Spotlight: A Cowboy of Legend by Linda Broday

Publication Date: 4/27/2021

Famous across Texas, the Legends stand ready to take on any challenge that comes their way...

Deacon Brannock has struggled his whole life to amount to something. But when he finally saves up enough to buy the saloon that’ll put him on the map, he’s immediately challenged by the Temperance Movement. He only wants to make an honest living, but there’s no stopping the Movement’s most determined firebrand: Grace Legend.

And after one look at the fierce beauty, he’s not even sure he wants to.

Grace has always had her pet crusades, but she sees the Temperance Movement as the one thing that will bring her the deep sense of purpose she’s been missing. Yet when the owner of the new saloon turns out to be a kind and considerate man with warm eyes and a smile that leaves her breathless, she can't help but wonder whether they could have a future together...if only they could find a way to stop being enemies long enough to become so much more.

Excerpt

“Destroyer of men’s souls! Beware the pitfalls of the devil’s brew!” Grace Legend held up her sign and directed her loud yells into the murky interior of the Three Deuces saloon. 

A gust of wind delivered the stench of the nearby stockyards up her nose and a swirl of dirt to her eyes. She blinked several times to clear the grit as two dozen Temperance women behind her took up the chant, banging drums and shaking tambourines. 

A surly individual went around her and reached for the batwing doors. Grace swatted him with her sign. “Get back! Back, I say. This den of iniquity is closed to the likes of you.” 

Built like a bull and smelling like the south end of a northbound steer, the man narrowed his gaze and raised a meaty fist. “This here’s a free country and I can go anywhere I like.” 

Gunfire rang out down the street and a woman screamed. Grace was glad she’d stuck a derringer in her pocket. This section of town saw killings every day even though the citizens Fort Worth cried for someone to clean it up. 

She wanted to take a step back from the surly man worse than anything. She really did. He had meanness rolling off him like thick rancid snake oil. But giving ground wasn’t in her make up. Not today and not as long as she was alive. 

Grace sucked in a quick breath, shot him a piercing glare and parked herself across the doorway. “I bet your wife would like to know where you spend your time when you should be working. Shame on you wasting your money on whiskey.” 

“I earn it and I’ll spend it however I see fit. Now step aside,” he snarled and raised a fist. 

“Or else what?” A voice in Grace’s head warned that this course of action could be dangerous, but she never listened to that boring bit of reason. No, she saw it her right and duty to make a difference in the world and make it she would. She couldn’t do that sitting on her hands like some timid toad afraid to utter a sound. 

At least a half dozen gunshots rent the air and people ducked. A crowd had begun to gather and pressed close. They got into a heated shouting match with her ladies. 

Before she could move, the quarrelsome fellow barreled into her, knocking her sideways. Grace launched onto his back and began whopping him with the sign. However, the handle was too long for close fighting and none of her blows landed. 

She released a frustrated cry and wrapped both arms around his head. 

“Get off me!” he roared. 

“When hell freezes over, you moron.” 

A door banged and footsteps of someone new approached and yanked the two of them apart. “Hey, what’s the meaning of this?” 

“Send her packing, Brannock!” someone yelled. “Don’t let her run you out of business.” 

Chest heaving, she jerked at the bodice of her favorite royal blue dress that matched her eyes, straightening it before grabbing the immense hat that barely clung to one side of her head. She blew back a blond curl that fell across one eye blocking her view. Only then did she get a glimpse of the gentleman whose livelihood she meant to destroy, and the sight glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth. 

That he presented a handsome picture with coal black hair and a lean form was indisputable, but it was more than that. A Stetson sat low on his forehead—a cowboy? Grace did a doubletake. Saloon owners wore bowlers, not Stetsons. She was unable to move her gaze from his piercing eyes. Shadowed by the brim of his hat, they reminded her of smoke. The stormy gray depths warned of the danger of crossing him. 

And more. Oh my! 

Grace took in his silk vest of dark green like those of gamblers. Her gaze rested on a well-used gun belt slung low on his hip complete with what appeared a long Peacemaker. By now, most men left their firearms at home. However, having grown up with weapons of all kinds on the Lone Star ranch, she understood the need to sometimes keep a gun handy. Although crime in the rough area had begun to decline, running a saloon at the edge of Hell’s Half Ace was still a risky business. 

She patted the small derringer in her pocket to make sure it hadn’t fallen out. 

“I asked what’s going on,” Brannock repeated. 

Mr. Smelly glared, wiping blood from his forehead. So, she did get a lick in. “This churlish fishwife assaulted me, and I demand you do something.” 

