Spotlight: A Princess in Waiting by Noelle Adams

/

Synopsis

I was born the youngest princess of a tiny country in the Alps, but I've never been any good at being a princess. I'm shy and bookish, and I don't know how to flirt. The only man I'm comfortable around is my best friend, Alex. I used to have a crush on him, but I don't anymore.

I absolutely don't.

Right now, I'm interested in a handsome French millionaire, but I need Alex to help me learn how to be attractive to men. He agrees because he's my friend, but he doesn't seem happy about it.

And I need to remember that Alex is just giving me lessons. He isn't the man I'm trying to win.

Excerpt

“So, since you’re my friend, what do you suggest I do to move things along with Stefan.”

He stared at me blankly. “Move things along?”

“I don’t mean I want to jump into bed with him, but I’d like to know if he’s a possibility. What if he still doesn’t want to kiss me?”

“He will.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“I just said he will.”

“But you said he did last time, and he didn’t even try.”

“Did you give him any encouragement?”

“What kind of encouragement?”

“You know.”

I gave an outraged huff. “I do not know! What do you think I’ve been telling you all this time? I’m completely clueless. I’ve never done this before.  What kind of encouragement am I supposed to give a man to get him to kiss me?”

Alex straightened up, shifting slightly in his seat. “Just… just… I don’t know… gaze up at him soulfully.”

I snorted. “How am I supposed to do that? What does that even mean?”

He groaned, but then evidently decided to take on this particular task. He turned to face me more fully and reached out to take my shoulders, turning my body toward his. “Okay,” he said in a different tone. “Look at me. In the eyes.”

I gazed up at him without hesitation. I looked at him all the time. There was no one I’d rather look at than Alex.

Our eyes met, and he murmured, “Now stop looking like you want to dig into my brain for answers to your questions.”

I gasped at this comment, but he didn’t give me time to respond.

He continued, “I’m serious. Relax. Stop thinking. Just look at me.”

I tried to do what he said and was startled by the look in his eyes. He was gazing at me too, and for a moment I was trapped by the softness, the depth, the warmth of his expression.

My mind blurred over and my heart started to beat wildly. I could feel my pulse in my wrists, my head, my throat.

“That’s good,” Alex murmured huskily. “Really good. Just like that.”

My breathing was growing more shallow, and other parts of my body started to throb. He wasn’t even touching me, but it felt so much like he was.

Trying to make my mind work the way it was supposed to and engage in this conversation, I asked, “So what if he… if he still doesn’t kiss me.”

“Try touching him.”

“I don’t want to humiliate myself.”

“So make it a little casual touch. Nothing definite. Just touch his arm or his chest or something.”

Instinctively, I lifted my hand and pressed it lightly against Alex’s chest. He was wearing a dark blue crew neck shirt, and I could feel his hard, warm chest beneath the fabric.

I heard his breath hitch slightly. “Good.”

Willing myself to act normal, I managed to say, “What if he still doesn’t kiss me?”

“He will.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

“What if—”

He smothered a soft groan. “Then move your hand. Maybe touch his face. But just lightly.”

I raised my hand and used my fingertips to gently stroke along the line of his jaw. “Like this?” I whispered.

Alex seemed frozen, unmoving, as he sat stiffly and stared at me.

I loved the feel of his face so much that I stroked my finger back up to his cheekbone.

He let out a low groan and grabbed my face in both of his hands, pulling me toward him until he was kissing me hard.

Buy on Amazon | Barnes and Noble

About Noelle Adams

Noelle handwrote her first romance novel in a spiral-bound notebook when she was twelve, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. She has lived in eight different states and currently resides in Virginia, where she reads any book she can get her hands on and offers tribute to a very spoiled cocker spaniel.

She loves travel, art, history, and ice cream. After spending far too many years of her life in graduate school, she has decided to reorient her priorities and focus on writing contemporary romances.

If you'd like to contact Noelle, please contact her at noelle.s.adams@gmail.com. Or connect with her on Twitter, Facebook, and Goodreads.

