Dangerous Promise by Gwendolyn Cease

Blurb

A frazzled mother of two, Kate Harris does the best she can trying to balance life, but it’s not easy. Her daughters are her focus, but sometimes she wishes there was more. The more being the hottest man she’d ever danced with while out at a club. But that was the club and has nothing to do with real life.

Grimm is an Ancient and a Hunter. His normal prey is blood-addicted vampires, but now he’s got a new target. He met her one time on a dance floor and can't get her out of his mind.

When Kate and Grimm meet again, he promises himself he won't let her go. She doesn’t understand why someone as handsome as him wants to hook up with her. But when their two worlds collide, he’s the only thing standing between her, her children and darkness.

Excerpt

Kate Harris bustled around her small kitchen, cleaning up the dinner dishes. The evening news played low on the television in the living room as the last bit of winter sunlight disappeared. The floodlights she’d installed all around the house clicked on as they sensed the approaching darkness. The house, locked and fully alarmed, was once again ready for night.

None of the occupants looked forward to the night. In fact, each one dreaded the coming of the dark. The dark brought nightmares and terrors and memories. Kate forced her mind away from the sadness and toward the two girls who sat at the kitchen table. Both of them worked on their homework and, outwardly, seemed content. In fact, everyone who knew them in this new city would consider them a typical family—single mom, with two nice young kids, but no dad in the picture. Sometimes, Kate really wanted that to be true. It would have been so much easier than the truth.

The truth was ugly and scary. The truth required Kate to purchase and learn to use a handgun, something she’d never imagined doing before. But murder did that—drove the survivors to do whatever they had to do to feel safe and bring order to a chaotic situation.

Kate closed a cabinet and glanced over at her nieces—now her daughters, since her sister’s murder nearly two years before. Of course, they’d really been hers from birth. Janie had never been able to take care of them. Hell, she could barely take care of herself. Her sister.

Dammit, Janie, if only you hadn’t been so flighty and careless and…

She stopped the thoughts. Too late, it was too late. Janie was dead. Murdered by someone who was still out there. The cops had investigated as far as they could, but then nothing. No leads. No one coming forward. Silence. Possible robbery? Possible drug deal gone wrong? Lovers’ fight? They had looked at every angle, but all they’d found were dead ends.

Kate had done everything she could. She’d asked questions and reconnected with people she’d rather forget in an attempt to help the police. Hell, she’d even pointed the police in the direction of the group her sister had joined. Kate refused to call them a church, as Janie had. More like a cult. The cops had questioned them, but, as with every other lead, nothing. Kate knew there was more going on with the group. Her sister had been cagey when discussing what went on at services, though had gone on and on about the preacher who headed the group. How magnetic he was and how he was filled with a secret knowledge he was going to share with her. But the whole time she’d talked, Kate had known there was something wrong. Finally, Janie had asked if she could take the girls with her.

“Maybe for a week,” she’d said. “I’m going to be allowed to move to the next level within the church and I want the girls to go. To see. It’ll be good for them.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Kate said. “You can’t take the girls.”

“They’re my kids!” Janie had yelled, stomping her foot.

“Yes, and I have custody because you can’t take care of them. I’m sorry, Janie, but no. In fact, why don’t you stay with us? Don’t go. Stay here with me and the girls. We’ll relax and go to the movies. It’ll be fun.”

But this time, this last time, Janie had shaken her head. “No, you don’t understand. The church and preacher are helping me. Things are going to be so much better. But I need the girls to go with me.”

Something in her sister’s voice or maybe her face had sent a shiver down Kate’s spine. There was something not quite right. Janie never wanted the girls. She treated them like pretty dolls to be picked up and played with when she could spare the time. Normally, Kate would cheer if her sister wanted to come by and spend time with them, but not this time.

The argument has escalated until Kate had forced her sister from the house. Screaming obscenities and threats, Janie had driven away. That was the last occasion Kate had seen her sister alive. Whatever happened, she hadn’t moved to any next level. Whatever the next level was had gotten her killed. Kate was sure of it. But she hadn’t had the time or energy to put into her sister’s investigation. The girls needed her. Abby had been six and Olivia only four at the time of Janie’s death. The girls’ father had left before Olivia’s birth so there had been no one else.

