom terrace doors. Aside from a rotund reveler, who had hefted the punchbowl and was draining it to the dregs, the room seemed empty, everyone having fled to the garden for their debauch pursuits. All except one, Tatiana discovered at a second glance, a pretty young thing with a cap of strawberry-blonde curls, hunched over hugging her knees on the second step of the sweeping ballroom staircase. She couldn't see the girl's face, but she appeared to be crying by the way her shoulders were shaking.

Across the way, the clang of the silver punch bowl hitting the banquet table turned Tatiana's head in time to see the fat man stagger out onto the terrace and reel off into the crowd of milling revelers. Padding toward the discarded bowl, for she was barefoot, Tatiana bent down and sniffed it. It couldn't be!  But it was, she took a drop on her finger and tasted it…heart's ease! 

Tatiana slapped the skirt of her gossamer spider silk gown with hands balled into fists. "Wild pansy in the claret cup and the humans have drunk from it!" she seethed under her breath, although no one would hear. Faery speech passed as naught but the sighing of the wind to mortal ears. "I knew it!  What have those two halfwits done?"

Jason Block met the woman of his dreams in a store window. Little did he know he'd soon have to bail her out of jail on an antiquated ordinance. Carli Jenkins was busy dressing the mannequin in her store window when the new football coach walked in. He was a hunk. He bought a gift for his sister and left with Carli's heart. She couldn't know she'd soon be doing him a return favor by bailing him out of jail at the local 'Jail & Bail Charity.' Could there be a romantic future for these two 'Jailbirds'?

Excerpt:

“Coach?”

             I turned, nearly knocking over my beer, and saw her… an absolute vision in tight jeans and a turtleneck sweater.  Good golly, he thought, that law ought to be against her, not her dressing some damn mannequin.

“Hey, how are you?” I said, pushing back my chair and standing.

            “Great.  You here for dinner or the game?” she asked, rocking back on her western boots.

            “Both, I guess.  I just got in from my parent’s and didn’t have much to cook at home.”  Then I looked down, finally getting all the way down to her feet.  “Pretty fancy boots you got there.  Been riding today?”

            “Nah,” she smiled, shrugging.  “I just like boots.”

            “I see,” I  said, nodding my head.  I shifted my stance, took a deep breath and asked, “Are you alone?”

            “No,” she said, thinking she saw disappointment cross his face.  “I’m with a couple of girlfriends, but they won’t mind if you’re inviting me to join you.”  She smiled that million -dollar smile and I felt like I’d just won the lotto.

            “That would be nice.” I pulled out a chair for her and asked what she’d like to drink or eat.

            She leaned her elbow on the table and looked directly at me.  “What are you having?”

            “Pasta with garlic, mushrooms, and broccoli.  Very healthy and very strong.  Oh, and of course a beer to even things out,” I said, laughing.

            “My kinda guy,” she said.  She couldn’t believe she’d just said that.  “I’ll have the exact same thing.”

            While eating, we talked and laughed and watched a little of the game.  She understood the plays and even yelled a time or two.  Before we knew it, the evening had passed and it was after eleven.

            “I’d better get going,” Carli said, looking at her watch. “I’ve got a salesman coming early in the morning.  I’ll need my power sleep.”

            “I thought buyers went to markets and that sort of thing,” I said.

            She grimaced.  “Believe me, I do enough of that.  But this guy comes by the shop between markets, in case I’m running short.  It really helps me a lot.”

            “Sounds like you like your work.  That’s good.”

            “Yeah, I do.  But you know what, it seems like we talked a lot about me tonight.  Maybe next time you can fill me in on what makes you tick,” she said with a grin.

            “I’m on.” What really sounded good was the fact that there could actually be another time.

            “Tell you what,” she said, with that hand on the hip pose again. “Now that I know you’re a pasta man, maybe I’ll whip you up one of my fabulous dishes.  Do you have the nerve to try my cooking?”

            Do I ever, I thought. I’d try anything she cooked.  “Sure.  If you’re willing to slave away in the kitchen, I’m sure game,” I said, grinning from ear to ear.

            I swear, I didn’t remember feeling this deliriously happy in high school lust.  Could this possibly be love?  I’d always been deathly afraid of the “L” word, but if this was a sample, man was I ready to tackle it.

            I walked Carli to her car and then drove to my condo.  I had a hard time falling to sleep.  Every time I closed my eyes, her face appeared.

Two wounded souls on a road going nowhere. When their vehicles crash, their lives are forever changed.  But…can they break down the walls each has constructed around their hearts—like Brody had to break into Abby's car to save her—or are some wounds just too deep to heal? 

Excerpt: 

"You can have any tree you want. Just remember out here they all look small, so choose carefully. I don't want to have to come back up here and cut another one." 

While Abby walked among the trees searching for the right one, Brody scooped up a handful of snow and shaped it into a ball. When she stopped, he let the ball fly. It soared over her head and into the tree. The branches were heavy laden with wet snow, the impact of the small ball was just enough. 

"You missed." She laughed, as a clump of snow fell from the tree and hit her on the head. Higher up, more snow started to fall, picking up more with each branch creating an avalanche effect. Before he could shout a warning, she looked up. Hard laughter bubbled up at the look on her face as snow covered her head and shoulders. 

His laughter died when she removed her coat and shook out the snow. The thermal shirt she wore hugged her breasts, breasts that were full and free. Breasts he'd had his hand on earlier. He forced himself to stand there and not move for fear of doing something really stupid as she tugged at the bottom of her shirt, working the rest of the snow out. 

With a shiver she rubbed her arms, but not before he saw the rigid peaks of her hardened nipples pressed against the now damp material. What a fool he'd been for thinking this was a good idea.

Join Claire and laugh out loud at her disastrous attempts in the culinary arts.  Not only can she not cook, but she’s a ‘klutz’  as well. Yet Detective Drake definitely notices his neighbor—obviously not for her culinary talents, but as one very sexy looking young woman he would really like to taste, er…get to know!

Excerpt:

“911, what is your emergency?”

“This is Detective Drake Hunter, badge number 7325. I need to report a possible fire at 7894 Bayview Street, apartment 2C.”

Drake pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't know if Claire the kitchen klutz was home or not. But, if the copious smoke belching from under the door was any indication, another culinary disaster was in progress.

"The trucks have been dispatched," said the 911 operator.

Drake disconnected the call and braced himself for the walk across the hall. Lady, Claire's dog, was howling along with the alarm. It was a wonder she wasn't deaf with all the noise coming from behind her door. Claire, not the dog.

He'd lived there for two months. This was the first time he'd personally placed the call to the San Francisco Fire Department. Normally he was at work when Claire tried to cook.

Before he reached her door, the fire department arrived complete with screaming sirens and flashing lights.

Drake decided to return to his apartment. With arms folded across his chest and his shoulder propped against the wooden frame he waited—for Claire.

Yeah, he was a glutton for punishment. He didn't have time for a relationship. His job as a detective with the San Francisco Police Department kept him busy. And a busy detective didn't mix well with trying to foster a relationship–with anyone. Still, Claire Caldwell made him forget all the reasons why he didn't date.

His petite neighbor was beautiful and sexy as hell. He'd used the department's resources and run a background check on the woman who seemed committed to burning down the building he called home.

He'd discovered she taught ballet at the San Francisco School of Ballet, was from Wisteria, Mississippi, and had never been late with a car or credit card payment. But he hadn't needed the investigation to discover she had beautiful brown eyes, hair the color of rich dark chocolate, and a dimple in her right cheek when she smiled.

The list of things he didn't know was short, but no less important. He didn't know what it felt like to hold her close or what her mouth tasted like if…no… when he'd kiss her.

Why these things mattered to him was a mystery. He didn't plan on pursuing a relationship with her. The next thing he knew he'd be reading Oprah book picks in his spare time. He needed to do something manly before that happened. 

Dr. Hayley Stone, fertility specialist, gives the gift of life to women that have trouble conceiving. After a rough first marriage, her work has taken over her life - along with caring for her Alzheimer's stricken mother. Donovan de Lyon, from the Star Traveler Clan, brings love to beings throughout the galaxy and to humans on the night of the Blue Moon. Yet, true love has always eluded him. Things are about to be forever changed for these two lonely souls when the enchanted Blue Moon works its spell.

Excerpt:
“Come on, Onyx. Let’s go see if we can find that silly old blue moon.” 
Opening the door off the sunroom, Hayley took a deep breath and held it for a few beats before slowly exhaling. There was nothing quite like the scent of the June night air off the Atlantic; salty and fresh and warm. She jumped the three steps to the ground, having decided to forgo her sandals and feel the sand on her bare feet. 
“Come on girl, let’s run!” She took off at a moderate trot, Onyx on her heels. Running along the shoreline, her feet sank into damp sand, squishing between her toes. The heavenly feeling, along with waves around her ankles, helped raise her spirits. 
She stopped short and stared at the night sky - at the most beautiful full moon she’d ever witnessed. Full and clear, she reached a hesitant hand skyward, as if to touch it. She knew ice crystals in the atmosphere caused the halo around the moon, still, there was something magical about it. Almost…ethereal. 
Hayley moved away from the water, farther onto the beach. Sitting, she drew her knees to her chest and locked her arms around them. It was impossible to take her eyes off the glorious moon. Her furry companion sat beside her and both stared at the orb in companionable silence. 
After a few moments, Hayley leaned close to Onyx and whispered into her ear. “What do you say, Onyx? Should we give it a shot?” At this point in her life, nothing could hurt, not even wishing on a moon.
Closing her eyes tightly, she intoned, “Star bright, star light… oops, wrong one!” 
Onyx gave her a woeful look.
“Okay, okay.” Hayley giggled. “I’ll take it seriously.” She kept her eyes open this time and stared at the moon. “Look, I’m not very good at this. I’m a scientist, you know? But, if there is anything, anything at all to this Blue Moon legend, I wouldn’t mind a little love sent my way.” She stopped, looked at Onyx, then back to the Blue Moon. “Okay. A lot of love.”
A feeling washed over her that she couldn’t explain. As if something inside her, something locked away for so long that she didn’t know it existed, burst forth from its cavern. Now that she’d unleashed her feelings, she couldn’t stop wishing. 
“I’ll make someone a great wife. I’m loyal and honest…and I’ll love with everything I have inside me. All right, so I’m a lousy cook, but I’ll make up for it in other areas.” Pausing, she rested her head on Onyx’s neck. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, Onyx. Wishing on a moon based on some folklore. Yet, it feels, I don’t know, right?” 
Taking a deep breath, she continued as if the moon could really pass her message on to the Star Traveler. “I just don’t want to be hurt anymore, you know? There has to be a good man out there - somewhere. Someone who’ll accept what I have to give and want to give me the same love in return. It’s not so much to ask, is it?” 
Tears fell now. Tears for her mama, tears for her rotten marriage and tears for her loneliness. Hayley finally let the truth reveal itself to her. She wanted to love and be loved. 
Onyx began dancing in circles, coming up on her hind legs every so often and letting out excited yelps.
“What is it, girl? Is something there?”
Hayley looked around the beach. Most of the tourists had gone in for the evening, but a few joggers still lined the shore. Mostly, though, the area was quiet. Even so, Onyx kept up her excited dance. Something caught Hayley’s eye and she looked back in the direction of the moon. A bright streak of light flashed across the moon. A shooting star? Hayley stood and peered closer. Odd, but the light seemed to be getting brighter and gave off shimmers of heat. Frozen to the spot, her breath clogged in her throat. There was no way this was a shooting star because if it was, it was coming right toward her. 
She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged, not even a peep. Blackness rushed up and shrouded her. The last thing she remembered was staring into the greyest eyes she had ever seen, just as strong arms lifted her before she hit the ground.

Detective Sara Stone worked hard for her detective badge and would work on any murder, even if it meant going to the scene of a homicide where the victim landed face first in a pumpkin pie.  After getting over the absurdity of the scene, Sara looked into the gorgeous, beyond sexy eyes of the pie's creator, famous Charleston pastry chef, Silas Edwards.  Silas Edwards had no time for love, nor did he want to make time.  He only wanted to bake sweet treats for the fine people of South Carolina.  But, once tightly buttoned up Detective Sara Stone walked into his bakery to investigate a murder, Silas knew he had to discover the hot, sensuous woman he knew existed under the tailored navy blue blazer.  Suddenly, baking sweets didn't seem as important as indulging in the sweetness of Sara Stone.

Excerpt:

Detective Sara Stone would’ve laughed at her next assignment if it didn’t involve murder.  A man killed execution-style while eating a piece of pumpkin pie.  The coroner’s photos showed whipping cream and pumpkin pie all over his face, making him look like the winner of a pie-eating contest.  Except for the blood and brains splattered all over the slice of pie, the photo was comical.  Well, almost.

She leaned back in her desk chair until it touched the wall.  Lifting her legs off the floor, Sara set her cowboy-booted feet on her desk and crossed her ankles.  She re-read the report in the manila folder.  The vic’s name was Anthony Valente, a reputed crime lord from New York City.  It wasn’t clear what he’d been doing in Charleston, SC, but it was Sara’s job to find his killer. 

“Stone.  How you doing on the file of our dead pie-eater?” Her chief, Robert Johns, erupted in peals of laughter as he entered her office. 

“Cute, chief, really funny.”  She couldn’t help grinning at the absurdity of it all.  A major New York crime boss killed in her beautiful city of Charleston – while eating pie.

“Look, Stone, the FBI is about to descend on us like a swarm of angry hornets.  Get down to that bakery and see what you can discover.”  His tone turned serious.  “National media will be swarming all over this town in a matter of hours and I want to know as much as possible before they do.”  Chief Johns was a born and bred Charlestonian with roots that went back for generations, just like Sara’s family.  Sara knew Charleston and its reputation as a genteel, gracious city meant everything to him.  

“Oh, great.”  Sara tossed the file on her desk and sat up in her chair.

“What?”

“Valente was murdered at the most expensive, most prestigious bakery in three counties.  The owner is Silas Edwards.  Surely you’ve heard of him.  He’s known for his fabulous desserts and arrogant attitude.  Thinks he’s God’s gift to the wedding cake.  You’ve never seen him hauling ass around King Street in that Jaguar?  Stays just this side of the speed limit, but he makes his presence known.”

“Think there’s any connection to the vic?”

Sara rose and put on her jacket.  She fastened the three buttons on her navy blazer to cover the gun in her shoulder holster.  “I certainly plan to find out.”

