Wednesday, 25 May 2016

Available Now: One Night in Boston by JD Martins

ONE NIGHT IN BOSTON
City Nights, #22
JD Martins

Length: Novella
Genre: Erotic Romance

Price: $2.99 (99c/99p special through Sunday the 29th)

BUY HERE

When Colm is stranded overnight in Boston, Amber, a hotel receptionist, agrees to give him a personal tour of the cradle of the American Revolution. Colm has loved and lost, and now takes pleasure where he finds it. Amber hasn't quite found her feet again after a recent divorce, nor is she very happy with what she sees in the mirror.

As they drive through the historic streets and stroll along the Freedom Trail, taking in the beautiful architecture of Beacon Hill and Back Bay, their mutual attraction grows and both take a chance on happiness. But can they trust one another? Can Colm convince Amber he's not just playing her, or is his one night in Boston just a fling?

• • •

A man wrapped up in boots, mittens and a balaclava mask walked up and down in front of the hotel entrance, pushing what looked to Colm like a lawnmower for snow. More flakes rushed onto the concrete behind him, however, so by the time he'd done one length of the pavement the clean line was almost white again.

Talk about a white Christmas, Colm thought as he waited for the automatic door to open and let him inside before he froze his balls off. The gust of hot air that greeted him when he walked through to the lobby practically vaporized the flakes that stuck to his clothes and hair after the dash from the bus before he reached the reception desk.

Once there, he felt the sun had come out and shone upon him. The heat made him sweat, the tropics seemed to have settled overhead, and instead of winter he was basking in the glory of summer.

Behind the reception desk stood a woman who made him blink; he wasn't sure it wasn't a mirage that dazzled him.

Her black hair, the ends dyed auburn and blonde, fell in ringlets about her ears. It framed a round face with skin the colour of milk chocolate, and bewitching eyes. Light orange, or golden brown, Colm was at a loss to compare them to anything except twin summer sunsets over the Atlantic, captured and encased in glass. Or like those barley sugar sweets the chemists used to have before they were called pharmacies. As she smiled, though, it seemed she'd never tasted barley sugar or any other sweets, just sugar-free chewing gum, which she discreetly chewed. She had teeth the like of which he'd never seen at home. His dentist would have swooned had they arrived at the local clinic for a check up.

But what was most dazzling was her body. She was tall, just a few inches shorter than Colm's six feet. Whoever in heaven was responsible for making curvy figures, Colm reckoned he’d made Marilyn Monroe and this girl, and then broke the mould. She had full breasts and wide hips, and Colm didn't know where to look. Her breasts were hard to keep one's gaze from, as if they had their own gravity; her cleavage like a black hole he could not drag his eyes away from. Simultaneously, every time she turned and walked from the desk to the printer her hips swayed, mesmerising him.

Some people waited in front of him, so Colm had time to watch her—and wonder how to have a bit of banter with her. He had to make some good come out of this disaster; after all, he had nothing to lose.

She was younger than he; in her mid-thirties, whereas he'd just gone forty. But feck it, he was still fit-ish. His hair was grey, but he’d been going grey from the age of eighteen. He forgot about it most of the time, except at the barbers when he saw the hair falling all around him like the guy was shearing a badger. But, hey, if it was okay for George Clooney, it was okay for Colm Ryan.

The couple before him went off with their key cards and their printouts, and Colm stepped forward.

The receptionist smiled up at him. "Hi. How are you today?"

Now that he was closer to her, he could smell her perfume. It was sweet and tropical, too; sandalwood with coconut and mango, and other scents that Colm had no idea about, other than it made him want to follow her around sniffing it.

"Well, until just about thirty seconds ago I'd have said I was having a terrible time of it, but things seem to be lookin' up."

"Yes?"

"Yes. Your smile is like the sun has come out te melt all this snow away."

She smiled even wider. "Well, thank you, sir. That's very nice of you to say. If you're hoping it might get you an upgrade to a suite, though, I'm sorry. We're fully booked up with the storm."

"Colm," he said. "And I'll make do with a camp bed so long as it's warm..."

He felt his heart pause as he cringed at what he was about to do. But he dropped his gaze from her glowing eyes and examined the name badge that balanced on the curve of her left breast. Amber Gonzalez.

• • •

JD Martins has been called Spanish, Mexican, Chinese, Philippine and English and Australian. He is none of these.

He's lived in four cities in three countries on two continents, but he doesn't feel like he's travelled very much. His life in each city was rather mundane and he didn't get out much - tending to move his pen more than his body.

