Spotlight: Must Love Forever by Leigh Lennon

Bianca checked all the things for a wonderful life off her list, but always longed for something different. Mick knows that not everything is meant to be. When tragedy strikes the two finally have a shot at a second chance at love. Readers will love this friends-to-lovers romance from Leigh Lennon. The 425 Madison series is back with season two and MUST LOVE FOREVER is now live! 

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Bianca

Handsome husband—check. 

Beautiful house—check. 

Wonderful life...I could never put a check next to this. 

Through it all, I longed for a different life. With a man I had called my best friend. A man who is not my husband. 

When the unspeakable happens and I’m left alone, its Mick who is there to pick me up. 

Mick

Not everything is meant to be. 

Watching the woman who owned my heart start a life with someone else - broke me to the core.

But time goes on and I try too. 

Until one phone call changes both our lives. 

She could have been taken from me forever. Instead, a tragic accident takes away the only man I thought ever made her happy. 

When she starts over again, in my city, in my home; sharing slivers of her story with me it's then that I learn not everything is as it appears. 

None of this matters though, when I’ve been given a second chance to prove we’re meant to be.

After all, 425 Madison is the perfect place to fall in love.

Excerpt 

Copyright @ Liegh Lennon 2020

I’m asleep, or at least I’m faking sleep very well when the door creaks open. Her footsteps move closer and closer, coming around the foot of the bed, pulling the covers back. The second she does, I roll over, bringing her in close to me. But tonight, I don’t care about the beast of my erection poking into her backside. Does she not know what she does to me?

We never speak in bed. We never speak of her sleeping with me. And I’m not sure if I should break our protocol to tell her how much I want her. It goes deeper—she’s shattered, and I don’t know how to fix her, but I desperately want to. 

I come as close to the olive complexion of her back as I can get, and she doesn’t wiggle out of the touch of my erection. The little tease backs her ass closer into it, and it makes me inhale long and deep, exhaling on the back of her neck. She relaxes farther into me, and I can’t resist her, not for a second longer.

I pepper kisses onto her neck, as her hand snakes back over her hip to my cock. The second her fingers make contact with it, though it’s covered by my boxers, my kisses speed up, my own fingers dipping into her low cut tank top. The same whimper she emitted earlier has returned and I push her to her back, bracing myself over her. I should say something, ask her what she wants. When our eyes connect, and we can see each other by the moonlight streaming in, she takes her finger, covering my lips, telling me there will be no talking. With a nod of her head, it’s her way of telling me this is what she wants, and I lower my face to hers, taking control of her mouth.

Her tongue scrapes at my teeth, and she playfully bites the lower part of my lip. Oh, shit, this is sexy as hell. My hands are pushing me up, as to not squish her tiny body. In one fluid motion, I roll over, bringing her with me, her body resting on mine. She’s so light, she won’t hurt me. My arms are wrapped around her, but I can’t resist exploring her whole body. My hands come to rest on her ass when I sneak my fingers between her skin and skimpy shorts. 

Squeezing her pert ass, causes my erection to continue to barrel into her body. Scooting to her side, still on me, she pulls my cock through my boxers. I emit another harsh departure of air, only to suck it in again when her hand wraps around my cock, stroking it from the base to the tip.

I intend on telling her what she’s doing is right—what this is with us is perfect, but I can’t. It’s not what we do, not in the confines of my bed. 

When she moves her body from mine, I miss her warmth but I don’t have to wait long when the tip of her tongue starts to suck up the precum of my cock. Her tongue connects with me, and my body relaxes into what this is, because it’s Bia and the two of us together are unstoppable.

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About Leigh 

Leigh Lennon is a mother, veteran and a wife of a cancer survivor. Originally with a degree in education, she started writing as an outlet that has led to a deep passion. She lugs her computer with her as she crafts her next story. One could say she loves pretty nails, big earrings, and spiky hair. She can be found drinking coffee or wine, depending on the time of the day.

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Spotlight: Finding Our Morning by Mickie B. Ashling

Finding Our Morning
Mickie B. Ashling
Publication date: January 28th 2020
Genres: Adult, Historical, Mystery

May 1977

Ginny Tate bides her time on the family stud farm in San Antonio, Texas, waiting to start veterinarian school in the fall. Bullied as an adolescent, she’s finally shed her old skin, but the emerging beauty still harbors insecurities and would rather hang out with horses than people.