“Churlish fishwife?” Grace swung her sign again—only it caught the tall saloon keep instead, knocking him back a step. 

Towering head and shoulders above her, Brannock snatched the sign from her hand, broke it over his knee, and pitched the pieces aside. His eyes had darkened to a shade she’d never seen before and had no words to describe. “Care to explain why you’re running off my business, lady?” 

The question came out silky and wrapped in velvet like her father’s did when he wanted to put the fear of God into someone. That frightened her far more than yelling. This cowboy saloon owner was someone to reckon with. 

Although quaking inside, Grace drew herself up and thrust out her chin. “I’m asserting my God given right to free speech.” 

“You tell him, Grace!” one of the women yelled. 

“Free speech about?” he snapped.  

“The evils of drink. It’s destroying the fabric of our society and wrecking homes.” 

“And it’s your duty to straighten us men out?” he barked. 

She inhaled a shaky breath. “As much as I’m able. I cannot turn a blind eye to hungry kids and wives bearing the scars of abuse.” 

***

Excerpted from A Cowboy of Legend by Linda Broday. © 2021 by Linda Broday. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

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About the Author

At a young age, Linda Broday discovered a love for storytelling, history, and anything pertaining to the Old West. After years of writing romance, it’s still tall rugged cowboys that spark her imagination. A New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Linda has won many awards, including the prestigious National Readers’ Choice Award and the Texas Gold. She resides in the Texas Panhandle where she’s inspired every day.

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Spotlight: The Wolf Wore Plaid by Terry Spear

Publication Date: 4/27/2021

An overprotective wolf meets his match in the Scottish Highlands of today…

Heather MacNeil has never backed down from a fight. So when some shady shifters from a neighboring enemy clan come looking for trouble, she refuses to feed their satisfaction. There’s only one wolf that makes her go soft…

For packmate Enrick MacQuarrie, the work as second-in-command never ends—as the feud ignites, clan security is more vital than ever. But a certain unpredictable, feisty Highland lass is determined to stand up to the aggressors, and Enrick is equally determined to protect her.

The action builds as Heather and Enrick grow closer, but will they be willing to sacrifice their wild friendship for true love?

Excerpt

“We’ve heard so much about your shop that we had to come and check it out,” Robert said, leaning against her counter. 

She didn’t believe him for an instant. Her phone was sitting on the ledge below the high counter and out of his sight, so she started to text Ian to see if he could send some backup, other than her three brothers—Oran, Jamie, and Callum, who would just as likely kill the men and ask questions afterward—if she needed the help. 

The doorbell jingled again, and she looked up to see who it was, afraid it would be more of the Kilpatricks’ kin. Instead, Enrick MacQuarrie pulled the door closed behind him, and a bit of relief washed over her. Now he was a welcome sight. Not for his supposed interest in dating her. That was so far-fetched, she couldn’t believe Lana would even think it. But Heather knew he would be all protective when it came to her or any other she-wolf of the MacNeill pack. 

She didn’t send the text message to Ian, figuring Enrick would deal with the Kilpatricks if they gave her any trouble. 

Not that she was totally reassured. Anything could go wrong, and she sure didn’t want Enrick hurt either. 

He looked so much like one of the men wearing a New York T-shirt while they waited for their steak pies that he could have been his double. Ever since Guy McNab had made it big as a film star in America, Enrick had been mistaken for him whenever he ventured out of the area. 

Enrick was the middle triplet brother of Grant and Lachlan MacQuarrie, tawny-haired and good-natured—except if he was defending the pack members or his friends, then watch out. He had a warrior’s heart, yet Heather had seen a real soft side to him too—playing tug-of-war with the Irish wolfhound pups, chasing the kids around the inner bailey in a game of tag, growling as if he were a wolf in his fur coat and making the kids squeal in delight. She’d seen him playing with his brothers as wolves and he was totally aggressive then, not wanting either of his brothers to win the battle between them. And in a snowball fight, he was the fastest snowball maker and thrower she’d ever seen. If they played on teams, she wanted him on hers. 

So he did let his hair down, so to speak, with the kids and with his brothers and others. With her? He clearly thought she was trouble. 

At least he was a wolf with a pack friendly to her own, and she smiled brightly at him, glad he was here in case she needed him. 

There was no smile for her, his look instead dark and imposing as he glanced from her to the Kilpatrick brothers, still trying to figure out what they wanted to buy. She hoped Enrick wouldn’t start a fight. They had so many customers, and she didn’t want to see a brawl break out in front of them. It surely wouldn’t help business. 

