Spotlight: A Royal Christmas Wish by Lizzie Shane

Life isn’t a fairytale…

Until it is.

Jenny knows she isn’t the princess type. Sure, she’s friendly and caring, but with her clumsiness and lack of self-confidence, glass slippers would only make her trip. When Dom, the cute guy she runs into in Central Park, turns out to be the prince of San Noelle, she figures he must not be her happy ever after.

But a mysterious countess grants Jenny’s one wish, and she finds herself married to this handsome prince! Unfortunately, at the stroke of midnight on Christmas night, her life will go back to normal.

In funny and touching ways, Jenny navigates the palace’s traditions the best she can. But even as she grows closer to Dom, the clock is ticking. With love and a little holiday magic, could she somehow make the enchantment last forever? 

This royal romance includes a free Hallmark original recipe for Chicken Shawarma.

Excerpt

I didn’t see the jogger coming around a corner—

Until I was broadsiding him, my momentum carrying both of us off our feet, sending us flying into a snowbank.

“Oh!”

“Uhngh!” I’d landed on something entirely too firm to be snow. The man beneath me grunted with the impact.

Mortification swamped me as I tried to clamber off him, earning another grunt when I pushed down— which was a good sign, right? If he was grunting, then at least I hadn’t killed him.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Please let nothing be broken. “Sir?” I lifted myself high enough to check for injuries and found myself looking into the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.

“Are you all right?” a deep voice tinged with a slight accent asked, but I’d lost my powers of speech.

Crystal-blue eyes with a dark gray circle outlining the edge of the iris and fringed by the thickest, darkest lashes imaginable stared up into mine from a distance of inches and for a moment, my breath caught in my throat as the outside world seemed to fade away...

Only to return with a thunder of footsteps as a group of joggers rushed toward us. “Are you all right, y—”

“I’m fine,” the man beneath me told the joggers in a stiff accented voice, holding up a hand to wave them off before arching a brow at me. “Do you mind?” he asked—and I realized I’d been gaping at him like an idiot while hovering over him so he couldn’t get up.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry!” I babbled, scrambling to one side. The joggers, a group of men in matching black running gear, had fallen back to the opposite side of the path, pretending to stretch and watching me as if I might start tackling more unsuspecting runners. I couldn’t really blame them. Why did I have to be such a human train wreck? “Does anything hurt?” I asked, kneeling at my victim’s side—and getting my first good look at him when I wasn’t fixated on his dreamy eyes or tackling him into the snow.

He really was unfairly good looking. Tall and fit, your basic dream guy—and posh, with fancy designer jogging gear and his thick, dark hair styled perfectly. Everything about him was basically perfect, which only made me feel like more of a walking disaster.

He glanced at me warily as he sat up, rubbing a hand across the sharp plane of his jaw. “All parts functional,” he replied and the accent tugged at me; something vaguely European that seemed to wrap the words in luxury. “And you?”

“I’m fine. I’m so sorry,” I said. Once the words started, I couldn’t seem to stop. “My dog—it wasn’t his fault. I threw the ball too hard and it bounced, and he didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to chase it, he’s always been allowed to chase it in the park before, so how would he know we weren’t supposed to be on the jogging path—”

He studied me, as if suspicious of the barrage of words. Why did I have to body slam someone so intimidatingly perfect and composed? “Your dog?” He seemed skeptical as he came to his feet, looking at me as if he was wondering exactly how many bricks short of a load I was—though he still extended his hand to help me to my feet.

I took the offered hand, which lifted me effortlessly to my feet, and I felt my face heat as I dusted the snow off my tailored gray pants. “I was chasing my dog—well, a dog.” Belatedly realizing that didn’t make me sound any more rational, as if I just ran through the park chasing random dogs and attacking joggers, I blushed and rushed on, “I promise I don’t normally tackle strangers in the park. And I promise there’s a dog.” Prince Harry reappeared then, bounding over the snow with the ball clutched in his mouth, and I pointed at him with a rush of relief. “That dog.”

The jogger’s shoulders lowered a notch at the sight of Prince Harry—canine confirmation that I wasn’t completely out of my mind—and for a moment I almost thought I saw his lips twitch. “Looks like he got it.”

