Read an excerpt from When Light Leads to You by C.R. Ellis

JASMINE
Once upon a time, there was a girl who had a crush on a boy. Eventually, they fell in love. They lived happily ever after.

Except they didn’t. Not even close.
I’m the girl, but that’s not my story.

Once upon a time, I fell for a boy, but we didn’t have a happily ever after. In fact, we crashed and burned. Which turned out to be for the best because it forced me to grow up and realize the only wedding bells in my future are the ones I orchestrate for clients.

For six years I’ve been perfectly content with meaningless, short-lived flings and running from anything that resembles a real relationship.

That boy?
He’s my best friend’s brother, and he’s no longer the boy I fell for—he’s a man I can’t stand.

Oh, and he’s also my new neighbor.

DEAN
Seemingly overnight, Jasmine Winters went from being my sister’s best friend to being the girl I couldn’t get enough of. But like most good things, it didn’t last.

Things fell apart so suddenly, I’m able to convince myself that summer never happened. At least, I was, until the only distance between us is a hallway instead of a time zone.

Six years ago, I let Jasmine slip through my fingers without an explanation because I was convinced we’d be better off apart. But now that we’re neighbors, our unspoken vow of apathy has unwittingly been shattered. Our exchanges consist of trading insults and icy stare downs. But in-between, I catch glimpses of the way she used to look at me, glimpses of the girl I fell for years ago.

Things are different now, though. This time… I won’t let her walk away without giving me answers.

When Light Leads to You is the second full-length novel of the Forget Me Knot series, but can be read as a standalone. **Due to strong language and the sexy times between these two, this book is recommended to readers ages 18 and up.**

Excerpt

“What now?” Dean asked, his green eyes searing into me.

It was the million-dollar question, and one I hadn’t stopped wondering about since leaving the house. My body screamed, you know what now, idiot, but my head knew better than to think having sex with Dean was anything but a disaster waiting to happen.

We both stood against our cars, neither of us making an effort to go up to our respective apartments. I desperately needed to put some space between us, but my feet refused to move. He stepped toward me, and I forced myself to hold his gaze instead of letting it fall to his lips. Not that his eyes were any less crippling.

What the fuck do we do now?

I couldn’t look at the man without wanting to throw myself on top of him to find out if he was as well-hung as I imagined him to be.

“Wanna come up and think it over?” he prompted when I didn’t answer.

I immediately shook my head and ignored the very specific part of my anatomy already screaming yes to his question. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dean. I don’t know how to handle this—the new us. Normally, I’d throw caution to the wind, but I think we can both agree that’s probably not the best decision in our case.”

Dean’s jaw clenched as he blinked slowly, an indiscernible emotion passing over his face. Before I could analyze it, a lazy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, producing dimples in its wake.

I stifled a sigh. Why couldn’t he have an under bite? Or a weird snaggletooth? Or at least an average, doesn’t-make-me-wanna-bang-him smile?

“For curiosity’s sake, what exactly would ‘throwing caution to the wind’ entail, Jas?” he asked, hovering inches from me.

I’d teased him earlier, now he was paying me back. Except, Dean never played fair. His cologne swirled around us, beckoning me closer to him. I studied his chest as if I had only seconds to memorize its every curve and swell. If I moved my gaze up to his face, I knew his flawless features would all fight for my attention. I should probably just blindfold myself any time I’m around Dean.

Mmm. Blindfold. Blindfold in bed.

I bit my lip. Suddenly, the blindfold thing wasn’t such a good idea. Scratch that.

I bolted for the stairs, only turning back when I’d had time to suck in some deep breaths. “The possibilities are endless. Use your imagination, Dean.”

Thanks to his insanely long legs, Dean caught up to me before I could safely make it into my apartment.

“Jasmine, I don’t know how to handle us either, but that doesn’t mean we won’t figure something out eventually. You should know…I always find a way to get what I want.” He smirked, and if smirks could talk, I swear to God this one would’ve just said, “Game on, babe.”

“Uh, good to…uh huh, good. Yep, good talk.”

Dean’s chuckle was the last thing I heard before our doors closed.

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About C.R. Ellis

C.R. Ellis is a Texas native who writes contemporary romance novels with plenty of drama and humor, and just enough heat to ignite e-readers and paperbacks everywhere. She can almost always be found attached to her laptop with coffee nearby and her two trusty canine sidekicks by her side. When she’s not writing or plotting, she enjoys going to concerts with her sweet husband, dragging him along to see rom-coms at any theater that serves booze, checking off the next destination on her ever-growing travel bucket list, and trying new recipes.

