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The Spell of the Rose
-- EXCERPT: ‘I travelled through many lands and, you know what? People outside Fogland don’t look like us. They are taller and they don’t have…,’ she hesitated for a moment, ‘for example, your family, you have tentacles which you call hats. The Gerions, on Round Street, have three arms. The Soleys have a light on their foreheads and they shine like torches all night. Where I come from, hair is hair, people have two arms, and their heads are not like bedside lamps in the dark. This is a strange place here.’ Fleex was thinking. Fogland was definitely a land which you could enter but could not leave. Not on your own. It was a place with a purpose. But exactly what that purpose was, none of the locals knew. He turned to Fin, ‘What’s the last thing you remember before you came here?’ ‘I remember a small forest, all green. I was walking along a path leading downwards. There was no other way, only down. In the thickest part of the forest, the path just disappeared. I was tired and sat down to have a rest. I must have fallen asleep because I remember that the path had reappeared when I woke up, and I followed it to the Rose Garden.’ Bright tears filled her eyes, held on for a moment and then ran down the silky skin of her cheeks. Fleex was looking at her with a heavy heart. So heavy that his face turned pale and the tentacles in his hair hung down like the dead limbs of an octofruit. He felt sorry for Fin. It was nice that she had chosen him to share her story with, and he was not going to tell anyone. And if she kept quiet, the fog was not going to take her. A creepy, accusing shriek jolted him out of his thoughts. ‘Gold digger! Greedy, insensitive cow!’ Somebody was screaming and the voice was coming from the vines twisting over the café. Then there was a rumble as something round and clumsy rolled down the path and sped away. ‘The Gossiper! She’s been hiding above us all the time, eavesdropping!’ Fleex whispered, as he held the hands of his loved one. ‘Fin, whatever happens, I want you to know that I love you and…’ Before he could even finish, white and grey clouds of fog suddenly descended from all sides and surrounded Fin, blackening the sky and the garden. Wet cold froze them. The fog formed into the ugly face of an unknown creature, with black holes for eyes and sharp teeth. Fin was still squeezing Fleex’ hands when strangely fleshless yet strong fingers suddenly grabbed at his, forcing them apart. A powerful pull and then the fog monster pushed him aside with its enormous paw and opened its mouth. Fin sank inside, in a flood of tears. The fog spiralled up, taking Fin with it. Fleex was stunned. It took him hours to realise she was gone and he was never going to see her again. Without looking at it, he took the piece of paper from the table and put it into his pocket. She had merely decided to share her secret with him, but the fog had taken her. Because of the Gossiper.
GIVEAWAY! Hosted by: #Book Blitz #Christmas in the Highlands by Suzy Henderson #Contemporary Romance @Xpresso Book Tours13/12/2021
Christmas in the Highlands
-- EXCERPT: Arden Niamh MacDonald was almost home. As she drove by fields and hedgerows, smoke rose in straggly lines from croft chimneys at the foot of the mountains. With her foot, she squeezed the brake pedal as she approached Loch Melfort, the ocean waters of which lay flat and still; lead-grey, reflecting the mountains and the blue cloudless sky. Cold, uninviting, yet the scene warmed her heart and a smile emerged on her lips for the first time since leaving Leeds. The late autumn sunlight glared through the windscreen as she turned into the drive of her late grandmother’s cottage, Arden House. As she swung into the drive, she drove slowly over the rutted, stony tree-lined track now mostly covered with a fine carpet of grass. Above the towering pines, a buzzard glided through the infinite cloudless sky. She squinted into the light as she parked, casting a furtive