Spotlight: The Truth Will Out by Karen J Mossman

/

About the Book

Kelly needs to escape from her abusive and controlling boyfriend, but she's terrified to leave. She’s then given a chance to start a fresh, but is the cost for her freedom too high?

Sarah is happy in her life. She has a dream job and a perfect roommate. But when a brick is thrown through the window, followed by a letter containing razor blades, her life starts to spin out of control. Detective Ryan Andrews is on the case and the two quickly form a close bond.

Will Kelly pay that price for freedom? Can Sarah's secret past be kept from Ryan?

In the end The Truth Will Out.

Excerpt

“How’s the yoga going?” Dave asked, having watched her practice in the garden.

“Good. I like it.”

“You go to that retreat, don’t you?” he added.

Kelly’s heart dropped as Johnny suddenly looked up. “What retreat?”

“The one down the back road over Forsham way,” Dave volunteered, not realising this was the first Johnny had heard of it.

“I hadn’t told you because I didn't think you'd be interested," she lied.

“Since when do you keep things to yourself? Of course, I'm interested.”

Dave stood up, aware that he had caused a little trouble. “Sorry, I didn’t realise it was a secret. I’m gonna get showered and burn these clothes. Get the stink of pig off me.”

Pete stood too. “Yeah, thanks for the coffee, I’ve got some stuff I need to be doing.”

That left her and Johnny looking at one another. “Tell me about this retreat?” he said as the door closed.

“There is nothing to tell, really. I came across it one day and liked what I saw. I go a couple times a week. The rest of the time I practise in the garden. I just need something for myself, Johnny.”

“You don’t need anything more than what I provide for you.”

She sighed. “I know, generally, it is enough, but I want to stay healthy and looking good for you. It’s important to me too.”

“I don’t like you keeping anything from me. I like to know exactly what goes on in my organisation. You know that. It’s the only way I can control everything.”

“It’s not part of your organisation. It’s just something I like to do.”

“You are part of it. You play an integral part of it. I’m the one who says what’s good for you, K, not you. So, tell me more about this retreat and let me decide.”

Buy on Amazon | Barnes and Noble

About the Author

Karen J Mossman comes from a family of journalists with her grandfather and uncle having been newspaper editors. Further back a 2x grandfather wrote for his local paper and also published a book based on those articles. Karen is the only one to go into fiction.

Two of her novels are romantic suspense and one is a thriller. She also has three themed short story collections.

Karen is also an avid blogger and book reviewer, "It's especially important to me to have feedback from my readers, so please leave a review when you have read one of my books."

Karen lives on the beautiful Isle of Anglesey off the North Wales coast with her husband and elderly Yorkshire terrier. She has two grown up children, who were both born on the same day, two years apart.

"I enjoy writing in different genres and you can see some of my shorter stories on my website."

Connect: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Spotlight: Still Me...After All These Years: 24 Authors Reflect on Aging by Karen Helene Walker

/

Poignant...Humorous...Brutally Honest!

A collection of personal reflections guaranteed to keep you inspired and entertained on that journey we all travel together: The Journey of Aging.

With a blend of grace, dignity, warmth and humor, women and men from 60 to 90 and from all walks of life candidly share the blessings and pitfalls of aging – from keeping dreams alive and keeping sex lives active to dealing with retirement, loss of independence and a growing sense of mortality.
 

Buy on Amazon | Barnes and Noble

About the Authors

Rev. Clara Alexander is an ordained New Thought minister who creates and performs sacred ceremonies, including unique weddings, funerals, memorial services, baby blessings and house blessings. She is also a popular speaker, inspiring groups with her talks on how we cling to our grudges, how we overuse the phrase “I’m sorry” and how we can live the life we love.

Wendy Brown recently retired from a career in wildlife biology, where she studied sandhill cranes and whooping cranes as they migrated from Idaho to New Mexico. Wendy eventually found a permanent home in Albuquerque, where she and her husband enjoy the sounds of sandhill cranes from their deck. Since retiring from state government in 2014.

