Read an exclusive excerpt from Before I Knew by Jaime Beck

On the second anniversary of her husband’s suicide, Colby Cabot-Baxter is ready to let go of her grief and the mistakes made during her turbulent marriage. Her fresh start comes in the form of A CertainTea, the restaurant she’s set to open along Lake Sandy, Oregon, with help from her family. But when her executive chef quits just weeks before the grand opening, Colby is pressured to hire old family friend Alec Morgan. His award-winning reputation could generate buzz, but their friendship has withered since her husband’s reckless dare cost Alec’s brother his life.

Distracted by guilty secrets concerning the tragedy that changed his and Colby’s lives, Alec self-destructed and lost his famed restaurant. With his career in tatters, he’s determined to use this opportunity to redeem his reputation and to help the woman he’s loved from afar find happiness again.

But secrets have a way of coming out. When Alec’s do, they might destroy the new life he and Colby have rebuilt together.

Exclusive Excerpt

“The hostess said you wanted to see me?” Alec stood in the door to her office looking formidable in his freshly pressed chef’s coat. Shoulders back, spine arched, tautly strung like a crossbow. Faint circles beneath his eyes revealed the eighteen-hour workdays he’d been clocking all week in a feverish quest to make the soft opening perfect. “Doors open in less than an hour, so I don’t have much time.” 

Colby had battled the butterflies of excited anticipation all afternoon. The renewed flutter in her stomach, however, had nothing to do with the soft opening and everything to do with the man in front of her. The bewildering man who’d reawakened feelings she’d rather lie dormant. 

Earlier this week she’d said there was no such thing as a perfect man, and she still believed it. But Alec had worked tirelessly to help make her dream a reality, and that actually made him pretty close to perfect. 

“Our hostess is named Becca, and I only need a minute of your time.” She opened her desk drawer and withdrew the gift-wrapped package she hoped he’d appreciate.

Alec’s chin jerked back. “What’s that?” 

Colby circled her desk and handed him the token gift. “Something to mark the occasion.” 

Her mouth watered when she caught a slight whiff of shallots and thyme. Edible Alec. If only he weren’t so volatile and she so brittle. If he weren’t her employee. Or the old friend whose family still blamed her for their son’s death. In no universe did this risky attraction make sense. Yet it had blossomed steadily despite every attempt to weed it out. 

“Thank you.” Alec’s fingertips turned white where they gripped the box. After staring at the gift as if it were an alien, he cleared his throat and teased, “This box looks too big to be a phone charger. Should I open it now?” 

“Sure.” She smiled, forcing aside her wistful musings. 

Alec unwrapped the package with the same careful attention he gave the most intricate dish. His eyes widened when he saw the silver-framed photograph Gentry had taken of them at Hunter’s the other week. 

“I thought it might make your apartment feel more homey.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt shy and presumptuous—as if she somehow represented home. 

Alec’s straight brows pinched together while he fingered the image. “I didn’t get you anything.” 

“I didn’t expect it, Alec. This idea just came to me when Gentry sent me all the photos.” Colby shrugged. 

“I love it.” The corners of his eyes crinkled above his gentle grin. Then he surprised her by reaching for her. Colby’s heart turned over, unsure of whether or not she wanted him to kiss her. It then sank when he pressed his lips to her forehead instead of her mouth. He lingered there a moment—a tender point of contact she savored—before backing up. “I’m sorry I’m not as thoughtful as you.” 

Sensing the need for a joke, she teased him, saying, “I set a high bar, so don’t beat yourself up.” 

He chuckled. “Is it okay if I leave this in here until the end of the night?” 

“Of course. Speaking of the night, how do you feel?” 

“Eager.” He lifted his chin, but the harsh lines of his face only proved him to be tense. 

“Me, too, but you seem anxious.” 

“Determined.” Any momentary softness he’d revealed had fled as he turned his thoughts back to business. “You need to pay attention to what people are eating, what they’re pushing aside. Listen to what they say to each other, not what they say to you.” 

“Got it.” 

“I know your family and friends will be a distraction, but stay attuned to the rhythm of the room. Make sure the waitstaff is attentive to every detail. Otherwise, we’ll be going into the grand opening with weak information.” 

“Yes, sergeant.” 

“It’s important, Colby.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “This requires perfection from everyone, including you. It may only be a dress rehearsal, but it’s still our first impression. Everyone who comes tonight will leave here and talk to their friends.” 

“I understand, but everyone coming tonight wants us to succeed. They’ll be forgiving of little errors.” Colby wished his emphasis on awards wouldn’t eclipse his perspective. 

“That doesn’t mean we can slack off.” The force of his voice caused her to step back. He must’ve noticed her reaction, because he attempted a joke. “This is where you could say something encouraging like ‘Everything you make is perfect, Alec, so I don’t expect any complaints.’” 

“And inflate your oversize ego?” She poked his shoulder. 

He captured her hand and squeezed gently before letting go. “I’d better get back to the kitchen.”

