Spotlight: Losing Cadence & Finding Sophie by Laura Lovett

When Cadence Weaverly graduates from high school, she thinks it’s for the best that she and her boyfriend, Richard White, take separate paths: she to Julliard and he back to Harvard. Ten years later, she has an ideal job and a wonderful fiancé, Christian. She is building the life of her dreams—until the day Richard resurfaces out of the blue, abducts her from her San Francisco apartment, and returns her to his mansion where he holds her captive.

Cadence can hardly believe her ears when Richard professes his undying love and reveals his plans to build a life together. Terrified to fight back for fear he will have Christian murdered, Cadence must determine how to reason with a mentally unstable man who is obsessed with making her his forever. But even if she manages to escape, will she ever really be free of the man who hunts her heart?

In this psychological thriller, a young woman must rely on perseverance, courage, and inner strength to survive after she is kidnapped by her deranged ex-boyfriend.

Excerpt

Chapter One

“W’e're home my love.”The husky voice seemed distant, yet vaguely familiar. I heard only faint sounds amidst the dark fog that swirled around in my mind. I didn’t know where I was, as my eyes remained clamped shut. My body felt limp and desperately weak. I tried to pull my heavy eyelids apart, but to no avail. I willed my mouth to

open, to utter a sound. Nothing. My tongue was heavy in my mouth. Everything was black. I’m going to be sick, I thought.

“My love, the love of my life, my Cadence,” uttered a deep male voice in my ear. “I’m going to carry you, my love.” I felt warm arms around me, lifting me out into the rain. I shivered fiercely from the bitter cold. Was it night? There was no light through my closed eyelids. I tried again to open my mouth, to ask where I was, but the words would not form. Who was he?

My nausea materialized into violent vomiting. I could feel the man’s strong arms holding me up, bracing me. My body heaved and convulsed, and I felt as though I was breaking into pieces. “It’s okay, darling, you’ll feel better soon,” said the deep voice over and over as I heaved for what felt like an eternity. en everything went black again.

*****

I woke up slowly, sensing that I was tucked into a soft bed. This time  my eyes were able to open a fraction. Shapes swam before my eyes, the images vague and blurry. I could see white all around me: white bed, white walls, white door. I tried to move, but my body refused to cooperate. I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I was heavily drugged.

The white around me gave the sensation of being outside in a snow storm. A memory flashed back to me from childhood, of making snow angels in the deep, pillowy layers of freshly fallen snow. My eyes slowly scanned the blurry room and narrowed in on something that was not white, it was black. A camera mounted in the corner of the room, high up near the ceiling, its lens focusing down on me, on my every movement. A watchful eye staring into a room of white, focusing on a drugged woman who couldn’t move. Where on earth was I? Then the door slowly opened.

“Hello, Miss Weaverly,” whispered a woman’s voice with a slight accent that sounded Spanish. “Welcome home. I saw that you were waking up, so I came to check on you. How are you feeling?” I couldn’t make out her features, but could see that she was wearing white and her hair was dark.

“H…h…he…” I tried to make out a word, hello or help, which turned out to be of little consequence as I couldn’t speak.

“Don’t try to speak. Just get some sleep and you’ll feel much better tomorrow.” She came beside my bed and I felt a glass touch my lips. The stream of smooth, cool water cascaded down my parched throat. The mere act of drinking water exhausted me, so I fell back asleep. I dreamed about playing my flute on a hilltop and standing on the deck of my childhood home, making beautiful songs through my instrument as the birds sang along with me.

Th e next dream that floated into my mind was about my family. I dreamed about my mom, dad, sister and brother, all around the dinner table. Outside it was snowing heavily, a blizzard of white. I ran out onto the deck and looked up into the white abyss of the sky. I felt the snow falling on my face, caressing me gently with thick flakes of cool white cotton. This dream continued until I crossed the border between sleep and wakefulness, and opened my eyes to see two green ones staring back at me intensely. My body began to shake with fear.

“Cadence, my love, we’re finally together. This is the happiest day of my life,” he said quietly, only inches away from my ear. He was so close that I could smell the warm scent of mint on his breath. “You look so beautiful, Cadence, so peaceful, and now you’re finally home.”

