SWEET & SENSUAL contains 6 complete romance novels by award-winning and international bestselling authors: Cheryl Kaye Tardif, Chris Redding, Kat Flannery, Melodie Campbell, Alison Bruce and Catherine Astolfo.
Read More
As autumn comes to the Winston estate in Ohio, Amber Harrison learns further lessons in her new position as keeper for the spirits and ghosts who haunt the estate--and further lessons in love, too. She and her love, Carter Miller, grapple with the fears and passions of new love, while caught up in the storm of ancient family drama.
This is the second book in the unfolding saga of the psychics and talents associated with the Winston estate, a sheltered place where past, present, and future are woven into a single dramatic tapestry of love and desire. The tale spans multiple generations, multiple eras, and offers something special for all ages of reader. A sexy, erotic winner, with an assortment of couples to appeal to most tastes.
Excerpt:“How long before you install the new cabinets?”
He turned on the ladder. His dark brown eyes captured her, engulfing her in an encompassing warmth. She melted under his heated gaze, which ran from the top of her head to the white socks on her feet. He lifted a brow at her attire, but he didn’t comment on her pink sweat suit.
“With the old cabinets out of the way, I need to knock down this wall and tear up the flooring. The electrical work is next on the agenda.” He climbed off the ladder, yanked off his gloves, and slid a hand through his thick, wavy hair.
“It might be awhile before we install the new cabinets. Right now, we’re simply working to remove the old stuff so we can start fresh.” He smiled, which didn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes or the fatigue in the slump of his shoulders.
“There’s no hurry. If you’re busy with something else, this can wait until your Dad and Mattie come home next week.”
“No, Dad doesn’t want her dealing with this mess.” Carter unbuckled his tool belt and placed it on a workbench. “I promised him I’d have it done.”
“Is Grant helping?” Amber stepped around several pieces of sheetrock and stray bits of wood, to the bottom of the stairs.
He walked to the backdoor. “Friday, his classes are over at noon.”
With his hand resting on the doorknob, he appeared anxious to leave. “I’m headed to lunch, and then I need to drop by the office for a while. Are you sure you’re okay here by yourself?”
Amber toyed with the idea of saying no. She missed the taste of his lips and the strength of his arms, but she nodded instead. “Yes, I’m fine.”
After opening the door, he paused. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
She waved and turned to head to her room, satisfied she’d at least gotten him to talk. Her leaden feet trudged up the steps. Unexcited, she contemplated her latest assignment from the family council. How could she achieve such an impossible task of convincing her great grandmother’s ghost to cross over?
Purchase links:Tina Gayle grew up a dreamer and loved to escape into the world of books.
After years of working in the business world doing a variety of jobs, she decided to try her hand at writing and hope to incorporate the joy of being a mother into her books.
Currently working on a series about four executive wives, she is excited about combining elements of women fiction with the passion of romance. The first three books have been released and the last one is coming out in 2014.
She’s also started a paranormal romantic mystery series called the Family Tree series. With a family of spirits guiding the lives of their keeper, Amber has a number of tasks to accomplished like solving a two hundred year old mystery.
Married twenty-five years, she and her husband love to travel and play golf. She can’t wait for Mike to retire so they can do more of both.
Read the first chapter of any of her books by visiting her website.
Find Tina everywhereLight filled the grotto, temporarily blinding Pete. A thin woman stood, staring at him with haunting green eyes and a confident smirk. Ebony hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, she wore a black thigh-length diving suit that clung to her ample breasts and accentuated the gentle curve of her hips and trim waist. In her hand, she clutched a glistening dagger. But, what kept Pete transfixed were her eyes. The unique and beautiful shade of green didn’t exist in nature. Their almond-shape held ice and evil, and the soulless chill in her stare made him shudder.
Pete detected another figure filling the tunnel behind the woman. The person remained hidden from his view as he continued to contemplate his odds of surviving. He observed her graceful and confident movements with morbid fascination as he visualized his pending death at her slender fingers, making his pulse race. Despite squeaking through all of his CIA training, nothing had prepared him for an encounter with a creature so enchanting and deadly.
The woman said nothing as she snatched a cloth sack from the hand of the hidden person without a backward glance. Her eyes never wavered from Pete’s face, nor did her amused expression change. She quickly transferred the object from the gold box into the bag, pulled the drawstring, and took several steps back. She handed the package to her colleague crouched in the shadows, and finally spoke.