He still aspires to see much more of the world - probably when his wife becomes rich enough to let him retire from day jobs.

He would like to live like Ernest Hemmingway: periodically sending novel manuscripts to his publisher from various far-flung corners of the world, though he's not sure the quality will be quite the same. Until then, he has contented himself with living like Robert Graves - in a pleasant part of Spain with a quiet life - and being able to do some things that Hemmingway did - trout fishing in Spain, game hunting in Africa, watching bullfights and running with the bulls, - and a few that he did not get to do - surfing, skydiving, bungee jumping, and getting erotic stories published.

Find JD Online:

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/JDMartinsauthor
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Martins_JD



Wednesday, 18 May 2016

Available Now: Since All Is Passing by Elizabeth Delisi

SINCE ALL IS PASSING
Elizabeth Delisi

Length: Novel
Genre: Romantic Suspense

Price: $3.99 (99c/99p special through Sunday the 22nd)

BUY HERE

When Marie Kenning witnesses the kidnapping of a child, she relives the horror of the death of her own child and husband.

Officer Chris Whitley takes on the case—and an interest in Marie—but evidence quickly indicates the child is dead.

Days later, Marie stumbles across the kidnapper and his very-much-alive victim. Unable to convince the man she loves of the truth, Marie sets out alone on a dangerous cross-country mission to save the child.

• • •

October, 1982

Marie Kenning hummed, her eyes half closed as her husband, John, maneuvered the car along the damp, curving road. The sun was setting. The headlights made little impact in the fog and swirling leaves, but the melancholy October weather didn’t dim her spirits in the least. Marie was six months pregnant; she and John were on their way to their first childbirth class.

“What are you humming, honey?” John asked. “Sure sounds pretty.”

“‘Brahms’ Lullaby,’” Marie said. “My mother sang it to me every night, and now I’m singing it to our baby.”

John laughed. “Don’t you think it’s a little early for lullabies? You’re not due for almost three months. Or are you just getting in some practice?”

“Actually, it’s not too early at all, I read an article saying that babies recognize music played to them before they were born. So I’m giving our child a head start.” She patted her stomach. “Maybe he’ll grow up to be a musician.”

John covered her hand with his. “Maybe he will. But he’s already the luckiest baby in the world to have you for a mother.”

“Or could it be a girl?” Marie teased, closing her eyes again. She was impatient to hold their baby, boy or girl, in her arms. Even more, she couldn’t wait to see John cradle the child, protecting it as he’d always protected her.

Her pleasant train of thought was broken when John jerked his hand away from hers. “What the…?” he muttered.

Marie’s eyes flew open, and she stared out the windshield. A pair of headlights, set on blinding high beams, came straight at them. “Look out!” she gasped, jamming her right foot against the passenger side floor and grabbing the armrest on the door.

John jerked the car to the right and slammed his foot down on the brake pedal. The car spun on the wet, leaf-strewn road, twisting from side to side. He struggled to regain control.

Time diminished to a crawl. Marie watched everything in bizarre slow motion—the merciless headlights bearing down on them, John’s contorted features as he wrestled with the steering wheel, the deafening impact, the flying glass. The howl of tortured metal and squealing rubber was unbearable. Marie blacked out.

When she regained consciousness, it was silent—ominously silent. How much time had passed? Marie felt warm blood trickling down her face, but she didn’t have any pain—yet. She turned her head slowly to look at John. His head hung low, his eyes closed. A thin stream of blood, black in the waning light, ran down his right temple. The steering wheel, pressed against his chest, and the shoulder belt appeared to be the only things holding him upright. His hair and clothing were coated with pebbles of broken safety glass that glittered in the fading light of dusk. Panic gripped her at the sight of his pale, still face. How long had she been out?

Marie whispered, her voice trembling, “John? Honey, are you all right? Can you hear me?”

He didn’t answer.

She reached out to touch him, but a sudden sharp pain in her left side, just under her shoulder belt, stopped her. Releasing the buckle, she probed the tender area. Pain blossomed again. Her dazed senses told her she probably had a broken rib.

Moving with care, Marie touched John’s arm. He didn’t respond, gave no sign of life. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Frightened, she pushed him harder. He slumped away from her in the seat like a rag doll. His head hit the side window with a loud crack.

“John!” she cried. “Wake up!” She shook his arm.