Prince Harry bounced in front of us, proud of himself for vanquishing the renegade ball, and I wasn’t sure whether I should praise him for returning with it or scold him for chasing it—though I was the one who had thrown it for him to chase, and he didn’t know he was supposed to stay off the jogging path. I settled for patting him on the head and murmuring, “Good boy, baby,” as I clipped the leash back onto his collar.

Prince Harry dropped the ball at my feet, though he didn’t go into his crouch, confused by the combination of the leash and the ball, which we’d never had out at the same time before.

“I’m so sorry—” I began again, but the jogger gave me a look that froze the seventeen millionth apology in my throat and bent to search for something in the snow—which put him right on Prince Harry’s level. The dog enthusiastically snuffled his ear and I started to apologize and pull him away, but the jogger was already rubbing his head affectionately, earning puppy kisses in return.

Which of course made me melt into a puddle of goo. He liked dogs. Of course he did. He was perfect. The kind of man who hadn’t threatened to sue when I broadsided him into a snowbank and instead asked if I was okay.

“Cute mutt,” he said, bending his head toward Prince Harry’s.

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About the Author

Contemporary romance author Lizzie Shane was born in Alaska and still calls the frozen north home, though she can frequently be found indulging her travel addiction. Thankfully, her laptop travels with her and she has written her way through fifty states and over fifty countries. Lizzie has been honored to win the Golden Heart Award and HOLT Medallion, and has been named a finalist three times for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA Award®, but her main claim to fame is her recent appearance as a contestant on Jeopardy! For more about Lizzie and her books, please visit www.lizzieshane.com.

Connect:

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Twitter: https://twitter.com/LizzieShaneAK

Playlist for Slippers and Thieves by Christina Bauer

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As part of the launch of my new book, SLIPPERS AND THIEVES, I’ve been asked to share the playlist that helped inspire this novel. Can’t wait! That said, I’d like to provide a little context before I begin. SLIPPERS AND THIEVES is the fourth book in my Fairy Tales of the Magicorum series. It reimagines Cinderella in (what I hope is) a fresh, funny and kickass way.

Now on to the playlist!

While writing this book, I obsessively listened to a Youtube playlist of thirteen awesome tunes. Here are the top ones that really inspired me. 

One. The Wallflowers – One Headlight

First of all, how cute is Bob Dylan’s son, aka the lead singer of the Wallflowers? So cute. In fact, Jakob Dylan is an inspiration for another character of mine, Rhodes, who’s both a dragon shifter and a guitar player (in the Angelbound Offspring series). But I digress. This particular tune has a line that goes: “me and Cinderella, we put it all together.” Every time I’d hear this song in years past, I’d think, damn! One day I got to write me a version of Cinderella. And now, it’s here! Yay!

Two. Elastica – Connection

To me, this song is all about the in-your-face feeling when you really connect with another person. In particular, this tune inspired me while writing the scene where Alec Le Charme first sees Elle Cynder. BOOM!!!!

Three. Lady Gaga – Paparazzi

This one was another inspiration for Alec Le Charme. As a celebrity, Alec’s life involves a lot of dealing with press and fans. As this song hints, being in the public eye can attract some real kooks! As lyrics go, Paparazzi is right up there with Sting’s Every Breath You Take as a true stalker anthem. 

Four. Destiny’s Child – Survivor

This song may be on virtually every book playlist that I create. It’s just the best anthem for chicks kicking ass while still keeping their dignity and kindness. I want my characters to be strong, not douchebags. It’s easy to cross the line and this tune helps me stay on track.

So there you have it – my playlist for SLIPPERS AND THIEVES. Thanks for having me stop by. I enjoyed answering these questions and hope to return on a future tour!

Spotlight: It Was Always You by S.L. Sterling

It Was Always You
S.L. Sterling
Publication date: March 28th 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Fresh out of an abusive relationship, Tatum packs up and goes to live closer to her brother.
A new life. New beginnings.
But when Parker – her college sweetheart – comes back around she’s immediately divided between trying again or protecting her damaged heart.

