Spotlight: Bare Devotion by Geri Krotow

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Pub Date: 9/11/2018

Sweet and sultry, hot and wild…that’s desire, Louisiana-style. And there’s no one better to explore it with than one of the Bayou Bachelors…

Returning to her flooded New Orleans home to face Henry Boudreaux, the man she jilted at the altar, is the hardest thing attorney Sonja Bosco has ever done—even before she discovers she’s pregnant. Sonja backed out of the marriage for Henry’s sake. He wants to be part of his father’s law firm, and his parents will never approve of an interracial marriage. Better to bruise his heart than ruin his life.

Henry can’t forgive Sonja, and doubts that he can trust her again. But learning that they’re going to be parents means there’s no avoiding each other. Springtime on the bayou is already steamy enough…now they’re living in the same small space while their damaged house is repaired. And with each passing day they’re getting a little more honest. A lot more real. And realizing that nothing—not even New Orleans at Mardi Gras—glows brighter than the desire they’re trying to deny…

Excerpt

Sonja bit into the almond croissant with the hunger that had plagued her everyday of the past few weeks. Like clockwork, her appetite returned late morning after the morning nausea passed.

She knew the exact night she’d conceived the baby. Her body had felt ‘different’ after the lovemaking session with Henry that had lasted the better part of a late winter night after they’d won a particularly challenging case. At first she hadn’t been able to pinpoint it and blamed her exhaustion on prenuptial jitters. The week before the wedding her breasts swelled, her nipples became sensitive to the shower spray, and she’d felt as though her period was about to start at any moment. But of course it hadn’t. She’d known two days before the wedding for sure. Thank God she’d only shared it with Poppy. If Henry had known she didn’t think she’d have been able to walk away from marrying him as she had.

The memory of leaving her soulmate at the altar made the pastry feel heavy in her stomach and she paused, closing her eyes and breathing in and out slowly to ward off a wave of nausea. Anytime she remembered their wedding day she felt sick all over again.
“Is it that good?” Her eyes flew open at the sexy baritone that only a few weeks ago had coaxed an orgasm out of her as he spoke dirty words into her ear while he moved over her, inside her, again and again.

“It’s delicious.” She put the croissant down on a napkin, next to her stack of files. Henry’s gaze dared her to look away and she never backed down from anyone, so she stared back. A quick flash of disgust shadowed his face before Henry looked away and sat in the seat opposite her, reaching over for his files. Usually they sat together, ready to work until whenever it took to get the day’s items checked off. It wasn’t going to get easy, ever, to know he thought so little of her. Knowing she deserved it for something he didn’t even know about yet—the baby—made it worse.

“I imagine you need time to go over these.” A deft verbal pitch to see how she’d react. Would she go high, admit she should have been back in the office last week, or go low and blame him for her staying away, or ignore it? “Alesia sent me the files last week. I’ve read through them all.”

He had to be playing her—Alesia told Henry everything. He’d know she’d had copies to analyze. Their roundtrip tickets to Bali had gone unused, so it wasn’t as if she’d been out of the country and unable to do any work.

“Any concerns?” He kept his face low, focused on the paperwork, but she saw the blood vessel just above his collar, pulsing in rhythm to his heartbeat. Whenever Henry was agitated that was his tell. She used to like to lick it right before he came. Heat erupted between her legs and made her squirm. Apparently her guilt over not telling him about the baby wasn’t the only reaction she couldn’t shake. She clasped her legs together under the heavy mahogany table, grateful Henry didn’t have x-ray vision.

“No, nothing to speak of.” Her voice was low and throaty and she wished she’d tendered her resignation. It would be so much easier, especially now when every damned hormone in her body was setting off emotions she didn’t even know she was capable of. But a deft noncompete clause she’d signed when his father had hired her prevented her from going out on her own just yet.

Brilliant blue eyes watched her with usual alertness. “You sure about that, Sonja? You’re acting like something’s not sitting right with you.”

“It’s just this.” She motioned very slighting between them, using her finger. “Awkward with a capital ‘A,’ am I right? We didn’t talk about it as much as we probably should have this morning.”

Of course dearest Deidre’s appearance had shut down any chance of the conversation they needed to have in private. The curiosity in his eyes turned to frosted crystal.

“Let’s get it out on the table, then.” He splayed both hands on the dark polished surface, and she wondered if he’d forgotten about the time they’d both arrived to work early, too early. They’d ended up here, naked, in under five minutes. Did he see her naked body as she’d knelt on all fours, waiting for him to take her?

“There is nothing here. Whatever we shared was wiped out when you decided to ignore my attempt to explain my actions to you.”

