Spotlight: Chase Her by Kelly Finley

(Come For Me, #3)
Publication date: April 21st 2022
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense

Synopsis:

Famous. Imposing. Mysterious. Daniel Pierce hides so much behind his A-list celebrity fame. Has that secret and that fame cost him the love of his life? The most incredible woman he’d ever met?

A force to be reckoned with, Charlie Ravenel was never supposed to fall in love with him—the one man she shouldn’t. While she followed no man’s rules, he convinced her to follow her heart. And him. Together they found a life of such promise, such passion… but also grave threats.

Did he commit the worst sin? Doubting her strength, her mission and her darkest fear? He loves her so much, he will chase that answer to the very end. Because their love was destined; a fierce desire they couldn’t resist.

And now the consequence, the collision of every force. A perfect storm. Of secrets revealed. Of pasts returned. Of the question everyone dares to ask…

Does love survive… even past our last breath?

CHASE HER, Book Three in the COME FOR ME series is a thrilling, steamy, romantic suspense novel that takes you to the very edge.

*This book is not for the fainthearted. This deep romance explores the dark theme of stalking.

Excerpt

He scooped her into his embrace on the gym floor. "I'd ask you what's wrong”—he wrapped his hand over her sweaty belly—“but I know." 

With every week of her possessed workouts, the swell had disappeared to her strong abs showing back through. But Daniel knew—this wasn't about weight or vanity. Not his wife. She had none.

This was about the shooter.

For two months, Daniel had watched her. How, if she wasn't smiling at the twins, she was lost in thought. What was she plotting? It concerned him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'll be okay.”

He didn't believe her. “I know what's driving you, but you've got to pace yourself. If you don't, you'll tear something, and then we're fucked. The last place we want to be now is in hospital, not with this virus out there."

The baby monitor he set on the bench cried out. He glanced at it. Caroline stirred. Of course she was awake again.

"I'll get her." She pecked his cheek. "You get your workout in." She stood up from his arms.

"Fran's got them." He grabbed her hand gently. "Stay with me, just for a minute."

He stood up, watching the monitor while he nestled her against his chest. Fran appeared on the screen in front of the cot, softly shushing Caroline back to sleep.

Thank God for that sweet woman. Fran gave them the breaks they needed. Charlie had protested at hiring a nanny, but he searched anyway and she was glad he did.

He called Fran for a phone interview from the hospital. She was perfect, from London, ending a job in Nashville with celebrity musicians whose teens no longer needed her. She had the experience and fifty-two years of wisdom. 

Once Daniel explained to Fran the situation, fully disclosing the risk, she didn't hesitate. She met them at the dock in Bluffton for the trip out to Daufuskie Island and hadn't left since.

"See." He nodded toward the monitor. "She's got them."

Charlie’s body relaxed against his, and a need, a tension started stirring within. 

She had welcomed his hugs, his kisses, but that was all. He tried a few times after the six weeks they were told to wait. Fuck, he was desperate for her. But each time, Charlie gently removed his hand from between her thighs. Now, he didn't even try, digging deep for patience instead. It was hard.

His cock didn’t receive the patient message, tenting his thin black gym shorts with a stiffy.

"I feel you, Sex God,” she murmured against his chest.

His hand pressed down to the small of her bare back. "I feel you too, Sex Goddess." Her workout clothes always turned him on. Hell, she could wear a Hessian sack and make him horny as hell.

"I'm not ready yet."

"Your patient husband knows that, but his lonely cock doesn't."

"Should I leave you here for a workout and to rub one off?"

"Only if you watch me… and you do the same."

"You little shit." She pulled back with a sly smile. "You tryin’ to tempt me?"

"I've got to. I know you're not ready, babe, but I'm going to break my dick off wanking without you." He meant it. It had been months, a lonely hell.

She sighed, eyes half-rolling. "I'm not trying to starve you. I know we can now, but I don't feel like myself.” Pulling her body away. “I don't know how 'mom', 'wife' and 'Charlie' come together now. It's fucking weird. It’s like I'm out of my body and need to get back in it, but I don't recognize it. And now... I've got this."

Her gesture took his gaze, only turning him on more. Staring down at the pussy he missed, knowing its hidden beauty, he didn't give a damn about a Cesarean scar, even though he hadn't seen it yet.