glance at her gran’s old silver Range Rover that sat in the open fronted barn at the side of the house. Goodness, that wouldn’t start now. Was it even road worthy? Niamh huffed out a breath. She clambered out of her black Honda CRV, her thighs tight, lower back aching from the long drive. She tugged her blue pinstriped shirt down and wiggled her hips as she hitched up her skinny black jeans. Thirty minutes away from Oban and she was in a remote haven surrounded by mountains, lochs, wildlife, and a castle. The local village housed one public inn, a village store and post office. The wind puffed, shaking the boughs free of autumn’s leaves, sending them scuttling around her feet like confetti in hues of scarlet, gold, and amber. Suddenly, she felt the ache of loss and failure and sucked in a deep breath. All the dreams she’d had and clung to. She’d studied art at university, dreamt of holding extravagant exhibitions, travelling the world, painting her way, selling originals like hot cakes. Reality was a harsh taskmaster. Working in pubs, supermarkets while painting in every spare minute and holding scrappy two-bit exhibitions in downtown art galleries which yielded minimal sales. Still, she’d tried her best and often told herself she needed to keep going. She remembered a rather crude expression of her grandmother’s, who often said, “In Churchill’s own words, keep buggering on.” Niamh smiled, a pang nipping her heart. When she was fourteen, her parents died in a car accident, so she’d gone to live with Gran. The landscape of the Highlands inspired her over the years. The mountains and hills rose all around, their energy simmering in the air. Her heart bloomed. In Arden, she grieved, and later, fell in love for the first time. On a grey drizzly day, descending from Glencoe, she’d slipped on loose scree and sprained her ankle. Her friend, Anna, didn’t know what to do. Niamh had insisted on getting to her feet and leaned on Anna for support. As she hobbled along, a young man emerged from the mist. Dark hair, coffee-bean eyes, with long lashes. Such a handsome face. ‘Do you need help?’ he said. Of course, Anna jumped at the offer, squealed like a little girl in delight whereas Niamh longed for the ground to swallow her whole, her cheeks burning as he gazed into her eyes. ‘I’m Alex,’ he said. ‘Here, put your arm round my shoulders.’ Then he slipped his arm around her waist before helping her down the mountain. Their friendship bloomed and matured like the fine rambling roses in Gran’s Garden. Niamh hid her growing attraction as they hung out together during school holidays and at weekends. Later, university beckoned for them both. Alex left for St Andrews and she to Leeds. They both promised they’d write, but that soon petered out. The past eleven months had been bleak. Catching her partner, Tom, in a clinch with a younger woman at his office party a few months back was the icing on the cake. Afterwards, she discovered it wasn’t his first indiscretion. How could she have been so blind? Her bruised heart ached, but it would heal in Arden. 
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Merry Misfits
-- Excerpt from Merry Misfits VIRGINIA Hands sliding beneath my arms, he lifted me out of the wheelchair like I weighed nothing, holding me up so my paralyzed legs and feet dangled over the floor. His arms didn’t even tremble with the effort, and I knew it was because he’d been lifting weights. “He touch you?” he asked, eyes all squinty. “I’d have brained him!” His lips twitched. “You okay?” I rolled my eyes. “He’s hardly the first person to ever say mean things to me.” He jolted. “Who else was mean to you?” I patted his shoulder. “No one.” “I should have killed him.” “You can’t kill people at Christmas.” “So I can kill him after New Year’s?” I could see him already plotting in that villainous head of his. “No. You promised.” His whole face softened. “I know, sprite. Why do you think I went so easy on him?” “You broke his nose,” I pointed out. “‘Tis the season.” 