Valerie Capps has bypassed the porch rocking chair to pursue her life-long passion for writing, thereby proving that in today’s world, life can begin again at 65! Valerie lives in Nashville with her husband and their spoiled-rotten Welsh Corgi. www.amazon.com/Valerie-Capps/e/B016VD9V72

Mary W. Clark retired from her law practice in 2007 and transferred her observation and composition skills to travel writing. She is currently working on a book about her father’s World War II experience flying “the Hump” from India to China over the Himalayas. Mary lives in Paris, Texas. www.maryclarktraveler.com

Fran Fischer: “I was born at a very young age and that happened 82 years ago, so I don’t remember much about it. I’ve crammed as much living into my life as possible, and I’m not through yet. I’ve traveled extensively and I even flew in the same zero-gravity plane that the astronauts trained in. I live in California with my first (and only) husband, and we celebrated our 62nd anniversary this year.”

Pat Garcia (Patricia Anne Pierce-Garcia Schaack) is an American expatriate living in Europe. An accomplished musician as well as a writer, she has been writing (and reading) since childhood.

Mark David Gerson is the author of more than a dozen books, including critically acclaimed titles for writers, award-winning fiction and compelling memoirs. Known as “The Birthing Your Book Guru,” Mark David works with an international roster of clients as coach and consultant, helping them get their stories onto the page and into the world with ease. http://www.markdavidgerson.com/ 

Holly Deuel Gilster plays “make believe” for a living. In other words, she is a professional actress and musician. Holly also loves painting with words as an accomplished poet, an award-winning short-story writer and a book-reviewer for The Or Echo.

Aaron Gordon is a retired social sciences community college professor. He and his wife, Ellie, have been married for 65 years and have three children and grandchildren.

Ellie Gordon is a retired public school teacher who spent the best 20 years of her life in the classroom. A Chicago native, she now lives in New Mexico.

Karla “Rosie” Harper recently retired from teaching elementary school, freeing her to return to her early love of dancing. Today, when not helping out with her grandchildren, Rosie is taking dance lessons, spinning on a dance floor or performing in senior centers and retirement communities with Albuquerque’s Sugartime, as singer as well as dancer.

Linda Hoye is the author of Two Hearts: An Adoptee’s Journey Through Grief to Gratitude, available through major online retailers. A native of Saskatchewan, Linda currently lives in British Columbia (by way of Washington State) with her husband and doted-upon Yorkshire Terrier. www.lindahoye.com

E.V. Legters hasn’t so much retired as she has exchanged one life for another — from rewarding years with career and children (while pursuing the arts on the fly) to a life with the arts at its center. She is the author of Vanishing Point and Connected Underneath and is currently hard at work on her third novel. www.evlegters.com

LD Masterson lived on both coasts before becoming landlocked in Ohio. After twenty years managing computers for the American Red Cross, she now divides her time between writing, volunteer work and enjoying her grandchildren. Her short stories have been published in several magazines and anthologies, and she is currently working on a new novel. www.ldmasterson.com

Kathleen Messmer not only runs a film production company with offices in the UK and the US, she is an avid photographer and wildlife advocate. In the unlikely event that she ever retires, Kathleen plans to live on a ranch with draft horses and pygmy goats and vineyards and fruit orchards, somewhere near the water. Oh, and a cowboy...maybe. www.kathleenmessmer.com

Karen Norstad has worked as cashier/gift wrapper, secretary, boutique seamstress, administrative assistant, manager of employee stock options, executive assistant and budget analyst. Now retired, Karen’s life revolves around lounging about, wearing PJs until four in the afternoon, obsessing over the news, reading, fusing and slumping glass, practicing piano, keeping a small balcony garden and cooking.

Matt Nyman’s nonlinear career path has included working in the geological sciences, teaching high school, stay-at-home parenting and, currently, training tomorrow’s teachers. Poetry equently resides near the surface of his existence, occasionally erupting onto paper.

Jill Plaman was born and began aging in Milwaukee, but she has lived and worked in Albuquerque since 1977. She holds a BS from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and an MSW from the University of Minnesota. Her special interests are travel, international folk dancing, reading, hiking and spending time with family and friends.