"Good God, babe, you're even more beautiful to me now." His hand smoothed over her hourglass waist. “All I do is admire you and want you but you've been hiding from me for months."

His finger lifted her chin, asking her eyes to meet his. "Let me at least hold you, in the shower, in our bed, with nothing on." He kissed her lips, aware how his new beard tickled them, dusting over their sexy slope, confessing, "I miss us."

They needed this. It was their connection, their love. The instant they met, the urge for the other was so powerful it overwhelmed their senses. The greatest desire thrilled his flesh from the moment he touched Charlie. 

And he'd almost lost her. 

He needed to cherish every inch of her, lavishing her with tender touches, fucking her so hard. He had no choice; he had to show her how much he loved her and would until his dying day.

"Even if we tried that, just being naked," she said. "I won’t be able to relax. I don't think I'll have an orgasm again in this house, not with the twins and Fran down the hall."

"Fran's not uptight. Have you heard her talk? She's an old-school feminist. I assure you when her wife can travel here from London, we will hear them down the hall."

"Okay, fine. But what about the twins? Between Caroline, who never sleeps, and Duke, who demands my attention when he's awake, I don't get a second to relax unless I'm in the gym." Her hand caressed his hard bicep. "It's not fair between men and women. Your cock is a hot light switch, but my vag is a cold oven, it's gotta warm up, and it can't with all this baby stuff going on."

That amused him. And challenged him. "Give me a chance, babe." His lips climbed up her neck while he murmured, "You always switch my cock on, and you know I can melt you into the wettest heat you've ever dripped." 

He took gentle bites before she snapped her neck closed. "Fuck, your beard tickles."

“Oh, yeah?"

Nuzzling into her, he made her squeal, squirming from his snatching embrace—a futile effort. He wouldn't let her go.

"Quit it." Her eyes twinkled. “Or I’ll tie you down and shave that thing off.”

He ceased the tickle, but not his smile. Fuck's sake, he loved her like this. Laughing. Playful. Warming up to him, he could tell, her nipples pebbled under her sports bra.

His dirty mind devised a plan; his hard cock signed off on it. "I'm getting us an afternoon, alone, in the house for a few hours. We’ll just shower and cuddle, I promise."

"How do you propose to do that?"

"Those two cherubs have grandparents on this island ten minutes away. Pop and Evelyn would jump at the chance to have them for a few hours. And Fran could visit with them or take the time to herself."

"I feel like shitty parents sending our babies away for an afternoon so we can fuck."

"Yes! Are we finally going to fuck?" That was all he heard. Not the “shitty parent” part, because that, he didn't buy.

"I'm serious, Daniel. How does that look? We send our kids away so we can have an afternoon of sex?”

"Since when does my fit wife give two shits for what people think?” He gripped her hand. “I’m serious, Charlie. We've been through enough. If we don't stay connected and strong as a couple, we are no good to them as Mum and Dad."

"Quit trying to make that stick, Pierce." She tongued her teeth, smiling. "I'm not gonna be ‘Mum' and you're not gonna be ‘Dad.' More like ‘Mama’ and ‘Daddy’ in these parts."

"You're off your trolley. Fran and I will see to it that they have proper English accents."

He teased her, relishing how it pissed her off, adoring when she fired back…

"Bless your heart, Pierce, and count heads. You're outnumbered." She wiggled against his cock. It was begging for her. “I’ve got you beat.”

Yes, she does, Pierce. Grinding on you. That’s your wife.

"So, it's a plan then, Mrs. Pierce?" He seized her firm bum, pulling her harder against his raging hard-on, wanting to take her now.

"That's not my name."

Deploying the grin that inspired millions of thirsty posts, "It is when I'm fucking you,” he knew it wet her pussy too.

That naughty truth flashed across her eyes. The last time they made love, months before, he made her moan that name while rousing her with slow thrusts from behind.

"All right, Mr. Ravenel. Give my body a few more weeks to heal before you come at me with all this hard hotness. Then we’ll see if you get lucky."

Breaking from his embrace, she delivered a swat to his arse before swishing out of the room. Minutes later, she appeared on the monitor with Duke, kissing his forehead before lying him down to change his nappy.

He watched the spectacle, a smile taking his entire being. Gawd blimey, I love her.

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About the Author

Kelly Finley is fiction author of contemporary romances featuring bada** women and grown-a** men. She lives in the Carolinas with her husband and family. A rebel with many causes, she fancies black leather, dirty jokes, and smart mouths.