Sponsored by his uncle, the Shah of Iran, Dariush—David—Akbari, a twenty-five-year-old NYU grad with a degree in International Law, is also a skilled polo player. He joins the royal traveling team for a tournament in Plano, Texas.

A decade in America has gradually altered David’s views on certain aspects of his culture. Torn between familial obligations and his adopted country, David resists the idea of returning to Iran so soon after graduation.

At the traditional after-party, David strikes up a conversation with Ginny, who is refreshingly honest. He receives an invitation to visit Tate Stud Farm and, on the pretext of buying another polo pony, persuades the shah to make a detour.

Great horsemanship coupled with self-effacing charm sets David apart from the entitled braggarts who normally populate the sport, and Ginny falls hard. His visit turns into a life-changing week that neither can foresee. Will they walk away unscathed or live to regret their impulsive behavior?

Inspired by events preceding the fall of the Pahlavi dynasty, Finding Our Morning is a love story that catapults us from Texas Hill Country to the epicenter of a monarchy on the brink of collapse.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

So much time had elapsed since Ginny issued the invitation, she didn’t know what to expect when David called two weeks later to arrange a meeting. Was he passing through town or was this an intentional stop? Either way, the days leading up to his arrival were pure torture.

On the morning in question, Ginny took longer than necessary to get ready. She left her hair loose instead of tying it back in her usual ponytail. Her luxurious locks were the only thing she could count on to draw eyes away from her face. The dark blond strands fell in a silky curtain to her midback and had been compared to a palomino’s coat on many occasions. As for the rest of her, it was business as usual. Faded jeans, a checked cotton shirt, and her favorite red cowboy boots. Her complexion was clear this morning, thank God, and she took her time applying eye makeup. It was out of the ordinary to get dolled up during the day, and her parents noticed as soon as she sat down to breakfast.

“Going to a party?” Margery asked.

“No, but you know the Shah of Iran is about to grace our doorstep, and I thought I’d look nice for a change.”

“You always look good,” Ray commented. “Anyone who thinks otherwise is a blind fool.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“What about your chores?” Margery inquired. “Won’t your hair get in the way?”

“I’ll get ’em done,” Ginny promised.

“See that you do,” Margery replied. “I know you want to make a good impression, sweetie, but those foreigners aren’t coming to socialize. We have to present our best, and a clean, well-organized farm is just as important as our livestock. You wouldn’t eat in a dirty kitchen.”

“For Christ’s sake, Marge. Leave the girl alone.”

“Seriously, Mom. You’re overreacting as usual.”

“Then explain why you look more like a debutante than a rancher’s daughter this morning?”

“He offered dinner and dancing the last time we were together. I don’t want him to change his mind.”

Aghast, Margery exclaimed, “The shah?”

“God no,” Ginny said. “David.”

“Which one is he again?”

“Their number-three player.”

“He was good,” Margery recalled.

“Right?”

“What are you going to wear tonight?”

“I’m not sure it’s happening, but I bought a new dress in case.”

“What color is it?”

“Black.”

“You’re too young to wear black,” Margery opined with a tsk.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest, Mom. I’m eighteen.”

“Black is more appropriate for someone older and more experienced.”

Ginny refused to take the bait. Her mother was being overprotective, given her dating history, and was understandably worried. Nonetheless, it was too early in the morning to argue. She scooped up the last of her egg yolk on a piece of toast, swallowed it down with orange juice, and stood up to go. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

Standing on the steps outside the kitchen door, she paused and scanned the horizon. The sun was already a bright ball of pulsing heat in the cloudless blue sky, and she could tell it was going to be another scorcher. Ginny hoped the Iranians had the good sense to come early to avoid the worst of it.

As she headed toward the stable where they kept the horses for sale, she scrutinized their property and tried to see it through the eyes of a stranger. Theirs was a small operation compared to other stud farms, but they had a stellar reputation. Margery Tate was the driving force behind their prosperity. The woman was a stickler for order and quick to remind new employees that pride in ownership was as important as a good pedigree.