The recognition came slowly, but once it fully hit, I froze in terror. This must be a dream. I opened my mouth to scream, but only a fearful whisper came out. “R…R…Rich…ard?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Wh…Wh…Why?” I tried to ask my question. Why on earth was I here? Was this a dream? This couldn’t be real. I had dated Richard in high school for a few months. is didn’t make any sense. It had been ten years since I had seen or heard of him!

“Shhh, my love, we’ll have plenty of time to talk later. I want you to get some more rest now. You had a long night and were very ill. I’m just going to sit here and watch over you while you sleep. Oh, how I love you, more than anything in the world. I’ve waited so long for this moment!” He heaved a long, fulfilled sigh as his large, warm hand stroked my hair, my face. He traced the line of my lips. I wanted to bite, to scream, but my body fell back into t the comfort of sleep, dreams and denial.

Buy on Amazon

Finding Sophie: Sequel to Losing Cadence

Finding Sophie is the highly anticipated sequel to Laura Lovett's debut psychological thriller, Losing Cadence.

For twelve years, Cadence Davidson has dreaded her daughter's twelfth birthday, for that is the day she will tell Sophie who her true father really is.

Sophie's world is turned upside down when she learns that her biological father is really Richard White, the man who abducted her mother twelve years earlier.She wonders if she will ever meet the elusive billionaire, only to find herself suddenly abducted into the life that he has carefully crafted for her and her mother.

Despite his carefully orchestrated plan, Richard White is faced with unexpected events that threaten to tear his newfound family apart. Will Richard be able to find peace and hold on to the family he has fought for a lifetime to bring together?

In this psychological thriller, an obsession that spans decades comes to it's ultimate test. Love, loss and courage coalesce as Richard faces his demons and makes the final choice to find peace and love.

Excerpt

Chapter One

Richard sat in his villa in the Bahamas, the warm ocean breeze and sounds of the lapping waves coming through the large, open doors of the massive deck. He was fixated not on the magnificent view, but on his computer screen that was livestreaming his daughter’s twelfth birthday party. He felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he knew his time was drawing near. He saw her beautiful smile, her sweet face.

“Happy birthday, dear Sophie. Happy birthday to you!” played through the speaker. Sophie took a deep breath, focusing intently on the twelve candles on what appeared to be a yellow cake decorated with pink flowers. She blew with great effort, ten of the twelve candles smoking in defeat, as her friends

joked about the two she’d missed. He ached to be there with his family, in Christian’s place, where he belonged.

The cameras were his companions; they helped him be part of Sophie’s life. He was there for all major events through that small eye nestled so inconspicuously that most top agents wouldn’t be able to uncover it. Leo, the ex-CIA agent who helped him in the dark days after Cadence left him to die in the

fire, was a genius at this gig. The hideous scars from the third degree burns on his face and body were a constant reminder of that day; for years, he had wished it had been his last. But in Richard’s world there was always a plan, then another, and another one after that. Richard had backup upon backup,

which saved his life when a guard who was stationed nearby arrived just in time to save Richard from being burned alive or bleeding out from the deep stab wound in his chest. That knife had only been an inch from puncturing his pulmonary artery. The heat of the fire felt as though it was tearing apart his soul, or what was left of it. The thick, dark smoke engulfed his body, and he felt the sharp, throbbing pain of the wound in his chest as he tried to breathe.

He recalled those final moments on that burning deck. “Let me die,” Richard whispered.

“Not a chance,” Leo responded, dragging Richard’s body away from the burning log home, then wrapping his chest in what felt like a tight bandage. He didn’t remember anything after that as he passed out from the pain before being driven quickly away in an ATV through the dense Oregon forest.

He was brought back from those dark memories by the live video of his Cadence putting her arm around Sophie. Sophie smiled, her expression reminding him so much of his own, her eyes and hair giving away the secret of who her real father was. Yet she had her mother’s beautifully shaped lips and nose, set perfectly on her porcelain skin. How he longed to put his arms around them both. Yearned for the warmth of their arms around him. Ached every day and every night for their love.

Just then Christian came between them and Richard turned away from the video, his hands making tight fists and his breath quickening. He couldn’t bear to watch anymore, and stormed out of the room as the recording continued. He would watch more of his wife and daughter later, as was his daily ritual.

