Spotlight: This Life I by Cara Dee

Genre: Arranged Marriage

Finnegan O’Shea

The Sons of Munster have been living this life for generations. We have our own protocol, our own traditions, dating back to when two families merged and created our syndicate in Ireland. Now, we have our strongholds in Philly and Chicago, and the wrong man holds the highest position. The day my uncle decided to betray us, he signed his own death warrant, and after a five-year hitch in the can, I’m ready to take everything from him. In order to ensure the demise of his management, I have to get close to him. I need to earn his trust and that of his closest associates. I’ll be the top earner he wants me to be. I’ll be the very image of a conventional family man. 

For that to happen, this Irish bastard has to find himself a wife. Someone sweet and compliant who will stand by my side and make me look like I have too much to lose to screw over the head of the family. 

Emilia Porter

When it rains, it pours, so I guess it’s been pouring for eighteen years now. Being from an old mining town that’s full of drunk cautionary tales, I spend my days juggling—and failing—school, work, and paying the bills so my dad can drink himself into a stupor. Then this freaking guy rolls into town in his expensive sports car and thinks I should marry him. This isn’t the fifties, and there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I’ll marry a well-known mobster. No matter how much money he promises me. No matter how intensely the chemistry sizzles between us. 

He asks for three years of marriage. Then I’d be set for life, independent and free to start fresh on my own. Free to walk away. Who the hell does he think he is? 

Exclusive Excerpt

“How did your date go, little brother?” Patrick asked. 

“Good,” I replied, eyeing the food Ian was cooking. Sampling deli meat and cheese wasn’t enough when the kitchen was starting to smell like a steakhouse. “I’m trying not to think about her too much.”

“Why’s that?”

I shook my head, fingers drumming against the kitchen bar. “I thought she’d be fucking timid.”

Emilia Porter was the opposite. Wary and easily frightened, sure, but that was understandable. Her quick wit and feistiness, however…? I’d had no clue I’d crave it like an addict. I was already looking forward to our next date, which she’d agreed to reluctantly. 

I had her in the palm of my hand, though she took every opportunity to bite my fingers.

It was sexy as hell. 

Something far less sexy was her comment about her own mother. “She said something weird last night,” I admitted. “She thinks her mother is dead.”

“That’s fucked up.” Patrick frowned. “Did her pop make her believe that?”

“I guess so. I’ll do some digging.” 

One way or another, I was going to use this to my advantage. 

“Anyway,” I said, “hand me that, will ya?” I nodded at the box farther down the counter. 

Patrick complied, and I dug out the new phone. It was a gift to Emilia. I just had to prepare it a bit before sending it to her. For one, I wanted it synced with my laptop so I could access her texts and phone history and see what apps she downloaded. For two, I had to install a call distorter so our friends at the NSA and the FBI didn’t get any ideas.

*

Someone rudely interrupted me by knocking on the door and then entering before I could even tell them to fuck off. It was Patrick and Kellan with snacks and a couple six-packs of beer.

“Have you done anything?” Patrick stared at the state of my living room. 

“I’ve been busy,” I said defensively. Closing my laptop, I left it on the coffee table, something I’d actually assembled earlier. 

“The plastic’s still on the couch, mate.” Kellan snorted and crossed the living room to reach the kitchen. 

“That’s ’cause you spill, Agent Caldwell!” I called after him, and he laughed. Then I faced my brother. “The stalking has paid off again. The girls are texting, and Sarah mentioned being in the mood for Chinese.”

His forehead creased. “So?”

For fuck’s sake. “So take her out, numbskull! Call her and say you want Chinese. Bond or some shit.”

“Good idea.” He nodded firmly and pulled out his phone.

So did I, ’cause I’d waited long enough. At this point, with a phone she’d had less than a couple hours, Emilia had communicated more with her best friend and a fake FBI agent than me, the bloke who’d given her the damn thing. 

I wanted some attention now. 

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About the Author

I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex.

There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly. Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve. I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.

Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.

I'm a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, cooking, baking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and family, too. But mostly, I just love to write.

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Spotlight: The Wedding Party by Liu Xinwu and translated by Jeremy Tiang

Set at a pivotal point after the turmoil of the Chinese Cultural Revolution, THE WEDDING PARTY weaves together a rich tapestry of characters, intertwined lives, and stories within stories, in this day-in-the-life tale of a Beijing wedding.

