Cover Reveal: Tell Me a Story by Jennifer Rebecca

George Washington Township, New Jersey has seen its fair share of crime and tragedy. Most recently, a young boy is missing from his home and the tenacious Detective Claire Goodnite is eager to find him.

But the case is stirring up old memories best left forgotten. When a blast from her own past, FBI Special Agent Wesley O’Connell, turns up, Claire finds it hard to keep old ghosts at rest. And even harder to keep the sexy SAIC out of her case and her bed.

Claire Goodnite is the best damn detective in the state of New Jersey and you better believe she's coming for you.

Exclusive Excerpt

A shrill ring wakes me from a restless sleep—I had the dream again. My phone bounces around on the unfamiliar night stand that I must have left it on last night.

“Goodnite,” I rasp, my voice heavy with sleep.

        “Detective, this is dispatch,” the disembodied voice from my phone informs me. “We were told to notify you that the body of a male child has been recovered at the rocks near the bottom of the falls. Possible match for your missing person.”

       “I’m on my way.”

        That's all I need to know, and I am throwing the blankets back that are tangled around my body—my naked body. I pull my jeans on—without panties—and then my boots. I quietly search for my bra, hopefully not waking . . . not waking . . . I look over at the bed where a man with warm brown hair and a stubbled jaw sleeps on the bed that I just vacated. Nope, not ringing any bells. At least he's good looking. I shrug.

        I should be embarrassed about letting some random pick me up at a bar the next town over. But I’m not. This case has been . . . rough . . . and I needed to blow off some steam. Will I call him again? Uhh, no. Will he call me? He’d have to find me first. Did he have a good time? You betcha.

        I see my bra hanging from a lamp shade and grab it, tucking it into my back pocket. I pull my tank top on and then my t-shirt, having found both rumpled on the floor. I reach into the front pocket of my jeans and find a—thank God—a hair tie and toss my long, inky hair on top of my head in a messy bun. I pull on my coat that was dropped by the front door.

        I palm my phone and pull my keys out of the same pocket the hair tie came out of. I step out into the New Jersey cold without ever looking back at . . . Mike? No, that's not it. I shrug to myself, fuck it.

        I beep the locks on my car and climb in. I unlock the glove box and feel the weight of my badge and sidearm in my hand as I pull them both out of their hiding spot, placing both on the dash. I fire up my nondescript Tahoe and head towards tragedy. My name is Claire Goodnite and I’m the best damn detective in the state of New Jersey and you better believe I'm coming for you.

About the Author

Jennifer is a thirty something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay.

Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta.

10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of a 8 year old and 6 year old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.

Connect: Website | Facebook | Twitter: @JenniRLreads | Instagram: @JenniRLreads

Spotlight: For the Sake of His Heir by Joanne Rock

For the Sake of His Heir
Joanne Rock
Published by: Harlequin Desire
Publication date: February 6th 2018
Genres: Adult, Romance

When a marriage of convenience is the only answer…things get inconvenient.

Gabe McNeill is done being manipulated. By everyone from his ex-wife who abandoned him and their baby to the grandfather forcing him to remarry. Now the only way Gabe can ensure his son’s inheritance is if Brianne Hanson agrees to be his bride. They’ve always kept things strictly business and this is no different…until she falls into his bed and all bets are off!

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—

EXCERPT:

Brianne Hanson’s crush on her boss had died a swift and brutal death when he’d walked down the aisle with another woman. And she hadn’t even dreamed of resurrecting it after his extremely unhappy divorce. She would never want to be that rebound fling a man lived to regret.

But every now and then, the old spark came back to burn her. Like today.

She’d just taken a break from her work in the gardens of Gabe’s resort, the Birdsong Hotel, in Martinique. As a landscape designer, Brianne had worked on dozens of island properties before Gabe convinced her to take on the Birdsong as a full-time gig a year ago. It was a job she loved since she had carte blanche to design whatever she wanted on Gabe’s considerable budget. He was committed to the project and shared her basic aesthetic vision, so they got along just fine. All business, boundaries in place.

Today, however, was different. She’d stopped by his workshop in a converted shed to ask him about his plans for upgrading the entrance to one of the bungalows. The resort grounds were a never-ending labor of love for Gabe, a talented woodworker who spent his free time handcrafting ceiling panels and restoring custom cabinets.