“I’m done,” Olivia announced, pulling Kate away from her thoughts. “Check me.”

Kate moved over to study the sheet of math problems. “Perfect.”

“Yay for me.” Olivia popped up out of her chair and stuffed the sheet into her Monster High backpack. “Can I listen to my song on the stereo? Please?”

“One time, then you take a bath.”

Kate followed Olivia into the living room and flicked off the television. She turned the stereo on and pushed the play button for the CD. Believe by Cher thumped through the speakers, and the little girl began leaping around the living room, dancing her heart out. Dark hair flopped about as she tossed her head and waved her arms.

Kate backed up and smiled as Olivia pranced and primped through the room to the music. The kid loved Cher and, if it was possible, Kate was sure within her small body lurked the heart of a gay man. When the song ended, Olivia clapped enthusiastically.

“I think I’m going to dance to this for the school talent competition,” Olivia told Kate excitedly. “We need to come up with an outfit for me to wear.”

“You got it.” Kate picked up the little girl and swung her around. “Tomorrow. Right now it’s bath time and then a story before bed.”

“You’re the best, Momma,” Olivia declared, hugging her.

Kate hugged her tight as tears stung her eyes. Olivia had been so little when Janie had died, she didn’t remember her. Kate had told stories about Janie to the girls, but to Olivia, they were just that, stories. Kate was the only mother Olivia had ever known.

“Can I have bubbles?” Olivia asked as Kate carried her into the bathroom.

“Not tonight, but how about tomorrow since it’s Friday?”

Abby poked her head around the door. “Are we going to the bookstore?”

Kate nodded. “Of course, it’s Friday and we always do the bookstore on Friday.”

“Can we get a book?” Olivia asked.

“Don’t you get books every Friday?” Kate asked as she turned on the water to fill the tub.

Both girls nodded with smiles on their faces. They loved going to the bookstore, and Kate loved taking them. It was something they could do together that made both girls happy, which for Abby had taken quite a while. Kate hated having to tell the little girl that her mother wasn’t coming home—it had devastated her. Now, two years later, Abby was finally coming out of her shell and smiling more. If it took going to the bookstore every Friday night, Kate was more than willing to do it. She wanted her niece safe and happy.

“Can we have fun coffee?” Abby asked.

“You can have drinks, but I think we’ll save the coffee until it can’t stunt your growth,” Kate teased.

After baths and stories and more chattering about the next afternoon’s bookstore trip, both girls climbed into bed. Kate tucked and kissed, then did what she always did. She made another sweep of the house, checking to make sure everything was locked up tight and the alarms were set. Once completed, she could finally head to the small desk set up in her bedroom and work. She hadn’t always worked from home or worked during the night, but it had become necessary after the girls had come to live with her.

No, she thought, that was wrong. It wasn’t the girls who had brought about the night time hours. Right after Janie’s death, the cult she had run with had actually contacted Kate about having the girls live with them. The person who’d called had stated that it was what Janie would have wanted. There had then been harassing phone calls and a number of attempted break-ins. She’d gotten a lawyer and contacted the police, but the unease had grown until Kate had packed them all up and moved far away.

She didn’t know what they wanted with the girls. Hell, she hadn’t asked. But Kate didn’t want any of them near her girls. So they’d moved and moved again. After two years, they were settled, but she was wary. If those people had truly murdered Janie, she was not going to let her guard down. Ever. Hence, the state-of-the-art alarm system in the house, and the gun she kept close at hand. She also rarely went out without the girls. She knew that no one would or could protect them as well as she could.

Though, Kate believed, her friend Tori could definitely be trusted. She and Tori had met in high school and became fast friends. They’d attended college together and had roomed all four years so, when it became necessary to find somewhere else to live, the other woman had asked her to come. Kate couldn’t think of a reason not to. She liked the idea of moving to a place where she knew someone, so she and the girls had packed up. Now, they had a fairly normal life, and Kate was even going out occasionally. Tori’s brother, Deacon, stayed with the girls during the brief time they were out. The last time was to the new club where she’d met Grimm or, as Tori called him, Hotness-on-a-Stick. And wow was Tori right—he was hot. But she hadn’t seen him again, not that she’d expected to. A man who looked like that had to have a hundred women hanging off him. He wouldn’t remember her again if he tripped over her. But damn, he certainly inspired some steamy fantasies.