As he walked outside the villa and onto the soft, white sandy private beach, he breathed deeply to calm the rage that seeing Christian always caused. Soon, he promised himself. Soon this torture would come to an end and he could have what belonged to him.

Buy on Amazon

About the Author

Laura (Hambley) Lovett was born and raised in Calgary, Alberta, and received her PhD in Psychology from the University of Calgary in 2006. Her love of writing began at an early age when she would create and draw characters, telling stories to herself as she drew.

An accomplished author in the academic and business world, Laura pursued her love of creative writing to pen her first novel, Losing Cadence, a psychological thriller. Losing Cadence was written over many years as Laura juggled school, work and family, but she made time to pursue her passion for writing.

Laura is a psychologist and entrepreneur, currently running practices in the areas of career and leadership development and distributed workplaces. She was nominated and selected as a Distinctive Woman in Canada in 2013. Laura also enjoys teaching at the University of Calgary and has been an Adjunct Professor of Psychology since 2010.

Laura lives in Calgary with her husband and three children. She loves playing squash, travelling, spending time at the family cabin in Montana, as well as her view of the Rocky Mountains as the snow is falling on her hot tub.

Connect: Website | Facebook | Instagram | Goodreads

Read an excerpt from The Bed Mate by Kendall Ryan

From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Kendall Ryan comes a new story in her Room Mate series… 

I might be a typical guy, but these last few years, my love life’s been anything but. From crazy ex-girlfriends to one night stands who are stage-five clingers, my relationships go bad faster than the milk in your fridge. The only constant has been my best friend Maggie.

Fresh off a bad breakup of her own, I invite Maggie to my guy’s skiing weekend knowing she needs an escape from reality. But then something funny starts to happen. I start noticing things about her that I never noticed before. 

She’s beautiful and doesn’t know it, she’s funny without even trying, and now she’s suddenly single for the first time in forever. 

Sharing a hotel room with her proves to be the tipping point in our very platonic friendship. Suddenly I want to put my hands, my mouth, and my ... other parts ... all over her gorgeous body. I want to claim her, make sure no man touches her ever again. But then her groveling ex shows up, and Maggie’s torn. 

Am I ready to screw up the best relationship I’ve ever had for a shot at something more?

**Every 1001 Dark Nights novella is a standalone story. For new readers, it’s an introduction to an author’s world. And for fans, it’s a bonus book in the author’s series. We hope you'll enjoy each one as much as we do.**

Excerpt

Every now and then, Sam would shoot me a sympathetic look, knowing that I had no idea what they were talking about, but in truth, their company was a welcome break. Between what the woman in the shop had said and the lady on the plane’s insinuation, my mind was going a mile a minute and I was beginning to look at Sam in a way I definitely shouldn’t be.

Okay, so, yeah, he was sexy. That was a no-brainer.

I shot him a furtive glance, taking in the corded muscles of his forearms and the lock of dark hair that constantly flopped onto his forehead. And sure, he was sweet and attentive. He looked after me and made sure I always had a fresh drink and that I wasn’t cold or hot. He held the door for me and pulled out my chair when we went to restaurants. Hell, he’d been looking forward to this trip for months and he’d sacrificed an entire day just to make sure I got here safe and didn’t spend my time sulking.

Still, that didn’t mean he had feelings for me. He hadn’t argued when I’d mentioned us being like brother and sister or anything.

No, this whole line of thinking was ludicrous. Sam was a good friend. That was all…wasn’t it?

After all, Trevor had loved me once and he never did any of that.

Admittedly, that wasn’t the best example, but it proved my point all the same. In Sam’s shoes, Trevor never would have missed the chance to hit the slopes with his friends. He hadn’t even skipped the business trip that fell on my twenty-fifth birthday years back.

But Sam was there, my brain supplied helpfully.

Again, not an indication that he had feelings for me. People were just different. Sam was one of the good ones. And if he liked me surely I’d have known by now. He’d have told me or…something.

“Is that your phone?” Sam turned to me and I blinked, only realizing that I’d been so encompassed in my own thoughts that I’d totally zoned out.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“Don’t you hear that vibrating noise? I think it’s your phone.”

I listened hard and then heard the low, gentle hum he was talking about.

“Yep, probably you-know-who again.” I sighed, but fished the phone from my tiny handbag all the same on the off chance it was a family member with an emergency.