“I’m disappointed. I hoped to have the opportunity to test my new fillet knife on Cash,” she said as she turned the dagger’s hilt in her hand. “Men, should I gut this thin man and feed him to the sharks, as he tried to do with us, or let him live long enough to tell that egotistical traitor how he lost the prize and was beaten by a ghost?”
Silence filled the room. Pete felt powerless to pull his gaze from the green-eyed devil. A sliver of hope trickled through him, mixed with a lot of confusion. She knew Cash. Though Pete heard nothing, the woman responded as if she had received an answer to her question from the person behind her.
“Yes. We might as well kill him. I would rather see the expression on my old friend’s face when our paths eventually cross than to have him forewarned. ..”
BIOKim McMahill started out writing non-fiction, but her passion for exotic world travel, outrageous adventures, stories of survival against the odds, and happily-ever-after endings soon drew her into a world of romantic suspense and adventure fiction. Along with writing adventure novels she has published over eighty travel and geographic articles, and contributed to a travel anthology, and a cookbook.
When the massacre of an unarmed South American village, destruction of one of the greatest manmade wonders of the world, and multiple museum thefts occur, an international team is assembled to locate a deadly group of terrorists. The team led by CIA agent, Cash Luker, scours the globe in an attempt to keep ahead of those striving to bring thirteen mythical relics together. As Cash’s team closes in on those responsible for the devastation he must conquer past demons in order to save the woman who has captured his heart, and prevent destruction of legendary proportions.
LinksMelt bits in milk over low heat, remove from heat and instant coffee, nuts and vanilla. Spread in lightly buttered 9 inch pan; chill until firm, cut.
Remove from pan. Store at room temperature.
Better after 24 hours.
Deputy’s Bride is an erotic, historical western that is a stand-alone story with a satisfying HEA. Texas Deputy Bo Kildare is looking for a special kind of lady, one that is willing to meet his special requirements. No sweet little virgin will do, he wants a woman who knows how to please a man, perhaps two.
Recently widowed, Sarah Elizabeth Foster-LaFever has lived in the public eye for the last few years and wants out. Her reputation as Micah LaFever’s wife has left her penniless and without many viable options until Bo comes calling. Now, she believes she found the perfect man until her past rears its ugly head.
Can murder and corrupt dealings keep these two lovers from making it to the alter?
Excerpt“God, when is he going to get here,” Sarah muttered and strolled to the freestanding, oval mirror in the corner.
Critically, she examined her silk dressing gown’s high collar. Unable to breathe with every button running down the front of garment secured, she’d only connected a few at her waist. The dark red robe highlighted her creamy complexion and light blonde hair.
Through the open at the top, she viewed the curve of her breasts and the tight fit of her corset. The cream color almost matched her skin, creating the illusion that she was nude underneath. Tugging aside her wide skirt, she examined the long line of her legs. She’d opted to omit her bloomers. One, because with the fire raging in the fireplace, she was hot. Two, because she thought Mr. Kildare should get a glimpse of what he’d receive if he decided to make her his wife.
Granted from what Madeline had told Sarah, the man wanted more than a dutiful wife. He sounded as if he were more like her deceased husband. Micah enjoyed playing extreme bedroom games.
She frowned, thinking how much she’d missed sex in the last year. Not because she hadn’t had the chance to indulge. More because she hadn’t wanted to fall victim to the same power hungry crowd that Micah had belonged. She’d done enough for those bastards and she had no intentions of doing...
Knuckles hammered against her door.
Brushing a nervous hand over her hair, she offered up a silent prayer that everything would work out before she rushed back to the doorway. After a quick breathe, she asked, “Who is it?”
“Bo Kildare, I was sent by Madeline Cowden.”
A masculine tone rang from the other side.
His voice alone sent shivers racing over her skin. She flipped back the lock and inched open the door. “Yes, she said you might be stopping by.”
Bio for Anita PhilmarAnita Philmar likes to create stories that push the limit. A writer by day and a dreamer by night she wants her readers to see the world in a new way.
Influenced by sci-fi programs, she likes to develop places where anything can happen and where erotic moments come to life in a great read.
Naughty or Nice?
Read her books and decide.
Website: http://www.anitaphilmar.com/"Come, we should leave at once," she said and glanced nervously over her shoulder. "Something terrible happened after you left for town. I think the Abbess found out about us. Our meeting in Uncle Ryan's cabin is no longer a secret. We have been overheard. For all I know someone spies on us even as we speak. I think the Abbess, or one of her 'friends,' is hovering somewhere nearby and listening to every word."
Andrew pulled Genevieve to his chest. "Do you regret you've come with me?"
Passion smothered Genevieve's doubt and guilt. "Never," she answered, aware of her body's response to his touch, and she succumbed to his embrace.
