Available Now: One Night in New York City by Lisa Fox

Cover art by Cora Graphics

ONE NIGHT IN NEW YORK CITY
City Nights, #15
Lisa Fox

ISBN: 9781311497307
ASIN: B00ZYULVDG

Length: Novella
Genre: Erotic Romance
Price: $2.99

Buy Here: Tirgearr Publishing

Zoe Dutton came to New York City with a Broadway dream that was crushed on arrival. Cole Delaney has a decision to make. Can he leave London behind for an editor-in-chief position in Manhattan, or does he want to go back to England where his life will remain as boring as ever?

When they meet in Times Square, sparks fly, and their instant attraction sets the tone for a night of indulgent lust. They share a deep connection, though when the morning comes, they must go their separate ways.  But in a city like New York, how can one night ever be enough?

• • •

A piercing whistle sliced through her thoughts as a bike messenger flew past her, startling her back to harsh reality. This city, that dream—none of it was real. She had failed. Sorrow punched her chest, but she gritted her teeth, fighting against the raw emotion. Anger. That was what she needed. Anger was good. Strong. It kept the humiliation—the absolute dismay—at bay. Anger was an emotion she could be into. Anger wasn’t helpless, and neither was she. She took a deep breath, adjusted her backpack, and straightened her spine.

She lifted her foot, ready to take that ever important first step forward, but suddenly there were arms around her waist, pulling her sideways. She didn’t have time to think, struggle, or even fully process what was going on before she was enveloped in the strong embrace of a stranger.

A short huff of surprise escaped her lips as he swung her around, his body hard against hers. She peeked over his shoulder and watched a gigantic steel bin overloaded with colorful magazines hit the curb right where she had been standing. The man in the gray metal newsstand threw open the side door, a move that would have hit her square in the face. The news guy waved to the delivery man as he hoisted the basket into the stand. The driver tapped his horn once in reply, then sped off in his white van.

She turned her head to thank her savior and promptly lost all ability to speak. The breath left her lungs in a single whoosh as she gaped at the man holding her. He was stunning, absolutely devastating, with his artfully messy black hair, long sideburns, sharp cheekbones, and a dark, stubbly beard. But it was his eyes that held her, captivated her, made her heartbeat take a pointed jump. They were vibrantly blue, but dark, more like indigo, deep and full of brilliant starlight. The entire city faded into the background when she looked into those eyes, the whole world far, far away.

She slowly took in the planes of his handsome face, and when she reached his mouth, a spark of pure want sizzled from the top of her head right down to the soles of her feet. Heat crept up her neck, warming her skull. His gaze flicked to her lips, and she lifted her chin ever so slightly toward him. She was hyperaware of his body against hers, the warm press of him from shoulders to knees. She dragged her gaze back up to meet his, and his eyes twinkled with mirth as he looked down at her, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. She was suddenly all too aware that she was gaping at him like some star-struck teenager—and that he knew it. Embarrassment quickly replaced her desire, and she ducked her head to hide the furious blush spreading across her cheeks. She couldn’t have been more mortified if she had puked on his shoes.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, as she extracted herself from his embrace. She needed to put some space between them before she did something even more awkward. It felt a little too good in his arms, and she might conveniently forget they were perfect strangers if she held on any longer. She took a decisive step away from him, trying not to feel all that she was feeling.

He released her, flashing her a wide grin complete with deep dimples and bright, white teeth. “No apology necessary. Are you all right?”

Zoe chewed on the inside of her cheek as a new rush of lust swept over her. Dark hair, dimples, and a British accent. He was just too much. Her gaze meandered over the tall, lean length of him. Black leather shoes, thigh-hugging jeans, untucked navy blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, a heavy, titanium watch on his wrist, no rings on any of his fingers. She raised her eyes a little higher, taking in the breadth of his chest, the top button of his shirt undone, exposing the hollow of his throat, a hint of collarbone, then up to those damn, exquisite blue eyes.

“Let me buy you a drink,” she blurted out. She’d never been a shy girl, and if there was one thing she’d learned while pursuing her goals, it was that you had to seize every opportunity while you could. He was gorgeous. This was not a chance she was going to squander if she could help it. “To thank you for saving me.”

“Nonsense. I could not allow a woman I just rescued from certain dismemberment by news vendor to buy her own drink.” He placed his hand over his heart. “A hero does no such thing.”

A huge smile spread across her face. This was better than she’d dared to hope. “My hero, huh?”

• • •

World-renowned neurosurgeon, jet fighter pilot, secret member of American royalty, seducer of legions of beautiful, outrageously sexy angels and demons and vampires and werewolves and the occasional pirate, Lisa Fox has done it all…in her own mind. In reality, she can generally be found at her desk with a cup of coffee close at hand. Or maybe a martini. It really depends on the day.