“Wait a min—”

“No, hold up.” He shot down her attempt to interrupt him with a flick of his hand. “You made your choice. And you’ve decided to continue on at this firm. We both need to raise the funds to get the house rehabbed well enough to sell. Fine, I get it. But don’t think for one minute that there is anything other than our working relationship at stake. We’ve always enjoyed that, correct? And I’m willing to work with you, until the day you decide to leave the firm. Because, let’s face it, I’m not going anywhere. This is my family firm. You, you’ll go out on your own or take a better offer elsewhere. That’s okay. Until then I expect the best you have to offer, and for you to kindly refrain from referring to what we shared. It’s over.”

Sonja stared at the man who’d hung the moon for her and only saw the stamp of Boudreaux on his expression. The same look his father had when she’d told him to take the money and referral he’d offered her to quit when she and Henry announced their engagement and shove them up his tight white racist ass. He’d never fire her, not as a black woman in his otherwise very white, very male firm. And regardless of his racist views, Sonja brought in a lot of business for their firm that they’d otherwise never catch. She’d expected Henry’s father to give her a hard time, but not so much Henry. She’d been a fool.

“Our professional relationship never had anything to do with our personal life. Why should it now?”

Henry didn’t respond but instead glared at her. He may as well have thrown a machete at her for how his silent gesture pained her.

The door clicked open and Alesia entered with trays of lunch food, followed by two clients and Rick, the firm’s other NOLA attorney. As she and Henry stood to greet them she eyed her almost-husband. Her ex-fiancé. The man who’d broken her heart.

Henry was tall and professional looking, whether dressed in a classic suit as he was now or in cargo shorts and a t-shirt like yesterday. He’d been born to inherit his father’s firm, a lawyer’s mind part of his gene pool. And until their wedding weekend, she hadn’t seen that he’d also inherited the insatiable need to make everything appear perfect. Hence the pristine wedding they’d almost gone through with.

Henry wasn’t a people pleaser though, especially not to his parents. He’d bucked their sensibilities and desires by choosing to marry her, a black woman from a bayou family. Henry had never seen her as anything other than the woman he’d decided to marry. She believed that. What Henry had refused to see, however, was that his father was never going to leave the firm to Henry as long as Sonja was his wife. The firm was going to be dissolved and all of his father’s money given to charity, eschewing being generous to either of his sons. Henry’s younger sister, a social worker, was in the naval reserves and somewhere overseas, so she wasn’t even on the family radar. She hadn’t gone to law school; neither had Henry’s younger brother Brandon. It wasn’t about the money, which was significant, but about family legacy. Henry was the man to change it, to turn the law firm into a contemporary, relevant part of the community, serving diverse clients and causes. He saw that corporate law didn’t have to mean serving the same good ol’ boys his father had.

But Henry would never have the chance to improve upon his family legacy if she were around. The younger siblings had gotten the hell away from the family dynasty. But not Henry. Henry needed to be part of his father’s legacy in a way the other two didn’t. Because Sonja saw this, saw the need in the man she loved so desperately, she’d had no choice but to back out of their marriage. She’d do anything for Henry’s happiness, and Henry would never be happy without knowing he’d made a difference in what his father had began. He’d never forgive her for leaving him the way she did and that was all right. Sonja didn’t want Henry’s forgiveness. She’d wanted his love, understanding and trust, but her expectations had been too much.
Henry didn’t have it to give.

And as she watched him, the one man she’d ever pinned all her hopes on, she had to face the cold hard truth. She was as unworthy of trust as Henry.

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About the Author

Geri Krotow is the award winning author of more than thirteen contemporary and romantic suspense novels (with a couple of WWII subplots thrown in!). While still unpublished Geri received the Daphne du Maurier Award for Romantic Suspense in Category Romance Fiction. Her 2007 Harlequin Everlasting debut A Rendezvous to Remember earned several awards, including the Yellow Rose of Texas Award for Excellence.

Prior to writing, Geri served for nine years as a Naval Intelligence Officer. Geri served as the Aviation/Anti-Submarine Warfare Intelligence officer for a P-3C squadron during which time she deployed to South America, Europe, and Greenland. She was the first female Intel officer on the East Coast to earn Naval Aviation Observer Wings. Geri also did a tour in the war on drugs, working with several different government and law enforcement agencies. Geri is grateful to be settled in south central Pennsylvania with her husband.

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Spotlight: It Began With a Lie by Michele Pariza Wacek

Release Date: September 10, 2018
Publisher: Love-Based Publishing
Series: Secrets of Redemption #1
Genre: Psychological thriller, romantic suspense, paranormal 

A fresh start. That was what Becca hoped the move from New York to Redemption, Wisconsin, would be for her troubled family—a way to get her crumbling marriage back on track, and to bond with her difficult 16-year-old stepdaughter.

