It’s true. The contracts have officially been signed with SirenBookStrand so the beyond naughty and a bit nice follow-up novel to Incubus Makes Three will be out in late October. Here is a short and “sweet” blurb to whet your appetite.
How could she not know about rock’s biggest super group? After a chance meeting, naive high school teacher Isabel Warren finds herself falling head over heels with the sexy-as-sin singer for the rock band Becket. When he invites her to spend her Spring vacation on tour with him she agrees willing to risk her vulnerable heart for a chance at one week of passion. Fate has other plans. http://www.bit.ly/isabelsawakening
Barbara’s Redemption, Book 2 of the Disarmed & Dangerous Series is available June 2, 2016 from all of your favorite book sellers.
Black Hawk pilot Captain Barbara Lynn Perry is running scared. Witness to an event too horrible to think about and too dangerous to talk of, she finds herself alienated from a world she has always had faith in.
With her Special Forces brother missing, she has only one other person to turn to. When her friend Flynn Swann isn’t available, Barbara is left with no choice but to trust the man Flynn sends to save her.
Psychiatrist Dominic Salter’s information from her superior officer’s file is that Barbara has gone rogue. Despite the damning evidence, every instinct tells him he’s dealing with an honorable woman, one who single-handedly saved Flynn from torture and a sure death. Dominic’s challenge is to delve his way beneath her tough, defensive attitude and coax the truth from a woman who’s too frightened to reveal her dark secret.
In his brand new facility containing a state of the art Dreampsych Transcender he’s experimenting with, a machine far beyond a simulator, Dominic has to gain the trust and confidence of Barbara while he resists the hard pull of attraction to this kick-ass woman.
Betrayed by a member of his staff, events take a sinister turn, and the pressure is on in a fight against time for Dominic to persuade Barbara to put her trust in him and reveal the truth before matters are taken out of his hands.
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She raised a shaky hand to rub her fingertips over taut lips and tried to swallow, but her tongue was too thick to allow it, her mouth too dry to comply. She held the same hand horizontally in front of her face and watched the vague tremble. The tremor that threatened her sharp shot. The shake that no longer allowed her to pick up a glass of whiskey without being a dead giveaway.
She needed help.
Flynn could help.
She’d saved his life, goddammit. Of course he would help.
So she waited in the silent twilight for Flynn to come.
Pitch black descended and still no sign of the man. So dark she could no longer see the trembling hand in front of her face, but the sweat still formed in the creases along her palm, making her hand slip as she tightened her grip on the gun. She swapped it over from right to left while she rubbed the damp onto the leg of her black yoga pants. It made no difference, she could shoot as well with one hand as the other. Not that she could see to shoot, but she hadn’t imagined for one moment Flynn would have kept her waiting this long, and dark would close in before he arrived.
She’d hunkered down in the comfort of the straw, her mind filled with visions of blood and gunshots while night descended faster than she’d realized.
She’d kept Flynn waiting three nights previously. God only knew how long he’d waited for her, but she’d listened to her sixth sense, believed someone else was there at the meeting point, and she’d hightailed it out of there, leaving Flynn to his own devices. He was still a tough cookie. No point in her hanging around to save him. She’d already saved his sorry ass once before.
The dim light of the stables flickered on and filled the place with a dull buzzing sound. Cautious, she straightened and moved toward her target. The cowboy seemed to be the right height, but it looked like Flynn had gone to seed since leaving the Special Forces three years earlier. She’d heard rumors he hadn’t coped well with civilian life. Probably more to do with having half his face carved up. She twitched her nose in distaste. The voices of the men who had tortured him filled her head, the vicious sound of their hyena cackles as they cut Flynn with glee. It hadn’t been the prettiest of sights, but she’d seen worse. She’d even killed men herself, but never for fun. Only out of necessity, duty, and a desperate desire to live.
It was the pleasure they’d taken out of torturing a man that had turned her stomach. Not that anyone knew. She’d die before she allowed anyone to see her weakness. It looked like she may have to, after recent events. She’d thought she’d never witness anything worse than Flynn’s torture. But she had.
She closed her eyes and took a moment to control her pulse rate before she stepped forward.
The cowboy turned, staggered slightly in the dead giveaway of a drunken sidestep, and smiled broad and sloppy as his unfocused gaze met hers. Drawing in a deep, slow breath, she realized her mistake. It wasn’t Flynn.
With no other option, Barbara tucked her gun into the back of her pants. It was a mistake she would never have made a month ago. One that under any other circumstances would have cost her life. Lucky for her, it was only some piss head in her way.
“Hey.” Loose-limbed, she stepped forward, a deliberate wide smile in place. “I’m looking for Flynn. Is he here?”