Margery acquired her code of ethics from her parents who’d started the stud farm with one stallion and a few mares. As their only child, she’d inherited the bulk of the estate, with small portions divided among the loyal ranch hands who had been around until her father finally passed, a year and a day after her mother died of cancer. Her gender had never been a good enough excuse to avoid the hard work necessary to ensure the success of the farm, and Margery expected her only daughter to work as tirelessly as the rest of them.

She did have a point, Ginny conceded begrudgingly, but her advice was often framed in criticism, which usually rubbed people the wrong way. Horse breeding could be a messy business when things got out of hand, and organization was key.

She made the rounds swiftly this morning, inspecting each area with a critical eye, paying particular attention to the horses for sale. This would be their first stop and she wanted the area to be in tip-top shape. She could only imagine what the royal stables must look like with dozens of helpers at the shah’s beck and call. Well, they might not have his manpower, but over the years, the stud farm had gained a well-earned reputation for their excellent stock and integrity.

By the time the shah and his entourage arrived two hours later, her nerves were frayed. The group of six, dressed in casual attire, climbed out of a gleaming limousine. Ginny wasn’t sure what to expect, given their status, but these men looked like any prospective buyer, albeit better dressed. Her parents greeted the Iranians deferentially and offered to be their guides as they toured the premises. While they concentrated on the shah, Ginny walked up to David with an outstretched hand.

“I’m glad you could make it.”

“Was there any doubt?” he asked, stepping forward and clasping her hand in his. He was so close she could smell his sweet breath, overlaid with a hint of coffee. His eyes weren’t black as she’d first thought. They were deep brown with a touch of caramel and were gazing at her appraisingly. Now that he was actually here, Ginny’s confidence faltered as she met his intense scrutiny. Had he come to buy a horse or check her out? Her heart rate sped up as nerves and anticipation made her breath falter. It was at once unexpected and exhilarating. Ginny withdrew her hand and stepped back, laughing off the moment awkwardly.

Author Bio:

Mickie B. Ashling is the pseudonym of a multi-published author who resides in a suburb outside Chicago. She is a product of her upbringing in various cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West.

Since 2009, Mickie has written several dozen novels in the LGBTQ+ genre—which have been translated into French, Italian, Spanish, and German. Lately, her muse has been nudging her in a different direction, and she’s learned through past experience to pay attention to creative sparks that show up unexpectedly. Her pen name is a part of her now, and will travel along on this exciting new journey, wherever it might lead. She promises to be very specific in her book blurbs and cover art to avoid any confusion.

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Spotlight: The Third to Die by Allison Brennan

New York Times bestselling author and gifted storyteller Allison Brennan's new standalone thriller features a troubled female police detective and an ambitious FBI special agent who wind up at the center of a ticking-clock investigation into a diabolical serial killer.

Brennan's novel will launch a book-a-year series featuring a fabulous cast of recurring characters. It’s the story of a troubled female police detective and an ambitious FBI special agent who wind up at the center of a ticking-clock investigation into a diabolical serial killer; and the bond they forge in this crucible sets the stage for the future books in the series.

Detective Kara Quinn is visiting her hometown of Liberty Lake, Washington, after being placed on administrative leave by the LAPD, when she comes upon the mutilated body of a young nurse during an early morning jog. The manner of death is clearly ritualistic; she calls it in. Meanwhile back in DC, special agent in charge Mattias Costa is meticulously staffing his newly-minted Mobile Response Team. One of his first recruits is the brilliant FBI forensic psychologist Catherine Jones. When word reaches Matt that the Washington state murder appears to be the work of the Triple Killer--it will be the first case for the MRT. Jones has done the only profile on this serial killer, but she is reluctant to join the unit, still shaken by the death of her sister a year ago under circumstances for which she holds herself responsible. But only she holds the key to understanding the killer's obsessive pattern--three murder victims, three deep slashes a piece, each three days apart, each series beginning on a March 3rd--3/3, then a three-year hiatus before he strikes again.

This time they have a chance to stop him before he claims another victim strikes, but only if they can figure out who he is and where is is hiding.

