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Echoes of the Past
-- EXCERPT: “I didn’t have a choice then, but I do now,” I said, with a mixture of nostalgia and sorrow filling my chest as I sat on the bench across from an old bouquet of crinkled, dried flowers. The soft breeze rustled the autumn leaves, leaving a crisp scent lingering in the wind. The sun dipped over the horizon, casting a warm glow against my face as I sat in this place of quietude. “Mom, Dad,” I whispered, taking a deep breath, “I miss you so much. I need your help now more than ever before.” I knew that coming here today was necessary – I needed their guidance, I was so confused. I sat there and looked around the well-tended lawn and the sun’s reflection against the pond nearby. I kneeled down to replace the old bouquet with the new, trying to avert my eyes, but they were anchored on rereading the etched inscription for the millionth time: “Emily & Liam Wilson, Beloved Parents, May they always rest in peace, Forever in our hearts.” I could almost hear my father’s voice saying, “There’s no ‘cannot’ in our dictionary at home. I crossed it out, it doesn’t exist!” Is that really true, Dad? Right then, it felt impossible. I already had a plan in place, a prestigious job lined up, and now this. A completely unexpected option. I felt a tear run down my cheek and brushed it away with my sleeve. Life hasn’t been the same since you dropped me off at Grandma’s. None of us could have predicted what happened next. “I think I know what I want to do, but I’m so scared.” Memories came flooding back, each one flipping through my mind like snippets of a film. *** “Anna, my dear,” Charlotte said gently, but heavy with melancholy as she opened the screen door from the back side of her house. Anna was hula-hooping and stopped, sensing that something was off by the sound of her grandmother’s tone, and came over to her. “There’s something I need to tell you.” “What is it, Grandma? What’s wrong?” Anna watched as Charlotte fell to her knees, took her hands in her own, tears streaming down her cheeks, and said, “I just got a phone call. There’s been an accident and your parents…I’m so sorry, they’ve passed away.” Anna froze. Shock washed over her, as she attempted to grasp her grandmother’s words. Her eyes started to feel puffy and swollen with tears. A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions raced through her mind. How could this happen? It was a vacation. Charlotte pulled her in closely as they wrapped their arms around each other. Both acknowledged that neither of their lives would ever be the same again. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Moonlight Rip Tide
-- EXCERPT: Prologue Ben Bowen pulled to a stop, looked at the woman sitting next to him, revved the 4-cam V12 engine once then parked the classic 1967 Ferrari 275 GTS convertible on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. His parking spot was in a deserted, crumbling cliff-side part of Rancho Palos Verdes near the famous Pacific Golf Course, west of the LAX airport. Occasionally a jetliner, either leaving or arriving the area would soar high overhead. In between the faint sounds of passing jets, one could hear the surf crashing loudly on the rocks far below, with large waves filling a cove famous for its vicious, deadly rip tide. “So, do you bring all of your girls to this spot?” Mona asked with a smile when the car’s noisy, smelly engine shut down. She loved sex and adventure which was why she’d gone to the party at Danny Trapp’s house near the golf course. She’d expected to find even more fun at the huge house belonging to one of the richest men in Los Angeles and so far she hadn’t been disappointed. Danny and his string of car dealerships up and down all of California, Nevada and Arizona were worth billions of dollars and along with all that money were special, very expensive cars like the old Ferrari she had ridden in, out to the cliffs with Danny’s friend Ben, who was a truly beautiful young man. “Of course!” Ben said, sliding the seat back as far as it would go. He loved Danny’s old Ferrari convertible for the way its engine sounded when he revved it and for the way he could move the seats back far enough to fuck women. “Look at how far back the seat goes…” He looked at Mona and hoped she’d take the hint quickly. He wanted to take care of her then get back to the party before too many people might realize that he had gone off with her. Although he’d taken care to not be seen leaving with Mona, some of the people at the party might be able to put two and two together… and that could be bad. “Cool,” Mona said with a smile at Ben’s bulging crotch. “Want to fuck me here, now big boy?” “Certainly!” Ben said smiling back at her. He looked at her as she unbuttoned her blouse. Mona was approaching 40 which made her desperate and a little crazy too, he thought. Crazy enough to threaten Danny Trapp with exposure. She’d fucked just about everyone, including Danny and now she wanted money in exchange for not telling Danny’s fourth or was it his fifth wife about their steamy affair. Anyway, Mona was older but she was still quite attractive with a great body and a beautiful face beneath a head of dark, luxurious curly hair made even more attractive with the oriental vanilla fragrance of Dior’s Hypnotic Poison. “Aren’t you going to get ready, baby?” Mona asked as she pulled her dress up then removed her brief underwear. “I am always ready for you, Mona,” Ben said, unzipping his pants and giving Mona a peak of his oversized penis. “Now that’s what I like in a man!” Mona said with a grin. “A big dick!” She turned around, got on her knees