But instead of a new beginning, Becca is thrust into a mysterious past she barely remembers … a past that includes complications from interacting with her teenage crush, Daniel, as well as living in her aunt's old house (aka "The Witch House," according to locals).

But is the house really haunted? Or is there something far more sinister out to destroy them?

Excerpt

Copyright © 2018 Michele PW

Chrissy gave me a withering look as she furiously pounded on her iPhone. I opened my mouth to say something—I had no idea what … something to bridge the gap that yawned between us—but Mia's voice interrupted me. "Daniel! Look who's here! It's Becca!"

I closed my mouth and turned to look. A police officer was standing at the counter watching Mia fill up a to-go container with coffee. Could that be Daniel? I searched the room, but only saw only a handful of people finishing up their breakfast. It had to be him.

I looked back at the cop. Broad shoulders and dark blonde hair—Daniel. Mia glanced at me and winked. I made a face back at her.

He turned. He was older of course, but yes, it was most definitely Daniel. He wouldn't be considered traditionally handsome—not like Stefan with his almost pretty-boy looks. Daniel's face was too rugged, with sharp cheekbones and a crooked nose. But his lips were still full and soft, and his eyes were still the same dark blue. I found myself suddenly conscious of my appearance. I hadn't taken a shower in two days, and I was wearing an old, faded New York Giants tee shirt. I had scraped my unruly mass of reddish, blondish, brownish hair back into a messy ponytail in preparation for a full day of cleaning and organizing. But I quickly reminded myself that I was being silly. I was a married woman, sitting with my stepdaughter, and he was engaged.

Besides, he had made it more than clear years ago he wasn't the slightest bit interested in me.

"Becca," he said coming over, his face friendly, but not exactly smiling. "Welcome back to Redemption." It didn't sound much like a welcome.

“Thanks," I said, mostly because I couldn't think of anything better to say. Instinctively, I reached up to smooth out my hair, since as usual, a few curly tendrils had escaped and hung in my face. "Not much has changed."

He studied me, making me really wish I had taken an extra five minutes to jump in the shower and dig out a clean shirt. "Oh, plenty has changed."

"Like you being a cop?"

He shrugged slightly. "Pays the bills."

I half-smiled. "There's lots of ways to pay the bills. If I remember right, you always seemed more interested in breaking the law than upholding it."

"Like I said, things change." He lifted his to-go coffee cup and took a swallow, dark blue eyes never leaving mine. "I take it you're still painting then."

I dropped my gaze to his chest, feeling a dull ache overwhelm me—the same pain I felt when I heard the name Becca. "As you said, things change."

"Ah." I waited for him to ask more questions, but instead, he changed the subject. "So, how long are you staying?"

I shrugged. "Not sure. We've actually moved here."

His eyebrows raised slightly. "To Charlie's house? You aren't selling it?"

“Well, yes. Eventually. That’s the plan. But, at least for the foreseeable future, we’ll be living in it.” I sounded like an idiot. With some effort, I forced myself to stop talking. Why on earth did I share so much detail? How was this any of his business?

He looked like he was going to say something more but was interrupted by a loud snort. The two pant-suited women both scraped their chairs back as they stood up, glaring disgustedly at all of us before heading to the cash register.

"What's with them?" Chrissy asked. I had forgotten she was there.

I shrugged, before remembering my manners and introducing Chrissy to Daniel. I made a point of gesturing with my left hand to flash my wedding ring.

His head tipped in a slight nod before looking back at me. "Will you be around later today? I'd like to stop by and talk to you."

There was something in his expression that made me uneasy, but I purposefully kept my voice light. "What on earth for? I haven't even unpacked yet. Am I already in trouble?"

The ends of his lips turned up in a slight smile, but no hint of warmth touched the intense look in his eyes. "Should you be in trouble?”

I let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "Why do cops always answer a question with a question?"

"Occupational hazard. I'll see you later." He dipped his chin in a slight nod before walking away. I noticed he didn't give me the slightest hint as to what he wanted to talk to me about. That sense of unease started to grow into a sense of foreboding.

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About Michele PW

Michele Pariza Wacek (also known as Michele PW) taught herself to read at three years old because she so badly wanted to write fiction. As an adult, she became a professional copywriter (copywriters write promotional materials for businesses, nothing to do with protecting intellectual property or putting a copyright on something) and eventually founded a copywriting and marketing company. She grew up in Madison, Wisconsin and currently lives with her husband and dogs in the mountains of Arizona. You can reach her at MicheleParizaWacek.com. She’s published two novels, “The Stolen Twin” and “Mirror Image,” both psychological thrillers/mystery/suspense books.

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Chapter Reveal: PS I Miss You by Winter Renshaw

Melrose,

The first time I met you, you were a stranger. The second time, you were my roommate. The third time, you made it clear you were about to become the biggest thorn my side had ever known.