Chief Johns headed out Sara’s office door.  “Call me when you find out anything about our Mobster and the baker.”  Sara heard him laughing down the hallway.  She rolled her eyes, glad he found this so amusing.

Joe Spelling loves sweets.  In fact, the only thing he loves more is the delectable Miss Leonora Culpepper.  Leonora, however, is a health-food addict and a dietician.  She even wrote a column in the local paper that Joe believes nearly ruined his mother’s bakery business. 

Can this unlikely pair ever get past their dietary differences?  Can she satisfy Joe’s sweet tooth without compromising her healthy menu? 

Excerpt:

Joe Spelling pushed his cart down the candy aisle at the Super Savings Neighborhood Market, tossing anything chocolate into the basket. He wheeled around the corner, then glanced at his watch. Running late again, he pushed forward quickly—and bam!  His cart jarred against something unmovable.

“Hey, be careful!” A soft, feminine voice penetrated his shock.

Joe found himself gazing into the loveliest pair of gray eyes he’d ever seen. Pain and amusement warred in that gaze. His grocery basket was jammed against the side of her cart. The woman was wedged against the cantaloupe counter, fruit falling around her.

“Oh, God, am I sorry!” he croaked, jerking the cart back and pulling her away from the counter. His maneuver loosened a barrage of melons which cascaded noisily to the floor, some rolling away.

“Now look what you’ve done!” She sounded amused rather than angry.

Feeling sheepish, he squatted to grab a melon. She knelt beside him to help.

Like a spring breeze, her voice was gentle—soothing and invigorating all at once—as she chided him. “I’m sure you didn’t mean it, but you really should watch where you’re going.”

“I’ll pay for the ruined melons. Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m fine.” She smiled.

His breath stopped—along with his heart. There she was, dark blonde hair coiled atop her head and held in place by a clip comb, tender gray eyes sparkling at him. Smiling at him!  Joe lost all sense of time as he stared at her. He’d never felt a rush like this. He wanted to kiss that soft, smiling mouth. Forcing his gaze back to the melons, he hoped he wasn’t blushing—though the heat in his face said otherwise.

“Are you throwing a children’s party?” Her eyes widened at the gargantuan pile of sweets in his basket. “Your child, perhaps?”

He grinned at her. “Nope. Unless you consider me a child, which my mom still does…but not married, no kids.”

“Oh,”—her brow furrowed slightly—“then all these sweets are for you?”

“Yep.” His wide grin faltered. There was something disapproving in her gaze. “Don’t you like sweets?”

“Well, they have their place in the food chain,” she answered doubtfully, “but I’m more of a yogurt and fresh fruit person.”

Joe’s heart sank.

Scotland fought endless battles to maintain their freedom. Supporting his clan, Warwick of Clan Drummond puts his personal life on hold to follow his laird. Busy fighting, he finds no time to leave a wife and children at home. Now he’s tired. Having battled with England and other clans for too many years, he only wants the chance to rest and grow old at Drummond Castle. Edward the Longshanks, king of England, has other plans. To make matters worse, an elderly healer lays claim to his heart. Can Warwick find love after all these years with the unlikely Agnes—or is he a fool to even try?

Excerpt:

As the evening grew long, Warwick sat slouched over a table. “Och, I needs must sleep, except I am too tired to stand.”

Beside him, Agnes reached out to pat his hand. His weathered face was strained.

“Go to bed, auld man.” She smiled into his eyes.

“I shall if you come with me.” He fully expected her to bash him upside the head.

Instead, she elbowed him in his side. “As if ye could—”

“Nay, auld woman.” He laughed. “For once I could not. This time I only wish to sleep.” He faced her and met her eyes. “Although I would like to wake with you beside me.”

Agnes said nothing, but squeezed his rough, wrinkled hand. Hands that were old and battered like the rest of him, yet hands she once told him made her feel young again. Made her feel things she’d never felt in her life. Hands that soothed and caressed, then edged her over the brink of passion.

 She rose and tried to help him to his feet. “Come along then and I shall tuck ye into bed like a wee bairnie.”

Warwick laughed, placed his palms on the table and pushed himself to his feet. Finally standing, he brushed Agnes’ face with the tips of his fingers—barely a touch. A whisper of want. “Woman, you are beautiful—wrinkles and all.” Reaching for her hand, he cared not who observed them as they walked toward his room.

Agnes grumbled all the way, but her eyes belied her words and glistened with affection. “The impression we must be giving everyone.”

Warwick chuckled and held a hand to his chest. “Och, aye, two auld people heading to bed. I misdoubt there is a man here who does not believe we shall do aught except sleep. I imagine they are as tired as we.” He released her hand and slapped her bottom. “Now quit grumbling, auld woman, and let us sleep.” 

After having been jilted by her fiancé, Claudia wasn't in the mood to go to any dance but once there met a guy too good to be true. Things progressed nicely until he was called up to serve in the Iraqi war and Claudia's world fell apart again when he was reported MIA. *** Well written and emotional - have the tissues handy! Lovely. 

Excerpt: 

During one of their early talks, Adam mentioned he was in the Army Reserve. Although she hated being separated from him, once every month he had to go away for a weekend. However, when the United States became involved in Afghanistan and Iraq, things changed. A few of their acquaintances in the Reserve had been deployed there, but it didn't become personal until Adam told her about his orders to go to Iraq. 

"But, what about your classes?" 

"I've already spoken to the chancellor. They'll be divided up amongst the other professors until I return." 

"But…" 

"What?" 

Tears filled her eyes and started to slip slowly down her cheeks. 

"I don't want you to go." 

"I don't want to go either, baby, especially now. But I have to." 

She sobbed uncontrollably, unable to stop herself. 

He drew her close, enfolded her in his arms. "Shh, don't cry. I'll be back before you know it." 

They sat like that for a very long time. The thought he'd be flying out of her life in a few days hung over her like an axe waiting to fall. She feared he wouldn't come home. In the end, it would be just like Andrew. She would lose Adam, too. Nothing had changed after all.

* * * *

Claudia's world fell apart when Adam left. Her heart splintered into a million tiny pieces—never to be repaired again. In her mind, she thought never to see him again. First Andrew and now, Adam. Was she only to fall in love with men who left her in the end?  

Clearly sensing the black funk she'd fallen into, her mother sat down beside her one evening shortly after Adam shipped out. 

"He's coming back, Claudia." 

She shook her head. 

"Nonsense!  Of course he is." 

"Nothing is certain, Mom. You know that better than most." 

"But you can't put the cart before the horse. You, of all people, should think positively." 

"Why?" 

"Because you and Adam were meant to be. You said so yourself," she replied. 

"That was before he shipped out." 

"Destiny can't be altered." 

Why couldn't she believe that? Unable to stop them, tears poured from her eyes. "I'm so scared, Mom." Feeling like a child again, she buried her head in her mother's ample bosom. 

Her mother stroked her head the same way she had when she'd been small and afraid. Finally she whispered, "I hate to see you so sad. Everything always works out for the best. You've got to believe that, sweetheart." 

Claudia didn't answer. Instead, she sobbed her heart out.

The heart-warming tale of Liliana Brooks and Jake Delacorte. Abused by life after having a child out of wedlock in the 1970s, Liliana quits her job when her groping boss makes yet more unwanted and lewd advances. Jake is her reluctant rescuer from the evils encountered by a single woman out alone. Will CHRISTMAS WISHES come true for Liliana and Jake?

"The Gift of You" captures the heart of the Christmas spirit. Liliana's devotion to her son, Nicky, shines through as a beacon of hope and provides a startling contrast to the negative attitude of others towards Liliana. This beautifully crafted tale of love against all odds is certain to charm readers during any season. 

Excerpt:

"A young man came into the diner a few days ago and asked for you." He watched as she cut a bite of the meatloaf. 

"What did he want?" 

He fished the note from his shirt pocket and placed it on the table before her. "It was Doug McMasters, Liliana. He wants you to call him." 

She dropped her fork and it clattered onto her plate. With trembling fingers she took the slip of paper. "That's—"  

"Nicky's father," he finished. 

She stared at the note. "How did he find me?" 

Jake leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. "I didn't ask. I assume your parents told him you were living and working here." 

Her eyes lifted to his. "Why would he come back now? He didn't want anything to do with Nicky—or me. I haven't heard from him in over two years." 

Although he'd lost his appetite, Jake scooted forward and served his plate. He had a pretty good idea of why McMasters had come sniffing around. The no good shit probably wanted to patch things up with Liliana—thought he'd say those sweet seductive words he'd once used to get her into bed. What better time than Christmas to make amends—and take advantage of an innocent young woman a second time. 

He stuffed a forkful of meatloaf into his mouth and chewed vigorously, not tasting it at all. The thought of Doug McMasters —of any man—touching Liliana made him want to punch something. McMasters didn't deserve her. He certainly didn't deserve little Nicky.  

Liliana stared. "Wait. You said Doug gave you the note days ago? Why didn't you tell me then?" 

Angry, Jake swallowed his food, almost choking on it. Sputtering, he reached for his napkin and wiped his mouth. He would have said he forgot, but that was a lie and he damned well knew it. He hadn't

wanted to tell her. She and Nicky were doing well now. Besides, what right did some punk have to waltz back into her life and disrupt it?

In the few short weeks she'd lived in the spare apartment, he'd watch Liliana bloom. Gone was the shy young woman whose spirit had once been shattered. She laughed and told him of her dreams for the future—a future he secretly hoped one day might include him. At least he'd been counting on it when he picked out her ring.

Paloma and Robert's plans for the future ended abruptly with his tragic death on the eve of their wedding. Can love be so powerful it defies even physical death? With the help of her quirky psychic neighbor, Paloma learns miracles are possible if only you believe in the magic of a Blue Moon.

Excerpt:

She found Grandma Bikini drunk as a proverbial skunk and passed out in her orange upholstered easy chair. The woman snored heartily as Paloma tried to rouse her. Fortunately for her, Grandma had left her back door unlocked, allowing easy entrance.

“Grandma, wake up! It’s Paloma.”

Grandma Bikini snurgled. “Yeah, okay. I’ll do it.”

Paloma blew out an exasperated breath. This wouldn’t be easy. She left Grandma and marched to the kitchen to put on a pot of strong coffee. She must sober her up. She returned a few minutes later with the steaming brew in the largest mug she could find, and set it down on the table before Grandma.

“Grandma Bikini I made coffee. You must wake up now. I need your help.”

Grandma flailed her arms. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everybody needs me.” Her words slurred together. “You need me. They need me. I need me.” The old woman chuckled. “The hell with all of you sons-of-bitches. I ain’t takin’ my clothes off ever again.”

Oh, boy. Apparently Grandma was reliving her days as a stripper. With a sigh, Paloma returned to the kitchen to check the liquor cabinet. How much had she had to drink? She checked the lower shelves to find it fully stocked with gin, scotch, vodka and some pricey bottles of Australian wines. All appeared new, their seals unbroken. She peered into the trash bin. Bingo. An empty pint of vodka.

She poured a cup of coffee for herself, then went back into the den to check on Grandma, who was coming around.

“Who the hell are you?” she  growled, fixing one rheumy eye on Paloma.

“Your neighbor, Grandma.”

Her gray brows furrowed. “Oh yeah, right. The gal with the miserable cat that poops in my posies.”

“The one with a huge, huge, problem,” Paloma added under her breath.

Grandma shot ramrod straight in the chair as if she’d suddenly come out from under a spell. Paloma sat up, too. My, but the effect of alcohol had worn off quickly.

“Guess when you found me you thought I’d tanked up on the sauce and passed out, eh?”

Paloma cleared her throat. She had. But Grandma appeared to have made an astonishing recovery.

“I wasn’t snockered ya’ little brat. It’s the effects of this powerful Blue Moon we’re having. What you witnessed was one of my visions. That’s why I gave up driving two years ago. Never knew when one would hit.”

“Vision? You mean as in a psychic vision?”

“Yep. They’re stronger during some phases of the moon, but this Blue Moon is double whammy for me. I don’t know that I’ve ever had them this close together. Now I want you to make a wish, Paloma.”

Paloma stared. “A wish? For what?”

“Dearie, everyne knows that wishes made on blue moons are magical. Now’s yer chance.”

Grandma Bikini was serious? Paloma didn’t have to think. She knew her exact wish. “I want Robert to come back to me,” she said softly. “That’s my only wish in the world. I want him to live again.” Emptiness filled her at the words. Nothing had changed by making a silly wish. Her burning question also hadn’t been answered. How could she save him? She sighed, exasperated. She was back to square one.

“Oh, hell!” Grandma sprang from the chair like a woman half her age. “I’m gonna miss it.” She teetered to the television set. “Today on Passion’s Crest, Maximillian Chancellor reveals his true identity to Celeste.”

Paloma had no time to waste discussing soap operas. “Grandma, I need your help.”

“You think you need help,” she said, waving her hand. “Wait ‘til Celeste gets a load of old Max. She’s gonna need a crap load of help dealing with him, too. Had his face altered at one of them fancy schmancy Swiss hospitals while he was hiding out from corrupt government agents. Actually he’s not really Max, but Reynaldo in disguise. You know, the hunky Latino gardener Celeste met and had an affair with while she was at the sanitarium recovering from a bout of amnesia? He has mob ties, you know. It’s his baby she’s carrying right now.”

“They’re going to disconnect him from life support today, Grandma.”

Grandma jerked and turned to Paloma. “No they’re not. When I had my vision I learned that David Hopkins has no close relatives. The so-called cousin who ordered this ain’t even a blood related. He’s a spoiled, distant cousin by marriage who has his eyes on David’s Harley and his beach condo. Don’t you worry, girl. I’m workin’ on a plan in my head right now.”

Paloma folded her hands in her lap. She hoped it was better than the one she planned to propose. “I’d like to hear it.”

“Fine. As soon as Max and Celeste get through with their tête-à-tête, I’ll let you in on it. Then I’ll get all purtied up and we’ll go to the hospital.”

“And what do you propose to do once we get there?”

Grandma Bikini turned to her and smiled. “Meet Mr. Hopkins’ long lost momma.”

Paloma stared as a sinking feeling hit her in the pit of her stomach. Actually, she intended to ask Grandma if she would pose as his grandmother. “Pardon me for saying this, Grandma Bikini, but aren’t you a bit mature to have a thirty two year old child?”

“I’ll tell ‘em he was a late in life baby, a love child fathered by my biker boyfriend, Spike.”

