Spotlight: The Berlin Apartment by Bryn Turnbull

Publication Date: August 27, 2024

Publisher: MIRA

For fans of Kate Quinn and Kristin Hannah, this sweeping love story follows a young couple whose lives are irrevocably changed when they’re separated overnight by the construction of the Berlin Wall.

Berlin 1961: When Uli Neumann proposes to Lise Bauer, she has every reason to accept. He offers her love, respect, and a life beyond the strict bounds of the East German society in which she was raised — which she longs to leave more than anything. But only two short days after their engagement, Lise and Uli are torn violently apart when barbed wire is rolled across Berlin, splitting the city into two hostile halves: capitalist West Berlin, an island of western influence isolated far beyond the iron curtain; and the socialist East, a country determined to control its citizens by any means necessary. 

Soon, Uli and his friends in West Berlin hatch a plan to get Lise and her unborn child out of East Germany, but as distance and suspicion bleed into their lives and as weeks turn to months, how long can true love survive in the divided city?

Excerpt

4

13 AUGUST, 1961

Uli stared out his apartment window, his pulse beating wildly in his ears. Seven stories below, a tangle of concertina wire ran the length of Bernauer Strasse, bisecting East Berlin from West: onlookers on both sides of the wire watched, muttering, as green-uniformed Grenztruppen, separated from the East German citizenry by a line of Volkspolizei, jackhammered the cobbles to fix stakes into the ground and carted in more spools of barbed wire, rolling it out with gloved hands. 

Was it war? He studied the faces of the border guards, searching for an indication of panic, of fear, but they looked measured and resolute. Was it a planned operation, then? A provocation? 

He needed to find Lise. He pulled on a shirt and trousers and descended into the fray. 

Outside, the sound of jackhammers was a relentless snarl that drowned out the fury of Berliners on both sides of the wire, shouting their ire. In the East, a mishmash of soldiers—police officers and border guards and members of the People’s National Army—stood with their backs to the west, shoulder to shoulder, as guards hammered stakes in place. 

“Uli!” 

He wrenched his attention away from the barbed wire to see Jurgen’s stocky, sandy-haired figure. “Have you spoken to Lise?” 

Uli shook his head: across the street, a scrum of people had formed around a nearby telephone box. “I only just came outside. I’m still trying to piece together… What’s going on?” 

“Ulbricht’s sealed the border.” 

“Sealed it?” 

“Yeah.” Jurgen bit his lip, and Uli knew that he was thinking of his family, his brother and sister-in-law and niece, living in Bernau. “People kept saying he was going to do something, but I never thought…” He trailed off. “You’ve not seen Lise?” 

“Not since Friday.” Uli searched for a higher vantage point— a bench, the bonnet of a car—and gestured for Jurgen to follow him toward a rusting Mercedes, parked on the opposite side of the road. “Have you spoken to your brother?” 

“I tried telephoning Karl, but they’ve cut the wires. I heard they’ve sealed off the U-Bahn and S-Bahn as well… I don’t think anyone can make contact.” 

Uli jumped onto the bonnet of the Mercedes. What purpose did it serve to cut the telephone lines? He gave Jurgen his hand and tugged him up on top of the car: from here, they could see past the guards and jackhammers to the bewildered East Berliners beyond. 

“Lise was out of town, wasn’t she?” Jurgen muttered. In the empty streets beyond Bernauer Strasse, Soviet tanks rolled in and out of view in the direction of Brandenburg Gate: Where was the answering military presence from the West? He turned, hoping to see British or American troops: on a far-off corner, a pair of French soldiers watched the growing crowd but made no attempt to move closer. Surely, they had to intervene? 

Uli turned back to the barbed wire and his heart lurched: there, coming down Brunnenstrasse, was Lise. He shouted her name and waved to catch her attention: she turned and lifted her arm in response. 

Uli leaped down from the car and made his way toward the wire. He muscled past men and women with Jurgen in his wake, rising onto his toes to keep Lise in his sights. 

A shout rang up behind him—“Fascists!”—and the crowd surged forward. He stumbled, and a West Berlin police officer caught him before he hit the ground. 