Robert pointed to the sign on the wall listing the kind of pies they sold. “We’ll take a couple of the steak and kidney pies to go.” 

Okay, so they weren’t causing trouble. Yet. They hadn’t noticed Enrick’s arrival, and she hoped he wouldn’t cause things to get ugly when the other men were behaving…for the moment. Enrick was observing them with a do-anything-I-don’t-like-and-you’ll-die look. 

Robert leaned against the oak countertop. “We hear there’s supposed to be a movie filmed at one of the castles nearby.” 

As her heartbeat quickened, Heather’s gaze darted to Enrick’s, and he raised his brows at her. Man, she was about to give the secret away in that one little glance at him. She knew he would question her next, once the men left. He could probably hear her heart suddenly beating way too fast. 

“We had a movie filmed at our castle a few years back, but that’s it.” Heather placed their order with Rush stamped on it. She’d never used the stamp before, but this was certainly one of those times it came in handy. 

“Not that film. A new one. More of a…fantasy,” Patrick said, “featuring wolves, even.” 

“At the MacNeills’ castle? No,” she said, shaking her head. She wasn’t lying. Ian MacNeill swore they would never have another film shot at their castle. At the time they’d been in dire straits financially, and the only way to keep the castle solvent was to do the film. Wolf packs had to keep their identity secret. Having tons of nonwolves traipsing through Argent Castle and the grounds could be problematic. Her pack had had to send a couple of newly turned wolves to stay with the MacQuarries, just so the human cast and crew wouldn’t have the surprise of seeing the newbies shift during the full moon. 

***

Excerpted from The Wolf Wore Plaid by Terry Spear. © 2021 by Terry Spear. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

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About the Author

USA Today bestselling author Terry Spear has written over sixty paranormal and medieval Highland romances. A retired officer of the U.S. Army Reserves, Terry also creates award-winning teddy bears that have found homes all over the world, helps out with her grandbaby, and she is raising two Havanese puppies. She lives in Spring, Texas.

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Spotlight: The Nightborn by Isabel Cooper

Sentinels spend their lives fighting the monsters that prey upon humanity.

As the Traitor God’s army grows and war looms ever-closer, Sentinel Branwyn arrives in the gleaming city-state of Heliodar to ask its High Council for aid. Its youngest member, Zelen Varengir, is sympathetic to her cause, but his hands are tied by his powerful family—and when they demand he spy upon the beautiful warrior, there is little he can do but obey.

But something stronger than blood draws Zelen and Branwyn together, and when Branwyn is framed for the murder of the High Lord himself, the unlikely duo must learn to trust each other if they want to discover the deep secrets hidden in the heart of the city, uncover the real enemies moving against them, and embrace the attraction neither can deny...all while facing down the return of the greatest threat the world has ever known.

Fans of The Witcher and Ilona Andrews will love this epic tale of adventure and romance.

Excerpt

“Lord Rognozi and his wife are dead.” 

The words made no sense for a second. Then they took Zelen’s breath away as thoroughly as any of his mother’s lectures or the beatings his father had ordered. Gedo wasn’t putting in nearly as much effort as had gone into the other incidents: he was either very talented or very fortunate. 

“When? How?” 

It would have been unsurprising for Lord Rognozi to have perished quite naturally and uneventfully, and dimly possible that his wife might not have survived the shock and sorrow of it, though it would’ve run counter to what Zelen knew of the lady. That wouldn’t have brought Gedomir to his bedroom. 

“Murdered. Butchered, in fact, late last night. If you want the more sordid details, I’m afraid I didn’t ask for an anatomical report. I’m given to understand that the servant who found them is in a state of shock.” He smoothed an imaginary strand of impeccable hair back from his brow. “And your…envoy…has vanished. As has her very large, very likely magical sword.” 

“She’d never—” 

Zelen lunged forward, with no notion of what the motion might achieve. Denial simply demanded action. 

As he’d so frequently done in their past, Gedomir smiled with lofty derision, not to mention a share of pity. “She has, I’m afraid. You’re welcome to try and convince me that a burglar broke into one of the best-warded noble houses in the city and did nothing but slaughter the inhabitants, or that a servant with years of service suddenly went unstoppably berserk in a manner that didn’t rouse the attention of the others in their quarters.” 

Colors faded from the world. Zelen sat silently and Gedomir fell silent as well as Idriel stepped in, carrying a tray of tea and cakes. He put it down in front of Zelen and glanced between him and Gedomir: Shall I pretend you have another engagement? 

Zelen shook his head. Even that motion took an almost unsupportable amount of strength. “Thank you, Idriel, that will be all,” he said by rote. 

