Spotlight: From What’s Broken by R.M. Demeester

From What’s Broken
R.M. Demeester
Publication date: June 21st 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Amanda and Matthew are on the cusp of their happily ever after. They have a stable marriage and a lovely daughter, and they are eagerly awaiting the birth of their second. Suddenly tragedy strikes and the couple’s picture-perfect life crumbles. Ivory, their firstborn child, dies in an accident. Not knowing how to deal with their pain, Amanda and Matthew blame each other for their loss and drift apart. They soon realize their relationship might not bear the burden, leaving their surviving daughter to cope with the aftermath of two grief-stricken parents.

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EXCERPT:

“I want a divorce.” The words slipped out in a stream of gloom and ambiguity.

My husband, Matthew, glanced away, his mouth tight and his eyes constricted. He had no words, but I wasn’t surprised. We stared at each other like two strangers, two entirely different people—cold, distant, and doing what we needed to do in order to survive.

The decision hadn’t come easy for me. For weeks, the idea of putting this limbo to rest had been on my mind. I couldn’t live like this. Neither of us was happy.

“Did you hear me?” I whispered. I knew he had, but I needed confirmation. I needed some kind of response. Sad, happy, or mad, I didn’t really care, but he owed it to me. He owed me a response.

“Yeah.” He hugged his legs and glared past my gaze to the wall behind me. His eyes looked dead, calculating, and cold. Much of how they had been for most of the past year.

Author Bio:

R.M. Demeester lives in Saskatchewan, Canada. She is the mother of three young children, and owner of a rescue dog, a chocolate lab, Gainer. R.M. Demeester has been writing for as long as she could hold a pencil. She writes women's fiction, new adult, and sweet romance primarily. She has two women's fiction novels set to be released in 2019, along with several short stories.

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Spotlight: More Than a Rogue by Sophie Barnes

Publication Date: June 25, 2019
Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance

All she wanted was a kiss…

What she got, was fiery passion…

Emily Howard knows she is destined to be a spinster. She has accepted this fate, but that doesn’t stop her from wanting to experience kissing. What she doesn’t expect, is for Griffin Crawford, the handsomest man in the world, to do the honors. Or for all her female relations to discover her in his embrace. Naturally, marriage is instantly mentioned, but since Emily knows this is not what Griffin wants, she tries to escape him, her family and the ensuing scandal.

When Emily flees the Camberly ball in the wake of their kiss, Griffin goes in pursuit. He will not allow his sister-in-law’s determined friend to risk her safety for any reason. And risk it she will if she means to return to her countryside home by herself. But the longer he remains in her company, the more he is tempted to kiss her again. If only he could risk falling in love and remain in England forever.

Excerpt

Griffin Nathaniel Finnegan Crawford stood in one corner of the crowded ballroom, conversing with his brother, Caleb, and Caleb’s friend, Viscount Aldridge.

“I cannot wait for this Season to be over so Mary and I can return to Montvale,” Caleb said. The couple had decided to build a cottage for themselves on the Montvale grounds so they could enjoy a simple life while away in the country. The manor itself would be turned into an orphanage so Mary could continue caring for children in need.

“It has only just begun,” Griffin remarked. Contrary to his brother, he missed the busy city life whenever he was away from it. He missed Vienna, with its culture and music and picturesque streets. By comparison, London felt like a grimy slum.

“And it will only get busier once parliament is in full swing,” Aldridge said.

“Don’t remind me.” Caleb crossed his arms. He glanced at Griffin. “At least Devlin had the foresight to escape while he could.”

Devlin was the third brother, born only five minutes after Griffin. All three were identical in appearance save for a few slight differences between them. But Caleb was the oldest, so he’d been the one burdened with the dukedom when their father and older brother had died. It was a responsibility Griffin didn’t envy, though he admired Caleb’s effort to find a balance between his duty and a less demanding existence. Mary’s love and support had undoubtedly helped.

“I plan to do so as well,” Griffin said. “I’ve already been away from my place of business longer than I ever intended.” Years ago, when he’d first left England after arguing with their father about not wanting to join the army, he’d gone to Germany where a chance encounter with a man in a tavern had put him in touch with a clockmaker named Herr Fritz.

Intrigued by Herr Fritz’s craftsmanship, Griffin had inquired about a position and had quickly become the man’s apprentice. Seven years later, when Herr Fritz had retired, Griffin had travelled to Vienna where he’d opened his own shop, selling not only clocks but mechanical toys to the marvel of all his customers.

“Who’s managing it right now while you’re here?” Aldridge asked.

“My assistant, Edvard Dreyden.” He was a serious and hard-working young man whom Griffin trusted to run things until he returned. But Griffin had to acknowledge that his extended stay in England was pushing the limit of how long he could afford to be absent. In Edvard’s most recent letter, he’d informed Griffin that the archduchess Marie Anne wished to place a special order, though only if Griffin himself was available to carry it out.

