Spotlight: A Lot Like Perfect by Kat Cantrell

From USA Today Bestseller Kat Cantrell comes a sweet small town romance series with a touch of magic.

What kind of man falls for the woman meant for his buddy?

Navy SEAL Isaiah West has trouble calling himself “former” military, but after an involuntary discharge, redefining himself is the only option. The small town of Superstition Springs seems as good a place as any to regroup while he figures out where he’s supposed to go next—and deal with how that last operation in Syria messed up his place on the team.

Aria Nixon has long accepted her role as the “plain” sister and really, she has no use for a man who only sees her looks anyway. So when her Aunt Serenity’s love prediction mentions the word “makeover,” it’s game on to prove she can get noticed without one. Who better to help her get the inside track on how a man thinks than…a man? Isaiah specifically, who has his own prediction to sidestep.

But in a mystical place like Superstition Springs, nothing ever goes as expected. It turns out Isaiah and Aria have a lot in common, and what’s with the attraction between them? Not supposed to happen. She can’t fall for Isaiah. He’s too perfect, too much what she wasn’t looking for and too likely to break her heart when he leaves. And Isaiah isn’t about to admit he’s got feelings for the woman he’s supposed to be helping attract an entirely different guy—his teammate. They should stay friends. Right?

Welcome to Superstition Springs, town in progress…SEALs of Superstition Springs is a clean and wholesome series starring heroes you can share!

Excerpt

In case the magic had something to do with the springs, he was fine hanging out here with Aria for the next few hours. Or forever. Right now, he couldn’t fathom breaking the spell they’d somehow fallen under, where the rest of the world didn’t exist. He didn’t have to pretend anymore and here, he wasn’t broken because Aria didn’t expect anything out of him but his presence.

He could do with a good dose of living in the here and now.

“Aria,” he murmured again, her name leaving his mouth like a song. And why shouldn’t it? She was as beautiful as a melody and as sultry as a saxophone.

“Are you going to do that a lot?” she asked, shifting deeper into his arms, which worked for him.

“Um… I don’t know. Which part?” If whatever it was resulted in her snuggling that much closer, he’d definitely be repeating it.

“Saying my name like that.” She sighed and the rise and fall of her chest hit him in places she shouldn’t have been able to touch from the outside. “It makes me shivery.”

“In a good way, I hope.” He didn’t have the expertise of someone like Marchande, but he’d never had any complaints either. Plus, she’d chosen him. That realization alone had him riding pretty high. “If so, then I’ll do it a lot.”

She gave him one of her wistful smiles that made him want to gather up the whole world and gift it to her so she never had to want for anything again. “That would be nice. Except if you’re busy saying my name a lot and I’m busy staring at you a lot, we’re never going to get to the thing I’d really hoped to do tonight. And I had some big plans.”

“Oh?” She had his complete and utter attention as he honed in on the undercurrents that had sped up instantly. “What might that be?”

“Well, you know.” She blinked up at him through her lashes and it was every bit as alluring as when she smiled. “We’re alone. We’re really far from town. No one is looking for us.”

Her voice had dropped a few degrees but the temperature hadn’t and the images that sprang to mind as his imagination started filling in the blanks of her provocative statements didn’t help. “All of that is true. What do those circumstances put you in the mood for?”

This would not be a good time to misinterpret her meaning.

Somehow she’d moved even closer, her kiss-reddened lips begging for him to taste again, and things below the belt noticed all of the above in a big way.

“Something daring,” she said. “Something guaranteed to make tonight memorable, especially since I’ve never done it with a man before.”

“Never?” Well, duh. It only made sense that Aria didn’t have a lot of experience with men. She lived in a small town that was decidedly short on eligible males. But to toss it out there so he knew exactly where he stood—raw energy and no small amount of humility coursed through him as he considered the implications. “I’m honestly flattered that you’d choose me for your first time. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Oh, completely sure. There’s just one small problem.” She bit her lip and it was so enticing that he nearly groaned.

“You’re killing me,” he ground out hoarsely. “No problems. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. Just tell me.”

Lack of sheets, pillows, candles, music? He’d crawl on his hands and knees all the way to La Grange to get double of every last thing.