Excerpt

Wednesday, March 3 

Liberty Lake, Washington 

12:09 a.m.

Warm blood covered him.

His arms, up to his elbows, were slick with it. His clothing splattered with it. The knife—the blade that had taken his retribution—hung in his gloved hand by his side.

It was good. Very good.

He was almost done.

The killer stared at the blackness in front of him, his mind as silent and dark as the night. The water lapped gently at the banks of the lake. A faint swish swish swish as it rolled up and back, up and back, in the lightest of breezes.

He breathed in cold air; he exhaled steam.

Calm. Focused.

As the sounds and chill penetrated his subconscious, he moved into action. Staying here with the body would be foolish, even in the middle of the night.

He placed the knife carefully on a waist-high boulder, then removed his clothes. Jacket. Sweater. Undershirt. He stuffed them into a plastic bag. Took off his shoes. Socks. Pants. Boxers. Added them to the bag. He stood naked except for his gloves.

He tied the top of the plastic, then picked up the knife again and stabbed the bag multiple times. With strength that belied his lean frame, he threw the knife into the water. He couldn’t see where it fell; he barely heard the plunk.

Then he placed the bag in the lake and pushed it under, holding it beneath the surface to let the frigid water seep in. When the bag was saturated, he pulled it out and spun himself around as if he were throwing a shot put. He let go and the bag flew, hitting the water with a loud splash.

Even if the police found it—which he doubted they would— the water would destroy any evidence. He’d bought the clothes and shoes, even his underwear, at a discount store in another city, at another time. He’d never worn them before tonight.

Though he didn’t want DNA evidence in the system, it didn’t scare him if the police found something. He didn’t have a record. He’d killed before, many times, and not one person had spoken to him. He was smart—smarter than the cops, and certainly smarter than the victims he’d carefully selected.

Still, he must be cautious. Meticulous. Being smart meant that he couldn’t assume anything. What did his old man use to say?

Assume makes an ass out of you and me…

The killer scowled. He wasn’t doing any of this for his old man, though his father would get the retribution he deserved. He was doing this for himself. His own retribution. He was this close to finishing the elaborate plan he’d conceived years ago.

He could scarcely wait until six days from now, March 9, when his revenge would be complete.

He was saving the guiltiest of them for last.

Still, he hoped his old man would be pleased. Hadn’t he done what his father was too weak to do? Righted the many wrongs that had been done to them. How many times had the old man said these people should suffer? How many times had his father told him these people were fools?

Still, he hoped his old man would be pleased. Hadn’t he done what his father was too weak to do? Righted the many wrongs that had been done to them. How many times had the old man said these people should suffer? How many times had his father told him these people were fools?

Yet his father just let it happen and did nothing about it! Nothing! Because he was weak. He was weak and pathetic and cruel.

Breathe. Focus. All in good time.

All in good time.

The killer took another, smaller plastic bag from his backpack. He removed his wet gloves, put them inside, added a good-sized rock, tied the bag, then threw it into the lake.

Still naked, he shivered in the cold, still air. He wasn’t done.

Do it quick.

He walked into the lake, the water colder than ice. Still, he took several steps forward, his feet sinking into the rough muck at the bottom. When his knees were submersed, he did a shallow dive. His chest scraped a rock, but he was too numb to feel pain. He broke through the surface with a loud scream. He couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t think. His heart pounded in his chest, aching from the icy water.

But he was alive. He was fucking alive!

He went under once more, rubbed his hands briskly over his arms and face in case any blood remained. He would take a hot shower when he returned home, use soap and a towel to remove anything the lake left behind. But for now, this would do.

Twenty seconds in the water was almost too long. He bolted out, coughed, his body shaking so hard he could scarcely think. But he had planned everything well and operated on autopilot.

He pulled a towel from his backpack and dried off as best he could. Stepped into new sweatpants, sweatshirt, and shoes. Pulled on a new pair of gloves. There might be blood on the ATV, but it wasn’t his blood, so he wasn’t concerned.

He took a moment to stare back at the dark, still lake. Then he took one final look at the body splayed faceup. He felt nothing, because she was nothing. Unimportant. Simply a small pawn in a much bigger game. A pawn easily sacrificed.