Maureen Polikoff is a clinical social worker/ therapist who has always pursued many other creative endeavors, including painting, playing music and, now, writing. A Connecticut native, she lives in New Mexico with her husband, Michael.

MaryFrank Sanborn left Boston 33 years ago, to apprentice with photographer Walter Chappell in Santa Fe. Still in love with the beauty of the Southwest, MaryFrank photographs, writes, hikes, travels, teaches yoga and meditation, makes soups on Sundays, and dreams of the ocean and whales.

Patricia Stoltey is the author of four mystery novels. The most recent is Wishing Caswell Dead. She lives in Northern Colorado with Sassy Dog, Katie Cat and her husband, Bill. www.patriciastolteybooks.com

Susan Swiderski grew up in Dundalk, Maryland, where everybody calls everybody hon and eating steamed crabs is a sacrament. Although she’s happy in her adopted Georgia, part of her heart still lingers on the shores of Chesapeake Bay, explaining the setting for her novel, Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade. Susan is currently working on a trilogy, proof that this old gal is still a pathological optimist. www.susan-swiderski.blogspot.com

Jan Castle Walker is a retired teacher and an active artist. She lives in Davis, California with her husband, Mack. www.jancastlewalker.com

Karen Helene Walker is a novelist, memoirist and essayist and the author of The Wishing Steps and Following the Whispers. When not writing, Karen is tap dancing, folk dancing or performing with the musical group Sugartime at retirement communities. Karen is currently working on her second memoir. www.karenfollowingthewhispers.blogspot.com 

Spotlight: Make Me Beg by Rebecca Brooks

/

Publication Date: March 20, 2017
Genres: Adult, Entangled: Brazen, Contemporary, Romance

Bartender Mackenzie Ellinsworth has always gone it alone. So when she has a chance to open her own bar and restaurant, she’s got a plan for how it should go. Not in that plan: a ripped and rugged playboy stepping in to take over. Mack doesn’t do players, and she doesn’t do one-night stands. If Connor wants to work with Mack, he’s going to have to keep his strong, sexy hands to himself.

Connor Branding is determined to prove he’s not the directionless playboy Mack thinks. But opening a place together causes more problems than it solves. The two of them can’t agree on anything—except how scorching hot their chemistry is. Connor may be ready to indulge every desire Mack’s been denying herself…but turning business into pleasure is likely to get him burned.

Excerpt

They listened to rain whip against the building, and the wind, and the strange stillness underneath it as darkness prickled their skin. Mack walked back toward the bar where it was warmer. She felt around in the darkness for the drawer where they kept candles for emergencies. Thankfully not everything had been cleared out for the renovation yet.

Because this definitely counted as an emergency. An emergency requiring not only light, but extra vodka.

Connor followed her to the bar, still texting.

“Better tell her you won’t be over any time soon,” Mack said as she dripped wax onto the bar to hold the candles upright.

“Good thing there’s always tomorrow.”

“You think she’ll actually wait around after the way you ditched her tonight?”

“I didn’t mean tomorrow has to be her.”

Mack gagged as she poured them both shots.

“Don’t be jealous,” Connor said, putting his phone away. “Just because you’re not getting any doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be celibate.”

“That’s not jealousy—it’s pity.” She stuck out her lower lip in a pretend pouty face. “I feel bad for you, sweetheart.”

He laughed, a big roaring sound that bounced off the empty walls and made the candles flicker.

“I’m serious,” she said. “Every time I turn around you’re going home with someone else. From the cheap seats, it looks like after one night with you, nobody wants to come back for more. Kinda starts to make a girl wonder.”

“Wow, Mack. That really stings. Guess I’m going to go reevaluate my life now.”

“If you need any pointers, I’m here to help.”

She was joking. Completely. She didn’t even mean it like that—she was just getting back at him for his obnoxious comments about her dating profile.

But Connor tipped his shot back, never taking his eyes off her. He’d been on the other side of the bar, but when he put his glass down he slowly stepped around so he was in the narrow workspace with her, invading what had always felt like her domain.

“What are you doing?”