then stepped across and straddled Ben in preparation for fucking him with the old Ferrari’s steering wheel pressing against her butt. “Want to try a plastic bag?” Ben said with a grin. “You know like we were talking about at the party? If we can deprive your brain of just a little oxygen for only a few seconds, it won’t hurt and your orgasm will be ten times more intense…” He looked directly into her brown eyes and smiled seductively. “Promise?” Mona said with glistening eyes. “Promise me it will be great?” She loved sex and she loved the size of his dick. Fucking him might be the best sex of the party but she’d had to fuck a few more guys to get a good comparison, something she intended to do that evening. “Of course!” Ben said, pulling a plastic bag out from where he’d stashed it, beneath the driver’s seat. “I promise you, this trick will blow your fucking mind baby! You’ll never forget it! Just let me slip this bag over your beautiful hair. I won’t even mess up your lipstick…” “Thanks!” Mona said, feeling the building excitement in her body. She grinned and ducked down to let Ben slip the plastic bag over her head. “It will be so great!” Ben said as he gently slipped the fresh plastic bag over her head while she grinned at him like a fucking idiot and squirmed around on his lap, pressing herself against his stiffening dick. There was no way he was really going to fuck her too, not without a condom needed to prevent leaving any evidence behind. But he only had two hands, both of which were now in use and therefore he had no chance of putting on some protection. He held her close and then closed off the air in the bag with his big, strong hands… Once she stopped struggling he was going to toss her off the cliff. When her broken body was found on the rocks down below, provided she just didn’t wash out to sea with the heavy surf and its dangerous rip tide, the county coroner would rule it either an accident or a suicide, both of which were good outcomes as far as he and Danny were concerned. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Ragtown
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: EZRA When we reached the camp, a circle of ten or so men surrounded another, who quickly shifted from one man to the next, cussing and threatening them with a hayfork. In the center of the circle, two small figures lay naked on the ground. Their hands and legs were spread wide apart and appeared to be tied to tent stakes. They weren’t moving. Ben was coughing uncontrollably when he reached us. “Dear Lord,” he said in between coughs. “What the hell happened?” “One of the boys gave a can of beans to Johnny-behind-the-rock without asking his daddy first. They’ve been out there for over an hour now,” Helen said. “Where did he get a hay fork?” “He used it for a tent pole. Tore down the whole thing to get to it.” I alternated my stare between the man jabbing at the spectators and the two small bodies on the ground. I didn’t want to get stabbed, but somehow, we had to get to those boys, and none of the other men seemed too keen on making a move. Ben whispered something to Helen, and I heard her say under her breath, “If Ranger finds out we have a gun—” “No.” I reached for Ben’s arm. “You’ll get fired. You can’t do that.” Ben shook his arm loose. “Those boys are gonna die before Ranger gets here. I can’t let that happen.” I could see the boys clearly now. They couldn’t be more than six or seven. Their skin was as red as a cock’s comb. I walked toward the circle, trying to focus on the man with the hay fork while others in the crowd tried to reason with him to no avail. Too much going on and not enough sleep, or maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly, but as he turned his back to me to jab his weapon at someone else, I broke the circle and tackled him from behind. We hit the rocky ground together, me landing on top, the hay fork a few feet away. The man struggled against me, and I hit him square in the temple with a closed fist. Then another. And another. I felt all the anger inside of me boiling up—anger at my father, at Billy, and even at Grace for dying on me, and I hit him again. He bucked and threw me off him, swearing as he rolled over. He tried to get to his feet, but I kicked him hard in the abdomen with my booted foot, throwing him back to the ground. I grabbed the hay fork and raised it high over my head, directly above him. His face tensed, and his dark eyes filled with anger. As I lowered the fork, a strong hold around my midsection pulled me away, and I missed my mark by inches. “That’s enough, son,” Ben said from behind me. Four men held the offender down and, after untying the boys, hog-tied him with the same rope to keep him until Ranger arrived. The boys’ skin had started to blister, and they were covered with red ants. I turned away, unable to look at them, and focused on Helen. “Are they alive?” “Barely.” Author Note: Johnny-behind-the-rock was mentioned in one of the many oral histories related to Ragtown. Too old to be employed on the dam project, he lived alone behind a large boulder with nothing to his name but the clothes he wore. He rarely came from behind his rock, moving throughout the day to stay in a shady spot. He rarely spoke and survived on what others gave him. He was known only as Johnny-behind-the-rock. I don’t know his story, I’m not sure anyone does, but I’m sure it was tragic to live as he did. I wanted to remember him in some way, even if it is only a mention in a work of fiction. The ant scene is a fictionalized account gleaned from a true event that took place in Ragtown. I included it to show the cruelty that desperation can breed.