Paloma put her head in her hands. Oh, God. She was in terrible trouble now. She looked up at the woman. Grandma was insane. They would never believe it. But what choice did she have? Even a last ditch effort was better than none at this point. She blew out a breath. “They’ll want proof you’re related.”

Grandma winked. “Hey I’m psychic, remember. By the time I get through delivering my academy award winning performance those docs will think I’m their mother.”

Or they might put you in a straight jacket.

 “So how do you propose to pull this off?” God, she couldn’t believe she was going along with this!

“I know stuff about this patient’s case that even the doctor’s don’t know.” Grandma gave a smug smile.

Paloma blinked. “Such as?”

Grandma sprang from her chair and fumbled in a carved box through a cache of lipstick, the likes of which rivaled even the most well-stocked Avon lady’s.

All her life it seemed Jenna was a walking disaster around the Christmas holidays. Just once - one time - could she have a pleasant Christmas? Well, it was worth a shot to wish on a star, just this one time and maybe magic could happen. *** This was a very cute story proving sometimes wishes do come true. Sweet. 

Excerpt: 

Jenna couldn't resist the opening he'd given her. "So you're the only single one, huh?" 

"Yep. Still single. Not even a girlfriend on the horizon. How about you?"  

"No girlfriend on the horizon for me either." Jenna was so hung up on John's confirmation of heterosexuality that it took her a second to realize what she'd just said. "No boyfriend, I mean. Well, there was one, but we broke up today." 

"Oh. I'm sorry." 

"Thanks. Don't worry. He was kind of a loser anyway. He actually dumped me over e-mail. Tacky, right?" 

  "Well I'm glad you're keeping your sense of humor." He chuckled. "It doesn't sound like you've had a very good day." 

"Let's not talk about my day. Let's talk more about you." If John knew every miserable thing that had befallen her today, he'd probably shove her out of his apartment and lock the door after her. Not that she'd blame him. She really should leave. But it was so cozy sitting here in front of the fire with him, the schnapps and hot chocolate warming her insides. She'd leave after she had a few more cookies. 

"Ok, what do you want to know?" 

What it would be like to kiss you. Dang, where had that come from? How much schnapps was in this drink anyway? Flustered, Jenna searched for a more suitable topic, desperately trying to ignore the idea that in a room so full of Christmas, there had to be mistletoe hanging somewhere.

Deep in Georgia’s farmland, crops are dying. In panic over their future, local men try to determine a way to stop the drought. Grasping at straws, they believe if they refrain from kissing their wives, their crops will thrive. Thus begins The Anti-Kissing Club. A spoiled, wealthy young man from New York travels to Georgia to help his ailing uncle and falls in love with a local.

Excerpt:

Giving an unladylike snort, Esther Taylor said, “Leila Hooper is your mother? No one’s heard nary a word from her since she ran off with that Englishman and now she’s sending you to help?”

Standish straightened his shoulders. “Yes, ma’am. Leila Standish is my mother, and that Englishman is my father.” His hostility toward Esther Taylor’s words showed clearly on his face.

To deflate the tension in the room, Millie handed him more items. “If you would place these on the counter, we’ll have your order filled in no time.”

She faced Mrs. Taylor. “You know where the material is Miz Taylor. If you see something there you like, I’ll be with you as soon as I’m finished with Mr. Standish.”

But the woman didn’t move, just watched Standish walk toward the counter.

Hoping to draw the stubborn woman’s attention away from Geoffrey, she asked, “Are you making a new dress for Sunday’s social this week, Miz Taylor?” 

Since the woman was not only the banker’s wife, but the  town gossip, Millie had no doubt that within the hour everyone in Napierville would know Leila Hooper’s son was in own.

“Yes, dear, I am. You’ll be there, too, won’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, wouldn’t miss it.”

Millie drew the ladder along the track and climbed up several rungs to reach for two bags of coffee beans. The weight of the second bag threw her slightly off balance. Before she steadied herself, two strong hands grabbed her waist. As if she weighed no more than a feather, those same hands lifted her and placed her safely on the floor.

He turned her and peered deeply into her eyes. “You okay?”

Millie couldn’t speak. Just nodded and stared up into those eyes. Eyes as blue as a Robin’s egg.

Storming over, Mrs. Taylor pulled her away from Standish’s grasp, then spun on him and wagged her finger in his face. “Young man, did your mother teach you no manners at all? It’s not proper to touch a young woman you don’t know. We’re not some small backwards town. We have manners down here, unlike what I hear about people who live in large cities.”

For several seconds Standish only stared at her.  Then a smirk edged his lips. “I’d probably know her a lot better by now if some nosy busybody wasn’t in the store with us.”

“Well, I never!”

“No, ma’am, I imagine you haven’t. I’ve been in town less than a week now and I’ve already heard about the ridiculous Anti-Kissing League. No wonder everyone’s disposition is so sour in this one-horse town.” He quirked a brow at the older woman. “Or are y’all always this rude to people?”

Mrs. Taylor sputtered. “Well I…I…I should have expected no less from Leila Hooper’s young’un. Anyone that would run away with some foreign traveling salesman and leave her family without a word is no lady.”

Standish’s eyes narrowed, but his voice remained level. “Ma’am, I suggest you not say one more derogatory word about my mother. If you don’t like my behavior now, you certainly won’t like it if you continue.”

He shifted to face Millie.

“Miss Millicent, I believe it’s best I leave now.” He reached for the bags of flour and sugar. “I’ll take these for now, then be back tomorrow for the rest of the supplies and to settle Uncle Henry’s account.”

Without another word, he crossed the store and strode out the door.

Millie hurried to the window and watched the material pull taught across his thighs as he eased himself up to the seat on the wagon. Before he flicked the reins to start the horse in motion, Geoffrey Standish winked at her.

And then he was gone.

A wonderful historical with humor and a bit of silliness to toss in the pot. A Regency lady wanting to cook? It was one thing to cook privately in the home, but to enter a contest where the judges would be from the upper echelons of society? An enticing and original story!

Excerpt:

Beth and the Countess of Spode exchanged glances, the countess giving Beth a smug smile before telling the footman to admit Viscount Wharncliffe.

“How did he know I was here?” Beth asked.

“Didn’t I just finish saying Lord Wharncliffe is near declaring for you?” the countess replied.  “The man wants you.  Therefore, he will make it his business to know where and with whom you spend your time.”  The countess narrowed her eyes at Beth.  “Are you displeased by his attention?”

Beth laughed and shook her head.  “Heavens, no!  On the contrary, I am amazed such a man would take interest in me.”

The countess smiled.  “You are worthy of Wharncliffe, Beth, and he of you.  The perfect match.”

“Do not jinx me so!  Nothing is perfect.”

The countess inclined her head.  “Let me say then, I believe you two will do well together.  Yours will be a marriage of mutual attraction and appreciation for each other’s strengths and abilities.”

Beth leaned close to whisper when she heard steps drawing near.  “Eight days since we were introduced, and I have seen him every day.  Each day I feel more strongly the urge to…to grab hold of him and kiss him!”  She looked to see the countess’s reaction.

The countess nodded, a soft smile on her face as she rubbed her swollen belly.  “Yes.”

“I always remember myself in time,” Beth said.  “Besides, I’ve never kissed a man on the lips.  I’m not sure…” Beth pulled herself upright when Lord Wharncliffe was announced.

For a moment he remained in the doorway.  Taller than most men, his physique was well muscled but not heavy.  Beth appreciated his wavy, dark hair, but she considered his eyes framed with thick, dark lashes one of his finer points.  It was Lord Wharncliffe’s smile, however, and especially when the smile was directed at her, that caused Beth to consider throwing herself into his arms.  Madness!

The madness-causing smile fastened on her.  “How is the recipe creating coming along?”

Beth didn’t allow herself to slump.  “I believe sauerkraut may be an acquired taste, my lord.”

The countess looked between Beth and Lord Wharncliffe.  “Sauerkraut?  What is that?”

“Shredded cabbage fermented in its own juice,” Beth replied.  “Vile,” she muttered.

The countess looked from Beth to Lord Wharncliffe.  “You expect her to win a recipe contest with fermented cabbage?”

Lord Wharncliffe took a seat.  “I’ve heard that not only will the Prussian ambassador be judging, but the queen as well.  I have it on good authority they both love dishes made with sauerkraut.  Surely anything Miss Reese makes with sauerkraut will win.”  He turned to Beth.  “Have you created a sauerkraut masterpiece of culinary perfection yet?”

Beth forced a smile to her lips.  “I’m working on a few ingredient changes.”  Tears were not far away, however.  Lord Wharncliffe was a dear to go to all this bother for her, not only filing her application for her, but supporting her decision to enter.  She didn’t think most men would consider helping her the way he had, a large point in his favor.  He was positive she would win with sauerkraut, while Beth was certain she would be hooted and scorned should she present the nasty, fermented cabbage to the judges.  What was she to do?

Was there ever something you couldn't explain? Why you liked someone—why you didn't? Darcy met Ross right after the death of her sister, Janna. When she'd been left with a baby girl Darcy had no clue what to do with either the baby or the restaurant her sister had so loved—her Elvis themed restaurant. The janitor/handiman kept showing up at the most inopportune times—and never seemed to leave. Why would he want to help her care for a newborn baby? Why would he want to stay around her when all she wanted to do was throw up her hands and cry?

Were there forces beyond their control? Things they couldn't understand? Oh yeah.

Excerpt:

"Ladies, gentlemen. If I may have your attention, please." He waited until the room quieted. "I would like to thank each of you for joining us in this special occasion. Before we start serving tonight, we'd like to have a moment of remembrance. Each of you has roses in the vases on your table. If you will please take one per person and rise, I invite you all to join us in honoring the two people who will always mean so much to this restaurant—James and Janna LaCock."

Darcy looked to Ross, who nodded and rose. He removed one yellow rose and one red rose—the only one in the restaurant—and handed it to her.

"Yellow for their friends, love, and red for the person who loved them. I invited your mother to be here tonight as well, but she wanted to stay home with Emma. Said she didn't think she could come without breaking down. But she knows what we're doing, and she has her own rose as well. She said her heart will be here with us."

Taking her hand, he assisted her to her feet as patrons all around the restaurant rose and filed by the long table up front, placing their yellow roses in front of two pictures—one of James and one of Janna.

In the background, Elvis sang, 'I will spend my whole life through, loving you, just loving you. I'll be faithful I'll be true, always true, true to you.' Tears rolled down Darcy's cheeks as she peered at the table—covered with so much love from everyone. Without knowing them, she knew these people were patrons of Janna's restaurant. They'd come to honor her tonight because they'd loved her. Ross gathered her into his arms and pulled her close.

After the customers returned to their seats, the restaurant staff moved forward, many with tears streaming unashamed down their faces.

Customers had placed their flowers all along the table, but none near the photographs. The staff placed theirs directly to each side of the photographs, symbolizing they were family.

When the staff had finished, Ross stepped forward and placed his yellow rose directly in front of the two pictures. Then he waited for her. Said nothing.

Tears flowing freely down her face, she joined him and placed her red rose next to his.

She stood there, staring at the pictures. Ross saw her entire body start to shake. He quickly grabbed her before she slumped to the floor.

Leading her back to their table, he kept his arm firmly around her waist.

He handed her the handkerchief from his suit jacket to wipe her tears.

"I had a feeling you'd need this tonight."

She smiled feebly and nodded.

Waiters began delivering everyone's meals, and Ross was pleased when he saw the extra care they took with Darcy's food. He watched her eying him as he ate his salad. Saw her follow his tongue as it darted out to capture the thousand island dressing—just as she'd done weeks before. As it had then, lust shot directly to his groin. Soon he was going to do something about that.

The main course arrived right after they finished their salads.

Darcy's well done steak and his lobster. Both cooked to perfection—although he knew the chef groaned every time he heard the words 'well done' in connection with his steaks.

"The new owner seems very nice," she said after swallowing a bite of her steak.

Ross almost choked. "Excuse me?"

"The man that came out earlier. I assume he's the new owner."

"Steven? Yes, in a manner of speaking he is. He'll be overseeing most of it. He likes staying near home and doesn't like to travel to our other restaurants."

The instant the words were out of his mouth, he groaned.

"Your other restaurants? What restaurants?" Her eyebrows furrowed. "I thought you were the maintenance man for this building."

She stopped a minute and thought back. "You said we ordered the china from Hungary. We who? Just what is it you do, Mr. Grayson?"

'We can't go on together with suspicious minds.' Damn that sound system. Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to keep it.

Ross reached forward to cover her hand, but she pulled it away.

"Who are you?"

The Lady of the Loch Ness is a powerful faerie, but it was her jealousy over human lovers that imprisoned the ruggedly handsome and virile Alexander Grant to the grounds of Castle Urquhart. Emma MacPherson is a woman alone in the world, desperately clinging to anything that reminds her of home and hope. When love and trust collide under a Blue Moon, anything is possible, even great passion and the power to call forth the faeries.

