​Tucked away in the mountains of North Carolina, the people of the strange little town of Sanctuary have enjoyed their status as a tourist attraction and Renaissance faire destination for decades. But on her twenty-sixth birthday, Kaelyn Anderson discovers a dark secret about her hometown.

The only reality she’s ever known has proven false. Now, her last hope lies in an unusual alliance with the son of the enemy she didn’t even know she had. Under the protection of Jack, an Elf prince, Kaelyn plunges into Cherokee lore to find the answer that will protect her people from invaders from another world.

Can Kaelyn and Jack form an alliance between three factions to fight their common enemy, or are they out of time?

​“Elves, as a whole, lack the demonstrative passion of humans. It’s a strength and a weakness. And humans can sometimes not see past racial differences, though their ability to love is unrivaled.” He gave her another curious look she didn’t understand. “It was predicted that you would be one who combined all of the gifts of humans and Elves. I believe that prediction may be true.”
“Why?” She cocked her head, confused by his expression.
“Because, Your Highness, in the time we have been here together, you have worked a transformation on the very spot on which you sit.” He indicated the stump.
Surprised, she stood and turned to look. The stump, which had appeared quite dead just minutes before, now sported branches that curved up and over where she’d sat. They formed a sort of back to the seat, all woven together. She clapped her hand to her mouth in surprise. “I didn’t…I don’t…” She shook her head helplessly. “What?”
Jack chose that moment to join them. He greeted Tristan with a warm handshake as the Meti stood. “Everything is in place for this evening?”
“It is, My Lord.” Tristan bowed his head.
Jack turned to Kaelyn, and she could see the concern in his expression. He paused, looking at the stump-turned-throne she’d accidentally created. He raised one eyebrow.
“I didn’t mean to.” She felt defensive, probably for no reason. “Can’t you do that?”

​Michelle Garren Flye is an award-winning author of romance and women’s fiction. Reviewers have described her work as: “an engaging novel with charming and likable characters”, a story that “will make you believe in love and second chances”, and a “well-written and thought-provoking novel.”

Michelle placed third in the Hyperink Romance Writing Contest for her short story “Life After”. Her short stories have been published by the romance anthology Foreign Affairs, Opium.com, SmokelongQuarterly.com and Flashquake.com. She has served on the editorial staffs of Horror Library, Butcher Shop Quartet and Tattered Souls.

Michelle has a Bachelor’s degree in Journalism and Mass Communication from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and a Master’s degree in Library and Information Science from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. She is the mother of three and lives in North Carolina with her husband and their rapidly growing collection of pets.

Links
Blog: http://michellegflye.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/michellegflye
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/michellegarrenflye/
Amazon Author Central: amazon.com/author/michellegflye
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/michelle-flye-0ab9235

​With NO STRANGER TO LOVE, USA Today Bestselling Author Pamela Aares delivers another page-turning contemporary romance in the Tavonesi Series featuring love, suspense and adventure!
Juliet Cabot is no stranger to trouble, but she never imagined that her work defending endangered sea turtles on a beautiful Greek island would turn deadly. Threats to her life force her to call for help from the man who's haunted her dreams for years—wine country landowner and international polo star Parker Tavonesi.

Parker owes Juliet big time for getting him out of a fix in the past. Handsome, resourceful and fearless, she trusts him with her life but she vowed she would never trust him with her heart. When danger enshrouds them and warm island nights cause their bottled-up passions to flare, Juliet's every fantasy could become reality . . . unless the dark secrets of a sultry paradise prove fatal, not just for the struggling sea turtles but for Parker and Juliet as well.


Link to Follow Blast: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2016/05/no-stranger-to-love-tavonesi-series-9.html
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27835929-no-stranger-to-love

Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/120562-tavonesi


Buy Links:      Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/No-Stranger-Love-Tavonesi-Book-ebook/dp/B01FFZO5IW?ie=UTF8&keywords=pamela%20aares%20no%20stranger%20to%20love&qid=1463013968&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1
B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/no-stranger-to-love-pamela-aares/1123777019?ean=2940158387159

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/no-stranger-to-love/id1058594121?mt=11
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/no-stranger-to-love