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About the Author

Jamie Beck is a former attorney with a passion for inventing stories about love and redemption. In addition to writing novels, she also pens articles on behalf of a local nonprofit organization dedicated to empowering youth and strengthening families. Fortunately, when she isn’t tapping away at the keyboard, she is a grateful wife and mother to a very patient, supportive family.

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Spotlight: Latte Girl by Katia Rose

Hot coffee is a regular fixture in Hailey Warren’s life. Hot guys? Not so much.

Her grueling shifts at a cafe in the heart of the city’s business sector are rarely punctuated by anything special, so when the gorgeous heir to the security company next door strides into Hailey’s life, it feels like punctuation with a capital P (or D, depending on your preferred terminology).

Jordan Knox is enough to send her heart racing faster than a triple shot of espresso, and when the attraction proves to be mutual, no hidden corners or empty offices are safe from their game of cat and mouse.

But when she’s ready to drop the pretenses, Jordan continues to hold back, and Hailey realizes he’s been hiding secrets that could make whatever’s brewing between them boil over and burn.

‘Latte Girl’ is a full length, standalone novel, and the debut title from author Katia Rose.

Excerpt

His body is turned towards me, one arm resting along the top of the couch. I think about how easy it would be to slide closer, to let him wrap his arm around my shoulders and put my head on his chest. My hands almost twitch at the thought of creeping up under his shirt again and feeling the smooth ridges of his stomach, the heat coming off his skin.

“Just you and all your millions of dollars,” I say, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“We’re not that rich,” protests Jordan.

I give him a skeptical look.

“Okay, we’re rich,” he concedes, “but are you really telling me that growing up in a two million dollar house would be worth growing up without a sister?”

“Point taken,” I admit.

But growing up in a house where I could actually use a vibrator without my entire family hearing would have been nice, I add to myself.

Jordan is staring at me like I’ve announced I have a third nipple and I realize with horror that I just spoke my thoughts out loud.

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About the Author

Katia Rose is not much of a Pina Colada person, but she does like getting caught in the rain. She prefers her romance served steamy with a side of smart, and is a sucker for quirky characters. A habit of jetting off to distant countries means she’s rarely in one place for very long, but she calls the frigid northland that is Canada home.

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Spotlight: The Forger by Michele Hauf

Olivia Lawson’s bosses at Scotland Yard don’t take her work very seriously. Art and antiquities? Bor-ing! But her latest investigation, at London’s world-renowned Tate, is turning out to be far more explosive than anyone expected. In fact, the vandalized, booby-trapped painting hanging on the gallery wall would have blown her off her feet if it wasn’t for the tall, dark-haired stranger who tackled her at the last second—a stranger as finely sculpted as any masterpiece in the museum.

Ethan Maxwell is working this case for the Elite Crimes Unit because it was a choice between that and lockup. A (barely) reformed art forger, he’s got the expertise to lead Olivia through a dangerous manhunt. But the crime may have a more personal connection to him—and the all-too-real feelings he’s developing toward Olivia could pull her into the line of fire too . . .

Excerpt

Chapter 1

London

Olivia Lawson stood before the most hideous painting she had seen hung on the esteemed walls of the Tate Britain museum. Around her the forensics team and various police constables had begun to trickle in. Olivia had arrived twenty minutes ago, as soon as dispatch had forwarded her the call from Camila Wright, the museum’s director. The director had been frantic, and had suspected a vandalism.

Olivia had called in backup officers from Scotland Yard to search the outer perimeter of the museum. As she’d headed out, she’d stopped into her boss’s office. Superintendent Wellbrute had just been informed a gallery in SoHo, not far from where she lived, had been hit last week with methods similar to this morning’s incident at the Tate Britain. He didn’t understand why she hadn’t been on top of the SoHo incident. It was her job with the Arts and Antiquities Unit to investigate art crimes.

How could she be on top of what she hadn’t been aware of? Apparently the SoHo gallery owner had gone directly to Interpol instead of Scotland Yard. Which had miffed her boss. And baffled Olivia only so much. Private galleries had a lot at stake in keeping thefts quiet. They couldn’t have their reputations tarnished should Scotland Yard release information to the press. But it did stab at Olivia’s pride to have her boss angry with her. She should have heard about that one or picked up information from the art- world grapevine. Her lacking knowledge wasn’t going to help her status at Scotland Yard.

She needed to solve this case to show her boss she had what it took, and that she was not expendable. A promotion from constable to detective constable was her goal.

Scotland Yard’s Arts and Antiquities Unit had been reduced to two police officers, her and Nigel Bellows, who was out with shingles. Not a day passed that Superintendent Wellbrute didn’t grumble about lacking funding, and who cared about art crimes, anyway? Wasn’t as if the perpetrator caused physical damage or violence to people such as with robbery or murder. Wouldn’t she be happier in dispatch or even—and this was always delivered with a wink—bringing him coffee and answering phones?

The cuts and insults never ceased, but Olivia would not break under such demeaning treatment. She was proud to be a woman working in the field of law enforcement and she would show the men exactly how valuable she was to Arts and Antiquities.