“Very good, sir.” 

“It may not be entirely her fault, granted,” Gedomir said. “I can perceive no motive for the action, regardless of what others may think, given what you’ve told me of her nature. The Criwath court, or even subversive agents there that Olwin knows nothing of, may have placed a spell on her for this purpose. Or her experiences in the war may have caused damage that hid until now.” 

“If she did it,” Zelen said, “I’m certain that it wasn’t of her own will.” 

“I’m certain that you’re certain. And Father and I are prepared to take that into account,” Gedomir said, spreading his hands. The ring with Verengir’s crest, his only ornament, gleamed in the pale light of the autumn morning. “Honestly, the information she can provide is more valuable than any vengeance would be—the Dark Lady can wait on her claim. Father thinks the rest of the council might even see a case for clemency, if the circumstances are right.” 

“Does he?” 

“Would I speak falsely?” Gedomir’s lips tightened, but then he relaxed. “I understand that you’re…biased, but for once your proclivities may have been useful. There’s clearly more here than simple murder. Father and I are prepared to investigate it and to argue as much in the face of all opposition—once you retrieve the woman, of course.” 

There was rock under her cheek and blood in her mouth. Her arms were sticky—probably more blood—and a net of pain wrapped her whole body, fiercest around her right knee and her left eye. Branwyn was fairly sure her nose was broken too. 

All of that was comparatively minor. She’d been injured more severely in the past, though not often, and the healing of a Sentinel was already doing its work, pulling bones and muscles back into place. Even the knee, which would likely have crippled a normal person for life, would give her only a few days of trouble. Branwyn knew as much, and none of her wounds troubled her. 

She had no room in her mind to worry about them anyhow. As consciousness returned, she searched her memory for the fight that must have taken place and found only blankness, then paralyzing fear. 

After the ball, she’d felt uneasy about the Rognozis’ house. She’d gone to get Yathana. From that moment, she remembered nothing concrete: she had a dim recollection of the world spinning, of a sword in her grip and the smell of blood and death, but that was all. 

Now she was—her eyes focused, one considerably slower than the other—in an alley, in the early morning, wearing the blood-soaked remains of her ball gown. 

Yathana was gone. 

Her memory had an enormous hole. 

There was blood on her arms, up to the elbows, and she couldn’t feel any cuts there. 

What happened? was her third question. 

Where’s Yathana? came in second. 

The first was What did I do? 

***

Excerpted from The Nightborn by Isabel Cooper. © 2021 by Isabel Cooper. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

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About the Author

During the day, ISABEL COOPER maintains her guise as a mild-mannered project manager in legal publishing. In her spare time, she enjoys video games, ballroom dancing, various geeky hobbies, and figuring out what wine goes best with leftover egg rolls. Cooper lives with two thriving houseplants in Boston, Massachusetts.

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Spotlight: The Checklist by Addie Woolridge

Guest Post: Checklists, Broken Hearts, & James Brown with Author Addie Woolridge

Hi, I’m Addie Woolridge, author of The Checklist. A bit about me—I am a classically trained opera singer with a deep devotion to glitter, coffee, Beyoncé, and The Rock. In my free time, I am also a marathon runner who is desperate to finish up the seven continents marathon challenge so that I can retire and go on vacations where running is not a requirement (just two races left, Sydney and Antarctica). I was born and raised outside of Seattle, WA, and although I now call Northern California my home, a piece of my heart will always be soggy in Seattle. That’s why I set my debut novel, The Checklist there!

The Checklist is a multicultural, contemporary rom-com that centers around Dylan Delacroix, a type-A, corporate consultant with a plan for her life. That plan includes making partner at her firm and purchasing a condo in Texas with her boyfriend. It does not include dealing with her bohemian family and their longstanding feud with their straight-laced neighbors. However, that plan is derailed when she accidentally upstages her temperamental boss. Banished by her boss, she is forced to return to Seattle on a career-killing assignment to try and revive a struggling tech company. Once she is home, she is immediately sent to negotiate a peace with the neighbors. Between her client, her fizzling relationship, and her family, it is hard enough for Dylan to stay on track, but when she finds herself falling for the neighbors’ son, Mike, sticking to the plan becomes near impossible. As pressure mounts, Dylan has to decide if she wants to keep checking things off of her list, or if she needs a new plan entirely.

I love Dylan so much, even when she is messy and uptight! While coming up with her, I was inspired by the idea of a fish out of water. I think a lot of people are expected to grow up to be like Dylan—responsible, competent, and predictable. I wanted to play with the idea that what many of us are told is “normal” behavior could be absolutely bizarre to someone else.