“If only you could relocate here,” Caleb said. “I’ve enjoyed your company immensely and will be sorry to see you go.”

“Yes, but you have a home to build now, a wife to take care of, and a child on the way.” Griffin snatched a glass of champagne from a passing tray and took a quick sip. “You’ll hardly notice I’m gone.”

“And you can come back to visit,” Aldridge pointed out.

“Or you could all come to Vienna,” Griffin suggested while glancing across the room.

A flash of blue caught his eye, and he followed the movement until a familiar face appeared from behind a cluster of guests. It was Miss Emily Howard, a close friend of Mary’s. Griffin had met her a few times already, most notably at Clearview when he’d gone in search of his brother back in November. She’d stolen his breath once she’d opened the door to admit him, for he had not been expecting to find the most beautiful woman in the world when Aldridge had told him where Caleb had gone.

He narrowed his gaze as she exited onto the terrace, escorted by Mr. Bale, who grinned in response to something she said. An uncomfortable squeezing sensation beneath his ribs had him straightening his posture. He didn’t like the way Mr. Bale’s eyes gleamed with the prospect of something illicit.

“If you’ll excuse me one moment,” Griffin told his brother and Aldridge. “There’s someone with whom I must speak.” Mr. Bale had always struck him as an amicable fellow. Harmless, by all accounts. But appearances could be deceiving. He’d learned that by falling victim himself to the cruelest form of trickery. Setting his glass on a table as he went, Griffin wove his way through the crowd. By the time he reached the door to the terrace and stepped outside, neither Miss Howard nor Mr. Bale was anywhere to be found. Griffin’s stomach tightened. Surely she would have more sense than to wander off with a bachelor? He glanced around, uncertain of where to look for her first. Voices emerged from the left, so he followed, heading straight for the corner where a cherry tree offered a canopy to the bench that stood beneath it.

The voices grew louder, though they could only be described as whispers. And although Griffin could not discern what was being said, he knew everything he needed to know the moment he saw Miss Howard in Mr. Bale’s arms, his face moving closer to hers until…

“What do you think you’re doing?” Griffin asked in his most authoritative voice.

Mr. Bale leapt away from Miss Howard and spun toward Griffin. His eyes were as wide as his mouth. “I, um…I…that is…” he sputtered.

Miss Howard’s hands fisted and Griffin saw she was glaring at him with extreme displeasure. “I think it’s perfectly obvious,” she told him.

Mr. Bale cleared his throat. “Miss Howard and I—”

“Are not affianced, as far as I know,” Griffin murmured. He could not explain why the possibility they might be grated as much as it did, but there was something about Miss Howard…something that tempted him beyond reason. He cleared his throat. “If that situation has recently changed, then I sincerely apologize for the intrusion.”

Mr. Bale stared at him. He then glanced at Miss Howard, who sighed as if she had no doubt of how he would answer. “It has not.” There was a pause, and then, “I was just—”

“Leaving,” Griffin bit out.

Mr. Bale stared back at him for a brief moment as if considering whether or not it was wise to argue. Don’t. As if hearing him, Mr. Bale turned and gave Miss Howard a curt bow. “Forgive me.” He strode off with an apologetic glance at Griffin.

“I’ve a good mind to hit you right now,” Miss Howard announced as soon as they were alone. “You were horribly rude to Mr. Bale, who was merely trying to be helpful’.”

“Helpful?” Ha! “He was certainly trying to help himself to something, I’ll grant you that. And you were not protesting.” He considered the sharp look in her eyes and the way her jaw tightened in response to his words. For some inexplicable reason he needed to know what her intention had been, so he took a step closer and gazed down into her upturned face. “Were you?”

“Of course not.” She averted her gaze, and he imagined that if it hadn’t been dark, he would have seen her blush.

Still, her blasé response shocked him. “Of course not,” he repeated in a low murmur.

She sighed. “Mr. Bale and I are friends. Nothing more.”

The relief he experienced in response to that statement caught him completely off guard. He had no romantic interest in Miss Howard himself. To suppose such a thing would suggest he was open to marriage. Which he wasn’t. Not anymore. Not after Clara had broken his heart.

The keen humiliation he felt whenever he thought back on how she had fooled him still smarted. He fought the urge to tug on his cravat as the air in his lungs grew hot, and forced his attention back to Miss Howard. A dalliance with his sister-in-law’s friend could only lead to the altar, and that was a destination he meant to avoid at all cost.

He tried to keep his voice steady so he wouldn’t sound too accusatory. “And yet I caught you embracing him as if you meant to—”

“My earring is caught.”

Griffin stared back at her, confused. “What?”

She turned the left side of her head toward him and raised her hand to point at the strands of hair tangled in a dangling collection of diamonds. “Mr. Bale noticed and offered to put me to rights.”