Excerpt:

“Would you like to hear a story?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, I love stories. It’s been a long time since anyone’s taken the time to tell me a faery tale.”
“Hundreds of years ago, the Lady of the Loch fell in love with a human, a braw Highlander. An honest man who worked hard protecting his clan and the land of his birth. He was a tall, handsome man who was good with a blade, but it was another blade the women all loved.”
Emma giggled, but didn’t interrupt. A strange tingling sensation rippled across her lips and then her cheeks, but she attributed it to the magic of the night. She was having a wonderful time with Alex and was looking forward to the rest of the evening, as well as the rest of his tale.
Alex continued to look down at Emma. He’d seen enough of the loch to last him a thousand lifetimes. Running his fingers across her lips painted with shadow, he traced a tiny circle on her cheek, the innocent caress shaking him to his core. It would happen any time.
He had to go on or risk losing her to his past, his prison.
“The Lady of the Loch was a powerful faery. She was also very jealous. Each time he took a woman on the shores of her loch, she became enraged and plotted to make him pay for breaking her cold heart.”
“Did she tell the Highlander of her feelings?”
“Nae, it’s what made her spell so unfair and cruel. He found out the day he met her―the day she took away all that was precious to him. He could see everyone and everything that came and went in his castle, but nobody could see him. Worse, he could never leave.”
“Never?”
“There was a way, only it happened so rarely that the Highlander gave up all hope of ever leaving after about two hundred years. He never hungered, never thirsted, never slept. He just was—and wasn’t.”
“Alex, that is the saddest story I’ve ever heard. Did he find a way to break the spell or are you going to tell me he is still enchanted in some old Scottish ruin?”
Looking up, the moon’s power pulsed through him as it sifted through the dissipating clouds. It was almost instantaneous. He went from being there in spirit to being there in body. But, he could just as quickly change back if the clouds returned and covered up the blue moon. Of course, it would all end before daybreak, but he was going to enjoy his temporary freedom for as long as it lasted. There was no telling how long it would be until he transformed again. If ever.
“He’s still enchanted, but he wants to break free more than anything else in this world.”
“Let’s help him do it. What do we need to do? I’m game if you are.”
“First, you must allow me to kiss you.”
Emma was about to reply about that being the cheesiest come-on in the history of beastly taverns, but when she looked into Alex’s face for the first time, it was all she could do to breathe.
Dark hair―rippling about his shoulders―fell in tendrils that danced with the wind as it skipped off the loch. His eyes were shadowed by the moon, yet their intensity sucked any resistance from her, replaced it with an energy she could only explain as magic. It was potent, powerful and everything that was passionate.
Alex didn’t move, but allowed Emma to take her fill of him, bathed in blue moonlight.
She reached up to touch his jaw. Enrapt, waves of shivers shuddered through her prostrate form. He was wearing a creamy, linen shirt tucked into his kilt, made from the familiar Grant tartan of red and green. A leather belt held the entire ensemble in place, complete with a broadsword. Leather shoes and girded stockings completed his attire. She couldn’t have imagined him wearing anything else. Of course, she’d seen countless men wearing kilts, but never had she seen a kilt wearing such a fine example of what a man should be.
Nay, what a Highlander should be.
“Lass, you must say ‘aye’, if you are to free me.”

What Connor’s matchmaking Uncle Leo couldn’t do in his life was to arrange to have the two people he knew were soul-mates to get together once and for all after his death.  Neither Connor nor Layla stand a chance against the fates—but then, Layla knows this stranger is the man for her from the minute he walks into the soup kitchen.

Excerpt:

She studied Max Conner from under her lashes. He stood six feet or more, slender with broad shoulders, tapered waist and long legs. She guessed him to be in his mid to late thirties. His dark brown hair was tipped with silver wings, giving him a distinguished look. Thick brows arched over his grey eyes. The small cleft in his chin begged her to kiss it. She stifled a gasp. What in the world was wrong with her? Geez, someone would think she hadn’t been laid in months.

Well, okay, she hadn’t, but still…Maximilian Conner was so far out of her league she was surprised she could even see him on the field.

“Miss Layla, I’m done slicing the lettuce for the salad. What do you need me to do now?”

Layla turned toward Ruby, grateful for the diversion. “I need some onions minced for the soup. But before you do that, check in the pantry to see if we have any celery seed. If we don’t, you’ll need to run to the store.”

“Sure thing, Miss Layla.” The girl returned in a minute with a bottle in her hand and asked, “Will this be enough?”

“It’ll do. I need three cups of minced onions.”

Ruby grinned at her, snuck a quick, but assessing look at Max, then went to get the onions. Layla returned to washing mushrooms. As they worked, he asked questions about the center, which she answered with enthusiasm.

The East Side Community Center was her life, to such an extent she hadn’t had a serious relationship in over five years. Oh, she’d dated here and there, but no one had turned her head or her heart. No instant spark—until now. Lord, the room fairly crackled with the undercurrent she felt from Max.

What had he asked? Oh, yeah. When had she started working at the center?

 “I started while in college.” She’d gotten a double major in sociology and business from the University of Houston. “The center was nothing more than a hangout for street kids then, a place to learn how to live on the streets rather than how to get off them.”

After graduating, she took the assistant manager’s job. The first thing she changed was the soup kitchen, at the time nothing more than a dingy dining room with third-hand tables and mismatched chairs. She’d turned it into a pleasant, warm restaurant-styled place where people could relax and feel welcome.

Over the years she’d obtained grants to expand the services for the center’s clients. That’s how she met Leo Tristam, CEO of an international company who was more than a bit eccentric. He’d also pitched in to help improve the center.

She soon learned he was a wannabe match maker, too. Layla couldn’t make him understand that dating his nephew and Vice-President of Acquisitions, Conner, wasn’t going to happen. What she’d heard about Conner’s jet-setting, international escapades made her hair curl and Lord knew her hair had enough curl. Why Leo thought she and Conner were soul mates, she never understood.

Layla sighed. It would have been nice to meet the man Leo regarded so highly, even if nothing came of it. But now with Leo dead, it was doubtful she’d meet his nephew. She’d hoped to hear from Conner when she learned of Leo’s death a month ago, but she hadn’t gotten as much as a phone call. Evidently, they weren’t each other’s destiny, as Leo had predicted.

Johnny knew he was in over his head.  Should he accept the job and help this woman, or bury himself in yet one more bottle and drink himself senseless?

Excerpt:

“Look, mister, you’re either going to help me or you’re not. Which is it going to be? Don’t waste my time!”

Natalie was livid. She’d come all this way on a recommendation from her brother. And this is what she got. Unkempt. Unshaven. A definite lowlife, she decided. Even so, there was a dangerous element lurking in his dark eyes that made her shudder. Maybe this was the kind of man she needed to find Audrey. Nevertheless, when she got her hands on her brother, she was going to hurt him bad if this was another one of his silly jokes.

She eyed the man who sat at the table pouring another shot of Jack Black into a glass, tossing it down his throat like water and wondered what Justin had been thinking. It wasn’t like him to steer her wrong. But this! This poor excuse for a man was supposed to be a professional private eye. Instead, he looked like something the cat thought about dragging in but decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

Deliberately, Johnny reached for the pack of Marlboros lying on the table. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t take another drag of the nasty things, but this babe stretched him to the limit. He took his time lighting his cigarette, studying her through the blue smoke he blew out as she planted her palms on the table where he sat. She was hissing like some bad-ass alley cat. He took a deep drag just to irritate her, his lungs welcoming the nicotine it had been deprived of.

He poured another Jack and downed it, lifting a brow in enquiry. Angry. Nervy. He wondered what other qualities dear Justin’s sister possessed.

When Justin had called him, filling him in on the details of his sister’s friend—that she’d disappeared from the face of the earth—he was just doing an old buddy a favor. They’d gone through four years of college together, then endured the rigorous studies of law school in each other’s company. They’d both gone on to working at prestigious law firms. But something had happened along the way.

It was Johnny who had faltered. He’d been crazy in love and popped the question way too soon. They were to have a short engagement, then one day his lady love went missing. All evidence had pointed to a kidnapping. For days, he’d desperately turned over every rock he could find, then two weeks later found his bride to be willingly ensconced in a hideaway cabin in the hills of Tennessee with her new husband.

Devastated, he began to drink, relying on a temporary fix of amber liquid to drown his pain. He lost his job, then somewhere along the line, Justin had rescued him and put him back on his feet. For that he was grateful. Knowing he no longer wanted to practice law, Johnny became a private detective as his career alternative.

And now this walking dream needed his services.

A  father shares a tale of a magical event. But when a young girl sees the same images in the ashes by the hearth as those told about in the story, what's she to think? Is the newcomer to their home just a coincidence? Or is the magical spell repeating itself?

"Why do ye no' tell us a story, Iain?" her mother entreated their father.
 
The family chorused their encouragement, shouting out various favourite tales.
 
"Tell the one about the faery prince," Granny said softly, and all
voices hushed to listen to her. She smiled, folding her worn hands in
her lap, and waited expectantly.
 
Muirne's father made great show of settling himself in his chair by
the fire, and the family got comfortable for a long tale.  Muirne had
never heard this story before.
 
"Long ago, on a Christ Mass just like this, a young maid woke and
looked in the ashes." Everyone's eyes swivelled to look pointedly at
Muirne, and her father winked. "And there upon the hearthstones she
saw a faery footprint, for the house had been visited in the night.
She looked long and hard, but no matter how she stared, she couldn't
determine if it faced the house, or out o' it.
 
"Before long she received a visitor again—and this time she saw him in
the darkened house. She was alone, so he spoke to her. A faery prince,
dark and tall like the fair folk, he was comely enough to beguile
her."
 
Muirne turned up her chin at her brothers' whispered comments.  In her
heart, she conjured an image of this faery prince, imagining he might
come to her. Her pulse quickened at the vivid picture her mind
created, and she listened as her father described him in detail.
 
"His cloak was black as the sky, though it sparkled wi' light as wi'
stars. His eyes were grey as a storm cloud, and his skin pale as the
snow. But as she beheld him, the man fell in a swoon, for he was
wounded sore. She took him in and cared for him, little kenning his
wound was enchanted, and that she who had the healing of it would be
bound to him forever."
 
Muirne shivered, pulling her arisaid around her.
 
"Soon his wound was healed, and that night he took the lass away into
the night and her folks ne'er heard from her again. 'Tis said the lass
and her faery man made a happy life in his faery castle in the
Otherworld. Folk talked about the faery footprint she had seen in the
ashes. All agreed the arrival was the prince.  That the death omen
wasna a death at all—just a departure to a new place."

Fifteen years ago, young lovers were torn apart by their cultures.
Can the magic of the Blue Moon restore love to Dr. Zoey Blackstone and Major Jake Runningbear?

Excerpt:
“Mother, what did you do Zoey Blackstone?” he asked directly. “And don’t lie and tell me nothing.” There was a long silence.
“Who?” She was playing games and he knew it.
“The nanny for Morgan and Noah,” Jake said. He could tell from her tone his mother knew exactly who he was talking about.
“The isdzán? She failed to care for Nightwind and White Dove as she should. It was so long ago and I am certain she overreacted to something I may have said.” He heard the evasion and tremor in her voice. “Besides she wasn’t good enough for you.”
“So the answer is yes, you did something to run her out of town, but you aren’t going to tell me,” Jake said. “I guess I will have to ask her.” He closed the phone. It rang within minutes. It was his mother, but he refused to answer it. Pushing back the chair, he stood up. The cup remained on the table, a symbol of what may have been. He grabbed the cup and squeezed, crushing it.
Zoey walked into the lounge to see hot coffee pouring over his hand. She pulled Jake to the sink, turned on the cold water and stuck his bright red hand underneath.
“You’ll be lucky if you don’t get a second degree burn out of this.” As she held his hand, a memory of holding her tiny hand in his huge hand struck him. She couldn’t have stopped him if he pulled his hand away.
“It’s nothing.” The pain of a little burn paled in comparison to the pain in his soul. His world canted. For twelve years he blamed Zoey for rejecting him and scarring his soul. Only to learn she wasn’t the one to blame. If his mother was involved, she was the guilty one.
She turned off the water and pulled out a paper towel and blotted his hand dry. “I think you are going to have a bad first degree burn. Come on back to the ER and I’ll put some cream on it.” Zoey turned and tried to pull him toward the door, but his feet were rooted to that spot. Jake needed her.
She gave him a quizzical look.
He reached out, pulled the surgery cap off her head and freed her hair. His fingers entwined with the dark silky strands. He watched her lips part. He snaked one arm out and pulled her close, then he covered her lips with his and pressed her body to his body. For the first time in many years, Jake felt more than emptiness inside. There was a spark of joy and a sense of being home.
“I missed you so much, Zoey. The more I damned you, the more I damned myself,” he said between kisses. She finally parted her lips and he freely plundered her mouth, sparring with her tongue, tasting the sweetness of her.
“Jake,” she said breaking the kiss and pushing herself away. Her palms pressed against her chest. He reluctantly let her go and stepped back. “This solves nothing.”
The lights blinked, came on, blinked again. The room was plunged into darkness. She stiffened and he heard a loud gasp escape her lips. Jake grabbed her and held her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck as if trying to get closer. “I’ve got you, honey. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Burned in the past, journalist Clara Barnes doesn’t mix pleasure with business. Her conviction is sorely tested when she meets sexy resort owner Grayson Everett. Gray is instantly attracted to the woman sent to do an article on his retreat. Neither is looking for love, but the magic of the Blue Moon opens their hearts to possibility of ENCHANTMENT BY THE SEA, until Clara learns the truth behind Gray’s seduction. He’ll need to convince her the magic is real before it wanes.

Excerpt:

“May I have this dance?”
Why does he always sneak up on me? Clara turned away from her dinner companions and faced Gray. He leaned toward her and his cologne enveloped her.
The people at her table stared as if her answer to Gray’s question were a matter of worldly importance.
“It’s only a dance, Clara, and it will give me a chance to apologize,” he whispered.
An apology from a man? That in itself would make dancing with him worth her while. Being in the arms of a sexy man like Gray was a bonus. She nodded and he led her out onto the parquet dance floor.
He slid an arm around her waist, taking her right hand in his left and held her close enough she felt the heat of his body, but not so close they touched.
She was impressed; the man did know how to dance. He didn’t just shuffle his feet, trying not to step on her toes.
Gray twirled her around the floor in silence for several minutes. “I never meant to insult you this afternoon, Clara.”
She jerked her gaze from the knot of his tie to his face. His chocolate eyes bore into her.
“I wasn’t insulted…not exactly.”
He raised a dark eyebrow at her. Why did the man have so much sex appeal? She looked at a couple moving beside them.
“I know I’m not beautiful. It’s an insult to my intelligence when someone claims I am.”
Gray’s hand tightened on the small of her back. “Clara, there are different kinds of beauty. You may not be what some would consider supermodel material, but you’re the only woman who’s caught my interest in a long time.”
His words drew her to study his handsome face, looking for deception. Not so many years ago, a similar-looking man had said much the same to her. Her belief in The Scumbag’s words had cost her dearly.
His eyes returned her intense stare. “I find you attractive, Clara. I find you interesting. I find I want to get to know you better.” He put pressure on her back, pulling her closer. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
Hell, yes. After the fiasco she’d found herself in four years ago, she knew there was something wrong with what he wanted. A reporter did not socialize with the subject of her ‘research.’
His thighs brushed hers as they danced. It felt so good to be held. For a few minutes, Clara relished the sensations of Gray’s hand on her back, his scent, the heat of his body. She was tempted to lay her head on his shoulder and let the intoxicating sensations sweep away her loneliness.
When the notes to the song faded, Gray tightened his hold, asking with actions for her answer. Clara shook her head and stepped out of his embrace.
“I’m sorry, Gray. I can’t.” She turned and fled the dance floor.

