|
Trust No One
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble -- EXCERPT: Conor stirred. His head was pounding like the bass drum in the US Naval Academy marching band. When he opened his eyes, one person stared back at him. The facial features were out of focus, as if he were looking through cheesecloth. He blinked. The onlooker’s mouth began to flap. He sat up, but his head almost exploded. A hand pushed him back. The cheesecloth dissolved, and he could see someone smiling at him. Given the slow shake of his head, Captain Jack Waddon was not pleased to see him. “You are one lucky bastard, Conor,” Waddon said. Conor looked around and recognized that he was back aboard Waddon’s Consolidated PBY-5 Catalina, the ship that had taken him, Emily, and Father Sean Sullivan to Italy on their mission to snatch Ettore Majorana. “What did you say?” He could barely hear his own words. “What the hell happened?” He reached for his throbbing forehead and felt a knot the size of a billiard ball. The surface of his forehead radiated a low heat. “You were introduced to a blackjack swung by one angry MP, that’s what happened,” Waddon said. “As far as being lucky, well, that’s because Commander Butcher saved your butt. Told the MP that he’d take it up with Colonel Eddy himself and see that you, being nonmilitary, would exit the theater as soon as he could arrange transport.” Conor rolled over onto his right side. The two men were in the plane’s compartment forward of the waist gunner’s area and aft of the flight engineer’s compartment. He reached for the back of his head and discovered a lump where the blackjack had ambushed him. “Stevens?” “Hauled out of there to the field hospital. Out cold. Like you were.” Conor groaned. “Here,” Waddon said as he handed him a damp handkerchief. Conor spied white gauze peeking out from under Waddon’s left sleeve. Waddon had been wounded three weeks prior when his PBY approached the beach near Anzio to exfiltrate Conor, Emily, Sean Sullivan, and Ettore Majorana. “How’s the arm?” Waddon waved off the question. “On the mend. Already back in the left seat.” Conor nodded, then held up the handkerchief. “What’s this for?” “Your ear. There’s some dried blood. Stevens must have landed at least one blow.” Conor took the handkerchief and dabbed at his right ear, loosening some dried flakes but also coming away with some fresh blood. The bass drummer in his head pounded away. His head had seen better days. “So you dragged my ass here after Butcher saved it?” “Yep. Me and DiLazzaro. We thought you had some lead bars in your pockets. You were a load getting you in here.” Seaman Eugene DiLazzaro was one of Waddon’s crew and had wound up part of Conor’s team that went ashore at Anzio. The New Jersey–born Italian American had handled himself like a pro, particularly when the shooting started. Conor’s stomach roiled. Bile crept upward. A mixture of oil, perspiration, fuel, and grease hung in the air, fanning the flames of his nausea. “Jack, do you have a bucket? I don’t feel too good.” “Conor, don’t you lose it in my ship,” Waddon said, scurrying forward in search of something to keep his Catalina puke-free. Conor wondered what did the most damage: the blow to the back of his head from the blackjack or the oak bar that gave no quarter when his head collided with it. Waddon returned with a collapsible canvas bucket and shoved it into Conor’s hands. “Here, and don’t miss.” Conor leaned over the side of the bunk and let loose a stream of vomit that filled the bottom two inches of the bucket. When he finally felt he had no more to give, he handed it to Waddon and lay back. “So you just happened to be in the area when the action started?” “Hey, I was thirsty.” Waddon went aft and tossed the bucket’s contents out through the open starboard-side blister. He returned and sat across from Conor on the port-side bunk. “When I approached the bar’s entrance, I saw Butcher coming from the other direction. We were about ten feet from the bar when we heard a massive crash. That must have been Stevens doing a back flop on the backbar. Two MPs were already there. We saw one lower the boom from just inside the doorway. We both cringed when your head hit the bar.” “Well, thanks for the sympathetic cringes. Then what?” “I already told you. Don’t you remember?” Conor shook his head and felt the pain surge as if his brain were bouncing around inside his skull. “Like I said, Butcher jumped in, threw Ike’s name around a bit, and eventually, the MPs backed down. He told them to get Stevens to the field hospital and told me to take care of you, but not to go far. That he needed to see you when you got put back together. He wanted me to get this to you.” Waddon handed over a note. Conor unfolded the paper. It was short and sweet. He folded the note and put it in his pants pocket, then settled back to let the whitecaps in his stomach calm down. “Well, you going to let me in on it or not?” “He wants to know why Donovan shitcanned me.”