---

Buy Link- http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/887.html

The Lady In White by Catherine Chernow

Blurb

Serena Reilly has come to 'Bride's Inn' to care for it's owner, elderly Clarise Masters. One dark and stormy night, a darkly handsome, mysterious visitor arrives at the old inn, scaring....and kissing Serena senseless. But the handsome rogue, a man who Serena comes to know as her dark prince, a man who stirs Serena's deepest, most erotic desires, isn't all that he seems...and neither is she.

As Seth and Serena's mutual attraction grows, so does the mystery surrounding Bride's Inn, and the strange apparition that haunts its legendary halls. Serena and Seth stand to lose far more than their hearts when the 'Lady in White' shows up. When Serena's life is threatened, it's up to Seth to save his fiery-haired goddess.



Excerpt

"Sereeeeeeeenaaaaa..."

Serena Reilly rose from her bed, her eyes heavy with sleep.

“I’m coming!”

Outside her bedroom window a spring storm raged, battering Long Island’s rocky north shore. A flash of lightening lit up the night sky as the rain fell in sheets, pounding against the windowpanes, the howl of the wind echoing a mournful cry in the pitch-black night.

"Sereeeeeeeenaaaaa..."

The eerie voice echoed a sad wail like the low howl of the wind whipping through the trees outside. Serena shoved her arms into the sleeves of her robe, shuddering against the cold, damp night air. She rushed out of her bedroom, anxious to get to her elderly charge, Clarice Masters. As she ran down the hallway towards Clarice’s room, she heard the heartrending cry once more.

"Sereeeeeeeenaaaaa..."

Her heart pounded as she rushed down the long corridor, stopping in front of Clarice’s room. She opened the door and stepped inside, the absolute stillness of Clarice’s darkened bedroom greeting her. Serena padded towards the bed to find her charge sound asleep.

She eased into a nearby chair, her body trembling. Night after night, she heard that eerie voice calling to her. It sounded like a woman…a sad, lonely woman.

Serena shrank back in the chair, her fingers tightening on the arms when she heard a deep rumbling and a crack of thunder that shook the entire house. She covered her ears to block the sound of a loud crash, squinting when bright, blinding light illuminated the sky and a jagged stroke of lightening struck the ancient oak tree right outside Clarice’s bedroom window. It split the branch from the tree trunk in one stroke, the tips of the branches grazing the windowpane as it fell to the ground, the sound like fingernails scraping against a chalkboard.

Serena trembled, every nerve ending in her body vibrating as she watched the scene unfold through terror-filled eyes. She huddled in the chair, pulling her shaking legs up onto the seat, wrapping her arms around her knees to stop their knocking.

“My nephew used to climb that tree when he was little.”

Serena jumped at the sound of Clarice’s voice. The older woman sat up in bed, her eyes settling on the rain as it ran down the windowpane.

“Are you all right?” Serena asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. She reached over and fluffed the pillow behind Clarice's snow-white curls. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Serena gently took the older woman’s hands in her own. She rubbed them, warming the thin skin.

Clarice angled her head, her large blue eyes intense. “I’m fine, dear. Why do you ask?”

“I thought I heard…never mind.” Serena chose to not say anything about the mysterious voice she heard in the dead of night. It would only frighten Clarice. “Well, since I’m up, can I get you anything?” Serena asked.

Clarice smiled, the corners of her mouth lifting in a wide grin. “A glass of warm milk would be nice.” Then she yawned, ruining the effect.

Serena hid a grimace and wondered, not for the first time, how Clarice could drink that concoction she loved of warm milk and…butter. Yuck.

She forced a cheerful smile. “Coming right up.”

She padded down the main staircase and entered the kitchen, flipping on the light switch. As she walked towards the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of milk, the hairs on the back of her neck rose. A cold breeze wafted by, swirling around her ankles, lightly brushing her shoulder. She turned, fully expecting to see someone watching her from the shadows.
No one was there.