Parker hasn’t been able to get Tatum off his mind since the night he walked out of her life. Eight years of one night stands, along with sleepless nights, and the pain of losing her has virtually faded. But now she’s moving back to town and all the emotions of the past come crashing in to drive him back to her.

Ex-boyfriends are real, though.
And hers becomes obsessed.
Tatum and Parker’s rekindled love will be tested to its limits.
And worlds may come crashing down.

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EXCERPT:

“Man, did you hear anything I said?” Elliott waved, snapping me out of my memory.

“What?” I must have looked like an idiot. Here I was, sitting across from her brother, remembering the last night I was with his sister. Thank God he couldn’t see below the table; my painful erection was straining against my jeans.

“She arrives tomorrow,” he repeated.

I shifted in my seat, doing my best to readjust myself. I nodded to the bartender for another round as I took a long swig, emptying my beer. It was going to be a long night.

“Aren’t you working for me tomorrow?” I asked.

“Yes.” He hesitated. “Parker, I have a huge favor to ask.”

He was crazy if he thought I would pick her up. There was no way I could do that. I wasn’t ready to see her.

“I hate to ask, but would you be able to pick her up for me and bring her to this address? I’ll be done with work at four but won’t be able to get there for two.”

He scratched out an address on a napkin and passed it over to me.

“I don’t want her to have to take a cab from the airport.”

I frowned as I looked down at the address he had written. It was about a block from my place. What the hell! It had taken me the last eight years to even think about dating seriously again. The past few years had been nothing but one-night stands, and I was growing tired of it now. I wanted more—I needed more—and now the girl I had never gotten over would be living less than a five-minute drive from my place. I took in a deep breath. I must have lost my mind.

“What time?”

“Her flight lands at two. Gate B4,” Elliott informed.

I placed the napkin in my pocket and ordered us some food. “I’ll be back. Gonna hit the bathroom.”

Standing outside the washroom, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. Opening my contacts, I pulled Tatum’s information up on my screen. I wanted to text her. Hell, I had wanted to text her every time I got drunk. Every time I was lonely and horny, and pretty much every day for the last eight fucking years. My finger hovered over the text icon for what seemed like hours, but I decided against it. I slid my phone back into my pocket and went back out to drown my sorrows in more beer.

Author Bio:

S.L. Sterling was born and raised in southern Ontario. She now lives in Northern Ontario Canada and is married to her best friend and soul mate and their two dogs.

An avid reader all her life, S.L. Sterling dreamt of becoming an author. She decided to give writing a try after one of her favorite authors launched a course on how to write your novel. This course gave her the push she needed to put pen to paper and her debut novel "It Was Always You" was born.

When S.L. Sterling isn't writing or plotting her next novel she can be found curled up with a cup of coffee, blanket and the newest romance novel from one of her favorite authors on her e-reader. Her favorite authors include Kendall Ryan, Vi Keeland, Penelope Ward, Lauren Blakely, Alessandra Torre and Willow Winters.

In her spare time, she enjoys camping, hiking, sunny destinations, spending quality time with family and friends and of course reading.

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Spotlight: Everything’s Better with Lisa by Lucy Eden

Lisa Betancourt has been my neighbor for months, but I didn’t know she existed until the night she threatened me with a baseball bat. To be fair, I kinda had it coming. That was also the night my entire life changed—my biological mother passed away suddenly and mysteriously, leaving behind a surprise baby. The moment I laid eyes on CJ’s chubby face, I knew I would do anything for him. What I didn’t know was how to take care of him. Fortunately, Lisa turned out to be my salvation in more ways than one. She stepped in and changed everything. The more time I spend with her, the more I hope the change can be permanent. Unfortunately, the pressure at work and unraveling the mystery of my mother’s past makes me wonder how that could be possible…

Cole Simmons lives in the brownstone next to mine and was an insensitive jerk, or at least I thought he was until he got custody of his baby brother, who’s just as adorable as he is. As the oldest child in a big family, I couldn’t resist stepping in to help when I realized my handsome neighbor was in over his head when it came to babies, though I’ve learned the hard way that handsome men can’t always be trusted. I moved to New York to start a new life, adjust to my new normal and heal from a bad divorce. Unfortunately, my heart didn’t get the memo, and the more time I spent with Cole and the impossibly sweet CJ, the more I start to wonder if my neighbor isn’t the only one in over his head…

This full-length novel can be read as a standalone but is the third book in the Everything’s Better series. You’ll see friends from Everything’s Better with You, Everything’s Better with Kimberly & Cherishing the Goddess. Cole & Lisa’s love story is chock full of Enemies to Lovers, Single Parent, Secret Baby (or two), Nanny (no power imbalance) & Fake Engagement goodness and is safe with NO cheating.