Thrilled by a flipped script and ticked off by women portrayed as weak, she noticed how many steamy, sexy heroines were missing, particularly from suspense and military romance. Her friends shared the frustration and told her to practice what she has taught for twenty years. Her books feature characters we champion and love—ones with shameless heat, brave hearts, and whip-smart minds.

She's most likely at her keyboard right now, putting the next heroine on the page.

Connect:
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Spotlight: The Murder of Mr. Wickham by Claudia Gray

A summer house party turns into a thrilling whodunit when Jane Austen's Mr. Wickham—one of literature’s most notorious villains—meets a sudden and suspicious end in this brilliantly imagined mystery featuring Austen’s leading literary characters.

The happily married Mr. Knightley and Emma are throwing a party at their country estate, bringing together distant relatives and new acquaintances—characters beloved by Jane Austen fans. Definitely not invited is Mr. Wickham, whose latest financial scheme has netted him an even broader array of enemies. As tempers flare and secrets are revealed, it’s clear that everyone would be happier if Mr. Wickham got his comeuppance. Yet they’re all shocked when Wickham turns up murdered—except, of course, for the killer hidden in their midst.

Nearly everyone at the house party is a suspect, so it falls to the party’s two youngest guests to solve the mystery: Juliet Tilney, the smart and resourceful daughter of Catherine and Henry, eager for adventure beyond Northanger Abbey; and Jonathan Darcy, the Darcys’ eldest son, whose adherence to propriety makes his father seem almost relaxed. In this tantalizing fusion of Austen and Christie, from New York Times bestselling author Claudia Gray, the unlikely pair must put aside their own poor first impressions and uncover the guilty party—before an innocent person is sentenced to hang. 

Excerpt

Three times now, Fitzwilliam Darcy had believed himself permanently rid of the odious presence of George Wickham. Three times, he’d been wrong. The division eight months ago had seemed as though it had to be final, but no. Fate could be pernicious.

“Ah,” Wickham said, strolling forward. “I see my timing is inopportune. In the city, you see, the fashion is for later dinners.”

Knightley stood, pale and drawn. He looked as though he loathed Wickham as much as Darcy did. “You would not have been invited at any hour.”

Wickham’s smile widened. Somehow, in the heart of a confrontation, the man managed to seem even more at ease. “If I waited for an invitation to receive that which is mine in right of law—yes, Mr. Knightley, I imagine my wait would be very long.”

Knightley’s lips pressed together. Emma’s face had flushed with ill-repressed anger. Nor were they the only persons agitated at the table: Wentworth’s expression was dark, and his wife had tensed, as though she expected to have to fly from her chair to hold him back. Worst of all was dear Elizabeth, frozen like ice in her seat; her fingers were wrapped tightly around the hilt of her dinner knife. Jonathan’s distrust of his uncle clearly warred with his concern for his mother.

As for the Brandons, the Bertrams, and the young Miss Tilney: they each appeared deeply confused by the sudden, severe deviation from common civility. Therefore, none of them had ever met George Wickham before. Darcy envied them the privilege.

A loud clap of thunder rumbled through the air, the house, the ground itself. In the next instant, raindrops began to pelt the windows and ground, striking the windowpanes until they rattled.

Darcy could’ve cursed aloud. To judge by the hoofbeats he’d heard outside earlier, Wickham had arrived on horseback rather than by carriage, and not even the most odious company would be thrown out in such weather. Particularly in such hilly country as this corner of Surrey—to attempt to ride in a severe thunderstorm risked the health and nerves of one’s horse, and even one’s life.

Wickham raised an eyebrow, as aware as anyone of the etiquette that imprisoned his hosts. “It seems I shall be staying for a while.”

*

“I fear we cannot accommodate you at the table, Mr. Wickham.” Mrs. Knightley pushed her chair back as abruptly as an ill-mannered child. Jonathan would’ve been scolded for less, as a boy. She said, “Allow me to get you settled, and the servants will bring something up to you for dinner.” With that she strode out of the room. After a moment, Wickham inclined his head to the table—an ironical half bow—then followed her.

Had she done the right thing? The normal rules could not apply to such a situation as this. Jonathan would’ve resolved to ask his parents later had they not appeared so stricken. No, he would be left to interpret this for himself.