He hoped his old man would be proud of his work, but he would probably just criticize his son’s process. He’d complain about how he did the job, then open another bottle of booze.

He hoped his father was burning in hell.

He jumped on the ATV and rode into the night.

Excerpted from The Third to Die by Allison Brennan, Copyright © 2020 by Allison Brennan. Published by MIRA Books. 

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About the Author

Allison Brennan is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of three dozen thrillers and numerous short stories. She was nominated for Best Paperback Original Thriller by International Thriller Writers, has had multiple nominations and two Daphne du Maurier Awards, and is a five-time RITA finalist for Best Romantic Suspense. Allison believes life is too short to be bored, so she had five kids. Allison and her family live in Arizona. Visit her at allisonbrennan.com

Social Links:

Author website: https://www.allisonbrennan.com/

Facebook: @AllisonBrennan

Twitter: @Allison_Brennan

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Spotlight: Seduced by Snowfall by Jennifer Bernard

Dr. Bethany Morrison is used to being the responsible one. The serious doctor everyone relies on. She isn’t used to needing a rescue--especially from a sexy, lighthearted firefighter like Nate Prudhoe. And yet ever since she moved to Lost Harbor, Alaska, he’s been there for her. Is it any wonder she turns to him in her most embarrassing moment—when she needs a fake boyfriend?

Nate’s more than aware that Bethany doesn’t take him seriously. And that’s fine; relationships, a family of his own…those things aren’t for him. Not when he knows how painful the loss of a loved one can be. But when he discovers a mysterious injured runaway hiding out in the firehouse, it’s his turn to ask the lovely doctor for help.

As winter closes in, the line between fake and forever keeps disappearing. How could Nate know that every moment spent with Bethany would chip away at the shield around his heart? How could Bethany guess that Nate’s brand of laid-back fun was exactly what she needed? It may take more than a snowstorm to make them see it’s okay to want it all…and to grab it before it disappears forever.

Excerpt

First dates were always awkward, but a hundred times more so when the man across the table had already seen her in nothing but a towel. 

Oh yeah—and a plunger. 

Bethany Morrison tried not to think about that mortifying moment, but Nate wasn’t making it easy. As he stood to greet her, the gleam in his gray eyes told her he remembered every second. 

“Hi, Bethany. Nice to see you again.”

Again. An obvious reference to the locked-out-of-her-house-in-a-towel incident.

“Here we go,” she muttered under her breath. Commence the teasing. Mustering a smile, she gave Nate a dignified nod of her head. She was a doctor, after all. Doctors had dignity. “Hello, Nate. How are you?” 

“Good, how—” 

She cut him off. “I don’t have a lot of time before work, so how about we get our orders in?” She sat down in the chair that he’d pulled out for her. They’d met for dinner at Lost Harbor’s best seafood restaurant, the Nightly Catch. Heavy silver, scarlet linen tablecloths, servers dressed in black. But since this was Lost Harbor, a town of hardworking fishermen and women, fish-and-chips and mac-and-cheese were also on the menu. 

Obligingly, Nate sat back down and signaled for the waitress. Bethany looked at the menu cover, which featured an etching of a fishing boat against the backdrop of Misty Bay. Beautiful. 

She opened it and stared at the menu options, but couldn’t make herself focus on food. Everything was a jumble in her head—which was ridiculous because so what if Nate Prudhoe had seen her practically naked? As a doctor, she’d seen various body parts of thousands of people. It was no big deal. 

“Do you have to get back to the hospital?” Nate asked, his tone nothing but polite. Which he’d been ever since she walked in, come to think of it. She was being rude, not him. Somehow that irritated her even more. 

“Yes, I’m working an overnight shift tonight.” 

“I know that drill. I recommend protein, no carbs. Carbs can make you sleepy, sneaky bastards. Before you know it, you’re nodding off and forgetting routine things.” 

She looked at him sharply over the edge of the menu. Forgetting routine things…was that a reference to her locking herself out that night? 

But he was studying the menu, a picture of innocence. With his laughing eyes and lean face, she had to admit he was good-looking. Not her type, obviously. She went for the overeducated brainy types, not the players. 