And damn if she wasn’t caught by the pull of that old crush as she stood on the threshold of the workshop. The dust extractor hummed in the background, cleaning the air of particles kicked up by the table saw he’d just been using. Gabe was currently laboring over a curved piece of wood clamped down to another table, running a hand planer over the surface. This segment of wood—a molding destined for a curved archway in the lobby, she knew—was at least five feet long. Gabe shaved the length of it with the shallow blade, drawing the scraper toward him again and again while wood bits went flying.

Intent on his work, Brianne’s six-foot-plus boss stared down at the mahogany piece through his safety goggles, giving her time to enjoy the view of male muscle in motion. He was handsome enough any day of the week, as his dark hair and ocean-blue eyes were traits he shared with his equally attractive older brothers. The McNeill men had caused plenty of female heads to turn throughout Martinique and beyond, since their wealth and business interests extended to New York and Silicon Valley. But Gabe was unique among his brothers for his down-to-earth, easygoing ways, and his affinity for manual labor.

With the door to his workshop open, a sea breeze swirled through the sawdust-scented air. Gabe’s white T-shirt clung to his upper back, highlighting bands of muscle that ran along his shoulder blades. His forearms were lightly coated with a sheen of sweat and wood dust, which shouldn’t have been sexy, or so she told herself. But the strength there was testament to the physical labor he did every day. His jeans rode low on narrow hips, thanks in part to the weight of a tool belt.

And just like that, her temperature went from garden-variety warm to scorching. So much for kicking the crush.

Author Bio:

Four-time RITA nominee Joanne Rock has never met a romance sub-genre she didn't like. The author of over eighty books enjoys writing a wide range of stories, most recently focusing on sexy contemporaries and small town family sagas. An optimist by nature and perpetual seeker of silver linings, Joanne finds romance fits her life outlook perfectly--love is worth fighting for. A frequent speaker at regional and national writing conferences she enjoys giving back to the writing community that nurtured and inspired her early career. She has a Masters degree in Literature from the University of Louisville but credits her fiction writing skills to her intensive study with friend and fellow author Catherine Mann. When she's not writing, Joanne enjoys travel, especially to see her favorite sports teams play with her former sports editor husband and three athletic-minded sons.

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Spotlight: Deserving It by Angela Quarles

Stranded by a hurricane. Check. Hotel secured. Check. Hot guy to share it with. Check. No, wait. Not him!

A tough girl with an awkward flirt-game, Claire has long ago given up on catching the eye of Irish hottie Conor and she refuses to change. If he doesn’t like her as is, then screw him.

A loner workaholic too busy to notice, Conor isn’t looking to nail the next chick–even one as hot as Claire–just his next bonus-earning presentation.

But when a hurricane strands them in Atlanta and they’re forced to shack up in the same hotel room for several days, things tend to get…exposed.

DESERVING IT is a steamy, standalone romantic comedy from RITA Winning and USA Today bestselling author Angela Quarles with a happy-ever-after and no cheating or cliffhangers.

Excerpt

I’m not horrified by that impulse. That’s not what’s making me pause.

What’s making me pause is the fact that I…well, paused. That’s not me. At least that’s not the me I strove so hard to become.

I’m the tough girl. One who expresses her wishes.

I wash my hands and dry them, taking my frustration out on the poor white towel. The flashlight on my phone is pointed straight up, as it rests on the counter, but it’s enough to see.

The thing is, if it was anyone other than Conor, I’d have said it just to get a reaction out of a male friend. And if it led somewhere, well, it depended on the guy, but I wouldn’t say no if it was all in good fun.

So why the damn pause? Some tough girl I am. My interactions with guys are always on my terms, and if they don’t like it, they can walk.

I yank open the door and smack into a large, hard, male body. “Ooof.”

Conor must have heard the door opening because he’s facing my direction. Which means all of my front is intimately pressed against all of his.

Oh, um, wow. His free hand settles on my hip, a warm, firm grip. “Chill the beans now there. Didn’t mean for you to take a hopper.”

God, I love all his expressions. A delicious, demanding heat coils through me, startling me of breath. I stand there stiff, as if contact with this hunk of Irish masculinity has inexplicably flash frozen me.

If I was a chick with a fully paid subscription to the flirt manual, I’d know what to do. Some coy word. Some signal that I’m interested.

Wait.

I don’t want him to know. He can’t know. If he learns, and rejects me, I might be tempted to change.

That springs me away from him, all right. And…smack. My head hits the door jamb, and I bow forward.

He takes a step so that my head is now pressing to his chest—oh God, his chest—and he cradles my head, rubbing the sore spot. “Jaysus. That had to hurt.”

“It does.” The gentle touch of his warm hands, his fingers carefully sifting through my hair and massaging my scalp, is starting to ease the sting. Man, that feels good.