“I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”

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About the Author

USA Today Bestselling Author Kat Cantrell read her first Harlequin novel in third grade and has been scribbling in notebooks since she learned to spell. What else would she write but romance? When she’s not writing about characters on the journey to happily ever after, she can be found at a taekwondo tournament, watching Big Bang Theory or dancing with her kids to Duran Duran and Red Hot Chili Peppers. Kat, her husband and their two boys live in North Texas. She was a former Harlequin So You Think You Can Write winner and a former RWA® Golden Heart® finalist for best unpublished series contemporary manuscript.

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Spotlight: The Promise Of Everything by Blaire Broderick

She’s living for today… 

Sophie is dying—probably. An aneurysm at the base of her brain is just waiting to burst, and though she tries to keep her mind off the inevitable by painting away the pain, she simply can’t forget that her days are numbered. 

He’s yearning for tomorrow… 

Jamison is stuck. His past is a mess he’d rather not revisit, and his present is so dull he can hardly stand it. He takes refuge in his nightly walks where he looks up from the silent New York streets and stares into the window of a tragically beautiful girl painting her masterpiece. 

They were made for each other… 

A near collision in the dead of night brings them together, and fate means to keep it that way. But when Jamison turns out to be Sophie’s surgeon—the best in the city and her only chance at survival—will she be forced to choose between the love of her life and life itself? 

They’re perfect together. But will the curse of the Garner-Willoughby family tear them apart? 