You sing way too loud in the shower and use all the hot water.

You’re bossy as hell.

You make my life all kinds of complicated.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about you.

And truthfully … I can’t stop wanting you.

I was going to tell you this. I was going to sit you down, swallow my pride, hang up my noncommittal ways and show you a side of me you nor anyone else has ever seen before … but then you dropped a game-changing bombshell; a confession so nuclear it stopped me in my tracks.

How I didn’t see this coming, I’ll never know.

Sutter

P.S. I miss you.

Excerpt

Melrose

I’ve been a dog-walker on an episode of Will & Grace.
           A bakery shop owner in a Lifetime movie.
           Ryan Gosling’s kid sister in an indie flick that never saw the light of day.
           Victim #2 in a season eighteen episode of Law & Order: SVU.
           But today I’m faced with my most challenging role yet; a camera-less reality show called Girl with Lifelong Crush on Best Guy Friend starring Melrose Claiborne as … Melrose Claiborne.
           Standing outside Nick Camden’s Studio City bungalow, I straighten my shoulders, smooth my blonde waves into place, and press my index finger against the doorbell. The heavy thump of my heart suggests it’s going to fall to the floor the second he opens the door—but I’m hopeful the butterflies in my stomach will catch it first.
           He has this effect on me.
           Every. Single. Time.
           And that’s saying something because it takes a lot to make me nervous, to throw me off my game. But my crush on him has only intensified over the years, growing stronger with each unrequited year that passes.
           But last night, out of nowhere, Nick called me—which was strange because Nick never calls. He only ever texts. He’s so against calling, in fact, that he has his ringer permanently set to “off’ and his voicemail box has been full for the last six and a half years.
           “Mel, I need to talk to you tomorrow,” he’d said, breathless almost. There was a hint of a smile in his tone, giddiness. “It’s really important.”
           “Nick, you’re scaring me,” I told him, half wondering if someone slipped something into his drink and he was drugged out of his mind. “Just tell me now.”
           “I have to tell you in person. And I have something to ask you, something crazy important,” he said. “Oh my god. This is insane. I’m so damn nervous, Mel. But as soon as you get here tomorrow, I’ll tell you. I’ve been wanting to tell you about this for a long time, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t until now. But now I can. And I can’t fucking wait. This is huge, Mel. This is … oh, God.”
            “Nick …” I paced my bedroom floor, my left palm clasped across my forehead. In nearly two decades of friendship, I’d never heard Nick so worked up before. “Can’t you just tell me now?”
           “Come over tomorrow. Around three,” he’d said. “This is something that needs to be done in person.”
           I ring his doorbell again before checking the time on my phone. Stifling a yawn, I rise on my toes and try to peek inside the glass sidelights of his front door. Knowing Nick, he probably got sidetracked or ran out for burritos and got caught up in conversation with someone he knows.
           Then again … he was pretty insistent about talking to me in person at three o’clock about this “major” thing. I can’t imagine he’d space this off.
           All night, I tossed and turned, trying to wrap my head around what this could possibly be, how I could know someone for so long and fail miserably trying to get a read on them.
           Growing up, Nick lived next door, and the two of us were inseparable from the day he first moved into the neighborhood and I found him by the creek trying to capture bullfrogs—which I promptly forced him to set free. By the end of the day, we both realized our bedroom windows aligned on the second floors of our houses, and by the end of the week, he gave me a walkie-talkie and told me I was his best friend.
           When we were ten, he gave me a friendship necklace—like the kind girls usually give to other girls. He gave me the half that said “best” and wore the “friend” half but always tucked it under his shirt so no one would give him any shit—not that anyone would.
           Everyone loved Nick.
           It wasn’t until the summer after seventh grade that Nick hit a growth spurt and everything changed.
His voice got deeper.
His legs got longer.
Even his features became more chiseled and defined.
It was like he aged several years over the course of a couple of months, and I found myself looking at him in ways I never had before. And when I closed my eyes at night, I found myself thinking about what it’d be like if he kissed me.
           Almost overnight, I’d gone from running next door with a messy ponytail to see if he wanted to ride bikes … to slicking on an extra coat of Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers and running a brush through my hair any time I knew I was going to see him.
           Suddenly I couldn’t look at him without blushing.
           Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who noticed Nick’s head-turning transformation.
           Nick’s door swings open with a quick creak and I don’t have time to realize what’s happening before he sweeps me into his arms and swings me around the front porch of his rented bungalow.
           “Melly!” He buries his face into my shoulder, squeezing me so hard I can’t breathe, nearly suffocating the swarm of butterflies in my middle.
           I breathe in that perpetual Nick scent, the one that always feels like home. Like the faintest hint of bar smoke and cheap fabric softener and Irish Spring soap.
Growing up in Brentwood, the son of a successful screenwriter and composer, Nick could’ve had it all—materially and professionally. His parents had connections that would put Steven Spielberg to shame.
           But all he ever wanted was to be a regular guy who got by on merit, and I adored that about him.