To write Dylan, I borrowed a few things from my life (take that terrible exes!). Like Dylan, I do make lists anytime I feel like things are getting a little chaotic, although I love colored markers and glitter, and Dylan would never sully a list with glitter. Both of us are Janet Jackson devotees—seriously, do not get me started on how much credit I think she deserves for normalizing female sexuality or we could be here all day. Also, both of us have perfected the OMG-this-is-bad smile. At this stage, my coworkers can spot “the smile” a mile away and know to ask what is wrong (or, maybe they know to hide from me?).

Unlike Dylan, I’m not named for a 60s folk singer (I actually have a family name and I love it). Nor do I have an awesome corporate wardrobe (I’m a skirts and dresses with pockets kind of girl). Similarly, none of our family dogs were as well behaved as Milo, who is not well behaved so that is saying something. Our family once had a German Shepherd who chewed up three couches when we weren’t home. Feathers were everywhere. That dog was so naughty and we loved her like she was made of gold.

The biggest thing that we have in common is that both of us have loving, albeit quirky families. My family is not composed of visual artists (with the exception of my Aunt Bob), but we are creative. Like Dylan’s family, my parents gave us a lot of freedom. We had one real rule, you had to be kind. Other than that, the rules were kind of a hodgepodge of different parenting philosophies. One of my favorite childhood “rules” came from the James Brown song, Hot Pants. My parents would frequently quote the lyric, “Never let anyone tell you how to wear your pants.” To them, it meant that no one in the family could tell you how to dress. It also meant that I wore overalls and Doc Martens at least three days a week throughout high school. Thanks, mom and dad.

To wrap it up, I hope that readers see a little bit of themselves and the people they love in this book. I also hope that readers get a break from the real world and fall in love with the Delacroix family, Mike, and Dylan—lists and all.

Summary

Release Date: June 1, 2021

Publisher: Montlake

Killing it at work? Check. Gorgeous boyfriend? Check. Ambitions derailed by an insecure boss? Sigh—check.

Things were going a little too well for Dylan Delacroix. After upstaging her boss on a big account, she gets dispatched to the last place she wants to be: her hometown, Seattle. There, she must use her superstar corporate-consulting skills to curb the worst impulses of an impossibly eccentric tech CEO—if she doesn’t, she’s fired.

The fun doesn’t stop there: Dylan must also negotiate a ceasefire in the endless war between her bohemian parents and the straitlaced neighbors. Adding to the chaos is a wilting relationship with her boyfriend and a blossoming attraction to the neighbors’ smoking-hot son.

Suddenly Dylan has a million checklists, each a mile long. As personal and professional pressures mount, she finds it harder and harder to stay on track. Having always relied on her ability to manage the world around her, Dylan’s going to need a new plan. She may be down, but she’s definitely not out.

Excerpt

“Dear God. Are they trying to signal someone in outer space?” Setting her book down, Dylan unpretzeled herself from the armchair she’d been installed in. Quietly she opened her bedroom door to survey the rest of the house’s response to the neighbor’s giant motion light. 

“I told you so! Now, do what you must.” Bernice’s mocking voice floated up three stories. Dylan marveled at her hearing the bedroom door open over her dad’s experimental Ghanaian drum-circle music. 

“I’m on it,” Dylan called back before slinking down the stairs and grabbing her heels from over by the door. “‘Do what you must.’ Who says that?” she mumbled as she reached for the handle, already regretting how quickly she’d caved. What had she said to her mother? Something about her age and independence? Obviously, that wasn’t true. 

Cursing herself, she closed her parents’ door and began the slog to the Robinsons’ house. Although modestly painted and well landscaped, the house wasn’t entirely dissimilar to her parents’ home. However, it was scientifically impossible for the family living inside of the house to have less in common with her own. Linda and Patricia Robinson were both tech-industry big shots in their own right. Linda was a patent attorney and the recent recipient of the Latina Bar Association’s Trailblazer Award, a fact she never failed to mention. Patricia was an accomplished programmer and volunteer youth-cheerleading coach who’d even made the cover of American Cheerleader magazine when her all-Black squad had pulled a real-life Bring It On–style competition victory. Both had come through the tech boom when the industry had still employed few women, and they took absolutely no shit from anyone—including Dylan’s parents. Dylan believed her parents objected more to the Robinson women’s love of golf than their jobs. As far as Bernice was concerned, golf was like standing for hours in a glorified front lawn.