**This is a full-length standalone romance with a HEA and no cliff hanger.**

Excerpt

JAMISON

My boots crunched in the snow as my lungs filled with freezing cold air. Oversized snowflakes brushed my face melting on contact as moonlight spilled through barren trees.
I came alive at night, roaming the streets of Tribeca. Packed city streets became mostly deserted come ten o’clock. That was when I took my nightly walks. Crisp night air washed the day off me, cleared my mind, and brought a sort of otherworldly peace I could never fully put into words.
My nightly walks were also when I got to see her—the painter girl. Her loft apartment was directly across from mine on the other side of the street. Some nights, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d stare out my window and watch her paint. Leaning against my living room window, I’d watch as her wild, brown hair spilled down her shoulders, and her body moved in tandem with each stroke of her brush. Sometimes the canvas was bigger than her, and the colors seemed to swallow her whole.
I tried to imagine what kind of music she was listening to or what was going through her mind as she painted. I’d never seen her up close before. I only knew she had long, dark hair filled with loose waves and thick bangs that hung in her eyes.
I’d walk past her building each night hoping to catch a glimpse of her face just once, but it was always just her hair.
In a borough with over a million people, I thought I’d never be lonely. It turned out I’d never been so lonely in my life. I spent my days amongst hundreds of people, ten- or twelve-hour days sometimes packed full of people who needed me and pulled me in every direction. There was never enough of me to go around.
My quiet apartment perfectly juxtaposed itself against the chaos that consumed my days. No one ever needed me after six o’clock anymore, not since I’d realized that people like me were better off alone than in the company of those with less-than-genuine intentions.
I slipped past the painter girl’s apartment and glanced up. Her window was dark that night. I sighed, trekking on and slipping my gloved hands into the pockets of my gray woolen coat.
Maybe tomorrow.
The door to her building flew open just before I passed, and a girl bundled up in a puffy coat with a fur-lined hood ran out breezing past me. Her face was covered with a thick lavender scarf, and dark hair fell from her hood spilling down the front of her coat.
“Dammit!” she yelled a second later. “Ow. Ow.”
I spun around to see her lying on the ground, a gloved hand wrapped around her ankle.
“You okay?” I rushed to her side. “Sidewalks are slick tonight.”
She tugged her scarf down her face revealing full lips and a hint of deep dimples centered in her rosy cheeks. “I was trying to get to the art supply store before they close. I need more white paint.”
It was her. The painter girl.
A dried streak of blue paint graced her left cheek, and it took every ounce of my Type A personality not to try to wipe it off.
“I think I twisted my ankle,” she said, her sweet face flinching. She glanced at me, looking up through a splay of dark lashes, and immediately tried to toughen up. I studied her soft features in the moonlight. She was more beautiful than I’d ever imagined her to be. Her arms latched onto the park bench beside her attempting to hoist herself into a standing position. “Ouch…”
“Let me help you.” I lifted her up as if she were a rag doll and plunked her on the bench. “Can I look at it?”
Her body froze as our eyes met. Even in the dark of night, I could see her cheeks blush. She cleared her throat and nodded. I slipped her boot off and pulled her sock down enough to examine her ankle before I gently felt around.
“It’s just a light sprain,” I said. “Ice it for the next two to three days until the swelling goes down. Keep it elevated. Stay off it.”
I pulled the sock up and slipped her boot back on ensuring it was perfectly straight on her foot.
“You need help getting to your apartment?” I asked her.
She huffed, though her annoyance was more than likely directed toward her sprained ankle than anything else.
“Yeah. I live right there.” She pointed toward the door she’d burst from just minutes before. “Third floor.”
I slipped my arm under hers, and she gripped my shoulder as I raised her up. We hobbled, step by step, to the apartment building door.
“I don’t have an elevator,” she said apologetically as we made it inside the warm and cozy foyer.
“Not a problem.” I scooped my arm under her knees and lifted her petite body up the stairs one at a time until we’d arrived at the third floor. “Which apartment?”
“God, this is embarrassing,” she muttered, her hand flying to her reddened cheeks. “3B.”
I carried her to 3B and carefully helped her stand, my arm around her hips for support as she fished through her purse for her keys. A blast of warmth hit our faces the second her apartment door opened. In the corner, a space heater roared in the direction of a makeshift studio. Exposed brick walls, a drafting table, huge canvases, and a cart filled with paints, brushes, and palettes took center stage. A large canvas, still wet and half-completed, rested against a paint-covered easel.
“Where do you want me to put you?” I asked, watching as her eyes danced longingly toward her art studio. I glanced around at her place. It was a fraction of the size of my loft. It was wide open with no walls save for the bathroom. A vintage, industrial kitchen stood across from a makeshift living room, and a large bed covered with a million pillows rested against an empty wall. Her studio took pride of place next to the large floor-to-ceiling windows I’d watched her through so many times.
“I don’t know,” she sighed. She wanted to paint. It pained her not to. I could see it all over her pretty face.
“Here,” I said, directing her toward her sofa. “Sit here.”
Her careful gaze never left me as I walked to her studio and lifted her easel and canvas bringing them over to her along with a palette and brushes. I ran to her kitchen and stuffed a hand towel with ice cubes from her freezer, filled a glass with water, and grabbed some ibuprofen.
“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” she said with an amused half-smile.
“I wasn’t going to leave you out there,” I said, handing her the water and gel caps.
“I mean all this,” she said, her eyes dancing around the makeshift studio I’d set up for her. “It was very nice of you. Thank you.”
I shrugged and offered a reserved smile.
“I’m Sophie, by the way,” she said. “I’ve seen you around. You go walking at night.”
My heart leaped. She’d noticed me, too.
“Jamison,” I said. We stood, my eyes locked on her big, brown gaze for far too long as an awkward silence filled the space between us. I couldn’t get enough of her pretty face. There was something wildly innocent and free-spirited about her. Maybe it was the way her hair hung in her face or the way she didn’t notice the paint streak on her cheek. Maybe it was the way her apartment was decorated in a mish-mash of colors and styles as if she’d found random things at a flea market and decided to claim them. There was no rhyme or reason for any of it as far as I could tell.
“What time does your art store close?”
Her arched brows raised under her thick bangs. “You don’t have to do that.”
I glanced down at my watch. “How far away is it? You said you needed white, right? What do you paint with?”
“Oils,” she said. “But you don’t have to do that.”
“What’s it called?” I asked. “If I bring you white, will you promise to stay off your feet and let your sprain heal?”
Her lips twisted, amused again. “Beacon Art Supplies. They were staying open late for me tonight. It’s up the block on the left.”
I bolted out of her apartment, practically running down the two flights of stairs and out past the spot where she’d slipped and fallen ten minutes prior. Five minutes later, I’d arrived.
“Hello?” I called, poking my head inside. The ‘open’ sign was unlit, but the door was unlocked, and the lights were still on.
“Yes?” a woman’s voice called from the back.
“I’m here to pick up some paint for, uh, Sophie,” I said, realizing I didn’t yet know her last name.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Be right there.”
A blonde woman about Sophie’s age with a braided ponytail hanging over her left shoulder strutted to the front. She was wearing a paint-covered smock and holding a giant bottle of white paint in her hand.
“She slipped on the way here,” I said. “I told her I’d grab it for her.”
The woman’s nametag identified her as Mia. She rolled her eyes and laughed. “I told her I’d stay open late. Must’ve been in a big hurry.”
“Sidewalks are slick,” I said, pulling out my wallet. “Be careful out there tonight.”
Mia waved her hand. “It’s free.”
“Free?”
“She works for me.”
“Oh,” I said, slipping my wallet back into my left back pocket. “All right, then.”
I hurried back to Sophie’s knocking before letting myself in. She was still right where I left her, lying across the couch with her leg propped up on a pillow, half asleep.
“Here’s your paint,” I whispered, sitting it next to the easel on her coffee table. I clicked off the lamp that lit the space above her sofa and showed myself out, pausing to look at her one more time before locking the door from the inside and shutting it tight.
So that’s her.