GIVEAWAY! --
When All is Said and Done
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Dustin’s POV He heard a noise from the kitchen, and his pulse picked up the beat. Was that the side door closing or the echoed rumble from his rebellious stomach? He stilled the strings with his palm and recognized the familiar sound of Tegan hanging her keys on the hook and shucking her shoes by the door. His heart lurched into his throat. Dustin cursed himself for getting lost in the music and not preparing for her return. He should have been rehearsing speeches in his head or making dinner instead of mowing the lawn, adding a couple of towels to her burgeoning laundry pile, and playing around on the guitar. He propped the instrument against the couch and stood on unsteady legs. A surging swell of love, swift and savage, swept over him as he looked at her, sent his heart thrashing against his chest. There she is—my center, my orbit—in living, breathing color. Tegan had her back turned and was flipping through the mail on the counter. Her hair was longer than normal, a dark curtain falling well past her sagging shoulders. “Hi.” She gasped and spun, clutching her chest with both hands, her eyes blinking furiously. Frozen in that position like a still photograph captured on film, she looked thin—too thin—and fragile as blown glass. “Dusty.” His name from her lips, soft and scratchy, scorched his eviscerated heart. “Sorry to startle you. I … I figured you’d see my car.” She seemed confused, shaking her head, squinting her eyes. “Your car?” “In the garage …” He tried and failed to keep the exasperation out of his voice. He’d been gone for weeks, and she hadn’t moved a muscle in his direction. Hadn’t flashed a smile or inclined her head or opened her arms to make him feel welcome. And after everything they had to say to one another, they were talking about his car? “I parked in the driveway,” she said. Her guilty tone and the way she tucked her chin to her chest were another lash to his pride. How many times had he begged her to park her car in the garage? They lived in a nice neighborhood, but why invite crime by leaving her car parked out in the open and alert everyone to her patterns of coming and going? She read the look on his face and offered a muttered, “I was tired, and the garage door has been giving me fits. I think it needs grease or something.” Stop talking about the stupid garage! He wanted to scream at her, grab her arms and shake her, invade the personal space she protected with her arms crossed tightly against her chest. He wanted to do something, anything, to get a rise out of her and stop the inane garage discussion. The way she looked—the way she looked at him like a racoon caught pillaging the trash—kept his voice even and his feet rooted firmly in place. Even in the muted light, she appeared ready to drop. He longed to go to her, wrap her in his arms, let her lean on him the way she always had when life kicked her in the tail. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not with everything at stake. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Rome’s Last Noble Palace
-- EXCERPT: Rome, 2018 SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the high windows, coaxing Sophie from her dreams. She cracked one eye open, groaning at the early hour on the travel alarm clock. How had she forgotten to close the shutters last night? Blame it on the jet lag of someone no longer used to international travel. She turned her head to observe Matt’s sleeping form. His chest rose and fell in a calm, steady rhythm. A little sunlight seeping through the windows would never wake him this early. He was made of stronger stuff. She turned back to the window, struck again by golden Roman light she’d forgotten after so many years away. Not at all like the diffused light back home. Sparrows swooped in graceful arcs across the cloudless, cerulean sky. As the sleepiness seeped from her eyes and her gaze sharpened, the bright, white blocks began to take shape. Her heart beat faster. The familiar but long-dormant sense of fear coursed through her body. She hadn’t been expecting to feel it so deeply after all these years away. Closing her eyes, she took a calming breath and formed images of waking in her bedroom at home. The branch of the oak tree scraping the bedroom window, the twittering of the birds, the bold squirrel that peeked in her window most mornings, the creaks and groans of the old, converted farmhouse. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed, the fear seeped away. She inhaled deeply, counted to ten and exhaled. She could do this. She fixed a determined gaze on the grand palazzo, glittering white in the strong Mediterranean sunlight. Some of its brown shutters were open, others closed like sleepy eyes reluctant to yield to the morning light. She remembered all those useless afternoon battles against the Roman sunlight filtering heat and blinding rays into those great rooms. At the palazzo’s upper edge, lithe young angels kneeled in rows, their flowing curls cascading down to their shoulders. Their pointed wings punctuated the cornice above, curving vines sprouted from their bodies in a riot of intricate swirls. The young angels were separated from one another by lush greenery, unrolling in a seemingly endless, elegant row. She’d always known the carving was there, but she’d never observed the details from this angle. Everything had been different from within. Despite the warmth of the early morning sun, she shivered. Ignoring a mounting sense of dread, Sophie pushed herself up gently, careful not to rouse Matt. Sliding bare feet into beckoning slippers, she padded softly to the door, her back decisively turned to the noble home.
