Here's the link to my June newsletter! 
What's in it?* Book release dates
* CONTEST!
* COVER REVEAL for "Somewhere to Dream"!
* Goodreads listing
* Book recommendation for June
* I'm on a Quilt!
* Yummy recipe

Check out these previously posted features, because you can enter to win these books all the way until December 21!
- December 3 - Joanna Bourne
- December 4 - Pamela Callow
- December 5 - MK McClintock
- December 6 - Steve Vernon
- December 7 - Sophie Perinot
- December 10 - Rona Altrows
- December 11 - Kaki Warner
- December 12 - Katherine Scott Crawford
- December 13 - Nya Rawlyns
And don't forget to enter to win the GRAND PRIZES at the bottom of the page!

Summary:

What happens when a struggling actress and a grieving widower come together in a night of unbridled debauchery orchestrated by a bored and machinating rake? With the devil in charge...there will be hell tp pay!

She’s a lonely lady down on her luck... Phoebe Scott, alias Kitty Willis, is a struggling Covent Garden actress with a bruised heart and a closely guarded secret. 

He’s steadfast and eminently respectable.. Sir Edward Chambers, Ned to his intimates, is guilt-ridden over his beloved wife’s death and avowed to live out a rustic and mundane life … of celibacy. 

With the devil in charge — there will surely be hell to pay. Devil in disguise, Viscount Ludovic DeVere, is determined to return his best friend, Ned, to the land of the living. His meddling machinations result in a night of mind blowing passion after which “dull dog Ned” awakes to find himself in the King of England’s bed!

Excerpt:

"But I know that look, DeVere, and it always bodes ill."

"Come now, Ned," DeVere cajoled. "With only weeks until matriculation, we may never get another chance to serve up some revenge on ole' Trasker."

"What have you in mind?" Simon asked.

"Since our dear pedagogue is so fond of bear-leading, why not procure one for him?"

Ned looked stunned. "You wish to buy a bear?" 

"Of course not," DeVere answered.

"Thank God," Ned replied with a sigh of relief.

"I only wish to borrow one."

"A bear?" Simon repeated.

"Yes. It can be a small one. As to age, size, or gender. I am not particular."

"And how do you propose to find one?" Ned asked warily.

DeVere replied with a look of pure devilment. "I propose a midnight foray to the Royal Menagerie." 

Author:

A lover of history and deeply romantic stories, Victoria Vane combines these elements to craft romantic historical novels and novellas for a mature reading audience. Her writing influences are Georgette Heyer for fabulous witty dialogue and over the top characters, Robin Schone , Sylvia Day, and Charlotte Featherstone for beautifully crafted prose in stories with deep sensuality, and Lila DiPasqua for creative vision in melding history with eroticism. Ms. Vane also writes award nominated romantic historical fiction as Emery Lee (http://authoremerylee.com)

When I first conceived A Wild Night’s Bride, a Georgian set, Hangover-inspired romantic comedy, I had no idea that one devilish secondary character would spawn an entire series, but Ludovic, Viscount DeVere, proved to be a dream come true. This larger than life character has captured the hearts of so many fans who have begged for more DeVere. In response to these requests, I have not only decided to continue the series, but have recently commissioned an amazing artist to render gorgeously detailed full color illustrations for my DeVere stories! My goal is to offer a wonderfully enhanced reading experience to fans of my series. 

The first book to be illustrated just in time for all those glorious full color and graphics capable Christmas e-readers, is Devil in the Making, The Illustrated Edition. This book will feature a gorgeous depiction of the key scene in every chapter. If this experiment is successful, I will be illustrating the entire DeVere series (old and new) over the next 12-18 months. As a holiday greeting, I am attaching a sample of the absolutely stunning photorealistic artwork that will grace the new book cover as well as the inside pages! Now, without further ado…. Here is how it all began….

Devil in the Making: A Devilish Vignette by Victoria Vane 
Every devil has a beginning... A rebellious young nobleman's prank with the king's lion goes comically awry, leading to a startling chain of events. A riotous Georgian romp in the tradition of Fielding's Tom Jones and a prequel to the Devil DeVere series.

#1 GRAND PRIZE:

Kaki Warner's acclaimed trilogy: THE RUNAWAY BRIDES—three strong-willed women headed West in search of new lives. But when their train is stranded in a dying Colorado mining town, they get more than they bargained for…and find love where they least expect it.

GRAND PRIZE #2:

"Lightning paced, innovative, topical … and most of all, frightening." 
-- James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author

Check out these previously posted features, because you can enter to win these books all the way until December 21!
- December 3 - Joanna Bourne
- December 4 - Pamela Callow
- December 5 - MK McClintock
- December 6 - Steve Vernon
- December 7 - Sophie Perinot
- December 10 - Rona Altrows
- December 11 - Kaki Warner
- December 12 - Katherine Scott Crawford
And don't forget to enter to win the GRAND PRIZES at the bottom of the page!

Summary:

When the fate of worlds rests on shifting loyalties and the vagaries of the human heart, will time and history slip into shadow?