On a December morning in 1982, the courtyard of a Beijing siheyuan―a lively quadrangle of homes―begins to stir. Auntie Xue’s son Jiyue is getting married today, and she is determined to make the day a triumph. Despite Jiyue’s woeful ignorance in matters of the heart―and the body. Despite a chef in training tasked with the onerous responsibility of preparing the banquet. With a cross-generational multitude of guests, from anxious family members to a fretful bridal party―not to mention exasperating friends, interfering neighbors, and wedding crashers―what will the day ahead bring?

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About the Author

Liu Xinwu’s work, which includes novels, short stories, and children’s literature, focuses on the common people of Beijing who live on the margins of society. He is one of the earliest proponents of the post-Maoist wave of Chinese literature, and is regarded as the creator of China’s “scar literature” genre. When Xinwu’s THE WEDDING PARTY was published in China in 1985, it was an immediately resounding success and won China’s biggest fiction award, the Mao Dun Prize. Liu Xinwu was born on June 4, 1942, in Chengdu, Sichuan Province, China, and has lived in Beijing since 1950.

About the Translator

Jeremy Tiang, a renowned author who has translated into English the influential works of Jackie Chan, Geling Yan (The Secret Talker), Chan Ho-Kei (Second Sister), and Tianxia Bachang (The City of Sand), now brings Liu Xinwu’s Chinese classic to vivid life for English readers. Jeremy Tiang was born and raised in Singapore. He studied English Literature at University College Oxford, and then trained as an actor at Drama Center London. After acting professionally on stage and in short films, Tiang transitioned from acting to playwriting, writing fiction, and translating literature. His short story Trondheim, from his collection It Never Rains on National Day, won Singapore’s 2009 Golden Point Award; and his novel State of Emergency won the Singapore Literature Prize in 2018. He currently lives in Flushing, Queens. For more information, visit www.jeremytiang.com.

Spotlight: A Moment After Dark by Janet Raye Stevens

Publication date: December 7th 2021
Genres: Historical, Paranormal, Suspense

Synopsis:

She sees the future with a touch. A powerful gift in a time of war.
The enemy wants her. The Allies need her.


Addie Brandt is cursed. When she touches someone, or an object that belongs to them, she sees their future, and it’s rarely good. Mocked and teased her whole life, Addie hides from the world in her family’s funeral home. But when her second sight shows her a horrific vision of an attack on the Pearl Harbor Naval base, the gruesome images are too intense to ignore, and she tries to raise the alarm. Will anyone listen?

Federal agent Jack Dunstan needs a miracle. He’s still reeling from the betrayal that nearly decimated his team of agents with paranormal powers, a vengeful Nazi spy with a terrifying ability of his own is out to destroy him, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before America is drawn into the war raging around the world. Hearing rumors of Addie’s vision, he seeks her out, hoping she could be the miracle he’s looking for.

Addie’s not sure she trusts Jack Dunstan. He’s rude, cocky, and insists on calling her curse of second sight a “gift.” But if she wants to save lives and prevent a terrible disaster, she must put aside her fears and doubts and learn to embrace her ability.

With the US on the brink of war and an enemy agent hunting her for her power, Addie must learn to trust Dunstan—and herself—to stop an attack that could change the course of history forever.

A World War II paranormal suspense in the vein of Simone St. James, mixed with a dash of Susan Elia MacNeal’s Maggie Hope series.

Excerpt

Addie Brandt can see the future with a touch. It's early December, 1941, and she's had a horrific vision of an attack on Pearl Harbor. She's determined to raise the alarm, but her effort to report what she's seen to the police doesn't go as she hopes.

“What do you expect me to do?” Sgt. Gillis asked.

Addie’s frustration and anger threatened to boil over. “Can’t you call the Navy or the FBI or someone?”  

“And tell them what? A fanciful girl thinks there might be an attack on one of our naval bases at some point in the future? I’m sorry, dear, that’s not what police work is. I can’t call anyone without something solid to go on.” He held out his hand. “Or some kind of proof.”

She stared at his palm as if it held a bomb. Touch him? What good would that do? If the Sight showed her a vision, it would most likely be terrible. And whatever she saw might not happen until next week or next year. She shook her head and the sergeant frowned. 

“I thought as much. Why don’t you run on home, Miss Brandt, and forget this foolishness?” 

Addie lost the battle to hold her temper. Her cousin Marta liked to say never get a German angry. Or an Irishwoman. The blood of both pumped furiously through her veins. 

By golly, she’d do it.

Cool air tickled her skin as she stripped off a glove. Silence fell in the precinct. Addie’s hand hovered over Gillis’s and she cringed. She hadn’t held anyone’s hand since Mother’s, years ago. The day the Sight showed her Mother was going to die. 