It wasn’t Trevor, though. He had called—I had seven new missed messages from him since I’d left for the airport, but I also had three missed calls from my friend Deanna. I hadn’t spoken to her in more than two weeks because she’d been away on a long-awaited safari, but now more than ever I really needed to hear her voice.

Buy on Amazon

About the Author

A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of more than two dozen titles, Kendall Ryan has sold over 1.5 million books and her books have been translated into several languages in countries around the world. She's a traditionally published author with Simon & Schuster and Harper Collins UK, as well as an independently published author. Since she first began self-publishing in 2012, she's appeared at #1 on Barnes & Noble and iBooks charts around the world. Her books have also appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists more than three dozen times. Ryan has been featured in such publications as USA Today, Newsweek, and InTouch Magazine.

Visit her at: www.kendallryanbooks.com for the latest book news, and fun extras

Subscribe to Newletter

Connect: Facebook Twitter | Pinterest | Goodreads Amazon Author Page

Spotlight: Smitten Kitchen Every Day by Deb Perelman

Deb Perelman, award-winning blogger and New York Times best-selling author of The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook, understands that a happy discovery in the kitchen has the ability to completely change the course of your day. Whether we’re cooking for ourselves, for a date night in, for a Sunday supper with friends, or for family on a busy weeknight, we all want recipes that are unfussy to make with triumphant results. 

Deb thinks that cooking should be an escape from drudgery. Smitten Kitchen Every Day: Triumphant and Unfussy New Favorites presents more than one hundred impossible-to-resist recipes—almost all of them brand-new, plus a few favorites from her website—that will make you want to stop what you’re doing right now and cook. These are real recipes for real people—people with busy lives who don’t want to sacrifice flavor or quality to eat meals they’re really excited about.

You’ll want to put these recipes in your Forever Files: Sticky Toffee Waffles (sticky toffee pudding you can eat for breakfast), Everything Drop Biscuits with Cream Cheese, and Magical Two-Ingredient Oat Brittle (a happy accident). There’s a (hopelessly, unapologetically inauthentic) Kale Caesar with Broken Eggs and Crushed Croutons, a Mango Apple Ceviche with Sunflower Seeds, and a Grandma-Style Chicken Noodle Soup that fixes everything. You can make Leek, Feta, and Greens Spiral Pie, crunchy Brussels and Three Cheese Pasta Bake that tastes better with brussels sprouts than without, Beefsteak Skirt Steak Salad, and Bacony Baked Pintos with the Works (as in, giant bowls of beans that you can dip into like nachos). 

And, of course, no meal is complete without cake (and cookies and pies and puddings): Chocolate Peanut Butter Icebox Cake (the icebox cake to end all icebox cakes), Pretzel Linzers with Salted Caramel, Strawberry Cloud Cookies, Bake Sale Winning-est Gooey Oat Bars, as well as the ultimate Party Cake Builder—four one-bowl cakes for all occasions with mix-and-match frostings (bonus: less time spent doing dishes means everybody wins).

Written with Deb’s trademark humor and gorgeously illustrated with her own photographs, Smitten Kitchen Every Day is filled with what are sure to be your new favorite things to cook.

Buy on Amazon | Barnes and Noble

About the Author

DEB PERELMAN is a self-taught home cook, photographer, and the creator of smittenkitchen.com. She is the author of the New York Times best-selling The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook, which won the IACP Julia Child Award. Deb lives in New York City with her husband, son, and daughter.

Spotlight: Dangerous Crossing by Rachel Rhys

Servants and socialites sip cocktails side by side on their way to new lives in this “thrilling, seductive, and utterly absorbing” (Paula Hawkins, #1 New York Times bestselling author) historical suspense novel in the tradition of Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile and Ken Follett’s Night Over Water.

The ship has been like a world within itself, a vast floating city outside of normal rules. But the longer the journey continues, the more confined it is starting to feel, deck upon deck, passenger upon passenger, all of them churning around each other without anywhere to go...

1939: Europe is on the brink of war when young Lily Shepherd boards an ocean liner in Essex, bound for Australia. She is ready to start anew, leaving behind the shadows in her past. The passage proves magical, complete with live music, cocktails, and fancy dress balls. With stops at exotic locations along the way—Naples, Cairo, Ceylon—the voyage shows Lily places she’d only ever dreamed of and enables her to make friends with those above her social station, people who would ordinarily never give her the time of day. She even allows herself to hope that a man she couldn’t possibly have a future with outside the cocoon of the ship might return her feelings.