Excerpt

“Lisa,” he whispered.

“Yes, Cole?” I blinked up at him and took a step closer, his hand still resting on mine.

“I wanna kiss you. Can I kiss you?” he asked.

I giggled causing him to pull away.

I’d never been asked for a kiss before. It was adorable, silly but also somehow incredibly sexy.

“What?” he asked. I could see the look of apprehension on his face.

“Are you as good at seducing as you are at apologizing?” I reached up and stroked his cheek. I was suddenly wide awake. I swore I meant to say kissing but the word seducing came out instead. I would have been happy with a kiss but seduction sounded so much better. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I’d been seduced.

“I’m very good at seducing.” He scooped me under my thighs and lifted me onto the kitchen island like I was a doll, making his lips more accessible. “I’m a little out of practice.” He swept my hair over my shoulder, exposing my neck, and gently pressing his lips to the soft skin below my ear. I moaned, though I wasn’t sure I meant to and Cole’s body, at least one part of his body, responded.

“Good,” I sighed. “I’m a little out practice, too.” I wrapped my legs around his waist and pressed my body into his. He was rock hard and I found myself was grinding my hips into his erection. The fact that we were both wearing thin pajamas made me feel every contour of his dick and I was flashing back to my thoughts upon seeing him earlier today pushing the stroller. Why were men with babies so fucking sexy?

He kissed his way down my neck and gently lowered me onto the countertop until I was fully reclining with my hair hanging over the other side. He lifted the hem of my shirt and pressed his lips into my soft belly and swirled his tongue into and her around my navel.

His head traveled below my belly button and I gasped.

“Cole, what are you doing?” I asked as his lips traveled to places no one’s lips had been before.

“I told you I wanted to kiss you.” He shot me a mischievous smile and slowly stroked the skin under the elastic of my pajama pants, soothing the indentation marks of the waistband. “I didn’t say where I wanted to kiss you.”

“Oh,” I whispered. “I thought you meant…” I trailed off and tucked my bottom lip between my teeth. He smiled, leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. Then he planted a kiss on my nose, then my cheek before tenderly sucking my earlobe between his teeth and nibbling. I moaned again.

“Well, now that you know what I meant, do you want me to stop?” he whispered in my ear. My body was pulsating heat in a current that traveled up and down my arms before settled in place where Cole was eager to visit.

“No,” I half sighed, half moaned while shaking my head, causing his lips to brush the shell of my ear. “Don’t stop.”

“Good.” He let out a soft chuckle and began to make his way down my body, again hooking his fingers into the waistband of my pajamas and my panties, slowly pulling them over my thighs, ghosting a kiss or a lick on every inch of newly revealed flesh. “Because I’m just getting started.”

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About the Author

Lucy Eden is the nom de plume of an romance obsessed author who writes the kind of romance she loves to read. She’s a sucker for alphas with a soft gooey center, over the top romantic gestures, strong & smart MCs, humor, love at first sight (or pretty damn close), happily ever afters & of course, dirty & steamy love scenes.

When Lucy isn’t writing, she’s busy reading—or listening to—every book she can get her hands on— romance or otherwise.

She lives & loves in New York with her husband, two children, a turtle & a Yorkshire Terrier.

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Spotlight: All Fired Up by Lori Foster

Summary:

He’s tantalizing trouble she can’t resist…

Charlotte Parrish has always wanted a certain kind of man: someone responsible, settled, boring. Bad boys need not apply. But when her car leaves her stranded and a mysterious stranger with brooding eyes and a protective streak comes to her rescue, she can’t deny how drawn she is to him. In town searching for family he’s never met, Mitch is everything she never thought she wanted—and suddenly everything she craves.