Which allows me to open my eyes from their screwed-tight position. And notice.

Is that… Is that a bulge in his jeans?

“It does hurt,” I repeat for some inane reason as that swirling heat from a moment ago narrows into a blazing arrow of need straight to my core.

“Is this helping, yeah?” he asks, his voice low and near my ear, as his fingers continue working their magic on the sting.

“Yes,” I breathe as I watch him grow harder.

Seeing his reaction? Knowing there’s a better chance I won’t be shot down…changes things. And I’ve wanted him for so long it’s getting ridiculous at this point. I mean, I should just go with it, right? I have to believe that my walls are strong enough that I won’t change into a dang doormat.

And because I am that tough girl, I lift my head. “Now. About that poker. Care to make it strip poker?

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About Angela Quarles

Angela Quarles is a RWA RITA® Winner and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary, time travel, and steampunk romance. Her steampunk, Steam Me Up, Rawley, was named Best Self-Published Romance of 2015 by Library Journal and Must Love Chainmail won the 2016 RITA® Award in the paranormal category, the first indie to win in that category. Angela loves history, folklore, and family history. She decided to take this love of history and her active imagination and write stories of romance and adventure for others to enjoy. When not writing, she's either working at the local indie bookstore or enjoying the usual stuff like gardening, reading, hanging out, eating, drinking, chasing squirrels out of the walls, and creating the occasional knitted scarf.

Connect: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest | Goodreads | Bookbub

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Read an excerpt from Your Endless by Layla Hagen

An incurable romantic with a chronic case of bad luck with men...

Museum curator Summer Bennett knows that happily-ever-afters are not make-believe. After all, her siblings all found their soulmates, so she’s optimistic her prince charming will come along too...eventually. In the meantime, she focuses on her job and her volunteering—which brings her face to face with one of Hollywood’s hottest A-listers.  

When Alexander Westbrook flashes America’s favorite panty-melting smile, Summer's entire body responds. When she asks him to get involved in the community where she volunteers, Summer is shocked that the Hollywood heartthrob agrees right away. Two weeks working side by side with the world’s sexiest guy, and the game is on. 

Far from the public eye, Summer discovers she likes the real Alex even more than his on-screen persona. Secret kisses and whispered conversations spark a fire in her that nothing can extinguish. If only his life wasn’t splashed all over the tabloids…  

Alex can’t keep his eyes--or his hands--off of Summer. But she’s too sweet, and too damn lovely to be swept up in his Hollywood drama. His career is at risk, and an iron-clad clause in his contract with the studio makes a relationship impossible. But staying away from her is out of the question.

Excerpt

“Do you want to talk about today?” Summer asks as we lean back on the couch.

“Not tonight. I like that this place is drama-free. Thank you for making that happen.”

She widens her eyes, then groans. “You saw the magazines.”

“Yeah. I wanted to thank you yesterday but thought bringing the evening up would just make you uncomfortable again. But thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She takes a small sip of wine, sinking lower on the couch.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just residual embarrassment for that night. I’ll get over it. Eventually.”

I turn to her, framing her jaw with my hand, leaning in. “Summer, we’ve been over this.”

A small sound escapes her, somewhere between a chuckle and a choke. “You probably forgot all about it already.”

The gentleman thing would be to tell her I did. But I don’t have the energy to act any longer tonight, and I don’t want to act around her. I want to be honest, and something in her body language tips me off that she needs that honesty.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. The sight of your beautiful body is branded in my brain.”

Her mouth pops open. “But... you said it wasn’t a big deal, that you’d seen plenty of actresses—”

“I was trying to put you at ease.” By the looks of it, I did just the opposite. “You have no idea how hard it was to keep my control, Summer. I wanted you so badly.”

She sucks in a breath. “You did?”

“I still do.”

She parts her lips, her eyes widening with surprise. I bring a hand to her face, caressing her cheek, resting my thumb at the corner of her mouth.

Her skin is so smooth, it spurs a need deep inside me, to touch more of her. To taste her. Would she taste as sweet as I remember? Have I idealized the kiss, the memory growing sweeter, more real the more time we spent together, the more I learned about her?

“I’ve missed you today,” I confess.

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

“So did I. I arrived late at breakfast, and no one saved me muffins.”

“I brought you something.” I pull the small package out of my pocket and take out the necklace with a little key pendant. “I saw it at LAX. It made me think of you.”

“I love it.”

“Let me put it on.”