1515 Venice, a city of art, music and commerce, wealthy, greedy, whose rulers engage in war as simply an extension of commerce by other means. Cosimo de' Medici, capo of an ancient family with uncommon power, ruler of Florence, maker of kings and popes, with secrets and plans, orchestrating and plotting as the Holy Roman Empire stands poised to change the face of the continent, and even the world.

Three brothers with uncommon gifts: Stefano, Antonio and Nicolo de' Medici, Veluria: an operative of the Sisterhood and Andreas, a cleric from the competing Council--strangers out of time and out of place--haunt a chaotic shadow world where knowledge is power. Tasked with averting disaster in a future falling prey to disintegration and yet another apocalypse, two operatives seek independently to stay events, to manipulate, control and direct, yet neither truly understands the scope of the looming tragedy, the shifting loyalties and matters of the heart, the acts of desperation that will change history, and the roles each will play.

Venice, a city of beauty whose canals string like pearls through her heart, a city on the edge, poised for a tumultuous plunge into a cavernous maw, indistinct, hazy, falling into ...The Shadow of This World.

Excerpt:

“Madame, this way, if you will.” Antonio held out a hand but Veluria brushed past him into the small walled garden. Faint echoes of waves slapping the stone abutment and the occasional skritching sound as pilings and piers groaned in unison led her to peer over the smooth granite cap lining the top of the barricade.

“This is lovely,” Veluria sighed, and truly meant it. Such retreats in the heart of the city were indeed rare and precious, and most unexpected in this, the center of the commercial and shipping district. The Grand Canal commanded her attention off to the southeast, and in the distance the stunning visage of the Rialto Bridge gleamed in the mid-afternoon sun. A slight breeze brought relief from the building heat. She felt a trickle of sweat along her spine and twisted uncomfortably against the stays.

“Is something amiss?” Antonio edged next to her, like a phantom morphing from the shadows. 
She would never get used to the man’s ability to materialize without warning into her very personal space. Such closeness bespoke an intimacy she feared and desired. She reached out for Stefano, seeking a measure of comfort to ground herself and restrain her developing attraction to the huge man who might hold the key for them all. Unfortunately her connection continued to degrade and she no longer commanded access to his thoughts or feelings. Why … she couldn’t be sure.

“No, signore, I am quite well, gracie. Such beauty,” Veluria waved a hand to encompass the vista spread before them, “gives me chills.”

What gave her greater chills was the brush of flesh against flesh as the Demon moved in close. He’d rolled up his sleeves in deference to the growing heat of the day, revealing deeply tanned muscular forearms. The brief touch seemed more deliberate than incidental.

“My father’s interests lay to the north.” Tonio pointed to a mass of imposing warehouses where the canal opened out onto a bay that fed eventually into the Adriatic. The sway of masts heralded the fleet of ships awaiting cargo. “Our mills in Florence require that we maintain a presence here in Venice.”

Veluria nodded with interest. She well understood the intricate interweaving of commerce, politics and war that dominated the fabric of the city and its denizens. The tall man, and his threatening visage, should have made him a natural fit in this theatre of avaricious pursuit of power, but somehow Veluria detected a depth to his character, something off-kilter, that had nothing to do with his heritage or the unusual ‘gifts’ he and his brothers wielded so adeptly.
“And exactly what is your role in all this?” Veluria decided to begin the inevitable interrogation on her own terms. She needed to define this man’s position, determine exactly how and why his energy so swamped her own abilities, before she could mine him for the location of the key, whatever ‘the key’ was. Euphemisms, the Holy Mother gloried in them.

Find the key, daughter, and save us all.

Well, she was convinced she had found the one who could lead her to the object of power, but what she would or could do with it remained to be seen.

Antonio’s gaze followed the petite woman’s, taking in the wall of algae coated stone across the canal. He drifted closer, drawn by the set of her shoulders and the graceful curve of her neck as it flowed like peach satin into the square-cut bodice. He approved of her lack of pretension, eschewing the bouffant sleeves and exaggerated skirts so common to Venezia. Unlike his brothers who seemed inordinately well-versed in fashion, Antonio preferred simplicity and elegance to the frippery and extravagance of his peers, male and female. He liked the cut of her gown, clinging to a narrow waist with just enough flare to accentuate her slim figure. 

Without a thought he fingered the leather lacing on her bodice, his mind racing as he imagined pulling the narrow thongs through the eyelets, slowly, enjoying the exquisite feel and the soft shushing sound—the promise of what lay beneath the smooth fabric. He imagined releasing her breasts into his hands, slipping the ribbed fabric away to drop carelessly to the ceramic tiled floor. Imagined undoing the braid that circled her beautifully shaped head, freeing the blue-black tresses to fall about her rosy-hued shoulders. Imagined cupping her chin in his rough hands, dark against light, pressing into the flesh until she bent back to receive his mouth.
The memory of their brief kiss still taunted him. That anyone could taste so sweet defied explanation. 

As he reached to pull a strand of hair off her neck, Antonio caught himself, appalled at what he was about to do. 

Mio dio, what is this? Where has my mind gone? This is insanity.

Insane indeed. This was his brother’s woman, as much as Cosimo might dispute that fact. Antonio had seen the looks exchanged between his brother and this woman. He didn’t need special skills to detect the connection they had with each other. That his beloved brother was entirely besotted by her concerned him, but he would do everything in his power to make sure that Stefano would have all that he desired. If this woman proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was worthy of Stefano’s trust and love, Antonio swore to himself that he would personally thwart his father’s grandiose schemes to see the lovers pulled asunder.
He owed Stefano that. It might be the only thing he could do to make amends for his rash and vicious attack on the boy. 

“Perdonatemi, mio signore, your father wants a word with you.” Cosimo’s manservant approached circumspectly, as if intruding on an intimate moment. That would surely give the man pause since in his long years of service he’d probably never once seen him so much as look at a woman, let alone engage in polite conversation on the terrace. 

“Gracie, Paulo. Please stay with Madame until I return.”

“M’Lord, your father wishes for me to bring,” Paulo stumbled as he had not been accorded the woman’s surname and feared using her given name in a gesture of disrespect, “Madame to your brother.” He hastened to add, “A light lunch awaits once your discussion is completed.” 

Breathing an obvious sigh of relief that the mercurial elder would find little fault with his delivery, Paulo held an arm out for Veluria.

Tonio held back, his gut in a knot. It was one thing to resolve to see to his brother’s happiness, even if that meant supporting a potentially unsuitable match. It was quite another when the debilitating headache returned at the mere thought of Veluria and Stefano together. 
He watched Veluria disappear into the palazzo, his face a grim mask of displeasure.

Author:

Writer, editor and hopeless romantic. Nya Rawlins lived on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, has ridden more than 1000 miles in trail competitions on horseback, and has been owned by two Newfoundlands. She’s staff for a herd of cats and a herd of horses.

#1 GRAND PRIZE:

Kaki Warner's acclaimed trilogy: THE RUNAWAY BRIDES—three strong-willed women headed West in search of new lives. But when their train is stranded in a dying Colorado mining town, they get more than they bargained for…and find love where they least expect it.

GRAND PRIZE #2:

"Lightning paced, innovative, topical … and most of all, frightening." 
-- James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author

Check out these previously posted features, because you can enter to win these books all the way until December 21!
- December 3 - Joanna Bourne
- December 4 - Pamela Callow
- December 5 - MK McClintock
- December 6 - Steve Vernon
- December 7 - Sophie Perinot
- December 10 - Rona Altrows
- December 11 - Kaki Warner
And don't forget to enter to win the GRAND PRIZES at the bottom of the page!

Summary:

Spring, 1768. The Southern frontier is a treacherous wilderness inhabited by the powerful Cherokee people. In Charlestown, South Carolina, twenty –five year-old Quincy MacFadden receives news from beyond the grave: her cousin, a man she’d believed long dead, is alive—held captive by the Shawnee Indians. Unmarried, bookish, and plagued by visions of the future, Quinn is a woman out of place … and this is the opportunity for which she’s been longing.

Determined to save two lives, her cousin’s and her own, Quinn travels the rugged Cherokee Path into the South Carolina Blue Ridge. But in order to rescue her cousin, Quinn must trust an enigmatic half-Cherokee tracker whose loyalties may life elsewhere. As translator to the British army, Jack Wolf walks a perilous line between a King he hates and a homeland he loves.

When Jack is ordered to negotiate for Indian loyalty in the Revolution to come, the pair must decide: obey the Crown, or commit treason ….

Excerpt:

Prologue

My story begins before the fall, in that Indian summer time when the hills are tipped with oncoming gold, and the light hangs just above the trees, dotting the Blue Ridge with gilded freckles. The mornings and the evenings are cool, but it is the mornings I remember most: waking before the men, wrapping a shawl around my shoulders and slipping out through the fields, the dry grass crunching beneath my boots. Drifting down from Tomassee Knob the mist would spread over the Keowee Valley in a great, rivering pool of gray, the sun rising in the east flecking the horses’ breath—suspended in the air before their nostrils—with slivers of shine. It was then the whole world was quiet, no crows eating my corn, the peacefulness not even broken by the bay of some wolf on the ridge, calling to the still-lit moon in the western sky. The whole world was silent then, and the Blue Ridge breathed beneath the deep purple earth. I thought I could feel it, a great heart beating in the wilderness.

He came to me in the morning. I had crossed the north fields and made my way to the creek at the edge of the forest to check on the last of the Solomon’s Seals I’d watched cling to the embankment in the final days of summer. Ferns reaching the height of my elbows billowed out from the ground, spreading for what looked like miles. The smell of sap emanated from fallen pines where woodpeckers searched for tiny bugs and snakes lay still in the cool undergrowth. Every once in a while a squirrel or rabbit leapt from its camouflaged hiding place, skirting the path I walked.

Coals from a recent fire smoldered black in a pile a few yards from a bend in the creek, and I looked up and farther into the woods, wondering if a Cherokee scout or perhaps a trapper had decided to take his rest on our land. But the woods were eerily still, and not a bird sang nor cricket chirped. There was no movement except for the creek itself, bubbling up against a tiny dam made by runaway branches, cane and weeds. My eyes came to rest across the creek on shadows at the bottom of an enormous oak. Suddenly, the shadows shifted, and the shape of a man stepped forward, seeming to emerge seamlessly from the trunk, his feet making no sound in the leaves.

The breath caught in a knot in my throat, and I placed a hand there, the other fumbling in my skirts for the lady’s flintlock I’d been given. He walked closer, still without sound, and stood watching me from the edge of the creek bed. I pulled the pistol from its hold, pointing it unsteadily at the stranger.

"Come no closer,” I ordered, the words tumbling awkwardly off my tongue and echoing softly in the small dip of valley.

He raised his head, eyes emerging from beneath the brim of a battered farmer’s hat. Across that creek they looked as green to me as moss growing on boulders in the water. His hair was long, the fawn color of a well-worn leather saddle, and the ends were tipped with the same pale blond that streaked through the rest, like he’d dipped his head in white paint. He looked like a white man turned savage, with his moccasin-laced boots and dirty, fringed deerskin shirt, a beaded strap crossing his chest, holding a hatchet and musket on his back. He did not speak, just looked at me from under that hat, shadows cast high on his cheekbones and the solid line of his jaw. The creek gurgling and my breathing were the only sounds. Soon, I knew, the settlement would awake, and the animals would need to be fed, the horses let to pasture.
Surely someone would notice I was missing.

It was the first time he had come to me, but it would not be the last. And though my story ends with him, he did not cause it to begin. I did that, on a midsummer day in the year of our Lord 1768, in the twenty-fifth year of my youth.

Author:

Katherine Scott Crawford was born and raised in the blue hills of the South Carolina Upcountry, the history and setting of which inspired Keowee Valley. Winner of a North Carolina Arts Award, she is a former newspaper reporter and outdoor educator, a college English teacher, and an avid hiker. She lives with her family in the mountains of Western North Carolina, where she tries to resist the siren call of her passport as she works on her next novel. Visit her website at www.katherinescottcrawford.com for more information, or to connect with her via Facebook and at her blog, The Writing Scott. 

#1 GRAND PRIZE:

Kaki Warner's acclaimed trilogy: THE RUNAWAY BRIDES—three strong-willed women headed West in search of new lives. But when their train is stranded in a dying Colorado mining town, they get more than they bargained for…and find love where they least expect it.

GRAND PRIZE #2:

"Lightning paced, innovative, topical … and most of all, frightening." 
-- James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author

Check out these previously posted features, because you can enter to win these books all the way until December 21!
- December 3 - Joanna Bourne
- December 4 - Pamela Callow
- December 5 - MK McClintock
- December 6 - Steve Vernon
- December 7 - Sophie Perinot
- December 10 - Rona Altrows
And don't forget to enter to win the GRAND PRIZES at the bottom of the page!

Summary:

Amidst the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains in 1871, Daniel Hobart keeps to himself―a man with a hole in his heart that matches the scar on his face. But when Daniel starts having visions of a young girl crying out for help, he begins to fear that solitude may have caused him to lose his mind. Determined to find out the truth about the mysterious girl, Daniel travels into New Hope and learns that she’s the missing daughter of widow Lacy Ellis. 

After a year of heartbreak, Lacy isn’t sure what to make of Daniel’s claims of seeing her daughter. But when he sets out to find Hannah on his own, Lacy decides to join him, allowing herself one last chance to hope. And as they retrace the long-cold trail of Hannah’s disappearance, two broken people manage to take some small comfort in each other, and in the possibility of a miracle…

Excerpt:

“Snowing again.” Homer Cranston, the owner of the New Hope Mercantile, tossed wood into the smoking stove in the corner of the store, then let the lid close with a clang. “Snow, rain, and now snow again. Almanac said 1871 would be a wet one in the Rockies. For once, seems they were right.

Daniel Hobart looked up from the display case, curious to see who Cranston was talking to, then realized he was the only customer. He wondered why the storekeeper was being so friendly today. Folks in New Hope rarely were, at least toward him. In the eight months since he’d taken up solitary residence in the abandoned cabin north of town, he’d come to know only two men by name and none of the women. Which suited Daniel fine. At least people no longer stared at his face.

With a deep sigh, Cranston rested his elbows on the counter and stared glumly out the front window. “I hate snow.”

Knowing a response wasn’t required, Daniel bent again to study the items in the glass-fronted cabinet. It mostly held guns. But he was more interested in the knives.

A prickle along the back of his neck brought his head around. A familiar figure glided past the front window, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped as if an unbearable weight pressed down on her slender frame.

He slowly straightened.

She seemed sadder than usual. Maybe because of the season―Christmas was hard on some folks. Hard on him. Her aura of despair awakened an urge to go to her, say something, do something that might lift that veil of pain from her eyes.

But, of course, he couldn’t.

She stiffened. Her steps slowed. 

He braced himself, waiting for the moment she became fully aware of him. She always seemed to―and would pause to look around until her eyes met his. Not in revulsion or fear like some, but more in startled puzzlement, like she knew him but couldn’t place him.
They had never spoken. He didn’t know her name and hadn’t asked. But he recognized that depth of sadness in her eyes. Had seen it too often in his own reflection, until he’d gotten tired of looking at it and had driven his fist into the mirror.

Her gaze met his.

That shock of awareness hit him.  Familiar yet alien. A connection he didn’t understand. But it felt as real as a gentle touch on his damaged face. Defenseless against it, he could only stare back.

“Looking for a gun?”

“What?” Rattled, he looked back at the cabinet, trying to remember why he was there. “A knife.” 

“What kind?”

“Carving.” He glanced at the window again, saw the woman was gone, and let out a deep breath.

“Meat?”

“Wood.”

“What you making?”

Before Daniel could answer, the bell over the front door rang. 

In a blast of cold air, a man entered, his hat and shoulders dusted with snow. He gave Daniel a quick look, then, skirting the pack and snowshoes Daniel had left by the front wall, nodded to the proprietor. “Hidy, Homer. Those canned goods come yet?”

“In the stock room. Come on back.”

Saved from further interrogation, Daniel pushed the woman from his mind and resumed his study of the knives. 

There wasn’t much of a selection, and none was really suitable for intricate wood carving. But he was in the middle of his project and didn’t want to risk being snowed in through the rest of December without a means to finish it. 

Project? Obsession was more like it. He had a stack of furniture orders waiting in his workshop in the barn, but he was making a damned dollhouse. He had no use for the thing, had no daughters or nieces who might want it, and didn’t know any children in town he could give it to once he’d finished it. Yet the idea had taken hold of him back in early October and hadn’t given him a moment’s rest since. He’d missed meals, lost entire days carving and sanding and piecing together tiny wooden parts. He had even dreamed about it at night. 
Balancing a small crate on his shoulder, the other customer left, loosening a draft of cold air that sent flakes swirling across the threshold. 

Snow was coming down hard and fast now. Daniel couldn’t even see the buildings across the street, much less the steep walls of the canyon rising behind them. Typical of the unpredictable weather in the Rockies, after two days of unseasonable rain had turned the November snow pack into six inches of slippery slush, it was snowing again. He was glad he’d come on snowshoes rather than horseback.

“I’ll take that one.” He poked a finger against the glass, indicating a short-bladed knife with a leather sheath that was close in size to the one he’d broken. “And a whetstone.” He was counting out his coins on the counter when he felt a tremor beneath his feet. He looked around. “You feel that?”

“Feel what?” Cranston asked, scooping the coins into his palm. 

Another vibration rippled along the plank floor. “That.” Daniel heard yelling and looked out the front window to see figures running across the street. In the distance, a low rumbling sound. 

“Listen.”

The rumble grew louder. The vibration built, jiggling items off the shelves.

“Christ!” Wide-eyed, Cranston ducked beneath the counter as cans crashed around him. “What the hell?”

Daniel whirled toward the back window, saw a mountain of white racing toward him, and spun, arms up to protect his head. With a shriek of shattering timbers, the rear of the store blasted inward under a wall of snow that drove him backward. He slammed into the front wall and crumpled, arms locked over his head as the world caved in on top of him in a mangled mess of wet snow and glass and splintered wood.

Author:

In between her years as a mother, teacher, commercial artist, reluctant collection agent and surly secretary, Kaki fooled around with writing.  Then, in 2008, after twenty-five years of procrastination, she sent her first manuscript out into world.  Now, four years later, she has six books in print and is busily working on her next trilogy.

Although they’ll always be Texans at heart (and proud graduates of UT), she and her husband are happily retired on a mountaintop in the Cascade Mountains of Washington state, doing whatever they feel like doing―which in her case is writing and enjoying the wildlife and thinking up stuff for her husband to do.  It’s a grand life. 

For more information and excerpts of her books, please visit her website at www.kakiwarner.com

#1 GRAND PRIZE:

Kaki Warner's acclaimed trilogy: THE RUNAWAY BRIDES—three strong-willed women headed West in search of new lives. But when their train is stranded in a dying Colorado mining town, they get more than they bargained for…and find love where they least expect it.

GRAND PRIZE #2:

"Lightning paced, innovative, topical … and most of all, frightening." 
-- James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author

Check out these previously posted features, because you can enter to win these books all the way until December 21!
- December 3 - Joanna Bourne
- December 4 - Pamela Callow
- December 5 - MK McClintock
- December 6 - Steve Vernon
- December 7 - Sophie Perinot
And don't forget to enter to win the GRAND PRIZES at the bottom of the page!

Summary:

A passion for humanity drives Rona Altrows’s Key In Lock. The people in these entertaining yet poignant stories wrestle with self-doubt, ethical dilemmas, money problems, health issues. Yet somehow they survive and sometimes they even thrive. Key In Lock also marks the return of Irene, beloved manager-in-all-but-name of Marjorie’s Lingerie introduced in A Run On Hose. This time Irene takes on issues as diverse as dating later in life, the effect of childlessness on a person’s psyche, stress incontinence, and the love rituals of banana slugs. Irene also brings us tales of her youth in the days of the polio epidemic and Vincent Price horror movies.

Excerpt:

A man needs a certain amount of intercourse. You can stay at the rubbing-pressing-groping stage for only so long. You may be able to stretch it out for months, which is how it’s been going with Raymond and me. When you are in your sixties, like we are, you like to extend everything out, move at a more relaxed pace, as though that will convince the Grim Reaper not to rush.

It’s not as if he’s said so in words, but through the way he acts, Raymond has shown me how he would like the scene to unfold; he’ll be ready any time I am. And to be fair to him, I can’t hold out forever. I mean, he has been patient, a gentleman—no pushing or insisting. But at some point, no matter how sweet a guy is, or how old, only penetration will do. I’m in a jam now. He’s great company, a fine man, and easy on the eyes, but I’ll never love him. What’s more—and this is the part that scares me right now—there’s something I don’t want him to know. If we keep seeing each other, there’s a chance he’ll learn my secret; if we go all the way, he’ll find out for sure. Can I live with that?

So I’ve given myself a deadline. Tonight. We’re going out to a movie, and then he’ll drive me back to my apartment for a drink. By then, I’ll have made up my mind.
Right now I’m still doing the back and forth. We humans would probably be better off if we were built more like banana slugs. In her university classes, my young friend Julie learns how animals go about their business. She knows I am curious and tells me the juiciest stuff, like the slugs’ story. She talks about how they court for hours, which is like years for them, and how they snack on each other’s slime before sex. But to me, the best part is the location of the genitals, not too far from the head. With that anatomy, I figure there’s a good chance that they use their heads when it comes to deciding about sex. Not like us. All that distance between the brain and the other place leads to nothing but trouble. Bad matches, heartache, aggravation—I’ll bet those are not major problems among the slugs.

And there’s another thing slugs have got on us—mucus. In slug sex, there is an exchange of mucus, which is what I will need more of if I am going to take that next step with Raymond. Not mucus exactly, but lubricant.

Author:

Rona Altrows was born and raised in Montreal and lives in Calgary, Canada. She is the author of two books of short stories, A Run On Hose and Key in Lock and is currently writing a book of flash fiction. She has received the City of Calgary W.O. Mitchell Book Prize and the Brenda Strathern Prize for her fiction and has been a finalist for the Howard O'Hagan Award for Short Fiction. Altrows's work has appeared in many Canadian and American magazines and ezines. With Naomi K. Lewis, she is co-editor of Shy, an anthology in which 39 writers reflect on their own shyness. Shy will be publshed in fall, 2013 by the University of Alberta Press.

#1 GRAND PRIZE:

Kaki Warner's acclaimed trilogy: THE RUNAWAY BRIDES—three strong-willed women headed West in search of new lives. But when their train is stranded in a dying Colorado mining town, they get more than they bargained for…and find love where they least expect it.

"Lightning paced, innovative, topical … and most of all, frightening." 
-- James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author

Check out these previously posted features, because you can enter to win these books all the way until December 21!
- December 3 - Joanna Bourne
- December 4 - Pamela Callow

Summary:

She sought a new beginning.
He sought what he didn't know was missing.
Together they would discover hope in unlikely places.
​
Isabelle Rousseau must escape New Orleans and the memory of her family's tragic loss. With her younger brother in tow, she accepts a position as the new schoolteacher in Briarwood, Montana. Desperate to keep what's left of her family together, Isabelle joins her life with a stranger only to discover that trust and hope go hand in hand.
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Gabriel Gallagher lived each day as it came believing he had everything he could possibly want . . . until a determined woman and her brother arrive with a little luggage and a lot of secrets. It will take a drastic choice to protect her and give them both hope for the future.

Excerpt:

Nothing existed of the life she had known. 

Her slender arm wrapped around the little boy’s shoulder and pulled him closer to his side. She could feel his slight trembling and wished more than anything that she could take away his sadness. They were alone in the world. They had each other, and she prayed that would be enough for them both. 

They stood and listened as the priest gave the final blessing, and two men lowered the caskets into the ground. The few other mourners who had been kind enough to attend the funeral asked her to leave with them, but she needed the closure. She needed her eyes to see what her heart refused to accept. ”An unfortunate affair,” everyone called the incident for it wasn’t every day that a man murdered his wife and then shot himself. Isabelle wished not to think on the possible reasons why, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She never imagined her family to be anything but happy. Their father’s death, however, revealed the truth. No one spoke of it with them of course, but the lawyer had made the situation quite clear. 

They were penniless. 

*****

“You promised, Gabriel, you promised!” 

Gabriel wasn’t a light sleeper. In fact, it often took a great deal to wake him from a pleasant slumber, and last night had been a peaceful sleep. He enjoyed waking with Isabelle in the room. What he didn’t enjoy was being yelled at before he’d even drunk his first cup of coffee. Mabel would most likely be back from her early-morning egg gathering in the barn, and he almost tasted the coffee he knew she’d have brewing. Isabelle’s words, though, did enough to bring him about. 

“Blazes, Isabelle, it’s too early for yelling, and I didn’t break my promise.” Gabriel moved around the side of the bed until he located his boots and slipped them on. Anger and irritation quickly overshadowed his happy memories of holding her in his arms the night before. 
“What do you call waking up next to me, Gabriel?” 

“If you’ll take a good look at yourself, and me for that matter, you’ll see we’re both fully dressed. More’s the pity.”

Author:

MK McClintock is an entrepreneur, baker, photographer, and multi-genre author.
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Over the years MK McClintock has traveled the country and abroad, experiencing the beauty of other lands and cultures. She dreams of a time when life was simpler, the land rougher, and the journey more rewarding. With her heart deeply rooted in the past and her mind always on adventure, MK McClintock will always call Montana home.
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MK McClintock is a member of Romance Writers of America, Montana Romance Writers, and Women Writing the West.

#1 GRAND PRIZE:

Kaki Warner's acclaimed trilogy: THE RUNAWAY BRIDES—three strong-willed women headed West in search of new lives. But when their train is stranded in a dying Colorado mining town, they get more than they bargained for…and find love where they least expect it.

GRAND PRIZE #2:

"Lightning paced, innovative, topical … and most of all, frightening." 
-- James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author

Check out these previously posted features, because you can enter to win these books all the way until December 21!
- December 3 - Joanna Bourne

Summary:

Book #3 of the Kate Lange thriller series

She is obsessed with tattoos.
He is obsessed with her.

When a body is found on the outskirts of Halifax, rumors run wild about the victim’s identity. But tattoo artist Kenzie Sloane knows exactly who she is. They share a tattoo… and a decade-old secret.

Lawyer Kate Lange remembers Kenzie Sloane. The former wild child was part of the same crowd that attracted her little sister, Imogen, before her death. Now Kenzie needs her help. And Kate needs answers.

But there are others who know about the tattoo and its history. And one of them is watching Kenzie’s every move, waiting for the perfect moment to fulfill a dark promise that had been inked in her skin.

Excerpt:

Flushed with triumph at finding sarracenia purpurea -- also known as the purple pitcher plant – Rebecca Chen crouched above the surprisingly clear and shallow water of the peat bog.  Bag this last plant and then I’m outta here.

It was a pretty plant, and yet, according to her notes from her biology class, it was a predator, capturing its food in its petals. She plunged her hand into the muck, her fingers scrabbling down the plant’s stem, searching for the root ball. But the stem curved sideways under the dense thicket of hummock. She exhaled, her forehead prickling with sweat. 
Further up the slope and beyond the cliffs, lay the outer mouth of the Halifax Harbour. Fog hung over the horizon, a ghostly waterfall hovering over the deep blue of the ocean, but the cooling breeze carrying its afterdamp did not reach her.

With a grunt, she pushed her hand deep into the underside of the hummock. Her fingers hit a rock. The stem appeared to be wrapped around it. 

Frig. She sat back on her heels. The peat bogs stretched around her, serene blue pools dotting scrubby hummocks of low-lying shrubs. She had never even been out to Chebucto Head until her biology teacher assigned this lab, and she cursed him when she had missed the class trip and had to find her own way to the peat bogs. After a twenty-five minute drive, she found the road to the headland. It was flanked by a protected nature reserve, but it eventually opened to a cove dotted with houses. They huddled, higgly-piggly, on the granite bedrock cliffs, as if holding their collective breath. 

The peat bogs were a twenty-minute hike across the headlands. “Just find the old bunkers,” her teacher had told her. “There are two. The bogs are down the slope.  You can’t miss them.”
True enough, after twenty minutes of following a scraggly, muddy path, she spotted the bunkers on a crest of the cliff.  There were two: one facing the water, the other offset behind it.  The bunkers had been built eighty years ago as the outer battery to defend Halifax Harbour. The lower bunker perched on a slope, its flat, sharp roof appearing crooked against the sky. Tall shrubs and a handful of stunted evergreens grew around the squat concrete boxes. Rather than softening the forbidding exterior of the wartime posts, the dense thicket of shrubs and the lush branches of the evergreens served to emphasize their brutal purpose. 
Even in the May sunshine, they were creepy. She veered around them, and headed down hill to the peat bogs. They gleamed in the sun, the area a large, open marsh with a pleasant piney scent. It hadn’t take much time to find the samples for her biology lab.

Until now.

Last lab of the school year, last lab of high school, Rebecca. That knowledge lent extra urgency to her scrabbling. She wrapped her fingers around the rock anchoring what she now viewed as “her” plant. She yanked the rock-and-plant specimen from under the hummock, falling back on her heels. She staggered to her feet, the prize clutched in her hand.
Her butt was soaked from her efforts. Figures.

She unraveled the roots clinging to the rock.  

Her fingers froze.

Beneath the plant debris and muck, the rock appeared calcified. And smooth.

God. It felt suspiciously like a bone.

It’s not a bone, Rebecca.

It was a bone. Her heart pounding, Rebecca tore away the roots of the plant. The smooth curve and calcified exterior were obvious now.

It’s just an animal’s bone. Probably a deer.

She peered at the hummock, searching for the hole she had tunneled through the underside.
Her breath caught in her throat.

She couldn’t move.

Couldn’t blink.

Couldn’t scream.

All she could do was stare at the two bulging colorless eyes that pinned her in their malevolent gaze. Then she saw the hooked nose, the gaping smile, the hair floating from the head. Everything tinted the same brownish color.
Horror in sepia wash.

Her brain, at first, couldn’t process what she saw. Finally, her lungs forced her breath out in a gasp. And her brain interpreted the image.

The bulging eyes belonged to a mask. A rubber Halloween mask that someone had thrown into the bog. Her insides liquefied with a warm rush of relief. Then she remembered the cold, smooth length of bone in her palm.

It hadn’t been just a mask she had dislodged. The mask had been on a dead body.

She was holding proof of it.

A scream built in her throat.

The dead body was under the hummock. Under her.

Oh, dear Lord. She was holding a dead body!

She threw the bone into the water, so forcefully that water splashed onto her torso, her face. And into her mouth.  An earthy, decayed taste swelled the tasted buds on her tongue. Bog water.

The water had a putrefied body in it.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. With the hand that was filthy with muck.

Muck that contained a dead body.

Her stomach heaved. Vomit flecked her rain boots.

She began to scream.

Excerpt from TATTOOED (MIRA Books, June 2012)
Copyright 2012 by Pamela Callow

Author:

A member of the Nova Scotia bar, Pamela Callow is the internationally published author of the Kate Lange legal thriller series for MIRA Books. RT Book Reviews hailed series lead Kate Lange as a, “…standout character.” DAMAGED, the debut novel of her series, was chosen by Levy Home Entertainment as a “Need to Read” Pick, with Top Ten Bestseller placement in retail stores across North America. 

Callow’s critically-acclaimed series has been compared to works by Robin Cook, Tess Gerritsen and John Grisham. She is also a contributor to the International Thriller Writers' bestselling THRILLER 3: LOVE IS MURDER anthology, edited by New York Times bestselling author Sandra Brown.
Prior to making writing a career, Pamela Callow worked as a Strategic Services manager for international consulting firm Accenture. She lives in Nova Scotia, along with her husband, two children and a pug. She loves to go for walks (unlike her dog), and drink coffee. Visit www.pamelacallow.com to learn more about her books.

#1 GRAND PRIZE:

Kaki Warner's acclaimed trilogy: THE RUNAWAY BRIDES—three strong-willed women headed West in search of new lives. But when their train is stranded in a dying Colorado mining town, they get more than they bargained for…and find love where they least expect it.

GRAND PRIZE #2:

"Lightning paced, innovative, topical … and most of all, frightening." 
-- James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author

Summary:

She's braved battlefields. She's stolen dispatches from under the noses of heads of state. She's played the worldly courtesan, the naïve virgin, the refined British lady, even a Gypsy boy. But Annique Villiers, the elusive spy known as the Fox Cub, has finally met the one man she can't outwit...

British spymaster Robert Grey must enter France and bring back the brilliant, beautiful-and dangerous-Fox Cub. His duty is to capture her and her secrets for England. When the two natural enemies are thrown into prison, they forge an uneasy alliance to break free. But their pact is temporary and betrayal seems inevitable as the fates of nations hang in the balance.

Excerpt:

"I have plans." 

He jerked the last button loose and pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, then stripped his trousers off. She started to sit up but he set his hand on her shoulder to keep her as she was. He liked her this way ... naked, laid out on her belly. She was exquisitely lovely and she couldn't attack.

"Have I mentioned you're the most beautiful woman in the world?"

"From one cause and another we have missed saying such things to each other."

 Those sleek cat muscles of hers told him how nervous she was. Willing, but nervous. He could use that nervousness. He could make it explode inside her like foam in a keg. He'd send her wild tonight. Beyond thought. Beyond restraint. "I like the curve here ..." He ran his hand down the long taut muscles that paralleled her spine. "It's like the countryside back home. Long and rolling."

"I am like countryside?"

"Somerset countryside." He stroked her buttocks. "With little hills."

"But truly, men have strange minds."

He stroked her again. "Did your mother tell you that?"

"I find that my mother did not say anything to the point. She did not wish me to be a courtesan, you understand, and therefore did not instruct me in those arts." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Except a few trifles. I believe they are not known to respectable English girls, who are very uneducated. I will show you, if you like."

A pang of pure lust shot through him. His lady was not at all innocent in some ways. He foresaw many long, interesting nights while they worked out exactly who would be in charge in this bed.

Author:

Joanna Bourne writes historical fiction set in Revolutionary and Napoleonic France and Regency England. She says, "It was a time of love and sacrifice, clashing ideals, and really cool clothing."

She's a four-time RITA nominee and two-time RITA winner.  Joanna lives in the Appalachian Mountains with, as she puts it, a very peculiar dog and rather odd cat.

#1 GRAND PRIZE:

Kaki Warner's acclaimed trilogy: THE RUNAWAY BRIDES—three strong-willed women headed West in search of new lives. But when their train is stranded in a dying Colorado mining town, they get more than they bargained for…and find love where they least expect it.

#2 GRAND PRIZE:

"Lightning paced, innovative, topical … and most of all, frightening." 
-- James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author