Her passion for writing stems from her lifelong love of reading, and she often binge-reads entire books in a day. She’s an unapologetic book hoarder, and her paperback collection is rivaled only by her massive shoe collection.

Connect with C.R. Ellis Website | Facebook | Instagram

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Spotlight: Trial on Mount Koya by Susan Spann

Publication Date: July 3, 2018
Seventh Street Books
Paperback & eBook; 256 Pages

Genre: Historical Mystery
Series: Hiro Hattori, Book #6

Master ninja Hiro Hattori and Jesuit Father Mateo head up to Mount Koya, only to find themselves embroiled in yet another mystery, this time in a Shingon Buddhist temple atop one of Japan’s most sacred peaks.

November, 1565: Master ninja Hiro Hattori and Portuguese Jesuit Father Mateo travel to a Buddhist temple at the summit of Mount Koya, carrying a secret message for an Iga spy posing as a priest on the sacred mountain. When a snowstorm strikes the peak, a killer begins murdering the temple’s priests and posing them as Buddhist judges of the afterlife–the Kings of Hell. Hiro and Father Mateo must unravel the mystery before the remaining priests–including Father Mateo–become unwilling members of the killer’s grisly council of the dead.

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About the Author

Susan Spann is the award-winning author of the Hiro Hattori mystery novels, featuring ninja detective Hiro Hattori and Portuguese Jesuit Father Mateo.

Susan began reading precociously and voraciously from her preschool days in Santa Monica, California, and as a child read everything from National Geographic to Agatha Christie. In high school, she once turned a short-story assignment into a full-length fantasy novel (which, fortunately, will never see the light of day).

A yearning to experience different cultures sent Susan to Tufts University in Boston, where she immersed herself in the history and culture of China and Japan. After earning an undergraduate degree in Asian Studies, Susan diverted to law school. She returned to California to practice law, where her continuing love of books has led her to specialize in intellectual property, business and publishing contracts.

Susan’s interest in Japanese history, martial arts, and mystery inspired her to write the Shinobi Mystery series featuring Hiro Hattori, a sixteenth-century ninja who brings murderers to justice with the help of Father Mateo, a Portuguese Jesuit priest.

Susan is the 2015 Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers’ Writer of the Year, a former president of the Northern California Chapter of Mystery Writers of America and a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime (National and Sacramento chapters), the Historical Novel Society, and the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. She is represented by literary agent Sandra Bond of Bond Literary Agency.

When not writing or representing clients, Susan enjoys traditional archery, martial arts, photography, and hiking. She lives in Sacramento with her husband and two cats, and travels to Japan on a regular basis.

For more information, please visit Susan Spann’s website. You can find Susan on Facebook and Twitter (@SusanSpann), where she founded the #PubLaw hashtag to provide legal and business information for writers.

Trial on Mount Koya

Cover Reveal: The Elusive Earl by Maddison Michaels

Brianna Penderley has a knack for getting into precarious situations, especially when it comes to her love for archaeology. In the heart of Naples, her terrible Italian has her accidentally becoming engaged to two men at the same time. Of course, Daniel Wolcott—the Earl of Thornton and the only man ever able to vex her—shows up to rescue her.

Daniel has spent the majority of his life exercising rigid control over his emotions, determined never to become the rake his father was. But when he goes to aid his mentor’s danger-prone niece once again, he finds himself struggling to control his attraction to a woman who is his complete opposite.

When their situation goes from bad to worse, Daniel and Brianna find themselves swept up into a perilous adventure, and they must work together to set things right. Now, if they can just avoid killing each other in the process.

The Elusive Earl releases on August 27, 2018!

Add to your Goodreads To-Read shelf: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40864980-the-elusive-earl

About the Author

Indoctrinated into a world of dashing rogues and feisty heroines when she was fourteen years old, Maddison Michaels is a prolific reader and writer of romantic suspense and historical fiction. She gets her daily dose of suspense from working as a police officer, prosecuting real-life villains in the Courts of Australia. A member of the RWA and RWA Australia, Maddison is as passionate about her writing as she is about her other two loves: her family and her cups of tea. Luckily, she gets a healthy dash of romance married to her wonderful husband, and her exercise regime is kept on track by her six-year-old daughter, who ensures Maddison is kept very busy chasing her around. Maddison’s debut novel The Devilish Duke is her way of time traveling back to Victorian London to experience a cornucopia of intrigue, romance, and debauchery all from the comfort of her living room!