GIVEAWAY! --
A Murder in Ashwood: Scandals and Secrets in the Gilded Age
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble -- EXCERPT:
GIVEAWAY! --
Homecoming Chaos
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Jamie strolled to the wide and stately staircase that led upstairs. The glossy wooden banister had always been a temptation to the teenaged Scott siblings. During Jamie’s holiday visits home, there had been several banister races—one ending with Jillian needing stitches. The three swore to take the reason to the grave. Their mother would have killed them herself! The house itself had changed little. Her mom had done some minimal redecorating, but the basic décor—classic contemporary—remained the same. As she reached the top step, she could see her brother heading out the front door to gather her bags. To her left was the “girls” wing, and to her right was Jon’s room and the guest rooms. Her parents bought this house while she was in New York, so she had never lived here full time, only during the holidays. Still, she had some fabulous memories from those times. It was nice to be home again. The first door to the left was the room assigned to her. Jamie entered the simply appointed room decorated in blue, white, and seafoam green. The attached bathroom incorporated blue and white colors. Jamie sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the room. Since she never lived here, the room didn’t hold many personal touches, as did Jon’s and Jillian’s rooms. There were plenty of pillows, a complete set of cherry wood bedroom furniture, and a mid- sized flat-screen TV above the chest of drawers. It represented a fitting guest room since she was now a guest—a nervous guest at that. What if her mother verbally eviscerated her again? Could she deal? Jamie realized she was delaying her meeting with her mom for as long as possible. What else could she do to kill time? She peeked in the closet to see if she had left any clothes behind from four years ago. Unfortunately, she found nothing that would be appropriate for what would be a formal event on Sunday night. She went into the bathroom and removed her baseball cap to inspect the state of her hair in the mirror. I was fine for a quiet home visit, but not for a dressy affair. Jamie had let her relaxer grow out while she was out of the country. She typically flat-twisted her natural hair to emphasize the wave pattern. Before this trip, she had only washed, conditioned, and air-dried her hair, thinking that she would have some time after her arrival to moisturize and comb it. Now, it was just squashed down by her hat. Ugh. Since she wouldn’t be able to prep before talking to her mother, she would have to atone by looking her best for the party. For such a formal affair, she would have to visit a salon for a trim and style. There was a knock on the bedroom door. “Come in!” Jamie yelled as she tucked her cap back onto her head and came out of the bathroom. Jon placed her bags inside her door. “Mother is waiting for you downstairs. I’m going to my room to avoid the tearful reunion.” He didn’t live there anymore but still called his childhood room “his room”. Jamie sighed. Time to woman up. “OK. Let me wash my face, and I’ll be down. Where is she, exactly?” she inquired. “Still in the study. Good luck.” He went down the hall. Jamie dug around in her duffel bag and found her makeup bag. It contained the bare minimum of cosmetics. She returned to her bathroom, washed her face, and added mascara and a touch of mauve lip gloss. Jamie checked herself. Not too bad for a woman that had spent the last 24 hours on a plane or in an airport. Before she lost her nerve, she pushed herself out of the room