But she had to. With the fate of so many hanging in the balance, she had to touch him. 

She pressed her fingers against his. Instantly, darkness as black as pitch blanketed her mind. Her body seized. Images flashed. Terrifying sensations beat against her brain. It took every ounce of strength she had to tear out of the Sight’s grip. 

She opened her eyes to see Sgt. Gillis smirking at her. “Well? Where’s my proof?

Addie scrabbled her glove back onto her hand and shot out of her seat. The chair legs squawked against the floorboards. “I-I can’t,” she said hastily. “I’m sorry.”

“Crazy as a loon,” she heard one cop say as she dashed across the room.

Burning with fury and humiliation, Addie flung open the front door and slammed into a wall. No, not a wall. A man. A powerfully built man, with shoulders as broad as an anchor filling his overcoat and a chest apparently made of iron. She looked up to see a face like Dick Tracy in the funny papers—all angles. Razor sharp jaw, full lips, crooked nose, black hair under a fedora perched at a rakish angle. And eyes the color of brown sugar. Curious eyes that kept her gaze a moment too long. 

“Whoa, sister. Where’s the fire?” he said, his voice as deep as the ocean. He smelled like the ocean, too. Fresh, salty-sharp, like he’d been born on Pott’s Beach. 

She laughed bitterly. Couldn’t help it, after what the Sight had inflicted on her in the heartbeat she’d held the sergeant’s hand. Addie as Gillis, at the foot of a massive structure engulfed in flames. An ear-splitting pop and the structure shuddered as chunks of burning wood splintered and plummeted down. 

She’d ripped herself out of the vision before the fatal moment the scorching embers crashed onto her. Or Gillis, rather. But she knew with certainty the sergeant would die a brutal, fiery death.

Somehow, she made it around the big man she’d slammed into, mighty glad her hands were covered and she couldn’t make contact with him. She’d had enough of the Sight for one day. 

Besides, she did not want to know what could fell a giant Redwood tree of a man like him.

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About the Author

Meet award-winning author Janet Raye Stevens – mom, reader, tea-drinker (okay, tea guzzler), and teller of fun, adventurous, occasionally heartbreaking, and stealthily romantic tales.

Derringer Award nominee and winner of the Daphne du Maurier and RWA's Golden Heart® awards, Janet writes mystery, time travel, WWII-set paranormal, and the occasional Christmas romance with humor, heart, and a dash of suspense. She lives in New England with her husband, who's practically perfect in every way, and their two sons, both geniuses and good-looking to boot.

Connect:

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19725825.Janet_Raye_Stevens

Spotlight: The Magi Menagerie by Kale Lawrence

(The Magi Menagerie, #1)
Publication date: September 7th 2021
Genres: Fantasy, Historical, New Adult, Young Adult

Synopsis:

Some stars aren’t meant to be followed.

For seventeen years, Ezra Newport and his parents were habitual immigrants, traveling from their Ottoman Empire home across 20th century Europe. As the Newports migrate to Belfast, Ireland, Ezra wants nothing more to settle into a consistent life and lay the foundation of his architectural dreams. But after a strange, mechanical bounty hunter murders his mother and prompts the disappearance of his father, Ezra discovers that his parents had actually been on the run. Now, their enemies are targeting him, and they won’t stop until he is dead.

In a moment of desperation, Ezra’s fate collides with the Third Order of the Magi, a secret society dedicated to using their supernatural powers to protect their communities. With increasing violence around the world, the Magi are fairly certain they know who’s behind the attacks on Ezra and his family since the same group could also be threatening their own existence.

Both Ezra and the Magi’s survival hinges on knowledge only Ezra’s father has and the key to saving them could be buried within history itself. In a race across continents and time, both Ezra and the Magi must secure an ancient Babylonian artifact before hell is unleashed on the world. And, against all odds, Ezra must decide where his allegiances truly lie, despite what is written in the stars.

Excerpt from Chapter One: The Order of Babylon (Ezra’s POV)

A blinding white light illuminated the compartment then faded just before a concussive shockwave sent the scene around them into oblivion. Reeling in confusion, Ezra found himself lying prostrate in a barely conceivable jumble of his former surroundings. Splintering glass shattered around him. A warm stream of a substance—oil? Blood? —trickled down his forehead and along the corner of his mouth. Ezra wiped it away with the sleeve of his coat, cringing at the crimson trail left behind. His equilibrium—as much as he tried to control it—spiralled in a vicious vortex, rendering it nearly impossible to get his bearings.  