The Robinsons had two boys around Dylan’s age, and she had been jealous of the entire family growing up. They’d gone to church and played organized sports, their clothes had always matched, and their mothers had joined the PTA. Dylan’s dad had endured a short stint with the PTA, but the Delacroix didn’t do organized anything. If Dylan had left the house wearing something that matched, it was by accident. 

Distracted by the past, Dylan had stopped paying attention to where she was walking until her foot sank into the divot near a storm drain, filling her heel with water. She cursed, her heart thwapping in her chest. Visions of her father toilet papering the neighbors’ house ran unchecked through her head. As did the memory of her mother nailing the police citation to the Robinsons’ door when it had arrived in the mail a week later. Dylan thought this was a tame response where Bernice was concerned, but it led to the Robinsons sending boxes of craft-store glitter to the house. The Robinsons had lost that round, and the joke was on them, because her mother loved glitter. It had appeared in several of her most lauded collages that year, which she’d named for Linda and Patricia Robinson when she’d taken out an ad in the Seattle Times to feature the work.

Ignoring the panic sweat forming on her palms, Dylan knocked on the door, then frowned, looking down at her soaked woolen pant leg. If she didn’t dry-clean those ASAP, they were going to reek. 

“One minute.” She had barely registered a man’s voice when the door swung open. “Hello.” 

“Uh. Hi.” Dylan’s voice cracked. 

Mike was, if possible, better looking than the last time she had seen him. His thick hair had been cut short, highlighting his high cheekbones and the ambient glow of his golden-brown skin. Time had turned him into the sort of made-for-TV manly pretty that seemed unfair for one person to achieve. The vaguely chiseled features and broad-shouldered Latino archetype that beer commercials aspired to. 

Aware that she needed to state her purpose, Dylan said the first thing she thought—“You still live here?”—and instantly regretted her decision. 

“No, I’m visiting. Do you still live here?” Mike asked with an incredulous laugh. The Robinsons’ younger son filled up what felt like the entire doorframe, with one arm on the handle and the other resting comfortably on the jamb, as if being the J.Crew catalog guy were no big deal. 

“I’m staying with my parents while I’m here for a work assignment. How are you?” Dylan smoothed a hand over the hem of her blouse and collected herself. 

“Great. I live in Capitol Hill. I’m finishing my PhD at the U-Dub. I basically come here to bum dinner off my parents.” He smiled, and Dylan wished he still had braces. Braces had made him just above-average looking in high school. Now, hazel eyes and straight teeth made him uncomfortable to be around. Or maybe that was the vast amount of water in her shoe. 

“I’m sorry. My dad’s drum circle carries all the way over here. I forgot how loud it is.” Dylan gestured around the front door with a nervous laugh. 

“We’ve gotten used to it. Do you want to come in?” He stopped leaning on the frame and took a step back to let her in. 

“Thank you. I . . .” Dylan nodded, then paused as her shoe squelched. Panic left the little corner of her brain and seeped all the way to its outer edges as she tried to find a graceful retreat. If she walked in, she would track muddy water into the Robinsons’ otherwise spotless home, further cementing her place in the Worst Neighbor Hall of Fame. “Actually, I really shouldn’t.” 

Mike must have sensed her guilt, because his face relaxed into an easy smile. “No worries; I wouldn’t want to be seen entering the home of the enemy either.” 

“Oh no. It’s not that.” Dylan rushed to explain herself before she was firmly entrenched in Camp Dreadful Delacroix. “It’s just, my shoe is full of storm drain water, and your house is always spotless, and I don’t want to track it in.” She pointed erratically at her heel, which seemed more absurd now that she was drawing attention to it. What kind of Seattleite wore expensive shoes in this weather? “I promise I’m still significantly less strange than the rest of my family. Shoe thing aside.” She let her hands drop helplessly to her thighs. 

To her horror, Mike started laughing, his face cracking into a lopsided grin. “Why don’t you dump your shoe out and come in? My parents are picking up dinner, so we don’t have to tell them about the averted carpet disaster.” 

“That is probably the most reasonable option,” she admitted, adopting a woman-as-flamingo pose as she tried to take off one heel while still wearing the other. 

Wobbling precariously close to a fall, Dylan threw her hand out to catch the front of the house, but instead she caught the lean muscle of Mike’s bicep as he grabbed her forearm to keep her from toppling over. Appreciating the feel of muscle under the cotton dress shirt he wore, Dylan grabbed her heel and pulled. He likes the gym, she thought, smiling. Those don’t just happen overnight… 

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About the Author

Born and raised outside Seattle, Washington, Addie Woolridge is a classically trained opera singer with a degree in music from the University of Southern California, and she holds a master’s degree in public administration from Indiana University. Woolridge’s well-developed characters are a result of her love for diverse people, cultures, and experiences.

