Available Now: One Night in Kuala Lumpur by Abbey MacMunn

ONE NIGHT IN KUALA LUMPUR
City Nights series #31
Abbey MacMunn

$2.99

BUY HERE
(99c through 3 September)

In search of inspiration and excitement, successful artist, Ziva Clarke, takes a trip to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Her exhibitions in the UK have left her exhausted; she’s had no fun in ages and her creativity is at below zero—the exotic Far East could be just what she needs.

Charmer Sam Tempest is visiting Kuala Lumpur on business with his father, but behind the impeccable suit and the wicked smile, he’s not a happy man. Duty bound to join his family’s international business, Sam longs to follow his true passion—to carve wood sculptures.

The two lonely souls meet by chance on a crowded street, and it turns out they might not be the strangers they first thought. So begins a night of confessions, shared dreams, and hot sex.

Can one steamy night in Kuala Lumpur be the answer to both their dreams?

• • •

Squinting, Ziva tried to see who’d spoken in a deep, smooth-as-silk British accent.

A tall man stood before her and greeted her with an alluring, lopsided smile that exuded confidence. Kind eyes crinkled at the corners.

His broad shoulders were clad in a navy, tailored business suit. With his thick hair, a rich, burnt umber colour, slicked back off his forehead, and an angular, clean-shaven jaw, the guy could have stepped off the set of a TV advert for men’s cologne. And his lips… oh boy, his lips. Full, well-defined, and made for sinning.

Her mouth dried. Kuala Lumpur grew more interesting by the second.

Elise filled in for her temporary inability to speak. “No, we haven’t. My sister failed to mention Pavilion or Lot 10. I’m afraid she doesn’t share my love for shopping.”

Surprise flashed across his face before his smile widened then hitched higher in one corner. Yep, male model material. Just my luck if he’s gay.

Elise shifted from one foot to the other and adjusted her hold on her dozen or so shopping bags. “Are the malls far?”
“No, not far. They’re near the Golden Triangle part of the city.”

Ziva stifled another groan. More malls, right near where they were staying.

The guy tipped his head. “I’m Sam, by the way.” Sophisticated charm oozed from every pore. “It’s lovely to meet two beautiful English roses so far from home.” Although he spoke to both of them, he directed an intense gaze at Ziva. Mischievous cobalt eyes sparkled in the bright sunlight then he winked at her. Hmm, not gay then.

“Hi, I’m Elise,” her sister said, sticking out her chest. “Nice to meet you, too.” She shuffled her feet again. “My feet are roasting standing here.”

Ziva glanced at Elise’s unsuitable choice of footwear as she stood on a drain cover. “I’m not surprised your feet are hot. It’s ninety-five degrees and you’re wearing high-heeled boots. I told you to wear your flat sandals.”

Elise rolled her eyes. “Flat sandals do not go with this outfit,” she said resignedly. “Kuala Lumpur is home to some of the best shopping malls in South East Asia—who cares about a little discomfort?”

“So, you were listening when I read out the tourist brochure and the amazing places I’d like to visit.”

“No, not really.” Elise gave an apologetic shrug. “I heard ‘shopping malls’ mostly.”

Sam laughed. His attention never left Ziva. “And your name is…?”

The crowd surged forward to cross the road. Someone jostled past Ziva, accidentally knocking her elbow. Her tatty canvas handbag and her one and only shopping bag dropped to the ground. She gasped as her new lingerie tumbled onto the dusty pavement. “Oh, crap!”

Stooping to her haunches, she then hastily stuffed lacy bras and matching thongs back into the paper bag. Her blonde curls tumbled over her face, helping to hide cheeks that burned hotter than the pavement. A serious contender for Miss Tiny Tits UK, she’d been spoiled for choice when she’d seen that the malls in KL catered for smaller women, so she’d treated herself to a few items of sexy underwear. Not that she had an occasion to wear it, but still, the last thing she needed was to have it displayed for all to see.

Sam kneeled in front of her, picked up a black bra, and swung it on his finger. “Here, I think you missed one.”

Head still down, she reached for the bra, but he hooked his finger around the strap and held it firm. She tugged. “Let go.”