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Spotlight: The Hour of the Fox by Kurt Palka

From the bestselling author of The Piano Maker comes a stunning, profoundly moving story about motherhood, grief, marriage, and friendship. For fans of M. L. Stedman’s The Light Between Oceans.

Margaret Bradley is the most senior associate at a prestigious law firm, and she is on track to make partner. It is the 1970s; her climb up the career ladder in this male-dominated profession has been difficult, but with hard work she has made herself one of the best in it. She is dedicated to her work and is happily married until one day her entire world is shattered by the sudden death of her son Andrew, a military pilot. Now, Margaret lives with a heavy, all-encompassing sense of loss and regret that is pushing her further and further away from the person she once knew herself to be, and from her husband, Jack, a successful geologist and a loving and loyal partner. 

Consumed by her sorrows Margaret is drawn back to the family summer home in Sweetbarry, a small town off the coast of the North Atlantic, where she spent much of her childhood. Her lifelong best friend, Aileen, is close by. When Aileen’s adult son, Danny, is questioned by local police in connection with a violent crime that shocks the community, Margaret provides legal and moral support. And it is while doing so that an opportunity presents itself for her to confront her sorrow. She sees “a door opening. A way forward,” and she boldly reaches out with an act of courage and humility that has profound consequences.

Set against the backdrops of the rugged Atlantic coast, Toronto, and Paris, The Hour of the Fox is emotionally resonant, atmospheric, and unforgettable in its depiction of motherhood and loss.

Excerpt

He came back and sat down. "That was the Vancouver office about the forward core samples on the new silver mine. They want me to come out there for the evaluation." He paused. "Unless you'd like me to stay here a day or two longer. I could probably arrange that."
     When she said nothing, he put his hands flat on the table and prepared to get up. But then he sat back again.
     “Margaret,” he said. “We need to move on from where we are, where we are stuck. Can’t we do it together? As a team?”
     He sat looking at her, waiting. After a while he shook his head. “You see. There it is again. Your silence. Your unwillingness to meet me halfway. And we used to be so close. We could talk about anything and work out every last problem. We’re mature and we can think. So let’s please help each other.”
     Surely there was something she could be saying now. Should be wanting to say, if only she could see it clearly. Perhaps that she felt the same way but that she was lost and couldn’t find her way back. That she sometimes wished she were dead, and that what she felt was much deeper and older, and if Michael was right it was even primal and mostly female, with no way across the divide that she could see. And suddenly she could not breathe again . . .
     Abruptly she pushed back her chair and stood up and touched her eyebrow.
     “So would you like me to postpone British Columbia?” he said. “Stay a bit longer?”
     “Maybe not just yet, Jack. But thank you.” 
     He sat watching her, and he never said another word while she fumbled up her plate and cutlery and took them to the kitchen and then picked up her briefcase and purse and hurried away, down the back stairs to be alone again.

She walked with the fingers of her left hand pressed to her eyebrow and talked to it. No, she told it. Not now. Please. But it was not listening and the pain expanded and became the red cloud, and then on the path near the cottage she fell but managed to get up and make it through the door. She dropped the briefcase and withher hand pressed to her mouth ran to the bathroom and in the dark fell to her knees by the toilet and vomited into the bowl. For a while she hung over the rim, then she let go and lay face down on the tiles with her feet out the door and her nails digging into the grouting for a finger hold or keep falling. She pressed the offending eyebrow to the hard ceramic chill and concentrated on the calm side of her brain.
     After a while she rolled over and put the palms of her hands over her eyes to make it all even darker. Lying flat on her back in her black suit with her legs outstretched, like some thing fallen from a great height. After a while she stirred and poked the emergency pill out of her jacket pocket. She bit on it and moved the crumbs under her tongue and let her arm fall to her side. 
     When the pain began to lessen she rolled over and stood up slowly. She turned on the small mirror light and took off her jacket and slapped away the floor dirt. She slapped angrily at the skirt too and then washed her hands and rinsed her face and mouth, refusing to look up into the mirror.