“But…” Griffin’s thought process stumbled as he considered her words. He’d seen her standing inappropriately close to Mr. Bale, so he’d made an assumption. But it was also dark. So dark, in fact, he could not discern her features very clearly. Which meant it was possible he’d imagined something that had not been there.

He inhaled deeply and accepted that he had been wrong. “I’m sorry.” His gaze slid to the asymmetrical mess at the side of her head. “If you will permit, I would be happy to offer my assistance. ’Tis the least I can do at this point.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, but it would probably be best if I returned inside before someone else mistakes your assistance for something it isn’t.”

She stepped around him, moving so close he managed to catch a hint of the sweetest perfume. Honeysuckle perhaps? Or peonies? He wasn’t quite sure, but there was no mistaking the heady effect it had on him or how it beckoned for him to pull her close and press his nose to her skin.

He quashed that foolish idea as immediately as it had formed.

“I shall ask Mama or Laura for help,” she said as she started strolling away.

He followed behind while wondering how he could make her stay. Which was silly since there was no point in furthering their acquaintance when he would depart for Vienna soon. Nothing good could come of it. If anything, the longer they stayed out here together alone, the greater the risk of others imagining they’d had an assignation. But he found he regretted their rendezvous ending so quickly. And with him having ruined what would probably have been an enjoyable walk for her and Mr. Bale.

“Can you forgive me for thinking the worst?” he asked.

She drew to a halt and turned to him, her face more visible now that they were nearer the light from the terrace. A polite smile captured her lips. “Of course. It was an understandable mistake.”

“You’re not upset?”

“No.”

He registered the mistruth because of how bluntly it was delivered. “Are you sure?” She’d always seemed honest and forthright, so it bothered him that he’d somehow caused her to put up a barrier between them now. “I am not so sensitive that I can’t handle a set down.” Or at the very least an honest response.

Her chin rose and she crossed her arms, affecting the pose of a woman who was rapidly reaching the end of her patience. Griffin braced himself in anticipation of what she would say. Her words, however, where most unexpected. “You ought to know me well enough by now to realize that I am not the sort of woman who would ever invite a man to ravish her at a social event where anyone might happen to see.” Her eyes were almost black, shimmering fiercely in the moonlight. “The fact that you did so is a testament to your opinion of me, which is frighteningly low.”

“I did not think you’d let Mr. Bale go quite so far as to ravish you, Miss Howard.” And now that she’d put that picture in his head, he was having a damned hard time dislodging it again. Which added a terse element to his voice that she did not deserve.

She marched forward, closing the distance between them “Nor would I throw away a kiss so easily, without a thought or a care in the world.”

Griffin did his best to come to terms with her statement. There was something in what she had said. Something meaningful just beyond his grasp. “I take it the men you have kissed in the past were important to you, then?”

A sudden dislike for these men swept through him, and his desire to learn their names and discover who he would have to avoid in the future was particularly unsettling.

She stared back at him for a long, hard second and eventually snorted. “No such man exists, Lord Griffin, which is rather the point, don’t you think?” Spinning about, she started toward the terrace once more. Griffin blinked, the relief easing the tension within so soothing, it took him a second to respond. He hastened after her without even thinking and grabbed her wrist before she reached the stairs. She turned, eyes wide with surprise and wonder.

“Kisses are overrated,” he murmured, his voice almost breathless. What was it about her that made him so desperate to keep her out here with him and away from the ballroom? He did not know and wasn’t even sure it mattered. But the fact that she’d never been kissed…that was important. And yet, the only thing he could think to say, most likely in an effort to make her feel better, was, “You have not missed much.”

A soft little scoff conveyed her derision. “What a comforting sentiment from someone who’s likely enjoyed the experience a dozen times by now.”

Griffin raised an eyebrow and watched her surprise sink deeper. “Two dozen times?” His lips quirked. “Three dozen?”

“I believe the number’s so high it would take you a while to reach it at this rate,” he muttered.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Her gaze found his and he was surprised to find humor there. “I suppose you’re just as roguish as all the ladies claim then?”

He knit his brow. “I was not aware such a rumor existed.”

“I’m sure it arose because of your scar,” she said as if this was so evident that his not knowing it surprised her.

“My scar,” Griffin echoed flatly. He’d allowed himself to forget about that while they’d been talking, to forget the way it slashed his left cheek in an ugly red line. It was thick and uneven, puckering his skin in a way that was most unappealing.

“There are those who find such things attractive.”

What about you? he wanted to ask.

He dropped his gaze to her lips and wondered if she would retreat if he made an advance. “We should probably go back inside.” Anything else would be a mistake. He meant to return to Vienna, to live a peaceful life there without the complications of marriage. The last thing he needed was to kiss Miss Emily Howard out in the open where anyone might see.

And yet, Griffin desperately wanted to chase away all the anger and pain her comment had stirred by distracting himself in the simplest way possible. She wants her first kiss to matter. You cannot take that from her. But when she licked her lips and whispered, “Yes,” his restraint took off like an army fleeing a battle. Because the truth was he’d wanted to kiss her since the first time he’d seen her at Clearview. So he did the only reasonable thing he could do when she was standing right there, stunning and utterly tempting.

