Wednesday, 27 July 2016

Available Now: One Night in Aberdeen by Charlotte Howard

City Nights, #24
Charlotte howard

Length: Novella
Genre: Erotic Romance

Digital Price: $2.99 (99c/99p through 31 July)


Ross McKinley and his personal assistant, Lee Bradshaw, have been invited to Aberdeen by Ross’s ex-wife, Anna, to participate in a charity ‘slave auction.’ He finds the whole thing embarrassing, and not wanting to be ‘won’ on the auction block, he asks Lee to bid on him, and win whatever the cost. After a bidding war between Lee and Anna, Lee wins. Being the spoilsport, Anna begins subtly threatening Lee.

Ross finally takes Lee away from the event . . . and back to his hotel room where things quickly change from the boss-employee role to lovers. The following day when Ross is showing Lee around the city, it becomes obvious she’s not enjoying the adventure. She tells him about Anna’s threatening texts—she’s to quit her job and never see Ross again, or Anna will ruin his business.

When Lee refuses to let Anna manipulate her into quitting, will she be strong enough to fight beside Ross for his company? Or will Anna get the upper hand?

• • •

“I am going to kill you,” Ross McKinley said in a low growl, quiet enough that only Lee heard him. Picking up the short tumbler, he knocked the Scotch back in one gulp. He took a sharp breath as the heat of it caught him off guard, burning his already raw throat. If there was one thing he did enjoy about being back in Aberdeen, it was the opportunity to drink decent, authentic Scottish whiskey.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Mr McKinley.” His personal assistant didn’t look scared by his threat. She sat on her bar stool, sniggering into her drink.

“I swear to God, Lee...” he continued, turning to survey the room. He placed his elbows on the bar and leaned back. “What the hell have you got me into?”

She didn’t answer, finishing her drink instead. She didn’t need to respond. Technically it wasn’t her fault. It was Anna’s.

Ross watched as the other guests socialised, chatting amongst themselves. Waiters and waitresses dressed in black trousers and white shirts handed out hors d’oeuvres and glasses of sparkling wine with a couple of raspberries in the bottom. He grabbed one as a waiter walked past, drained the glass, leaving the fruit, and put it on the bar more forcefully than necessary. He checked his watch. Six o’clock. It was going to take much more alcohol to get him through the next six hours.

The hotel’s function room had been decorated in a vintage style, with pastel-coloured bunting and printed fabric hanging on the walls. Huge round tables had been placed around the room, draped in cream cloths, with ten places set around each one. The centrepieces were all identical – a slab of unfinished tree trunk used as a plate, with a glass jar holding a posy of pale pink roses and gypsophila, next to a small green bottle wrapped in old twine, holding a few sprigs of rosemary and flowering lavender. Candelabras hung from the high oak beams, catching the dying sun that broke through the few tall windows that dotted the stone walls. It was all very pretty, and very Anna.

His ex-wife was chatting with one of the band members, standing centre stage as always. Wearing a floor-length, emerald-green, figure-hugging dress with a neckline that skimmed her navel, and dripping in the diamonds he’d bought her over the ten years they’d been married, she looked amazing. And he hated her. He hated every fibre of her being.

“I am going to kill you,” he said again.

“It’s good publicity.”

“It’s a bad idea,” he countered.

“It’s a bit of fun and you’re raising money for a worthy cause. One you started, I should point out.” And she made her point well. The McKinley Trust was his baby, or more his ex-wife’s, but he was still on the board of the charity, for now. “It would have looked bad if you hadn’t turned up,” she continued.

He glanced at his assistant, not totally sure that he agreed with her. Lee finished her wine, and twisted on her seat. “I promise to bid on you,” she said, running her fingers through her long wavy brown hair and fiddling with the ends.

Ross shook his head, then squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He pulled his chequebook and a pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and ripped out a page. He signed the bottom of it and handed it to her. “Go as high as you need to, but get me out of this.”

Lee nipped the corner of the cheque between two fingers, and smiled. “As high as I need to, huh?” She folded the cheque and put it in her black satin handbag. “Okay, boss,” she said with a wink.