Gillian Grant is at war with Cian Mackinnon, the laird of Castle Dunnascaul.  A longstanding feud between their clans, Bonnie Prince Charlie's missing gold, and two ghosts determined to play matchmaker, quickly sees Gillian in Cian's arms, right where he wants her to be. 

PEARL Award Winner 2006 

Excerpt: 

Over his shoulder, he saw her watching him.  The smug expression fell off her face.  Calling after him, she moved to the edge of the small porch.  "What are you doing, Mackinnon?" 

He swung around, walking backwards.  "Guess you'll have to watch, lass." "Mackinnon!"  She raised her voice to carry over the rising wind.  

He shrugged.  "Can't hear you!"  Jauntily, he jogged to his truck. 

She didn't leave the stoop.  She must be getting chilled, but stayed observing as he reversed the Rover until the tail backed up against the chain. 

Getting out, he snagged a rope from the back and uncoiled it. Wrapping it around the chain, he then secured it about the boat hitch.   Whistling, he scooted behind the wheel and shifted the Rover into gear.  Watching the rope play out in the rearview mirror, he saw Gillian on the stoop, hands on her hips, furious as it grew clear he planned to yank the chain and the posts out. Precisely what he did.  Completing a U-turn, he sped down the drive to park.  Hopping out, he untied her chain, then dropped it clanking at her feet.  "Yours, I believe?" 

"OOOooo, bloody Mackinnon!"  She seethed.  "I'm calling the constable." 

"Go ahead, ring up Hamish Abercrombie.  While you're at it, lass, tell him you limited the access.  You'll end up fined." 

"OOOooo, beast," she growled. 

  He shot back, "Vixen." 

  "Ogre." 

  He laughed.  "Witch." 

  Her brown eyes blinked.  "Did you call me a bitch?" 

  "No, I called you witch." 

"Why would you call me witch?" 

"You must be one." 

"Why would you assume that?" 

"Because all I can think of doing is this."  Tossing good sense to the wind, he grabbed hold of her shoulders and yanked her to him, taking her mouth with his in a bruising, no-holds-barred, mother-loving, knock-your-socks-off kiss.

Jake considered Janie his best bud. When his business partner dared him to marry her, he finds out she's his best of everything. And no silly law was going to change that.

Excerpt: 

Janie fed four quarters into the jukebox, her hands shaking as she pressed the buttons that would play her selection.  “You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This,”  Toby Keith's ballad about a woman kissing her best friend, and the man so amazed by the kiss he finds himself  feeling emotions for her he never felt before.  Tonight she planned to put that theory to the test.

With the sounds of the opening chords filling the room, she walked up to Jake who sat at the bar with his business partner, Rick Mason, and tapped him on the shoulder.  When she saw his face, she realized her mistake, he was never in a good mood when he spoke to Rick.  But it was too late. If she didn't go through with this now, she never would.

“Excuse me,” she said, hoping her voice didn't betray her fears. “Jake, may I speak with you alone for a second?”

Jake gave Rick a heated look, then smiled at her. “Sure, I'm finished here anyway.”

She led him to the dance floor and before she lost her nerve she asked, “Dance with me?”

His arms went easily around her. Whether it was Jake beating up the boys who teased her in high school, or giving her moral support when she went on her first teaching interview, Jake had always been there for her.  Even though he'd never admit it, he was the kindest man she'd ever known.  How could she not be in love with him? 

“Everything all right?” he asked, concern in his dark brown eyes.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and stepped into his embrace.  Jake stood over six feet tall, and if she was going to do this right she needed to move closer to him.  “...Cuz I'll just close my eyes and I won't know where I'm at, we'll get lost on this dance floor...“   The sweet lyrics rang in her ears.  It was now or never!  Janie stood up high on her tip toes, closed her eyes, leaned in closer, and kissed her best friend.

But he didn't kiss her back.  Jake's mouth and eyes were opened wide as if in complete shock.  “...Spinning around and around and around...”  And that's exactly how it felt, as if the dance floor, not her and Jake, spun in circles.  She pulled away from him, and besides the loud roaring of blood in her ears, she heard the sound of everyone around her laughing and whooping it up.

Janie felt her face burn from embarrassment and saw the look of first shock, then pity on Jake's face.  The tears would come, but she would hold them off until she was outside.  She only stopped to get her purse before she ran outside without looking back.

Life isn’t always what it seems. Sara returned to the one place in her life where she’d always felt safe—always felt special. Her built-in roommate had just been voted Bachelor of the Year.  Though she’d loved him from childhood, how could she—a woman who’d already been scorned by one man—ever compete with the bevy of beautiful woman who would no doubt want him? Will Jason turn out to be one more thing in her life she can’t have, or will her roommate have more surprises than being voted Bachelor of the Year?

Excerpt:

“Sara, it’s Justin.”

“Oh.” Startled, she eyed the women around her warily. “I can’t talk right now.”

“Well, we have to.” His tone was frustrated and impatient. In her mind’s eye, she could see him run long fingers through his hair in irritation.  She knew this mood, his general attitude around her.  Which wasn’t often really, so why did it matter?  The thought depressed her anyhow.

The office women still hovered around her desk—now wide-eyed with fascination—as if they could divine the speaker on the other end of the line.

She cleared her throat delicately, as heat rose up her neck and said, “Hold on...” into the phone, then smiling in a way that made plastic Barbies come to mind, she addressed the spontaneous desk assembly. “Would you mind excusing me for a minute?  I have to take this call.”

“Sure, honey.” Sara tried to ignore Tracy’s smug smile, and she definitely ignored Abby’s “go get ‘em, Tiger” as well as the various whispered comments that seemed to have something to do with surprise and wonder that Sara, of all people, could pull off such a score.

Someone pulled the door closed behind them with a resounding thud and a vast silence.

“Yes?”

“Have you seen the article?” His voice, clipped and edgy, vibrated tension.

“Article?”

He sighed with what seemed relief, and his voice relaxed slightly. “Yeah, article.  Listen, Sara, Chicago Today apparently named me Bachelor of the Year...”

“Right, I saw that.”

“But you just said...”

Amazing how well a voice transmits tension.

“I didn’t know there was an article. Some women I work with just showed me the cover. You look good, Justin, congratulations.” Her voice wavered; suddenly, she felt like she wanted to cry.  Don’t be silly, Sara. He doesn’t owe you anything. Not one thing. If anything... But no, she wouldn’t go there. She cleared her throat yet again before she continued. “So anyway, I haven’t slept much in the last couple of days—

there’s a mountain of proposals I’ve been working on, and I have to go.”

“Congratulations? God help me,” he muttered. “Sara, listen...”

She really was exhausted. She’d been working far too hard this past week, and she couldn’t think straight. Now was not the time to try to have any kind of meaningful conversation with Justin.  Especially the sexy, woman-magnet that was on the cover of that magazine.

This story is ‘mighty tasty.’ Admittedly, Mitch didn’t act great when he assumed all the wrong things about Samantha, but the delightful wise-cracking gnomette by the name of Lola gave him the inspiration to save his butt and not let Samantha, the next best thing to ice cream, get away!

The doorbell chimed, causing the dog to yap, and Samantha’s cell phone, which had the most annoying ring tone on the planet, blared, just as the chowder began to bubble like Mount Vesuvius right before an eruption.
“Ugh!” Samantha threw her hands in the air. Why does everything seem to happen at once?
She grabbed the phone on the way to the front door, punching the answer key. “Everything is fine, Conner.”
“It doesn’t sound fine.”
The doorbell chimed again. The dang house was so big a person needed a scooter to get from the kitchen to the front door. “I said everything is fine. Muffy is fine, your house is fine. There’s just someone at the door.” She glanced out the lacy curtain covered window beside the door and groaned.
“Who?”
“Who, what?”
“Who is there, Samantha Rose?”
“Oh, just one of your neighbors. I’ll call you back.” She flipped the phone closed before he responded, and opened the door a crack.
“Hi there.” He gave her what she supposed was his attempt at a smile and held out his hand. “Does this belong to you?”
Her watch. She looked down at her empty left wrist. The expensive timepiece must have fallen off when she was digging for clams. “Yes. Thank you for returning it.”
She reached through the crack, grabbed the watch, then tried to shut the door on the annoying man.
“Not so fast.” He stuck his foot on the threshold, blocking the door. “How about I say hello to Conner?” He pushed his way in. “Is he home?”
“You know him?”
“We’re neighbors.” His tone added a silent duh to the end of his comment.
The smoke alarm shrieked adding to the chaos.
“He’s not here right now.”
Muffy, the overly pampered pooch, scooted by Samantha and out the door. Her visitor reached down and grabbed the mutt. “There now, easy girl,” he said, cradling the pup in his arms.
“Some guard dog she is,” Samantha said. Why the heck did Conner own such a small dog, anyway? “Come on in. I have to fix the smoke alarm before every person on the beach calls the fire department.”
“By the way, my name is Mitch.” He spoke to her back as they walked down the long hall toward the kitchen. “Mitch Whitaker.”
“Okay.” And? She shrugged. He said his name like it should mean something, but it didn’t ring any bells. The people along the beach were millionaires, with a few billionaires sprinkled in for good measure. Or, so Conner said. Samantha figured maybe he’d exaggerated to impress her, but after she saw the cars his neighbors drove, the clothes they wore, and their houses—many of them second homes—she figured he’d told the truth.
Thick smoke filled the kitchen, the smell of burned cream soup and clams sticking to the bottom of a pan unmistakable. Samantha waved her hand in front of her face, covering her mouth to block out the odor. She flung the patio doors open, drawing in a breath of cool, fresh air. Immediately, the ocean breeze cleared out the smoke.
“What were you attempting to do in here?” he shouted, his booming voice adding to the alarm noise.
She felt his eyes on her as she climbed a step stool to reset the detector. “Make a clam chowder for the cook-off tomorrow.”
Once she pushed the button, the annoying buzzing stopped. With a sigh of relief she climbed down.
“First attempt at cooking chowder?” Mitch set Muffy down and walked to the stove. Burned soup had bubbled over, splattering the cook top.
“If you must know…yes…it is.”
“I didn’t know Conner liked women who cooked. Except in bed, that is.”
“Pardon me?”
“From what I hear, he usually goes for women who…well…who have limited talents.” He looked her up and down. “You seem to be more well-rounded than the rest.” His eyes rested on her breasts.
Instinctively, she crossed her arms.

“I think you’d better go.” She left the kitchen, hoping he would follow. Of all the nerve! How dare he insult Conner? He was obviously clueless.

“I don’t usually take castoffs, honey. But when Conner’s done with you, look me up.” Mitch walked out the front door. “You know where I live.”
He thought she was her brother’s girlfriend! If his behavior weren’t so offensive, she’d laugh.
“Just you wait one minute, buster.” She followed him down the driveway. A small, red sports car sat at the curb. “You don’t know anything about Conner, and you know even less about me! Nothing at all.” Not even my name.
“I know all I need to know,” he said, coming to a stop beside the car. “What do they say? You’re judged by the company you keep.”
He opened the roadster’s door, and she watched as he climbed inside and backed out the driveway. He was rude and arrogant, a man who obviously thought he knew everything. She sighed. Lord willing, she’d never see him again.

World War II has taken a toll on everyone. People at home in the states are doing everything they can to help.  A department store manager hires a Santa to work in his toy department to help raise money for the war bond effort.

He hires an 'elf' to help Santa, but the young woman worms her way into his life and his heart. Which is exactly what he doesn't want. He's quite happy with his life and thinks he doesn't need interference from anyone. 

When his daughter falls in love with his 'elf' as well, his world will never be the same! 

Excerpt: 

When her friend had broken her leg and suggested Miss Noelle be allowed to take her place, he'd almost said no. Her resumé seemed too good. Too perfect. Then she'd walked into the interview room. 

His brain had ceased functioning. All blood traveled south and left him without a sane thought. All he could think about was the young woman standing before him. Light brown hair cascaded halfway down her back. And her eyes. Eyes the color of brandy. She'd smiled, and the smile had reached her eyes. Surely they'd seen clear into his soul.

Seen his loneliness.

He'd hired her on the spot. First time in his life he'd made such a reckless decision. But she'd gone far beyond his expectations of an elf. She'd acted like she cared—not just automatically directing each child to Santa's lap.

She actually talked to them. Paid attention to what they said, often kneeling on one knee to look into their eyes. Make them feel important. 

Greg wondered what it would be like to have those eyes peer into his for any length of time. Talk to him like she had the children. Care about what he felt.

 Stop it! She's not a date—she's an employee. Nothing more, nothing less.

* * * *

Not since he'd met his wife had a woman affected him like this. He'd thought their love would last forever. Had wanted it to. Clearly Amanda hadn't felt the same. After their daughter had been born she'd told him she was leaving. She'd met someone else. Someone who could advance her career. She'd left and never looked back. Divorce papers had arrived in less than a week. He'd felt gut punched when she told him she'd never loved him. Had only wanted his money.

For the first time in years, Greg found himself wanting to open up to someone again. Be near someone other than his tiny daughter. He'd shut out everything—everyone— after Amanda left. 

He'd seen Miss Noelle every day for the past week while she'd been in training. Greg shook his head. Whoever heard of week-long training to be an elf? He'd devised the class for employees from all the stores who rented space from his shopping mall merely as a means to see her. The woman with the Christmasy name. The woman with the haunting brown eyes. Eyes that called to him. Made him want more.  

He was a fool.

]]> bookstore@coffeetimeromance.com (Coffee Time Romance eBook Store) http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/pubs_product_book_info/christmas-wonderland-p-975 Tue, 14 Dec 2010 16:36:22 -0500 1.99 USD 975 Highland Press 1 0-9787139-1-5 http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/images/large/Christmas%20Wonderland%20for%20CoffeeTime_LRG.JPG http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/pubs_product_book_info/once-upon-a-snowflake-p-994 http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/product_reviews/once-upon-a-snowflake-p-994

A magical tale of how Lilly Rawson's escape from her past sends her crashing into the arms of Logan. Lilly and her four year old son, Ben, are headed to a job Lilly doesn't truly want when she wrecks her car in the snow. Will Lilly take a chance on love this Christmas? Shelli Stevens' tale of finding hope in an unlikely place is both heartwarming and charming. Ben is an endearing character as he makes exactly the sort of remarks one expects from a four year old. Shelli Stevens has a phenomenal career ahead of her with such beautiful stories as "Once Upon a Snowflake." 