But Lily soon realizes that she’s not the only one hiding secrets. Her newfound friends—the toxic wealthy couple Eliza and Max; Cambridge graduate Edward; Jewish refugee Maria; fascist George—are also running away from their pasts. As the glamour of the voyage fades, the stage is set for something sinister to occur. By the time the ship docks, two passengers are dead, war has been declared, and Lily’s life will be changed irrevocably.

Buy on Amazon | Barnes and Noble

About the Author

Rachel Rhys is the pen name of a successful psychological suspense author. A Dangerous Crossing is her historical fiction debut. She lives in North London with her family.

Spotlight: The Year of Loving by Traci L. Slatton

Art gallerist Sarah Paige’s world is crumbling. One daughter barely speaks to her and the other is off the rails. Sarah is struggling to keep her gallery afloat in a tough market when she learns that her most beloved friend has cancer. In the midst of her second divorce, two men come into her life: an older man who offers companionship and stability and an exciting younger man whose life is as chaotic as hers. 

Sarah’s courage, humor, and spirit strengthen her, but how much can she bear, and what sustains her when all else falls away?

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE
IN THE BEGINNING, THERE was my bohemian poet mom and square attorney dad, who met at a concert and shared only three interests in common: rock and roll, Renaissance art, and me, Sarah Melissa Paige, conceived in the backseat of a Chevy Impala to the strains of Deep Purple. How do I know this? My Jewish mom never had a clear sense of boundaries. She would say the most outrageous things, not just to me but to anyone, at any time.

“Sarah was a vaginal birth and I nursed her until she was eleven months old,” she would tell a store clerk, while I winced.

It was one of her lovable quirks. That’s what my Scotch-Irish/Cherokee dad would say, with a small smile. I still miss them every day. Their death was one of the great losses of my life. Painter Frida Kahlo, my soul sister because of her mixed heritage and her devotion to art, had remarked, “There were two great accidents in my life. One was the trolley and the other was Diego. Diego was by far the worst.” Sometimes I felt that way about the two great catastrophes of my life: my parents’ deaths and my marriage to my first husband George Calhoun, the rich WASP with the perpetual sneer of condescension. George would never forgive me for the humiliation of my leaving him for an impecunious artist.

But let’s move past George. Let’s go to the end of my second marriage, to the realist painter Clifton.

I was in my gallery in Chelsea, working on an article for American Artist magazine. I was trying to explain why excellence, beauty, and the artist’s skill were more important than the overvalued and empty wasteland of post-modernism. You can see I’m a woman with strong opinions. Rosa, my assistant, came in from the front room.

“Sarah, you hear the printer?” she asked, pausing to check her makeup in the reflection of a glass frame. She dabbed at her mascara with

her pinky. “A fax came in.”

“Something from Clif’s lawyer. Or George with a snotty note about not being able to reach me via email,” I guessed, in an absent tone.

“Nothing I want to see.” Will Michelangelo’s Doni Tondo illustrate my point about the supreme rapture of the human form? I smiled at her.

She sparkled back. “Weren’t you waiting for something?”

“Alex’s meds,” I remembered. I pushed back from my desk and hurried over to the printer, where a prescription lay in the out box.

“Want me to run it in?” Rosa asked.

“I’ll go,” I answered. I had been writing for two hours, and it was a cold, drizzly day with no foot traffic, so no customers to come in and peruse the beautiful representational paintings I sold. April is the cruelest month. So, on the flimsiest of whims, without bothering to shrug on my coat, I headed out into my life. The pharmacy was located only a block up on Eighth Avenue. I banged into the door with my umbrella. A gust of wind caught me just at that moment and blew the umbrella inside out and I tumbled through the door askew, my umbrella struggling like a trapped animal and my Jimmy Choos sliding out from under me as if I’d skidded on a candy bar wrapper.

‘Cartwheel’ would be an accurate description. Which explains why my linen skirt was up around my waist like a belt.

