The Dasher
-- EXCERPT: I took a cigarette from my purse and stuck it between my lips, staring at the rain. The water hitting the asphalt was getting louder in my brain. Before I lit the cancer stick, I stepped out from under the overhang and into the downpour. This kind of rain wasn’t common in Southern California. I was compelled to embrace it every time it poured like this. I didn’t give a shit that my hair, makeup, and $700 Gucci sneakers would be ruined. Fat water drops hit the cigarette I had between my lips, reminding me it was there, and I lifted my hand with the lighter. “Good luck getting that lit,” I heard from behind me and spun to see Ben standing with his hands in the pockets of his baggy shorts—his chain wallet swinging, and his arm tattoos on full display. I wasn’t sure how long I stood there staring at him. In an act of defiance for him and mother nature, I flicked the metal of the lighter several times. Then threw the damn thing, followed by the cigarette. “Let me ask you something.” He had to shout over the rain, but his tone was calm. That pissed me off. I was standing in a rainstorm. Soaked from head to toe, I tried to light a cigarette. How in the fucking hell was I qualified to answer any question right now? I hadn’t even taken a breath yet. “Is it about the money? Or is it a fuck you to your old man to prove him wrong about you? Or to fix something that you think is broken?” he asked. I had to blink to keep the water from getting in my eyes that was now dripping from my forehead. “That’s three questions.” I shook my head. “Why are you even out here? What do you care about any of this? Who the fuck are you, Ben?” He stepped closer. “Now you asked me three questions.” God, he was impossible. What did he think would happen, some romance movie moment in the rain where I jumped into his arms, and we lived happily ever after getting matching tattoos and motorcycles? In my silence, he answered one of my questions: “I’m Billy-fucking-Joel.” My heart clenched then fell into my stomach. He knew. Of course, he knew what I’d thought last night when Jason described “Uptown Girl” as a man falling in love with a woman out of his world and how it had changed him. Was Ben in love with me? I didn’t expect him to change for 1. He shouldn’t even like me or, God forbid, love me. I wasn’t worthy. “I don’t need this shit right now,” I shouted at him. “Answer my question, Lisa.” I wiped the rain from my eyes. “Which one?” “Is it about the money?” “Yes, damnit, and my father and fixing broken things. It’s all of it.” “Lisa—” “No.” It was too much. I couldn’t keep this up. His questions, his mysterious look, the mere presence of him. My desire for him. My lust for him. My fear of him. My fear of him and me together. I wasn’t strong enough. I was too broken. “You have to stop. You want to fix me—” “No, I don’t. I like you like this.” “What? Having a breakdown, standing in the fucking rain? You like this? You’re a sick fucker.” He laughed. He fucking laughed at me. I was having a stage-three meltdown, and he was laughing. I threw my arms up and spun away from him. “You’re the only one who can fix you,” he hollered to my back. “All of the business stuff, though, you can figure that out. Just think about it. We all know you’ll make it work.” I turned back around. “Why? Why do you think I can? I can’t even figure out that a lighter doesn’t work in the damn rain.” He laughed again. “You are so fucking hot.”