GIVEAWAY! Hosted by: #Book Blitz #It's a Wonderful Lie (Heaven on Earth 1) by Wren Michaels @Xpresso Book Tours9/12/2021
It’s a Wonderful Lie
-- EXCERPT: Swiping my tearstained face, I made my way over to the myriad of trees and tried to make a quick decision. I had to get out of there fast. I couldn’t “people” anymore today. I would either end up a blubbering mess under the blow-up lawn ornaments or in jail from high-fiving the heartless cashier right in the face who couldn’t fork over thirty cents to help a kid buy a Christmas wreath. In my unstable mindset, I made the poor choice to go for the nine-foot Douglas fir. As I yanked the leaning tree from the fence, little did I know I held a death trap in the palm of my sticky hand. The laws of physics mocked my existence as the tree toppled over, taking my five-foot, six-inch frame with it. It’s completely true how your life flashed before your eyes in those last seconds of mortality. Mine happened to be stuck on repeat of Grayson stuffing Suzie as I cursed his name in all six languages I spoke. If he hadn’t cheated on me, I’d be in Barbados as Mrs. Jilani, not splattered on the floor of Trees-R-Us as the jilted Eden Credere. Instead of hitting the cold, snow-covered ground, something strong cradled the back of my head, radiating a warmth that caressed my skin and soothed what should have been my shattered bones. I would have sworn there were no customers around me as I hid my ever-blackening soul in the back forty of the tree lot. No one could have caught me that fast. Then again, one hundred pounds of Douglas fir swallowed my face, so my vantage point skewed a bit. “Thank you, Lord,” I whispered on the breath that whooshed out of my lungs. A melodic yet husky chuckle vibrated around me, filling me with the same warmth that held my head in some bubble of safety. Maybe I did hit the ground, and the warmth was a pool of my own blood. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities with as much rum and eggnog as I’d consumed earlier. “Believe me, I am not the Lord.” A voice surrounded me, and heat tingled straight to my toes, as if his tone resonated just for my ears. “Oh good, because if you were, I’d be really upset that I’m meeting him in yoga pants and no makeup.” Sometimes the things that came out of my mouth missed the sanity filter in my brain. Another chuckle vibrated against me before it halted, followed by a sharp intake of air. “You heard that?” With pine needles burrowing into my closed eyelids, I couldn’t be sure I was actually talking to another person and not just myself. “Heard what?” “What I said. I didn’t mean for you to hear it.” Worry strained his words as he softened his voice. “You didn’t exactly whisper it, and seeing as how you caught me like a ninja, you had to be nearby. Which reminds me, I still have a tree on my face. I don’t suppose you’d help get it off me? I’ll buy you a coffee or a beer or something.” “I’m so sorry. Of course. I…I was caught off guard. Let me help you up,” he stammered. “Well, I suppose anyone would be caught off guard while having to dive for some stranger being eaten by a tree. Unless you’re like a lumberjack and see that kind of thing all the time.” The spiked eggnog I’d had for breakfast now seemed like a really bad idea as the stupid tumbled out of my mouth in droves. His harmonious chuckle returned and enveloped me again, like tiny ripples of pleasure bouncing off my body. I loved this man’s laugh, and I hadn’t even seen his face. In the span of thirty seconds, I’d developed some freaky fetish where all I wanted to do was have him laugh near me so I could swaddle in the warmth and happiness of his voice. Shit, what the hell did I put in that eggnog? Was it expired? “Hold still,” the mystery man said. He eased me to the ground. Cold snow soaked the back of my head, my hair sucking it up like a slushy. I cursed the blasted New Jersey winters in three ancient tongues. I’d probably pay for that later, but as an archaeologist, I rarely got to use all the dead languages I studied. Now seemed like a good time. The tree whisked away from my face, and I blinked my eyes open. The gasp that followed sucked in so much cold air, an erratic series of hiccups erupted. Another sign I was more than likely drunk—Thor hovered over me, or at least he could have passed for his twin brother. Thick blond locks of hair danced across his broad shoulders in the light breeze, framing his marble-smooth, chiseled face. The bluest eyes I’d ever seen sparkled like an ocean, and if I stared into them long enough, I was sure they’d take me to a whole other world. Those eyes looked hauntingly familiar. Where had I seen them before? “You’ve got quite the naughty mouth, Eden,” he said, warming me with his voice and a smile that probably dropped a lot of panties. He slid his arms under my back and lifted me from the ground as if I weighed nothing. Boy, would he have a backache in the morning. “How do you know my name? Have we met before?” I blinked again, reassuring myself I hadn’t passed out and that I was indeed alive, awake, and in Thor’s arms. “Um, your driver’s license was on the ground. Must have fallen out when the tree landed on you.” He glanced away from my inquiring stare. Hmm, plausible, since I had stuffed my debit card and license in my pocket instead of carrying a purse today. I only planned on getting a tree and going right back home. I dared not go anywhere else on Christmas Eve with all the crazies on the road. I slipped my hand into my pocket and found both cards there. Did he put it back? Surely I would have felt it. But it had been a while since I’d had a man’s hand in my pants. Grayson and I stopped having sex about six months before the marriage that never happened. He wanted the wedding night to be special. Yeah, so special because he was basting the neighbor. Wait, he said I had a naughty mouth, meaning this dude knew I cursed in a dead language. Or maybe he assumed it was cursing, since Aramaic and ancient Greek sounded a lot like my angry Italian mother. 