She could have talked more to him just now. Slowed herself down and said something kind when he offered to delay his trip for her. An explanation, but of what, using which words? And not with this pain coming. 
     So much change. If she were to step out the door now and look toward the elderberries, she’d see the spot where Jack and she made love for the first time. Finally letting go had been such an enormous event, so very daring and liberating at the same time. Just down the slope a bit, in the grass.
     Late summer, a Saturday night. They’d had dinner with his mother, who did not talk much any more—not since the event, as his father’s suicide had been called. After dessert they sat a while longer, then they excused themselves. He kissed his mother on the cheek and Margaret said, Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Bradley, and good night, and then they left her sitting at the table. Like a shell. Abandoned. Margaret paused at the door and, feeling guilty, turned back to say something more, but the woman was not looking at her and there was really nothing more to say. In the kitchen the maid, Anna Maria, was washing dishes and Margaret called out good night to her, and then like giddy children they hurried down the back stairs and along the path and past the cottage all in darkness, deeper into the garden.
     Watching Jack across the dinner table talking to his mother, watching his face and seeing the care in it, she’d fallen in love with him all over again and she’d made the decision, or it had made itself. At one point Jack looked at her, and he must have seen it in her eyes or in her smile. And he stopped talking and got all red in the face and lost his train of thought. 
     And how perfect it was.
     For a while she was still conflicted even though she knew it was a safe day, but how sweet even that, giving herself permission to let go. In the dark amid the scent of the grass, a sliver of moon and a million stars, starlight like milk on their skin. And his hands on her, finally. And hers on him, completely overwhelmed by all this.
     How long ago? Not so very long. Not so long.

THE CHILDREN

On Monday evening Aileen saw the lights of the police boat heading out, red and blue lights flashing, and briefly she could also hear the sound of the engines. She watched from her window as the lights moved away and eventually she lost them on the horizon. The police boat, going where?
     Next morning, when she was up in the roadside blueberry patch, a car came her way trailing dust. It slowed at the turnoff, drove past it, then stopped.
     She shielded her eyes with her hand to see against the low sun. The car backed up and turned into their gravel road. A black car with wide tires and something mounted on the dash. The sun gleamed on its side and dust danced around it. Small stones leapt away from the rolling tires. She saw all this with an ominous clarity, the black car and the way it came rolling into her world. 
     There was just one man in it, a man in a suit jacket and a blue shirt and tie, and he turned her way going past and gave a quick nod and drove on. On the rock shelf in front of her house he stopped and climbed out and looked around. 
     Franklin was there, working on her Vauxhall, and he saw the man and put down the tools and spoke to him. There was a short exchange and then Franklin looked her way and waved an arm for her to come down.
     She took up the blueberry pail and climbed slowly down from the rise onto the road, holding on to plants and roots. She was annoyed at the interruption. Her hands were blue and sticky, and she was dressed not for company but for picking, in a windbreaker and a balding pair of corduroys and her old boots.

Franklin had gone back to working on the car, and the visitor stood waiting for her by the picnic bench. Under one arm he held a yellow file folder, and he reached into his jacket pocket and took out a card. He held it out to her.
     “Inspector Jack Sorensen, Mrs. McInnis. I was hopingto find your son Danny here.”
     She took the card and looked at it.
     “And what’s this all about?”
     “We want to talk to him.”
     “What about?”
     “Ma’am, is he here?”
     “No. Danny doesn’t really live here any more. He just visits.”
     “He owns a boat, right? And he looks after summer properties in the off-season?”
     “Yes, he does do that.”
     She put the card on the picnic table and stepped to the outside tap and turned it on. She rinsed her hands and then took her time with the towel, hoping it would calm her. 
     Over her shoulder she said, “Danny is a grown man and I’m not checking up on him any more.”
     “But surely you know where we can find him.”
     “Well, no. It depends on which loop he’s doing. North or south, and in his truck or in the boat.” She hung up the towel and turned to him. “The boy is busy and he often stays over at places.”
     “When was the last time you talked with him?”
     “That would be a few days, maybe a week now. Maybe more. A good while, anyway.”
     “You don’t know how long ago, Mrs. McInnis?”
     "No. Not exactly." 
     He stood looking at her, taking his time, and she disliked him for his calm, for the trouble he was bringing.
     “All right,” he said finally. “If he calls or shows up, please tell him to call the number on the card. Or call Sergeant Sullivan at the station. They’ll find me. It’s important.”
     “You still haven’t told me what it’s about.”
     “Ma’am. Your son is wanted for questioning by the police. It’s as simple as that.”
     He nodded at her and then climbed into his car, closed the door, and started the engine. He didn’t bother to look at her again, just made a three-point turn with pebbles grinding on the rock and drove off. She walked over to Franklin where he stood by the open hood of the Vauxhall, watching her, holding a rag and a spanner.
     “What was that all about?”
     “A policeman. Wants to talk to Danny.”