A silence followed, empty of words and yet suffocatingly heavy. Finally, Knightley cleared his throat. “My dear guests, I must beg your pardon. The gentleman who has arrived is . . . no friend to this household. Yet there are matters between us that must be resolved.”

“He seemed insolent in the extreme,” said Mrs. Brandon, astonishingly forthright. “What a disagreeable person.”

In any other circumstances, Jonathan might’ve found such a pronouncement rude; tonight, people seemed freed to speak their thoughts—and to the whole table, at that. Understandable, perhaps, but in his opinion it set a dangerous precedent.

“George Wickham is indeed disagreeable,” Knightley agreed, “however skilled he is at pretending otherwise.”

Brandon spoke for the first time at dinner. “Did you say—Mr. George Wickham?”

Knightley nodded. “A former army officer, who now fancies himself an arranger of investments. Bah! Investments that work to his own gain and everyone else’s loss.”

“Certainly to ours,” Wentworth said, his voice hollow.

Jonathan saw Mrs. Wentworth wince.

But she rallied swiftly, turning to Darcy and asking very civilly, “How are you acquainted with Mr. Wickham, sir?”

“We grew up together in Derbyshire,” Darcy said. Brandon’s fork clattered against the dinner plate. Jonathan wondered—How could anyone continue eating at such a time? “He was the son of my late father’s steward. As adults, our ways parted for many years.”

To his surprise, it was Mother who spoke next. “Then Mr. Wickham married my sister Lydia.”

And Lydia and George Wickham had had a daughter.

For a moment, Jonathan remembered Susannah so vividly that she might’ve been sitting at his side, giggling as she so often did, dark curls framing her round, smiling face. To him, she had been more sister than cousin. To his parents, Susannah had been more daughter than niece. He knew himself and his brothers to be dearly loved, but he knew also that for many years his mother and father had longed for a little girl that never came.

Then, eight years ago, Susannah had been born—the belated first and only child of his aunt and uncle. Neither Aunt Lydia nor Uncle George had possessed much interest in the daily tedium of child-rearing; as soon as Susannah had left her wet nurse, she had been packed off to Pemberley for lengthy visits. Indeed, Susannah had spent far more of her short life in his home than she ever had with her parents. This suited everyone: Mother and Father, who doted on the child; Jonathan and his brothers, who were old enough to find her odd little ways amusing rather than irritating; Aunt Lydia and Uncle George, who showed no evidence of ever missing their daughter; and Susannah herself, who wept piteously before each of her journeys home and always ran back into Pemberley as fast as her small legs would bear her.

She would never run through the doors again.

Excerpt courtesy of Vintage Books, A Division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. Copyright © 2022 by Claudia Gray. All rights reserved.

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About the Author

Claudia Gray is the pseudonym of Amy Vincent. She is the writer of multiple young adult novels, including the Evernight series, the Firebird trilogy, and the Constellation trilogy. In addition, she’s written several Star Wars novels, such as Lost Stars and Bloodline. She makes her home in New Orleans with her husband Paul and assorted small dogs. 

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Spotlight: Waterbury Winter by Linda Stewart Henley

Barnaby Brown has had enough of freezing winters, insurmountable debt, a dead-end job, and his solitary life as a young widower with no one but his beloved parrot Popsicle. He yearns to move to California and reawaken his long-lost early life as an artist. But new troubles come in threes. His ancient car crashes into a snowbank. Popsicle escapes through a window carelessly left open. 

A New York gallery owner offers to represent Barnaby’s paintings—but is he on the up-and-up? All of it serves to shock Barnaby into confronting how low he has sunk, and he vows—again and again—to change. He has a few obstacles, starting with his heavy drinking and long-term neglect of his ancestral home. As he takes steps toward a better life, he re-discovers the value of old friendships and latent talents seen in new light, and finds the courage to consider a second chance at love. Rejoining the mainstream of life presents several startling mysteries he must unravel, with a few mortifying but enlightening stumbles.

A heart-warming novel about ordinary people reclaiming their dormant potential, Waterbury Winter celebrates the restorative value of art and the joy to be found in keeping promises.

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About the Author

Linda Stewart Henley is the author of Estelle: A Novel. Among other honors, it won Silver in the Independent Publisher Book Awards for Historical Fiction and was a finalist for The Eric Hoffer Book Awards as well as for the 2021 Nancy Pearl Award. She lives in Anacortes, Washington, with her husband. Waterbury Winter is her second novel.