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Only Sometimes
-- EXCERPT: Noah’s POV When I hear Niko’s laugh, I stop so abruptly that an older man almost stumbles into me. It’s sweet and songful and a stark contrast to her usual sharp tone—but then again, I think she reserves that one just for me. My eyes zero in on her in no time, always so damned attuned to her every move. She’s standing next to the bar chatting, but I only notice her. My mouth is dry, and a drink would probably help, but I can’t seem to move. She’s wearing a simple pale green summer dress that shows off her trained shoulders and arms. It’s almost floor-length, and her hair is up and pinned with a fresh pink flower. It makes me think of midsummer nights and dancing under the stars. Her deep red lips form a crooked smile, and then suddenly, her eyes cut to mine. For a moment, we’re simply looking at each other, her smile still lingering. I don’t realise that I’m walking before I’m standing right in front of her. I’m pretty much invading Niko’s personal space without planning to. Our closeness screams of an intimacy that we don’t share and never will. She’s abandoned whatever conversation she was having, waiting for me to speak. I was the one to run over here like a man on a mission, but my throat is so dry and my mind is scattered. She’s breathing lightly, like she’s afraid to make a sound, but her eyes are all challenge and fire. A touch of pink colours her cheeks, and I notice a faint dusting of freckles on her light skin. Heat rushes over me—embarrassment that I’m standing there staring like an idiot with an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch her. Niko is fucking magnetic. Her beauty is a contrast I can’t get enough of, no matter how much it pisses me off. Her body is toned and firm, likely capable of kicking my arse, but she’s still delicate and feminine, almost like something out of a fairy tale. My hand lifts on its own accord, but I hide the motion by clenching my fists, frustrated with myself. I’m burning, but I doubt it has anything to do with the evening sunshine. Niko straightens ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing. The challenge in them grows stronger until it overpowers every bit of softness left. It’s my fault. I probably look like a mad man. Aggressive. She must think I’m about to pick a fight with her. I briefly close my eyes and take my first full breath since I raced over here. “Hi,” I say hoarsely as I refocus on her. “Hi, Noah. You clean up nicely,” Niko answers, an amused smile playing on her lips. The compliment shocks me, but maybe it was supposed to because she looks entertained. Perhaps she’s sarcastic. I want to smack my head into something hard for overthinking. I also want to compliment her, but I have no idea what to say that won’t give too much away and make working with her even harder. I’m too slow, as Niko rolls her eyes. “Don’t look so scared. Just because I appreciate seeing you in something other than those awful, convertible hiking shorts does not mean we’re friends. You don’t have to look so torn up.” Her voice is sugary and unaffected, but her eyes look hurt as she scans the rest of the party. It’s as if someone turned off the mute button on the whole event as the sound of chit chat, laughter and clinking glasses overwhelms me.
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Glory Unbound
-- EXCERPT: Back in the living room, Mary leaned against the kitchen door fame, puffing a rolled-up brown-paper cigarette with a shaking hand. “I know y’all engaged.” Mary took a short drag. “But you cain’t just come in here and snatch a child without askin’. Not even you, Malcolm Porter.” “Child welfare does it all the time when they see bloody sheets, bleeding welts, and years and year of scars. You should be locked up with nothing but demons!” He snatched open the apartment door and stepped out into the hallway. “I love you, Mama.” Glory hugged her mother until she felt Mary’s arms around her. “I’m sure it’s only for a few days,” she whispered. “I’ll be back when he calms down.” “Malcolm!” Mary called out. “Mark my words. I know my child. She needs purging. She wants to be worldly. Devil get at her real easy. You takin’ her over to your mother’s with all that fancy stuff, gon’ turn her head if you don’t watch out. Demons of lies and rebellion, Jezebel spirit—” Glory heard the suitcase drop and swift, heavy footfalls over the threshold. She threw herself at Malcolm before he could reach her mother. “If you again lay a hand on her, you will remember the struggle and never do it again!” His voice was an icy snarl promising the wrath of God. Glory pressed all her weight against Malcolm, the bandages under her clothes ripping from her skin, the medical tape roughly, agonizingly, scraping against her cuts and welts. “Malcolm, God, please, let’s go! Mama, just stop! I promise I’ll be good!” Glory pushed against Malcolm until he backed up into the hall and grabbed her suitcase. “I will bring you to a horrible end, and you will be no more. You will be sought, but you will never again be found!” Malcolm’s biblical threats hung in the air as he backed toward the stairs. Glory stared into her mother’s impassive face. Mary took a deep drag on her rolled cigarette, nodded once, and closed the apartment door. Glory didn’t move until after she heard all three locks click into place.