A fierce new pain slashed across her abdomen. It lasted only a few seconds, but it left her gasping for breath and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. Although this was her first pregnancy, Marie instinctively knew she had just felt a labor contraction.

“My God,” she moaned, tears sliding down her cheeks. “What am I going to do? I can’t lose John—I can’t live without him. And I can’t lose our baby! What am I going to do?”

In the distance Marie heard the wail of an approaching siren. Clutching John’s sleeve as though her grip alone could keep him with her, she closed her eyes and prayed, willing her husband and her baby to hold on.

• • •

Elizabeth Delisi wanted to be a writer since she was in first grade, and probably would have written in the womb if she could have convinced her mother to swallow a pencil. But life hasn't always gone the way she planned, and on her road to publication she worked as a motel maid, waitress, secretary, administrative aide, substitute teacher, and newspaper reporter.

Elizabeth is a multi-published, award-winning author of romance, mystery and suspense. Her time-travel romance set in ancient Egypt, Lady of the Two Lands, won a Bloody Dagger Award and was a Golden Rose Award nominee. Her romantic suspense novel, Since All is Passing, was an EPPIE Award finalist and Bloody Dagger Award finalist. Fatal Fortune was a Word Museum Reviewer’s Choice Masterpiece. Elizabeth's contemporary romance novella The Heart of the Matter is featured in the Valentine's Day-themed anthology Cupid's Capers and was an EPPIE Award finalist. A Carol of Love is part of Holiday Hearts anthology and an EPPIE Award finalist. A Cup of Christmas Charm is part of Holiday Hearts 2 anthology and was also an EPPIE Award finalist. Elizabeth is also the author of the newly released speculative short fiction collection, The Midnight Zone.

Elizabeth is an instructor for Writer’s Digest University. She has taught Creative Writing at the community college level, has worked as a copyeditor for several small publishers, and edits for individuals. She holds a B.A. in English with a Creative Writing major from St. Leo University.

Elizabeth is currently at work on Deadly Destiny and Perilous Prediction, the sequels to Fatal Fortune, and Knit A Spell, a paranormal romance.

Elizabeth lives in New Hampshire with her husband and feisty parakeet. She enjoys hearing from her readers.

Find Elizabeth online:

Website - http://www.elizabethdelisi.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/edelisi
Twitter - http://twitter.com/delisi
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Delisi_Elizabeth






Available Now: A Port in the Storm by Elizabeth Delisi

A PORT IN THE STORM
Elizabeth Delisi

Length: A Very Short Story
Genre: Contemporary Romance

Price: 99/99p

BUY HERE

Brian Nolan gave up his high-pressure job in the big city and moved back to his childhood home in Southingly, Vermont. He enjoys his job with the town roads department, plowing in winter and landscaping in summer. It doesn’t pay much, but he’s done the “Corporate America thing” and has no interest in wealth that comes with an ulcer and a broken relationship.

The only problem is, lately Brian feels something is lacking in his life, some need is going unfulfilled. And he knows he’ll never be completely happy until he discovers what it is.

Little does Brian know he’ll find his reason for living stranded in a snowstorm...

• • •

It was well after midnight when Brian spotted the little Honda in the ditch. A couple more inches of snow and it would have been impossible to see. Sighing, he hopped out and approached the vehicle. He’d already turned in reports of several stuck, abandoned vehicles to Corky Jones, the tow truck driver, tonight. Corky wasn’t going to be happy to hear of another.

Brian tried to peer into the car, but the windows were fogged up. The headlights of the snowplow just scattered light on the intricately patterned frost, but didn’t penetrate inside. He pulled a small notebook and pencil out of his pocket, planning to write down the make, model and license number to pass on to Corky.

Then, suddenly, he thought he glimpsed something inside…a small head pressed against the back seat window. He dropped the notebook and pencil and jerked open the door. A little girl, about four years old, tumbled out into his arms. She was bundled up in a sweater and an old, patched jacket, and she appeared to be asleep. Or was she unconscious?

“Honey?” Brian patted her cheek. “Are you okay? Can you wake up and answer me?”

Her eyelids fluttered open. “Papa?”

• • •

Elizabeth Delisi wanted to be a writer since she was in first grade, and probably would have written in the womb if she could have convinced her mother to swallow a pencil. But life hasn't always gone the way she planned, and on her road to publication she worked as a motel maid, waitress, secretary, administrative aide, substitute teacher, and newspaper reporter.