“Not until you tell me your name.” He tugged back, stretching the lace and elastic across the distance between them. “And not until you look at me.”

• • •

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.

Find Abbey Online --

Website - http://abbeymacmunn.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AbbeyMacMunnAuthor1
Twitter - https://twitter.com/abbeymacmunn
Pinterest - https://www.pinterest.com/abbeymacmunn
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey

Available Now: My San Francisco Highlander by Aleigha Siron

MY SAN FRANCISCO HIGHLANDER
My San Francisco Highlander series, #2
Aleigha Siron

$5.99

BUY HERE
($2.99 through 27 August)

A love three hundred years in the making — After being knocked out in battle, Angus Cameron wakes in a terrifying new world with flying beasts, horseless carriages, crazy music, and strangely dressed people. Has he gone mad? When Angel Adair discovers a man in 1975's San Francisco Lands End park dressed in little more than a Scottish kilt, is he just a confused drifter or her dream-lover come to life?

• • •

Angel stepped carefully down the slope toward her deerhound. “Simon, come to me,” she commanded more forcefully. As she reached to brace herself against a tree, the form of what appeared to be another dirty, ragged homeless man turned in her direction. His heavily muscled frame, imposing even while leaning against a boulder and sitting in the dirt, halted her. Dried blood crusted along his arms and legs, tangles of debris clotted through his chestnut shoulder-length hair. He wore a dark plaid kilt streaked with mud and more blood. Her breath stopped, could he be Daniel? Of course, only the man’s rugged mien and broad shoulders resembled her brother.

“Oh, Jesus, you’re wearing a kilt, and you’re injured.”

Well, that was about the stupidest response she could have made. She gave Simon another sharp command. With a whine, the dog returned to her side.

She snapped on a restraining leash. "He's not dangerous, really. I think the smell of blood has disconcerted him." She waved her hand in a vague pass toward the man’s battered body and took a step back.

"Are you in need of assistance?" The man's fierce, disturbing appearance should have caused her to run in the opposite direction as fast as possible, but she felt an unexplainable urge to help him.

"My name is Gillian Adair. My father is a doctor. You look as though you might need his help."

The man watched her; an expression of total confusion twisted his face. “Are ye my angel, then? Have ye come to take me from this hell?”

He spoke with a deep, heavy brogue. At first, she could only make out a few words. She thought he’d called her Angel. Only her family and best friends shortened her middle name, Angelina to Angel, and used it as her nickname. However, they referred to her as Angel enough times around members of the St. Andrews Benevolent Society. Could this man be a newly arrived Scotsman who recalled one of them addressing her as such? She didn’t recognize him, but covered in dirt, brush, and blood…rather a lot of dried blood, and wounds still oozing, it was unlikely she’d be able to identify him from any previous brief encounter.

Weary, haunted eyes registered a flash of fear in their deep, green depths. The sudden loud rumble of a helicopter overhead spurred the man to his feet while at the same time ducking his head. He moved with such obvious distress that he lost his already awkward perch and slid further down the steep embankment futilely snatching at passing brush until he caught hold of a sturdy bush.

If he slipped any further, he would tip over the edge and plummet several hundred-feet onto a pile of jagged rocks at the base of the embankment. Angel removed Simon’s leash, issued a harsh command to stay, and scrambled down the slope clinging to rocks and trees as she went.

She’d intended to extend the leash to help the man up, but her good intentions went awry when she slipped, fell on her back, and slid feet first in his direction.

A strong hand latched onto her arm as she tumbled past his precarious position. He pulled her up with amazing strength and anchored a muscled arm under her breasts in a vise-like grip.

• • •

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

Available Now: Lullaby for My Sister by Nancy Barone

LULLABY FOR MY SISTER
Nancy Barone

$5.99

BUY HERE
(99c/99p through 20 August)

When Valentina and Lucy Mancino’s mother died, and their father turned to alcohol to cope, Valentina quickly understood it was up to her to run the household and take care of her little sister. But Valentina was only nine years old. And when their new step-mother moved in, along with her two sons, Val also knew things were about to change for the worse.