Spotlight: Bloomsbury Girls by Natalie Jenner

A MESSAGE FROM AUTHOR NATALIE JENNER

Dear readers, I am immensely grateful for the outpouring of affection that so many of you have expressed for my debut novel The Jane Austen Society and its eight main characters. When I wrote its epilogue (in one go and without ever changing a word), I wanted to give each of Adam, Mimi, Dr. Gray, Adeline, Yardley, Frances, Evie and Andrew the happy Austenesque ending they each deserved. But I could not let go of servant girl Evie Stone, the youngest and only character inspired by real life (my mother, who had to leave school at age fourteen, and my daughter, who does eighteenth-century research for a university professor and his team). Bloomsbury Girls continues Evie’s adventures into a 1950s London bookshop where there is a battle of the sexes raging between the male managers and the female staff, who decide to pull together their smarts, connections, and limited resources to take over the shop and make it their own. There are dozens of new characters in Bloomsbury Girls from several different countries, and audiobook narration was going to require a female voice of the highest training and caliber. When I learned that British stage and screen actress Juliet Stevenson, CBE, had agreed to narrate, I knew that my story could not be in better hands, and I so hope you enjoy reading or listening to it.

Warmest regards, Natalie

Summary:

Natalie Jenner, the internationally bestselling author of The Jane Austen Society, returns with a compelling and heartwarming story of post-war London, a century-old bookstore, and three women determined to find their way in a fast-changing world in Bloomsbury Girls.

Bloomsbury Books is an old-fashioned new and rare bookstore that has persisted and resisted change for a hundred years, run by men and guided by the general manager's unbreakable fifty-one rules. But in 1950, the world is changing, especially the world of books and publishing, and at Bloomsbury Books, the girls in the shop have plans:

Vivien Lowry: Single since her aristocratic fiancé was killed in action during World War II, the brilliant and stylish Vivien has a long list of grievances--most of them well justified and the biggest of which is Alec McDonough, the Head of Fiction.

Grace Perkins: Married with two sons, she's been working to support the family following her husband's breakdown in the aftermath of the war. Torn between duty to her family and dreams of her own.

Evie Stone: In the first class of female students from Cambridge permitted to earn a degree, Evie was denied an academic position in favor of her less accomplished male rival. Now she's working at Bloomsbury Books while she plans to remake her own future.

As they interact with various literary figures of the time--Daphne Du Maurier, Ellen Doubleday, Sonia Blair (widow of George Orwell), Samuel Beckett, Peggy Guggenheim, and others--these three women with their complex web of relationships, goals and dreams are all working to plot out a future that is richer and more rewarding than anything society will allow.

Excerpt from Chapter Two of Bloomsbury Girls, by Natalie Jenner

The Tyrant was Alec McDonough, a bachelor in his early thirties who ran the New Books, Fiction & Art Department on the ground floor of Bloomsbury Books. He had read literature and fine art at the University of Bristol and been planning on a career in something big—Vivien accused him of wanting to run a small colony—when the war had intervened. Following his honourable discharge in 1945, Alec had joined the shop on the exact same day as Vivien. “By an hour ahead. Like a dominant twin,” she would quip whenever Alec was rewarded with anything first.

From the start Alec and Vivien were rivals, and not just for increasing control of the fiction floor. Every editor that wandered in, every literary guest speaker, was a chance for them to have access to the powers that be in the publishing industry. As two secretly aspiring writers, they had each come to London and taken the position at Bloomsbury Books for this reason. But they were also both savvy enough to know that the men in charge—from the rigid Mr. Dutton and then-head-of-fiction Graham Kingsley, to the restless Frank Allen and crusty Master Mariner Scott—were whom they first needed to please. Alec had a clear and distinct advantage when it came to that. Between the tales of wartime service, shared grammar schools, and past cricket-match victories, Vivien grew quickly dismayed at her own possibility for promotion.

Sure enough, within weeks Alec had quickly entrenched himself with both the long-standing general manager, Herbert Dutton, and his right-hand man, Frank Allen. By 1948, upon the retirement of Graham Kingsley, Alec had ascended to the post of head of fiction, and within the year had added new books and art to his oversight—an achievement which Vivien still referred to as the Annexation. 