           “Look at you,” he says when he puts me down. His hands are threaded in mine as his ocean gaze scans me from head to toe. “I haven’t seen you in months.”
           Three months, two weeks, and five days—but who’s counting?
           The last time we hung out was on my birthday, and there were so many people at the bar, I barely had a chance to say more than two sentences to him all night. We’d made plans to get together the following weekend, but his band booked a gig in Vegas and I was leaving to film a Lifetime movie in Vancouver the day before he was coming back.
           Life’s been consistent that way, always pulling us in separate directions at the most inconvenient of times.
           “You find the place all right?” he asks as he leads me inside. The scent of Windex and clean laundry fills my lungs, and a folded blanket rests over the back of a leather chair in the living room.
           I chuckle at the thought of Nick tidying up before I got here. He was always a slob growing up. Case in point? One year I tripped over a pair of his Chucks as I entered his bedroom and almost knocked my front teeth out on a messy stack of vinyl records. His empty guitar case caught my fall, but the next day he bought a shoe organizer.
           “I did,” I say, glancing around his new digs. Last time I saw him, he was living in some apartment with four roommates in Toluca Lake. The time before that he was shacking up with a fuck buddy-slash-Instagram model named Kadence St. Kilda, but that was short-lived because the girl ultimately wanted exclusivity, and that’s something Nick’s never been able to offer anyone—that I know of. “When did you move here?”
           “Last month,” he says. “I’m subletting from my drummer’s cousin.”
           The sound of pots and pans clinking in the kitchen tells me we’re not alone, but I’m not surprised. Nick has always had roommates. He’s painfully extroverted. Guy can’t stand to be alone for more than five minutes but not in the clingy, obnoxious sort of way. More in the charismatic, life-of-the-party, always-down-for-a-good-time sort of way.
           I follow Nick to the living room, and he points to the middle cushion of a cognac leather sofa before slicking his palms together and pacing the small space.
           “Nick.” I laugh. “You’re acting like a crazy person … you know that, right?”
           His ocean gaze lands on mine and he stops pacing for a moment. “I’m so fucking nervous.”
           “You don’t have to be nervous around me. Ever.”
           “This is different.” He stops pacing for a second. “This is something I’ve never told you before.”
           Oh god.
           My heart flutters, and some long-buried hope makes its way out in the form of a smile on my face, but I bite it away.
           I’d never admit this out loud, but last night a very real part of me believed this entire thing centered around Nick wanting to tell me he has feelings for me, that he wants to date me.
           The idea is absurd, I know.
           Things like this don’t happen out of nowhere.
           I’m not naïve and I’m not an idiot. I know the odds of my best friend going months without seeing me and suddenly professing his love for me are slim to none, but I’ve tried to come up with alternate theories, and none of them made sense because Nick’s never been nervous around me for any reason.
           Ever.
           What else could possibly make him nervous around me other than a heartfelt confession?
           Crossing my legs and sitting up straight, I say, “Come on. Spit it out. I don’t have all day.”
           He cups his hands over his nose and mouth, releasing a hard breath, and when he lets them fall, I find the dopiest grin on his face.
           His eyes water like a teenage girl with a backstage pass to a Harry Styles concert.
           Nick tries to speak but he can’t.
           Oh my god.
           He’s doing it.
           He’s actually telling me he likes me …
           “Melrose,” he says, pulling in a hard breath before dropping to his knees in front of me. He takes my hands in his, and I swear my vision fades out for a second. “You know when we were kids and we used to tell each other everything?”
           “Yeah …”
           “There was something I never told you,” he says, eyes locked with mine. “I guess … I guess I was afraid to say it out loud. I was afraid this thing I wanted so bad, this thing I wanted more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life, wasn’t going to come true. And I thought that by admitting it, I was only going to jinx myself. So I kept it to myself, but I can’t anymore. It’s too big. It’s eating away at me and it has been for years. But it’s time. I have to tell you.”
           He’s rambling.
           Nick never rambles.
           His trembling hands squeeze mine and then he rises, taking the spot on the couch beside me. Cupping my face in his hands, he offers a tepid smile that’s soon eaten away by his own anxiety. “This is insane, Melrose. I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.”
           My mouth parts and I’m milliseconds from blurting out something along the lines of “I’ve liked you since we were kids, too …” but I bite my tongue and let him go first.
           “You know how I have my band, right?” he asks, referring to Melrose Nights, the band he founded in high school and named after me.
           I nod, heart sinking. No … plummeting.
           “What about it?” I ask, blinking away the embarrassed burn in my eyes.
           “My dream, Mel, was always to hit it big,” he said. “Like, commercially big.”
           My brows lift. This is news to me.
He was always about the indie scene, always so against the big music corporations that controlled every song the American people were played on the radio.
           “Really?” I tuck my chin against my chest. “Because you always said—”
           “I know what I always said,” he cuts me off. “But the more I got to thinking about it, the more I thought … I just want my songs to be in the ears of as many people as possible. And it’s not even about becoming famous or having money, you know I’m not about any of that. I just want people to know my songs. That’s all.”