Finding his half brothers after all these years is more than Mitch Crews has allowed himself to wish for. Finding love never even crossed his mind…until he meets Charlotte. She’s sweet, warmhearted, sexier than she knows—and too damn good for an ex-con like him. But when his past comes back to haunt him, putting Charlotte—and the family he’s come to care for—in danger, Mitch isn’t playing by the rules. He’s already surrendered his heart, but now he’ll risk his life.

Excerpt

From CHAPTER ONE

The warm, muggy night closed around him, leaving his shirt damp in places. Sweat prickled the back of his neck. Inside Freddie’s he’d find air-conditioning, but he’d never again take fresh air for granted. He valued every single breath of humid air that filled his lungs.

The moon climbed the black sky as time slipped by. How much time, he didn’t know: he’d stopped keeping track the second he saw her.

Headlights from the occasional passing car came near him but didn’t intrude on the shadows where he stood.

Transfixed by her.

Damn, he wanted that mouth.

In the short time he’d locked eyes on her, a dozen fantasies had formed—most of them based on her naked lips, the way she occasionally pursed them, how she twisted her lips to the side in frustration, even how she blew out a breath. The whole package was nice…but it was her mouth that kept him unmoving, staring. Imagining.

Slight of build, she served as a bright spot in the dark gloom. Understated and yet something struck him as undeniably sexy.

Once he’d noticed her, he couldn’t look away.

After speaking softly into a phone, she bit her plump bottom lip, and her expression showed frustrated defeat.

The lady had made several consecutive calls. Was she in need of assistance? Given the way she’d circled a car, occasionally glaring at it, he thought she did. Judging by her frown, there wouldn’t be any help on the way.

Since getting out of prison a year ago, Mitch had spent an excess of time with women. Hell, next to fresh air, freedom and steak, sex topped his list. He’d immersed himself in human contact, the gentleness, the carnality.

He’d taken satisfaction in pleasing someone else while abating a base need. Hell, watching a woman come gave him as much pleasure as his own release.

So he’d gotten his fill and then some—all while making plans to change the course of his life. To make it better. To carve out a meaningful future.

Here he was, where he needed to be, determined, resolute… and sidetracked by a gorgeous woman.

That in itself left him edgy with curiosity. No other woman had snagged his attention this way. He knew zip about her, and yet seeing her had heat building beneath his skin.

He tried to look away, but his attention kept zeroing back.

Freaking bizarre.

It was like seeing something you hadn’t known you wanted, but immediately recognizing it as necessary.

Even dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and flip-flops, he knew the lady had nothing in common with him. Innocence all but screamed from her slender body and reserved manner. To someone with his jaded background, that put her in the “do not touch” category.

His fingers curled and his palms burned. Yeah, he wanted to touch her despite that.

And he didn’t look away.

From the shadowed corner just outside the bar, he watched her thumb dial another number into her phone. While holding the phone to her ear, she paced. The overhead glow of the security light touched her in select places, alternately highlighting and then shadowing her understated curves.

High cheekbones framed a slender, straight nose. She tucked a few drifting curls behind a small ear. Though rounded, he saw the mulish determination in her stubborn little chin.

And that mouth…thoughts of it under his mouth—and on his body—tightened his jaw until his molars ached.

For the first time in years, he wondered if he could put off his agenda for a bit, say something to her, see if there was something between them despite the seemingly obvious roadblocks.

Opposites attract, and all that.

He’d made this trip a center point for a new future.

In this Podunk town he’d subtly uncovered what he could about Brodie and Jack Crews. That was the priority after all. Moving forward, leaving the past behind. It started with the Crews brothers. Hitting the bar tonight might have gained him more insight into them.

But would a slight detour—the type with long curly brown hair and a sweet little body—matter so much?

If he listened to his dick, the answer was no. His balls were giving a resounding “go for it” as well.

His head though… Hell, his head claimed he could afford a delay. In the grand scheme of things, it wouldn’t matter.