• • •

British author, Charlotte Howard, was born in Oman and spent much of the first part of her life flitting between Oman, Scotland, and England. Now settled in Somerset, Charlotte lives with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets.

Her career as a writer began at an early age, with a poem being featured in an anthology for the East Midlands. Since then Charlotte has written many short stories and poems, and finally wrote her first full-length piece of fiction in 2010.

During what little spare time she has, Charlotte enjoys reading and writing (of course), spending time with her family, and watching action movies whilst eating curry and drinking tea.

Charlotte is an active member of Yeovil Creative Writers Group.

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Wednesday, 13 July 2016

Available Now: Touched by Abbey MacMunn

Abbey MacMunn

Length: Novel
Genre: Fantasy Romance

Digital Price: $3.99 (99c/99p through 17 August)


When inquisitive antique dealer Cami Wilson learns she’s the revered offspring of an immortal mother and a mortal father, it’s not just her hybrid status that has her all flustered. The title comes with her very own super-sexy guardian.

Jaded immortal Joseph Carlisle has only one thing on his mind; his sworn duty to protect the hybrid from those who wish her harm. Anything else would be complicated. That is until they meet.

Chemistry sizzles between them but there’s a problem—the hybrid's curse. Cami’s touch, skin to skin, proves near fatal to her and all immortals, Joseph included.

But the fated lovers discover her curse is the least of their concerns when a friend's deadly betrayal threatens to tear them apart forever.

• • •

He might have just saved her life, but being pinned to the freezing concrete by some wannabe hero was not her idea of fun. Cami Wilson shoved the unyielding wall of his chest, fighting not only him but the rising panic. ‘Get the hell off me!’

The guy remained on top of her, using his large frame to protect her from the chunks of smouldering metal hurtling to the ground around her. Icy air met with fiery heat and smoke infused the atmosphere like the fifth of November, but there were no sparkling fireworks to admire, only the flaming inferno, which seconds earlier had been her car.

Maybe if she hadn’t been so intrigued by the antique brooch she held in her hand or distracted by the weird, periodic buzzing emitting from it, she might have seen him coming at her in full, rugby tackle mode.

He lifted a little, easing the crushing pressure on her ribs, but remained inches from her face. Glacier-blue eyes met hers, captivating and intense. ‘Are you hurt?’

His gravelly voice did something tingly to her insides. She went to speak, but no words came. Nothing came to mind. Not the explosion. Not the contents of her shopping trolley strewn all over Morrisons’ car park. Not the fact she could have been killed. Somehow, none of it registered.

She gawped back at him like a doe-eyed teenager, taking in the angular sweep of a jawline peppered with dark stubble, and well-defined lips that parted invitingly as he drew in his breath.

His gaze lingered on her mouth in a breathtaking moment right out of one of those soppy rom-coms she liked to watch.

Forget burning cars and curious brooches… hel-lo, future husband.

Somewhere to her left, an engine revved loudly, and he turned his head towards the sound. Overlong, tousled hair tickled her cheek, and she got a faint whiff of citrus shampoo.

Hmm, lovely…

A second later, his attention returned to her. His grave expression burned with an urgency that brought her down from the clouds. ‘Dammit! I asked if you were hurt.’

‘No, I…’

In a move so swift it wasn’t humanly possible, he leapt to his feet and hauled her up beside him. The brooch slipped from her gloved hand and landed on the ground.

The man cursed under his breath and stooped to retrieve it. With an exasperated look, he waved it in front of her as though she were a baby dropping her dummy for the hundredth time. ‘You need to take more care of this. Don’t you know how important it is?’

Sudden indignation flared. Cami snatched the jewel from his grasp and slipped it back into her coat pocket. Okay, the guy rocked the sexy, just-rolled-out-of-bed look, but his patronising attitude set her teeth on edge. What right did he have to tell her what to do? And what on Earth did he know about a weird, vibrating brooch she’d been given by her adoptive mother, the only clue she had to her past?

The sound of screeching tyres forced her thoughts elsewhere. A large van headed at speed straight towards them. The stench of burning rubber competed with the acrid smoke from her smouldering car.

‘Follow me.’ He fisted the sleeve of her padded parka in his bear-sized hand and dragged her across the car park towards the supermarket.