           I swallow the lump in my throat and glance toward a wood-burning fireplace in the corner where a crushed, empty can of Old Milwaukee—Nick’s signature beverage of choice—rests on the mantel next to what appears to be a crumpled lace bra.
           Guess he forgot a few things when he was straightening up …
           “Okay, so what are you trying to tell me?” I ask, squinting.
           “We got signed …” his mouth pulled so wide, he looks like a bona fide crazy person right now, “… and not only that, but we’re going on tour with Maroon 5.”
           I try not to let my rampant disbelief show on my face, but something tells me I’m failing miserably. He reads my expression, searching my eyes, and his silly grin fades.
           “You hate Maroon 5,” I say.
           “I used to hate Maroon 5,” he corrects me. “Anyway, the act they had fell through last minute, so they got us. We leave next week.”
           “Next week? For how long?”
           “Six months.” His callused hands smack together. “Six months on the road with one of the biggest music acts in North America.”
           He says that last part out loud, like he’s still in disbelief over this entire thing.
           Which makes two of us.
           “Wow, Nick … that’s … this is huge. You were right. This is some big news,” I say. Everything is sinking. My voice. My heart. My hope. “I’m so happy for you.”
           I throw my arms around him, inhale his musky scent, and squeeze him tight. There’s a pang in my chest, a tightness in my middle, like that indescribable sensation that washes over you when you know something’s about to change and things will never be the same again.
           But I meant what I said. I am happy for him. I had no idea this was what he wanted, but now that he’s shared this with me, I am thrilled for him. He’s my best friend, my oldest friend, and all I want is for him to be happy.
           Plus, he deserves this.
           Nick is insanely talented.
Music.
Lyrics.
Singing.
Playing.
Producing.
Mixing.
It all comes natural to him. Keeping it under wraps on some lowdown indie scene would be doing a disservice to the rest of the world.
           “I get that this is huge, Nick, but I’m curious … why couldn’t you tell me this over the phone?” I ask. “Why’d you make me drive all the way out here just so you could tell me in person?”
           Nick leans back, studying my face as he rakes his palm along his five o’clock shadow. “Because I have a favor to ask you …”
           Lifting one brow, I study him right back. He’s never asked me a single favor as long as I’ve known him (excluding those times he wanted me to talk to girls for him in middle school or steal him an extra Italian Ice at lunch).
           “See, I’m taking over this guy’s lease,” he says. “I pay fifteen hundred a month for my half of the rent. Plus utilities. You know what a cheap bastard I am, right? I just don’t want to throw that money away over the next several months, and I don’t want to stick Sutter with my half of the rent and everything because that’s just shitty.”
           “Sutter?” I ask.
           “Sutter Alcott. My roommate,” he says. “Cool guy. Electrician. Owns his own company. You’ll like him. Anyway, I know you’re living in your Gram’s guesthouse, but you’re the only person I know who’s not locked under a lease, so I thought mayyyyybe you might want to help me out for a few months? As a favor? And in return, I’ll … I don’t know. I’ll do something for you. What do you want? You want a backstage pass to a Maroon 5 concert? You want to meet Adam?”
           “You’re already on a first name basis with Adam Levine?” I ask, head cocked.
           Nick smirks. “Not yet. But I will be.”
           “I don’t know …” I pull in a long, slow breath. “What about Murphy?”
           “We’ve got a fenced-in yard,” he says, pointing toward the back of the house. “He’ll love it here.”
           “What about your roommate? Would he be cool living with a stranger?” I ask.
           “Totally.”
           “And you’re sure he’s not a serial killer?” I keep my voice low, leaning in.
           Nick chokes on his spit. “Uh, yeah, no. He’s not a serial killer. Lady killer? Sure. Serial killer? No way.”
           Our eyes hold and I silently straddle the line between staying put and saying yes to this little favor.
           My cousin-slash-roommate, Maritza, recently moved out and got a place with her boyfriend, Isaiah, so it’s just Murphy and I in the guesthouse now. It gets quiet sometimes. Lonely too. And Gram’s on this travel-the-world kick lately. One week she’s home, the next week she’s in Bali for twelve days with her best friend Constance or one of the Kennedys.
           A change of scenery might be nice …
           “I’ll do anything, Mel. Anything.” He clasps his hands together and sticks out his bottom lip, brows raised.
           Dork.
           “Begging’s not a good look for you. FYI,” I say.
           “Okay, then what’s it going to take for you to say yes?” His hands drop to his lap.
           I try to speak, but I don’t know what to say.
           “See,” Nick says. “You don’t even have a good reason to turn me down.”
           He’s right.
           I can’t blame it on the location because it isn’t out of the way. I can’t blame it on my dog. I can’t blame it on a lease. I can’t blame it on money because fifteen hundred a month is exactly what Gram charges me for rent, because free rides aren’t a thing in the Claiborne family.
           But aside from all of that, I know Nick would do this for me if I ever needed him to.
           Shrugging, I look him in the eyes and smile. “Fine.”
           A second later, I’m captured in his embrace and he’s squeezing me and bouncing like a hyper child. With one word, I’ve unearthed a side of Nick I never knew existed.
           “I freaking love you, Mel,” he says, hugging me tighter. “I love you so much.”
           I expected to hear those words today … just didn’t think I’d hear them in this context.