 “Call me crazy, but you don’t seem like you want to be here,” Nate murmured.

She started. Were her anti-date thoughts written across her face? “Sorry. It’s just…I’m not a fan of setups.” 

“Mrs. Bellini is hard to say no to.” 

After they’d placed their orders, Nate sat back in his chair, forcing her to notice his wide shoulders and lean physique. He wore a thick blue cable-knit sweater, which was about as dressy as men got here in Lost Harbor. She had yet to spot a single blazer or dress jacket around town. 

“We could always drop the date part, and just have a conversation,” he suggested.

“What about? I’m sure we have nothing in common.” She slanted a glance toward her phone to check the time. One hour until she had to get to work. But one hour in “date time” could seem like five in normal time. 

“Really? We’re both in the medical field. We could talk triage techniques and blood pressure readings.” 

“I might need triage after that,” she murmured. 

Nate laughed. He had one of those contagious laughs that made everyone around take note. “You have a sneaky sense of humor, don’t you? It kind of springs out from the bushes when you aren’t expecting it.” 

And there it was. Another reference to the night they’d met, when she’d been hiding behind some alder bushes in her towel. “Would you please stop doing that?” 

“Doing what?” He cocked his head at her. He had a thick thatch of brown-butter hair that never looked entirely smooth.

“And now you’re playing innocent. It’s very annoying.” 

A bit later, Moira, the waitress, appeared with two steaming plates of scallops. Plump and lightly browned, they were the largest scallops Bethany had ever seen. The fragrance of lemon and garlic and butter made her stomach rumble. “Is Nate annoying you? He has a knack for that.” 

Nate scowled at the waitress. “Turncoat. See if I babysit for you guys again.” 

“Don’t get me wrong,” she added. “He’ll make you laugh too. Through the tears.” 

Moira made a sassy little face at Nate as she positioned the plate in front of him.  

“That’s just great, Moira. I should come here and get all my dates sabotaged. And this isn’t even a date. It’s just a conversation between two people with nothing in common.” 

Bethany laughed. Then stopped herself the second she realized Moira was right. Nate did have her laughing. 

“Welp, I’ll leave you two to your scallops. At least you have that in common.” 

Moira smiled and left them to their meal. 

Nate shook a cloth napkin across his lap. “Okay, before we plunge in, I should apologize.” 

Plunge? Was that a plunger reference? 

Bethany stabbed a fork into her scallop. “You just did it again. You can stop it with the innocent act.” 

Nate actually looked confused for a moment, then he laughed. “Oops. That one slipped in there, I swear. Sometimes things just happen without you planning it.” 

Was that another one? She pressed her lips together, refusing to fall for his baiting anymore. Besides, her mouth was full of the most delicious scallop she’d ever tasted, so she couldn’t stay mad. The butter-lime sauce was tart and sweet and made her practically moan with happiness. 

She zoned out for one blissful stretch of time, finally coming back to herself when she realized that Nate was watching her with a slight smile and attentive eyes. “What?” 

“You’re not frowning at me. I’m just soaking in the moment. It may never happen again.” 

“That’s ridiculous. I’m usually very cordial.” She dabbed the napkin to her lips. “People have to make a real effort to get on my bad side.” 

“Really? For me it comes so easily.” 

“What can I say, you’re a natural,” she said dryly. 

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About the Author 

Jennifer Bernard is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance. Her books have been called “an irresistible reading experience” full of “quick wit and sizzling love scenes.” A graduate of Harvard and former news promo producer, she left big city life for true love in Alaska, where she now lives with her husband and stepdaughters.  She still hasn’t adjusted to the cold, so most often she can be found cuddling with her laptop and a cup of tea. Sign up for her newsletter for book news and fun exclusives. 

Connect with Jennifer: Website | Newsletter | Facebook | Reader Group | Instagram | Twitter | Amazon Page | Bookbub | Goodreads 

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Spotlight: Cold Nose, Warm Heart by Mara Wells

Genre: Contemporary

Series: Fur Haven Dog Park #1

A poodle, a black lab and a Chihuahua walk into a dog park…

All Caleb Donovan has to do to redeem his family name is take a rundown Miami Beach apartment building and turn it into luxury condos. Easy, right?\

Unfortunately, that would also turn the local dog park into a parking lot and the neighbors aren't having it. Caleb is faced with outright revolt, led by smart, beautiful building manager Riley Carson and her poodle, LouLou.