"I've got to a get a grip," she muttered. After blowing out a shaky breath, she warmed some milk in a pan on the stove and when she finished, topped it off with a piece of butter. The butter floated on the top, forming a nasty yellow film. Screwing up her face, she stirred the butter into the milk, all the while muttering, “Yuck, yuck, yuck….”

Serena filled a glass almost to the brim with the warm milk and butter. She jumped when thunder boomed in the distance, startling her once more. She set the milk on the tray, willing her hands to remain steady.

She left the kitchen and made her way towards the wide staircase in the center hall, steadily balancing the tray as she began her ascent up the long staircase. Confident that she had re-gained her calm, she glanced up, freezing in mid-stride as her gaze fell upon a woman who stood at the top of the stairs.

A thin, white veil shrouded her face and she wore a long, white gown studded with beads and flowers. Serena blinked as she gazed at the woman, the dress appearing…ancient. As the woman neared, Serena could see that some of the exquisite beadwork and tiny, white flowers had yellowed with age.

“Who are you?” Serena whispered, her voice trembling with fear.

No answer.

The woman continued her steady descent and Serena backed up, alarm filling her with every step the mysterious woman took. She appeared to float down the stairs, her slippered feet barely skimming each tread.

Serena fought a rising tide of panic. Who was this woman? What if she was here to hurt Clarice? She would never forgive herself if something happened to her elderly charge. Mustering her courage, she took a deep breath and willed her feet to move, her hands shaking as she gripped the tray, determined to toss its contents at the stranger if she dared try to harm her.

The woman did not appear to notice Serena as she drew near, clutching a bouquet of white roses in her hands, her gaze focused beyond Serena. She lifted her arm then, and pointed at the front door. Serena glanced back at the entrance, peering through the glass pane on the door.

A shadow moved outside.

Frantic, she turned back towards the stairs but the strange woman had vanished. She blinked, thinking she was losing her mind. First, the fierce storm had her jumping out of her skin, and now it seemed that her fuzzy mind played tricks on her.

The doorknob rattled, followed by fierce pounding. A face pressed against the glass, the nose and lips grotesquely distorted, a dark monster staring through the small pane of glass.

She dropped the tray, the tumbler containing Clarice’s treat shattering into a thousand shards as milked spilled everywhere, seeping across the polished wood floor.

~~~~~~~

Buy Link-- http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/m8/01-201-107-405-1--lady-in-white-by-catherine-chernow.html

What Harm Can Come From Rubbing An Old Oil Lamp? To Rub, Honor and Obey by Melinda Barron.

Blurb

Moreen McGee is a perfect example of how poor decisions made in youthful rebellion can haunt someone for life. Now on probation for ten years, she serves her court-ordered community service at a center for troubled teens, in the hopes of stopping other kids from taking the wrong path.

But when one of her young charges pickpockets a wallet from her high school nemesis, Aliya Baban, Moreen decides to put the illicit skills she learned as a teenager to good use... by breaking into Aliya's apartment to return the stolen wallet, thus keeping the kid who stole it out of trouble and out of jail.

However, once she's in the opulent Manhattan flat, Moreen can't resist the urge to take one small token from the woman she still blames for her own downfall-an old, neglected oil lamp that she's sure Aliya will never miss.

Moreen accidently summons a gorgeous demon-turned-pleasure djinni named Paran... and he's not too thrilled with the theft of his property. Moreen has rubbed his lamp, the contract is sealed. For the next thirty days, she belongs to him. And Paran intends to use this time to help his little felon learn some important lessons, including the true meaning of the words honor and obey.

~~~~~~~

Buy Link--  http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/m8/50-201-107-402-6--to-rub-honor-and-obey-by-melinda-barron.html

Waters of Fate, Book 2 of The Fey Series by Jessica Jarman.

What’s a Princess to do when the man Fate has chosen for her denies her?

Blurb

As a Princess of Fey, Neiva has led a privileged life. When she sees her mate in the Waters of Fate, she is shocked at who Fate has paired her with. When he refuses her again and again, her shock quickly turns to anger.

Rhys has been friends with the King of Fey for centuries. Surely, Fate would not be so cruel as to mate him with his friend’s daughter? Never mind that he hears the Song of Souls when she is near—she has mistaken the situation, and he must let her down gently.