GIVEAWAY! Road to Ruin
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GIVEAWAY! Pity Party
-- EXCERPT: “Your total is two thousand forty-eight dollars,” I tell the beaming bride-to-be who’s nearly blinding me with her over-the-top white teeth. She’s like Ross Geller from that one episode of Friends. I used to dream of being just like her—hopeful, excited, no visible baby bump while planning my impending nuptials. Unfortunately, life has kicked me in the teeth often enough that I’m slowly stepping away from that fantasy. Instead, I’m focusing on the fact that women like her are probably more stressed out than your average sky diver during a tornado. Will he say yes? Does his mother hate me as much as I think she does? Should we really be spending this kind of money on one party? And the most important—Does he know I was serious when I said I don’t clean toilets? The list goes on and on. “You’re the best, Melissa!” the petite blonde with the unnatural orange tan gushes. She says this like I just brought her bail money at two in the morning. As she hands me her credit card, she adds, “You must love owning a bridal shop! I mean, could there be a better job?” I didn’t think so ten years ago when I became my mom’s partner at Bride’s Paradise. I had recently graduated from college and was so full of hope and anticipation about my own wedding I couldn’t imagine anything better. Not that I was engaged or even dating anyone at the time, but I was raised on television shows like Say Yes to the Dress, Bridezilla, and David Tutera’s My Fair Wedding. I’d fantasized about my big day for over a decade at that point. For a generation that is meant to believe there’s more to life than marriage, we sure spend a lot of time dreaming about it. Being fed a constant visual diet of what our big day is supposed to look like wreaks havoc with expectations. Somehow a wedding has become more about the show and what we wear than about true love. Had I only gotten hooked on Law and Order or Dr. Who, I might have become a lawyer or even a Time Lord. Note to self: investigate the kind of credentials needed to become a Time Lord. I hand the credit card back to Brooklyn as her wedding party circles around her. Her maid of honor squeals—loudly—“Oh, my GOD, Brook! This is it!! You said yes to the dress!” We’ve already taken pictures with the requisite signage and hashtags to ensure that everyone the bride has ever met will know where she bought her gown. Hashtags are the backbone of my business. #BridesParadise #ElkLakeWisconsinWeddings #LoveIsInTheAir #ImSoSickOfMyJobICouldSpit
GIVEAWAY! One Bossy Disaster
-- EXCERPT: “Um, a little help? I can’t get out.” I make another half-hearted attempt to stand up in my kayak and fail comically. Shepherd stares at me for a second before he laughs. He laughs--a real belly laugh—and it’s a happy sound that vibrates through me. Not cruel, either, but warm and understanding. There goes my heart again as he strides over to where the waves meet the beach. He grabs the front of my kayak effortlessly and hauls it out of the water. No sweat. No big deal. No small favor with bigger muscle. Damn, I’ll admit it. Right now, I am thirsty as hell. I’ve been ogling him all day and he still hasn’t stopped getting hotter. “There,” he says when I’m safely on the sand. “Can you get out now?” I try. I really do. But my body simply won’t cooperate. I guess my legs forgot they’re supposed to be a flesh and bone team, and my arms feel totally disconnected from my shoulders. “This is so embarrassing,” I say, but he just releases the end of the kayak and steps closer. “Save it, Destiny. You worked your ass off today and there’s no point in feeling shamed. Even if I’m going to carry you.” What? He bends down, and before I can register what’s happening, he does it. Picks. Me. Up. As in, I am in his arms right now, damsel in distress style, legs hooked over one arm while his other arm lends back support. The world spins as I weakly wrap my arms around his neck. And oh. Oh. He’s almost superheated with exertion through his wet suit. The shelter of his arms makes me aware just how massive he really is. I’m so used to being the same height as most of the men around me—often taller—but this guy makes me feel small. That’s a miracle in itself. And he’s breathing harder now. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t when he dragged my kayak up onto the shore. His arms tighten around me, drawing me closer. I’m not sure I’m breathing. Scratch that, definitely not. There’s a wild look in his eyes. My arms are locked around his neck and we’re so close, I can feel his heart beating so, so fast. He isn’t alone. Mine strums like a guitar plucked by a rock star belting out a nasty breakup ballad. What is even happening? “It’s normal for first-timers,” he says softly, and I blink up at him in confusion. Shepherd Foster is never soft. …and first-timers? How do I explain that although I’m way younger, I’m not inexperienced. I’ve had my fair share of male attention, though none of the boys I’ve dated have ever swept me up like a storm. “Kayaking,” he clarifies, eyeing my blank face. Oh, crap.