For Caleb, this project should have been a slam dunk. But even more challenging than the neighborhood resistance is the mutual attraction between him and Riley. It would be so much easier just to stay enemies.

Can Riley and her canine sidekick convince Caleb that what's best for business isn't always best for the heart?

Excerpt

“LouLou!” a hoarse voice called. “LouLou!” 

“Over here!” Caleb yelled, not sure where the voice was coming from, but hearing the pain in it and wanting to do anything in his power to make that pain stop. What could he say? Rescuing furry damsels in distress brought out his mushy side. 

Through the sheets of rain, he spotted Riley limping along the sidewalk across the street from dog park. She didn’t look much better than LouLou had, hair flattened and plastered to her head, clothes sticking to her as though she’d taken a dunk in the ocean. And was she barefoot? All those shoes outside her front door, and she’d run out in the storm without so much as a flip-flop to protect her? 

“You’re a pair, aren’t you?” He whispered to LouLou, waving frantically to get Riley’s attention. “Over here! Riley, I’ve got LouLou!” 

Riley looked across the road, and he knew the moment she saw them. She collapsed to her knees, hands over her face, and a giant sob racked her body. So they’d be staying out in the rain a little longer. He crossed over and knelt beside her, the soaked poodle between them.

     “It’s okay. She’s okay. You’re okay.” He sounded like an idiot. He knew it, but he kept saying stupid things anyway. “I’ve got her. She’s right here.”

      Riley sucked in a big breath and looked up at him with her tilted eyes. “Thank you.” She held out her arms for LouLou. He shifted the dog’s weight to Riley’s hold, but LouLou curled her paw around his wrist, tight. 

      Riley’s chin sank. “I deserve that.”

      “No, it happens.” Caleb didn’t know what he was talking about. What happened? Rain? Dogs running loose in the streets? “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He knew that part at least was right. 

      “I couldn’t find her.” She scrubbed at her face with the heels of her hands, eyes red and lids swollen from crying. “And now she’s hurt. What happened to her paw?”

      “She’s fine, just a small piece of glass.” He pried LouLou’s paw off his wrist and handed the dog over, surprised at how giving her back felt like a loss. If he felt this attached after such a brief time with the dog, how bad must Riley have felt when she realized LouLou was missing? The impulse to make Riley feel better kept his assurances flowing. “Eliza patched her up, and she’ll be good as new in no time.”

     “Thank you.” She buried her face in LouLou’s fur and stood, but as soon as she did, she lost her balance and keeled over with a squeak. 

     Caleb reached out to steady her. “What’s wrong?” 

Riley closed her eyes and leaned heavily on him. “Think I stepped on something.”

“Let me see.”

Feeling a sense of déjà vu, he crouched to inspect the bottom of her foot, dark with dirt and specks of gravel stuck to it. “Looks like a bad bruise. Maybe from a rock.” 

Riley bit her lower lip. “Sounds right.” 

“Can you walk?” He levered her back to standing on her own. 

“Of course.” One careful step forward. Then another. “Thanks for taking care of LouLou, but you don’t have to hang around.” She winced and took another step, face as white as the knuckles clutching her dog. “I’ve got it from here. No problem.” 

It was painful to watch. Still, she’d said to back off, so he did. Until she stumbled, almost dropping the poodle, and a car horn blared at her for hogging up the road. 

“This is ridiculous.” He scooped her up, exactly like he’d done with her dog. Unlike LouLou, she wasn’t grateful. 

“Hey! What’re you doing?” Riley couldn’t bat at his chest because she was holding onto her dog, but she glared. “You can’t swoop in and take over everything.” 

“Hang on tight. I’m taking you home.” Caleb clutched Riley and LouLou against his chest, her legs over his arm like in some damn rom-com movie, and strode back toward her condo. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could hear Eliza’s cackle following them, but he didn’t care. It felt good to save LouLou, and it felt even better to have Riley in his arms.