Since arriving in town, he’d discovered that the men were well liked, each of them married, and they had an odd but interesting business called Mustang Transport. Locals claimed they dealt with mundane shit as well as serial killers and psychopaths. Somewhere in the middle, the truth lurked.

He’d also heard about their mother. He’d been hearing about her for as long as he could remember. For very different reasons she interested him almost as much as Brodie and Jack.

He had no connection to Rosalyn Crews, but meeting the men felt important in a way nothing else ever had. He couldn’t explain it, even to himself. He’d gone through life making damn sure he needed no one, and that he wanted only for things he could get for himself.

Now, much as it chapped his ass, he wanted something else— and it depended on Brodie and Jack Crews.

It didn’t have to happen right away, though. He wouldn’t mind burning off some energy before making that initial contact—especially if he could convince this woman to give him a few hours of her time.

He noted every small movement as she spoke into her phone. He couldn’t catch every word, but the low murmur of her voice stroked over him. He was pretty sure she left a message.

Suddenly she held the phone back and stared at it. Hot annoyance tightened her mouth and brought down her brows.

“Perfect. Just freaking perfect.”

He heard that loud and clear.

Jamming the phone into a back pocket—a tight fit over that sweetly rounded backside—she dropped her head with a throaty groan that traveled along his spine like a sensual stroke. Her eyes closed, her mouth flattened, and the damp night drew her long, light brown hair into coiling curls.

He’d love to tangle his fingers in her unruly hair.

As if spurred by her innate energy, the curls moved, bouncing a little, drifting with the breeze. Judging people had kept him alive. With this woman, he sensed she didn’t indulge in downtime very often. Even standing still, she seemed to…spark with energy.

Curiosity cut into him, mingling with the carnal interest.

Had she been stood up? Walked out on a date?

Just then she growled, “Dead. Stupid phone.” The thump of her hand to a metal lamppost sent a dull clang ringing over the area. “Now what?”

Ah, well that answered his question.

White teeth nibbled her bottom lip in consideration. Considering, she glanced at the bar, shook her head once, and returned to pacing.

Clouds covered the moon, amplifying the darkness. She was far too petite to be stranded alone.

Doesn’t mean she wants a quick fuck, he argued with himself.

The young woman stewing in front of him might be more likely to sell brownies at a local bake sale, but engage in a hot one-night stand? Probably not.

Sure, she was standing outside a rowdy bar all alone on a late night—but then, so was he.

So what should he do? Be smart and turn away, or see if she needed help? He remained undecided when two men exited the bar with a lot of noisy fanfare.

Drunken asses.

The woman glanced up, then quickly away with a roll of her eyes—but not quickly enough to avoid notice.

“Charlotte, hey! Whatssup?” With a leer, a mop-headed man added, “You waitin’ for me, sugar?”

Mitch caught the way his unshaven bud snickered, proving the irony in the question.

“Definitely not,” she replied, her tone crisp and clear.

Mitch liked the sound of her voice. Not all girly or too sweet, but firm and no-nonsense.

He did not like how the two dunces eyeballed her anyway, stumbling in her direction despite her preferences.

“Ah, c’mon now, don’t be like that,” the talkative one said.

His idiot friend guffawed, stumbled and heckled some more.

Charlotte—nice name—propped her hands on slim hips and issued a dire warning. “You’d be smart to keep walking, Bernie.”

“How come you’re here alone?” He tried a teasing voice that Mitch suspected did the opposite of entice. “You know where to find me this time of night.”

“Drunk, as usual. Yes, I know.” Annoyance squared her narrow shoulders. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I finished a late delivery and was heading home, then had car trouble.”

She added with menace, “Help is on the way.”

“I’ll keep ya company until then.”

“No, you will not.”

“But I’m already here.” Intent brought Bernie closer.

She didn’t exactly look afraid, but more like fed up. Before Mitch gave it enough thought, his feet carried him out of the shadows and immediately drew her attention.

Soft blue. Now that he saw her eyes more clearly, he found them every bit as compelling as her mouth.

Alert, maybe a little wary, she zeroed in on him. Her lips parted and she blinked twice.

You’re sealing your fate, sugar. He tried a smile of part interest, part reassurance.