GIVEAWAY! I’ve Watched You Die
-- EXCERPT: The creature’s eyes dart back and forth between me and Ryker, as if taking its time, contemplating who to kill first. Ryker takes advantage of its hesitation, shoving me away. “Dani, go! Run!” The command is raw and guttural, impossible to ignore. I take off, running as fast as I can toward the school. Adrenaline rushes through my bloodstream like a bomb went off inside me. There is no thinking. I have tunnel vision. All I see is the grass in front of my feet. The door that leads to sanctuary inside the school building. All I hear is blood pounding inside my skull and the rush of air as it bursts in and out of my lungs. It’s as if I’m breathing fire. I’m halfway there. He said he’d be right behind me. I can’t hear him. Where is he? I risk a glance back, over my shoulder. I expected him to follow. When I look behind me, I see he’s still staring the creature down. He has a dagger in one hand and he is slowly circling the monster, waiting for it to strike. Shit. What is he thinking? Is he trying to buy me time? I don’t need more time. I’m almost there. Worse, that thing huge, easily the size of four large men. Maybe it is, because I count eight legs sticking out of the goo. I slow to a jog, then stop, turning completely to watch him and the creature pace one another. As Ryker did with me, with each step he’s moving just enough not to incite an immediate attack, but positioning himself for a straight shot away, toward the school’s garden. No. Oh, God. Shit. I know how this ends. I just saw it. There are more of them, in the garden. Waiting. An ambush. They are here to kill him. Why? Why? Why? I sprint toward him, away from the school. Away from safety. I can’t allow him to run for the garden. More of those things are waiting. They’ll gut him. Cut him open. He’ll bleed out, blood soaking the gravel path. Just like my vision. No. No. No. “Ryker! Run! They’re in the garden! It’s a trap! It’s a trap!” I scream at him, my legs pumping as fast as I can make them go, faster than any track meet or workout I’ve ever run. A terrified part of me knows it’s not fast enough. I push my muscles to their limit, trying to reach him in time. I don’t know what I can possibly do to help him against that thing, but two is better than one. It has to be. We’ll run for the woods. Anywhere but that fucking garden. Literally anywhere. “Dani, no! Get back!” “The garden! It’s a trap!” I sprint, my gaze dropping to the abandoned high heels shoes on the grass. The four inch points aren’t exactly one of my grandad’s shotguns, but they’re better than nothing. That thing has eyes, doesn’t it? I’m forty meters away when the creature lunges at Ryker. He is looking at me, yelling at me to run. My heart stops dead in my chest. I yell out a warning, but it’s too late. GIVEAWAY! Dragon Storm
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- Only 99c for a limited time! -- EXCERPT: “Among other things. I also am not unmindful that the choice to become drakaina was not Aria’s and that she also feels forced into a pair bonding with me.” Basil shrugged. “That has been the way for drakaina for thousands of years. Over the millennia, dragons have discovered that while the best way to our hearts might be through our stomachs, the best way to a drakaina’s heart is often found between her legs.” Darius chuckled. “I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I’m willing to believe.” “Take it from an old dragon who still finds his mate to be a handful, a well-sated drakaina is a happy drakaina.”
GIVEAWAY! Redeeming Rabbit
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: Rabbit Elenore hadn’t flipped out on me for invading her privacy. Nor had she asked me to leave. If she dropped her towel and started dressing right there in front of me, I’d likely cream the inside of my jeans. She was perfect. And not just because she was brainy, beautiful, and had her shit together, but because she was fucking weird. I’d been through her entire apartment, and nothing was out of place. Her closet was arranged by color with pictures of her goddamn outfits to keep them straight. Nobody was naturally this clean, organized, and meticulous. Elenore had a screw loose. Which meant I might actually have a chance with her. “You left the door open,” I blurted out, sounding like a fucking idiot. “To my apartment. Not my bedroom.” “It wasn’t locked.” She added pants to the pile of clothes in her arms and turned to face me. “I need to get dressed.” I wanted to tell her to go right ahead but decided not to push my luck. Still clutching the sexy photos I’d filched, I said, “These are mine.”