Fifteen years later, while Lucy is flailing in life, Val is running a successful career, but she’s also hiding a terrible secret. She soon discovers that her former home is suppressing secrets of its own—many unspeakable truths are dying to be told.

• • •

Little Italy, Toronto, 1993

I knew something bad had happened the minute I saw Uncle Tony’s black limousine pull up outside the school gates.

Ma never wanted any fussing over us and always said that even if we were Tony Mancino’s nieces, we were still Luigi Mancino’s daughters who could walk to school like everyone else.

“Hop in, Valentina,” Calogero the driver said, his face mostly hidden behind a pair of huge reflective shades like the ones the police wore on TV. But even if he wasn’t a policeman, I knew he had a gun because I saw it under his jacket once. “Your uncle Tony wants you at his house.”

Now, it’s not that I didn’t trust Calogero, who’s known me since I was a baby and has even taken us to the park, but Ma’s words rang through my mind. “Only trust your family, Valentina…”

So, when I hesitated, he picked up the car phone and punched in a number, passing it to me through the lowered window. “Here, talk to him,” he said.

I’d never spoken into a car phone before. It was very heavy. “Hello?” I said.

“Valentina.” The sound of Uncle Tony’s voice made me feel better instantly, but it was weird, like he’d been running – or crying. I swallowed hard.

“Listen, I need you to be a good girl and let Calogero bring you and Lucy back to my house, okay?”

“What happened?” I asked, and suddenly had to go to the bathroom. “Where’s Ma and Dad?”

Silence. “Sweetheart, your mom’s…in the hospital. She fell. And skinned her knee. Daddy and I are with her.”

“Is she okay?” I squeaked as Calogero got out of the car and took my school bag and lunchbox from me, my heart skipping a beat.

“She’s fine, sweetie. Just go and pick up your sister. Maria will make you a snack when you get home.”

“Okay, Uncle Tony,” I said obediently, and crawled into the huge back seat of the dark car, my chest hurting as if someone had sat on it.

Lucy was the last one out, waiting by the door next to Mrs. Njong, her favorite doll tucked under her arm. Calogero showed the teacher a note as he spoke to her, but I couldn’t hear a word. Why did grownups always talk to each other like that?

Mrs. Njong covered her mouth with her hand and nodded, tears filling her eyes. I swallowed, my face feeling awfully tight, like someone pulling on it from all sides.

“Val, what’s he doing here?” Lucy whispered in her baby lisp as I bent down to hug her. Calogero’s reflective shades always scared her, but then he’d take them off and twirl them around to show her he had eyes just like everybody else, and she’d laugh. Every time. Lucy liked to play around a lot.

“Mummy fell and hurt her knee,” I said. “Daddy took her to the hospital.”

Lucy searched my face and I forced a convincing smile, stroking her cheek like I always did when I needed her to do what I said. When she was satisfied I wasn’t keeping anything from her, she smiled back, assured everything was okay, that it was only a tiny scratch.

I swallowed back my fears that it might be something really bad and tried to act normal, while Calogero saw us into the back seat again and drove off, Lucy waving to Mrs. Njong.

Last year, I fell and skinned my elbow, but I don’t remember any ambulance coming for me. So, it couldn’t be good. And then I started imagining the worst – both my parents lying dead in the hospital and no one at home to greet us, no one to help me with my homework or tuck Lucy in at night. Uncle Tony and his staff would take care of us, I knew, but, as loving and generous as he was, he wasn’t Ma or Dad.

• • •

Nancy Barone is an Italian-Canadian English teacher and writer of rom-com and romance. When not on her laptop, she enjoys long walks on the beach with her loved ones, travelling and visiting the local ice-cream parlour.