***

Excerpted from Cold Nose, Warm Heart by Mara Wells. © 2020 by Mara Wells. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

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About the Author

Mara Wells loves stories, but especially stories with kissing. She lives in Hollywood, Florida with her family and two rescue dogs—a poodle-mix named Houdini Beauregarde, and Sheba Reba Rita Peanut, a chihuahua-mix. To find out more, you can sign up for her newsletter at marawellsauthor.com.

Author Website:  www.marawellsauthor.com 

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Spotlight: Taken With You by Carrie Ann Ryan

From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Carrie Ann Ryan comes a new story in her Fractured Connections series…

It all started at a wedding. Beckham didn’t mean to dance with Meadow. And he really didn’t mean to kiss her. But now, she’s the only thing on his mind. And when it all comes down to it, she’s the only person he can't have.

He'll just have to stay away from her, no matter how hard they’re pulled together.

Running away from her friend's wedding isn't the best way to keep the gossip at bay. But falling for the mysterious and gorgeous bartender at her friends’ bar will only make it worse. Beckham has his secrets, and she refuses to pry.

Once burned, twice kicked down, and never allowed to get up again. Yet taking a chance with him might be the only choice she has. And the only one she wants.

**For fans of Carrie Ann’s Fractured Connections series, Taken With You is book four in that series.**

**Every 1001 Dark Nights novella is a standalone story. For new readers, it’s an introduction to an author’s world. And for fans, it’s a bonus book in the author’s series. We hope you'll enjoy each one as much as we do.**

➣ Follow Carrie Ann Ryan on Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/carrie-ann-ryan

Excerpt

“Anyway, where have you been?” Violet asked.

I frowned. “Here? Where I am always.”

“You say that, yet you haven’t texted. No call. No note,” Sienna said, perfecting her perfect British accent as she pretended that she was Molly Weasley from the Harry Potter series.

“I’m fine. Really. Just busy working. And after the wedding, I figured everyone would be busy with cleanup and honeymooning and everything that brides are supposed to do on their wedding night.” I looked at Harmony, and she blushed even harder.

Apparently, she’d had a very nice wedding night.

“Well, considering you ran out of the reception, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I looked at Violet, noting the concern in her eyes.

“I didn’t run. I said goodbye.”

“And then you ran like there was a demon on your tail,” Sienna said. “We saw. Are you okay?”

“I didn’t see,” Harmony said quickly. “I was a little preoccupied. And I’m sorry about that. But what happened? Are you okay?”

We settled on the couches, and I set my hands in my lap.

I thought I’d hid things well. But from the way they looked at me now, I knew I hadn’t been entirely successful.

I’d never been very good at hiding.

The bruises on my soul were evidence of that.

“It’s fine.”

“What’s fine?” Violet asked, her voice stern.

“Beckham kissed me.” I hadn’t actually meant to say that. And as their eyes widened, and they leaned forward, I knew I was in for it.

Well…crap.

That secret was supposed to go with me to the grave. The kiss hadn’t meant anything. It couldn’t.

“He did? Did you not want it?” Sienna asked, frowning. “Because I’ll kick his ass for you, or I’ll have Aiden do it if that’s the case. He may be big and bearded and a little broody—although he’s not really bearded right now since he shaved for the wedding—but anyway, I will totally kick his ass if I need to. Or have it kicked.”

I shook my head quickly as Sienna continued to ramble.

“I’m fine. Really. He didn’t hurt me. Didn’t do anything wrong. But it can never happen again. It can’t. Totally not going there again.”

I slammed my mouth shut as the girls looked at me expectantly.

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About the Author

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Carrie Ann Ryan never thought she’d be a writer. Not really. No, she loved math and science and even went on to graduate school in chemistry. Yes, she read as a kid and devoured teen fiction and Harry Potter, but it wasn’t until someone handed her a romance book in her late teens that she realized that there was something out there just for her. When another author suggested she use the voices in her head for good and not evil, The Redwood Pack and all her other stories were born.

Carrie Ann is a bestselling author of over twenty novels and novellas and has so much more on her mind (and on her spreadsheets *grins*) that she isn’t planning on giving up her dream anytime soon.

Website: http://carrieannryan.com/
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