"Anne?" he croaked in Turkish. His voice, hardly louder than a whisper, was drowned out by the infernal ringing in his ears.  

Reaching for the compartment door handle to pull himself to his feet, Ezra recoiled when he noticed the door had been smeared with cruel red streaks. Smoke billowed throughout the walkway, choking him as he navigated on hands and knees through the devastation.  

"Anne?" he called again. 

"Ezra!" 

His mother was within arm’s reach, but the look in her eyes seemed dangerously far.  

Ezra crawled to her side where she lay gasping for air. His stomach contorted into knots at the sight of a dark, liquid halo surrounding her headscarf.  

"Let's get you out of here," Ezra insisted, attempting to prop her up into a seated position. He frantically looked around for any sign of his father. "We need to find Baba!" 

"Shhh," she insisted, shakily reaching up to her son's face. "Don't worry about us. Flee. Get as far away from here as you possibly can."   

"What are you saying?" Ezra said, wondering if somehow his brain had lost all ability to comprehend language. 

"Your baba and I knew this day would come," she whispered, tears swimming in her eyes. "They have found us. They have found you."  

"Who? Who has found—" Ezra began but was silenced when her complexion faded to a ghastly white. He hesitantly followed her gaze over his shoulder.  

Distorted by smoke, an inky black shadow materialised at the end of the walkway. The figure plodded toward them with an uneven gait, accompanied by ominous, mechanical whirring. But when the being finally stopped, and the smoke cleared just enough to expose his anamorphic features, Ezra could not bring himself to move. 

"By the Order of Babylon, you are hereby commanded to follow and obey," his deep voice warbled through some type of amplification apparatus. His breath's condensation—or rather, steam—fumed from the steel grates around where his mouth should have been.  

Ezra's own breath faltered as the orange light from nearby flames illuminated the figure's head. Slits in his mask revealed rugged skin and dark shadows beneath an organic eye, but the other portion consisted entirely of an intricate web of gears and piping. While at one time, the figure might have been an ordinary person, whoever now stood before him was nothing close to being human. 

"We shall not!" his mother barked defensively, feigning a physical strength Ezra knew she lacked. "We will never yield." 

"Hmm," the shadow mused. "So be it, Magus." A snap of his fingers sent ruby sparks into the haze and, upon deteriorating, revealed a massive cobra. Its thick body slithered across the wreckage and advanced straight for Ezra.  

"Ezra, go!" cried his mother as a deluge of glass fragments rained upon them.  

Crab-walking backward, Ezra manoeuvred as fast as he could away from the serpent, but it navigated the debris as if nothing stood in its way. The reptile snapped its jaws centimetres from his leather shoe, a fierce wrath in its eyes.  

"Leave him alone, devil!" yelled Leyla, summoning what strength remained to kick at the snake with her boot. 

Almost in slow motion, the cobra turned its fiery eyes toward his mother and bared its fangs as if overjoyed to set a course for its new target.  

"No!" Ezra screamed in terror. "No, no, no!" 

The cobra paid no attention to his pleas. It struck in one sickening flash, almost too fast for the eye to comprehend. As it withdrew, Ezra choked back arduous smoke—and a wave of tears—as his mother reflexively reached for her neck. 

Narrowing its eyes as if perversely satisfied by the work of its venom now coursing through her veins, the cobra turned back to Ezra.  

Trembling, Ezra tried to move but could not persuade his petrified limbs to cooperate.  

“Go, my love!” Leyla rasped. “Go!”  

Using his elbows to help pull him down the corridor, he furiously attempted escape. If the half-man, half-machine could grin or show any form of expression, Ezra imagined he was elated beyond measure at the persistence of his pet. The mysterious being advanced, his boots ravishing the ashy remains of pencil-sketched architecture. 

“Where is your father, boy?” demanded the figure. “Tell me!” 

Ezra could barely breathe as the figure hovered above him. A true vision of the Grim Reaper. The last thing Ezra saw before his vision faded was the cruel twinkle behind the mask of the stranger. 

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About the Author

Since the early age of 6, Kale Lawrence knew she either wanted to be an astronaut or an author. Obviously, the astronaut gig didn’t work out, so instead, Kale turned to fantastic fictional worlds. When Kale is not writing creatively, she works as a Marketing Manager at a pet product company, and pretends she’s an Olympic swimmer at the gym. She has also served as a board member for the South Dakota Writes organization.