Elizabeth is a multi-published, award-winning author of romance, mystery and suspense. Her time-travel romance set in ancient Egypt, Lady of the Two Lands, won a Bloody Dagger Award and was a Golden Rose Award nominee. Her romantic suspense novel, Since All is Passing, was an EPPIE Award finalist and Bloody Dagger Award finalist. Fatal Fortune was a Word Museum Reviewer’s Choice Masterpiece. Elizabeth's contemporary romance novella The Heart of the Matter is featured in the Valentine's Day-themed anthology Cupid's Capers and was an EPPIE Award finalist. A Carol of Love is part of Holiday Hearts anthology and an EPPIE Award finalist. A Cup of Christmas Charm is part of Holiday Hearts 2 anthology and was also an EPPIE Award finalist. Elizabeth is also the author of the newly released speculative short fiction collection, The Midnight Zone.

Elizabeth is an instructor for Writer’s Digest University. She has taught Creative Writing at the community college level, has worked as a copyeditor for several small publishers, and edits for individuals. She holds a B.A. in English with a Creative Writing major from St. Leo University.

Elizabeth is currently at work on Deadly Destiny and Perilous Prediction, the sequels to Fatal Fortune, and Knit A Spell, a paranormal romance.

Elizabeth lives in New Hampshire with her husband and feisty parakeet. She enjoys hearing from her readers.

Find Elizabeth online:

Website - http://www.elizabethdelisi.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/edelisi
Twitter - http://twitter.com/delisi
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Delisi_Elizabeth


Wednesday, 11 May 2016

Available Now: The Image of Her by Lorna Peel

THE IMAGE OF HER
Lorna Peel

Length: Novel
Genre: Romantic Suspense

Price: $4.99 (99c/99p special through Sunday 1 May)

BUY HERE

Rachel Harris had been abandoned as a baby on the steps of a church-run children’s home in England, then later adopted. Who was her birth mother and what were the circumstances which led her to give up her baby?

Searching for someone who doesn’t want to be found seems a hopeless task, until Rachel meets Matthew Williams, a Church of England clergyman.

Then anonymous and increasingly frightening attempts begin and threaten to end their relationship. Are these actions connected to the mysterious events surrounding Rachel’s abandonment?

• • •

Hot Vicar Alert! The e-mail screamed at Rachel out of a sea of spam and she glanced at the sender. Kathy Roberts. Hmm. It could mean anything but was doubtless some rubbish joke doing the rounds or, worse still, one which Kathy in her infinite wisdom had dreamt up herself. Rachel braced herself and opened it.

Hi Rachel,
That caught your attention, didn’t it? :-) Anyway, I know HOT and VICAR don’t belong in the same sentence but trust me on this one, OK? Reverend Sykes is on holiday and this guy’s the locum, or stand in, or whatever they’re called in the Church of England, and he’s GORGEOUS. I managed to be at Gran’s when he was doing the rounds of the pensioners and he’s just WOW—tall, dark and handsome—the works. So off you pop to morning service in Upton on Sunday, have an ogle, and you can thank me profusely on Monday, OK? :-)
Kathy

Have an ogle? In church? At the vicar? Well, thank you, Kathy, subtle as ever. Rachel closed the e-mail then began to wade through the rest. It was high time she got one of those spam filter thingies. A second e-mail from Kathy caught her eye and she opened it, wary of its content.

Sorry, Rachel, I forgot to mention that I managed to arrange for said hot vicar to call around to you in the next couple of days about the weird noises you’ve been hearing at the cottage. With a little luck he won’t think you’re nuts and it’ll take your mind off your mum’s nagging for a bit. Good luck with the job interview tomorrow. Found a lodger yet? Ask hot vicar to move in. :-)

Rachel’s mouth fell open. Oh, God, Kathy had told a complete stranger about the weird noises. She rested her forehead on the laptop keyboard and groaned. She ought to be worrying about her job interview, not this. Hot vicar? She couldn’t help but laugh...complete contradiction in terms...
* * *
The job interview went well, Rachel mused the following day, as she treated herself to lunch in town. She’d just managed to clear her mind of vicars—hot or otherwise—and weird noises for the half hour duration. She collected her car from the garage, tried not to wince as she paid for the new back bumper, then drove home. She’d better get the job now, and try to remember to bring the advertisement for a lodger with her the next time she went out.

A green Volkswagen Golf was parked outside the cottage as she pulled up. Zippy, her Irish terrier, yapped at the garden gate but she shushed him before going to see who the visitor was.