“You think I’m a lousy lay?” His eyes flashed in the candlelight as though she could say whatever she wanted about his cooking, his crappy business plan, his inability to commit to anyone or anything that mattered—but how dare she insult his precious dick.

She raised an eyebrow with a calm she definitely didn’t feel. “I don’t know, Connor. Are you?”

Buy on Barnes and Noble

About the Author

Rebecca Brooks lives in New York City in an apartment filled with books. She received a PhD in English but decided it was more fun to write books than write about them. She has backpacked alone through India and Brazil, traveled by cargo boat down the Amazon River, climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro, explored ice caves in Peru, trekked to the source of the Ganges, and sunbathed in Burma, but she always likes coming home to a cold beer and her hot husband in the Bronx. Her books are about independent women who leave their old lives behind to try something new—and find the passion, excitement and purpose they didn’t know they’d been missing.

Connect: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | Newsletter 

Excerpt Reveal: Walk of Shame by Lauren Layne

/

About the Book

Sparks fly between a misunderstood New York socialite and a cynical divorce lawyer in this lively standalone rom-com from the USA Today bestselling author of Blurred Lines and Love Story.

Pampered heiress Georgianna Watkins has a party-girl image to maintain, but all the shopping and clubbing is starting to feel a little bit hollow—and a whole lot lonely. Though Georgie would never admit it, the highlights of her week are the mornings when she comes home at the same time as her uptight, workaholic neighbor is leaving to hit the gym and put in a long day at the office. Teasing him is the most fun Georgie’s had in years—and the fuel for all her naughtiest daydreams.

Celebrity divorce attorney Andrew Mulroney doesn’t have much time for women, especially spoiled tabloid princesses who spend more time on Page Six than at an actual job. Although Georgie’s drop-dead gorgeous, she’s also everything Andrew resents: the type of girl who inherited her penthouse instead of earning it. But after Andrew caps one of their predawn sparring sessions with a surprise kiss—a kiss that’s caught on camera—all of Manhattan is gossiping about whether they’re a real couple. And nobody’s more surprised than Andrew to find that the answer just might be yes.

Excerpt

Georgie

Tuesday morning

Let’s talk about five a.m. for a second.

Also known as the worst hour of the day, am I right?

Here’s why:

If you’re awake to see five in the freaking morning, it means one of a few things, all of them heinous.

Scenario one: You’re on your way to the airport for an early morning flight. Heinous.

Scenario two: You’ve been out all night, and now your vodka buzz is fading, and you’re just sober enough to realize that the rest of your day will likely involve Excedrin, carbs, and indoor voices. Heinous.

Scenario three: You’ve got a crap-ton on your mind, and you’re lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, hating your life. Maybe hating yourself a little bit, I dunno, who am I to judge? Heinous.

Now brace yourself, because scenario four is the most heinous of them all: You’re awake at five a.m. because you’re an uptight prick whose schedule is even more rigid than your posture, and your life is an endless string of working out, the corner office, repeat. You’re also likely the type of person who subsists on protein shakes and kale smoothies, and you have been known to utter the phrase the body is a temple, thus solidifying what we already knew about you.

You have no friends.

But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.

See, it’s five a.m., and I, Georgie Watkins, am . . . kind of excited about it.

I know. I know. Four months ago I’d have bet my favorite vintage Chanel bag that there was exactly zero chance I’d actually look forward to the ghoulish hour of five in the morning.

And yet here we are.

I guess you could say there’s a scenario five on reasons to be up this early.

“Good morning, Ramon,” I sing, pushing through the revolving doors of the luxury high-rise on 56th and Park, the place I call home.

The concierge/security guard/all-around good guy glances up and gives me a friendly smile. “Ms. Watkins. Good morning.”

Usually the massive front desk is a bustling, busy affair. Starting at around seven, an army of well-dressed concierges will be smoothly facilitating the needs of impatient residents, as tiny dogs let out sharp, high-pitched barks of greeting from their Louis Vuitton carriers.

But that’s later.

Right now, the luxurious lobby is mostly silent, with just the lone overnight guy working the front desk, holding down the fort until the day guys arrive to handle the morning crush.