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About the Author

Blaire Broderick is a modern-day Carrie Bradshaw—if Carrie Bradshaw had three small children, two dogs, a sitcom-dad of a husband, and lived in the suburbs far, far away from the romantic city streets of Manhattan. A daydream believer, Blaire is never without an idea in her heart or a song in her head.  When she’s not busy tending to her little ones, she can be found working on her next book. And when she’s not working, you just might find her curling up with a good book or a really trashy reality show.

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Spotlight: The Busy Moms Guide to Writing by Angela Castillo

Are you a busy mom who loves to write, but doesn't know where to start? This easy-to-read guide by two bestselling, award-winning authors will help you make your writing dreams a reality.

From finding time to write, to showing you how to get your kids involved, Jamie Foley and Angela Castillo (who happen to be busy moms themselves) will give you the resources--and the encouragement--you need.

This book will:
- Help you plan out your writing goals, time management, and financial budget
- Encourage you to enlist aid from the right people--critique partners, editors, cover designers, and more
- Guide you to making the best decision for you regarding independent and traditional publishing
- Give you questions to ask yourself at the end of each chapter to help you move closer to your writing dreams
- Steer you away from common mistakes

Excerpt

Supper should have been started half an hour ago, and a pile of laundry waits for you on the couch (well, it used to--now the kids have flung the clothes across the room in a free-for-all sock fight). Your baby is crying, and your oldest kid is yelling something about a science fair project being due tomorrow.

But what are you thinking about? A roving mercenary princess in your own made up land--the land of Flynn. You’ve dreamed about this land, pretended to live in it yourself. And more than anything, you want to write about it.

Your little girl grabs hold of your leg with sticky fingers. “Mommy, when are we going to have supper? I’m hungry, Mommy!”

If you’re feeling tempted to check your home for a hidden camera, the reason we know these things is because we are there. We have nights like this on a continual basis. Yet between both of us, we have fifteen published books (and three collections). These books help to generate an income to help with grocery money and even, sometimes, the mortgage payment. Writing and Momming can happen! At the same time!

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About the Authors

Angela Castillo loves living in the small town of Bastrop Texas, and draws much of her writing inspiration from life there. She loves to walk in the woods and shop in the local stores. Castillo studied Practical Theology and Music at Christ for the Nations in Dallas, Texas. She was home-schooled all through high school and is the oldest of 7 kids. Castillo's greatest joys are her little girl and two boys. Castillo has been published in The First Line, Aardvark's Ark, Heartwarmers, Thema, and several other publications, and also has works available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle format.

Jamie Foley loves strategy games, home-grown berries, and Texas winters. She's terrified of plot holes and red wasps.

Her husband is her manly cowboy astronaut muse. They live between Austin, TX and their family cattle ranch, where their hyperactive spawnling and wolfpack can run free.

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Cover Reveal: Timid by Devney Perry

Release Day – SEPT 4

Willa Doon has always been shy. Her quiet demeanor was something she’s always embraced. That is, until Jackson Page moves to town. The one man she desperately wants to take notice struggles to remember her name.

Year after year, Willa stands by, watching as the bartender slash playboy drowns his demons in beer and sex. Then one night, he shows up at her door, suddenly aware that the girl he’s seen around Lark Cove is now a beautiful woman.

Except what he doesn’t remember is that this visit isn’t his first. They spent a night together once before. A night he’s forgotten, thanks to a bottle of tequila.

A night that crushed a timid girl’s heart, and set a broken man on the path to heal them both.