Her gaze went beyond him, searching the darkness, and then snapped back again. “Where did you come from?”

With his attention only on her, Mitch held up his hands and avoided a direct answer. “Just seeing if you need any help.”

Emboldened by liquid courage, the two men blustered at him. “G’lost, asshole. She don’t need nothin’ from you.”

As if Bernie and his bad grammar didn’t hover there beside her, Charlotte asked, “You’re new around here?”

Mitch gave her a long look. What, did she know everyone in Red Oak, Ohio? Probably. He could jog the main street, one end to the other, without breaking a sweat. “I’ve been here a few days.” Whether he was passing through, or sticking around, wasn’t her business. Besides, for now, he wasn’t sure.

Brazen stupidity urged Bernie to step up in front of him. “You ain’t listening. I told you to—”

Disgust curved Mitch’s mouth into a mean smile meant to intimidate. “You’re right. I’m not listening to you.” Insulting disregard took his gaze over the smaller man before he dismissed him. “I’m talking only to her.”

By size difference alone, it was beyond ludicrous for Bernie to issue a challenge.

And yet, he did. “Are you fuckin’ stupid?”

Charlotte’s voice, now edged with anger, interrupted anything Mitch might have replied or done. “You’ve been warned, Bernie. If you don’t knock it off right now, you are not going to like the consequences.”

Still, the fool didn’t listen. “I said,” Bernie blasted, his breath putrid, “for you to get lost.” A scrawny fist, aiming for Mitch’s face, swatted through the air.

Bad move, asshole.

Instincts could be a son of a bitch. Mitch leaned away from the weak hit…and at the same time automatically jabbed with his right.

His fist landed right on Bernie’s chin.

Eyes rolling back, the smaller man started to drop.

Infuriated that he’d lost his grip in front of Charlotte, Mitch caught the front of Bernie’s shirt and held him on his tiptoes. “You,” he whispered between barely moving lips, “need to learn when to quit.” Familiar anger surfaced despite his efforts to tamp it down…

And a small, cool hand touched him.

Struck clean down to his toes, Mitch peered first at those pale, tapered fingers with short, neat nails resting lightly against the roped muscles of his sun-darkened forearm.

Fucking sexy, that’s what it was, highlighting all their differences, especially those of strength and capability.

Her face drew him next, the delicate lines, smooth skin…that mouth and those eyes.

That wild hair.

“I think,” she said softly, a smile teasing her mouth, “if you let Bernie go now, he’ll make a hasty retreat.” Slanting those mesmerizing eyes toward old Bernie, she added with silky menace, “At least, he better.”

Keen awareness nudged out anger.

Everything about her appealed to him.

She stood to his left, and the heady scent of her skin and hair—like baby powder and flowers—teased his nose.

He drew a deeper, fuller breath, filling his lungs with her and knew he could happily drown on that scent.

Slowly, wanting to keep her close, Mitch unclenched his fingers and allowed Bernie to stumble back to where his buddy helped to prop him up.

Unconcerned with that, Charlotte’s fingers shifted in the lightest of explorations before she snatched her hand away.

Interesting—especially that splash of color on her cheeks.

She looked up at him, gave a wan smile, and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For popping him?”

Curls bounced as she gave a quick shake of her head. “For not doing him more damage.” She wrinkled her nose, leaning closer to confide, “You could have, I know.”

Huh. No recriminations?

She actually thanked him?

Not what he was used to, but he’d take it. 

Excerpted from All Fired Up by Lori Foster. Copyright © 2019 by Lori Foster Published by HQN Books.

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About the Author

Lori Foster is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author with books from a variety of publishers, including Berkley/Jove, Kensington, St. Martin's, Harlequin and Silhouette. Lori has been a recipient of the prestigious RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award for Series Romantic Fantasy, and for Contemporary Romance. For more about Lori, visit her Web site at www.lorifoster.com.

Spotlight: The Last Affair by Margot Hunt

Gwen Landon—poster woman for perfect wife, mother, and suburban bliss—is found brutally bludgeoned to death behind her Floridian McMansion. Beautiful and beloved by her community, Gwen makes an unlikely victim. But just a scratch below the surface of her perfectly curated world reveals one far more sinister. When looking back over the six months leading up to her death, the question of, “who would do this?” quickly shifts to, “who wouldn’t?”