My new Tory Burch clutch tucked into my armpit, I hold up the box in my hands and waggle my eyebrows. “Brought you something.”

Ramon’s smile grows wider, brown eyes lighting. “My wife says you’re going to make me fat.”

“Tell Marta that the dad bod is totally in style right now,” I say, setting the box of donuts on the counter and lifting the lid. “Unless, of course, you don’t want a maple bacon donut?”

Ramon is already reaching inside the box, shaking his head in reverence as he lifts the sugary treat. “Still warm.”

“Well, technically the shop doesn’t open until five, but I’m such a loyal customer, they let me in a bit early,” I say, surveying the array of donuts and trying to decide if I’m in a chocolate kind of mood or if I want to risk the powdered sugar one.

Since my Alexander McQueen minidress is black (the archnemesis of powdered sugar), I reach for the chocolate as I set my clutch on the counter and fish out my phone: 4:58 a.m.

Two more minutes.

“How’s Marta dealing with the pregnancy of baby number three?” I ask, taking a bite of the donut and shifting attention back to Ramon, who’s already polished off his donut and is contemplating a second. I nudge the box toward him.

“She’s good,” he says. “Excited that we’re finally having a girl.”

“A girl!” I say, reaching across the counter and squeezing his massive forearm. “Congratulations, I hadn’t heard!”

“Just found out yesterday,” he says with a happy smile, apparently deciding that the occasion calls for another donut.

“Oh my gosh, I have the perfect baby gift,” I say, nibbling at a piece of my donut. “I saw this adorable Burberry onesie in Bergdorf’s the other day, with this precious little red bow—”

“Yes, because that’s what every infant needs,” a low voice interrupts. “A four-hundred-dollar piece of fabric that needs to be dry-cleaned. Don’t be ridiculous, Georgiana.”

I don’t have to look at my clock to know what time it is.

Five o’clock.

On the dot.

Not even bothering to turn around, I roll my eyes as my red nails tear off another piece of donut and pop it into my mouth. “Ramon, do you think you could talk to maintenance about adjusting the temp? It just got a little cold in here.”

Ramon’s been working here long enough to know my request isn’t for real. He’s not even paying attention to me. He’s already set his donut aside and has straightened up, practically saluting the newcomer.

“Mr. Mulroney. Good morning, sir.”

“Mr. Ramirez.” The voice is low and serious, a touch impatient, although not quite rude.

You know that adage that you catch more flies with honey? I’m not so sure it’s true. I bring donuts to the front desk guys just about every morning, and they adore me. I know they do.

But they respect him.

Giving in to the inevitable, I finally let my eyes flick to the side, my gaze colliding with a stern brown scowl.

I put on my widest, sparkliest smile, only because I know it drives him crazy.

As always, I see a muscle in his jaw twitch as I flutter my eyelashes.

“Good morning, Andrew,” I say sweetly.

“Georgiana.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Only my late grandmother has ever called me that, and I’m pretty sure that’s because I was her namesake. Everyone else calls me Georgie. Well, okay, not everyone. Ramon and the other guys still insist on calling me Ms. Watkins, but I’m working on it. See: daily donuts.

I smile wider and push the box in Andrew’s direction. “Donut?”

His lip curls. In case you haven’t already gotten a read on this guy, he’s the type that sneers at donuts.

He lifts a boring black travel mug. “Already have my breakfast.”

“Blended-up quinoa sprinkled with a few bits of spinach and pretension?” I ask.

“Whey powder protein shake.”

“Sounds immensely satisfying.”

He takes a sip of the nastiness and watches me with cold brown eyes. “The body is a temple, Georgiana.”

There it is.

Full circle to my above commentary about what sort of people are up and about at five a.m.

Buy on Amazon | Barnes and Noble

About the Book

Lauren Layne is the New York Times bestselling author of over a dozen romantic comedies.

A former e-commerce and web marketing manager from Seattle, Lauren relocated to New York City in 2011 to pursue a full-time writing career.