GIVEAWAY! --
Forever Again
Goodreads / Signed Copies / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: On the alert, she moved slowly toward the front of the house, and when the oak door came into view, she pulled up short. A man wearing sunglasses sat on the stairs. Her heart stopped, and she swallowed the sudden tightness in her throat. Hossam Jalal. Since she saw him last, his face had haunted her dreams, and his presence evoked mixed feelings—excitement, regret, anger. He removed the sunglasses and tucked them into the pocket of his guayabera shirt. He looked like a man on vacation—relaxed, refreshed. “Hello.” His low, raspy voice reverberated through her like an echo. “What are you doing here?” Alissa asked, in a tone as frigid as an icicle. “You would not speak to me in Paris, and since then you have not accepted any of my calls or returned my messages.” Despite living in France half his life, his accent leaned closer to his native Morocco. Alissa squared her shoulders. “For the average person, that would be a hint.” “I am not very good at taking hints.” He smiled, white teeth contrasting against olive-toned skin. The expression softened his features and annoyed her. “No kidding,” she muttered, eyeing him warily. “It’s been a year.” “I had some things to take care of first. Then I checked in with one of our mutual friends, who took pity on me and told me you had returned to St. Thomas a few days ago.” She knew exactly who told him her business. Had to be Hunter since he and Hossam were friends, and she’d give him a piece of her mind the next time they spoke. She would never divulge to either man how many times she’d been tempted to call Hossam and bridge the divide between them. Six feet tall with his black curly hair adorably too long, he had a wiry build and bore a striking resemblance to the Dutch actor of Tunisian descent, Marwan Kenzari. His unassuming smile and low-key appearance in light-colored linen clothing were nothing but camouflage. Hossam meant “sharp sword” or “cutting blade” or “sword of justice” in some traditions. Very apt, considering he killed for a living. He specialized in making the deaths look like accidents, but he was also a fighting machine, skilled in Muay Thai and Judo. “You look beautiful,” he said softly. Her chest tightened at the words, but she knew for a fact that she did not look beautiful. She smelled like outside—salt, sea, and air—and was therefore in desperate need of a shower. Her braided hair probably looked like a frizzy hot mess, and she wore no makeup. “You wasted a trip. I’m not talking to you.” “I can be very persuasive.” She responded by putting one foot in front of the other to move past him, but his fingers curled around her wrist and brought her footsteps to a halt. His touch bled through her skin and into her bones. She gave her arm a sharp twist to free herself, but he held fast and pushed her against the outer wall in the alcove, crowding her with his imposing height. He was too close now. She could see the irises of his sharp, dark eyes and smell the alluring scent of black currant and bergamot in the cologne he often wore. “You know I can get out of this hold if I want to.” “Go ahead and try,” he said with a soft smile. His fingers tightened fractionally, and they had a stare-off. Most men were no match for her, but not someone with Hossam’s skill, whose strength and agility meant he could pin and hold her in place, no matter how hard she fought. “Let me go, Hossam.” She let the hardness in her voice be a warning. He sobered. “I cannot do that, habibti.” Alissa stiffened. “Don’t start with that habibti nonsense. I’m not your darling or your beloved,” she said, shoving him off her. As if to dispute her assertion, his gaze ran over her in an overtly possessive way that made her skin tingle and put her on edge. “I did not come here to fight.” “Then why are you here?” Alissa demanded. His eyes softened. “I came for you.”