Commercially successful food blogger and mother of three, Nora Holliday never imagined she would have the nerve, let alone time, to get involved an affair. Trapped in an unhappy marriage, she does whatever it takes to keep it all together. But when Nora runs into Gwen Landon's husband at a hotel in Orlando, his easy kindness and warmth proves too tempting to resist. As their affair spirals dangerously out of control, it seems things can’t get more complicated—until Gwen turns up dead.

Excerpt

Prologue

Other than the woman’s blood-covered body splayed facedown in the grass, it could have been any typical upscale Floridian backyard.

There was the ubiquitous pool with a water fountain feature, a patio furnished with both a dining set and outdoor sectional couch, and an enormous gas grill capable of cooking hamburgers by the dozen. A large pergola with a tropical vine trained over it covered part of the patio. The dining area was shaded by a black-and-white-striped awning. It was the very picture of suburban domestic bliss. It could have been the set for a commercial advertising anything from laundry detergent to allergy medicine.

Again, except for the dead body.

The area had already been taped off. The first officers on the scene appeared with an ambulance in response to a frantic 911 call placed by the woman’s daughter. The paramedics had assessed the situation, and quickly determined that the woman was dead. The fact that the back of her head had been bashed in with what looked like a paving stone, conveniently dropped next to her prone body, made it immediately clear that it had not been a natural death. The responding officers called the sheriff, who responded by sending in a full investigative team. The medical examiner was now doing a preliminary examination of the body, while police officers combed the area for additional evidence. Two detectives, Mike Monroe and Gavin Reddick—separated by twenty years and sixty pounds—were overseeing the operation, standing at the edge of the patio under the shade of the pergola. It was the third week in April, but this was South Florida and the temperature had already climbed into the low nineties.

“The paving stone came from the stack out in the front yard. They were delivered last week by the company who’s installing the driveway,” Detective Reddick said. He was the younger of the two men and had a wiry frame and angular face.

“Weapon of convenience. Suggests it wasn’t premeditated,” Detective Monroe said. He had a ruddy complexion and a full head of thick dark hair, swept back off his face. A strand never moved out of place, even in a strong wind.

“Plus he dropped the weapon, rather than taking it with him. Probably panicked.”

“Could be a she,” Monroe said mildly.

Reddick shrugged. “Blunt force trauma to the back of the head? You know the stats. Overwhelming likelihood that it’s a man, and probably someone the victim was intimately involved with. Husband, maybe a boyfriend.”

“The husband was with the daughter when she called it in.”

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it, and then had her place the call.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

The family had been sequestered indoors, both to keep them out of the way, and so that the officers waiting in the house with them could observe anything they did or said. Other than the husband, there was a daughter in her early twenties and a teenage son. The daughter was reportedly distraught, while the husband and son had both been eerily quiet. It was possible they were in shock.

“Do we have an ID on the victim?” Reddick asked.

“It’s her house,” Monroe grunted.

“Yeah, but I like doing things the official way, you know? I’s dotted, t’s crossed, all of that. Building a case, basic detective work.”

Despite the chilling scene in front of them—the woman’s body still sprawled on the grass, the back of her head a pulpy, bloody mess—the corner of Monroe’s mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Sure, kid, tell me all about basic detective work. I’ve only been doing this for, what…thirty-two years now? The husband ID’d her. Victim is Gwen Landon, age forty-nine. Married, mother of two. Husband said she hasn’t had any recent conflict with anyone.”

“Other than the person who caved in the back of her head with a paving stone,” Reddick pointed out.

“Wouldn’t be the first time a husband didn’t know his wife as well as he thought he did.”

“Possible. But there’s another possibility, too.”

“What’s that?”

Reddick turned to look at his partner. His eyes were small and dark, and he had a habit of squinting when he concentrated intently on something.

“The husband is a liar,” Reddick said.

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About the Author

Margot Hunt is a critically acclaimed author of psychological suspense. Her work has been praised by Publisher's Weekly, Booklist and Kirkus Reviews.

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