She turns around, baring her neck to me. I clasp the necklace, lingering with my fingers at the back of her neck. She lets out a little sigh. I trace the contour of her shoulder, needing to touch more of her. Summer tightens her grip on one of the couch cushions.

I move closer until my chest almost touches her back, rubbing my thumb gently in the crook of her neck and shoulder. When she tilts her head slightly to the other side, giving me access, I don’t hesitate. I lower my mouth, pressing kisses to her skin.

“Alex!”

The vibration in her voice is the sexiest sound. I bring one hand to her waist, spin her around, then capture her mouth with mine.

She parts her lips, granting me access, entwining her tongue with mine as soon as I request it. I deepen the kiss, moving my hand from her waist to her thigh, bunching up her dress. I want to feel her skin, taste it, because she tastes even better than I remember, and I want to explore all of her.

“Alex,” she whispers again when I trail my mouth down her neck. “One night. Just this one night.”

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About Layla Hagen

Layla Hagen is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance. 

She fell in love with books when she was nine years old, and her love affair with stories continues even now, many years later.

She writes steamy and romantic stories and can’t wait to share them with the world.

She is represented by fabulous Louise Fury (The Bent Agency)

Connect with Layla Hagen: Website | Facebook | Twitter

Spotlight: You Will Be Mine by Natasha Preston

Love turns deadly in a new, heart-pounding thriller from Natasha Preston, author of the runaway bestsellers The Cellar and The Cabin.

ROSES ARE RED

VIOLETS ARE BLUE

WATCH YOUR BACK

I’M COMING FOR YOU

Lylah and her friends can’t wait to spend a night out together. Partying is the perfect way to let loose from the stress of life and school, and Lylah hopes that hitting the dance floor with Chase, her best friend, will bring them closer together. She’s been crushing on him since they met. If only he thought of her the same way…

The girls are touching up their makeup and the guys are sliding on their coats when the doorbell rings. No one is there. An envelope sits on the doormat. It’s an anonymous note addressed to their friend Sonny. A secret admirer? Maybe. They all laugh it off.

Except Sonny never comes home. And a new note arrives:

YOUR TURN

Excerpt

I breathe in deep through my nose and out through my mouth—an exercise my therapist taught me when I started to feel like I was going to fall apart. I can slowly feel myself start to relax when the doorbell rings.

Sighing, I get up. My housemates must’ve forgotten their keys or be carrying too many bags to unlock the door.

I glance through the window, but no one is there.

Another doorbell ditch?

My blood runs cold as I open the door.

An envelope is sitting on our mat. The world turns mute as the blood rushes to my ears. Bending down, I scoop up the envelope. It’s addressed to Isaac. And it looks like exactly the one that came for Sonny.

No…

I turn it over and pull out the note. My hands are shaking as I read:

YOUR TURN

“Isaac!” rips from my throat.

“What?” he calls from his room down the hall. My voice is trapped in my throat as I look up and down the street. There are still a few folks leaving flowers, looking at the makeshift memorial in front of our house. Did one of them do this? Did one of them see who left the note? I feel so exposed. Vulnerable.

I draw back inside and shut the door, trembling.

Isaac’s footsteps thud from his bedroom into the foyer. “Lylah, what?” His face falls and his eyes widen as he sees what’s in my hand. “Is that another note?”

Nodding, I hand it to him.

“Jesus,” he whispers. “Who was it addressed to?”

I look up at him, my vision blurring with tears. “You.”

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About the Author

UK native Natasha Preston grew up in small villages and towns. She discovered her love of writing when she stumbled across an amateur writing site and uploaded her first story and hasn’t looked back since.

She enjoys writing contemporary romance, gritty Young Adult thrillers and, of course, the occasional serial killer.

Connect: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Wattpad

Spotlight: Midnight Valentine by J.T. Geissinger

True love never dies. 

Megan and Cassidy were childhood sweethearts who thought they would be together forever. Fate had other plans. Soon after they were married, Cass’s life was tragically cut short. Still grieving her soul mate five years later, Megan moves to the small town of Seaside, Oregon, hoping to rebuild her life. 

Her first night there, she meets the town recluse, Theo. Withdrawn, guarded, and mysteriously silent since a terrible accident left him scarred, Theo takes an instant and inexplicable dislike to Megan. But as their paths cross again and again, Megan becomes convinced there’s more to Theo than meets the eye. 

When she discovers the reason for his silence, his nightmares, and especially his pointed dislike, Megan becomes convinced of something far more astonishing. 

Is a second chance at a once-in-a-lifetime love possible, or is a broken heart the cruelest kind of liar?