Confusion flitted across the man’s face, his brows pulled down in an exaggerated drunken frown.
“He’s a dipshit.”
Surprise at his viciousness stopped her advance as the man swayed, took two clumsy steps to his left before he gained his balance, and stood swaying before her. His thin lips twisted, bitter and angry.
“You’re not his girl. His girl’s a fuckin’ little bitch. Lost me my job and had me arrested.”
With barely a twitch of her eyebrow, Barbara skimmed her gaze over him. Nasty little fucker. Reminded her of her mother’s boyfriend. Several of her mother’s boyfriends. But one in particular had been a mean son of a bitch. He’d slapped her around plenty, until her mother had caught him and almost pulled his hair out by the roots. Her mother may have had scores of men come and go after Barbara’s father’s death, but she never let a single one mess with her daughter.
Barbara narrowed her eyes at him, never flinched as the horse behind her snorted and stamped impatiently in its stall. All her concentration centered on the drunk. She’d learned long ago with hard lessons not to take her gaze off the threat. This guy was definitely a threat.
“No, I’m not his girl. Have you seen him?”
He rubbed his hand over his lips, sly gaze darting sideways. “I heard he left with the slut.”
Muscles tense, Barbara felt the sick slide of dread. “Where’d he go?”
“New Zealand. They were talking about it in the jailhouse.”
“The fucking sheriff and his fucking deputies.”
“What were you doing there?” She wasn’t interested, but she could see him lowering his guard as they chatted. She never lowered hers. That’s what got you killed.
The guy turned his head and spat into the hay and then sneered at her. “Mistaken identity.” He held up a hand with fingers swathed in bandages.
“Flynn’s bitch said I went after her. It was her who attacked me and broke my fucking little finger.”
She repressed the desire to smile. She hadn’t much to smile about, but it seemed as though Flynn could have met his match after all.
“Stupid fuckers let my wife bail me out.”
Barbara couldn’t stop the blink of surprise. He had a wife? Poor woman.
“She’s my ex-wife.” His mean eyes flickered down. “She just wants rid of me.”
She could imagine why.
Barbara watched as he skimmed his bloodshot gaze over her, recognized the lascivious leer, and knew instinctively she wasn’t simply going to walk away from their encounter. “So, what are your plans?”
“Fuckers took my gun, but I had another one they didn’t know about at my stupid fucking wife’s house. She didn’t even know it was there. I’m going to take me a horse and ride out of here, and no one is going to stop me.”
She stepped back and spread her arms wide for him to carry on. “I wouldn’t want to try.”
He took a small, stumbling step forward and then lurched at her. Little shit, she never quite saw him coming. She’d somehow thought he would have a little more finesse. His body slammed into hers, and she realized what she’d thought was fat was one hell of a lot of solid muscle bound tightly in that fat.
As he took her down, she allowed her body to go loose. She anticipated the fast whoosh of air that expelled from her lungs, but his weight was a little harder and heavier than she had expected. Winded, she lay still for a long moment. By the time she recovered, he had her breast in his hand, squeezing it tightly. Pain and indignation radiated through her, but as she tried to move, he slung his leg over both of hers to pin her to the ground. The metal buckle on his belt dug hard into the flesh of her belly, and as she wriggled in the straw, the slide of it cut in deeper. The solid press of her own gun into her spine had her stilling.
The guy was an idiot; sometimes they just made it too easy by underestimating her. She may only be five feet four inches, but she was a trained soldier, goddammit.
With a weary sigh, she gave her head a disgusted shake and tightened her lips as she slipped his gun from his hip holster and held it against his temple before he could take another drunken grunt. She pulled back the hammer and met the surprise in his rheumy eyes. There was barely a tremor in her grip as her finger softened against the trigger. No need to terminate him, provided he was reasonable.
The quiet snick of metal stopped her mid thought.
“Take the gun away from Buddy’s head.” Mellow Irish tones reasoned with her from behind her head.
She held it firm, never so much as twitched.
The silver glint of a gun slid into her peripheral vision and kicked up her pulse.
“I’ve got him covered, Barbara, you can remove your gun.” Her name from the unfamiliar Irish voice had her hesitating.
The sour smell of whiskey puffed over her skin, and the bloated face of the drunk still lying on top of her gave her a moment’s pause. She could have simply immobilized him and left him writhing in agony on the floor by twisting his already broken finger, or she could blow his brains out, the stupid fuck.
It wouldn’t have bothered her.
Sweat slicked on the handle of the gun to make a liar of her. Who was she trying to kid? It was never a choice she’d make to deliberately take a life. He may be stupid, but he was no longer a threat.