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About the Author

Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi.

And if you'd like to be the first to know when a new book is coming out, please sign up for her private mailing list here ---> http://eepurl.com/bfQU2j

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Cover Reveal: No Ordinary Duke by Sophie Barnes

No Ordinary Duke

by Sophie Barnes Publication Date: October 30, 2018 Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance

Preorder: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks

He’s everything she’s trying to avoid…But somehow precisely what she needs… Caleb Crawford doesn’t want to be a duke. He’d much rather build houses for a living. So when fate disrupts his peaceful life and burdens him with the responsibilities of a newly inherited title, he does what any sensible man would do by fleeing London, disguising himself as a laborer, and seeking refuge with three young spinsters who need his help with a leaky roof. Ruined by a marquess who promised her the world, Mary Clemens has sworn to avoid marriage forever. Instead, she intends to live out her days with her friends and the orphaned children they’ve taken into their care. But when Mr. Crawford comes knocking, Mary finds herself in real danger of risking heartbreak all over again. Especially when she discovers that he’s not at all what he seems.

About Sophie Barnes

Born in Denmark, Sophie has spent her youth traveling with her parents to wonderful places all around the world. She has studied design in Paris and New York and has a bachelor’s degree from Parson’s School of design, but most impressive of all – she’s been married to the same man three times, in three different countries and in three different dresses. While living in Africa, Sophie turned to her lifelong passion – writing. When she’s not busy, dreaming up her next romance novel, Sophie enjoys spending time with her family. She currently lives on the East Coast.

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Spotlight: Belle of the Ball by Dayna Quince

The viscount’s plan to kiss and tell may spell his ruin…

From the moment Lady Anabelle Darling meets Viscount Draven, she knows there’s something dangerous about him. Cold, arrogant and callous, he enjoys playing the villain with a touch of cutting wit. But when she finds herself unexpectedly alone with him, the danger only grows. He says things that make her heart skip and her breathing hitch. Determined to keep her distance, she plans to find a respectable husband. Draven offers nothing but sinful dalliance and forbidden pleasure.

Draven relishes the role of scoundrel. This is never more apparent than when he spreads a rumor that he and Lady Anabelle shared a kiss—or at least that’s what he tells her. She’s lovely when she’s furious, and he can’t resist the temptation of luring her into his game--consequences be damned.

Yet a single kiss wields the power to change everything between them and turn Draven’s carefully crafted plan inside out.

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About the Author

Dayna Quince was only fourteen when she developed a serious addiction to romance novels. What began as an innocent desire to read became an all-out obsession with the romance genre. She gave book reports on romance novels, got in trouble for reading during lectures, and would rather spend her time reading than attending high school parties. After all, high school boys could not compete with the likes of Stephanie Laurens Devil Cynster. After getting her first job, her addiction only got worse. She now had her own money to spend and a car to get to Barnes and Noble as frequently as she wanted. She managed to maintain a somewhat normal life, marrying her high school boyfriend who was aware he was competing with fictional men for her attention. Dayna soon began writing her own romance novels, inspired by her love for all things romance. Dayna and her husband live in Southern California with their two children and three fur babies. Dayna is happiest at home where she can be with her family and write to her heart’s content.

For more information about Dayna, please visit her website, “like” Dayna on Facebook and follow her on Twitter or Instagram. Sign up for Dayna’s newsletter to be notified about upcoming releases. She loves hearing from her readers. Email her directly at daynaquince@gmail.com.