Excerpted from The Hour of the Fox by Kurt Palka. Copyright © 2018 by Kurt Palka. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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About the Author

The Hour of the Fox is KURT PALKA’s seventh novel. His previous work includes Clara, which was published in hardcover as Patient Number 7 and was a finalist for the Hammett Prize, and The Piano Maker, a national bestseller. He lives near Toronto.

Spotlight: For You, Ethan by Whitney G.

Forget You, Ethan

by Whitney G. Publication Date: August 2, 2018 Genres: New Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Read for FREE in KindleUnlimited: Amazon

**Keep your friends close and your enemies closer…** I’ve hated Rachel Dawson since I was seven years old. My next door neighbor and number one sworn enemy, she’s the reason why almost all of our childhood fights ended with me setting something of hers on fire. (Or, vice versa.) She snitched on me when I broke curfew. I snitched on her when she lied about having a boyfriend. We went back and forth like this throughout high school, both vowing to never talk to each other again when we went off to college. But that was until she showed up at my apartment during my senior year and asked me for a temporary place to stay. Until I realized just how much between us had changed, and the line I thought we’d never cross became harder and harder to ignore…

About Whitney G.

Whitney G. is a twenty-eight-year-old optimist who is obsessed with travel, tea, and great coffee. She’s also a New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of several contemporary novels, and the cofounder of The Indie Tea–an inspirational blog for indie romance authors. When she’s not chatting with readers on her Facebook Page, you can find her on her website at http://www.whitneygbooks.com or on instagram: @whitneyg.author. (If she’s not in either of those places, she’s probably locked away working on another crazy story.) Don’t forget to sign up for Whitney’s monthly newsletter here: http://bit.ly/1p9fEYF

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Spotlight: To Have And To Harley by Regina Cole

You may now kiss the biker

Bethany Jernigan owes her bestie. Big time. So when wedding planning overburdens the bride-to-be, Bethany steps in to handle the nitty-gritty. But the guy in charge isn’t anything like she imagined. He's gruff, tattooed, and 100% male. His staff is even rougher around the edges, and it's not long before she feels as if she's stepped into some kind of crazy alternate reality.

Are those…bikers? Arguing about wedding favors?

Trey Harding never wanted this to get so out of hand. One little lie somehow snowballed into a world of dresses and flowers and food and holy-hell-he's-in-over-his-head. But it’s not like he can confess he’s not the wedding planner he’s pretending to be—especially now that he's falling for the maid of honor! His charade is becoming a farce, and as engines rev and ribbons fly, Trey’s running out of time to figure out how to tell the truth without losing his new family, his crew…or the woman of his dreams.

Excerpt

He was in way over his head.

Mrs. Yelverton was a freaking saint. All his life he’d been imagining her as an evil, heartless, empty stranger who had abandoned him, and now? Now?

How could he tell her what he’d turned into?

“I, well, I’m in charge of a kind of group.” He paused to clear his throat, his hand rubbing the back of his neck to clear the tensing of the muscles there. “Yeah.”

“A group? Like a business group?”

He coughed, then took a sip of coffee. “Yeah, you could call it that.”

“What kind of business are you in?”

Damn it.

Her stare was too clear, too honest, much too direct. He was struck by a feeling he hadn’t been expecting. Somehow, someway, he was afraid of disappointing her.

Well, if that wasn’t a kick in the teeth.

There wasn’t a way around it. Was there?

Desperate, he looked around the kitchen while he took another long sip of coffee.

What to say? Because the truth—the shakedowns, the Robin Hood–style robberies, the bodyguarding—none of it was exactly on the up and up. There were definite legal and moral gray areas to what he did. And while he had no problem with it personally, he didn’t want to run the risk of disappointing her.

Who was he turning into?

Desperate, his gaze flew about the kitchen.

“Well, we do a little…” Hell, she’d never believe he cooked. Something else. Quick, you dumbass. Keep it vague. Stall. “A little organizing, you might say.”

She nodded, an interested look on her face inviting him to continue. Ah, dammit.

Keep looking. A container of herbs sat on the windowsill above the sink. Gardening? Screw that. He scanned the rest of the kitchen. Nothing. No ideas whatsoever.

“What kind of events do you organize?”

Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

He rested his elbow on the tabletop, knocking a magazine to the floor.

“Whoops. Sorry.” He bent down to get it.

A woman in a beautiful white gown was spread across the back of the magazine. The tagline for a bridal boutique advertisement read We help you tie the knot in style.

“Not a problem. So, you were saying?”

His mind was blank. Totally, completely blank. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Mrs. Yelverton furrowed her brow in obvious concern. “Are you okay?”

He had to say something. He looked down in desperation. The magazine was still there, facedown beside him, the laughing woman in the white gown like an angel of salvation.

“Weddings,” he blurted out as he straightened in his seat. “We organize weddings.”

What. The. Actual. Fuck. Had. Just. Come. Out. Of. His. Mouth.

“Weddings. Wow, I hadn’t expected that.”

He coughed. “Yeah, me either.”

Mrs. Yelverton laughed. “I can imagine. How did you get into it?”

Wanting nothing more than to jump up and leave the county at a dead run, Trey shrugged, trying to play it off. “I got a chance to do some, enjoyed it, made my own business.”

“That’s really impressive! What’s the business called?”

His hand was lying atop the magazine beside him, his knuckles lining up with the ad copy perfectly. He read the words out together.

“The Iron Knot.”

Mrs. Yelverton laughed, clapping her hands delightedly. “That’s absolutely perfect. Trey, I’m so proud of you.”

Those words should have made him feel amazing. Instead, he felt like a scum-sucking bastard for lying to her.

Just then, the door behind her opened, and Trey’s chest went vise-tight, his heart clambering against his ribs in triple time.

She was long, lean, with bone-straight blond hair and elfin features complementing porcelain skin. Her blue eyes were a bit red, as if she’d been crying recently. But despite the obviously brimming emotion beneath the surface, she wore a bright smile. It was the kind of expression he’d adopted many times over the years. Pretending things were all right when everything had turned to ashes around him was the only option he’d had at times, and seeing the same kind of defense mechanism in her touched him in a way he wasn’t expecting. Physically, she was just his type, and the way she moved into the room, both cautious and confident—strong as hell despite whatever was trying to bring her down—sparked immediate interest and admiration in his gut.

This was…unexpected.

“Oh, Bethy, I didn’t expect you until late this afternoon.” Mrs. Yelverton rose and pulled the girl into her arms.

A wave of nausea overtook Trey. Was this girl…Was she…

Well, so much for that short-lived spark of attraction.

“Trey, I’d like you to meet Bethany.”

“Hi,” the blond said, and Trey stood. She looked a little intimidated as he stood to his full height.

He’d been about to step toward her for the introduction, but he stopped. No need to make her more uncomfortable. But the idea that she found him scary was oddly disappointing.

“I’m Bethany Jernigan,” she said, sticking her hand out for him to shake.

“Trey Harding,” he said, gripping her much smaller hand in his, trying to ignore the softness of her skin, the faint tremble of her touch.

“Bethany, I hope you won’t mind keeping this quiet from Sarah for now. I haven’t had a chance to tell her about it. But this…” Mrs. Yelverton drew Trey’s arm through hers. “This is Samuel.”

Bethany gasped, her hand over her mouth, and Trey looked away. “Samuel? That Samuel?”

Mrs. Yelverton nodded delightedly. “My son. He’s finally home.”

“Oh…oh my God.”

Trey hated this. He felt awkward, like a sideshow freak. His spine prickled, his feet nearly bouncing with the urge to get the hell out of there.

“Trey, Bethany has been part of our family for years now. She’s your sister Sarah’s best friend and lived with us until she went to college. Of course, she’s still got a room here. She’ll always be welcome to come back home.” Mrs. Yelverton’s smile was gentle as she looked at Bethany.

“Wait. So we’re not related?” Trey gestured between himself and Bethany.

Mrs. Yelverton laughed. “No, not by blood. But I hope you’ll be close.”

Something uncurled in his belly then, a knot of anxiety releasing as he looked at Bethany Jernigan—no relation—with new eyes.

“I hope so too,” he said. She blushed a little and glanced away.

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About the Author

Regina Cole, lover of manly muscled arms, chest hair, and mini-marshmallows, has been reading romance since her early teens. When she’s not frantically pounding away at the keyboard, she can be found fishing with her family, snuggling with her hubby and tiny twin boys, or slinging mud in her magical home pottery studio. She lives outside Raleigh, North Carolina.

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