“Now that’s an entrance,” a man said, his deep voice amused. He bent down and offered his hand. I fought my linen skirt down to cover everything that was on display. It’s not like I wear shorts over my thongs —which had twisted up inside my lady parts. Leaving everything on display. I groaned. He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, I’m a doctor.”

“You’re not my doctor,” I said, furiously, batting his hand away. I managed to scramble to my knees and yank my skirt to a more appropriate semblance of coverage. What is it about linen? It goes out of its way to be uncooperative. I have a theory that clothing designers have a hidden agenda to torture women. Of course, it served me right for wearing linen in April. I just loved the navy blue, forties’ era suit I’d found in a consignment shop on Greenwich Avenue. Note to self: check out usability standards before purchasing vintage clothes. That blasted umbrella was determined to thwart my efforts, so I dropped it and pulled myself up via the shelves of cough suppressants and analgesics.

“Glad that’s so,” the man murmured.

Was he still ogling me? I didn’t answer because I’d managed to sweep the display of Robitussin onto the ground. I bent over to pick them up.

“Ahem,” the man said, and his rich voice thickened with the effort not to laugh. I glanced and he was pointing.

At my behind. The back of my skirt was still bunched up around my waist. I’d stuck my ass in his face. I grasped my skirt by both sides and jerked downward as hard as I could. The waist button popped off. Luckily the zipper stayed firmly sealed, or everything I have would have been revealed. Again. The man laughed outright. I held the skirt closed with one hand while I shook the other index finger accusingly in his face. “Listen, you!” I started, accusingly. He blinked, bemused and amused. He was tall and toned, with fine, poreless skin, cropped black hair, and the kind of substantial nose that certain men carry off very well indeed. It struck me how silly I looked. I broke up with laughter. After a few seconds, he took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and blinked a few times, laughing with me.

“It’s not often you find a beautiful woman who can laugh at herself.”

“Yeah, well, if I couldn’t, I’d have been in big trouble a long time ago,” I murmured.

He had nice dark eyes. There weren’t enough crow’s feet or the lines of laughter and sadness that reflect the gravity of a life fully lived to put him in his forties. I smiled.

“Thanks for the compliment.”

For a moment, the most delicious, open softness encompassed us. We smiled at each other a little sheepishly. Then I remembered why I was there. A new prescription for my younger daughter Alexandra. Maybe this one would be the magic bullet that kept her from shooting herself in the foot. I desperately wanted it to be, and I could only pray that it was, as I’d been praying for the last few years, watching Alex get herself tangled up with one bad decision after another and get herself thrown out of two schools. She was now at Devon Town, the private school of absolute last resort in Manhattan. If she could graduate, she could still attend a decent college.

I shrugged and waved to the hot man who was at least ten years younger than me and I walked back to the pharmacist. I handed him the scrip. Katsu, the pharmacist, an old Japanese guy who came to every show at my gallery for the free food and drinks, shuffled unblinkingly off to the back as if he’d never seen me before in his life. I sighed.

“Excuse me, miss.” It was the hot man, looking carefully at my left hand, where I wasn’t wearing a ring.

I perked up. The skin stretching across the cheekbones of his angular face deepened in color. He cleared his throat.

“Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

“Sure,” said Katsu, who had returned. “Venti half-caf cappuccino, wet and fat-free. Would you get me a scone, too?”

“Not you,” the young doctor said.

Katsu shrugged and then looked at me. “I have it in stock. Come back in an hour.”

He turned back to the doctor. “Hey, doc, just coffee, or will you buy me dinner, too?”

The doctor grimaced and followed me as I walked toward the front of the store. He touched my elbow lightly as I reached for the door. “About

that cup of coffee?”

I straightened myself, which was hard to do with one hand, because the other hand was still gripping the waistband of my skirt, to keep it closed.

“You don’t have to buy me coffee just because I stuck my ass in your face.”

He looked embarrassed and I noted again how smooth and silken his skin was. I remembered being 38. From the vantage point of 48, it seemed innocent and hopeful.

He said, “This is not about your ass.”

“You don’t like my ass?”

He flushed and looked about twelve years old. “Your ass is very nice.

That’s my professional opinion.”

“You think I’m a professional?” I demanded, in a tone of outrage.

He flushed a brighter shade of red. “Coffee. Just a cup of coffee.”

“You’re sweet.” I sighed while I smiled. I had baggage older than he was, and I’m not talking about the dinged-up Tumi cases I take to Europe on scouting trips.