Excerpt:

Lilly padded down the stairs of Logan's house, again pausing to admire the structure. It was a log cabin, only with two stories and modern day facilities. And it was beautiful. 

She walked into the living room, which glowed with warmth from a blaze in the stone fireplace. Speakers softly played a country singer's rendition of Have yourself a Merry little Christmas as Logan tossed another piece of wood into the flames. 

He glanced up, his slow smile igniting a burn deep in her center. Something she'd thought dead long ago. 

"Did Ben go to sleep okay?"  

"Of course." She sat on the floor next to him, curling her legs under her bottom. "I told him the sooner he sleeps, the sooner Santa comes." 

His mouth twitched. "I think Santa might have already been here."  

She looked at him quizzically before glancing at the Christmas tree. Where earlier there had only been a few presents underneath the decorated branches, there now lay piles of brightly wrapped gifts. Only a few of them were from her. 

"Oh my. I guess so. For your nieces and nephews?"  

"I think some may have Ben's name on them. Maybe even one or two for you."  

Lilly's mouth gaped. The idea that he'd bought gifts for Ben and her almost brought tears to her eyes. "Logan..." 

"Hey, blame Santa." He took her hand and brought it to his lips, brushing a kiss across the back of her knuckles. 

Tingles started in her hand and spread throughout her body. She lowered her lashes and tried not to sigh in pleasure. She felt so at peace, so relaxed being here with him. 

"How about some cocoa?" He stood, pulling her with him.  

"Cocoa sounds good." She followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the counter while he prepared their drinks.  

"How did you learn to cook so well, Lilly?" 

She hesitated. "I completed a culinary program at a community college." 

"Is the job in California a cooking job?" Holding two cups of steaming beverage in his hands, he led the way back to the living room. 

"Yes. I'd be head chef for a wealthy family." She sat on the couch next to him, their thighs almost touching, and accepted the second mug. 

He blew on his cocoa. "Do you think you'll be happy there?"  

No, but I'll be safe. "Sometimes there are more important considerations." She lifted her cup to her lips. 

"Are you running from someone, Lilly?" 

Her hands clenched the mug. So he had heard Ben's comment earlier. "It's not what you're thinking." 

"Isn't it? Any man that hits a woman isn't worth the spit on the ground. If you're in some kind of trouble—"

The Earl of Dart had no use for Christmas so buried himself chopping firewood at his gamekeepers cottage. Seeing a vision coming thru the blowing snow he first thought he'd died and went to heaven, but more likely she was just another damsel looking to ensnare him in a parson's mousetrap. Well, she'd find out he wasn't about to succumb to her feminine wiles, but then again, maybe she really didn't know who he was. On the other hand wouldn't he be surprised to learn who she was as well? *** Ms. Young writes a lovely tale of two people fate was kind enough to bring together on a snowy Christmas Eve. Well done and a sweetly sensual tale to take the chill off a cold and snowy night. 

Excerpt: 

What would it have been like to kiss him, had she lost the game? His body had been hard against her back when she crashed into him like some awkward green girl, his hold firm, strong, yet incredibly gentle. A little flutter, full of wicked pleasure pulsed deep inside. Her body ignited. She'd felt a stir of feminine excitement before, but never with such undeniable force. 

Prickles skittered down her spine. What on earth was wrong with her? Was it knowing this might be her last chance to attract a man making her feel so wanton? She ought to be ashamed of herself. In haste, she undid the ribbon at her neck, unhooked the fastenings and let the gown fall to her feet. After a quick wash, she unlaced her stays, pulled her nightrail over her head and leaped into bed. His bed. 

She turned on her side. Inhaled the scent of bay and an earthy scent she couldn't name that teased her senses. Essence of Gerrard? She rolled on her back and stared at the flame-shadowed ceiling. Somewhere up there he slept. She strained to hear his promised snores, or footsteps on the ladder. Dash it, she'd forgotten to load the rifle. 

She slid out of bed, shivering at the wind's chilly fingers reaching through every nook and cranny. She loaded the gun beside the candle in the window. The click of the lock seemed to echo around the room. She held her breath. Had he heard? Would her lack of trust cause him more pain than she already sensed in those deep dark eyes? 

On the table sat the remains of their game, her discarded hand face up, his face down. Imagine. He'd held nothing but low cards and not one of the high trumps had been played. Her teeth gripped her lip painfully. Why look? She'd won. 

Fingers trembling, she flipped his cards.  

Ace of hearts, King of hearts, Knave of hearts. She stared, numb, disbelieving. He'd won. Fair and square.

Blood pounded in her temples. She daggered a glance at the ceiling, imagined tearing him limb from limb. The shadows in those fathomless eyes had been the fear he might have to kiss her, not pain.

 He owed her a kiss.

World War II claimed many lives. But those that didn't die were affected as well. Families in the U.S. fought to keep a sense of normalcy in their every day lives. And then wounded men began returning home.

 Could these men return to the lives they led prior to the war? Or would their injuries forever change them—and those they came in contact with? Would they be able to love—and would others fall in love with them? The most important question—would they ALLOW themselves to be loved? Or would they spend the rest of their lives fighting the war as if they were still in it? 

     Can these men fight the demons of war that stay with them every day? And can the Magic of Christmas help them find the answer to their prayers?

Excerpt: 

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas played on the jukebox in the corner. Yeah, right. As if that would happen. Oh, he wanted it—but did he really have the guts to go after it? Ryan's emotions were on a teeter-totter—up one minute, down the next. 

The heat from her seemed to scorch his skin through the sleeve of his shirt. He wondered what it would feel like to have her warm touch on his naked body. He wanted her to run her fingers down his arms, across his chest, down to his… Stop it!

He didn't know if that would ever happen. He must have been a fool to buy her a ring. He placed his hand in his pocket, fingering the small box he'd picked up right before meeting her that morning. Could he make Alli happy? Did he have the right to hope? 

Could she see herself in a life with him? Forever? 

That's what he wanted. A life with her forever. Waking up with her every morning, making love to her every night. Having a child with her. His child. 

He wanted…too much. 

Nearly frozen by fear, he removed his hand from the pocket.

The judge shuffled through prior record papers, although well aware of the charges being brought against the young man. This particular defendant had been before this court many times, all for the same offense. But this was the first time she’d be rendering a ruling in his case. She was the chief justice of the Fairfax County family court system.

The judge folded the file she had in front of her and held it up before asking how many times he’d been in court for the same charges.

The young man’s heretofore strict posture seemed to be imploding, and his six-foot, two-inch frame took on the appearance of a much shorter man. “Seven, Your Honor.”

Excerpt:

Without preamble he said, “Miss Monroe, would it be fair to state you do not particularly like your brother-in-law, Cole Harris?”

Flummoxed, Ms. Monroe’s eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t know quite what to be indignant about—the attorney’s address of ‘Miss’ or his matter-of-fact statement about Cole.

“Miss Monroe?” Mr. Byers prodded, turning his back on her as if indicating he didn’t truly care what she answered.

“I’m sorry, that was a rather abrupt question,” she stated, trying unsuccessfully to smile demurely to those in the courtroom, particularly the judge.

“Yes or no would be a sufficient answer,” he said, turning back to face her.

“Okay. Yes,” she said, not caring that her voice had gone up an octave or two.

“Yes, what, Miss Monroe?”

“I do not particularly like my sister’s choice in husbands.”

“Husbands, Miss Monroe? Why, has your sister had more than one you didn’t like?” the defense attorney asked, cutting his eyes away from and then back to the witness.

“No, he’s the only one she’s had,” the witness testified, wishing she hadn’t mentioned it.

“Do you have a husband, Miss Monroe?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Irrelevant and no lead-in to this line of questioning. The witness is not on trial,” the prosecutor railed.

“Mr. Byers?” the judge queried, a hint of a smile threatening to pull at the corner of her mouth.

“I intend to show relevance, Your Honor, and the witness, herself, raised the line of questioning by bringing up husbands.”

“I’ll allow it,” the judge ruled. “Please answer the question, Ms. Monroe.”

“No,” the witness said flatly.

“No, you’re not married, or no, you won’t answer the question?” Mr. Byers taunted.

A nonplussed look came over the witness’ face. “No, I’m not married,” she said, trying desperately to control her tone.

“I’m always amused at how people become terse when they don’t wish to respond,” defense counsel offered, his eyes twinkling in merriment.

“Objection. The defense is badgering the witness,” Mr. White bellowed, practically knocking his chair backwards as he jumped up.

“Mr. Byers, mind your manners,” Judith intoned, a smile edging her lips.

Calli Winson, anthropologist, returns to her hometown after many years absence. With no family, her quest for the last twenty years has been to discover her origins. Under the Blue Moon, she meets Jacob Isaacs, a young preacher who came to town after she moved away. He perceives Calli's longing and follows his heart and a remembered thread of evidence.

Excerpt:

Hitting the ground, a jolt shot through her; however, it wasn’t from the impact of the earth beneath her feet. In fact, she barely knew she’d touched dirt. Falling into Jacob’s arms rendered an electrical shock similar to one she’d received when a coworker who’d bought a home defibrillator for his mother wanted her to touch it to see what it felt like. One of the few unwise things she’d ever done. Come to think of it, it was called ‘Heart Start’—a relevant term for what had just happened.

He released her, grabbed her hand and started across the lawn, pulling her along. She matched his stride. He ran into the rear entrance of the house adjacent to the church property. She recalled this had been an empty lot.

Jacob entered a kitchen and closed the door behind him. Then he turned and pulled her toward him. With one arm wrapped around her, he peered into her eyes. He tenderly caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She involuntarily quivered and closed her eyes. A feathery sensation coursed through her as though she’d been brushed by angel wings.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Calli Winson,” he uttered in a deep, throaty whisper. “Although that’s not the only reason I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night.”

Calli’s heart sang. He thought about me last night. If he were to let go, she’d sink to the floor. Words wouldn’t form in her mouth because she was unable to part her lips. That is, until Jacob’s lips parted them for her. It was the gentlest way she’d ever been kissed, and simultaneously earthshaking. She reached her arms up around him and held him tighter, moving into his hard, muscled body.

Reluctantly, Jacob relinquished her lips. “Lord, if I’m dreaming, please don’t wake me.”

Still atingle, Calli responded, “Me neither.”

Jacob released her and she grabbed the counter to steady herself. He stepped to the refrigerator and pulled out a container. “Oh, I forgot…we also have fresh lemonade.” He held it up for her approval. “Squeezed this morning,” he coaxed. When she nodded, he put ice in two glasses and poured the opaque liquid, little bits of lemon sticking to the cubes as they floated to the top. He placed them on a bistro table in the corner and swept his arm toward one of the stools for her to take a seat. Sitting across from her, he took one of her hands in his.

“Calli, I think I’d better tell you…”

She abruptly pulled her hand away and sat straight. “Oh great! You’re married!”

All she wants for Christmas are four orphaned children.  What Maggie doesn't count on is the handsome hunk on her front step, waiting to steal her heart.  Will Maggie get everything she wishes for?  And more? 

Excerpt: 

He smiled slow and sexy, eyes going smoky. "But not all people are fascinating. I never study women. It's dangerous. You're dangerous." 

"Me?'  Maggie made a derisive sound. "I'm about as dangerous as a...a..." She waved her hands, unable to find a suitable description of what she wasn't. "Well, anyhow, I'm not a fem fatale, or anything like that. The only danger with me is if I fell on somebody, I'd crush them." 

"Stop it!" Ethan rose to his knees and leaned over her, his eyes blazing anger. "If you say one more damned stupid thing like that about yourself...I'll turn you over my knee." 

He pulled her gently to a kneeling position, then looked at her for a long moment. Lowering his head, putting his mouth close to hers, Ethan murmured her name. 

Maggie stiffened and pulled back, but as though he'd anticipated her reaction, he put his hand behind her head, holding her in place while he plundered her mouth.

Hailey James can no longer hide her pregnancy, but she refuses to name the father. She wants to go back home and keep everything a secret. Lt. Col. Todd Coopersmith thinks the child is his but cannot prove it. Will the truth ever be revealed? Ms. Chai creates wonderful conflict that must be resolved. Hailey and Todd are both stubborn people. I kept hoping that they would swallow their pride and see what they could have with each other.

Excerpt:

Hailey awoke in a strange bed in unfamiliar surroundings. Late afternoon sun filled the room. Where was she? Todd sat in a chair next to the bed, watching her. What was he doing here? A slight gasp escaped her lips and brought him to her side. 

"Quiet, babe. You're in the hospital." The baby! Had she lost…? Immediately her hand went to her stomach. No, she felt the baby move. Had Todd just called her 'babe'? How easily he slipped back into old patterns. Memories of him calling her that while he held her close surged through her mind, bringing a longing stronger than she'd ever imagined. 

"Why am I here?" Her voice grated with hoarseness. "Why are you in Vegas?" She searched his face. If Gil had asked him to come to Vegas, she was going to kill her brother. 

"Sorry, babe, you're still in Houston." He poured a glass of water. "Here, you need to drink. The doctor says you're dehydrated." At the touch of a button, the head of the bed moved up and he held the cup to her lips, rationing the liquid so she wouldn't choke. 

"After fixing Bugs, you collapsed in the control room."  

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Damn it, Hailey, this is my fault. I knew you wouldn't take care of yourself and I should've insisted you come with me last night." He put the cup to her lips again and she drank more. "It scared the daylights out of me when they told me what happened."

Todd scared? No way. Nothing fazed him. Like Gil, he was a fighter pilot. He put the cup to her lips again, forcing her to take small sips. Her throat still hurt, but she had to get him out of here so she could get back to Vegas and put distance between them. And how dare he say she couldn't take care of herself? 

"Well, I'm all better now." She tried another bluff. "So if you don't mind, I'll get dressed and head home."  

"No, you won't." He stared down at her, a steely glint in his eye.  

She imagined his men quaked in their boots when he wore that face. She knew him too well, and wasn't the least bit frightened by his stony countenance. 

"The doctor has decided that given your weakened physical condition, traveling isn't an option for you." Todd gloated as if he'd won a coup—or a great poker hand. "So, you're stuck here until the doctor says you can travel or the baby is born. You won't listen to me, but you'll damn sure listen to the doctor." 

"I'm going home and that is all there is to it," Hailey shot back. "You can't stop me, Todd. I don't belong here." She tried to get out of bed, but two hands pinned her firmly to the bed. 