He leaned in closer and pressed his mouth to hers.

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About the Author

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: The Evil That Was Done by Michele PW

Published: June 26th, 2019

Series: Secrets of Redemption, book 3

Genres: Psychological thriller/romantic suspense/mystery

Synopsis:

It’s happening again—people are disappearing.

And just like before, the finger is pointed at Becca.

She knows how it looks … and that she’s being set up.

Someone is following her. Sneaking into her house. Planting evidence to make her look guilty.

The problem is, she has no idea why.

The bigger problem is, no one believes her.

And time is running out.

Add to Goodreads Here!

Goodreads → https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46002473-the-evil-that-was-done

Only Available on Amazon and FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon → https://amzn.to/2LFPsqZ

As the 2018 Paranormal Romance Guild Reviewers' Choice Book Series Winner, the Secrets of Redemption series is a must read. Fans of psychological thrillers, romantic suspense, and mystery novels will devour the twisty and addicting series. Grab your copies today! Also, available in Kindle Unlimited!  

It Began With A Lie, Book #1 on Amazon

Amazon → https://amzn.to/2FhhBPi

This Happened To Jessica, Book #2 on Amazon

Amazon → https://amzn.to/2Ktut9o

Excerpt:

Copyright @ Michele PW 2019

"So, if we're done grilling JD, maybe we can move on to other topics of interest now," Barry said. "Like Daniel."

I spilled my wine.

"Oh, clean up on aisle ten," Barry said, as JD handed me his coaster napkin to mop it up. "Maybe we need to get a refill."

"I'm good, really," I said. The last thing I needed was more wine. Or to talk about Daniel.

"It's not a big deal. Daniel can bring it over when he comes over." Barry started signaling with his hand.

Wait a minute. Daniel was here? He was supposed to be working. That's why he canceled our date. Did he lie to me?

A part of me wanted to march over to wherever he was and give him a piece of my mind. I had asked him straight out if he really wanted to do this, to try dating. I had already told him I would understand if he thought it was going to be too complicated for him to date me and be a cop in this town.

He assured me he wanted to try.

I believed him.

And, here he was, standing me up again.

A small voice inside me immediately wanted to argue—fifteen years ago, Daniel didn't actually stand me up. And, regardless, Daniel wasn’t standing me up right then, because he had called to cancel.

Yet it somehow still felt like I was sixteen again, standing alone in the woods, wondering where Daniel was … and feeling like a total fool.

Of course, I couldn't say any of that in front of all our friends. Maybe I should just leave. That would kill two birds with one stone. Not only would I avoid seeing Daniel, but I could also get away from JD and his strange, intense energy.

Before I could figure out how exactly to sneak away, there was Daniel, doling out drinks—including another glass of wine for me. He was wearing a blue tee shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes. His blonde hair was getting a little long, curling around the back of his shirt.

Speaking of his eyes, they darted between me and JD, but he didn't say a word. Not only that, but his face was completely unreadable—a professional mask. His cop face. He pulled a chair over and turned it around before he sat down, so he was straddling it backwards. He was careful not to look at me, but I could still feel the sparks dancing between us. I was having trouble breathing, something that happened often when I was near him.

"So, since you're here, does that mean Ellen is safe and sound?" Mia asked.

He took a pull from his beer. "No, but there's not much we can do right now."

"What happened?" Daphne asked. On the surface, her voice sounded neutral, like she was simply inquiring about an acquaintance, but I could hear the confusion and worry swirling beneath the calm.

He shrugged. "No one seems to know. She didn't show up at work today, which is unlike her. They had tried calling her home and her cell, but there was no answer, so they called her mother. Her mother was the one who came in to file a missing persons report, but since there's no sign of foul play, there's not a lot we can do right now."

I felt a shiver run down my spine, like I had just been blasted by air conditioning.

"What about putting an alert out?" Mia asked.

"We can, but she hasn't even been missing for a day. It's not a crime for an adult to disappear. We're in wait-and-see mode."

"And, Ellen has been known to just take off without telling anyone," Daphne said darkly, pressing her lips together so hard they turned white.

"Not to mention it's pretty common here for people to leave quickly, making it seem like they've disappeared," Mia said, after a quick glance at Daphne.

"Yeah, I had heard that," JD said. "Something about how, if the town doesn't like you, it makes sure you don't stay?"

Celia rolled her eyes. "It's all a bunch of nonsense."

"It is NOT a bunch of nonsense," Mia said. "Weird things DO happen here. And, they have for years. Over a hundred years."

"Weird things happen in every town," Celia said. "It's no different here."

"I don't know, we sure seem to have more than our share of weirdness," Daphne said.

Author Michele PW:

When Michele was 3 years old, she taught herself to read because she wanted to write stories so badly.