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #Wicked Coven (Cursed Descendants 1) by A.S.Green #Urban Fantasy @Xpresso Book Tours14/9/2023
Wicked Coven
-- On sale for 99¢ for a limited time! **ALSO! There are 12 pop culture witches hidden in the book. Find all 12 (or as many as you can) and be entered to win prizes. Contest ends on Halloween. Details are inside the book cover!** -- EXCERPT: Ethan Mather spun Stella toward a corner of the dance floor, then suddenly stopped and pulled her so close she straddled his leg. “The way you dance,” she said. “It should be criminal.” Ethan’s eyes sparked with humor. “I’m surprised you think so.” “I could surprise you in more ways than that,” Stella said, wishing she could think of a spell that would put him in his place without calling her out as a witch. “Do you feel that?” he asked. His gaze bore into hers. “People staring at us? Yeah, I feel it.” Not that she blamed anyone. Ethan in his tux. Her O.T.T. dress. The fact that they’d been holding this highly provocative pose for way too long… Who wouldn’t want to watch to see what happened next? “No,” he said. “This. Do you feel this?” He tightened his arm around her waist, and Stella’s magic surged, heating her chest and sizzling through her veins. Oh, yeah. She felt it all right. The pulsing sense of power was impossible to ignore. She only wished she knew what it meant.
GIVEAWAY! --
Ragtown
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: EZRA When we reached the camp, a circle of ten or so men surrounded another, who quickly shifted from one man to the next, cussing and threatening them with a hayfork. In the center of the circle, two small figures lay naked on the ground. Their hands and legs were spread wide apart and appeared to be tied to tent stakes. They weren’t moving. Ben was coughing uncontrollably when he reached us. “Dear Lord,” he said in between coughs. “What the hell happened?” “One of the boys gave a can of beans to Johnny-behind-the-rock without asking his daddy first. They’ve been out there for over an hour now,” Helen said. “Where did he get a hay fork?” “He used it for a tent pole. Tore down the whole thing to get to it.” I alternated my stare between the man jabbing at the spectators and the two small bodies on the ground. I didn’t want to get stabbed, but somehow, we had to get to those boys, and none of the other men seemed too keen on making a move. Ben whispered something to Helen, and I heard her say under her breath, “If Ranger finds out we have a gun—” “No.” I reached for Ben’s arm. “You’ll get fired. You can’t do that.” Ben shook his arm loose. “Those boys are gonna die before Ranger gets here. I can’t let that happen.” I could see the boys clearly now. They couldn’t be more than six or seven. Their skin was as red as a cock’s comb. I walked toward the circle, trying to focus on the man with the hay fork while others in the crowd tried to reason with him to no avail. Too much going on and not enough sleep, or maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly, but as he turned his back to me to jab his weapon at someone else, I broke the circle and tackled him from behind. We hit the rocky ground together, me landing on top, the hay fork a few feet away. The man struggled against me, and I hit him square in the temple with a closed fist. Then another. And another. I felt all the anger inside of me boiling up—anger at my father, at Billy, and even at Grace for dying on me, and I hit him again. He bucked and threw me off him, swearing as he rolled over. He tried to get to his feet, but I kicked him hard in the abdomen with my booted foot, throwing him back to the ground. I grabbed the hay fork and raised it high over my head, directly above him. His face tensed, and his dark eyes filled with anger. As I lowered the fork, a strong hold around my midsection pulled me away, and I missed my mark by inches. “That’s enough, son,” Ben said from behind me. Four men held the offender down and, after untying the boys, hog-tied him with the same rope to keep him until Ranger arrived. The boys’ skin had started to blister, and they were covered with red ants. I turned away, unable to look at them, and focused on Helen. “Are they alive?” “Barely.” Author Note: Johnny-behind-the-rock was mentioned in one of the many oral histories related to Ragtown. Too old to be employed on the dam project, he lived alone behind a large boulder with nothing to his name but the clothes he wore. He rarely came from behind his rock, moving throughout the day to stay in a shady spot. He rarely spoke and survived on what others gave him. He was known only as Johnny-behind-the-rock. I don’t know his story, I’m not sure anyone does, but I’m sure it was tragic to live as he did. I wanted to remember him in some way, even if it is only a mention in a work of fiction. The ant scene is a fictionalized account gleaned from a true event that took place in Ragtown. I included it to show the cruelty that desperation can breed.