Excerpt

I assumed Hillrise Construction would have an answering service who answered the phones, considering the owner’s general hostility and disinclination to speak, so I’m not surprised when a machine picks up. The outgoing message is one of those toneless, electronic voices you get when you neglect to customize it.

“Please. Leave. A message. After. The tone.” Beep.

“Hi. My name is Megan Dunn, and I was referred to you by Suzanne Martin. I bought the Buttercup Inn and need a quote for repairs.”

I leave my cell phone number and am about to hang up when the distinct click of the line being picked up stops me. Then I’m listening to silence.

“Hello?”

I could swear I hear a low exhalation, but no one speaks.

Holy shit. It must be him. No-talking Theo with the crazy eyes. “Um…is anyone there?” More silence, but someone is definitely there. I hear rustling and a faint creak in the background, as if whoever answered has sat down.

Why the hell would he pick up the phone if he doesn’t talk?

I start to get irritated, because I’ve got the patience of a four-year old who’s missed a nap. “Okay, well, look. I need to get a quote on repairs for the Buttercup Inn. Is that something you can help me with?”

I never knew silence could be so loud. It’s absolutely deafening.

I’m about to tell him to go jump off a bridge, but it occurs to me that I could have fun with this instead of let it aggravate me. “Hey, here’s an idea. I saw this on TV once, some dumb show I forget the name of where a guy had laryngitis but had to try to warn his girlfriend a killer was headed over to her house. I’ll ask a question, and you can answer by using the phone buttons. One beep for yes, two beeps for no. And three beeps for maybe, if you feel like you might need that option. Okay?”

The silence lasts so long I start to worry he already hung up and I’m listening to a dead line, but then I hear it. A single, sharp, electronic beep.

Son of a bitch.

“Good. Okay, so…is this Theo?”

A slight pause, then a beep that somehow sounds resigned.

“Hi, Theo, this is Megan Dunn. We’ve already met. Twice, actually. Once at Cal’s Diner, and once in the backyard at Sunday and Chris’s house party a few weeks back. Do you remember?”

Beeep.

The tone is longer. More emphatic. He remembers. For some strange reason, my pulse picks up and my armpits go damp.

“Right. So anyway, Suzanne says you’re the best contractor around and I’ve already been through five other guys—that sounded wrong, but you know what I mean—so I was wondering if you’d have time to come out this week and take a look at the place.”

Two sharp, successive beeps, and that’s an unequivocal No. But I have to confirm, just in case. “No? You won’t come out?”

Beep. Beep.

Jesus. How can someone sound like such a dick using only a single button on a telephone?

“Well, fine,” I say curtly, heat creeping into my cheeks. “Sorry to have wasted your time. Have a nice life.” I’m about to throw my cell phone across the room when over the line comes a rapid mess of electronic noises.

He’s pushing all the buttons at once.

When the cacophony stops, I’m livid. Through gritted teeth, I ask, “Were you trying to tell me something there, Sunshine?”

BEEEEEP!

I decide I need a drink if I’m going to continue this bizarre conversation, so I head into the kitchen and unscrew the top of the crappy bottle of wine I bought at the store the other night. I pour some into a glass, guzzle half of it down, swallow, then blow out a breath, all the while acutely aware of the throbbing silence on the other end of the line.

Then my mouth falls open, because I’m listening to a telephone rendition of “You Are My Sunshine,” played by hitting the right keys to make the correct notes of the song.

Moody Theo has a sense of humor.

“That was interesting. Are you having fun?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Maybe.

I burst out laughing, because this is total insanity. “Can I just take a moment to say that this is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had in my entire life? This even beats the time my I walked in on my dad wearing my mother’s underwear. I don’t expect an answer to that, by the way, I’m just thinking out loud here.”

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About J.T. Geissinger

A former headhunter, J.T. Geissinger is the author of more than a dozen novels in contemporary romance, paranormal romance, and romantic suspense. 

She is the recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book, the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy, and is a two-time finalist for the RITA® Award from the Romance Writers of America®. Her work has also finaled in the Booksellers’ Best, National Readers’ Choice, and Daphne du Maurier Awards.

Join her Facebook reader’s group, Geissinger’s Gang, to take part in weekly Wine Wednesday live chats and giveaways, find out more information about works in progress, have access to exclusive excerpts and contests, and get advance reader copies of her upcoming releases.

Connect with J.T. Geissinger: Website | Newsletter | Facebook | Gessinger's Gang | Twitter | Goodreads | Instagram | Pinterest