Where to Find Diane Saxon
Author Amazon Profile Page
About the Author
Diane Saxon lives in the Shropshire countryside with her tall, dark, handsome husband, two gorgeous daughters, a Dalmatian, one-eyed kitten, ginger cat, four chickens and a new black Labrador puppy called Beau, whose name has been borrowed for her hero in For Heaven’s Cakes.
After working for years in a demanding job, on-call and travelling great distances, Diane gave it all up when her husband said “follow that dream”.
Having been hidden all too long, her characters have burst forth demanding plot lines of their own and she’s found the more she lets them, the more they’re inclined to run wild.
Loving Lydia -Atlantic Divide Book 1
Bad Girl Bill – Atlantic Divide Book 2
Finding Zoe – Atlantic Divide Book 3
Flight of Her Life
Flynn’s Kiss – Disarmed & Dangerous Book 1
Short Circuit Time
For Heaven’s Cakes
Banshee Seduction – Montgomery’s Sin, Book 1
Once & Again, book two
Will be released August 3, 2016 from Inkspell Publishing.
She was once his secret desire…will she be again?
Father Aiden, an ex-marine and new priest, falls in love with Maylynn, but he struggles to stay away from her. He’s successful for many years, though he can’t keep her out of his dreams.
Then one day she shows up for a pre-marital counselling session with her fiancé, Davis. Aiden soon realizes Davis isn’t who he says he is, but what does that mean for Maylynn, and for himself?
Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30339939-once-again
Amazon preorder link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GIL5MO8
Once & Forever, book three
Will be released December 2016 from Inkspell Publishing.
Eden, a nun, is constantly struggling against her dark past of living on the streets, and her attraction to Trace, an ex-convict farm worker. After a twelve-year separation, Eden is finally reunited with her brother, Thomas, but why hadn’t she reached out to him in all those years? As Eden and Trace grow closer, confessing their pasts to each other, will they be able to resist getting too close?
Why count on the husband and kids to get you something you’ll enjoy this Mother’s Day? You know they mess up at least half the time so hedge your bets. Pick up a copy of Laurel Richards newest release The Clam Festival Murders and know you’ll have a good book for a relaxing day.
Blurb: Nothing ever happens in a small clamming town like Fatmire. At least, that’s what Mitch Chase thinks until he teams up with eccentric mystery writer Cassie Wynn to solve a murder. Vicki Cash is found facedown in her seafood dinner after someone at the Clam Festival slipped her a deadly ingredient. Now Mitch and Cassie have to eliminate suspects, but that’s easier said than done. Vicki wasn’t exactly well liked. She took her ex-husband for everything he was worth, evicted the town’s most successful clam farmer, feuded with her sister, and bad-mouthed the mayor’s wife. As they investigate, Mitch discovers this small town isn’t what it seems, and he’s attracted to more than Cassie’s powers of observation. With his quirky and intriguing partner by his side, he’s sure to lose his heart while he catches a killer.
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“Detective, based on your appearance here, may I assume Vicki Cash’s death wasn’t an accident? Do you suspect foul play?”
Cassie overheard the question and watched the man who had asked it from her vantage behind the side garden of her house. The profusion of plants prevented people on the street from seeing her small paved patio with its table and chairs, but she could observe them and much of the rest of the neighborhood at her leisure. That’s why she liked to sit here in the afternoons.
Today, what she saw held her full attention. The man speaking was a stranger to her, which was unusual in the small town of Fatmire, Florida. He was currently questioning Shane Waters, their local detective.
Her next door neighbor, Vicki Cash, was dead, and the newcomer—a reporter, apparently—seemed to realize there was more to the case than met the eye. Keen intuition and tenacity were two qualities Cassie gave to all her novels’ heroes. She was pleased and intrigued to learn they were part of this fellow’s character, as well.
Of course, Cassie also liked to make her heroes attractive. This man certainly had the right look with his strong physique, sharp blue eyes, and thick light-brown hair. She didn’t know his name, but she was hoping it was something wonderfully exotic or macho like Falcon or Axel. Maybe he was a martial arts expert or a former covert agent or sniper. The possibilities fired her imagination.
Barely breathing, she continued to eavesdrop on his conversation with Shane. They were standing outside Vicki’s house, which had been tidily cordoned off with police tape. Cassie saw Shane pause for a moment and rock back on his heels.
“We’re still investigating the matter,” the detective replied. “All I can say right now is that there were no signs of forced entry, burglary, or violence. The evidence thus far indicates that Ms. Cash died alone while in the middle of eating supper.”
“Who discovered the body?”
Cassie held perfectly still when Shane pointed at her house. “That would be Miss Wynn next door.”