After yet another denial from Rhys, Neiva decides it’s time to move on. She leaves the Fey Realm and goes to the human world—the world of her mother—determined to find some semblance of happiness. Rhys is given the duty of watching over her while she is there—a task that drives him mad with desire and frustration. But danger has followed Neiva there. Now she is not only in danger of losing her heart, but also her life.

Publisher's Note: This is an extensively revised and updated version of a previously released title.


Excerpt

Neiva, Princess of Fey, wandered through the gardens surrounding the royal residence. She hadn't a clue where her friends had gone. Off flirting with boys, no doubt. She rolled her eyes. Goddess, they were so daft at times. She couldn't understand why anyone would act so silly just to impress boys. And really, did it impress them? If it did, boys were even dafter than girls.

She hummed as she walked. It felt great to be away from lessons and tutors for a while. Sometimes, she simply wanted to be alone. That was a rare occurrence. Though Dad said it would only get worse, and she should enjoy this “carefree time." Neiva snorted. What did he know? He hadn't been fourteen in centuries.

A rustling to her left caught her attention, and she stopped. The hedges parted to reveal a path. She tilted her head, trying to see where it led. She’d never noticed it before. Curious, she started down the narrow trail. It wound farther and farther away from the formal gardens. A part of Neiva’s mind told her to turn back—her father would be furious if he knew she was in unfamiliar areas without protection—but she continued on. Something was drawing her. She didn't know what, but she couldn't sense anything bad or harmful.

The overgrown path opened up to a small glade. In the center, a pool of water stood surrounded by a rough stone wall. Neiva approached and peered into the water. It was crystal clear; she could see the flat stone lining the bottom. Tentatively, she dipped a finger. The cool liquid began to swirl at her touch.

“Good afternoon, Princess.”

Neiva jolted and spun toward the voice.

“I’m sorry I startled you.”

A young woman stood barely a foot away. How had she approached without Neiva’s notice? Even if she had flashed into the small clearing, Neiva would have felt the disturbance on the air.

“Good afternoon,” she answered. “I don’t know you. How is it you know who I am?”

“Everyone knows the Princess of Fey.”

Neiva felt her cheeks heat, embarrassed at the obvious answer.

“I’m Mara. You look lost, Princess. Is there something I can assist with?”

She squinted slightly as she studied the woman. Why did she have to wander away? Now she was alone, in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar person. This was the type of situation her father lectured about constantly. Though the woman appeared harmless.

“I’m not lost,” she insisted. “The pool called to…” She stopped herself from finishing the sentence. People thinking she was crazed was not a good thing.

Mara smiled. “It called to you. Of course. That is the way it often is. Have you looked within?”

Neiva frowned. “At what? It’s just water.”

“Look again, dear one,” Mara encouraged.

Uneasiness caused Neiva’s stomach to clench. “Why? What am I looking for? What is this place?”

Mara laughed, and Neiva closed her eyes at the beautiful sound. It traveled on the wind and wound around her, like a living thing. It soothed her, calmed the tightness inside her.

“So distrustful. Wonderful! Your parents have done a fine job. Have you heard of the Waters of Fate?”

“Of course.” Neiva rolled her eyes. Everyone knew about the Waters. “They tell you whether you have a true mate. Sometimes, they’ll only show enough for you to know you have one, and sometimes, they’ll actually reveal who it is.” She glanced at the pool. “These are the Waters?”

“They are indeed. Have you looked within?” she repeated.

“All I saw was water.” Neiva was mortified as tears welled up. “I guess I don’t have a true mate in this life.”

“Perhaps you should look again,” Mara suggested. “You only had a moment before.”

Neiva turned and stepped to the pool. Bracing her palms on the rough stones, she leaned forward and peered into the Waters. After a moment, the water darkened and swirled. Soon, it was churning—a small, contained storm—splashing up on the wall, bathing her hands in coolness.

“Keep watching,” Mara murmured.

In the middle of the chaotic water, images began to form. Neiva could make out the forms of a man and woman. They were embracing. But, Goddess, it was so blurred. She leaned farther. The image sharpened. Her heart stuttered as she recognized herself—or rather an older version of herself. She shifted her gaze, and her heart stopped altogether.

“It can’t be. He’s my mate?” She straightened and turned to look at Mara. “How? How can it be him? My father will never allow it.”