In addition to books, Kale has lent her writing prowess to television, and her writing has been featured on nationwide PBS television programming, NBC newscasts, ABC newscasts, and the Travel Channel.

Kale currently lives in Sioux Falls, South Dakota with her feisty tortoiseshell calico cat, Emma Bug and sassy Siamese, Seattle Bean.

Connect:

https://kalelawrence.com/

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5241807.Kale_Lawrence

Spotlight: First Kiss at Christmas by Lee Tobin McClain

Publication Date: October 26, 2021

Publisher: HQN Books

At 25 years old, preschool teacher Kayla Harris is embarrassed to admit she's never been kissed. When Tony DiNunzio and his grieving nephew show up in her classroom, she can't help being drawn to both of them. If only her insecurities-and his guilt over his sister's death-would stop standing in their way.

As Christmas approaches, can these three come together to form a family... not just for the holidays, but forever?

Excerpt

1

KAYLA HARRIS CARRIED a bag of snowflake decorations to the window of her preschool classroom. She started putting them up in a random pattern, humming along to the Christmas music she’d accessed on her phone.

Yes, it was Sunday afternoon, and yes, she was a loser for spending it at work, but she loved her job and wanted the classroom to be ready when the kids returned from Thanksgiving break tomorrow. Nobody could get as excited as a four-year-old about Christmas decorations.

Outside, the November wind tossed the pine branches and jangled the swings on the Coastal Kids Early Learning Center’s playground. A lonely seagull swooped across the sky, no doubt headed for the bay. The Chesapeake was home to all kinds of wildlife, year-round. That was one of the things she loved about living here.

Then another kind of movement from the playground caught her eye.

A man in a long, army-type coat, bareheaded, ran after a little boy. When Kayla pushed open the window to see better, she heard the child screaming.

Heart pounding, she rushed downstairs and out the door of the empty school.

The little boy now huddled at the top of the sliding board, mouth wide open as he cried, tears rolling down round, rosy cheeks. The man stood between the slide and a climbing structure, forking his fingers through disheveled hair, not speaking to the child or making any effort to comfort him. This couldn’t be the little boy’s father. Something was wrong.

She ran toward the sliding board. “Hi, honey,” she said to the child, keeping her voice low and calm. “What’s the matter?”

“Leave him alone,” the man barked out. His ragged jeans and wildly flapping coat made him look disreputable, maybe homeless.

She ignored him, climbed halfway up the ladder, and touched the child’s shaking shoulder. “Hi, sweetheart.”

The little boy jerked away and, maybe on purpose, maybe not, slid down the slide. The man rushed to catch him at the bottom, and the boy struggled, crying, his little fists pounding, legs kicking.

Kayla pulled out her phone to report a possible child abduction, eyes on the pair, poised to interfere if the man tried to run with the child.

One of the boy’s kicks landed in a particularly vulnerable spot, and the man winced and adjusted the child to cradle him as if he were a baby. “Okay, okay,” he murmured in a deep, but gentle voice, nothing like the sharp tone in which he’d addressed Kayla. He sat down on the end of the slide and pulled the child close, rocking a little. “You’re okay.”

The little boy struggled for another few seconds and then stopped, laying his head against the man’s broad chest. Apparently, this guy had gained the child’s trust, at least to some degree.

For the first time, Kayla wondered if she’d misread the situation. Was this just a scruffy dad? Was she maybe just being her usual awkward self with men?

He looked up at her then, curiosity in his eyes.

Her face heated, but she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was an education professional trying to help a child. “This is a private school, sir,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

The little boy had startled at her voice and his crying intensified. The man ignored her question.

“Is he your son?”

Again, no answer as he stroked the child’s hair and whispered something into his ear.

“All right, I guess it’s time for the police to straighten this out.” She searched for the number, her fingers numb with the cold. Maybe this situation didn’t merit a 911 call, but there was definitely something unusual going on. Her small town’s police force could straighten it out.

“WAIT. DON’T CALL THE POLICE.” Tony DeNunzio struggled to his feet, the weight of his tense nephew making him awkward. “Everything’s okay. I’m his guardian.” He didn’t owe this woman an explanation, and it irritated him to have to give one, but he didn’t want Jax to get even more upset. The child hated cops, and with good reason.

“You’re his guardian?” The blonde, petite as she was, made him feel small as her eyes skimmed him up and down.

He glanced down at his clothes and winced. Lifted a hand to his bristly chin and winced again.