But before she tied herself up with worry knots over not learning about the SoHo incident, she had to decide if this call to the Tate was related to last week’s gallery vandalism, or was something else entirely.

Approaching the painting on the wall, Olivia took careful note of all surroundings, moving her gaze from the periphery and inward. As she reached the painting, she scanned the pale gray wall for fingerprints, smudges, disturbed dust. No dust. The museum’s housekeeping was meticulous.

Standing akimbo three feet away from the piece, Olivia scanned the ornate gold frame, which the director had insisted was the original that had framed the John Listen Byam Shaw masterpiece, Now Is Pilgrim Fair Autumn’s Charge, which had been the painting displayed on the wall. Or maybe it still was that painting. It was difficult to determine such.

Because pinned over the original—or whatever was beneath—was a stretched canvas, on which had been painted a copy of the Byam Shaw. An awful copy. Even the worst forger in the world would never take credit for such an aberration.

Trying not to stare too long at the horrible piece, Olivia took in everything else. No dirt in the curves and arabesques carved into the frame. Forensics would dust for prints and do a thorough run-through of the crime scene, but she always asked for a few minutes alone to take everything in. To make notes, both physical and mental. The painting hung about a foot above the green marble base that bordered the walls. Numerous other paintings from the Pre-Raphaelite period hung on the wall, close together but seemingly untouched.

With her cell phone, Olivia snapped a few pictures of the entire frame and pinned canvas. Some were close-ups of the frame; the texture of the paint on the new canvas; brushstrokes. It was a slapdash job, but she sensed whoever had painted this copy had sincerely attempted to imitate the master. The colors in the original were bold oranges, reds, and browns. The copy had matched them perfectly. And the wispy ghost-like creature crawling out of the water in the foreground was also executed with a careful hand.

Olivia stepped back and bumped into a man wearing white scrubs over his jeans and T-shirt. “Sorry, Howard.”

Howard Leeds smiled and nodded at the painting. He was deaf, but he didn’t need to hear to become one of the most honored technicians in London forensics over the past two years. Having learned sign language as a project in the fifth grade, and using it on many occasions over the years, Olivia signed that she needed a few more minutes, then he could do his job. Howard flashed another beaming white grin, punctuated by some killer dimples, then walked over to a wooden viewing bench and sat out his equipment.

Camila Wright clicked in on high heels and stopped beside Olivia. Sheathed in drab gray, she looked like a stick in the shapeless dress. After noting her badge, the woman had introduced herself to Olivia upon arrival but hadn’t taken the time to ask who Olivia was. Tension shimmered off her thin frame. She clenched her fists so tightly, her knuckles looked ready to burst from the skin. “I just said goodbye to the Byam Shaw last night as I was leaving the building.”

“Said goodbye to it?” Olivia asked.

“It’s one of my favorites. I talk to the ones I love.”

Oddly enough, Olivia could relate to that. Sometimes the characters depicted in oils and watercolors took on lives of their own.

She offered her hand. “We didn’t have a chance for proper introductions earlier. I’m Constable Olivia Lawson. I’ll be heading the investigation.”

“Yes, Lawson.” Camila looked thoughtful, then her demeanor changed. Olivia recognized the expression on her face as one she’d thought she was long past receiving: derision. “The Olivia Lawson who once worked at the now-defunct Hawhouse Gallery? And now you’re actually investigating art crimes? Interesting.”

The unspoken condemnation crept down Olivia’s spine, but she wasn’t going to allow it to affect her work. She was over that horrible incident. Mostly. Her best defense was to ignore the attitude, which she got more often than expected.

“It appears to be the original frame,” Olivia said, more from a hunch than actual evidence. Upon arrival, she’d asked Miss Wright to pull the details and catalog for the Byam Shaw, but hadn’t received that information yet. She glanced upward. The roof was two stories high and featured four curved skylights. They were the only windows in the well-lit gallery. “Before I begin to consider possible entrances for theft,” she said, “I want to spend more time studying it on the wall. If you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. I’ve blocked off the entire hall so when we open in a half hour, no patrons will be aware of what is going on in this area. I’ve instructed the police to enter from the employees’ entrance. Our media team is keeping this hush-hush until we know what’s up.”

“Thank you. Do you believe the original lies beneath?” Olivia tapped her lower lip, eyes on the painting.

“I certainly hope so. But if so, the pins will have damaged  the original artwork.” Camila shivered. “This is awful. Will you be working with a partner?”

“I usually don’t. Why do you ask?” Olivia would not allow the woman to condemn her for no reason.

“Uh, no reason.” Yet her flittering gaze revealed her worry. “Just asking. I’ll leave you to go check on the files you requested.”

Olivia nodded and approached the painting. She stopped eight inches away and bent forward to view it from the side. The intense chemical smell of cheap oil paints burnt her nostrils. Had the thief replaced a valuable work of art with a hurried forgery? What was the meaning behind such an obvious and blatant forgery?