“Never question Fate, Princess. She has paired the two of you together. You are halves of the same soul. Even the King cannot deny or change that.”

Neiva looked into the Waters again, where the man and woman still shimmered on the surface. They looked so happy. Warmth blossomed in her stomach and spread through her body.

“How will I tell him? Blessed Lady Above, how will I tell Dad?”

Again, Mara’s laugh slid around her, comforting her. “You’ll have no need to tell your mate. He’ll know when the time is right. As for the King, you and your mate will find the right moment to inform him. How fortunate you are, Princess. Not everyone finds their other half in this life. He is a good, strong man.”

Neiva knew that to be true, but her head spun over the revelation. “Maybe it’s a mistake…” Her mouth dropped open.

The woman was gone. The glade was empty, save Neiva. She glanced back down. The Waters were clear once again.

She sighed. One thing was certain. She was telling no one about this. They’d think she was insane. She started down the path to the gardens on trembling legs.

Goddess, she had a true mate…

~~~~~~~~~

Buy Link- http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/824.html

You'll Never Think Of Tombstone The Same Way Again. Marshal Law, Book One In The Tombstone Series by Kris Norris

A town with a notorious reputation…

 Blurb

Tombstone, Arizona, has seen its share of gunfights. And if McKenna Buchanan has her way, she’ll stop at nothing to add a few more to the ranks. She’s out to right a wrong and won’t stop until she’s challenged every last member of the Wilson gang to a duel.

A secret buried deep…

Wolf shifters Ethan McClaren and Jude Davenport’s lives are complicated, but their job is simple. As federal Marshals, they’re determined to find the vigilante gunning down outlaws across the wilds of the western states so justice can be served. The last thing they expected was a woman with more honor than most men—who willingly risks her life to save theirs.

A claim that can’t be denied…

Falling in love with two lawmen never crossed McKenna’s mind—not with her name topping the most wanted list. She’s simply doing what’s right—preventing more bloodshed when she’s already seen a lifetime’s worth. The fact she’s drawn to Ethan and Jude as much as they seem to be to her is purely circumstantial. But she’s not the only one harboring secrets and when the truth finally emerges, it’s going to take more than marshal law to settle the dust.


Excerpt

McKenna eased onto the stool, letting the tension of the ride slowly fade. She’d pressed hard, only stopping long enough to rest her mount before moving on, wanting to reach Tombstone by nightfall. She’d trotted down the dusty street as the blazing sun had sunk behind the distant hills, staining the clouds blood red.

She’d watered her horse, bought some feed then headed for the saloon, hoping to lose herself amidst the mass of drunken cowboys and working girls. She’d pushed her way through the crowd, avoiding direct eye contact as she’d headed for the far corner, taking a seat that offered her some protection. Then she’d ordered a shot of whiskey and a bowl of stew.

The barkeep dropped both offerings on the wooden counter, heading off to yell at one of the men. She ignored the brawl starting off to her right, taking a small taste of the thick broth. The warm liquid soothed the dry feeling in her throat, removing the taste of dirt and sweat. A large man tripped onto the floor behind her, and she lifted her bowl as he crashed onto the bar, swiping her whiskey onto the floor.

The guy muttered an apology, grabbing another man by the shirt and tackling him into a table. She waited until they’d moved the other way before lowering her bowl and continuing her meal. Didn’t matter what town she ventured into, the men were always the same. Loud. Oppressive. Angry. And those that weren't avoided her, judging her character by the clothes she wore.

She glanced at her reflection in a mirror behind the bottles of liquor. A fringe of blonde hair framed her face, the tousled strands wild about her head before disappearing in a thick braid down her back. Dirt creased her forehead, a smear of mud along one side of her cheek. Her white cotton shirt masked her feminine attributes—her knee-length oilskin jacket covering her pants. She looked every inch the gunslinger she’d become, only empty. Even she saw the hollow reflection in her eyes, the years on the open trail etched in the fine lines around her mouth, and she knew her past was slowly killing her. Eating away at anything left of the girl she’d once been.

McKenna released a weary breath, spooning up more broth when two men approached the bar, nodding at the barkeep as they glanced at her out of the corner of their eyes. She took another sip, eyeing them in the mirror as they shuffled closer to her, each draining a glass of whiskey. She studied the guy nearest to her—tall with thick brown hair, his features looked ruggedly handsome, a distinct shadow of stubble lining his jaw. His dark eyes gleamed with intelligence, the brown depths sending a sliver of awareness skittering down her spine.