"Stop arguing, Hailey. It's not safe for you or the baby to travel right now." Sincerity rang loud and clear. "You don't want to take a chance and hurt the baby just to get even with me, do you? You want to do what's best for the baby, don't you?"  

Her head bounced like a bobblehead. 

"Good, then lie back and get some rest. The doctor will be in soon."  

Oh how she wanted to tell him the truth, but she couldn't. He'd made his position clear from the beginning. The Air Force was his life. He loved what he did and had fought hard to get where he was. She couldn't take him away from it. 

Sleep came fitfully until the doctor arrived and told her she had to rest if she wanted a healthy baby. Fortunately he worded his advice without mentioning her due date.  

Cindy West entered the room, but waited to the side while the doctor was there.  

"I'll make sure she takes care of herself," Todd told the doctor. "Once you release her, I'll take her to my house."  

Todd brushed aside her protests after the doctor left. "Don't try arguing, Hailey. You'll do as the doctor says, and to make sure you do, you'll stay at my house."  

There was no reasoning with him.

Escewiche Castle is under siege, and Lady Piper is now accused of murder. Sir Robin of Escewiche, her first and only love, is long since dead and she wishes him to the devil for abandoning her and getting himself killed. Sir Robin is prisoner, and thoughts of avenging himself is what keeps him from despair. Avenging himself on the perfidious, greedy woman responsible for his imprisonment—Lady Piper of Auban.

Excerpt:

“Which star do you want to wish on, Nadine?” Father asked as we leaned against the railing, gazing up at the brilliant star-studded summer sky.

I pointed to the brightest and we each made a wish.

Sometimes when there were two full moons in one month—Blue Moons—which happened approximately every two and a half years, we made special wishes. All my wishes were special to me, for I always wished for a handsome prince to come and sweep me off my feet. However, I was willing to wait until I grew up.

The summer of my nineteenth year, my wish came true. That was when I met Michael Greene. Michael was everything I’d dreamed my prince would be and we spent those sun-kissed days together. I have to admit, though, we met in a most unconventional way.

On the second day of our vacation, my parents, both English professors, were fast at work on the novel they were co-authoring.  Basically, that left me pretty much on my own.  I grabbed my beach bag and scribbled a note telling them I’d gone to the small beach on the other side of the lake. Chances were I’d be back before they even read the note, anyway.  I only liked to bask, not bake, in the sun.  Being a redhead with fair skin, my freckles didn’t need new relatives.

I found a nice spot not too far from the water and spread out my blanket. Then I took my book from the bag, stretched out on my stomach, and began to read. Suddenly, out of nowhere, something hit the sand a few inches from my nose.

“What the…!”

“I’m so sorry,” a deep male voice said as a hand reached out to help me to a sitting position.

I couldn’t actually see him because I had sand in my eyes, not to mention the ton that found its way into the top of my bathing suit.

“Stay right there—don’t move. I’ll be right back,” he said.

I tried to shake some of the sand off me in the few moments he was gone. He returned with wet towels and gently began to wipe the sand off my face.  I opened my eyes to find myself gazing into beautiful eyes.

“Better, huh?” he asked.

“Much.” I took the towel from him and wiped the sand from my shoulders and chest. Now that I could see again, I took in the rest of him, from the tussled full head of blue-black hair hanging over his forehead, the straight nose and dimpled chin, to his muscled arms and chest. In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have conjured up a more handsome guy.

He grabbed the offending missile—a volley ball—and apologized again. “Look, it was an accident. I’m really okay.”

Before he could reply, another guy with bronzed skin and windblown hair trotted over. “Hey, you coming back to play?”

My handsome stranger wrinkled his nose and shook his head.  “Nah. Play without me,” he replied, tossing the ball to the other guy.

“Catch you later,” the guy said as he ran off with the ball.

“I’d like to make it up to you. Can I buy you a drink or something to eat at the snack bar?”

“My mother told me never to go off with strangers,” I teased.

He smacked his forehead. “Forgive me for not introducing myself.  I’m Michael Greene,” he said, extending his hand.

I shook his hand and said, “I’m Nadine Stone.”

He grinned, his green eyes twinkling. “Now that we’re no longer strangers, how about getting something to eat at the snack bar?”

“I really should clean up first.”

“No. I don’t want to waste a moment.”

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” I protested.

“You might disappear before I can learn everything there is to know about you.”

Allison gives her heart to Cahir, a warrior, in an enchanted carnival. Time doesn’t diminish her love for him, and no man can measure up. Until Richard Fallon. Will Allison have the courage to jump on the carousel with Richard?

Excerpt:

The fortuneteller’s words, while moderately interesting, were not going to hurtle Allison into the future with a fresh sense of direction. She breathed a sigh of relief when Cahir led her out of the tent. Allison glanced back, expecting to see the fortuneteller still at her table, but the tent’s interior was black as the night sky.
Totally attentive to her, Cahir held her hand as if she were the only woman who had ever been or ever would be. He stopped at one booth where an enormous man with ruddy cheeks smiled at her and gave her cotton candy on a paper cone. When she thanked him, he winked at her and gave her a grin that made her feel like a slightly naughty girl.
Allison and Cahir ate the fluffy confection together and when they finished he kissed her fingers, licking the sweet candy from them. She stood close and breathed the scent of him, felt the strength of his body.
In another time, embarrassment would consume her at such an intimate gesture in a public place. Here, strangers moved around them, locked in their own worlds, their own reality, blind to everything but themselves.
“Come,” he said. “You can touch the stars.”
Allison smiled at the excitement in his voice.
The carnival’s sound faded as they made their way to the Ferris wheel. It grew in size as they approached, a great spider web of light, whispering into the night as it slowly spun, skimming the earth with each turn. It slowed as they came near, then stopped and waited for them. There were no passengers, no attendant to raise and lower a bar across them as they slid into the soft leather seats.
“Cahir?” Allison snuggled against him as he draped an arm over her shoulder. “Am I dreaming?”
“Perhaps.” He kissed her forehead.
Was that sadness she heard in his voice? Discomfort edged through her. Much as she wanted to be with him, her practical teacher’s mind wrestled with the strangeness of the place.
The wheel carried them into the sky, backwards, then up and forward over the arc.
Allison expected to see the carnival spread below, but she and Cahir sat suspended in space with nothing above or below but star filled darkness. A comet flashed past, drawing its sparkling tail behind as it raced into the void.
“So, beautiful,” Allison whispered. “Why am I here?”
“Most come in search of something.”
“Do they find it?”
“Sometimes. What do you want, Cailin?”
“I want you in my life.” Allison spoke the words, true words from her heart. But not here, her rational mind cried. I want you in my life and in my bed in the real world, not this dark, dreaming land.
Allison laid her hand on his chest and felt his heart beat. She heard him breathe and softly laugh. “I am quite real, Cailin. The carnival is my reality.”
But not mine. The words invaded her thoughts.
With no sensation of movement, the carnival appeared around them and the wheel stopped. When they climbed out, it returned to its eternal revolutions among the stars.
Cahir held her hand again and they went straight to the carnival’s heart where the carousel spun in its constant circle, all mirrors and flashing lights. The horses, not wooden at all, danced up and down, their hooves pawing at the air. Heads tossed and manes lifted in the breeze of their passage.
Cahir stopped and his hands circled Allison’s waist. He drew her close and kissed her. His mouth was warm and sweet and her body responded in delight. No man had ever drawn that from her. All her years of loneliness and longing faded away. This is what she’d waited for.

This Christmas is the pits—Dara Seaforth is alone, even her beloved kitty Dexter has 'crossed over the rainbow bridge.'  Missing him, she makes a wish for a new kitty friend, and is surprised to suddenly find a cat meowing at her door to get in.  Elvis the Cat comes with strings—he belongs to Rhys St. John.  Dara has longed loved Rhys, but can Elvis the Cat's matchmaking set right the mistakes of the past, or will the puss need a little unearthly help from the King himself to see these two lovers united? 

Pearl Award Nominee 2006 

Excerpt: 

Elvis finished his meal and stretched out as close as he could get to the screen guard, then proceeded to purr. 

Dara wasn't sure where Elvis the Cat had come from, but she was glad for his presence.  "I don't have to spend Christmas Eve alone now, Elvis.  Thank you." 

He yawned a 'your welcome' and then stared at the undecorated tree, a curious expression on his intelligent face.  He almost seemed to ask the question of why?  It was a bit unnerving, this cat being the negative to Dexter's positive.  Only he didn't have Dexter's eyes.  He had human eyes.  Rhys St. John's eyes.  It was spooky. 

"Remember, you promised―no shapeshifting.  I haven't bothered decorating, Elvis.  It's just me.  It didn't seem worth the effort." 

The cat snapped his tail angrily.  That's no excuse, was in the eerie eyes. 

A rap on the door startled her.  "By the pricking of my thumbs…something wicked this way comes.  I don't know anyone with sense who would be out on a night light this." 

She opened the door and her heart stopped.  Looking so sexy he should be outlawed, Rhys St. John hunched his shoulders against the snow.  Stupid man was in a lightweight coat not suitable for this wet snow. No cap on the black hair that was damp and mostly covered with white stuff. 

She stiffened as if she received a blow to her chest, nearly reeling. Oh, Rhys.  Why the bloody hell turn up on her doorstep tonight?  On Christmas Eve when she was alone except for a cat named Elvis, when she was so low, she wanted to curl up and cry.  She had no defenses against a man she'd loved for over fifteen years.

All uptight, workaholic Claudia Mackey wanted for her birthday was to forget it and wash away the affects of her stressful day with a nice, quiet evening at home soaking in a bubble bath with a good book. But when she found Nick Lowder, a local chef and laid back flirt, waiting on her doorstep to prepare dinner as a birthday gift- the stress she had wanted to forget came back at full throttle. But when their defenses weaken after mindless bickering, the sweet and sour opposites begin to attract and just might find themselves ending the night with an extra sweet dessert.

Excerpt:

“Are you Claudia Mackey?” the handsome stranger asked. His words layered by a thick accent as he offered a charming smile.
“Yes. How do you know who I am? And what are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you to come home and let me in.”
“Like I’d fall for that!” Claudia hollered, whipping out a can of mace. “Stay back! Don’t think I won’t use this!”
“Holy crap, lady. Is that pepper spray?” he stammered, raising his hands in defense.
“Mace, actually. A woman can’t live alone in this city without it. Now, stay right where you are!” She grasped her cell phone with her free hand.
“Are you callin’ the cops, lady?”
“Well, who else do you think I’d call to come and deal with a potential murderer or rapist?”
“Potential murderer or rapist?” he repeated. “Whoa, hold on. I’m a chef for cryin’ out loud! Look in the cooler I brought if you don’t believe me!”
“For all I know you have a knife in there,” Claudia shot back.
“Well, yeah, but it’s for cooking!” he persisted. “Your friend, Dawn, sent me. She’s a big fan of the restaurant where I work and asked me to come here and prepare dinner as a birthday gift since she couldn’t be here to celebrate with you. Look, if you don’t believe me, take my business card out of my pocket.”
Reluctantly, Claudia reached into the pocket of his white coat—fighting to remain composed as she felt his firm chest beneath the thin material. She retrieved the business card. “Nick Lowder,” she read. “Foster’s Diner.”
“See! Now, do you believe me?” the man asked hopefully.
“Maybe. How did you get up here? You have to have a key to get into the building.”
“Some old woman let me in and she told me to tell you if the meal’s bad, there’s always Junior—whatever that means. And it’s chilly today, so I accepted the offer. I already had your address from Dawn, so I decided to come on up. I’m sorry if I offended you or anything.”
Claudia smirked, remembering how her elderly neighbor had been begging her to go out on a date with her grandson for the last two years. “All right, I believe you.” She relented, returning the mace and the cell to her purse.
“So, can we start over? As the card said, I’m Nick. Nick Lowder. Chef extraordinaire.” A faint smile brushed the corner of his lips.
“I’m Claudia Mac…well, never mind. You know who I am. Sorry. Come on in.”

Nadine meets Michael, the man of her dreams, on summer vacation. Beneath a Blue Moon, they pledge to meet the following year, but tragedy intervenes preventing her from returning. Until fate and another Blue Moon years later bring them together again.

A romance writer, Simone Beauvais, had seen her hero many times before. And, she’d written about him, she confessed. He was there in One Enchanted Evening, his long lean body sprawled across the rug in front of the fireplace. He was there in A Time for Loving, curled around her heroine’s body after he’d seduced her and loved her until she begged for mercy. Then again in Just the Thought of You, as he’d made love to her heroine under a harvest moon, held in the circle of his arms as they’d listened to the rhythm of the surf kissing the shoreline. And in Your Loving Arms as she’d been beneath him on a secluded beach, moving with him in the night, the taste of salt on his skin as her lips brushed his neck, the moonlight streaming down on them. Even now she could feel the gentle rasping stroke of the beaded grains of sand on her back just the way she’d written it in her book.

Only, what was she supposed to do now that she sat across the booth from him? She wanted to leave right away.  No, she wanted to stay. Sigh, she didn’t know what she wanted.  Or did she?

Excerpt:

Simone gritted her teeth in annoyance as she heard the siren. She checked her rear

view mirror, knowing what she’d find. A police cruiser. A helluva place to get pulled over

by a cop, she grumbled. She was just passing through, for heaven’s sake. The darn town

probably didn’t even have red a light!

She grimaced in distaste at her bad humor. All she wanted was to get across the

Kansas state line. And she had miles to go. She should’ve waited until she reached

Wichita and hit I-135 north. From there it was a straight shot to I-70 that would take her

to Colorado. But she’d been listening to music, not paying attention to where she was

going and made a wrong turn somewhere. Then she’d become hopelessly lost. The town

she’d just passed through wasn’t even on her map: Climax, Kansas. A really dumb place

for a romance novelist to get caught.

Caught for what, she wasn’t sure. Definitely not speeding. She’d been driving slow as

molasses in January, trying to get her bearings. The lay of the land, her grandmother

would say.

What law of this Podunk town could she have broken? Going too slow, maybe? She

wasn’t even in the c limits, if you could call this dusty old place a city, she thought

snidely. She eyed the cop in her side mirror as he stepped out of his car, took note of her

tag number and called it in.

Not bad on the eye. A body like his could be written into her next novel. Muscles

bulged from his short-sleeved shirt. His broad chest strained the front buttons. And

when he leaned through his window to get something out of the car she got a good look

at his firm backside. It was too bad she couldn’t afford to spend any time in this town.