Woolridge currently lives in Northern California. When she isn’t writing or singing, Woolridge can be found baking; training for her sixth race in the Seven Continents Marathon Challenge; or taking advantage of the region’s signature beverage, wine.

Connect:

Website: https://addiewoolridge.com/ 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/addiewrites 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/addiewoolridge 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20788059.Addie_Woolridge 

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Spotlight: Someone Like Me by Marian L. Thomas

Date Published: June 1, 2021

Publisher: DartFrog Blue

Since her mother’s death, Mýa has been no stranger to loss. But with a budding new singing career on the horizon and help from Jack and Mary Tanner, a couple that understands from experience how a troubled past can prevent someone from having a better life, Mýa finally gets a fresh start.

Courageously touching on issues of race and the importance of self-love, Someone Like Me serves up a cast of relatable characters, each searching for that moment in life when you're flying down Love Lane with your heart open wide.

Someone Like Me is a captivating novel of acceptance and forgiveness that will have you lingering over lessons learned long after the last page is turned.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Paperback

About the Author

Born in Illinois, Marian L. Thomas wouldn't say that her first career choice was writing novels. She saw herself working as a journalist for a local newspaper. In college, she served as a sports editor for the student paper, and later as the news editor. But Marian's writing path took a detour when she drafted her first completed manuscript. Now, she can't imagine not crafting stories for women that bring characters to life-characters who face real obstacles, cross difficult barriers to find love, and discover all the wonderful possibilities that life can offer. Marian has been featured on television stations such as Fox, NBC and CBS, and in many print and online publications including USA Today. She currently resides in Atlanta with her husband, enjoys a big bowl of popcorn every night, and believes that pasta should be a vegetable. Readers can stay connected to Marian through her website and active social media accounts, so stop by and say hello or join her mailing list for new release updates.

Connect:

Website: https://marianlthomas.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/marianlthomasbooks

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/marianlthomas09

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/marian-l-thomas

Spotlight: Savannah's Salvation by Louise Lennox

For Savannah Fraiser, her one-night stand with billionaire Michael Asara changed her life forever. But becoming a family will be harder than expected when fighting for those you love are threatened by power and greed. Readers will devour this billionaire blackmail romance featuring one sexy reluctant dad. Fall in love with your next book boyfriend with Savannah’s Salvation by Louise Lennox, the first book in the Single Dad’s Romance series. 

Read Now! 

Amazon → https://amzn.to/3dAH6gp 

For one night, I had the one man that millions of women worldwide fantasize about.

My time with the French billionaire Michael Asara shouldn't matter, but it does. Because one night left me with so much more than a good time. 

Except, he has no idea that he left me with more than a smile on my face, because I fled without a good-bye. And planned to never look back.

Until I'm forced to tell Michael about the product of our one-night stand while on assignment a year later in Paris. 

Already a devoted dad to a little girl who was abandoned by her gold-digging mother, Michael isn't looking to get burned twice. 

Unless that fire is between the sheets, where our chemistry is off the charts. Reconnecting and proving to him that I'm not like everyone else quickly has Michael staking his claim on me and our son. 

For a moment, we're almost like a real family. 

But when a blackmailer comes along and threatens to take what belongs to him, he vows to do anything to protect us...even if that means letting us go

Excerpt 

Copyright 2021 Louise Lennox

My daughter is my entire world, but my father views her birth as a blemish on my record. He loves Gabrielle and treats her like spun silk. But whenever I talk of taking over the family business, he mentions the circumstances of her birth and accuses me of poor judgement. And because I still wet my wick more often than my father likes, he thinks I haven’t changed. 

I need to prove to him I am more than a pretty face for the cameras and women to love. I can run the business. Closing this deal in America will show him that. 

However, coming to SAX Lounge before I head home and being loudly called an asshole by one of the most beautifully ballsy women I’ve ever seen will not. 

She is breathtaking... whoever she is. 

She’s taller than most women, but still at least a full foot shorter than me. Her legs went on forever in that dress and her skin is the color of browned butter. It looked smooth and touchable. She wore little make-up and when she spoke to me, her full lips begged me for a kiss.  

I almost obliged them. But I can’t take chances like that. I’m in America, but that kiss could end up all over the French tabloids before I landed back home. Plus, I don’t know her angle. She could be just as predatory and traitorous as Gabrielle’s mother, Eve.

I need to feel her out; to get her close and away from the crowd… on the dance floor.