As you can imagine, writing has been a driving passion throughout her life. She became a professional copywriter (which is writing promotional materials for businesses), which led to her founding a copywriting and marketing company that serves clients all over the world.

Along with being a copywriter, she is also a bestselling, award-winning fiction and nonfiction author.

For fiction, she writes psychological thriller/mystery/romantic suspense novels. She also hosts a popular book and entertainment blog. Check out MPWNovels.com for more.

For nonfiction, she's the main author and creator of the "Love-Based Business" series that include both business and personal development books. For articles and resources on business, writing, success and more, visit LoveBasedBiz.com.

She holds a double major in English and Communications from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Currently she lives in the mountains of Prescott, Arizona with her husband Paul and southern squirrel hunter Cassie.

Follow Michele: Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Newsletter | BookBub | Amazon | Instagram | Pinterest

Spotlight: It's In His Song by Shelly Alexander

They’re both back in Red River for good, and the chemistry is stronger than ever. But will her secret tear them apart all over again?

Dylan McCoy is restless to take over Red River’s favorite watering hole—Cotton Eyed Joe’s—when his Uncle Joe retires. First, he’s got to prove he has what it takes to carry on Joe’s legacy. Finally able to put the painful scars from his days working in L.A.’s trendy music scene behind him, he sets out to host a weekend workshop for songwriters. He calls in a favor and lines up some of the biggest musicians in the biz to attend. Life is good. Until the business owners who occupy the commercial space next door threaten to ruin his establishment right before the rock star lineup of attendees are scheduled to blow into town.

Hailey Hicks left Red River six years ago with a secret. Now—as a seasoned hairstylist who’s made her own way in the world—she’s back in town to help her cousin expand her salon. Unfortunately, the renovations aren’t going as planned and draw fire from the saloon next door. When she comes face to face with her ex, Dylan McCoy, sparks fly. Can they mend the damage done because of how they parted ways? Or will her secret cause them both to get burned again?

I'm attaching the covers (both digital and print) and a graphic my designer created for promo. I'll forward other graphics to you as my assistant creates them.

Excerpt

“I like the look of this place. It’s very swanky.” The modern design of chrome, white, and black gave it a chic look. “Doesn’t really fit Red River’s norm, but it seems to work.”

“Kind of like your long hair. If you want the norm, you’ll have to see if Bill’s Barbershop has any openings.” Hailey had him lean back, and she turned on the water. It gurgled to life. She stood over him, holding the sprayer in one hand and testing the water temperature with the other. “The earrings aren’t the standard look around here either.” She finally looked him in the eye. “I only remember one earring when we…” She hesitated. “Before you left for L.A.”

“The other earring was an addition once I moved to the West Coast. It was a thing there.”

She stayed rooted in place and didn’t move again.

“What?” He scrunched his brows.

“I saw all the things happening for you as a new face in the music world. The tabloids went crazy over every move you made.” She focused on his hair, went to touch it, then froze. Her fingers lingered a fraction above his head.

“You read about me?” He couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t. He had to ask. Had to know if she’d been thinking about him.

“No.” Her gaze snapped to his.

“Then why is your ringtone one of my old songs?”

She blanched. “That’s one of your songs? I had no idea.”

Bullshit, but whatever.

“I saw the magazine covers while I was standing in the checkout line at the grocery store,” she said.

“So, you read what those covers said about me?” Now he was just teasing her for fun. How could he not? Pink tinged her cheeks, and he wanted to brush his fingers across them to feel the warmth.

“They were a little hard to miss. Every rag in the country put you on the cover for a while.”

“Don’t believe everything you read.” The stupid shit that had been printed about him when he was still with the band, then after he left L.A. and headed back to Red River was so far from the truth that it had been too ridiculous to deserve a response. Which was exactly what he’d told any of the locals who’d been bold enough to ask.

“Interesting that I never heard much about you. You’re one of the few people no one knew much about in this town.” He studied her expression.

Something flashed in her eyes. She didn’t offer any information, so he left it alone.

She pulled her top lip between white teeth. Still hadn’t started washing his hair.

He let one side of his mouth quirk up into a sly smile. “It’s okay to touch it.”

Her pretty eyes turned to saucers. “Wh…what?”

“My hair. You look almost afraid to touch it, but it’ll be a little hard for you to cut it if you don’t.”

The muscles in her slender throat moved as she swallowed. “Oh. Right.” Finally, she dove in, running fingers through his hair and wetting it with the sprayer.

It felt spectacular. Stupendous. Shockingly sensual.