and down the stairs, where she came face-to-face with her younger sister, Jillian, with two of her sons. Jillian was shorter than Jamie but had the same facial shape and skin color. You could tell they were sisters. Jillian stopped short. “PJ! I didn’t know you were here. Give me a hug!” she joyously stretched out her arms. Quickly, she embraced Jamie while the 3-year-old and 1-year-old boys clung to her legs. The boys had never seen Jamie before because they were born while she was away. “You look sensational. Africa was good for you!” Jillian complimented. “You look magnificent as well. I see you’re still calling me PJ.” Perfect Jamie. Jillian smirked. “Well, it still fits, huh?” Jamie ignored the snide comment and turned to her nephews. “Who are these little men? And where are the others?” Jamie stooped to their eye level. Jillian stooped as well and disengaged the arms of the smallest boy. “This is Aaron.” Aaron hid his head on his mother’s shoulder. The other boy had moved behind his mother and peeked out from around her back. “This one behind me is Jacob. He’s three. Jacob, this is your Aunt Jamie. Go on, hug her.” Jacob obediently came out and walked up to his aunt. “Hello,” he started. “Do you want to play with me?” “Sure, Jacob. What do you want to play?” Jamie asked, smiling. “Gamma plays Candy Land with me on the computer. Do you want to play, too?” “I would love to, Jacob. You’re such a handsome and sweet young man. Do you help your momma take care of your brothers?” “I help with Aaron. Ricky and Anthony don’t need help. They’re bigger than me,” he snickered. “You’re funny, Aunt ‘Amie. Where’s Gamma Scott? Let me get the game.” Jacob took off running, yelling, “Gamma! Gamma!” Both Jamie and Jillian stood up, Jillian lifting Aaron onto her hip. Jamie marveled at how fit her younger sister was after giving birth to four children–-she hoped to have gotten that gene. “Rick and Anthony are at music lessons, so I dropped in with the boys to see Mother and Dad. Richard has been out of town for a case, but he’s returning today. I wish you had told me you were coming. We could have planned a dinner or something.” “Jonathan knew. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you. I don’t need a fancy dinner because I’m coming home. Besides, there will be an epic to-do soon enough. How long has this been in the works?” “Actually, not very long. We were going to take her out for dinner, but about ten days ago, she decided she wanted a large party. So, it’s been hectic.” She moved to the side to avoid two workers carrying a table. “It’s a cool coincidence that you will be here for it.” “I don’t know if it was a coincidence.” Jamie winked at her sister and touched her nephew’s nose. Jamie had spoken to Jonathan almost two weeks ago and told him she was coming home. Coincidence, my ass. Jon had a lot to answer for. He must have blabbed to their mother that she was coming, and Margaret turned this into a gathering, a celebration of sorts. Perhaps this reunion would not be as miserable as she expected. Jillian frowned. “So, Jon knew you were coming? And Mother did, too? So that’s what caused the change in plans.” No one had told her, and after four years away, Jamie still had a party. Perfect Jamie, indeed. Oblivious to her sister’s change in mood, Jamie considered her options. “I guess I need to find Mother. By the way, Jon’s upstairs in his room.” “You haven’t seen her yet? Oh, my. That should be interesting.” Jillian gave Jamie a sidelong glance. “I think I’ll take Aaron to see Jon. Good luck!” She and her son went up the stairs. Jamie took a deep breath and headed toward the study. Damn, everyone keeps wishing me luck. I hope it’s not a bad sign.