She had been first to call him the Tyrant; he called her nothing at all. Vivien’s issues with Alec ranged from the titles they stocked on the shelves, to his preference for booking events exclusively with male authors who had served in war. With her own degree in literature from Durham (Cambridge, her dream university, still refusing in 1941 to graduate women), Vivien had rigorously informed views on the types of books the fiction department should carry. Not surprisingly, Alec disputed these views.

“But he doesn’t even read women,” Vivien would bemoan to Grace, who would nod back in sympathy while trying to remember her grocery list before the bus journey home. “I mean, what—one Jane Austen on the shelves? No Katherine Mansfield. No Porter. I mean, I read that Salinger story in The New Yorker he keeps going on about: shell-shocked soldiers and children all over the place, and I don’t see what’s so masculine about that.”

Unlike Vivien, Grace did not have much time for personal reading, an irony her husband often pointed out. But Grace did not work at the shop for the books. She worked there because the bus journey into Bloomsbury took only twenty minutes, she could drop the children off at school on the way, and she could take the shop newspapers home at the end of the day. Grace had been the one to suggest that they also carry import magazines, in particular The New Yorker. Being so close to the British Museum and the theatre district, Bloomsbury Books received its share of wealthy American tourists. Grace was convinced that such touches from home would increase their time spent browsing, along with jazz music on the wireless by the front cash, one of many ideas that Mr. Dutton was still managing to resist.

Vivien and Alec had manned the ground floor of the shop together for over four years, circling each other within the front cash counter like wary lions inside a very small coliseum. The square, enclosed counter had been placed in the centre of the fiction department in an effort to contain an old electrical outlet box protruding from the floor. Mr. Dutton could not look at this eyesore without seeing a customer lawsuit for damages caused by accidental tripping. Upon his promotion to general manager in the 1930s, Dutton had immediately ordained that the front cash area be relocated and built around the box.

This configuration had turned out to be of great benefit to the staff. One could always spot a customer coming from any direction, prepare the appropriate response to expressions ranging from confused to hostile, and even catch the surreptitious slip of an unpurchased book into a handbag. Other bookshops had taken note of Bloomsbury Books’ ground-floor design and started refurbishing their own. The entire neighbourhood was, in this way, full of spies. Grace and Vivien were not the only two bookstore employees out and about, checking on other stores’ window displays. London was starting to boom again, after five long years of postwar rationing and recovery, and new bookshops were popping up all over. Bloomsbury was home to the British Museum, the University of London, and many famous authors past and present, including the prewar circle of Virginia Woolf, E. M. Forster, and Lytton Strachey. This made the district a particularly ideal location for readers, authors, and customers alike.

 And so, it was here, on a lightly snowing day on the second of January, 1950, that a young Evie Stone arrived, Mr. Allen’s trading card in one pocket, and a one-way train ticket to London in the other.

Excerpt courtesy of St. Martin’s Press, New York. Copyright © 2022 by Natalie Jenner. All rights reserved. 

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About the Author

Natalie Jenner is the author of the instant international bestseller The Jane Austen Society and Bloomsbury Girls. A Goodreads Choice Award runner-up for historical fiction and finalist for best debut novel, The Jane Austen Society was a USA Today and #1 national bestseller and has been sold for translation in twenty countries. Born in England and raised in Canada, Natalie has been a corporate lawyer, career coach and, most recently, an independent bookstore owner in Oakville, Ontario, where she lives with her family and two rescue dogs. Visit her website to learn more.

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Cover Reveal: Midnight and Bex by Heather Van Fleet

Publication date: October 18th 2022
Genres: Suspense, Young Adult

Synopsis:

Trauma and intrigue bring an unlikely couple together in a sleepy Illinois suburb…

Bex Mahoney knows all too well what it’s like to be a loner. As a girl who’d much rather get lost in books and Netflix than makeup and school dances, it’s taken her all of six months to adjust to a new high school and the friends who come with it. But as much as she wants to find some peace following the death of her father, she can’t seem to grasp hold of it like she should. That is until she’s partnered up with a boy in chem who seems to carry more weight on his shoulders than Bex ever has.

Midnight Turner is lost in a dark world that Bex can’t even come close to touching. It’s because of his mysterious persona, though, that her intrigue with him grows stronger by the day. But when a flashback into Midnight’s past has him yanking Bex under chem tables and crying in Latin against her neck, Bex makes it her new life goal to figure him out.