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About Shelly:  

Shelly Alexander is the author of contemporary romances that are sometimes sweet, sometimes sizzling, and always sassy. A 2014 Golden Heart® finalist and a 2019 RITA® finalist, she grew up traveling the world, earned a bachelor’s degree in marketing, and worked in the business world for twenty-five years. With four older brothers and an older sister, she watched every Star Trek episode ever made, joined the softball team instead of ballet class, and played with G.I. Joes while the Barbie Corvette stayed tucked in her closet. When she had three sons of her own, she decided to escape her male-dominated world by reading romance novels and has been hooked ever since. Now she spends her days writing steamy contemporary romances while tending to two toy poodles named Mozart and Midge.

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Spotlight: House of Salt and Sorrows by Erin A. Craig

Get swept away in Erin A. Craig’s mesmerizing House of Salt and Sorrows. As one by one her beautiful sisters mysteriously die on their isolated island estate, Annaleigh must unravel the curse that haunts her family. Be careful who you dance with. . . .

In a manor by the sea, twelve sisters are cursed.

Annaleigh lives a sheltered life at Highmoor with her sisters and their father and stepmother. Once there were twelve, but loneliness fills the grand halls now that four of the girls’ lives have been cut short. Each death was more tragic than the last–the plague, a plummeting fall, a drowning, a slippery plunge–and there are whispers throughout the surrounding villages that the family is cursed by the gods.

Disturbed by a series of ghostly visions, Annaleigh becomes increasingly suspicious that her sister’s deaths were no accidents. The girls have been sneaking out every night to attend glittering balls, dancing until dawn in silk gowns and shimmering slippers, and Annaleigh isn’t sure whether to try to stop them or to join their forbidden trysts. Because who–or what–are they really dancing with?

When Annaleigh’s involvement with a mysterious stranger who has secrets of his own intensifies, it’s a race to unravel the darkness that has fallen over her family–before it claims her next. House of Salt and Sorrows is a spellbinding novel filled with magic and the rustle of gossamer skirts down long, dark hallways. Get ready to be swept away.

Excerpt

CANDLELIGHT REFLECTED OFF THE SILVER ANCHOR etched onto my sister’s necklace. It was an ugly piece of jewelry and something Eulalie would never have picked out for herself. She loved simple strands of gold, extravagant collars of diamonds. Not . . . that. Papa must have selected it for her. I fumbled at my own necklace of black pearls, wanting to offer her something more stylish, but the battalion of pallbearers shut the coffin lid before I could undo the clasp.

“We, the People of the Salt, commit this body back to the sea,” the High Mariner intoned as the wooden box slid deep into the waiting crypt.

I tried not to notice the smattering of lichens growing inside the gaping mouth, drawn wide to swallow her whole. Tried not to think of my sister—who was alive, and warm, and breathing just days before—being laid to rest. Tried not to imagine the thin bottom of the coffin growing fat with condensation and salt water before splitting asunder and spilling Eulalie’s body into the watery depths beneath our family mausoleum.

I tried, instead, to cry.

I knew it would be expected of me, just as I knew the tears were unlikely to come. They would later on, probably this evening when I passed her bedroom and saw the black shrouds covering her wall of mirrors. Eulalie had had so many mirrors.
Eulalie.

She’d been the prettiest of all my sisters. Her rosy lips were forever turned in a smile. She loved a good joke, her bright green eyes always ready for a quick wink. Scores of suitors vied for her attention, even before she became the eldest Thaumas daughter, the one set to inherit all of Papa’s fortune.

“We are born of the Salt, we live by the Salt, and to the Salt we return,” the High Mariner continued.

“To the Salt,” the mourners repeated.

As Papa stepped forward to place two gold pieces at the foot of the crypt—payment to Pontus for easing my sister back into the Brine—I dared to sweep my eyes around the mausoleum. It was overflowing with guests bedecked in their finest black wools and crepes, many of them once would-be beaus of Eulalie. She would have been pleased to see so many brokenhearted young men openly lamenting her.

“Annaleigh,” Camille whispered, nudging me.

“To the Salt,” I murmured. I pressed a handkerchief to my eyes, feigning tears.
Papa’s keen disapproval burned in my heart. His own eyes were soggy and his proud nose was red as the High Mariner stepped forward with a chalice lined with abalone shell and filled with seawater. He thrust it into the crypt and poured the water onto Eulalie’s coffin, ceremonially beginning its decomposition. Once he doused the candles flanking the stony opening, the service was over.

Papa turned to the gathered mass, a wide shock of white streaked through his dark hair. Was it there yesterday?

“Thank you for coming to remember my daughter Eulalie.” His voice, usually so big and bold, accustomed to addressing lords at court, creaked with uncertainty. “My family and I invite you to join us now at Highmoor for a celebration of her life. There will be food and drink and . . .” He cleared his throat, sounding more like a stammering clerk than the nineteenth Duke of the Salann Islands. “I know how much it would have meant to Eulalie to have you there.”

He nodded once, speech over, his face a blank facade. I longed to reach out to ease his grief, but Morella, my stepmother, was already at his side, her hand knotted around his. They’d been married just months before and should have still been in the heady, blissful days of their joined life.