Feedback, comments, chocolate cake, and the addresses of super hot men are always appreciated and encouraged. Please feel free to contact Lisa any time

Find Lisa Online:

Website - http://www.lisafoxromance.com
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/LisaFoxRomance
Twitter - http://twitter.com/LisaFoxRomance
Blog - http://lisafoxromance.wordpress.com
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Fox_Lisa

Available Now: Crow Moon by Shawna Romkey

Cover art by Taria Reed

CROW MOON
Shawna Romkey

ISBN: 9781311404985
ASIN: B011OKXVQY

Length: Novel
Genre: New Adult Fantasy
Price: $3.99

Buy Here: Tirgearr Publishing

When Lenore Devereaux loses her father, she’s sent to live with her eccentric aunt. Leni wants to go off to college and do what her father has always wanted her to do, but the mysteries of her estranged mother’s family lead her to start unraveling the secrets long ago lost and hidden away.  Will she be able to find out who she really is while living up to her father’s last wishes, or will the powers of the Crow Moon claim her for itself?

• • •

"Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore..."

Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven

The day would’ve been dark and dreary enough on its own without the added task at hand. How had it come to this? She stared straight ahead as she drove to her new home to live with an aunt she’d never met. The charcoal clouds hung heavy over the road, reminding her of how they looked just last week, the day of her father’s funeral.

The straight shot from the highway gave her nothing interesting to look at. Trees were sparse. Some quiet farms popped up every now and then, but for the most part I-70 lay straight and plain. Fields still cold and barren were iced with the latest blanket of snow. Lazy windmills weren’t motivated enough to spin without the wind egging them on. After taking the exit ramp though, the trees filled out. Soon enough she made it to her aunt’s where things became more interesting. Bentley Manor was off a lesser-known, less-traveled highway, and sat up on a hill, staring menacingly down at the passers-by below as though to say, “Keep driving. Nothing to see here,” though it was the most intriguing thing she’d seen in the past forty-five minutes.

She meandered up the winding, tree-canopy covered gravel drive to Bentley Manor. Though she’d seen images of it on Google Street View, it was an experience in person. The façade was a dark brick, a rusty red, and the crow’s nest sat on the top lined with sharp, wrought-iron rails. Four majestic white columns striped the front face, but two were closer than their counterparts, making the front asymmetrical, off key. The thick woods of the state park crowded up to the property on the left, and cleared farm fields stretched for acres on the right. A large barn and some outbuildings stuck out to the side from behind the mansion.

Two thick, naked trees rose higher than the mansion itself, stripped of bark, hacked by axes, and scarred by lightning. They stood, an angry guard, at the front of the estate. One, using what few branches it had left, pointed accusingly in the direction of the driveway at would-be guests.

Leni fought back the urge to speed away with a deep breath and forced herself up the crescent-shaped drive.

The snow from last night dusted the cement stairs to the front door. There was a cold January bite to the air. She tightened her blue and green plaid pea coat snugly around her and gazed warily up at the front of the home.

She knew of her mother’s family without having gone through the trouble of meeting them. Her parents had told her about them at least. The Bentley’s were wealthy. This was just one of the properties her grandparents had given their children. She didn’t know what they did to earn such money. How was it that her mother’s family could have multiple homes including this extravagant one? For most people, one mansion in the family would be enough, but not the Bentleys.

The front double doors burst open before she’d raised a hand to knock causing Leni to jump back. A tall woman in her mid-forties with pale skin and dull, red hair braided to hang down one side stood in the doorway. This had to be her aunt. Leni could see shadows of her mother in this woman. They shared the same hair color, the same green eyes, and of course, the same skin color. Leni pulled back as apprehension seized her. She was suddenly cognizant of her black hair, grey-green eyes, and dark skin. These were things she’d shared with her father, and she’d had very little to do with anything of her mother’s once Debra had walked out on them when Leni was only ten years old.

“Lenore? I’ve been expecting you.”

• • •

Shawna grew up in the heart of Missouri but became a Jayhawk. She was raised in the US but now lives in Canada. She’s a non-conformist who follows her heart.

She’s taught English at the university and secondary levels for close to twenty years and can’t quite fathom how all of her students have grown up, yet she’s managed to stay just the same. She’s a huge geek and fan of Xena, Buffy and all kick ass women, and loves to write stories that have strong female characters.

She lives by the ocean in Nova Scotia with her husband, two sons, a rescue mutt, and an Irish Wolfhound.