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Sleigh Bells on Bread Loaf Mountain
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: “You’re seriously going to drive all the way to Vermont to spend Christmas with family you haven’t seen in years?” Spencer’s voice was so thick with sarcasm Roxanne couldn’t decide which part of what he’d said offended him the most. Her work bestie slumped dramatically against the high wall of her cubicle, fanning at himself. The perfection of his coiffed hair and meticulously starched clothes might have given the impression that Spencer Chen was impervious to the indignities of human emotion, but the expression on his face said plainly he was not. At the present, he was wearing the most severe of his trademark histrionic faces: upper lip drawn back to expose a row of pearly white teeth, nostrils flared, expertly sculpted eyebrows arched. The look said he hated everything that had just come out of his mouth. All of it. Don’t encourage him. Roxanne bit her lip and willed herself to stay silent. When Spencer got on a roll, it was best to just let him tire himself out. Working in the fashion industry had earned her a closet full of designer labels and, along with them, the kid gloves necessary to handle the drama queens in her life, including Spencer. Usually, Roxanne enjoyed his dramatic reactions to everyday happenings—so long as they weren’t directed at her. Like now. She opened her mouth to speak, but Spencer wasn’t finished. “In a log cabin,” he added, stabbing his index finger upward to punctuate each word. A shudder passed through his body as he dropped his palm over his heart. He was so spun up he actually looked faint. “I am.” Roxanne drew her response out and bit her lip. Maybe if she said the words slowly, they wouldn’t spin him back up. Spencer closed his eyes and sucked his teeth, still fanning. She sighed. “It’s not as bad as you’re making it sound, though, Spence. Seriously.” “Oh, honey.” Spencer’s eyes snapped open with an exaggerated pop. “It absolutely is. You’re Divine, remember? Being divine isn’t just a job; it’s a lifestyle. And there’s nothing cute about spending the biggest holiday of the year in the sticks.” 
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Kissing Charlie
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: “How did you hurt your back?” Her voice was cool, and she wasn’t meeting his eyes. “While hiking,” he said curtly. He was in pain; it didn’t matter what the hell happened. “Tell me about this Wowen, Bowen, whatever the hell you call this cr—therapy.” She gave him a cool look. “It’s called Bowen Therapy.” “Bowen Therapy,” he said, his gaze on her mouth. “The guiding principles of the technique were established by Tom Bowen during the 1950s. It focuses on the whole person, not just the condition. In other words, it treats the cause, not only the symptoms. It helps the body to heal and restores the balance by shifting the body from your innate ‘fight or flight’ system to a more natural state of calm.” He watched her as she studied his body. She was holding something in her hand. Damn, she had yet to touch him, but he was struggling not to react to her nearness. The fact that he was lying on his back wasn’t helping, either. “Natural state of calm? With you doing strange things to my body?” he grumbled, only realizing the ambiguity of his words when they hung in the air around them. Her lips twitched. “Oh, you think this is funny?” he snarled. “I think you’re in pain. I think you like being in control and at the moment, you’re not. That’s why you feel the need to lash out. But it’s fine. I often have children throwing tantrums.” “I’m not throwing a tantrum, damn it…” He tried to sit up straight, but a pain shot up his back, and groaning, he had to slowly lie down again. “The movements in Bowen Therapy,” she continued as if he hadn’t interrupted her, “are very distinctive and are used on precise points on the body. It involves moving the soft tissue in a particular way. I will use a rolling-type movement, using my fingers, hands, or sometimes my elbow. It will create a focus for the brain by stimulating the nerve pathways and tissue. I work on only a small area, depending how far your skin can move. What you may find strange—” “This whole damn day is strange. I don’t know what the hell my mother was thinking,” he muttered. 