The driver’s window lowered. “Rachel Harris?”

“Yes?” She shaded her eyes against the sun as a tall man dressed in black got out. “Sorry, I’ve been in town.”

“That’s okay.” His response sounded cheerful. “Your friend wasn’t sure what time your job interview was.”

“My friend?” She tried not to sound suspicious and, to her relief, he laughed kindly.

“Mrs Roberts asked if I could call. My name is Matthew Williams.”

She frowned. This wasn’t hot vicar already? If so, he was scarily eager to learn more about the weird noises. She’d better make sure.

“Sorry, I’m not with you. Are you a Jehovah’s Witness, or something?” She cringed as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Now you’ve said so, he must be. “Because, well, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not—”

“I’m Church of England, actually. I’m standing in for Reverend Sykes while he’s away on holiday. Here.” He fished into his jacket’s inside pocket and handed her a business card.

She squinted at it. Reverend Matthew Williams. Editor of The Message - The Magazine of the Church of England Diocese of Aldabury. He lived in Aldabury but—she noted the address—in one of the awful 1960s tower blocks on the north side of the city and not in a vicarage. This had to be hot vicar but, she raised her eyes to him again, he wasn’t wearing a dog collar either, just a plain white shirt under the black suit.

“I’m not a churchgoer, sorry.” She made an awkward shuffle from one foot to the other. “I don’t know what Kathy’s been saying. I know I’ve had a lot of bad luck lately, what with my gran dying, my job disappearing, and then pranging the car. But these things come in threes, don’t they, and I’ve just had my third so…”

“I’ve come about the house, actually.” He gave the old stone cottage, covered in Boston ivy, an appreciative glance. “Your friend was worried about you, er, hearing noises?”

Bingo. He was definitely hot vicar.

• • •

Lorna Peel is an author of contemporary and historical romantic fiction. She has had work published in three Irish magazines – historical articles on The Stone of Scone in ‘Ireland’s Own’, on The Irish Potato Famine in the ‘Leitrim Guardian’, and Lucy’s Lesson, a contemporary short story in ‘Woman’s Way’.

Lorna was born in England and lived in North Wales until her family moved to Ireland to become farmers, which is a book in itself! She lives in rural Ireland, where she write, researches her family history, and grows fruit and vegetables. She also keeps chickens (and a Guinea Hen who now thinks she’s a chicken!).

Find Lorna Online:

Website - http://www.lornapeel.com
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/LornaPeelAuthor
Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/PeelLorna
Blog - http://lornapeel.com/blog
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Peel_Lorna



Wednesday, 4 May 2016

Available Now: Finding My Highlander by Aleigha Siron

FINDING MY HIGHLANDER
Aleigha Siron

Length: Novel
Genre: Paranormal Romance

Price: $4.99 (99c/99p special through Sunday 1 May)

BUY HERE

On a windswept cliff above San Francisco Bay in 2013, 27 year-old Andra Cameron, the last member of her family, prepares to scatter her family's ashes to the wind. An earthquake catapults her to the Scottish Highlands in 1705. She wakes, aching and bloody, to the sound of horses thundering through the trees. Terrified and with no other options, Andra accompanies these rugged warriors. She can't deny the undeniable attraction that ignites between herself and the handsome but gruff Kendrick. Will she trust him to provide protection in the harsh reality of 18th century Scotland and with her secret, or will she find a way to return home to the 21st century?

Laird Kendrick MacLean and his men, escaping a recent skirmish with their worst nemeses, clan Cameron and their Sassenach allies, are shocked to find an injured, unprotected female in their path. How could she not know her kin and how had she landed in the middle of the wilderness alone? His men suspect she's a spy or a witch. Still, Kendrick will not abandon an injured woman, even if she speaks unusually accented English, and her name is Cameron. Will he ransom her to others or will their closed hearts open to each other? Although he questions her every utterance, this feisty, outspoken woman inflames his desire like no other.

• • •

“Lass, can I help you?” His voice was softer than the others, his stance relaxed, composed, despite the dirt and blood splattered over his massive arms and clothing. He seemed to be a quiet, gentle man, though physically as imposing as the others.

“You could bring me my bag.”

He moved his hand from behind him and cautiously extended her mother’s old carpetbag. “Do I need to check it for weapons?” A slight crinkle lifted the corner of his mouth. A piece of leather cord tied wavy, light-brown hair at the nape of his neck and tight braids spilled alongside sharp, scruffy checks. His eyes were dark and shadowed.