Find Shawna Online:

Website - http://www.shawnaromkey.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shawna-Romkey-Author/137998326331706
Twitter - https://twitter.com/sromkey
Blog - http://www.shawnaromkey.com/?page_id=13
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Romkey_Shawna

Available Now: Into the Void by Emma Stein

Cover art by Cora Graphics

INTO THE VOID
Emma Stein

ISBN: 9781310417849
ASIN: B010GEJNIE

Length: Novel
Genre: Historical Fiction
Price: $3.99

Buy Here: Tirgearr Publishing

The country of Anglina is teeming with social upheaval, and its officials have found an unlikely national hero in a philosopher and social activist named Horace. The Anglinian government has appointed the effeminate, irreverent, and stubborn scholar to undertake a journey around the world to learn the secret of other countries’ success. Unfortunately for Horace, most of the societies he visits turn out to be drastically different from what he expected, and he repeatedly sends scathing but witty reports about his travels and the people he encounters.

Horace is dedicated to serving his country and takes pride in his assignment, but as his journey progresses, he begins to suffer from isolation and repeated failures at integrating into different societies. Not only does he grapple with bureaucracy, language barriers, and foreign climates, he is also confronted with ghosts from his own past. Incarceration in one of his destinations unleashes waves of self-doubt and an identity crisis, but Horace perseveres in the name of Anglina and out of self-respect. His determination pays off: just as he has all but lost hope, Horace encounters a series of communes whose inhabitants welcome him into their ranks and open his eyes to more a liberal and egalitarian way of life.

• • •

Boasille
Nearing LaHague
Between Anglina and Boasille

Dear Addie,

The tradesmen who have been kind enough to take me on as a bit of useless cargo on their voyage to Boasille are docking at their first port of call tomorrow. From what I have heard, there are some rather willing prostitutes in the city of LaHague who will do anything for a bottle of our good Anglinian gin. That would explain the contents of our cargo hold to some extent, I suppose. “Give’m a swig and they’ll return the favour fives times over...or under or sideways!” is how my cultivated shipmates put it.

If they offered postal services as well, I would have no qualms pocketing a little bottle of gin from the hold and slipping it into a painted woman’s bag, but I believe the poor dears are much better at transmitting syphilis than messages. But if LaHague is as large as my illustrious companions have suggested, I assume there will be a postal service somewhere along the docks.
I am a bit reluctant to stray too far on my own, you see. I imagine the great unwashed on this ship have enjoyed pulling my leg this whole time, telling me horror stories about little “flippity-floppity fops” like myself who vanished as soon as they set foot outside the dock and shipyard area. “First their fineries evaporated into the air, then the powder in their hair. They looked like men then in the face, then disappeared without a trace.”

Aside from chanting that primitive rhyme outside my cabin door at night and otherwise taunting me, the sailors have as little to do with me as possible. At the very sight of me, they spring effeminately to the side and lift imaginary skirts like grand ladies trying to avoid a muddy puddle, and they eye my rather modest cravatte as though it could spray a gale of deadly vapours at them any minute.

Even the captain is incapable of shaking my hand in a morning greeting without checking that his gloves are snugly insulating his fingers against the contagious disease of affectation I appear to be carrying.

In me, they all see a reflection of what they most fear becoming, or perhaps a reflection of what they already are, but refuse to acknowledge. When one of the unwashed fellows let loose a remark even you would find foul and loose, I retorted that he also must at least enjoy the company of men if he chose a profession where he hardly sees a woman the whole year round. You need not see my swollen left eye to gather that remark did not go over especially well.

I know I have only been away from Anglina for ten or eleven days now, and have really nothing to say with regards to my mission from the Council. Nonetheless, I am still sending you a report, so to speak, lest I become a sloth early on in my journey and fail to shake the persona. After all, I’ve seen no shortage of well-meaning persons appointed to positions or missions, only to fall asleep at the wheel in the lap of luxury.

No, I am by no means implying the Council’s manner of governing the country has anything at all to do with my present research on alternative social models. Every member of the Council is as responsible as the next, with the exception of Horace and Addie.

Speaking of which, I am aware that you and several of the other members waged bets on whether I would abandon this task within the first week—I assume you waged against me and acted out a scene of me forcing the captain to turn the ship around with your typical drunken gusto.

I hope your bet was smaller than your disappointment.

Due to the social isolation the circumstances have forced upon me, I have had quite a bit of time to reflect upon my undertaking in the name of Anglina. The distances I am going to cover seem daunting now that I have crossed the first leagues, and they have reminded me that developments in the transportation of goods and people has lagged considerably behind developments in the production of both.

And this is the easy part of my journey . . .

• • •

Emma was born near Chicago in 1986 and has lived abroad since 2008. Her experiences in France, Canada, Germany, and Russia influence her work considerably. Theories from Cultural Studies and Sociology form another cornerstone of Emma’s work, and she enlivens what many people would consider dry texts with interpretations that are full of wit and unexpected spins on the order of things. Her penchant for pinpointing the foibles and follies of both herself and her fellows is a fine source for her satires, be they written or illustrated.