This was Morella’s first trip to the Thaumas mausoleum. Did she feel uneasy under the watchful scrutiny of my mother’s memorial statue? The sculptor used Mama’s bridal portrait as reference, transmitting youthful radiance into the cool gray marble. Though her body returned to the sea many years ago, I still visited her shrine nearly every week, telling her about my days and pretending she listened.

Mama’s statue towered over everything else in the mausoleum, including my sisters’ shrines. Ava’s was bordered in roses, her favorite flower. They grew fat and pink in the summer months, like the plague pustules that claimed her life at only eighteen.

Octavia followed a year later. Her body was discovered at the bottom of a tall library ladder, her limbs tangled in a heap of unnatural angles. An open book adorned her resting place, along with a quote etched in Vaipanian, which I’d never learned to read.

With so much tragedy compressed into our family, it seemed inevitable when Elizabeth died. She was found floating in the bathtub like a piece of driftwood at sea, waterlogged and bleached of all color. Rumors ran from Highmoor to the villages on neighboring islands, whispered by scullery maids to stable boys, passed from fishmongers to their wives, who spread them as warnings to impish children. Some said it was suicide. Even more believed we were cursed.
Elizabeth’s statue was a bird. It was meant to be a dove, but its proportions were all wrong and it looked more like a seagull. A fitting tribute for Elizabeth, who always so badly wanted to soar away.

What would Eulalie’s be?

Once there were twelve of us: the Thaumas Dozen. Now we stood in a small line, my seven sisters and I, and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a ring of truth to the grim speculations. Had we somehow angered the gods? Had a darkness branded itself on our family, taking us out one by one? Or was it simply a series of terrible and unlucky coincidences?

After the service, the crowd broke up and began milling around us. As they whispered their strained condolences, I noticed the guests were careful not to get too close. Was it in deference to our station, or were they worried something might rub off? I wanted to chalk it up to lowbrow superstition, but as a distant aunt approached me, a thin smile on her thin lips, the same question flickered in her eyes, just below the surface, impossible to miss:
Which one of us would be next?

Excerpted from House of Salt and Sorrows by Erin A. Craig. Copyright © 2019 by Erin A. Craig. 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

Erin A. Craig has always loved telling stories. After getting her BFA in Theatre Design and Production from the University of Michigan, she stage managed tragic operas filled with hunchbacks, séances, and murderous clowns, then decided she wanted to write books that were just as spooky. An avid reader, decent quilter, rabid basketball fan, and collector of typewriters, Erin makes her home in Memphis with her husband and daughter.

Spotlight: The Things She's Seen by Ambelin Kwaymullina and Ezekiel Kwaymullina

This brilliantly written thriller explores the lives–and deaths–of two girls, and what they will do to win justice. Sure to be one of the most talked-about books of the year!

Nothing’s been the same for Beth Teller since the day she died.

Her dad is drowning in grief. He’s also the only one who has been able to see and hear her since the accident. But now she’s got a mystery to solve, a mystery that will hopefully remind her detective father that he needs to reconnect with the living.

The case takes them to a remote Australian town, where there’s been a suspicious fire. All that remains are an unidentifiable body and an unreliable witness found wandering nearby. This witness speaks in riddles. Isobel Catching has a story to tell, and it’s a tale to haunt your dreams–but does it even connect to the case at hand?

As Beth and her father unravel the mystery, they find a shocking and heartbreaking story lurking beneath the surface of a small town.

Excerpt

My dad looked like crap.

His blond hair was flat and grubby, and his skin seemed too big for his bones. The muscly, tanned guy who’d built me a two-story tree house when I was a kid had been replaced by a pale shell of a man who didn’t build anything. You’d think it would be me who looked different. Dad said I didn’t. I couldn’t tell, since I didn’t cast a reflection anymore. But if I looked the same, then the face smiling out from the pictures on the walls of our house must still be my face: curly dark hair, round cheeks, brown skin like Mum’s, and blue eyes like Dad’s. Only I didn’t smile as much now.

Dad barely smiled at all.

He pressed his hand to his chest, out of breath from climbing up this rocky hill. There were a bunch of rock formations like this one around here, rising up from a flat red plain that was dotted with trees. I liked the trees. They were old and white and twisty, spiraling upward to fling out their leaves as if they were hoping to touch the sky. I liked the sky too; there seemed to be more of it here than in the city. There were no buildings to block it out. No big ones, anyway. We could see much of the town from where we stood: a sprawl of houses surrounded by the scattered trees, with a long river to the north. The town was covered in the same dust that coated everything, including our car and my dad’s rumpled shirt and pants. The dust hadn’t touched my clothes, of course. My dress would always be as yellow and crisp as it had been on the day Aunty Viv drove me to the birthday party.

Dad took a step closer to the edge of the hill, gazing outward.

“I don’t think you’re going to solve the case from up here,” I told him.