Was there no end to his manhandling, macho behaviour? She did not need him to tell her what to do—the danger registered now. Big time.

• • •

Abbey MacMunn writes paranormal and fantasy romances. She lives in Hampshire, UK, with her husband and their four children.

When she’s not writing, she likes to watch films and TV shows – anything from rom-coms to superheroes to science fiction movies.

She is a proud member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association New Writers’ Scheme.

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Wednesday, 6 July 2016

Available Now: Legacy of Truth by Christy Nicholas

Druid's Brooch Series, #2
Christy Nicholas

Length: Super Novel
Genre: Historical Fiction

Digital Price: $5.99 (99c/99p through 10 July)


Gifted with a magical brooch, passed down in her family for generations, Esme finds herself isolated and ill in an unfamiliar land.

Her sister plots to steal the family heirloom from her in order to exploit the magical powers for her own gain, and Esme must battle for survival of herself and those she loves.

• • •

Ardara, County Donegal, Ireland
March, 1787

Éamonn Doherty eased onto the old rocking chair beside the crackling fire. As soon as he settled, he was bombarded with children, clamoring eagerly for a story from Grandfa.

Well, it was his fault. Whenever he returned from his wanderings around the country, he would give them a story, a tale of Ireland’s past or his own.

The bairns settled onto the ground at his feet. There were Esme and Eithne, the twins, looking stark and thin with shocks of wild red hair and too many freckles to count.

“That’s my spot! I always sit there, Eithne, and you know it!”

Eithne looked at her sister and sniffed, saying nothing. She turned to Éamonn and blinked as if innocent.

Esme pushed at her sister, but Eithne was braced for it. She resisted the shove and looked back over her shoulder with disdain.

Fuming, Esme crossed her arms.

In the far corner, with her arms wrapped firmly around her knees, sat the youngest sister, wee Brighid. Everyone called her Bridey. Her solemn green eyes peered at him, owl-like. She must be about ten years old by now. And little Níaṁ wasn’t a sister, but a cousin, her parents having died of a fever. A brown wren, she was plump and sweet, still a toddler.

Éamonn would have preferred some grandsons to pass his stories to, but his son and daughter-in-law, Brian and Shona, had given him only granddaughters thus far. Still, he loved them dearly. His two other children were both dedicated to the church, so Brian was his last hope for grandsons. Éamonn looked at the girls and decided perhaps a story of a manly hero might do them for the night.

He fixed his eyes on wee Níaṁ until she giggled nervously. He tousled up his thick white hair until it looked like a lion and she laughed. Smiling, he began.

“Tonight our tale will begin with a hero of great fame, for who has never heard of Fionn Mac Cumhaill, leader of the Fianna, Warriors of Ireland?”

Timidly, Bridey raised her hand.

Interrupted, Éamonn cocked his head. “Yes, child? What is it, my dear?”

“I haven’t heard of him, Grandfa.”

Éamonn closed his eyes, reaching for patience. The children weren’t to know what a rhetorical question was.

“That’s all right, mo chuisle. I will be telling you now, so?”

The girl nodded and wrapped her hands more tightly around her knees until she was just a pair of feet, arms and a curly mass of red hair sparkling in the firelight. For a moment, Éamonn went back in time, to the memory of his dear, long-dead wife, Katie. She had hair such as that, wild and bright. The windows rattled as the wind outside picked up. The children all shifted uncomfortably.

• • •

Picture of Christy NicholasChristy Nicholas, also known as Green Dragon, has her hands in many crafts, including digital art, beaded jewelry, writing, and photography. In real life, she's a CPA, but having grown up with art all around her (her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother are/were all artists), it sort of infected her, as it were. She loves to draw and to create things. She says it's more of an obsession than a hobby. She likes looking up into the sky and seeing a beautiful sunset, or seeing a fragrant blossom or a dramatic seaside. She takes a picture or creates a piece of jewelry as her way of sharing this serenity, this joy, this beauty with others. Sometimes this sharing requires explanation – and thus she writes. Combine this love of beauty with a bit of financial sense and you get an art business. She does local art and craft shows, as well as sending her art to various science fiction conventions throughout the country and abroad.

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