Look for Dayna’s Jack’s House releases from the Desperate and Daring Series

Read an excerpt from Hot Spell by Mia London & Susan Sheehey

She never trusted love. He never believed he’d be worthy.

An emergency vacation at a luxury Mexican resort is a foolproof pick-me-up for Jordan Beck’s broken-hearted bestie. Former Olympic-hopeful, Jordan has planned a getaway worthy of a perfect score: nightly parties, exotic drinks, and sandy beaches. She never expected to find perfection in the resort’s emerald-eyed bartender.

Life’s a gift to Zac Durant, and he’s determined to live it to the fullest. Tending bar at a resort is a small price to pay if it means he can scuba and surf every day in paradise. He’s content—until a Latina beauty struts across his pool patio and orders his best drink.  Although Zac isn’t the kind to hook up with guests, he can’t resist the petite sexy woman who makes his world flip cartwheels.

This sensual interlude in paradise should be just a vacation fling, but sparks explode into fireworks, and they are tempted to believe it’s something real. When the illusion of perfection fades, Jordan must decide if love is worth a shot at the gold.

Excerpt

The tree frogs chirped in the palm trees as Jordan walked down the lit path, letting Zac lead the way through the resort. The waves from the shore in the distance mixed with their song. 

As they closed in on a bank of elevators, he asked, “Do you need to go to the room? Check on the girls?”

She lifted her phone, flashing him a text. “Nope. They’re good. They’re actually in the lounge watching A Few Good Men.”

“Ah, yes. Movie night.” They followed the signs to the Zafiro wing.“Where exactly are we going?” He pulled a room key from his pocket, one with a picture of a sapphire etched on the back. “I have a friend in housekeeping. We get the executive suite until daylight,” he said with a wink.

Her mouth instantly watered. She gripped his hand as he maneuvered through the hallway to the elevators, slipping in the key to gain access to the top floor.

When the doors closed, she grabbed his waist and pulled him into her.

Jordan claimed his mouth, urgent and needy.

He pressed his body into hers, his length already hard in his shorts.

She’d been dreaming of this moment ever since he left her early that morning. Since she stood in his grandmother’s kitchen.

The doors opened far too soon, and she stepped out into the top floor suite entryway. The robin’s egg blue marble floors extended into the living area with plush cream carpeting. But it was the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that stole her breath. The endless ocean set the backdrop to a romantically lit patio balcony. The suite was complete with sofas, a personal bar, and hot tub.

“It pays to have connections,” Jordan marveled.

“It pays to be nice to everyone,” Zac answered.

Jordan moved into the living room that led to the patio. Open double doors off to the side revealed the bedroom, with a romantic canopy bed set up for a couple, or perhaps a honeymoon. As much as that room called to her, she couldn’t resist the hot tub.

The door slid open when Zac pushed a button on the wall. The jets started up with another button.

“Did you bring a suit?” he joked. She flashed him a hungry smile. She scooped her hand through the water—the hot temperature perfect. “Who needs one?” She slowly began a little striptease. His grin slowly melted into a ravenous stare as she peeled away her clothing, leaving her completely nude. She closed the gap between them in three steps. “Mr. Durant, I do believe you’re wearing too many clothes to properly enjoy the executive suite hot tub.”He grabbed her hips, crashing them hard into his torso. 

“You’re sexy as hell.” Then his firm, demanding lips claimed hers before she could protest. Not that she would. Naked or not, being in Zac’s arms was the only thing that mattered. More than sticking the perfect landing. More than the gold.

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About the Authors

About Susan

Susan Sheehey writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense and women's fiction. The Knights of Texas series (contemporary romance novellas) is available on Kindle. The Royals of Solana series (romantic suspense & adventure) is available on all e-retailers and in paperback, along with her contemporary romance standalone, Audrey's Promise. Water plays a crucial element in all of her novels, and she's a strong advocate for Autism Awareness. She tried to give up Diet Coke, and it didn't take. When not writing, she's chasing after her two children, and being pampered by her husband in Texas. 

Follow her at www.SusanSheehey.com or on Facebook, Twitter @SusieWriterAmazon, and BookBub. Join her monthly newsletter for goodies and sneak peaks.

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About Mia

Mia loves to write!      

She’s been reading fiction for years and finally decided that the images and scenes floating around in her head needed to make it to paper.

She’s a huge fan of romance, highly optimistic, and wildly faithful to the HEA (happily ever after). She’s inspired by most anything around her. And her biggest obstacle is not having enough time to get it all down on paper (or my computer, as the case may be).

Her goal is create a fantasy you will enjoy with characters you could love.

She lives in Texas with her attentive, loving, super-model husband, and her perfectly behaved, brilliant children. Her produce never wilts, there are no weeds in her flowerbeds, and chocolate is her favorite food group.
And then she wakes up.