Find Nancy Online:

Website - http://www.nancybarone.com
Facebook - http://www.nancybarone.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/nancy.baronessa
Twitter - https://twitter.com/NancyNBW
Pinterest - https://www.pinterest.com/nancybwythe
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Barone_Nancy

Available Now: Resolutions by Carol Warham

RESOLUTIONS
Carol Warham

$3.99

BUY HERE
(99c/99p through 13 August)

A few days before the New Year, Carly Mitchell returns home to the small town on the Yorkshire moors. Her intention for the short visit is to make her apologies and offer an explanation for her action. A year earlier, she fled, leaving her bridegroom and friends bewildered. She’s met with mixed reactions, ranging from curiosity to open hostility. However, when an emergency arises, Carly agrees to change her plans and stay a little longer. Falling in love with the new local doctor, Ben Thornton, was not part of her original plan either. Especially when it appears his past is shrouded in mystery. Complications and tensions increase during the town’s New Year celebrations and she begins to doubt whether she has done the right thing by coming home.

Can she find the resolution she needs to overcome the challenges facing her, or will she run away again?

• • •

The large, dimly lit sign appeared momentarily through the driving rain.

~

YEARDON

WELCOME TO OUR TOWN

PLEASE DRIVE CAREFULLY

WE HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR STAY

~

Carly Mitchell pulled her car over to the grass verge at the side of the road. Indecision gripped her as her heart hammered against her ribs. Did she drive on into the town, back to the place where she believed she was hated, or should she drive straight through and not stop?

Darkness shrouded the long road across the bleak moors. A thick swirling mist was broken only by the beam of her car’s headlamps. The windscreen wipers were the only thing which moved, as if bored, by the effort of clearing the rain. She stared at the sign until the glare of oncoming headlights made her blink and bite her lip. This was her decision, her choice. Could she do this? She nodded to herself. She knew she could now. Twelve months ago, she’d have been in pieces at the thought of what she intended to do, but not now. She had changed, grown up, learned to stand on her own two feet. The old Carly Mitchell wouldn’t have dared make any decision like this, for fear of upsetting someone. But her life had changed for the better, and so had she.

Taking a deep breath, she slowed down her heartbeat and controlled her shaking hands. A few minutes to recover her equilibrium were all she needed. She would do what she had come to do, and then leave. After that people could say and think what they wanted. She wouldn’t care.

It was past midnight when she drove into the quiet town. The wet road glistened under the street lights. Driving down the empty streets of the old Yorkshire mill town, her stomach churned. How well she knew all of these buildings.

A large Victorian mill loomed up before her. The grey stone walls and rows of neat windows were highlighted by the street lamps. It almost resembled a barricade, another warning. Slowing down to look at the building, she smiled at her own foolishness. You’d never know that inside were some charming tourist and gift shops and a little tea shop. She drove over a stone bridge where the road crossed a small river. In the dark, she could hear the water as it babbled and gurgled over the boulders that lined its path.

Would she ever be able to walk through this town and receive a warm welcome? What sort of greeting would anyone give her now? What sort of greeting did she deserve? Yeardon had been a wonderful place to grow up. It was one of those towns where you knew everyone, and they knew you.

Her mind a maelstrom of anxiety, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Who would have believed anyone’s hands could shake so much?

Reaching the far side of the town, she turned into a drive, which led down a short, narrow lane to a hotel, a converted mill owner’s house. After finding a space in the car park, she switched off the engine, but remained in the car for a few minutes. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.

The drumming of the rain on the roof was not reassuring. The weather seemed to be giving a further warning to leave now, while she could. She peered through the rain- splattered screen at the sign above the front door. In copper plate script, it read Resolution Hotel. The building looked well-kept and fresh. Business must be going well for Jim and Abi.

“Well, here goes.”

• • •

Writing has been Carol’s love since childhood. She started by making small comics for her dolls, progressed to training as a journalist for a short while. Once the family had grown up she settled down to writing short stories, poems and holiday articles. Some of which are published.

In recent years she has become a judge in the short story section for the HysteriaUK competition and also for the RNA’s romance novel of the year.

Earlier this year, she represented her book group on BBC Radio Leeds, talking about books and the work on her novel.

Carol lives in Yorkshire, surrounded by some beautiful countryside, which is ideal for her other passion of walking, often with a dog called Sam.

Find Carol online:

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/carol.warham
Twitter - https://twitter.com/carol_warham
Blog - https://carolwarham.blogspot.co.uk
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Warham_Carol