“Watch yourself.” 

Uli straightened. “My fiancée. She’s in the East,” he began, hearing in his voice the panic he was trying, and falling, to quell. On the opposite side of the wire, Lise was pushing forward too, her pale head visible as she tried to reason with a Grenztruppe. “I need to speak with her, if you could just let me through, she’s right there—” 

The officer’s expression was pitying and fearful in equal measure. “I have my orders. No one is to approach the barrier,” he said. Across the wire, a second Grenztruppe turned his head, listening to their conversation over his shoulder. “They’re operating within East Berlin, we have no jurisdiction to intervene—” 

“They’re tearing the city apart!” Uli shouted, his rational mind reeling against the sheer absurdity of what was in front of him. He took another step, searching for a break in the wire. “If I could just talk to her—” 

The officer’s grip on Uli’s arms was mercilessly hard. “If you want to start the next world war, keep going,” he hissed, before shoving Uli back. “There’s nothing I can do, mate. Take it up with Walter Ulbricht.” 

He stumbled into Jurgen, trembling with a rage he’d never felt: an impotence, a helplessness that he’d not experienced since he was a boy. 

“Easy…this might only be temporary,” Jurgen said, his hand steady on Uli’s shoulder. “We ought to go to Brandenburg Gate. We might learn more about what this is—there will be reporters, politicians—” 

On the other side of the wire, he watched as Lise’s own attempts to reason with a border guard failed: she stepped back, looking distraught. “If Ulbricht really is sealing the border, we need to act now. We need to find a way to get to Lise—bring her across—” 

“I know.” 

Uli broke off midsentence, wrenching his eyes away from Lise. Jurgen stared at him, resolute, and his steadiness gave ground to Uli’s panic, helped him think beyond his own fear, his own anger. 

“We need to act now, but whatever we do, it can’t be here,” Jurgen continued. He was right: they couldn’t push through, not here, where there were so many people, so many sets of eyes. “We find a break in the wire—a gap…” “They can’t be everywhere all at once,” Uli said. “Further along,” Jurgen whispered back, and Uli’s heart quickened. Across the wire, Lise stared at him, and he jerked his head, knowing that Lise would understand—she nodded, and melted back into the crowd. 

“C’mon,” he muttered, and he and Jurgen took off down the street.

Excerpt from The Berlin Apartment by Bryn Turnbull. Copyright © 2024 by Bryn Turnbull. Published by MIRA.

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About the Author

BRYN TURNBULL is the internationally bestselling author of The Woman Before Wallis. Equipped with a master of letters in creative writing from the University of St. Andrews, a master of professional communication from Ryerson University and a bachelor's degree in English literature from McGill University, Bryn focuses on finding stories of women lost within the cracks of the historical record. She lives in Toronto.

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Spotlight: The Beast & His Beauty by Willow Winters

Release Date: August 26 

They don’t go to the brick wall.  No one in the village does.  Ever since I was a little girl, everyone has warned me not to go or even to look at it.  And if you happen to find yourself close to the wall, run as fast and as far away as you can.  The magic from the beast creeps beyond the wall, but not by much.

No one who values their life approaches the enchanted area, let alone searches out the gate.  Everyone is sure not to provoke the enchanted area.  Those who do, don’t come back to tell their tales.

The magic is dark.  And it’s all from the beast.

FOR THE LAST 19 YEARS OF MY LIFE, I’ve heard the tales and been warned to stay away.  The thing is though, I’m not a very good listener.  I got lost in the magic.  He scented me.  He claimed me with a bite on my neck.  And I ran.  Quickly and with a new terror racing in my heart.

I swore I would never return.  I would not trust the magic and allow it to entrance me again.  I would not risk being caught in the hands of the Beast again.  

But that was months ago and I miss the magic.  Not only that, but I dream of the beast.  It’s not a dream I’d admit to out loud, but it’s a dream I’d like to see come true.