She lives in midtown Manhattan with her high-school sweetheart, where she writes smart romantic comedies with just enough sexy-times to make your mother blush. In LL's ideal world, every stiletto-wearing, Kate Spade wielding woman would carry a Kindle stocked with Lauren Layne books. 

Connect:   WEBSITE   |   FACEBOOK  |   TWITTER  |   GOODREADS

Excerpt: Even Cowboys Get the Blues by Amie Stuart

/

About the Book

Tim Caldwell doesn’t do relationships…

Not after his wife walked out on him and their daughter ten years before. He’s got a well earned reputation as a Casanova Cowboy who’s never met a woman he couldn’t talk into bed…until Toni duBois. Disinterest isn’t something he’s is used to. Neither is playing by someone else’s rules.

Toni duBois doesn’t do forever…

After fifteen years away, Toni’s headed home to Louisiana in search of the answer she needs and the redemption she craves. She doesn’t plan on hanging around in Bluebonnet, Texas, any longer that she has to and she isn’t interested in a steamy, sexy entanglement. Regardless of how good looking said entanglement might be.

 Rene Caldwell doesn’t do step-moms…

Unfortunately for both them, Tim’s teenage daughter, Rene has opinions. Lots of them. And she’s feeling a certain kind of way about Toni—mostly pissed. So when she pulls out all the stops to keep Toni from getting her hooks into Tim and Toni’s dark past is revealed, no one is safe from the fallout.

Excerpt

Daddy had woken up Thursday morning a total bear. I figured if The Witch wasn’t putting out, then she must be holding out, and that was bad. Very bad. She was holding out for the big leagues, the big time, the big ring–the rock even.

She wanted marriage.

I’d be damned if I survived three years of Skinner and her shit only to fall victim to a bigger enemy, so after Daddy left for the bar Thursday night, I sat on my bed, a pile of change and bills in front of me.

I’d decided to buy her off. Either I’d bribe her to sleep with Daddy, so he could get her out of his system, or bribe her to leave the damned state and go back to wherever the hell she’d come from. I didn’t know if two hundred thirty-seven dollars was enough, but it was all I had, every penny I’d saved for nearly two years in hopes of hiring a private detective to search for my mother. Another lost cause. I’d always had some vague plan in the back of my mind to find my mom, bring her home and reunite her and Daddy. Of all the screwed up schemes I’d ever come up with, that one honestly took the cake. I was stupid. It was stupid. But it was money well saved, and I figured my plan to get rid of Toni was pretty damn solid.

I waved before darting off in the direction Toni had gone. I found her stretched out on the bench, her feet propped up on the back. She raised her head and looked at me as I came to screeching halt not three feet from where she lay.

“Daddy’s looking for you.”

“I know.” Her voice was husky, and she sounded tired.

“And I have a proposition for you.” I slowly edged closer, my heart clanging against my ribs.

“What sort of proposition?”

“I don’t have a whole lot of time.” I looked over both my shoulders as if I expected Daddy to appear any minute. And I pretty much figured he would. He was so damned determined. “My Dad really likes you. But I don’t.” I opened my purse and yanked out the bag of bills and change, dropping it on her belly as my lip-gloss clattered on the bricks. “There’s two hundred and thirty-seven dollars in there. Everything I have in the world,” I said as I bent over and felt around on the ground for my lip gloss. “I’ll give it to you if you either leave town or have sex with my dad.”

“Rene Linette Caldwell, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Shit,” I muttered, my eyes on Toni.

Buy on Amazon | Barnes and Noble

About the Author

Amie Stuart is the last of a dying breed: a Native Texan. She writes sexy, emotional contemporary romances set in small towns. In the past, she’s worked as a receptionist, a daycare office manager, delivered pizzas, and was even a hairdresser for five years–all fodder for the writing gig. That and all those Barbara Cartland romances she cut her teeth on.

None of those careers can compare to her favorite job: writer. She’s a storyteller through and through, even when she’s keeping tabs on her almost-grown sons and many pets, or organizing promo and planning trips for her day job as a personal assistant. She smokes, she drinks, she writes–sometimes at the same time.

Connect: Tweet | Facebook | Pinterest | Website | Goodreads