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About the Author

Devney is the USA Today bestselling author of the Jamison Valley series. She lives in Montana with her husband and two children. After working in the technology industry for nearly a decade, she abandoned conference calls and project schedules to enjoy a slower pace at home with her kids. She loves reading and, after consuming hundreds of books, decided to share her own stories. Devney loves hearing from readers! Connect with her on social media.

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Spotlight: Trybal Gratitude Journal 2 by Alexsys Thompson

Create an aligned, mission-driven life of your design with the second Trybal Gratitude Journal. Just as you change and evolve, so must your gratitude practice. This journal is designed to help you align your intentions with your actions in your day-to-day life. When it comes to living a gratitude-focused life, the smallest asymmetry between who we are and what we do becomes a huge barrier. Designed as the next step in your gratitude practice, these pages will help you design a mission and vision for your life that creates 360 congruency not only in your thinking, but in your choices.

This book is the second part of a year-long gratitude practice. Though the daily gratitude pages are the same, the focus of this journal is to begin aligning who you are and what you do. You’ll have an opportunity to create a personal mission statement, which will act as your compass. Through gratitude, you will build a congruent life, driven by your mission and values

About the Author

Alexsys Thompson has a life mission to create safe places for souls to show up. Throughout her own life, it’s manifested in a variety of ways: being a mother, dream manager, business owner, executive coach, conflict resolutionist, keynote speaker, and now author.

Her latest project, Trybal Gratitude Journal is a culmination of a lifetime of practice, failure and more practice. It feels great to be able to share some concepts and rituals she has developed to live her own authentic life. She has created the journal so that others may also experience the multifaceted magic of gratitude, and so that you may create your own space in life to show up in all of your brilliance.

Connect: Website

Spotlight: Tower of the Arkein: Book 2: Kan Savasci Cycle by Chase Blackwood

Trapped as a slave, facing an impossible decision, Aeden must choose between his friends and his soul...

The clock is ticking as the world descends into darkness.

He's been called the Scourge of Bodig, the Bane of Verold, but most know him as the Kan Savasci. He's one of the most feared men alive. Chaos and war have followed him like an angry shadow. The one problem, as the world faces the wrath of forgotten gods, Kan Savasci is nowhere to be found.

The annalist, a man trained in the ancient arts of the arkein, has been tasked to uncover the whereabouts of the Kan Savasci at any cost. In order to find the man, one must unmask the depths of his reclusive history.

Excerpt

Chapter 2

“Decorum was created by nobility to boost their sense of worth in the eyes of other nobility.” Herlewin’s Letters of Apology

Late afternoon fell over the city in a coppery haze. Sunlight infused every corner with a golden warmth that only the season of Lenton could provide.

The kiss of the sun felt good on Aeden’s tanned skin. He had grown darker within the hot embrace of the A’sh. His white hair was only more apparent in contrast to his darkened tone. It had grown to a length requiring a tie to keep it tidy. He felt taller and stronger, but he also felt lonelier and angrier.

Aeden glanced about.

Kardal was to his left, walking on the other side of the Jal’s litter. Behind him Aeden could feel the cold, hateful stare of Yazid. It was like a pebble within a boot, grating slowly at his resolve. He did his best to ignore the man. He used a technique Ayleth the Widow had taught him some years before. “When faced with hate,” she once told him, “understand the root of their hatred by understanding their circumstance. Only then will their words fade to nothing but a distant whisper.”

Aeden did as he had been told. He soaked in Sha’ril the way dry cotton soaks in water. He studied the movement of the people. He observed the lines of the city. He thought on the words of the Jal. Last, he remembered the tiny irritants that Yazid had allowed Aeden to glimpse. Each sliver formed a tiny image of a greater whole.

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About the Author

Welcome to Chase Blackwood's author bio, where he'll try to write something interesting about his life that captures your attention.

Chase Blackwood's life has been defined by struggle the way a moth battles an insect zapping light. He's studied martial arts since childhood in an effort to overcome fear. He's lived in a half dozen countries in an effort to "find himself," traveled to over 50 countries in an effort to "find humanity," lived in nine states just for the hell of it, oh... and the military has had something to do with that too. Chase has enjoyed combating terrorism, working as a federal agent, and also really likes puppies.

His most recent passion, puppies aside, has been working on the Kan Savasci Cycle, a series of fantasy novels that pulls from his life experiences to make the most vivid world imaginable. Stay tuned for a more romantic side...for the ladies, and guys, really for anyone who enjoys the genre.

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