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Holiday Hope
From October 1 through December 24, ten percent of the net proceeds from all of Shanna’s book sales are donated to the Justin Cowboy Crisis Fund. -- EXCERPT: On silent feet, Jace moved across the kitchen. A lamp on the table cast an amber glow around the room, illuminating his father as he snuck a piece of apple pie from beneath the towel where Mae had left it on the counter after supper. “I thought I’d be able to catch you in here.” Jace spoke quietly as he stepped near his dad. Grant spun around so fast, the slice of apple pie he’d just set on his plate slid to the edge and would have plopped to the floor if Jace hadn’t caught it. He nudged it back on the plate, licked the juice from his finger, then helped himself to a slice while his father glowered at him. He filled two glasses with milk and set them on the table, then carried over his dish of pie before taking a seat next to his dad. “What are you doing sneaking around at night?” Grant asked, waving his fork at him. “You could cause a body to have a fit of apoplexy or their heart to plumb stop with such tomfoolery.” “I wasn’t the one digging into Aunt Mae’s pie.” Jace smirked at his dad. “Besides, we all know you can’t help yourself when it comes to apple pie or chocolate cake. As quick as you think everyone is asleep, you sneak into the kitchen and steal a piece or three.” “I’ve never eaten three pieces,” Grant blustered, then lowered his voice. “But you did catch me. Mae probably knew I’d get up to snitch a slice, which is why she made an extra pie in the first place. What are you doing up? And don’t tell me it was a craving for pie.” “It is good pie, Pops.” Jace licked the juice from his fork. “As for why I’m up, I want to hear the truth about why that poor girl is here, thinking Jude will marry her.” 
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Accidentally In Love
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Eden Books -- EXCERPT: Are you sure you don’t have the flu or something?” Gemma asked from across the kitchen table, stirring her burrito bowl in thought. Gemma lived in South Philly, but commuted to the brewery in Drakesville. When we could, we’d have dinner together before her shift. I tried to cancel tonight, but she insisted. My sister could be needy. I shrugged and pushed my untouched bowl of food out of the way. I had zero appetite tonight. “PMS?” she asked. I stared back at her in silence. “Avs, when did you last get your period?” “Not since before the Arts Fest,” I admitted in a low whisper. Her eyes turned to saucers. “That was two months ago!” I cringed. “Maybe it’s stress?” Gemma looked horrified. When Gemma was in college, she had a pregnancy scare, and I drove all the way up to State College to be with her. She didn’t want kids, and an unplanned pregnancy hadn’t been in the cards. She ended up not being pregnant and got her period the next day, but to this day, she always was stressed if it was late. If Gemma had been in my shoes, she wouldn’t have ignored the signs. She would have taken a pregnancy test the day her period was late. She stood up and put on her coat. I furrowed my brow at her. “Where are you going?” She glared at me. “Going to the pharmacy to get a pregnancy test.” Before I could argue, she ran down the steps and out of my apartment. I cringed at my door slamming shut behind her. Gemma was gone for maybe fifteen minutes before she clomped back up the steps and waved a bag of pregnancy tests in my face. “Come on, let’s take these,” she said and led me into my bathroom. Ten minutes later, we stared down at the third and final pregnancy test and waited for the results. The first two tests were positive, so I didn’t have a good feeling about this one. I knew I was pregnant before those pink lines showed up on the first test, but I didn’t want to accept it. I ignored what my body told me and tried to will the pregnancy away. I had even been avoiding Nolan because if I had seen him, I would have burst into tears and told him everything. My timer chimed, and I handed the testing stick to my sister. “Please look. I can’t.” She gave me a sympathetic smile. “Oh, Avs,” she cooed and squeezed my hand in comfort. “I’m pregnant, aren’t I?” I sobbed. 
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