GIVEAWAY! --
Six Feet Under
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo --
GIVEAWAY! --
Buried Roots
-- EXCERPT: I approach my car, and everything around me is echoey and out of focus. I just have to take one step at a time, the first being to get this car out of the ditch. A windowless white van slows to a crawl as it swerves around me. Nerves clench in my gut as the driver pulls onto the shoulder just up ahead. A stranger driving a kidnap van in this desolate place? Hell no! I already have a raging fear of the woods. When the driver steps out, I grip the pepper spray on my key ring. So what if he’s got a killer bod and shock of black hair? Who cares if he’s wearing a faded t-shirt and rugged jeans, like some Hallmark movie hottie? I know better than to be fooled by looks. I check the highway, scanning for other cars. Of course, this country road is empty. When he gets closer, I see the oily black streaks on his face, the filth on his hands, and the dirt on his clothes. And he’s wearing mismatched neon socks. That has to be ironic, no? But his smile is wicked sexy when he says, “Can I help you, ma’am?” Ma’am? Is he for real? I force a smile and a wave when I say, “No, thank you. I’ve got it.” Translation: don’t come an inch closer. “You’ve got it?” His voice is incredulous. “Yup. All good.” His eyes bulge as he stops and glances at my stuck tire. “All good? Looks like you’re in a bit of a pickle.” On closer inspection, he has muscles everywhere, and the light scruff on his carved jawbone is annoyingly sexy. Which again, will not stop me from pepper spraying his fine ass. Hello, stranger danger—in the middle of nowhere. “Pickle? Nah.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Look, this isn’t a sexist thing. I have a mother and three sisters who could kick everyone’s ass. But this road doesn’t see much action, and I can’t leave someone out here.” “I appreciate that, I really do. But I won’t be stuck long—I’m handy.” That’s a stretch. I restore homes, so I am handy, but with cars, I only know the basics. He raises a brow as he studies my face. “Handy or not, getting a car out of a ditch is a two-person job. At least.” He cocks his head and hitches up his voice a notch when he adds, “Out here, there’s no Triple A.” “I don’t need Triple A. But thank you.” His lips quirk up as they appear to search for a response. “Once I leave, you might not see another car for hours.” “I’ll figure it out. I’m a New Yorker.” “Ah. That explains it.” My hand lands on my hip. “Explains what, exactly?” “Nothing.” His mouth curves in a patronizing grin. His amusement pisses me off. It’s really hard not to sound condescending when I say, “I’m sure you’ve got places to be.” He hesitates before he hitches his thumb over his shoulder. “Okay, then. I’m leaving.” Our gazes lock, like we’re in a game of eye-chicken. That’s fine, bring it—I don’t mind studying his. They’re part ocean, part storm cloud—sparkle tinged with despair. Like mine. I don’t look away, don’t blink when I say, “I see that, and good for you. Enjoy your day.” He steps away in defeat. “I’m really leaving this time. You’ll be out here in the backwoods. All by yourself.” Another step back. “When you could have a mechanically inclined, super handy guy give you a hand.” I put my palms up. “Again—mechanically inclined, super handy hands right here.” I wiggle my fingers and paint on a smile. “Sir.” “All righty, then. Good luck.” That grin is back. “Ma’am.” I hate to admit it, but damn it, smug is sexy on him. Our gazes lock again, and I enjoy looking at his smile, looking at him. Forget eye candy—this country boy… or man, with distinguished light creases on his temples—is more of an exquisite eye confection. And now, I’m staring. I attempt to run my fingers through my auburn hair, which I’ve forgotten is bobby-pinned. My hand gets stuck, and I try to play it off as a head scratch. He waves. “I’m Owen Brooks, by the way. It was nice meeting you.” “You too.” I’m not giving him my name. I point at his feet and say, “Nice neon socks, by the way.” That smug grin is back when he runs a hand over his dirt-stained tee. “Pulling this look together wasn’t easy.” I smile, and for the first time, it’s genuine. 
GIVEAWAY! --
The Art of Awkward Affection
-- EXCERPT: I picked up the mug of black tea and tried not to stare at the buttons that were threatening to pop on Lexi’s blouse and let her t*** spill out. I took a large swallow of the scalding-hot water. “You two are harshing his snarly, self-important, condescending vibes. It’s the gestapo up in here. A man can’t even cuss out his own assistant in peace. Shoo!” Lexi waved away the two older women. “Can’t you see you’re smothering him? Some people,” she said to me, cupping a hand to the side of her mouth. “Can we please fire her?” Anthym shrieked. “But then who will sort our dear leader’s underwear?” Lexi asked magnanimously. “You’re not supposed to be touching his underwear.” The HR director was appalled. “I was folding them Marie Kondo style, to bring joy to Mr. Richmond’s life,” Lexi said primly. “Oh my god, you left the note,” I said before I could stop myself. The office was dead quiet.
GIVEAWAY! --
Queen of Moirai
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