Emma has lived in Germany since 2011. She currently resides with her skittish cat in Kiel, where she continues to surprise the natives with the historically inspired clothing that she designs and wears.

Find Emma Online:

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/emmasteinbooks
Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B011SEWAKE
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Stein_Emma

Available Now: Moonflower by Leigh Archer

Cover art by EJR Digital Art

MOONFLOWER
Untamed Safari, #2
Leigh Archer

ISBN: 9781311298850
ASIN: B00ZPB4ZNM

Length: Novel
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Price: $3.99

Buy Here: Tirgearr Publishing

Conservationist, Sophie Kyle, takes up a position on a private game farm outside Cape Town in the hopes of paying off her student loans and adding a glowing reference to her resume, while getting the chance to indulge her passion for wildlife conservation.

Reuben Manning is a British business tycoon who has bought a game farm in Africa which he intends to use as a venue to entertain friends and business associates.

With all the suddenness and intensity of a bushfire, a powerful attraction ignites between the conservationist and the tycoon. But their lives are set to play out on opposite sides of the world. Sophie has only ever wanted to spend her days in the African bush, while Reuben’s life is corporate London.

As the wild and sensuous bond between the two grows, they must overcome many obstacles to find common ground or they are doomed, despite their passion for each other, to spend the rest of their lives a continent apart.

• • •

‘It’s not funny, you little savage!’

The baboon screamed defiance at her. A moment later, he scooted along the branch and was lost in the foliage. He reappeared suddenly and before Sophie could blink, something exploded against her chest—a large, over-ripe guava. Juice, pips and flesh soaked into her shirt and dripped down her front.

With a shout of triumph, the baboon disappeared along the branch, still clutching the tyre iron. Sophie decided to give up. She’d go back to the truck and radio for help, after she’d changed her shirt. She had a spare in her vehicle.

She took the shirt off to avoid the sticky mess seeping through to her bra and stomped off across the grass. She was several metres from the vehicle when she noticed a man standing beside it. He was in tailored chinos that sported perfectly pressed seams. His shirt was pale blue and the shoes were probably Italian leather.

Sophie tried with as much finesse as possible to unfurl the shirt scrunched into a ball in her hands as the veld began to run out between herself and the vehicle. She pressed the material to her chest, ignoring the squelch of guava flesh against her skin.

A more pragmatic part of Sophie’s brain said: not your fault, can’t be helped. She strode towards the man, doing her best to carry off her approach with as much dignity as her white, lacy bra would allow.

When she got within a couple of feet of him, her heart began to jump up and down like that crazy baboon. The man waiting at the vehicle was Reuben Manning. Sophie groaned.

She recognised him from the photos she’d seen on the internet. If he’d been handsome in photographs, in person he was devastating. For one thing, those pictures hadn’t given the full effect of his broad shoulders and height of at least six foot three. And it wasn’t his height alone that was impressive: it was also the high forehead, sculpted cheekbones, square jaw, thick dark hair; the early morning sun glinting off an undulating wave. No wonder he’d done so well in business. She didn’t think there was a man or woman alive who could possibly say no to him.

But it was the eyes that started a pounding in her chest: they were the closest to navy blue she had ever seen. There was an unusual intensity to them as they slid towards her chest, narrowed and lingered there. Her chest!

Sophie pressed the shirt to her sternum, trying to control the breathlessness that made her full breasts even more noticeable as they moved up and down, up and down.

Neither spoke. His eyes met hers and Sophie quickly looked away from the energy that flashed from them. Not a man to be trifled with. The thought flitted through her mind as she watched the breeze ruffle his hair. She glanced at the sensuous mouth, now drawn into a hard line, the strong jaw. Everything about this man exuded power and success. She hoped he wasn’t cruel.

You’re a professional, Sophie told herself. You’ve worked hard for this, so show him who you really are.

‘Hello, Mr Manning. My name’s Sophie Kyle. I’m your new conservationist.’

• • •

Leigh, who writes romance novels set in her native South Africa, has always had a great love affair with Africa’s wild, open spaces, the intensity of its people and sunsets. Her love of storytelling began as a child when she spent every spare moment of her childhood playing barefoot in golden grass, watching meerkats, tracking Eland spoor and dreaming up heroes and heroines exciting enough to stand out in the all the beauty and drama of the African landscape.”

Find Leigh Online:

Website - http://leigharcher.net
Blog - http://leigharcher.net/index.php/blog
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Leigh-Archer/299910886869499
Twitter - https://twitter.com/LeighArcherBook
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Archer_Leigh