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! The Unlikely Heir
-- EXCERPT: Oliver and I sit next to each other on the park bench. Our shoulders brush, and my heart races. Someone as handsome as him shouldn’t be allowed to mix with mere mortals. It’s not fair. Oliver stares out across the dimly lit soccer pitch. “I used to trudge across these fields, this skinny kid with big ears, a kid without a mum or dad, struggling with my sexual identity.” “Imagine what that kid would say if he could see you now,” I say. Oliver gives a low chuckle. “If someone had told me that one day, I’d be prime minister and sitting on this bench talking to the Prince of Wales, I don’t think I would have believed them.” “And yet here we are,” I say. “Here we are,” Oliver echoes. His eyes meet mine, and we just stare at each other. My heart thuds under the weight of Oliver’s unwavering gaze. I tilt my head back to look at the night sky. But because we’re in London, where light pollution reigns supreme, there are no real stars to be seen. Instead, I focus on one of the nearby streetlamps and the haze around it. It’s beautiful in its own way, another reminder of the hidden beauty in this world. “I never imagined when I saw the coverage of your election that you’d one day become my best friend,” I say. It’s true. Me at twenty-two, sitting in my small apartment, watching on TV the handsome, confident man on the steps of 10 Downing Street with his gorgeous husband. Could I have ever imagined our lives would overlap in this way? It’s only after the words are out of my mouth that I realize how intense they are. Shit. Oliver’s probably worried I’m going to ask him to be my BFF. Maybe seal our friendship by becoming blood brothers. Heat floods my face. “I mean, you’re definitely the person I’m the most real with,” I add quickly, flicking a glance at him. The light of the streetlamp reflects in Oliver’s eyes as he stares at me. “You’re the person I’m the most real with too,” he says quietly. My heart thuds recklessly. Oliver’s tie is loosened, and he’s staring at me with those intense dark eyes. There might be a time and place where I can resist Oliver when he looks at me the way he’s looking at me now. But it is not this moment. I lean toward him and press my lips to his. It’s just a light touch of our mouths, yet all the nerve endings in my lips tingle like they’ve been electrified. Oliver’s breath leaves him in a silent exhale, a gentle ghosting over my face. His lips are soft and warm under mine. It’s a gentle kiss, fragile as a feather. When I pull back, Oliver is staring at me, his eyes wide. His chest rises and falls rapidly. “Bloody hell, Callum.” His voice is rougher than normal, and he looks flustered, and I’ve never seen him look flustered before. He’s usually so in control. And I think I like flustered Oliver even more than in-control Oliver, which is why I close the distance between us again. “The rules don’t apply tonight, remember?” I whisper against his lips. I hover there, close to him. But I don’t want to kiss him again if he doesn’t want this. Oliver’s eyes scan my face, and suddenly, he makes a noise in his throat and one of his hands palms the side of my face. And we’re kissing for real. I’m kissing Oliver Hartwell. The fact causes my mind to melt, leaving me incapable of coherent thought, so instead, I just catalog the sensations. The heat of Oliver. His taste. The feel of his tongue moving in sure strokes against mine, the rasp of his stubble against my skin. I am definitely, definitely kissing a man. I’ve never felt this way kissing someone before. My hands go to the back of his head, grabbing strands of his soft hair like I’m trying to secure him, tether him, keep him exactly where he is, where I get to breathe in Oliver, continue kissing him. Oliver’s lips move fervently against mine, his hands sliding down my back. I let out a soft moan, lost in the sensation of kissing him. I’m not prepared to let this kiss end. Because it turns out Oliver’s lips contain the answer to every question I’ve ever had about myself. And that overrides the fact that of all the people in this world I shouldn’t be kissing, Oliver is top of the list. Our kiss smooths out, slowing from hot and heavy to tender and sweet. It’s a lingering kiss, as if Oliver feels exactly like I do, like he wants to extend this perfect moment for as long as possible before the real world intrudes. But we can’t block out the rest of the world forever. Eventually, Oliver withdraws from me. In the dim light, his pupils seem enormous, swallowing his irises so the black pools are all I can see. “Callum,” he says. Somehow, he says my name like it’s both a question and the answer.
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