It must have some meaning. Thieves were crafty. Art forgers, especially, were pompous egomaniacs who liked their work to be known. Had the thief—or perhaps she should think of the person as a vandal until she could confirm theft had occurred—merely been after a grab-and-run, he would have left the wall bare.

A glance to the upper corner by the ceiling confirmed a small white security camera. She’d look at security footage as soon as possible.

Leaning in, Olivia noted the stick pins holding the new canvas over what she suspected was the original canvas beneath. The pins stretched the forgery taut. Each pin had a bit of wet paint smeared on it; the forgery hadn’t had time to completely dry.

Olivia leaned in so closely that her shoulder-length red hair brushed the wall beside the frame. Clicking on the light at the end of her pen, she flashed it behind the painting. There was about a quarter inch where it did not meet the wall, from top to about a third of the way down. It allowed her to see the hook that held the painting and the wire secured to its back. It was standard museum-hanging procedure. Everything was attached to the frame, not the canvas.

Strange. If the thief had removed the Byam Shaw from the frame, he would have had to carefully slip in a replacement. Something to pin the forgery to. The original must still be intact.

Olivia moved in front of the piece again and studied the inner edges of the frame. In a few spots, fresh paint smeared the gold wood frame. She took a few photos of the spatters. Noticing that Howard was waiting patiently, she signaled him over and pointed out what she’d seen.

He gave her a thumbs-up, then pointed to the top of the picture and gestured that he might take it down for her inspection.

“We should take more photos before removing it from the wall.” She signed to him to bring in the photographer from the Evidence Recovery Unit.

Ten minutes later, the ERU photographer had clicked through hundreds of shots of the entire room and the painting.

“I think we can take it down now,” Olivia announced to the few officers in the room. “Howard, if you’ll assist me.” She signed to him that she would help him remove it from the wall. He approached the painting.

Olivia snapped on latex gloves and slid her right hand to the top of the frame. With her left, she gripped the bottom.

“Stop!”

Olivia turned around. A tall, handsome man raced toward her. She smelled sulfur. Something flashed in the corner of her eye as the man’s body collided with hers. Together, they tumbled to the hardwood floor.

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About the Author

Michele Hauf has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for over twenty years. Her first published novel was Dark Rapture (Zebra). France, musketeers, vampires and faeries populate her stories. And if she followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries she has never visited and of creatures she has never seen.

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Read an excerpt from The Secret by Christie Ridgway

Being butler to a widower and single father is a dream job in more ways than one for Charlotte “Charlie” Emerson. She helps keep businessman Ethan Archer’s household running without a hitch and enjoys every minute she has with his six-year-old son, Wells. But as time passes, the situation feels alarmingly intimate and when her heart starts beating faster each time Ethan steps through the door, Charlie must exert rigid control over her feelings.

With her secret, falling in love would be all kinds of bad…

Ethan Archer values the woman who keeps his life in order and cares so much for his motherless boy. He and Charlie act in harmony with each other and it’s not hard to picture them as a little family…in fact, it’s so easy, one reckless night he proposes a marriage of convenience.

What will he do if Charlie says yes? And worse, what if she tells him no?

Excerpt

Only then did Ethan become aware that someone had entered the adjacent kitchen on silent feet. Charlie, his butler and the caregiver of his son, her sleek hair held back in a ponytail, her slim, tanned legs revealed beneath the hem of a sleeveless shirtdress. It wasn’t too short, but because of her long limbs, her bare skin seemed to go on forever. And always polite, Charlie pretended not to notice that he’d been talking out loud—to an empty room.

“Don’t mind me,” he said. “We old guys mutter to ourselves on occasion.”

Then he winced, vanity instantly wishing he’d not brought up age. Nearing forty sucked.

“You’re not an old guy,” she said mildly, opening the refrigerator and pulling out half a watermelon.

“Older than you,” Ethan said and then winced again. It sounded like fishing.

And true to form, his well-mannered butler took the bait. “Not so much.”

Hah. He had almost a decade on her.

“I’ve dated men your age and more.”

“You have?”

She made a non-committal sound as she began slicing the fruit into cubes.

Ethan cleared his throat, unable to stop his next question. “Are you dating anyone now?”

One glance from her blue eyes had him backtracking.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “None of my business.”

But because he’d put the question out there, he couldn’t get it out of his head. Their Charlie, with her unflappable manner and elegant face, dating some old fart. Or worse—a beach dude. Or much, much worse, one of those old beach dudes with a mat of graying chest hair and a belly hanging over his ratty board shorts.

Ethan frowned. Charlie shouldn’t be dating at all.

Then he came alert to his thoughts. Why was he suddenly so interested in Charlie’s social life? It must be the swing of that ponytail as she moved. The roundness of her ass that was merely hinted at beneath the dress. The small, perfect rise of her breasts that he couldn’t help noticing when she was headed to the beach in a swimsuit.

Damn. He shouldn’t be thinking of her ass. Or her breasts. Definitely not about her sweet, bow-shaped lips and what they might taste like.