“But …”

He had straightened his back and shoulders and was listening hard— the antennae were practically standing straight up atop his head.

“It’s flattering, but I don’t think so. Thank you anyway.”

A few minutes later, torn and bedraggled, I stood in the door of my gallery. Rosa glided over to me. She’s of Mexican and Finnish descent, an actress and a dancer with cascades of black hair and striking pale blue eyes. She’s fresh and juicy and sassy. I was newly aware of every wrinkle on my face and every dimple on the back of my thigh. With her lissome dancer’s body and face still unlined in her late twenties, Rosa was a better fit for Dr. Gorgeous than I could ever be. What the hell was he thinking, asking me out for coffee?

“Why are you staring at me?” Rosa demanded. She narrowed her big vivid eyes at me. “What happened to your skirt?”

“My umbrella,” I muttered.

“OK, don’t tell me.”

“I tripped over my umbrella,” I amended, not knowing that was when I woke up in a dark woods in the middle of the journey of my life. There’s a flux to the divine comedy of life, the way it empties out, grows full, and then cracks to empty out again, so that fullness can be reborn. I still don’t know if my heart can stretch to encompass all the shattering. But, in that moment, I was just thinking that I should have accepted that cup of coffee. I think I would have enjoyed it.

“Strip it off, Mamacita, my sewing kit is in my purse and there’s twenty minutes before I leave for my audition.” She waggled her fingers at me.

“I’ll take it off in the back office,” I said. I was still clutching the skirt to keep it closed properly. “I’ve been naked in public enough for one day.

And thank you.”

Buy on Amazon

About the Author

Traci L. Slatton is the international bestselling author of historical, paranormal, and romantic novels, including IMMORTAL (BantamDell) and BROKEN; the award-winning dystopian After Series which includes FALLEN, COLD LIGHT, FAR SHORE and BLOOD SKY; the bittersweet romantic comedy THE LOVE OF MY (OTHER) LIFE; and the vampire art history romp THE BOTTICELLI AFFAIR. She has also published the lyrical poetry collection DANCING IN THE TABERNACLE and THE ART OF LIFE, a photo-essay about figurative sculpture through the ages. Her book PIERCING TIME & SPACE explores the meeting ground of science and spirituality. Her latest novel THE YEAR OF LOVING follows an art gallerist through a steamy love triangle and a challenging year of love and travail. This story seeks to answer the question, What sustains you when all else falls apart?

Connect: Website | Facebook Twitter | Goodreads

Read an excerpt from At Your Service by Lexi Blake

Juliana O’Neil’s promising future was burned away in the heat of battle. She had been an officer with a bright future in the military, but now she is struggling to survive. Her husband gone and her career in shambles, she finds a job at Top as a hostess and tries to put together the pieces of her life. The last thing she needs is any kind of male attention, but she can’t help but be amused at her neighbor and coworker’s lothario antics. Not that she would have anything to do with him, at least not for more than one night. 

Javier Leones doesn’t understand monogamy. No woman could ever be enough for his endless libido, but he has to admit Juliana has his attention. For reasons he doesn’t fully understand, he can’t seem to get the gorgeous redhead with the sad eyes out of his head. After one scorching night together, he realizes he’ll never be able to get her out of his system. But with his reputation, he fears she’ll never see him as more than a one-night stand. 

When their passions collide, these new lovers will be forced to confront Juliana’s past and come to terms with Javier’s present. Will they find their way or will this reservation be canceled at the last minute?

Excerpt

All alone with the storm. Maybe she should call Kai. And ask him to get out in the middle of this? That seemed pretty selfish especially since she knew exactly how poorly driving in storms could go.

A hard flash of white light made her jump back.

Nope. She wasn’t going there. She was going to stay in the here and now, and that meant finding a flashlight and trying to get some candles lit. Someone was out there working on getting the power back on, and then she would ride out the storm watching rom coms and falling asleep on the couch. It was going to be okay. Deep breath. It was going to be okay.

A few moments later she’d found her one flashlight and had a nice set of candles out, and she was faced with the problem of lighting the suckers. Oh, she had a big box of matches, but she’d never struck a match without her left hand.