He hadn’t shaved since they’d arrived in town two days ago, and he’d grabbed these clothes from the heap of clean but wrinkled laundry beside his bed. Not only because he was busy trying to get Jax settled, but because he couldn’t bring himself to care about folding laundry and shaving and most of the other tasks under the general heading of personal hygiene. A shower a day, and a bath for Jax, was about all he could manage. His brother and sister—his surviving sister—had scolded him about it, back home.

He couldn’t explain all of that, didn’t need to. It wasn’t this shivering stranger’s business. “Jax is going to enroll here,” he said.

“Really?” Another wave of shivers hit her, making her teeth chatter. Tony didn’t know where she’d come from, but apparently her mission of mercy had compelled her to run outside without her coat.

He’d offer her his, but he had a feeling she’d turn up her nose.

“The school is closed on Sundays,” she said.

Thank you, Miss Obvious. But given that he and Jax had slipped through a gap in the playground’s loosely chained gate, he guessed their presence merited a little more explanation. “I’m trying to get him used to the place before he starts school tomorrow. He has trouble with...” Tony glanced down at Jax, who’d stopped crying and stuck his thumb in his mouth, and a surge of love and frustration rose in him. “He has trouble with basically everything.”

The woman shook her head and put a finger to her lips, then pointed at the child.

What was that all about? And who was she, the parenting police? “Do you have a reason to be here?” he asked, hearing the truculence in his own voice and not caring.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I work nearby,” she said. “Saw you here and got concerned, because the little guy seemed to be upset. For that matter, he still seems to be.”

No denying that. Jax had tensed up as soon as they’d approached the preschool playground, probably because it was similar to places where he’d had other bad experiences. Even though Jax had settled some, Tony could feel the tightness in his muscles, and he rubbed circles on his nephew’s back. “He’s been kicked out of preschool and day care before,” he explained. “This is kind of my last resort.”

She frowned. “You know he can hear you, right?”

“Of course he can hear, he’s not...” Tony trailed off as he realized what she meant. He shouldn’t say negative things about Jax in front of him.

She was right, but she’d also just met him and Jax. Was she really going to start telling him how to raise his nephew?

Of course, probably almost anyone in the world would be better at it than he was.

“Did you let the school know the particulars of his situation?” She leaned against the slide’s ladder, her face concerned.

Tony sighed. She must be one of those women who had nothing else to do but criticize how others handled their lives. She was cute, though. And it wasn’t as if he had much else to do, either. He’d completed all the Victory Cottage paperwork, and he couldn’t start dealing with the program’s other requirements until the business week started tomorrow.

Jax moved restlessly and looked up at him.

Tony set Jax on his feet and gestured toward the play structure. “Go ahead and climb. We’ll go back to the cottage before long.” He didn’t know much about being a parent, but one thing he’d learned in the past three months was that tiring a kid out with active play was a good idea.

Jax nodded and ran over to the playset. His tongue sticking out of one corner of his mouth, forehead wrinkled, he started to climb.

Tony watched him, marveling at how quickly his moods changed. Jax’s counselor said all kids were like that, but Jax seemed a little more extreme than most.

No surprise, given what he’d been through.

Tony looked back at the woman, who was watching him expectantly.

“What did you ask me?” Sometimes he worried about himself. It was hard to keep track of conversations, not that he had all that many of them lately. None, except with Jax, since they’d arrived in Pleasant Shores two days ago.

“I asked if you let the school know about his issues,” she said. “It might help them help him, if they know what they’re working with.”

“I didn’t tell them about the other schools,” he said. “I didn’t want to jinx this place, make them think he’s a bad kid, right from the get-go. He’s not.”

“I’m sure he isn’t,” she said. “He’s a real cutie. But still, you should be up front with his teachers and the principal.”

Normally he would have told her to mind her own business, but he was just too tired for a fight. “You’re probably right.” It was another area where he was failing Jax, he guessed. But he was doing the best he could. It wasn’t as if he’d had experience with any kids other than Jax. Even overseas, when the other soldiers had given out candy and made friends, he’d tended to terrify the little ones. Too big, too gruff, too used to giving orders.

“Telling the school the whole story will only help him,” she said, still studying Jax, her forehead creased.

He frowned at her. “Why would you care?”

“The truth is,” she said, “I’m going to be his teacher.”

Great. He felt his shoulders slump. Had he just ruined his nephew’s chances at this last-resort school?

MONDAY MORNING, KAYLA welcomed the last of her usual students and stood on tiptoes to look down the stairs of the Coastal Kids preschool. Where were Tony and Jax?