GIVEAWAY! --
Good Elf Gone Wrong
-- EXCERPT: Knitting clutched in my hands, I turned to the bad boy sitting next to me. “Do … um …” I cleared my throat. “Do you have a girlfriend?” His finger paused on the page he was turning. He fixed those pale-silver eyes on me, a dusty gray like the winter sky. “No. Why? Are you offering?” “Sort of. See, I kind of need to break up my sister and her boyfriend. She’s dating my ex. He’s a jerk. It’s complicated. But I need you to be my boyfriend so I can ruin her wedding. I don’t know if you do that type of work?” I smiled hopefully. The book closed with a loud thud. He looked angry. “Er, never mind,” I squeaked and held up my knitting. “I’ll get started on those baby socks. Forget I said anything.” But he didn’t go back to his book. “So you want a fake boyfriend.” “Um, yeah. I mean that was the plan. But plans change …” Those ghostly eyes still locked on mine, he leaned over, his huge body crowding my space. I scrunched against the window. “You sure you can handle it?” he asked in a deep, gravelly voice. He smelled like leather and the winter wind. No. No, I don’t think I can. I swallowed. The empty Advent calendar was digging into my side. “Yes,” I squawked. “Prove it,” he said, his breath cool on my cheek. He twisted out of his jacket, the ridges of muscle under the tight gray T-shirt flexing and rippling as he shrugged off the garment. “Give me a hand job.” The baritone voice deepened. “I have my jacket on my lap. No one will know. Just go for it.” My eyes were about as big and round as Pugnog’s and ready to pop out of my head. “Unzip my fly,” he breathed against my mouth, “and stroke my cock.” My stomach was flip-flopping. The air between us was supercharged, and my skin felt tight and prickly. “I-I can’t,” I stammered. He huffed out a laugh, smirked, and pulled his jacket back on, the leather creaking. “Thought so.” He sat back in his seat and opened up his book. “You’re weak. You have an elaborate revenge plan all mapped out, yet you clearly can’t handle having a fake boyfriend.”
GIVEAWAY! --
Tricking Christmas: A Sweet Western Holiday Romance
-- EXCERPT: Obviously insulted, two twin lines created furrows between his eyebrows. “I’m not doing this for the money, Jolee.” He scoffed at her and swirled the ice around in his tea glass. “Then, why are you offering to save my bacon, so to speak, if you don’t mind my asking?” Truitt shrugged. “Because you’re a good person, Jolee Judson, and you’ve worked hard to establish your act with a sterling reputation. You’ve always been the driving force behind it. Amy even said as much. It’s not fair that you’ve been put into a bind because your partner quit without any notice.” “Amy had a good reason. She needs to be with her family.” “She does, but I got the idea she’s had one foot out the door for a while. She mentioned last time we spoke about going back to school to become a veterinarian.” Shock widened Jolee’s eyes. “I had no idea she was considering it. I think she’ll do great in that field, though. She loves animals.” “She does.” Truitt took the last bacon tot from the bag. “Dibs on the last one.” He popped it in his mouth, drained his glass, and stood. Once again, the trailer felt cramped by his presence. Jolee wondered if it was his large personality as much as his muscular physique that made the space seem smaller. “I better get going. I promised Troy I’d help him with a few farrier jobs he’s got lined up. Do you want me to try to perform with you tonight or during this rodeo?” “No. Let’s leave things as they are this week, although I wouldn’t mind if you had time to help set out props.” “Sure. Troy and I are scheduled to rope in the slack tomorrow afternoon, but I can help you out during your performances. Just let me know what you need, honey.” Jolee bristled as Truitt opened the door and stepped outside. When he turned to face her, his smile melted faster than the ice cream cone she’d attempted to eat the previous afternoon. She’d heard Truitt call babies in diapers, old women with walkers, and females of every size, shape, color, and age in between “honey.” And she didn’t like it. Not one bit. “You will not ever, under any circumstance, call me ‘honey,’” she commanded in a tone dripping frost despite the heat already surging outside. “Understood?” “Yes, ho—Yes, ma’am.” Truitt ducked his head, but she caught the hint of his smile. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Babies in Twinkle Falls