A lighter would be easier. She could figure out a lighter maybe. Jules tried holding the box against the table with her stump while she struck the match with her right hand. She fumbled, the action so unnatural it made her slip up and break the match.

And the second one.

And the third one.

Tears pierced her eyes, but she wasn’t going to shed them. She was going to figure this out or she would make due with the flashlight. It was all about adapting. That was what she had to do. Adapt.

She wasn’t going to let this beat her. Normally she was tough. It had happened and she dealt with it, but between the storm and the conversation with Suzanne the day before about her mother and the sweetness of flirting with a handsome man she couldn’t have, she was feeling awfully vulnerable. She wasn’t going to sit here in the dark and cry.

A knock on the door made her gasp and jump.

Fuck. She wasn’t like this. She hated this…this anxiety she got when it rained. It was weakness and she couldn’t abide it.

If you walk away from this you’ll ruin your life, Juliana. Don’t think I’ll watch you do it. You go through with this and you do it on your own. Am I understood?

Sometimes she felt like she was still seven years old, and if she could just get her mom’s attention everything would be okay.

Jules gripped the flashlight and walked across her apartment to the door. It was likely one of the neighbors coming to check on her. Actually, that was an excellent idea. She could go down and see if Mrs. Gleeson needed some company. There were some elderly residents she could check on and a single mom she’d met at the end of the hall. She could see if she could be of any assistance and that would get her through the night.

She opened the door expecting to see anyone but the man she saw standing there.

Javier Leones. He had a flashlight in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He was wearing jeans and a button down that he’d left undone enough she could see a nice swath of golden brown skin. His hair was deliciously mussed, as though he’d taken a shower and simply rubbed a towel over it to get it dry.

He was big and male and so sexy it hurt to look at him, and Jules realized she could do something else to take her mind off things.

Those plump, sensual lips of his broke into a bright smile. “I thought you might like some company. I know I would. I actually don’t have any candles, so I was sitting in my living room with this sad one flashlight. You look like a woman who likes some candles.”

But she couldn’t light them. She hadn’t figured that part out.

His face fell and he walked into her place, closing and locking the door behind him. “Hey, what’s wrong? It’s okay if you don’t have any candles. It’s cool. Two flashlights are better than one.”

He set the flashlight and wine bottle down and moved into her space, his hands coming up to cup her shoulders. “Jules, what’s wrong?”

She had to be stronger than this. She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t. Please don’t. I live with a stubborn asshole who won’t let me help him in any way. I get that we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but I thought we were friends. You help me out all the time. You’re kind to me. Fucking let me be kind to you. I spend every day trying to help someone who won’t let me. Please let me feel like I’m worth something.”

If he’d said anything else, joked about the weather or told her to suck it up, she could have, but he’d opened a door. He’d been vulnerable and honest, and she found she couldn’t pay that back with stubbornness.

“I have candles and I can’t figure out how to light them.” Tears rolled down her face. She was vulnerable. All the time. Even when she pretended like she wasn’t.

“You can’t…” he began and then he looked down. Instead of stepping back and giving her space, he drew his hand down her arm, warming her skin where he touched her. It was dark but the moon was full and gave enough light to see the outline of his face. There was no look of horror there. He caressed her arm until he got to the place where she’d been split apart and sewn back together unwhole. He brought it up and wrapped it against his palm, his fingers closing around it until the whole thing was surrounded with his warmth. “You haven’t figured out how to do it yet. Probably hasn’t come up or you would know what to do. How long since you lost your hand?”

“A year and a half,” she said. He was touching her there. No one had touched her there except her doctors and therapists.

Come to think of it, no one had touched her at all since before the accident. Had it really been so long since she’d felt warm flesh against her own? He was so close, close enough that all she would have to do was go up on her toes to brush her lips against his.

Would that be wrong? As long as she remembered who she was dealing with, why couldn’t she take a few moments of respite for herself? If he wanted her.

Buy on Amazon | Barnes and Noble

About the Author

NY Times and USA Today bestselling author Lexi Blake lives in North Texas with her husband, three kids, and the laziest rescue dog in the world. She began writing at a young age, concentrating on plays and journalism. It wasn’t until she started writing romance and urban fantasy that she found the stories of her heart. She likes to find humor in the strangest places and believes in happy endings no matter how odd the couple, threesome, or foursome may seem.