She’d informed two of her friendliest and most responsible students that a new boy was coming today and that they should help him to feel at home. If he didn’t get here in time for the opening circle, she’d tell all twelve of the kids about Jax.

But maybe his uncle had changed his mind about enrolling him.

Maybe Kayla’s mother, who was the principal of the little early learning center, had decided Jax wasn’t going to be a good fit and suggested another option for him. That would be rare, but it occasionally happened.

Mom said Kayla fretted too much. Probably true, but it was in the job description. Kayla felt a true calling to nurture and educate the kids in her care. Sometimes, that meant worrying about them.

The Coastal Kids Early Learning Center was housed in an old house that adjoined a local private school. Kayla’s classroom was one of three located upstairs, and from hers, she could see down the central staircase to the glassed-in offices. Her mother was welcoming a few stragglers, but there was still no sign of her new student.

She turned back to face her students. “Good job sharing,” she said to redheaded Nicole, who was holding out a plastic truck to her friend. “Jacob, we don’t run in the classroom. Why don’t you look at the new books on our reading shelf?”

After making sure all the kids were occupied with their morning playtime, she stepped out into the hall. If she could flag down her mother, she’d try to find out what was going on with Jax.

And then Tony came into the school, holding Jax’s hand.

Kayla sucked in a breath. Wow. He cleaned up really well.

Not that he was entirely cleaned up; he still had the stubbly half beard that made him look a little dangerous, and his thick, dark hair was overlong. But he wore nice jeans and a green sweater with sleeves pushed up to reveal muscular forearms. He knelt so Jax could jump onto his back for a piggyback ride, then stood easily, and Kayla sucked in another breath. There was something about a guy who was physically strong.

He stopped and spoke to Kayla’s mother—she’d been occupied with another parent right inside the office, apparently—and then, at her gesture, headed up the stairs toward Kayla’s classroom.

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About the Author

Lee Tobin McClain is the bestselling author of more than thirty emotional, small-town romances described by Publishers Weekly as enthralling, intense, and heartfelt. A dog lover and proud mom, she often includes kids and animals in her books. When she's not writing, she enjoys hiking with her goofy goldendoodle, chatting online with her writer friends, and admiring her daughter's mastery of the latest TikTok dances.

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Goodreads

Spotlight: Licking Her Christmas Cookies by Alina Jacobs

Publication date: November 16th 2021
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance

Synopsis:

In hindsight, opening a Christmas tree ornament shop in a small town was a terrible idea.

The Thanksgiving turkey is still warm, and I’m already up to my eyeballs in debt from my failed business.

To make matters worse, my knight in flannel never appeared—you know, the guy, the one who was tall, dark, and plaid, who had a friendly yellow lab and a truck and sold firewood, the one who showed the big-city heroine the true meaning of love and Christmas.

Yeah, he did not come rescue me.

Instead, Matt Frost showed up like the Prince of Winter to yell at me about the rent I owed him.

He did not feature in any of my Christmas fantasies. In fact, he was exactly the type of Christmas-hating alphahole billionaire in a suit I left Manhattan to escape.

I can’t worry about him.

I need to fix my life.

I have to make a bunch of money before Christmas Eve or I’m a toasted marshmallow.

No ornament will be left off this Christmas tree of desperation!

Gambling on the Christmas raffle that lets you win either ten thousand dollars, a giant snow globe, or a snack-addicted reindeer? Spin that roulette wheel and bring it on.

Moonlighting as an elf for an irate Santa? Mama’s gotta get paid.

Entering in The Great Christmas Bake-Off in hopes of winning the grand prize? Fetch me my custom elf apron.

so have this bake-off wrapped, ribboned, and in my Christmas stocking.

Except when I’m paired with Matt the Grinch, I see my dreams of a debt-free Christmas going up in Yule log flames.

Matt Frost and I are not compatible baking partners.

Especially not after he licks the frosting off my Christmas cookies while I scream.

Not like that! He’s a Christmas-hating Scrooge who ruined my bake-off entry.

I am not in the market for a Christmas romance.

Especially not with a six-foot-five guy with ice-blue eyes and washboard abs.

No, not even when he’s covered in frosting, standing in front of a decorated tree, and looking better than an edible Christmas card.

Nope, not even then.

‘Tis the season for holiday romance! This is a full-length standalone holiday romantic comedy with nonstop Christmas and romance. If you love over-the-top small-town Christmas festivals, overbearing but well-meaning great-aunts, and smoking hot guys in nothing but a Santa hat who will melt the snow off the roof of your house, snuggle up with a spiked hot chocolate and get in the Christmas romance spirit!