His gaze shifted in my direction. His eyes were bright with tears. Sometimes he couldn’t even look at me without sobbing. Today the tears didn’t fall. But I could hear them in his voice when he said, “I miss you, Beth.”

“I’m right here, Dad.”

Except we both knew I wasn’t. At least, not in the way he wanted me to be.

The accident had happened so fast. One minute I’d been sitting in Aunty Viv’s sedan, everything normal. Then I’d heard the four-wheel drive plowing through the bushes as it tore down the embankment. I’d looked up to see it hurtling at me, and . . . nothing.
I didn’t remember the actual dying part.

In fact, I felt as if I was still a living, breathing girl. Right now, for instance, I could see the town, hear the wind, smell the eucalyptus from the trees, and taste the gritty dust. I just couldn’t touch any of it.

This wasn’t how I’d imagined being dead, not that I’d ever spent much time thinking about it. But Mum had died when I was just a baby, and her two sisters—Aunty Viv and Aunty June—had always told me I’d see her again. Aunty June reckoned that Mum was “on another side.” Her husky voice echoed through my memory: This world’s got a lot of sides, like those crystals your Aunty Viv hangs in her window, and your mum’s just on a different side to us. So I’d always figured that when I passed over to another side, Mum would be there to meet me.

She hadn’t been. But I sometimes had a sense that she was waiting somewhere ahead—I’d be seeing her, I knew it. What I didn’t know was exactly when. The when didn’t matter so much, though, since I didn’t count minutes or hours anymore. Days began when the sun rose and ended when it set. In between, the connections I made—like the ways I helped my dad, or didn’t help him—were what told me if I was moving forward or backward. As my Grandpa Jim had once said to me, Life doesn’t move through time, Bethie. Time moves through life.

Dad was staring at me with the lost expression I’d come to hate. I waved encouragingly at the town. “Why don’t you go investigate?”

He stared for a moment longer. Then he turned away and wiped at his eyes, focusing his attention on the houses below us.

“I am investigating. I’m getting a sense of the place.” His voice was raspy. He drew in a deep breath, and added in a more even tone, “It reminds me of where your mum and I grew up.” His mouth twisted as if he’d tasted something bad. “Local police officers can have a lot of power in a place like this.”

He was thinking about his father. My grandpa on Dad’s side—who I’d never actually met—had been a cop for thirty years, and he wasn’t a good guy. Dad said his old man thought the law was there to protect some people and punish others. And Aboriginal people were the “others.”

Grandpa and Grandma Teller had thrown Dad out when he started seeing Mum, and they’d never wanted anything to do with me, their Aboriginal granddaughter.

“Do you think there are police like your dad in this town?” I asked.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Places like this are changing. Places everywhere are changing. Slowly, but it’s happening.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m just not sure there’s anything here to investigate.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I needed Dad to be interested in this case. My father was stuck in grief like a man caught in a muddy swamp. I had to get him to walk forward until he’d left the mire behind. Otherwise he’d just keep sinking until the water swallowed him.

“Someone did die in that fire,” I pointed out.

That was why Dad was here, because an inferno had engulfed a children’s home and killed . . . well, somebody. The body had been burned too badly to identify, so the cops were working on getting DNA or dental records to find out who it was. But at least it wasn’t one of the kids.

They’d all escaped, which I was glad about; the littlest was only ten, same age as my cousin Sophie.

“You can’t give up on this case before you even know who’s dead,” I told him.

“The only people living in that place besides the kids were the home’s director and the nurse. So it’s likely one of them,” Dad replied. “Probably the nurse, because he was tall, and so is our corpse.”

“Then what happened to the director?” I demanded. “There were no other bodies, so he can’t be dead. Which means he’s vanished. Very mysteriously.”

“The local police might have found him in the time it took us to drive here,” Dad said. “Don’t go overcomplicating this, Beth. The fire was likely accidental, remember.”

“You don’t know that for certain! The faulty wiring is only a . . . What did they call it? ‘Preliminary assessment’?”

Dad snorted. “Preliminary or not, the local cops could’ve handled all of this. At least until there was more information.” He gave a frustrated shake of his head. “I’ve only been sent here because of Oversight.”

Oversight was the name of an initiative the government had introduced after a series of bungled murder investigations. Whenever there was a possible homicide, an experienced senior detective had to look things over to make sure it was all being done right. Dad had lots to say about how the money put into Oversight should’ve been spent on more resources and better training instead.

Except Oversight wasn’t really why he was here. Dad’s boss, Rachel, thought Dad was still grieving and not ready for anything too difficult yet. I knew because I’d followed Dad around the police station and listened to what people were saying after he’d left a room. Rachel had figured she was doing him a favor by giving him an easy assignment. She was wrong. My father needed a real mystery. Something to solve. Something to do.

Excerpted from The Things She's Seen by Ambelin Kwaymullina and Ezekiel Kwaymullina. Copyright © 2019 by Ambelin and Ezekiel Kwaymullina. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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