Calming the gnawing unease in her mind and the thought of Sister Dominica guessing she was the dough of a sinner, Genevieve repeated, "Never."
With her eyes closed and their bodies touching she became, for the very first time, simply a woman. She melted in his embrace in spite of the invisible vicious threat breathing around them. Aware they might never be alone again, she fought hard to silence the voice of conscience berating her.
"Oh, God. Please forgive me," Andrew muttered under his breath when he bowed his head to kiss her. Their lips met in a passionate first kiss.
Genevieve's spirits fell and her heart skipped a beat when, a couple of seconds later, she opened her eyes and her gaze fell on a knot strangers.
Tears welled in Anne's eyes, blurring her vision. She couldn’t explain them, or the sudden sadness seeping into her heart. This should’ve been a moment of happiness or, at least, contentment. She was with Neil again, and the outcome of their trip together should, very likely, bring their reconciliation. Why then did she seem detached from where she stood?
Anne shivered. Why the deep feeling of having seen this place, this forest before? And why the eerie sensation of being present here only in the body, while her mind was far away?
Away from the forest.
Away from Neil, the man who'd betrayed her trust and her love.
An onrush of sensations unfamiliar to her followed. Dizziness and a malevolent feeling of unreality suffocated her.
Anne edged cautiously closer to the rim of the bare cliff. Her foot tapped the edge. It seemed solid. She stared into the darkness of the abyss at her feet. It echoed the shadows in her heart. An unusual curiosity took hold of her. Should she step ahead? What was down there? Other human bones? Another mystery? The presence of evil, creeping up and enveloping her, became almost palpable. The vines of fog folded around her, dragging her to the depth. Her throat turned dry, and she gasped for air.
Megan's face contorted, the voice no longer pleasant. A hoarse gurgle, spluttering distorted words, "Yes, come... I'm waiting... I've been waiting for you for such a long time..."
Shadows of the PastAnne's relationship with her boyfriend Neil has disintegrated. After a two-year separation, they pack for a week vacation in hopes of reconciling. But fate has other plans for them.
The discovery of a bejeweled cross and ancient human bones opens a door to a new and frightening world--one where the ghost of a medieval nun named Genevieve will not let Anne rest. This new world threatens not only to ruin Anne and Neil's vacation but to end all hopes of reconciliation as Anne feels compelled to help free Genevieve's soul from its torment.
Can Anne save her relationship and help Genevieve find her eternal rest?
A touching, compelling story of tragedy, loss and the power of endless love and good magic.
The twists and turns in this paranormal tale keep the reader guessing up to the end and weave themselves together into a quest to rekindle love.
Author bio:Carmen Stefanescu resides in Romania, the native country of the infamous vampire Count Dracula, but where, for about 50 years of communist dictatorship, just speaking about God, faith, reincarnation or paranormal phenomena could have led someone to great trouble - the psychiatric hospital if not to prison.
Teacher of English and German in her native country and mother of two daughters, Carmen Stefanescu survived the grim years of oppression, by escaping in a parallel world, that of the books.
She has dreamed all her life to become a writer, but many of the things she wrote during those years remained just drawer projects. The fall of the Ceausescu’s regime in 1989, and the opening of the country to the world meant a new beginning for her. She started publishing. Poems first, and then prose. Both in English.
“Because your father requires…a dowry, of sorts. A guarantee you’ll be well taken care of.”
Emmy’s hand turned sweaty. “Oh, Louis. What does that mean?”
I swallowed the sour taste at the back of my mouth, nerves trembling in my fingers. “Our engagement lasts until December twenty-fifth. If by that time I’ve not returned—”
“Returned?” Emmy’s gaze burned me. “Louis, where are you going? Won’t my father give you a job?”
I didn’t move and barely opened my mouth to let the words escape.
“He’s got me a job.”
“What?”
I loosened my shoulders and shrugged. “Marks Brothers pays their floor workers very well.”
“Who?”
“I’d stack inventory outside, in the clean air, and I’d work with a few fellows who’d watch out for me…”
“Louis!”
“…I hear factories in London are much safer than here.”
“London! Louis, Louis, what are you talking about?” Emmy grabbed my face.
I squinted at two sparkling brown orbs. Was she crying?
“No.” Emmy covered her mouth with a hand. “No, you aren’t going to London. How could you? No one loves you there. No one knows you there…”
Your father seems to think it is my home country. “Emmy. Emmy Emmy Emmy.” I held her close, stroking her hair. “I don’t plan to work there.”
She sat back. “What?”