Excerpt

“Now,” I said, waving the chocolate-covered spoon at him, “are you going to let your ex walk all over you or are you going to pick up a whisk and win this competition?” 

His mouth was a thin line. Then his face relaxed in understanding. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he said, giving me a flash of teeth. “You think you can play to my ego and help you bake. Too bad.” 

“You need to help me!” I shrieked, finally giving up on the candy thermometer. Could you blame it? Who didn’t want to take a bath in a pot of warm chocolate?

“I need this win. You can’t do this to me.” 

“I absolutely can.”

I picked up the pot and slammed it on the counter. 

“You better fish that candy thermometer out of there,” Matt said in a mocking tone, stepping into my personal space bubble. “You might make someone sick.” 

He was making me sick. I turned back to the stove to grab my fork. I had to win. The cheesecake had to go into the oven soon. We were running out of opportunities for him to help. I looked at the clock then the other bakers. 

Ugh. Everyone else’s cheesecakes were already out of the oven and cooling. 

My dish was a mess. 

It won’t matter how good or bad it is if you get disqualified.

I couldn’t give up now.

I stepped up behind Matt, reached around him, and grabbed each of his hands.

He made a strangled noise as I pressed the full length of my body against him.

I think I severely miscalculated.

I was height challenged. And Matt was six feet five with long arms and huge hands that I could barely reach. I smooshed my boobs against his back… his very muscular, hard back.

Unghn. 

“Get off of me,” he growled.

“We’re baking,” I squeaked.

I laced my fingers in his left hand, and before he could throw me off, I pulled the pot of melted chocolate closer. Then, with his right hand, I picked up one of the truffle balls and plopped it into the melted chocolate. His hands were large under my own, the tendons fluttering against my palms as he let me manipulate his arms. I adjusted myself against him, and he grunted slightly. 

You really should have just stood next to him to do this baking puppetry, my mind chattered as I inhaled his scent, my nose pressed against the back of his suit jacket.

This was way too close. I forced his right hand to grab a fork and fish the truffle out of the chocolate.

“There. Now you participated,” I said as the truffle dropped onto the cooling rack with a plot. My voice sounded a little raspy. 

It’s the weather—all this cold, wet air. 

Matt turned back to me, eyes a deep blue. 

“Was that so hard?” I asked. 

“I don’t know. You were the one feeling me up. You tell me.” 

“I have to get this cheesecake in the oven,” I blurted out before I could say something like “You’re hard enough to be a nutcracker.” Which would, one, be an idiotic thing to say and two, make Matt think I thought he was attractive, which I certainly did not.  

I quickly made the rest of the truffles, keeping an eye on the clock. 

Matt wasn’t even pretending to look at his phone. He was just watching me work. Periodically he would steal one of the truffles right as I finished it. The third time he did it, I tried to stab him with a fork.

“Too slow.” 

“You could help,” I snapped at him.

“I already helped.” He gave me a smug look. “And now I’m just exhausted.” 

“Guess someone doesn’t have any staying power.”

“I absolutely have staying power.” 

“I doubt it. I bet that was why your ex left you,” I snapped back at him.

“You—” He bit back the curse word. He was probably going to call me a bitch. Which I probably was. That had been a low blow. 

But I was stressed! Everyone else was done and putting the elegant finishing touches on their cheesecakes because they actually had a partner who would help. We had another hour left on the clock. It took a cheesecake that long to bake at minimum.

I was facing a loss. Not just my pride but everything. And it was all because of Matt fucking Frost. 

“Or maybe it wasn’t your staying power,” I said shrilly, giving the cheesecake batter one more stir. “Maybe it was because you just stood around while she did all the work.”

“Fine, you want me to do the work?” Matt snarled at me. He snatched the bowl of batter out of my hand and emptied it into the springform pan, sending some of it splashing off the sides.

“You’re doing it wrong!” I protested. 

Matt scooped up the rest of the truffles and dumped them in the batter where they sank in a lump off to one side.

“They have to be artfully arranged.” I tried to shove him aside so I could salvage my cheesecake.

Matt picked up the pan, holding it aloft while I jumped around him like a Chihuahua trying to rescue my cake.

“You’re ruining it.”

“I’m helping,” he taunted. He opened the oven and practically threw the pan inside. “You’re welcome.”

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About the Author

If you like steamy romantic comedies with a creative streak, then I'm your girl!

Architect by day, writer by night, I love matcha green tea, chocolate, and books! So many books…

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