I'm so excited to announce my full length spicy contemporary, REASON TO BELIEVE is now available at The Wild Rose Press
Here's a blurb and an excerpt:
PS: This is rated HOT (and oooooh, is it ever!) but this is a tame excerpt, I promise.
Thanks for reading!
Leslie (alter-ego of Paisley)
Lane Douglas is a die-hard realist, so when her superstitious
grandfather tells her he will die if the tree planted long ago in his
honor in Scotland is chopped down, she doesn't buy it for a second.
But when her grandfather's health starts a downward slide, Lane hops
on a plane and flies across the ocean to convince the landowner to
spare the old, diseased oak. To her surprise the landowner is a
devilishly handsome man named Conlan MacGregor. Practical Lane came
prepared for a fight to save a silly tree, but she soon finds herself
fighting to save her heart from falling under the magical charms of
the hunky laird of Wolfscrag castle.
Filthy, dripping wet, and more than a little agitated, she made her
way around the back of the castle. The only bright spot was finding
the first door she tried unlocked. She hurried inside, past caring
whether she was trespassing.
"Hello?" she called from the doorway. "Anybody home?"
What was it with these folks? You'd think at least a servant or two
would be in a place this size. Shucking her jacket, she gingerly
picked her way up the dark flight of wooden stairs that must be some
sort of servants' entrance and emerged into the castle's spacious kitchen.
Her earlier assumption of this place containing no modern conveniences
couldn't have been more wrong. Appliances of every shape and type
inhabited the room. She'd seen factory showrooms with fewer mechanical
Stepping out of her squishy shoes, she scanned the area, taking in the
huge walk-in freezer, the two microwave ovens, the oversize kitchen
sink with the two long legs sticking out from beneath it, the large
gas range, the...
The two long legs?
She blinked and stepped around the wooden island for a closer look.
Yep. Definitely a pair of long, muscular legs protruding from under there.
Lane watched as one large tennis-shoed foot began tapping out a tempo,
followed by a male voice singing a cappella and very off-key.
She faintly recognized the tune as Rod Stewart's classic, Maggie May.
Resisting the urge to giggle at the man's caterwauling, Lane instead
squatted down and cleared her throat loudly.
"Wake up, Maggie, da da la bump ba da doo doo doo waaa..." the man sang.
Was he purposely ignoring her? She frowned. Now that was rude. "Excuse…"
A furious solo interrupted her as he banged his wrench loudly against
a pipe beneath the sink.
Intent on getting his attention, Lane reached for his leg. Her hand
connected with his bare knee, which peeked through the ripped and
frayed hole of his faded jeans.The man immediately jerked upright and
struck his head on the pipe he'd been trying to fix.
Guilt poured over her at the sound of his painful groan. "Sorry," she
mumbled and stood.
The man crawled out from beneath the sink and pulled the buds from his
ears, setting the mp3 player on the stone floor beside him. He rubbed
his forehead and offered a brusque, "Hullo."
Lane's heart did a series of flip-flops. The man absolutely oozed
Her gaze roamed over his tousled, jet-black hair; the faded white
sweatshirt pulled taut over broad, muscular shoulders; the finely
chiseled jaw that, even with a day's stubble, harbored a yummy cleft
smack-dab in the center of his chin.
Her lips parted when her gaze reached and locked with a pair of
smoldering silver eyes.
"Mmm hmm." Her throat was suddenly bone-dry.
Eyeing her hesitantly, the man pulled a red rag from his back pocket
and wiped his hands. "What did you do,lass, swim the loch to get here?"
His deep, accented voice washed over her, sending goose bumps
skittering across her skin.