With a hand to his forehead, Ethan closed his eyes. This was heading south, fast, same as the blood in his veins.

“Are you all right?” Her voice and her cool hand on his arm had him flinching back.

“Jesus.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” She held up a mug of coffee.

He took it and put the heated surface right over the spot where she’d touched him, trying to scald away the memory of it.

Her brows came together over her incredibly blue eyes. They reminded him of some kind of flower—bluebells, he thought. This close, she smelled flowery too, a light, fresh fragrance with an undertone of spice.

Like spring, or maybe summer, while he was impending winter. Okay, maybe just early fall.

Yet still fascinated by her.

Damn.

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About the Author

Christie Ridgway is a California native and author of fifty contemporary romances. A six-time RITA finalist and USA Today bestselling author, she writes award-winning, emotional reads starring determined heroines and the men who can’t help but love them. Christie grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, went to college in Santa Barbara, and now is married to the sweetheart she met there.

She started off as a technical writer and moved on to computer programming before having two sons and pursuing the dream she’d held since childhood—writing romance novels. Her first book stars a hero who was a former professional surfer and since then she’s written about businessmen, TV stars, soldiers, journalists, vintners, race car drivers, and horror novelists. What her heroes have in common is their resistance to love and their hardest of falls when they finally do find their right woman.

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Spotlight: Destination: Love Anthology

Go the distance, fall farther than you planned...

Don’t bother with your passport - you can watch our HOT couples fall in love from the comfort of your couch! USA Today bestsellers Christi Barth, Eliza Knight, Misty D. Waters and Piper J. Drake, and Christina Elle take you along on sexy, romance-drenched vacations all over the globe. Enjoy the exotic settings, the steamy vacation flings that become something more. Take the plunge with five couples as they throw caution to the wind and give in to temptation. The final destination in this itinerary is love, and you’re in for the trip of your life. 

About the Authors

Christi Barth

Christi Barth earned a Masters degree in vocal performance and embarked upon a career on the stage.  

A love of romance then drew her to wedding planning.  Ultimately she succumbed to her lifelong love of books and now writes award-winning contemporary romance, including the Naked Men and Aisle Bound series. Christi can always be found whipping up gourmet meals (for fun, honest!) or with her nose in a book. She lives in Maryland with the best husband in the world.

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Excerpt

"The sky is blue," said Nate, his face separated from hers by only a breath.

Huh? "Is that a military thing? Are you talking in code?"

"The sun rises in the east. Play with fire and you’ll get burned. These are all absolute truths. Indisputable facts. Well, there’s one more absolute you need to file away in your mental card catalog."

Nate brought the lower half of his body so close Zoe felt the heat radiating from his legs. Despite the heat, her goose bumps had goose bumps. The anticipation of his touch brought her every sense to high alert. He raised his arms up, planted his hands on either side of her head to cage her in place. Then he tilted so his forehead bumped hers. Her field of vision narrowed to the indigo sea of his eyes, pupils flooding black in the shaded darkness of the narrow turret they shared.

"I want you, Zoe." He forced the words out in a heavy rasp. "I wanted you the day we met. You wore a red ribbon in your hair, dropped a stack of books on my foot, and apologized adorably for ten minutes. All I could think of was wrapping the ribbon around my hand to pull you in for a kiss. I wanted you the first time we kissed, on the bridge in a storm. One by one, I licked off every raindrop that clung to your skin. I wanted you when I saw you covered in mud last Friday. Wanted you badly enough to crawl right into the mud to be with you. I want you now, and I will always want you."

Zoe let her eyes flutter shut in preparation for a kiss. Such a heartfelt, utterly romantic speech could only end one way. Just as whipped cream hungered for a cherry, his words demanded to be topped off by a kiss. She didn’t care about the past. With a handful of sentences he’d put her insecurities to rest. Nate dazzled her, and she was ready for more.

What was taking him so long? From beneath her lashes she snuck a peek. No Nate. Hoping the knees he’d melted to jelly would hold her, Zoe scrambled out onto the dirt path. Twenty strides ahead, Nate bellowed at her over his shoulder. "Hurry up. We don’t want to miss the reading of the clue."  

From confusion to relief with paper hearts dancing overhead...right back to confusion, all in less than five minutes. Zoe trudged after him with one thought uppermost in her mind—now what?

Eliza Knight

Eliza Knight is a USA Today bestselling author of sizzling historical romance, time-travel, contemporary and erotic romance. Under the name E. Knight, she pens riveting historical fiction. While not reading, writing or researching for her latest book, she chases after her three children. In her spare time (if there is such a thing…) she likes daydreaming, wine-tasting, traveling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping and visiting with family and friends. She lives atop a small mountain with her own knight in shining armor, three princesses and two very naughty puppies.

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Wherever You Are

After life takes a heartbreaking turn, Calista Adams indulges in a fling while on vacation. But that steamy encounter fills her heart with something she thought never to have again. Maxwell Dane can’t stop thinking about Calista, but he’s home in Paris, and she’s an ocean away. Until Calista takes a nine-week sabbatical to travel Europe. With a second chance in sight, Max won’t let her push him away. This could be the forever kind of love, and there’s only one way to find out.