Better get this over with, old girl. Time’s a wastin’.

She opened the car door and stepped out into the heat of the day, a blast of hot air

smacking her in the face. Massive heat waves rolled off the black asphalt, shimmering in

the air like ghostly images. She covered her eyes with her right hand to shade them from

the blinding sun. Her throat felt dry and raspy, making her wish for a cold bottle of

water to slake her thirst.

She took a moment to study the area, taking note there was nothing but dust, rock

and scrub brush. She brought her attention back to the man who was just another

irritant in a long day and her body thrummed.

Lincoln Hayes stopped his forward movement, staring at the vision that stepped out

of the car that had been driving along at a snail’s pace. His mouth went dry. Her hair

was dark, short and curly. Impatience drifted across her face. A face with unbelievable

features. Arched brows formed to perfection. Eyes, thickly lashed, a mysterious shade of

green. A short pert nose that he was sure could rise in disdain. Lips, luscious and

shapely, beckoning him to walk right over and have a taste. And a come-hither body that

had his own body flashing spasms of heat that matched the waves rolling off the

pavement.

He placed both hands on his hips, taking a moment to clear away the images that

had planted themselves in his brain. He was a police officer. There was no place in his

line of work for this type of thing. Judging from the way she was dressed, she could be

anyone, he thought tiredly, maybe even a hooker making her way to Nevada to ply her

trade in the anything-goes city of Las Vegas. He knew he was being unfair, judging her

simply because he was irritated at the day he’d had and she was the closest person to

take out his aggravation.

He gave her one last thorough examination from head to toe.

Bare feet? Hmm. Toes? Tasty!

"Ballou's Christmas Wish" is a story involving puppy owners Melody Barton and Jorin Griffin. A chance encounter at a grocery store brings them together, but their puppies, Ballou and Bonnie, refuse to be separated. Will "Ballou's Christmas Wish" be granted?

Animal lovers will simply adore Keelia Greer's charming tale! Ballou practically steals the show with his adorable antics. The twist in the story is exceptionally well done.  

Excerpt:  

“Behave, Ballou. Stay inside until we reach the pet food aisle.” Melody Barton stroked the silky head of her West Highland white terrier then pulled the sides of the leather tote bag higher before entering the Big Tex grocery store. She needed a Christmas miracle. Her heart longed for the right man. Would this year be the one where her Christmas wish came true?

The automatic doors swished open, blasting her with heated air. The sound of Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, the excited chatter of children and bright decorations sparkled in all directions all perfect distractions for one little doggie.

Melody tugged a cart from the row and placed the bag with Ballou on the seat reserved for children. “Good boy,” she whispered.

She wove through the crowd making quick work of arriving at the designated dog products. Wouldn’t you know Ballou’s favorite-Woofies-were on the top shelf. She pushed aside a few off-brand cans of food to make a toehold on the shelf. What demented person puts an eight-pound bag of dog cookies so high you have to climb to reach them?

Placing her foot on the shelf, she grasped the metal above her head. Her thigh high skirt inched higher. Terrific. She could see the headlines—“Woman Falls, Exposing and Busting Her Ass.” Of course, she had to wear the shortest item of clothing she owned today. Melody suppressed a groan and prayed no one would choose this moment to come around the corner.

“Here, let me help you.” A man’s Welsh accent slid over her like warm honey drizzled over a biscuit. He reminded her of the days she spent as a Welsh foreign exchange student.

Damn and double damn. A pair of strong hands encircled her waist and eased her from her perch. Melody grabbed his forearms to keep her balance.

“Thank you.” Hard muscle flexed beneath her palms causing her tummy to flip with delight.

He released her and smiled, then reached for the large bag of Woofies and plopped it into the basket right behind Ballou.

Katlyn Mackenzie and her part Scottish wildcat, Auggie, are playing games with sexy neighbor, Ian St. Giles. It's a sure fire win all around, as Ian will do anything to get Katlyn in his bed, including make peace with Auggie. 

RIO Award of Excellence Winner 2006 

Excerpt: 

"Hmm…maybe we could…discuss that over supper." 

Ian arched a brow.  "Can we lock the tubby tabby terror outside?  I'm sure he'll entertain himself menacing the Hood.  After all, he's already eaten din-din." 

"Oh, Auggie Moggie vets my dates.  Weeds out the short-hitters."  Her laughter was musical, something you'd expect to hear from a faery. 

Ian chuckled.  "Bet he does.  Also weeds out the dog population and maybe small farm animals, too.  Remember, if he bites me it's a hundred dollar fine." 

She snaked her arms around his neck and nipped his lower lip.  "And what if this Kat bites you?" 

"Name your price, woman, I'll pay."  His hands grabbed her waist and pulled her hard against him, relishing the perfection of how their bodies fit.  Just as he lowered his head to kiss her senseless, the alarm on his Rolex sounded.  With a groan, he bonked his forehead against hers.  "We'll have to discuss price later.

Sadie the Shady Angel is back!  Along with her mentor, Pricilla, the two mismatched angels are on a mission of helping true love along. Nathan has already been burned by love and his heart is leery of any woman, including the sultry, sexy Olivia.  Olivia doesn't know why Nathan is so terse with her, but that doesn't stop her attraction to him.  Will Sadie and Pricilla manage to get two stubborn people to see the love standing under the moonlight and their noses before the magic moment wanes?

Excerpt:

Nathan wasn’t into romance.  All his heart and soul went into his horn, into his music. Olivia was a distraction he couldn’t afford if he wanted to make it to the top of the music business.  He’d already had his one bad experience with a woman…he wasn’t letting it happen again. 

He returned the wave of his fellow musicians and barely glanced at her.  It didn’t surprise him when she ignored him.  He’d spent a lot of time ignoring her for the last six months.  He told himself it was best and he shouldn’t be concerned.  So why did her coolness turn a spin of anxiety in his gut?  Hating the thought that he was attracted in spite of himself, he looked everywhere but at Olivia.  Crossing the foyer, he kept his gaze fixed on the floor.

“We checked in?”  he asked his lead guitarist.  At the man’s affirmation, he picked up his cases, heading across the lobby to the elevators.  He turned his head, catching a movement out of the corner of his eye.  Seeing nothing but a few potted palms and a large aquarium, he decided he was just tired.  Jet lag always did him in.  The elevator doors opened and he let everyone step in first.  Nathan couldn’t handle being stuffed in the back of the crowded elevator.

As the doors closed, he blinked and rubbed his eyes.  He could have sworn he’d seen two older women in long white gowns hiding behind the potted palms. One of them appeared to have wings. Boy, and I haven’t even had a drink yet.  I need more sleep, he decided.

Since the death of Kathleen's husband two years ago, she's filled her life with writing, trying to lessen the grief. She's lost touch with friends and has no social life. When a handsome archeologist moves to town, he falls hard for Kathleen. Will Kevin's love and the power of the Magical Blue Moon be enough to pull Kathleen from her despair and into his arms?

Excerpt:

“Hi. Sorry I’m so late. We had an incident after school and I had to referee. Anyway, can we get together tonight…if you don’t have other plans? We could cook at my place or yours—or eat out. Anything is fine. Call me. I can’t wait to see you—bye for now.”
Kathleen replayed it three times. Her cousin had offered to keep Siena for a sleepover, so tonight would be the night. There, the first part of my ‘resolve to be bolder’ is working. Now for the more pressing call.
Fingers shaking, she dialed Kevin’s number. “Hi, it’s Kathleen.”
“Yeah, I had that one figured out.” He laughed. “How are you?”
“Great. I got some writing done.” She didn’t tell him he was the inspiration. “How about you?”
“Good, except I miss you. How about tonight? I’d like to see you.”
“I’d like to see you, too. In fact, my cousin has Siena.”
“Great. Do you want to eat out or cook in? I’m anxious to try my new grill if you’re game, and I bought groceries. Want me to come pick you up?”
“No. I’ll drive—no need for you to make two trips. What time?”
“It’s already four, so whenever you’re ready. The sooner the better.”
His voice carried a husky, hungry sound. Kathleen wondered if hers did. If not, she was a better actress than she thought.
Kevin was sitting on the porch when she arrived. “I’m glad you could make it.” He pulled her close, kissed her, and stared into her eyes. He started to speak, then stopped, turned and led her up the steps.
The house was filled with Celtic music—peaceful and inviting. “I love your choice in music.”
“It’s some of my favorite. It pleases me when I find things we both enjoy. Have you noticed we have a lot in common? And, I hope you like steak—I’ve got a couple of beauties ready for the grill.”
“Another thing in common.” She followed him into the kitchen.
“Wine?” He held up a glass. He poured and passed one to her. “To us.” He pinned her with his eyes.
Maintaining eye contact, she whispered, “To us.”
“Would you like to see my garden?”
“I’d love to…I didn’t know you had a garden.”
“I’ve always kept one. I love flowers. I’ve worked with them and now I’m finally pretty good. I killed my share in the beginning though.” During the stroll, he pointed out different species—some she’d never heard of.
“I’m impressed.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder as they returned to the house. “Good, that’s my goal.”
Returning to the kitchen she realized the vase of flowers on the counter was from his garden. She leaned and inhaled the sweet fragrance. What a nice touch—he keeps surprising me.
“Can I help?”
“How are you with salads? I have everything imaginable in the fridge.”
“I make a mean salad. I’ll even whip up a special dressing.”
Kevin prepared baked rosemary potatoes. “They’re pretty good, if I do say so myself.”
When she finished she caught Kevin watching and couldn’t resist a trial of her new-found courage. Sticking a finger in the dressing, she placed it between pursed lips, slowly withdrawing it. “Umm…that’s delicious.”
Instantly, he was by her side. “Let me taste.” He took her finger, dunked it into the dressing and put it in his mouth. He suckled it gently then rubbed it back and forth across his lips, all the while flicking his tongue over and under it. He slid it from his lips, continued layering kisses up her arm, her shoulder, then her neck. Working his way to her mouth, his lips smothered hers with pent up hunger. Burying his hands in her hair, he pulled her closer, kissing her passionately.
Fireworks exploded in her head and heat stirred in her central core. Faraway, she heard him whisper her name, but she was too consumed to answer. Inhibitions melted away.

What if the man of your dreams and the man you were avoiding like the plague were one and the same, but you had no idea? It's a lesson Maryette Browning is about to learn.

Excerpt: 

“Are you all right, Miss?” The deep, resonant tones came to her as she looked up, shielding her eyes with one hand to peer up at the man through the bright sunshine.

“Yes, quite,” she said, a bit humiliated as she stood and brushed the dirt from her dress, then turned to watch her parasol roll down the street.  “Oh no!”

“Not to worry,” the man called over his shoulder as he dashed down the street, catching it moments before it tumbled into a nearby stream.  He unfurled the lacy umbrella and shook the dirt from its delicate fabric as he made his way back to her. 

“A bit worse for wear, I fear, but I believe it is still usable,” he said, handing it back to her.

Maryette took the parasol thankfully and gave the man a quick curtsy.  “Thank you, Sir.  That was most kind of you.”

“’Tis the least I could do to help a damsel in distress,” he nodded politely, moving to where he’d hastily dropped the reins of his horse. 

Maryette smiled up at the man, realizing quite unexpectedly how striking he was, not only in action but in style and countenance.  His well-fit trousers were tucked neatly into his smart riding boots and his tailcoat displayed his muscled, broad shoulders and slim waist in a most appealing way.  It was then she wished she’d worn her hat, so she could hide the blush flaming her cheeks as she gazed at this handsome and effortlessly charming stranger.

“I wish there was some way I could repay you, Sir, for a gesture so kind.”  She immediately wished she hadn’t said a word as he turned to meet her gaze and the smile he gave was surely her undoing. 

“Perhaps there is a way,” he offered, his voice smooth as silk as he stepped closer, sending an uncontrollable shiver through her.  The way his eyes made a wicked sweep of her body was indecent, but she could not turn away from him.  Instead, she stood her ground, no matter how her knees quivered.

“I assure you, Sir, I am a respectable young woman.”

The man chuckled wryly and tipped his hat to her.

“No doubt you are, Miss.  I thought nothing less.  What I would request of you is your assistance, nothing more.”

“My assistance?” she asked curiously, swallowing the lump growing in her throat.

“I am new here in Downing’s town and though I do not plan to remain here, I will need a place to stay.  Would you be able to direct me to a respectable establishment that might put me up?”

Maryette let out a relieved sigh and turned to look up the street.

“Certainly, Sir.  Downingtown has some of the finest establishments one can find along King’s Road, the best being Hammond’s, there on the left.”

“And is it an honorable business?”

“Most assuredly, Sir.  I know the Hammond’s well and there is no finer family in the county.  You will find no gambling or other debauchery there.”

The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully and gave her a scowl.

“Shame,” he said, cracking a sly smile.  “I could go for a bit of faro.”

Maryette gasped and covered a giggle with a delicately gloved hand.  “Sir!”

“Johnathan…” he said, offering her a broad, genuine smile and a formal bow, removing his hat to reveal a head full of lush golden curls.

“I beg your pardon?” She gasped again at the sight of him.

“My name is Johnathan.”

Maryette could feel the heat rise up her neck as he smiled proudly, expectantly.  When she did not respond, he tilted his head, his sapphire blue eyes twinkling devilishly.

“And would I have the honor of your name?” he asked.

“Maryette,” she offered beneath timid lashes.

“Well then, Miss Maryette, would you do me the added honor of accompanying me to Hammond’s for a touch of tea?”

“I – I do not feel ‘tis proper, being I have no chaperone.”  She averted her eyes from him diffidently.

“’Tis the middle of the afternoon.  We are in full view of the town, Miss Maryette, and I have no mind to do anything untoward to damage either of our reputations.”

Maryette gave him some consideration and looked about the street.  After a moment’s pause, she nodded to him.

“Very well, I shall accompany you.”  She smiled demurely as Johnathan offered his arm, which she took gladly. 

Walking up King’s Road on the arm of such a fine looking man made Maryette feel regal, as though everyone in town should be looking at her with astonishment.  Her manner, her posture, her very air changed as they rambled toward the inn at the end of the street.  She felt beautiful, important—and just a bit scandalous for being so brash in broad daylight.  She also wished she were dressed in an amazing gown, her hair topped with a fine Parisian bonnet of velvet and feathers.  As it was, she was mortified she’d stepped out in one of her duller walking dresses instead of something more tasteful. Still, her escort didn’t seem to mind.