She glanced away, taking a deep breath, trying to steady the sudden thrumming of her heart. She must be far more exhausted than she’d thought. She hadn't felt much of anything in ten years. Any reaction was purely coincidental—a by-product of endless towns and nameless faces. She rubbed her fingertips across her forehead when his gaze snagged hers in the mirror. A flash of red colored his eyes before he blinked it away, a scowl shaping his full lips as he seemed to grunt out a breath. She inhaled sharply, staring at him again before breaking eye contact. Damn. Now she was seeing things.

The guy moved to the seat next to her, his friend following suit on her other side. Neither spoke, just turned to stare at her, their hands resting on the counter. She tried to focus on her food, ignoring the way their presence made her feel restless—like the air before a storm. The second man was just as handsome as the first, his large shoulders seemingly taking up every inch of her peripheral vision. His blond hair poked out from beneath a dark hat, his full lips curved slightly down at the edges. His jaw looked as scruffy as the other man, only his beard mimicked the light shades of his hair.

She eased back as she chewed on her food, finally acknowledging their continued stares. “You orderin’ something or just lookin’?”

She turned slightly to face the dark-haired man, allowing her gaze to travel the length of his body, noting details she’d missed before. She sighed, twisting back to the bar. “Marshal.”

His mouth quirked, lifting his lips at one corner. “What makes you think I’m a marshal?”

“You mean besides the clothes and the badge you’re trying to hide by your hip?”

He glanced at his waist where only a glimpse of his star peeked out beyond his jacket. “Besides that.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Your choice of weapon. Not many men carry a double-action Colt other than Texas Rangers.”

“And we’re not Rangers because…”

“Because Rangers don’t hide their badges. Everyone in this place would have known you were here the moment you stepped through those swingin’ doors.”

“I’ll try to remember that. And I couldn't help but notice you've got the same weapon strapped on both your hips.”

She spared him a quick look. “Every second counts.”

“Can’t argue you with that.”

She nodded and continued eating, acting as if he wasn't even there. She watched as the two men exchanged glances, something passing unspoken between them.

She barely turned her head, a weary sigh feathering from her full lips. “You’re both marshals? You thought you’d need two to handle me?”

The guy leaned toward her. “You are McKenna Buchanan, aren't you?”

She chuckled, finally looking directly at him. Those eyes made her heart race again, the sheer beauty of them stealing her breath. She glanced at his partner, noting a similar reaction as she stared into stunning blue orbs, the color reminding her of pure mountain water. “You’d be feelin’ awfully foolish if I wasn't.”

He flashed a stunning smile. “That’s not an answer.”

“It wasn't really a question.” She nodded at her bowl. “Can I at least finish eating? Haven’t had a hot meal in longer than I can remember.”

The marshal frowned before looking over at his partner.

The guy shook his head, moving closer to her, dragging another shot of whiskey with him. “You do realize you've been charged with killing seven men?”

She swallowed another chunk of meat, wiping the edge of her mouth with a cloth. “You do realize those men were outlaws?”

“Outlaws or not, the President doesn't condone people taking the law into their own hands.”

Her laugh felt genuine this time. “Then perhaps the President should have more lawmen to keep his people safe.” She eased away, looking from one man to the other. “And I didn't kill them. I challenged them to a duel when they wouldn't take no for an answer. They simply lost.”

The first guy grinned, brushing his hand along her arm, frowning when she tensed and pulled back. 

“You out shot seven of Bret Wilson’s gang? How?”

Anger heated her cheeks as she scraped the chair back. “As I've told others. The West is a dangerous place. Pays to know how to handle a gun.”

~~~~~

Buy Links-

Resplendence-  http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/m8/697-978-1-60735-809-1--marshal-law-tombstone-series-book-one-by-kris-norris.html

Amazon-   http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NO3BDB0

ARe-    https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-marshallawtombstoneseriesbookone-1628531-158.html

Patricia Pellicane, Author of the Historical Romantic Erotica, 'Heat Lightening'

Scribal Love Welcomes Patricia Pellicane!