Her new hero glanced her way and jotted something down in his notebook. Had he seen her? With his sharp eyesight and advanced military training, he probably could have spotted her in a sea of replicas. He was so focused on his interrogation, though, that it appeared he’d missed her behind her blind.
Cassie took a second to write the word replicas in her writing journal before she lost the thought. It had potential as a plot device.
“How old was the deceased?” her hero asked next, snagging her attention again. “Do you know if she had any pre-existing conditions?”
Shane’s lazy expression never altered. “Ms. Cash was in her late forties and wasn’t suffering from any chronic health problems that we know of.”
Not a bad question, considering Vicki had died during dinner.
“In a manner of speaking,” Shane answered as he returned to his car. “Apparent cause of death was anaphylaxis. Good day.” These last two words were uttered over his shoulder as he opened the driver’s side door and hopped in.
“One more question.” Her hero didn’t give up. He leaned down to look at the detective. “What was Vicki Cash eating when she died?”
This time, Shane smiled. “Got herself some shrimp from the Clam Festival. You should head over there yourself. It lasts all week.” He punctuated this remark with a muffled slam of his car door and started the engine.
Cassie watched her hero eye his own vehicle before turning and walking toward her house. When he reached her door, he studied her front garden with a small frown of concentration. Perhaps he was a botanist or herbalist who liked to experiment with various elixirs. Or maybe he was looking for signs of a trap.
Just as he was about to knock on her door, she cleared her throat. “She’s not home. You’ll have better luck if you come over here and talk to me.”
She could see she’d surprised him. The way he shifted—had he been ready to fall into a crouch? Was he poised for action every moment, in constant peril while dealing with the terrible scars of his past?
Cassie sighed. “You poor man. Why don’t you sit down and have some tea? You can keep your back to the wall if you sit over there.”
About the Author
Laurel Richards is a fiction author with a passion for shifters, space travelers, and other memorable characters. She has gathered inspiration from lots of different sources throughout her life and is here today to share her imagination through storytelling. Laurel writes sci-fi/fantasy, paranormal, and funny mysteries, all with various degrees of romance mixed in.
Hashtags: #humor #mystery #romance
Book One, by M.S. Kaye
Her first and also her once.
Jonathan and Rebecca’s paths cross at exactly the right moment, when each most needs to hear what the other has to say.
But Jonathan is three days from entering the priesthood, and Rebecca leaves him to his peace. But he is unable to find peace.
Without each other’s comfort and strength, they must each struggle to forge a new path, with only memories of the one day that changed everything.
But are they able to forget and let go?
Will be released July 2, 2016 from Inkspell Publishing.
M.S. Kaye has several published books under her black belt. A transplant from Ohio, she resides with her husband Corey in Jacksonville, Florida, where she tries not to melt in the sun. Find suspense and the unusual at www.BooksByMSK.com.
To receive news on upcoming releases, sign up for email updates on her website.
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Excerpt from Once
“What’s the answer?”
He paused. “A switchblade.”
With my fingertips, I reached out and traced the scar across his cheek. “Did you win?”
He removed my hand and closed his eyes. “Yes.”
I slid his Book back to him. “This says we can find forgiveness.”
His eyes still closed, his jaw clenched. He bowed his head. “It also says ‘Thou shalt not kill.’”
I took his hand in both of mine, petted his rough skin, and then brought it to my lips. He had a talent for guiding invisibly, but I didn’t know how to do that.
He watched me again. His eyes were intense, like the black of the night sky, and his forehead was furrowed, as if his emotions were scattered, as if he was shocked at my reaction, as if he had been sure his answer would drive me away. But I knew him. Already, I knew him.
“You’re still a good person,” I said.
His jaw clenched. “I’ve been trying to believe that.”
“I have faith in you.”
He continued to watch me. His forehead never smoothed, as if he was fighting for strength, but his eyes softened. He slid around the booth, closer to me.
I didn’t move, not sure what to do, what was right, what he wanted.
He leaned closer.
I only watched him.
He touched his lips to my cheek, the faintest pressure. I struggled to sit still, to keep my hands in my lap, not to grab hold of him. And then his lips were gone, such brief contact that I couldn’t be sure if he had actually kissed my cheek or if I wanted his contact so much that I’d imagined it.
He spoke in my ear. “You must be some kind of final test.”
My heart pounded into my ribs, against the point of the blade. “Are you going to pass?”
His lips brushed against my jaw. “I don’t know.”
He trailed to my neck, his mouth softly pressing. My hand curled into his hair, the other on his shoulder, holding, clutching. His mouth found mine, barely touching. His warmth invaded my head.
“God give me strength,” he murmured.
The door slid open, and the compartment filled with laughter.
He closed his eyes. Then he slid away from me.