Excerpt

“What are you doing out here?”

“Staring at the stars.” She shrugged.

Max laughed softly. “No, I mean, here in Grand Cayman.”

“Vacationing like everyone else.” Calista turned away. What little part of her had felt the need to open up to this stranger tightened. Talking with a handsome stranger was one thing, relaying the melancholy that was her life was another.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Max said softly.

Calista’s lips curved slightly as she flicked her gaze at him. “Yes you do.”

Max laughed and tapped his hand to his chest. “You got me. I do.”

A little flip of her belly, and she found herself letting her guard down again. “Forgetting.” Though, she was doing a better job remembering and wallowing than anything else. And she had every right, didn’t she? “Forgetting,” she said again quietly, as if hoping to convince herself to do so.

He nodded but didn’t ask any more, as if he could understand the need to forget. He lay down beside her, stretched his legs out so the waves touched his feet and tucked his hands beneath his head. “Have to admit, this is a nice view.”

And it was. But Calista wasn’t looking at the stars anymore. She was staring down at Max. At his lean, cut body and the chisel of his features, dark reddish-brown hair that resembled the color of an old, lucky penny. He was handsome. Hot. Looking at him, a spark of desire flashed inside her, coursing its way along her limbs, making her breasts feel heavy, achy. God, she hadn’t felt like that in a while. Not even with Randy.

Desire. Need. Yearning.

If she were anyone else, she might have taken the opportunity that was being presented to her. Might have taken the chance and jumped this hot hunk’s bones. But she wasn’t any other person. She was Calista Adams. Jilted bride.

Tearing her gaze away from him, she flopped back onto the sand, her arm over her eyes.

“Can’t see the stars like that,” he murmured.

A smiled snaked over her lips, and she tried to stifle it. But all that kept running through her mind was the way she felt so at peace with Max here, lying beside her in the shallow water, waves lapping at their feet. And how wrong that had to be. Right? She shouldn’t feel like this. Not yet.

She’d not felt at peace since her life was inexplicably torn apart. Not since she’d lost—

“Do you live near the beach?” Max asked.

Calista cleared her throat, thrusting her sadness away. “No,” she whispered.

“Oh.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because of how comfortable you are just lying here. Sand in your hair. Clothes rumpled. As though it’s part of a routine you couldn’t live without.”

A routine she couldn’t live without. Warm water slicked up her legs, a gentle breeze soothed her soul. And this man… He was making her think of things that she’d not yet touched on. What she couldn’t live without. And that was affection, kissing, companionship, love.

Misty D. Waters

USA Today Bestselling author MISTY D. WATERS lives with her family in Maryland. When she isn’t steaming up the pages to a good romance, abusing her muse, or random dancing, she's writing edge-of-your-seat science fiction thrillers as M.D. Waters.

Her first novel, ARCHETYPE, was nominated for a RT Reviewers’ Choice award, on the Texas Library Association’s 2015 Lariat Reading List, listed on Popsugar.com’s The Best Books of 2014, and voted “Best Sex” by the A.V. Club’s Pages Most Likely to Succeed: Our Favorite Books of 2014 (so far). Her other works, ANTITYPE & PROTOTYPE, are available now.

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Excerpt

Palms freshly oiled, Josh made a quick pass over her calf and began kneading deep grooves into her thigh. He started on the top, watching her face as he worked. She'd closed her eyes but bit her bottom lip. He was really beginning to love when she did that.

Lia let her leg remain slack as he shifted his focus to her outer thigh and hip. He hooked an arm under her knee to give him better access to the curve of her ass. That area he flattened his palm for. Caressed. Her glut tightened and relaxed.

Josh returned to her thigh, this time opening her hip. He let her knee rest against his chest and stroked her inner thigh from the top down. Didn't stop until his thumb reached the edge of her suit bottoms.

Jesus. He was so close. All he had to do was shift his fingers over a half inch.

With a rough swallow and deep inhale, Josh put his hand in reverse and earned a disgruntled moan that made him grin. This was good. Exactly what he’d planned. She’s the one who wanted delayed gratification, and he meant to give it to her in more ways than one.

Carefully, he laid her leg down on the table, hip open, keeping it at the angle. It took all his self-control not to drop his mouth to her creamy skin. Later tonight, he wasn't going to leave a single inch of her skin unmarked.

“Comfortable?” he asked. She nodded. “Try not to move.”

He switched to her other leg. Began as he had the last time. Calf and shin. Knee. Top of thigh. Then lifted her pliable leg to work on the outer thigh. Hip. Again, he stroked her butt, this time eliciting a warm sigh. He was beginning to think of her sounds as his favorite music. He could listen to her on repeat.

At long last, Josh found her inner thigh. She laid open to him but for the length of white sheet bisecting her center. Giving her an added layer of protection from his gaze. His imagination was enough. For now.

He grazed her suit’s edge on the inside of her warm thigh, and her hips rocked gently toward his hand.