Patricia Pellicane is an author of both Contemporary and Historical Romantic Erotica.  Her newest work, ‘Heat Lightning’ will be available on November 9 from Resplendence Publishing.

Before we begin I wanted to thank you, Clare, for this opportunity.  It’s much appreciated.



Where are you from?


I’m from a town a half hour outside of New York City, on Long Island.  I live there with my husband.  My six kids and fifteen grandchildren live mostly in close or adjoining towns.



What inspired you to write this book?


This book is the third of a series set in the old west.  I like writing about cowboys, etc.  To me it’s a sexy time period.



Do you have a specific writing style?


I suppose I do.  Everyone who writes has their own style, but I can’t name it.



What is the name of your latest book?  And how did you come up with the title?


Heat Lightning is the name of the book. It’s part of Arizona Heat series.  I needed something with heat in the title.  The first two were Heat Wave and Heat Flash.  It didn’t take long to work out the three titles.



What is Heat Lightning about?


It’s about a young woman who just finished school in the east.  She’s coming home for her mother’s wedding and meets a man on a train, seconds before the train crashes.  The two are trapped together, unable to move under pounds of rubble.


The young woman is educated, delicate and very much a refined lady, while the man who ends up on top of her for the night is her total opposite.  


The softness of the lady beneath him and their altogether close proximity only stirs this man’s interest, while his impossibly brazen actions, during the long night, leaves the lady confused and disgusted at her shocking inability to say no.


Of course after being rescued, they are destined to meet again.  His interest only grows as does her aggravation.



What books have influenced your life most?


That is a hard question to answer. I’m not sure any books have influenced me.  I read for escapism.  I write escapism. There’s nothing very serious here.


The only influence I can say would be influence on my writing.  Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte’ influenced me there.  I’ve read their work a dozen times.



Did you find the idea of having your work published for others to read intimidating?  If yes, why?


Sure it’s intimidating.  This is your baby.  You want everyone to love it and when some don’t, it can hurt like hell.  After awhile a nasty comment or bad review stops bothering you.  A writer needs to develop a thick skin and realize everyone has their own taste, likes and dislikes.  The only thing that’s important is you like it.  If you don’t, then you’re doing something wrong.



If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?


I can’t choose one.  I enjoy many writers for a dozen different reasons.  In the beginning it was Kathleen Woodiwiss and her book ‘Shanna’.  No one person since then.



What books are you reading now?


At the moment, nothing.  It’s hard to concentrate on a book when you’re in the middle of something else.



What are your current projects?


Right now I’m writing another book for Total-e-bound.  A contemporary piece.  Very sexy.



Do you find your international audience is different from your home audience?


No.  Most of my readers are women and women love romance, no matter their color or nationality. 



Do you see writing as your career?


It is my career.



If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?


No.  Mostly I go over a book so many times that I grow sick of it.  If I need to change anything, that would be the time to do it.



Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?


I always loved to read.  One day after reading a particularly awful book, I said to myself, “Even I could do better than that.”  I tried it and was immediately caught.  Since that day I was a writer.  Certainly not polished at first, but a writer never-the-less.



Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?


Yes, the sex scene are difficult.  After twenty two printed novels and twelve erotic eBooks, you come to realize there are just so many words like ecstasy, tormented desire, savage heat, etc.  It doesn’t get easier when you try not to repeat yourself.   Also choreographing a love scene is tricky.  You can’t leave a leg wrapped around a guy’s neck and walk away.  Unless of course the lady has more than two legs.



Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?


The truth is I don’t learn much.  Some history here and there, but not much else.  Like I said before, my books are escapism, purely entertainment.



Do you have any advice for other writers?


My only advice is if you love what you do, keep doing it.  Never, ever give up.


I had twenty six rejections from my first book.  It never sold and I lost the manuscript somewhere.  But my second book sold the first time I sent it out.


You can’t win if you stop trying.


Thanks for dropping by Patricia!


You're Welcome, Clare.




Patricia Pellicane


For romance that sizzles find me at www.patriciapellicane.com
ppellicane@gmail.com
www.facebook.com