“Thank you…it’s Rabbie, correct?”

“Aye,” he nodded.

Andra granted him a guarded smile. “I’ll pull no further weapons if you promise to be kind.” The slight attempt at humor from both of them eased the tension coiled in her gut.

He swept an arm gracefully in front of him and bowed, “Always, m’lady, as I learned at me mother’s knee.” Then he left her to tend the horses.

She searched her bag for the washcloth, hand towel, and first aid kit she always carried when traveling. The washcloth came to hand first. She dipped it into the cold water and wiped the dried and clotted blood from her face and hair. Then she dunked her head in the pool several more times.

“I seem to be awake,” she whispered, just for the comfort on her own voice. “My surroundings feel solid enough,” she pounded her fist on the dirt, “so it must be real. Accept it, Andra, and decide what to do next.”

She could hear the men speaking Gaelic, hushed yet clearly distraught about the condition of their clansman. They gathered near another pool of water several yards from where she knelt. She watched them over her shoulder for a few minutes struggling to fit the scene into her new reality. A million questions rose in her throat.

“Not now. Patience and observation are what’s required. All will be revealed in time.” What a stupid cliché.

Should she offer her help with their friend; would they accept it? She could not sit here and do nothing when one of them was seriously injured. Besides, anxiety always spurred her to take action. Her father had always said, “Move, keep busy, and don’t let dust gather under your feet.” With her father’s words ringing in her ears, she approached the men cautiously, keeping her eye on the mean one, Struan.

“May I be of assistance?” She stood with her feet firmly planted on the hard-packed, dirt floor, her head held high, one hand pressed flat against her side, the other rested on the cross dangling on her chest. It took an extreme effort to control her trembling body. Her palms moistened with sweat. She steadied her focus on Kendrick. His strong hands moved carefully over his brother’s body. The mean one harrumphed and growled.

A growl? Really?

Kendrick looked up, concern etched on his face. His dark, probing eyes bore through her. “Are you a healer, then?” he asked.

“Not a healer exactly, but I have cared for ill and injured persons and have some training in first aid. I wish to help if you’ll permit me.”

“I dinnae ken your meaning. What’s the first aid of which you speak? As you can see, we give him aid, but if you can do anything to help save my brother’s life, I will gladly accept your offer.”

The mean one growled again. “Don’t trust her, she’s the enemy and will just as soon slit his throat.”

Ignoring the slur, she continued, “Have you determined the extent of his injuries?”

“Aye, his shoulder is dislocated, several fingers broken, which we have straightened and bound as best we’re able. We need to stitch multiple, deep wounds, and he’s lost a lot of blood, though blood no longer flows freely.”

The injured man lay on a plaid, stripped completely naked, his kilt torn away from his battered body. Mud, blood, and all manner of vile debris caked the hard planes of his bronzed chest. Andra couldn’t identify the severity or location of all his injuries. He moaned but appeared unconscious, or so she assumed, since he hadn’t opened his eyes. Clumps of dried blood crusted over wounds on one leg and foot. Dark, matted refuse covered the entire other leg.

His manhood lay flaccid against his thigh, and none of the men seemed concerned about his state of undress in front of a strange female. She stood quietly, waiting for several breaths.

• • •

Following an accident several years ago, Aleigha's road to recovery was paved with the adventures and excitement of romance novels, inspiring the creation of her own tales. Recently learning about distant Scottish ancestors, she traveled to the land of craggy peaks, mists, bogs, and the ubiquitous heather, where she fell in love with the setting for her first full-length time-travel romance novel.

In her lengthy business career, Aleigha wrote and derived an array of management and other technical training programs until she turned her writing efforts to her true loves: fiction, and poetry. Her poetry has been published in numerous anthologies and university presses. Most recently, her poetry was included in an Escondido Municipal Art Gallery collection, merging art and poetry, a form known as ekphrastic poetry. The San Diego Poetry Society also selected a poem for publication in their 2015-16 Annual Anthology.

Currently, Aleigha is busy working on two new novels and plans to revisit a Children's Book written years ago for her many nieces and nephews. When not writing, reading, or attending poetry workshops, she often walks along the shore at sunset with her husband and her trusty Labrador helper, Strider, breathing in the ion charged air while seeking inspiration.

Find Aleigha Online:

Website - http://aleighasiron.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100010744560568
Twitter - https://twitter.com/AleighaSiron
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Siron_Aleigha