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: (Kylee and Bridgette) “I think all of this could be a product of your imagination working overtime.” “It’s not made up, Bridgette, I swear. Mummy gave me the first photo years ago, and it’s the only one I had of my father until—” “Quit saying that!” She huffs, “I don’t even know for sure if the man in that picture is my father. Though, let’s say it is. There’s no possible way you could be his daughter.” “Why? Am I not good enough to be a Dupont?” “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” “Do I? We’re total opposites, Bridgette. You’re a successful baker who went to some prestigious culinary school, and I’m a struggling, knocked-up girl who takes any job she can to make ends meet.” “Stop that. It sounds like you’re trying to play on my sympathy so I’ll change my mind about that photo.” “Believe what you want.” I wince when my lower abdomen tightens. Reflexively rubbing it, I continue, “Like I said, she never talked about him. Mummy said they were only together a short time; however, he was in the Navy, and he died when I was just a baby.” “There you go…that proves my father cannot be yours, because mine is very much alive.” Still massaging my aching belly, I propose, “Well, maybe she lied about that part for some reason, I don’t know. Was your father ever in the Navy?” “That means nothing—a lot of men have been in the Navy.” “That sounds like a yes if you ask me.” “Well, I didn’t ask you.” Her eyes flutter when she turns and takes a few steps. “You’re avoiding the question.” She turns back around. “He was, though only for a short time. I’ll have you know, my parents have been happily married for thirty-nine years, so there’s no way anything like you’re insinuating ever could’ve happened.”
GIVEAWAY! --
Criminals Need Love Too
--
GIVEAWAY! --
Once Upon a Charming Bookshop
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Then with little warning other than the sudden shine in his eyes, he hauled her by the neck to him and kissed her, square on the lips. It was a deep and long kiss that didn’t seem to have a beginning. Nor did it have an end. He pulled her tight and they were hip to hip, belly to belly. Even through the shock of the totally unexpected, she kissed him back. She sunk her fingers into his hair and kissed him with everything she had in her. With every last inch of longing wrapped up in her, saved over the years and packed away where the raw intensity of the emotion couldn’t destroy her. She fisted his shirt. She ran her hands up and down his back, feeling the muscles tense and bunch. It was over just as quickly and then they were both panting, staring at each other. “I’m sorry.” Noah took a step back, leaving a healthy distance between them. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have done that. That’s wrong.” Wrong? “It’s okay,” she stammered because she didn’t know what else to say in the moment. Yes, it was wonderful, please kiss me again, because I think maybe I’ve always loved you? “It’s just…that was wrong of me. I don’t feel that way about you.” Oh, God. There went her heart, pierced and sliced into tiny bits. I don’t feel that way about you. No, he was right. This was wrong. And if he had regrets then damn it, so did she. “Me, neither. I don’t feel that way about you.” “I know.” The certainty in his voice broke her heart a little. How could he be so sure she wasn’t straight out lying, trying to save her pride? She chewed on her lower lip. “So, let’s just forget it. Pretend the kiss never happened.” “But…we’re okay?” Worry and regret filled those dark puppy dog eyes. Not long ago, she would have understood. But now she knew what it was like to be kissed by Noah and her heart shattered to think it would never happen again. “We’re okay. You’re probably right, huh? Bad idea.” “Yeah, I just don’t want to…you know…” He ran a hand through his hair, looking desperately vulnerable, like a man searching for a lifeline. And what kind of friend would she be not to throw one to him? “It was just, well, okay, maybe we’re both lonely. And it’s after midnight. I…got um, confused.” She had no idea what she was saying but it sounded good, and he seemed to be receptive. “Yeah, so did I.” “And I’ve got a date tomorrow night so that could be awkward.” Now she’d lied to her best friend, but she’d also kissed him within an inch of his life, so either way she was in brand new territory here. He quirked a brow. “You have a date? Who is he?” “Some guy.” “Some guy? Does ‘some guy’ have a name?” “Of course he has a name, Noah. He’s some guy I just met.” She crossed her arms. “Weren’t you leaving?” He scowled. “Yeah. I have an early day tomorrow.” “Bye.” She closed the door before he could say another word. Now she was going to have to find herself a date.
GIVEAWAY! -- |
Archives
January 2025
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed