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About the Author

I started writing after having my little girl, Evie, December of 2015. All during my pregnancy with her I read. I only wanted to read romance novels and I read everything I could get my hands on. I would read a book a day — sometimes two. In January I was staying up late with her and just thinking of all these stories. They came to me constantly. I finally sat down and just started writing. I always wanted to do it so I figured, why not?

I never thought I would reach this point of success to be honest. It’s insane to me that I have connected with so many readers.

And I love each and every one of them for all of their support. I’ll be honest, some days are HARD. I have my littles during the day and I write at night. Some days are just simply exhausting and then I hear from a reader and it motivates me to push through and keep writing.  I couldn’t be more grateful for this wonderful career. For more information, visit https://www.willowwinterswrites.com/

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Spotlight: Magical Meet Cute by Jean Meltzer

Publication Date: August 27, 2024

Format: Trade Paperback

Publisher: Harlequin Trade Publishing / MIRA

From the author of the buzzy The Matzah Ball comes a romantic comedy for fans of Sally Thorne, about a lonely potter who drunkenly creates a golem doll of her perfect match—and meets the man of her dreams the next day.

Is he the real deal…or did she truly summon a golem?

Faye Kaplan used to be engaged. She also used to have a successful legal practice. But she much prefers her new life as a potter in Woodstock, New York. The only thing missing is the perfect guy.

Not that she needs one. She’s definitely happy alone.

That is, until she finds her town papered with anti-Semitic flyers after yet another failed singles event at the synagogue. Desperate for comfort, Faye drunkenly turns to the only thing guaranteed to soothe her—pottery. A golem protector is just what her town needs…and adding all the little details to make him her ideal man can’t hurt, right?

When a seriously hot stranger mysteriously turns up the next day, Greg seems too good to be true—if you ignore the fact that Faye hit him with her bike. And that he subsequently lost his memory…

But otherwise, the man checks Every. Single. Box. Causing Faye to wonder if Greg’s sudden and spicy appearance might be anything but a coincidence.

Excerpt

It was hard and magnificent. 

Faiga Kaplan, otherwise known as Faye to her friends, ran her hands down the long shaft of her latest clay creation. An earthenware vase—at least three feet in length and bearing a perfectly crafted slit for sunflowers at the top—lay on her studio table. Having been painted twice and forged through fire in her kiln, it was now ready for placement in her storefront window. All she had to do was get the heavy, hulking piece of pottery through the first floor of Magic Mud Pottery without breaking it. 

Cautiously, she lifted the vase from the table. Peeking out from the sides, carefully managing her balance with each step, she creeped slowly past the tables and chairs of her studio, bumping over the threshold into the hallway, heading through the first floor. She was halfway through the old wooden building, by the center staircase, when she felt something mushy and wet beneath her left foot. 

Faye didn’t need to look down. 

She knew exactly what she had stepped in. 

“Hillel.” Faye groaned, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. 

Carefully, she put the vase down beside the staircase, turning her attention to inspect the damage now seeping through her pink sock. 

“Hillel,” Faye called out again. “I’m serious. Get in here!” 

Hillel, a hairless and toothless Chinese crested, peeked around the corner. Faye had adopted the pathetic-looking creature when he was ten years old. At the time, she had considered it a mitzvah, a good deed, in the wake of a dreadful breakup. She thought she could funnel all her love into this poor creature—a dog riddled with back acne and without a home—and he would adore her forever. 

“I know you did this on purpose,” Faye said, lifting one foot up to display the mess. 

Hillel twisted away from her, tail up, his tiny butthole pointed straight in her line of vision. She swore that dog could speak English. 

She also knew that his constant accidents had nothing to do with tummy troubles. After all, Faye was a responsible pet owner. She had taken Hillel to the vet a dozen times, run every expensive test to see if there was something physically wrong with him, only to be told that the tiny monster was in perfectly good health. Indeed, the vet had promised her that Hillel would likely live another decade. No, he defecated all over her apartment for the same reason Stuart had called off their engagement. She was too much. 

“Keep acting this way,” Faye warned, narrowing her eyes in his direction, “and I’ll send you to go live with Nelly. You can wear frilly doll dresses and be the guest of honor at her Second Glance Erotic Parties for the rest of your natural existence.” 

Hillel strolled past her, unconcerned, before landing on a mess of blankets and pillow squares waiting for him by the storefront window. 

Faye had made the tiny bed for Hillel there so he would be comfortable. She figured he could watch the people walking down Main Street, see the customers before they entered her store. It was also the sunniest, and therefore warmest, spot in her building, an absolute necessity for a dog without any fur. She did everything for Hillel. She gave him her best. Devoted her love, time, and energy to his well-being. And what did Hillel do in response? 

Crap all over her. 

The thought had crossed her mind more than once to return him to the shelter. 

Faye never did, of course. No, as it turned out…no amount of snarling or defecating in high-traffic areas, or trying to bite her with his gummy, toothless mouth, would ever steer her heart away from the four-legged fur demon. 

The reason being simple enough. She had made a promise to Hillel. She had stood outside Woodstock Animal Shelter, placed him safely in the front basket of her bike, and told him in she would care for him, and protect him—and never betray his love on a snowmobile in Lapland—until the bitter end. 

Perhaps loving someone to the bitter end had always been her downfall. 

Her mind wandered to her ex-fiancé, Stuart, when most applicably her nose wrinkled. The scent of dog feces was beginning to take up residence. 

Faye hobbled on one foot up the stairs to the second floor. Finding her way to the bathtub, she set about cleaning up her foot. 

For the last three years, Faye had been the sole proprietor of Magic Mud Pottery. She lived above her store and studio in a quaint one-bedroom apartment. 

Magic Mud Pottery was one of a handful of quirky old buildings made of wood and painted in bright colors that dotted the bucolic downtown of Woodstock, New York. Set between large trees, and dotted by pride flags and double-hung windows, it was the type of town that, no matter the season, smelled like burning wood and cinnamon. 

Her apartment was small, but as a single woman, she didn’t need much space. Plus, she had gotten an amazing price. On the second floor, a cozy bedroom sat towards the back of the building, overlooking a fenced-in yard and garden. In the front, a tiny living room was divided from a half kitchen by a counter. A bathroom rested in between. 

As an old building, the layout—but especially the kitchen— was all types of weird. While the oven, stove, and sink were on the second floor, the refrigerator was too tall for the upstairs kitchen alcove. And so it sat downstairs, right behind the front counter, where Faye often rang up customers. 

At first, it was a problem. Especially at night, as Faye often liked to sneak downstairs in nothing but her skivvies and have a late-night snack. But Faye quickly realized that most everyone who owned a business in downtown Woodstock lived elsewhere, and so, even though she had invested in curtains, she never bothered to use them. 

Beyond all these things, she liked the quirkiness of the building. The fact it was strange and unusual. It reminded her of an apartment she had lived in on the Lower East Side while a young lawyer in Manhattan, with a shower in the kitchen and a bathroom outside the apartment, just down the hall. 

Faye was finishing cleaning up when the bell above the front door to Magic Mud Pottery rang out. 

“Faiga,” a voice called out moments later. 

She recognized the voice as belonging to Nelly, who owned the building next door, where she ran the business Second Glance Treasures. 

It was a gentle, lovely name for a store that was essentially extra storage space for a woman who had taken the hobby of hoarding to a professional capacity. Perhaps Faye was being too hard on the eccentric octogenarian. But No-Filter Nelly—as Faye sometimes called her behind her back—was a frequent, though not always welcome, visitor. 

“One moment,” Faye called out. 

Quickly, she finished drying off her foot. Spraying down her bathtub and the floor, she popped downstairs. Nelly was standing by the storefront window, arms crossed, her entire forehead wrinkling in displeasure. 

“It smells like a porta-potty in here.” Nelly grimaced. 

Faye huffed. “Hillel had an accident again.” 

“Again?” Nelly looked towards the dog. “Maybe you should take him to the vet.” “I’ve taken him to the vet,” Faye reminded her for the ten thousandth time. Grabbing a towel and some pet odor remover, she bent down to the floor and began cleaning up his mess. 

“Can I help you with something, Nelly?” 

“I was wondering if you’re going to Single in the Sukkah tonight?” she asked. 

“I’m not planning on it.” 

“Why not?” Nelly said, following her. She always followed her. “Only twenty-four dollars a participant. For a good cause. Plus, you might meet someone.” 

Faye tossed the turd in the trash. “I’m not interested in meeting anyone right now.” 

“Why not?” 

Faye slammed the lid shut. “You know the reason.” “Because you were dumped by your fiancé of seven years after a snowmobile accident in Lapland?” 

Faye had first met Stuart Wutz during law school. After a seven-year engagement, the two-week escapade she had painstakingly planned to Lapland was supposed to be a pre-wedding getaway, a chance for them to have some fun before planning for their wedding, three months away, moved into hyperdrive. 

Instead, everything about the trip had been a disaster. 

Stuart complained constantly. About the cold. About the food. About his hemorrhoids. He nearly caused an international incident when he found out the hamburger he was eating was made of reindeer meat. But it wasn’t until that fateful snowmobile ride—when Stuart skidded out on a slick of ice, crashing into a snowy embankment—that their decade-long relationship came to an official end. Bringing her vehicle safely to a stop beside him, racing to check that he was okay, she was shocked when Stuart had stood up and lobbed his own attack. 

You’re too much, Faye. Everything you do, everything you are… it’s just too much. No wonder your own mother couldn’t stand you. 

The wedding was off. Faye was thirty-one years old, and having given Stuart the best years of her life—the best of her reproductive years, too—back to being single. It was more than betrayal. It was more than a hurt. It was an avalanche of pain that she had barely escaped from. And yet, she couldn’t completely blame Stuart for what had happened. He was simply a trigger point in a snowslip that had been building since her youth. 

“So, you had one bad experience,” Nelly said. 

“Not just one,” Faye grumbled. 

“So, you had multiple bad experiences,” Nelly said, unfazed. “Lots of people hurt and disappointed you. Because of this, you give up on love forever?” 

Faye spun around. “I don’t need a mother, Nelly!” 

Her words pierced the air and turned into ice. “Everyone needs a mother,” Nelly said, simply. 

Faye scoffed, hardening herself against the admission. Against the confession. She had already had a mother in her life, and she sucked. Some nights, she could still feel the pain in her wrist—in her fingers—from where her mom had permanently disabled her. 

Faye twisted away from Nelly. “If you’re done pestering me about—” 

Nelly cut her off. “So come for the synagogue. They always need money.” 

“How about I just write them a check and spend the night reading a book and eating hard kosher salami by myself?” 

Nelly grimaced. “This is fun for you?” 

“Yes, Nelly.” Faye threw her hands up, exasperated. “This is fun for me. Because I like being alone. More important, I’m better alone. I have no interest in meeting a man, starting a romantic relationship, or getting married. Going to a Singles in the Sukkah event would be the equivalent of false advertising.” 

Faye made her way back through her pottery studio. Picking up her vase, she turned to place it in her storefront window. And that was when she saw it. The vase she had thought was perfect…had a tiny bubble at the bottom. 

Haman’s hat,” Faye huffed. She tried not to use curse words. 

“What’s wrong?” Nelly asked. 

Faye shook her head. “I must have missed an air bubble before drying.” 

Clay held memory. If you did something wrong at any part of the process, it would be reflected in the final work. A fingerprint at the edge. A lip all misshapen and wonky. A warp or scratch in the otherwise smooth facade, or worse…the entire thing exploding, shattering completely, when placed into the kiln for firing. Clay, contrary to popular belief, was not an easy material to work with. 

“I’m just gonna throw it out,” Faye said, attempting to move it out of her window. 

“Wha!” Nelly stopped her with both hands. “Why would you throw this out? You’ve already spent time to make it.” 

“Because it’s awful,” Faye snapped back. “No one is going to want a vase with a bubble sticking out of it!” And because looking at that bubble was a constant reminder of all the things her mother had stolen from her. 

Faye was only seventeen years old when it happened. When her mother—in another one of her random and totally unjustified rages—woke her up from a sound sleep because she had accidently left clay out on the kitchen table. Grabbing Faye by the wrist and pulling her out of bed, she dragged her down the hall to clean up the supposed mess. Faye could still recall the sensation of her hand being twisted the wrong way, the sound of it snapping as the bone broke. But most of all, she remembered screaming for her father to help her. 

The abuse Faye had endured as a child changed her. She lost the scholarship to a prestigious art school in Manhattan where she was planning to study ceramics. She became wholly focused on protecting herself, remaining independent… Changing paths, she became a lawyer instead. And when she met Stuart, she thought she had found the safe, unconditional type of love that she read about in her romance novels. 

Instead, her clay memory bubbled up and formed blisters all over their love. She became someone unrecognizable. Desperate to keep Stuart happy—desperate to prove she was someone loveable and worthwhile—she lost herself completely. The break up had been hard, but when she looked at her life now, at Woodstock and Magic Mud Pottery, she was grateful. What life had taught her, most of all, was that she had to protect herself. 

Excerpted from MAGICAL MEET CUTE by Jean Meltzer, Copyright © 2024 by Jean Meltzer. Published by MIRA. 

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About the Author

JEAN MELTZER studied dramatic writing at NYU Tisch and has earned numerous awards for her work in television, including a daytime Emmy. She spent five years in rabbinical school before her chronic illness forced her to withdraw, and her father told her she should write a book? just not a Jewish one because no one reads those.

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Spotlight: Love's Cure by Judith Keim

Romantic Women's Fiction

Date Published: August 25, 2024

Love cures all …

When Emmett Chambers comes to Lilac Lake to replace Dr. Johnson, the town’s GP, Dr. Johnson asks Crystal, owner of the Lilac Lake Café, to show him around. Emmett is the son of an insufferable ambitious politician who is the reason Emmett has chosen the life of a doctor in a small town, away from politics. Just as the relationship between Crystal and Emmett heats up, Emmett’s mother finds out about it and is furious, deeming Crystal unsuitable for the family during her husband’s presidential campaign. Hoping to allow things to cool off, Crystal spends time at the Ogunquit Playhouse in Maine doing her usual summer gig as an extra in some of the plays put on there. But when she’s called upon to help Emmett’s mother with a problem there, everything changes for all of them.

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About the Author

Judith Keim, A USA Today Best Selling Author, is a hybrid author who both has a publisher and self-publishes. Ms. Keim writes heart-warming novels about women who face unexpected challenges, meet them with strength, and find love and happiness along the way, stories with heart. Her best-selling books are based, in part, on many of the places she's lived or visited and on the interesting people she's met, creating believable characters and realistic settings her many loyal readers love.

She enjoyed her childhood and young-adult years in Elmira, New York, and now makes her home in Boise, Idaho, with her husband and their adorable dachshund, Wally, and other members of her family. While growing up, she was drawn to the idea of writing stories from a young age. Books were always present, being read, ready to go back to the library, or about to be discovered. All in her family shared information from the books in general conversation, giving them a wealth of knowledge and vivid imaginations.

Ms. Keim loves to hear from her readers and appreciates their enthusiasm for her stories. To sign up for her newsletter, go here: ​https://dl.bookfunnel.com/oeiwdp1vkc 

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Spotlight: Summer with the Single Dad by Whitley Cox

Series: The Single Dads of San Camanez: The Brew Brothers

Release Date: August 24, 2024

Genre/Tropes: Forced proximity, small town, fish out of water, single dad, military, medical/heroine doctor, inspirational, overcoming grief, brotherhood

What happens when the stubborn island prince falls for the mysterious stranger with a secret?

Welcome to San Camanez, a humble, peaceful little island in the Puget Sound and home to the McEvoy brothers. Four sexy single fathers—and one childless snack with a beard—who run a brewpub on the beach, raise their kids together, and hope to find love and happiness in the chaos that is life. This is Bennett’s story ...

Single Dad and CFO, Bennett McEvoy, is determined to give his daughters a fun summer despite the money woes plaguing his family business. He needs the brewpub and cabins he owns with his brothers to be more prosperous than ever. Because right now, things are tight. His focus is on profit and sustainability. He doesn’t have time for the mysterious beauty in cabin five. But when her cabin floods, he insists she move into his house, because he absolutely does not want to see her go.

Dr. Justine Brazeau, a renowned cardiothoracic surgeon, made a mistake and killed a patient. Clearly, she’s not cut out to practice medicine. But now, she has no direction or purpose. She’s lost. She’s sad. And she’s lonely. Well, not anymore since she’s living with Bennett, and he’s making it very difficult for her to figure out her future—that doesn’t involve him without a shirt (or pants).

Can Bennett make the money his family business needs this summer, and heal Justine’s guilty heart? Or is she too consumed with her own pain to see that together they are stronger, better, and a lot less broken?

Excerpt

His eyes widened, and a soft sadness entered his heated blue gaze. 

“It’s fine,” she dismissed. “I’ve come to terms with it. I also got checked after my ex …”

He nodded, understanding and not making her say the rest. 

Then he helped her hop up on his hips and he was inside her in two thunderous heartbeats. How she managed to get so wet and turned on by their last conversation eluded her, but she was. She was slick and ready when he notched himself at her center and slid home. Their collective sighs of relief made her smile as she clung to him and he began to hammer her into the tree. 

Nothing about this was conventional, or romantic, or sweet. 

But holy hell, was it ever hot. 

She’d never had sex anywhere but a bed before, let alone outside, on the side of the road with somewhat of a stranger. 

And yet, no part of her—not even the voice of her mother, which sat permanently in the back of her brain criticizing her—told her this was a bad idea. Her mother’s voice would later. It was probably still asleep, that was all. 

So since nothing was telling her to stop, and everything was telling her to take, to soak up the dopamine and oxytocin, and find some joy, she tilted her face skyward until her head hit the trunk, allowing his teeth to rake her neck and jaw, for his kisses and his thrusts to push her deeper into euphoria. She smiled at the pink and blue sky as the morning sun shot streaks of light through the clouds. She smiled at how incredible it was to feel joy without guilt and to be with someone who understood what it was like to want to run from joy because they didn’t feel they deserved it. 

Bennett’s grunts and groans brought her back to reality, and she tightened her hold around his neck while locking her legs behind his back and tilting her hips. That made him groan, and she followed it with a moan of her own, because now his pubic bone was hitting her clit just right and she could see the edge she wanted to leap from. She ran toward it, met him thrust for thrust as best she could, clawed at his back, and dropped her mouth to his neck and nipped him. 

“Christ,” he growled, holding the backs of her thighs and increasing everything: his speed, his effort, and even his vocalization. He was grunting more and louder as he hammered her harder and harder into the tree. If she wasn’t full of endorphins and dopamine the bark might have hurt, but everything—even the pain—felt good. It felt better than good, it felt incredible. 

His fingers dug into the backs of her thighs, and his cadence began to wane. He was getting closer. Thank god, because so was she. 

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About the Author

A Canadian West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart, and together they have two beautiful daughters and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn't end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it's not quite wine o'clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.

A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With single dads, firefighters, Navy SEALs, mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role-playing, Whitley’s books have all the funny and fabulously filthy words you could hope for.

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Website: http://www.whitleycox.com

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Spotlight: All the Missing Girls by Linda Hurtado Bond

Genre: Thriller, Suspense 

Once you enter their world, there is no escape…in this gripping and undeniably chilling thriller from Emmy-award winning journalist Linda Hurtado Bond.

As a crime reporter for a Tampa TV news station, Mari Alvarez knows when an investigation enters dangerous territory. But with her estranged sister missing and almost no information to go on, Mari can’t trust anyone but herself to find the truth. Now she has just 48 hours to sneak into Cuba undetected, track down her sister…and pray to her orisha that she’s not too late.

This is nothing like reporting in her neighborhood, though--a place she knows like the back of her hand. In Havana she has no contacts and only an ice-cold trail of cryptic clues. When Detective Tony Garcia offers to help, Mari puts aside her instincts and tries to let someone in. But soon they’re caught in a maze of lies, deception, and an undercurrent of the island’s own witchcraft, a sinister Brujería.

Every lead draws Mari further into this world of shadows, especially when her sister isn’t the only young woman who’s gone missing. Each step pushes Mari and Tony toward a revelation they never saw coming. And as they close in on the horrifying truth, one thing becomes clear…no one will let them leave Cuba alive. 

Excerpt

Day One

One a.m.

Forty-seven hours left

Tony’s family farm

We tiptoe through a dimly lit garage. Enrique goes first, Orlando second, his GoPro out and recording. I’m holding on to Orlando’s shirt. Tony walks behind me. We lug our gear with us, so moving isn’t easy.

As we enter the house through the kitchen, I take note of one single light bulb hanging without a cover from the ceiling. It sways as we pass, casting light in waves across the bare cement walls.

Towels cover the windows, even though it’s still dark outside. Enrique pulls back a sheet hanging over an open archway, and as soon as we walk through, nervous energy embraces me. Candles burn in place of lamps, and the glow illuminates eager faces. Almost a dozen of them. “Americano!” A one-armed man, in a faded Nike T-shirt and ripped jeans, pulls Tony in with his stump and slaps him on the back with his good hand. “Americano!”

Tony gives a few pats but pulls away. The Americano seems uncomfortable with raw emotion. Similar greetings swirl around us, like an emotional tornado wanting to suck Tony up.

They must all be relatives of his, crammed into this living room, moving around so quickly, I can’t tell if the floor is shifting or it’s me. The heat and humidity add to the feeling the room sways, like I’m riding waves.

Most of those gathered are older men, but there are two women, a couple of teens, and one three-legged dog, an ugly, multicolored mutt with sad blue eyes.

One of the women draws me into her arms, hugging me; Spanish endearments roll into my ear. My heart swells in reaction to the smell of lavender on the woman’s skin. The scent reminds me of my Abuela Bonita’s Violeta perfume. I squeeze my eyes shut. I will not cry.

My clothes, moist from the five-hour boat ride from America, must be dampening her dry clothes. I’m starting to tremble, so I don’t want to be held tightly. I really need to pee, but I’m ashamed to ask, because Tony is busy being washed around in this tsunami of a family reunion. Orlando is busy recording. All of that is more important than my needs.

Tony hasn’t seen these family members since he left Cuba as a baby. Twenty-eight years ago. It hits me—he, too, has lost family, if not to murder or kidnapping, to separation by both water and politics.

The first time his mother invited me to dinner at her house in Tampa a month ago, Tony didn’t eat, because he was too busy caring for his ninety-year-old grandfather. Watching him feed the older man, stroking his hair, helping him to bed, stirred something in me.

His grandfather must have meant a lot to the owners of this house, too, because a painting of a younger version of him hangs on the living room wall. He’d been a dissident, and because of a few rallies against Fidel Castro, he’d been arrested and imprisoned. When he finally made it to America, his physical and mental state had been damaged beyond repair. Tony became his caretaker, a constant reminder, he told me, of Cuban suppression, imprisonment, and torture.

Tony’s temporal artery pulses. He didn’t come to Cuba only to help me; he came for the revenge against those who wronged his family. And to save those he could.

We stare at each other, no words needed. His conflicted emotions weigh heavy in my chest. My heart aches. It literally hurts. For him. For me. For us.

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About the Author

Linda Hurtado Bond is an award-winning journalist for Tampa's Fox 13 by day and author of romantic thrillers by night. She has won 13 Emmy awards, numerous Society of Professional Journalist and Associated Press awards, as well as a Florida Bar and an Edward R. Murrow award. A breast cancer survivor, she’s also active in the Tampa community with The American Cancer Society, Hooked on Hope, and The Shoot for a Cure, raising money and awareness any chance she gets. She’s the mother of five, four athletes and an adopted son from Cuba. She has passion for world travel, classic movies and solving a good mystery. 

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