I didn’t notice her at first, which is probably a good thing. If I had, I would have charmed her until I talked her right out of what I imagine being very sexy panties. Instead, I was accosted by one of the many groupies I tried to shake off when I entered the bar. I can’t believe women over here even know who I am, but I should have known better. 

Gold diggers do their research.

But the feisty woman at the bar doesn’t strike me as a groupie. Everything about her screamed refinement and respect.

She looked moved like she commands any room she enters. 

Her eyes were an intense chocolate brown with specks of gold that demanded my attention. 

Her ebony hair swung confidently down her back as she walked away. And that ass… C’est manifique! 

Meeting her made my decision to get my own drinks for the night a worthy one.

When our drinks got mixed up, I wanted to play with her. I knew she was there first; I should have given her the drinks, but I wanted a reason to talk to her. Plus, I didn’t like her answer when I asked a favor. 

I really needed to go. Leaving my cousin Kwame alone too long in a place like this is not a good idea. He’s a magnet for mischief and trouble. Her defiance made my dick throb, but it also made me want to discipline her. I can’t be told what to do and when she begs me to fuck her, because she will, she will learn she can’t boss me around. 

Which is what I’m sure she does to everyone else in her life. 

So instead of getting on my plane, I am planning how to get her into my bed. 

Another night in D.C. won’t be bad at all if I have her shapely legs wrapped around my waist. Gabrielle is at Disneyland Paris with her maternal grandmother for the week, so I can spend an extra day here to have some fun with the mystery woman.  

When she called me a fucking asshole, I wanted to take her pretty mouth and cleanse it of those filthy words. But I held myself, which is a feat. I usually take what I want. No one speaks to me with such disrespectful words. But if I have my way, she will apologize through multiple orgasms.

When I reach the booth Kwame secured for us, I slide his drink to him, but he barely registers my presence. He’s wrangled three women, and they are all practically naked and chomping at his rich bit. I do not have time for this. One woman licks her lips and gives me a look that says I can do anything I want to her... for the right price. But that’s not what I’m looking for. 

Tonight, I want the woman who I’m pretty sure won’t do whatever I want without being perfectly persuaded. I want the woman who had the gall to call me an asshole.

“You all look cozy.” I shoot Kwame a look, and he squirms. My plan was to keep a low profile, and this is the exact opposite. “If I knew we were having company, I would have ordered more drinks.”

The women smile, and Kwame laughs nervously. 

“No worries, cousin, this is VIP. Bottle service will start soon. Why don’t you sit down and join us? The ladies were just telling me about their favorite places to visit in D.C.”

“Yes.” The lip-licker purrs while patting a space beside her. “Why don’t you come and take a seat next to me.”

I conjure up the best smile I can. “No, I don’t think so. I’m actually looking for a friend.” Her face drops, and I can see the flash of annoyance in her eyes. She’s used to men just falling face-first into her fake cleavage. But I am not most men.

“Kwame, I will check on you later.”

He doesn’t protest, but I know he’s annoyed. I doubt he will keep those ladies interested without the major cash cow in the booth. But that’s his problem. And so is drinking.

Kwame drinks and gambles way too much. He boasts about power and money that he does not have. And he’s always dragging me into foolishness. I’m practically his babysitter, but tonight I have other plans. I have a woman to find.

I stop by the bar to grab another drink. Hennessey neat. I scan the lounge, and it doesn’t take me long to find her. She is sitting in a booth on the opposite side of the bar, holding court with two women.

She looks even more beautiful, relaxed and with her girls. The two women with her are also beautiful but can’t hold a candle next to her. She reminds me of a young Diahann Carroll. Her deep golden skin shimmers under the lights, making her beauty stand front and center. They are celebrating something. I hear her table scream congratulations as they toast their glasses. 

Now is as good a time as any to introduce myself.

About Louise Lennox 

Contemporary romance Author Louise Lennox is a hopeful romantic writing steamy romances full of heart and healing.

A Spelman College and Georgetown University graduate, Louise provides women with diverse and meaningful representation in romance novel pages. Not seeing enough women like herself headlining positive love stories, she launched #HappyBlackRomance; a community of readers and writers committed to the creation and sharing of positive romance stories featuring Black heroines.

Louise Lennox plots highlight the joys of Black relationships across the diaspora; pushing readers from all cultural backgrounds to admire them for their strength and downright sexiness. In her novels sparks always  fly; the sex amazes; and the characters always leave the world better than they found it through their love.

When she’s not writing, Louise is enjoying her work as a school leader, wife, and mother of the two cutest dragons to ever walk the earth!

To learn more about #HappyBlackRomance and to score a free book or two, check out her website www.lovelouiselennox.com .

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