“I thought I told you to lie still,” he said, chuckling.

“Sorry. It’s not as easy as you think.”

He could imagine. If he were in her position, he'd have already been to the point of taking control of the situation. "Just lie back and enjoy."

Josh refocused on kneading her skin. Memorizing the way her muscles shaped her hamstring and calf. The exact place her leg dipped inward toward her sensitive, covered flesh.

On the third rotation, he dipped his hand under the sheet. With her hips spread, she lay open and perfect for his cupped hand. Moist heat radiated under his palm. She was ready.

He placed pressure on her clit using the heel of his hand and began a gentle rotation.

Lia's body spasmed once, but then accepted the new massage.

Piper J. Drake

Piper J. Drake is a bestselling author of romantic suspense and edgy contemporary romance, a frequent flyer, and day job road warrior. She is often distracted by dogs, cupcakes, and random shenanigans.

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Excerpt from FINDING HIS MARK

Michael nodded, then took Sushar's hand from his elbow and instead placed his hand on her lower back. The heat of his palm warmed her skin through the gauze of her delicate cover. "Well, I took our discussion from yesterday to heart. I'd like you to meet Su. She's an old friend who agreed to join me even though I invited her last minute."

"Very kind of you." The man's gaze settled on Sushar and pierced right through her, assessing.

"I was surprised." She decided concise and honest was best with this man. "But if Michael called, it was important to him."

Which was absolute truth.

The man's eyebrow lifted in response to her statement and the corner of his mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. "Michael, you continue to impress me."

Michael chuckled. He was comfortable with this man. "You recommended I establish a life, a real one beyond my work. Su might be a past acquaintance, but she's also the only part of my history worth bringing back into my life now."

Her heart skipped and stuttered, almost stopped. She knew all his tells. Either he'd become a much better liar over the years or he meant what he'd said.

Michael's boss truly smiled then, the laugh lines creasing an otherwise serious face. "Ben Ward. You are very welcome here."

He extended his right hand.

Sushar took it and gave him a firm handshake. "Sushar Sakda. Thank you. Please call me Su."

Michael turned her to introduce her to the others in Ben's close circle of trusted advisors. Those men had waited for Ben to welcome her, and she noticed only a few of them introduced their ladies. Wives were given introductions. The others were very possibly temporary companions or perhaps mistresses.

It'd been significant, then, for Michael to introduce her to Ben. It mattered in this group of people. The question was, had it mattered as much to Michael as he'd implied?

She shouldn't wonder, but she did. 

Christina Elle

Christina believes that laughter really is the best medicine, which is why in her stories she blends a healthy dose of hilarious hijinks with gritty suspense.

When she’s not writing fun contemporary romance or quirky romantic suspense, Christina can be found devouring books in every genre, watching Chris Hemsworth on TV, playing board games with her family, working out, checking out Chris Hemsworth on Facebook, napping, stalking Chris Hemsworth on Instagram, and shopping…for Chris Hemsworth’s latest DVD.

Christina lives near Baltimore with her husband and two sons, who give her an endless supply of humorous material to write about.

She is a member of Romance Writers of America and Maryland Romance Writers.

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Excerpt - ANYWHERE WITH YOU

Wes must have sensed her discomfort because he released her hand to wrap a tight arm around her, pulling her against him. She wasn't even going to process how much she liked the way she fit into his armpit. Mostly because fitting into another person's armpit didn't sound like something one would revel in. Under arm? Lower shoulder? Upper oblique?

Her brain forgot about the holding her up part and the various vocabulary choices, and instead registered how much she liked being sandwiched against his warm frame. She melted into him, her arm instinctively wrapping itself around his waist.

Damn he was hard. And full of muscle. Just like she'd imagined.

Without being able to stop herself, she gave his side a good, sturdy squeeze, testing the firmness. Then she splayed her fingers wide, taking in more terrain, and glided her hand up and down his bubbly side.

Bubbly? Would we call it bubbly?

Well, it certainly wasn't smooth. It had bumps and ridges to it, each one harder than the next. The density was like the long tubes of bologna her father used to get at the meat counter back home.

Good Lord, Teegan. Really?

Yeah, because when one's arm was around a hot man, it was natural to think about deli meat.

No wonder you've been dateless for so long.

She nearly rolled her eyes and would have if Juliet hadn't been staring at her like she could read every one of Teegan's moronic thoughts.

"Juliet," Wes said in a purposeful tone. "You remember Teegan."

"Of course." She leaned forward to give Teegan a small hug. The kind that only required half an arm and a pat on the back. "It's nice to see you. With Wes, no less."

"Yeah, well…" Teegan glanced up at the tall, mountain of a man and tried to flutter her eyelashes at him. But she must've done it too fast because her vision went wonky, causing her to sway a little and nearly lose her balance. Shifting her weight, she planted her feet firmly and looked back at Juliet. "We're in love.”

Oh, geez.

Smooth? You call that smooth?