“I’ve heard Mr. Godfrey talk about them. A London factory is the last place I should work. Your father means well, but I can’t do that. They wouldn’t take a blind boy.”
“Wh-where will you go, then? How on earth will you make money?”
“I have family in Paris. Mother says they have wine vineyards. I’ll work for them.”
“That…” Emmy’s fingers traced the veins on the back of my hand. “That’s much safer.” She was silent for the longest time. “You’ll be safe? And come home quickly?”
I pulled her hands away and stood, playing with the ring on her finger. “I will. I love you.”
“Louis…”
“Emmy. I don’t have a choice. You want to marry me, don’t you?”“Of course I do. But, Louis…”
“Yes, love?”
“How long will you be gone?”
How long? How long to board a ship, to find a place I’d only heard about, to earn and save an impossible amount of money? How long, indeed.
I set my expression. “I’ll be home by Christmas.”
Bio:Rachael Kosinski decided at a very young age that, if she never became a writer, she would simply die. Seven years later, she now possesses a quirky knowledge of world mythology, an addiction to coffee, and a penchant for making over-expressive faces at her laptop. She can found playing with gifs or writing about her books at http://the-doodling-booktease.tumblr.com.
Blurb:“Where do Christmas lights come from?”
Those tiny bulbs of color that burn on a Christmas tree, Or outside a house to shine in the night.
Does anyone really know where they originate?
What if someone told you they weren’t intended for Christmas at all, but really for a miracle?
That they were for love, a desperate idea, to light a boy’s way home?
In that case, you must have some questions. What boy? What love?
Have a seat. Allow me to tell you a story.
Links:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00OMFS0S8
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-christmas-lights-rachael-kosinski/1120609560?ean=2940046293258
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/books/the-christmas-lights/atAzy8BDVUOzqfSxguMmlg?MixID=atAzy8BDVUOzqfSxguMmlg&PageNumber=1
https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/museitup/romance/historical-romance/the-christmas-lights-detail
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/486267
Venice, 1643. Isabella, fifteen, longs to sing in Monteverdi’s Choir, but only boys (and castrati) can do that. Her singing teacher, Margherita, introduces her to a new wonder: opera! Then Isabella finds Margherita murdered. Now people keep trying to kill Margherita’s handsome rogue of a son, Rafaele.
Was Margherita killed so someone could steal her saffron business? Or was it a disgruntled lover, as Margherita—unbeknownst to Isabella—was one of Venice’s wealthiest courtesans? Or will Isabella and Rafaele find the answer deep in Margherita's past, buried in the Jewish Ghetto?
Isabella has to solve the mystery of the Saffron Crocus before Rafaele hangs for a murder he didn’t commit, though she fears the truth will drive her and the man she loves irrevocably apart.
Who knew a singing career would be this much trouble?“Rafaele!” She flew into the garret. “Piero, it was so wonderful, wait until I tell you!”
The stool next to the bed was knocked over. The tray with the genepy bottle was on the floor, one of the cups broken. The fat candle that had been burning next to Rafaele’s bed had been flung to the other side of the room.. Canvases were strewn all over the floor, some of them slashed, and many of Master Strozzi’s jars of paint elements were broken.
Did Piero and Rafaele have a fight? She quickly suppressed the thought. Who would get into a fight with a man who was already injured?
Something else must have happened.
She walked across the garret. “Piero? Rafaele, are you here?”
Rafaele was not in the bed. The sheets and blankets she had piled on top of him were strewn everywhere. Blood-stained sheets spilled over the edge of the pallet. There was a pile of clothes on the floor.
She walked around to get a closer look.
Not clothes. It was Piero. Face down, one arm stretched out before him, as if in supplication.
A puddle of blood under him.
Dead.
The cover is the work of fabulous artist Mishi Bellamy. Mishi divides her time between India and France, where she has her own art gallery, the Atelier des Colombes.
www.MishiBellamy.comAlison McMahan chased footage for her documentaries through jungles in Honduras and Cambodia, favelas in Brazil and racetracks in the U.S. She brings the same sense of adventure to her award-winning books of mystery and romantic adventure for teens and adults.
She loves hearing from readers.
Webpage for Saffron Crocus:
www.TheSaffronCrocus.com
Instagram:
http://instagram.com/alisonmcmahan/
Tumblr:
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/alisonmcmahan
Twitter:
@alisonmcmahan
Pinterest:
http://www.pinterest.com/almcmahan/the-saffron-crocus/
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/Alison.McMahan.Author
Alison's webpage:
http://www.AlisonMcMahan.com