When Bex’s closest friend tells her to steer clear of Midnight, an already insatiable curiosity in Bex grows deeper. But with this curiosity blooms new love. The kind that neither of them ever saw coming. Torn between a past he can’t change and a future she desires, both Midnight and Bex must learn to live in the present where the demons from Midnight’s prior life return to either haunt them…or worse.

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About the Author

Heather Van Fleet is a stay-at-home-mom turned book boyfriend connoisseur. She’s married to her high school sweetheart, a mom to three girls, and in her spare time you can find her with her head buried in her Kindle, guzzling down copious amounts of coffee.

Heather graduated from Black Hawk College in 2003 and currently writes Adult contemporary romance. She is published through Sourcebooks Casablanca with her Reckless Hearts series and Bookouture with her Red Dragon series.

Connect:
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Spotlight: Born of Shadows and Magic Boxset

Publication date: May 3rd 2022
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance, Urban Fantasy

Synopsis:

As myths, legends, and ancient tales rise from the shadows, these heroes and heroines are left to face the darkest challenges of them all.

Life’s hard enough as a paranormal. Shifters, vampire, elementals, witches, fae… we all have our weakness, our curses, our wars to wage and battles to fight.
But being a hybrid or a halfling, things just get worse. We don’t fit in anywhere, our powers are thwarted or out of control, and everyone wants us dead.
Can we overcome these trials…or are the odds stacked too high against us? We’ll risk it all—even our lives—to find out. And hope we don’t die trying.
This paranormal and urban fantasy romance anthology includes 19 brand new, never before published novels from today’s bestselling authors and exciting up-and-coming talent!
Including all new stories by….
Kira Nyte
Fiona McArthur
Renee Hewett & Mandy Rosko
Cassidy K. O’Connor & Sheri Lyn
Krista Ames
Stephanie Hansen
Mia Ellas
Ryan Southwick
C.A. King
Charlie Nottingham
Emma B. Layne
Mireille Chester
Ruby St. George
K. Rea
Cherron Riser
Marissa Nofer
Shana Vernon
Victoria C. Taylor
Here’s a peek of what’s inside!

Nora would do anything to protect her sister and avoid the Pit—even take a deal from the one archangel she despises.
– The Archangel’s Deal by K. Rea
All she wanted was to find the guy terrorizing Midtown; instead, she found a magical underground war going on right under our noses.
– A Fire Awakens by Mireille Chester
A college freshman turned rumored chosen one must save her university when an ancient demon returns and possesses one of their own.
– Faust University by Emma B. Layne
A vigilante hell-bent on revenge, a reincarnated angel in a fragile human body, and a mission to right the wrongs of the past. What could go wrong? Turn out, everything.
– The Angel’s Fury by Mandy Rosko and Renee Hewett
… and many more!

Excerpt

 Before I can read further, a giggle sounds right behind me. I turn around to see what it is but my flashlight goes out and I’m suddenly on the ground being pulled by something I cannot see. It feels like someone’s touching me but I’m not possessing their soul. Three things hit me all at once: the pounding of my heart, gasping for air, and nauseousness. What in the hell is happening?

“Orla?” It sounds like Dave’s not having an easy time reentering this place.

“Hurry up.” Molly’s impatient as ever, thank goodness.

Boomer’s barking as if an intruder has entered our home. I tremble. The strange snicker bounces off the walls echoing back to me as my back rubs against the floor. “Dave!”

He drops to the ground upon entry with Molly falling on top of him and Boomer not too far behind. They stumble to me while shining their flashlights trying to find the being in our hidden room to no avail. Then Dave’s holding me, actually holding me. With his arms around me I grab onto his broad shoulders. His solid chest against me makes me feel safe as he carries me out of the room.

“Are you okay?”

The presence I had felt before disappears as quickly as it came. My heartbeat slows down and my breathing returns to normal. There is complete comfort being in his arms. It’s as if he’s pumping warm support to me through my connection to his soul. How is this happening? But I begin to sense worry trickling in and much too soon he’s releasing me.

Boomer’s in my lap next, licking my face, and I can’t help but smile.

“We should have never let you go in there after what happened to us.” Molly lets out an exasperated breath.

“Why, what happened to you in there?”

“It was awful.” Dave runs his hand down his face.

“Yeah, something pulled us and tied our hands.” Molly’s pacing in our hallway.

“What was it?”

“I don’t know.” The way he looks at me is desperation personified.

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