She could've sworn she heard a groan next to her, but she wasn't sure because Juliet's sharp intake of air drowned out just about every sound on the beach.

"Love?" Juliet’s gaze zipped to Wes, searching for what seemed like confirmation.

There was a slight hesitation—Juliet hopefully didn't catch it—before Wes once again wrapped a tight arm around her. "What can I say? When you know, you know. It just kind of hit me." He sent a cryptic look Teegan's way, and his jaw seemed to lock down. "Out of nowhere."

Teegan simulated an explosion with her hands, taking her fists and blasting her fingers open wide. “Boom.”

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Teaser Reveal: Stripping Her Defenses by Amanda Adams

Today we have the teaser reveal for Stripping Her Defenses by Amanda Adams! Check it out and preorder your copy today! 

Regret is a strange thing…sometimes it drops a man to his knees. But sometimes it’s more like a slow drip poison. I’ve only ever regretted two things in my life. Walking away from her was one of them...

Duty? Honor? Love? After ten years in the military, they all mean nothing to Daniel, nothing but pain. He's home now, but war—and the secrets that followed him—hold him in an unrelenting grip. It’s dangerous to fall in love, dangerous to believe the past will stay buried where it can’t hurt the people around him, where it can’t hurt her.

But one look at Chloe and he remembers a time when all he worried about was getting his hands on her. Does he deserve a second chance? Hell no. But he's got a new mission now: Strip every single one of Chloe's defenses and win back her heart. He'll use any means necessary to seduce her. And when the past comes calling, he’ll stop at nothing to protect her. Because when he's on a mission, he always gets his mark.

Exclusive Excerpt

Regret is a strange thing. It can be powerful, so crippling it will knock a man to his knees, or so soft and insidious it’s like a slow-drip poison in the mind.

On any given day, I feel both sensations. Not for the decision I made, but for what it cost every single one of the men on the team that day. The truth changed each of us. Not one of us, had we known, would choose to bear this burden. But now that we’ve seen behind the magic curtain, it’s too late to go back. Troy is gone.

And since time travel isn’t an option...

My six years of war have ended, and I don’t feel like I belong in a suburban home, any more than I belong in this strange echo of a previous life I am destined to live. But now I’m home, back in Texas, with my sister making a fuss upstairs and everything I own in a handful of boxes on her basement floor. The house, the town, the sights and the sounds; none of it has changed, but I have. I could never be the same man I’d been when I left. Standing here, with sunlight streaming in through the windows and the smell of the neighbor’s barbecue filling the air of my sister’s immaculate, 100 year old craftsman style home with a porch that seems to stretch for miles, Americana reigns. I half expect a little girl named Betty June to ride up on her Schwinn bicycle, sporting pigtails and bobbysocks, to sell me a ticket to an ice cream social. I am so far removed from what happened in that cave in the mountains of Afghanistan that I should be relieved. Happy. Content.

Not haunted by the ghost of a man the entire world believes to be dead. It’s not his fault, but I resent him, just a little, for the weight of the secret we all now carry. Then again, I can walk down the street, eat at a restaurant and drive a car without constantly looking over my shoulder. It’s hard to hate a guy, a good man who can never go home again, when he has a target on his back.

“Daniel, are all of the boxes out of the truck?” My sister Sara’s voice echoes down the stairway, to the harsh surfaces of the finished basement as I bend over the last box, squinting to read the handwriting on the lid. The words looked something like “Iesh,” which probably meant they were Josh’s things. No one can read his handwriting without a magic de-coder ring.

“Yeah, I got the last of them,” I call out. Everything I own is in this room, and some things I wish I didn’t. The package that arrived yesterday from Italy with no return address? I haven’t opened it yet. I know who it’s from and I know what it will bring to my life. Chaos. Risk. Secrets. More secrets.

Shoving it into the bottom of my duffel bag, I head back up the ancient wood stairs. Painted lime green and scuffed from years of footfalls, they creak with every step.

Standing at the top of the stairs, Sara brushes her hands on her jeans then crosses her arms while she awaits my ascent. “I guess the nice thing about you military guys is that you don’t have a ton of stuff lying around.”

“That’s one way to look at it.” I left everything behind. Most of the stuff on the floor downstairs had been in storage the last few years, since the day I shipped out. I’m not even sure I’ll open the boxes. Everything I need to survive is in my oversized duffel bag next to the bed.

Everything I need to survive, and the one secret that might cost me everything, including the one woman I’ve never been able to forget.

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About the Author

Amanda Adams writes super-sexy, new adult and contemporary romance. A full time author, Amanda spends her days trying to walk more and type less. If she eats a salad for lunch, she makes sure to reward herself with chocolate after (as any reasonable woman would do.) Amanda believes in true love, love at first sight, and every other cliché because lightning struck her in high school and she’s been happily married to her sweetheart ever since. However, she also knows, from personal experience, that life can big one great big, painful mess as well. Amanda believes in keeping things real. Her books are free of cheating--with a guaranteed HEA--but hold on tight…it’s going to be one hell of a bumpy ride.
 

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