​After lunch, Juliet changed into the sleek silk evening dress and headed down into the wine cellar with the stylist and hairdresser. It felt weird to be in such a fancy dress at two in the afternoon. Heck, it felt odd to be in such a fancy dress at any time. The dress and the shoes probably cost more than an entire month’s pay.
When she reached the wine cellar, Athena tugged at her dress and Brandy fussed with her hair. Barb had arranged a bank of lights in front of a wine barrel. A silver tray set holding two crystal glasses sat in its center.
But Juliet’s mind was captured by the scent of the cellar—cinnamon and berries and a deeper aroma she couldn’t identify. But she recognized the mélange of scents as Parker’s. She’d caught whiffs of the heady aroma in the guest room the previous morning and then again when he’d leaned in close for the shots in the redwood grove. But Parker wasn’t in the cellar.
Dimmed ceiling lights curved down the tunnel that led deeper into the wine cave. She shook off the hairdresser and peered into the darkness. When footsteps sounded behind her, she turned.
And sucked in a breath.
If she had thought Parker handsome in his riding clothes, a perfectly tailored tuxedo made him devastating.
His eyes landed on Juliet. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked first down and then up. “My God, you are a vision.”
Juliet couldn’t tear her gaze from Parker’s. She managed a smile and a nod, but didn’t trust her voice. For a moment, no one moved. The only sound was their collective breathing, as if the cellar had lungs of its own.
“Well,” Athena said, breaking the spell. “That’s the whole idea, after all.”
“I’ll need to angle this light,” Barb said.
Brandy moved toward Parker, pulling a brush from the belt of implements at her waist.
Parker held up a hand. “I do have limits,” he said in a gentle but firm tone, his eyes never leaving Juliet’s. He shook his head as if he were shaking off a troublesome thought. “And before we do this shot, I’d like for all of you to taste the wine I’m launching.”
He strode to a cabinet at the far side of the arched room and began to pull out glasses. Juliet let out the breath she’d been holding and moved to help him.
“No.” Athena put a hand to Juliet’s wrist. “You might muss your dress.”
God, she’d forgotten about the dress.
“Though we’ll have our wine critic taste all of these, I’d love to taste your wine here in its home setting,” Mark said.
Parker pulled a bottle from the cabinet. “This pinot is only three years in the bottle, but it’s ready.”
“I feel like we should have a drum roll or something,” Barb said from behind the light she was adjusting.
The thrumming of Juliet’s pulse was all the drum roll she could stand.
“As much as I’d like to, we won’t have to come back tomorrow,” Mark said. “After this session, Barb will have what she needs, and I have more than enough for the article.”
Juliet sighed, relieved.
Parker poured wine and handed out the glasses.
Juliet reached for hers.
Athena took the glass from Parker’s hand. “Best to wait until after Barb gets her shots.”
“You must think I’m clumsy.”
“No one could ever accuse you of that.”
Parker’s sultry tone rolled through her. No one had ever called her graceful. And though he hadn’t, she heard the message in his words. The compliment pleased her more than it should have.
“Just a precaution,” Athena added. “I’ve learned from experience.” She eyed Juliet. “We’d have a hard time coming up with another gown that looked like this one does on you.”
Parker leaned close to Juliet’s ear. “I’ll make it up to you after. You can have your own private bottle.”
“I might need it by then.” She shook off the shiver threatening to take up long-term residence in her body. “Maybe a case.”
“Upping the ante?” he whispered, his teasing tone warming her belly.
He’d already paid far more than he should have. “No. But I will be glad when we’re done here. I’m sure you will be too.”
He held her gaze. “Maybe. I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
Everyone except Juliet sipped the wine, admired it in the light and murmured kudos to Parker. There was talk between Mark and Parker about the aroma of the pinot varietals. Juliet concentrated on the words, the facts, anything to keep from looking Parker in the eye.
“I think at five years this wine will be at its peak,” he said, as proud as any artist would be over the fruits of his work.
“Black cherry and...” Mark paused. “I was going to say ripe tomato or mushroom. Smooth. Balanced.”
Parker beamed.
“Delicious,” Barb said as she set her glass down on the cabinet. “And now, time for work, gang. The sooner we wrap, the sooner Juliet can imbibe.”
At first Parker stood on one side of the barrel and Juliet on the other. Barb instructed them to raise their glasses and touch the rims together as if in a toast. Her camera whirred as she ran off a few shots. She looked at her preview screen and frowned.
“I think they should kiss,” Mark said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I think you’ve had too much wine,” Parker said.
“No, he’s right. Romance. That’s what’s missing from this piece,” Barb said. “You two aren’t shy, so let’s try it. I’d like to shoot it from this angle. Mark, give me a hand with these two lights.”
Barb tugged Juliet close to Parker and then took up her camera a few steps away.
The new light positions threw a golden glow across Parker’s face. The soft light played over the sculpted planes of his jaw and cast the shadows of his long lashes onto his cheeks.
Juliet leaned close. “Now you really need my help,” she whispered. And without further comment, and before she could chicken out and blow their cover, she raised her hands and pulled his head down so that her lips touched his.
Her body quivered at the contact. She closed her eyes and brushed a light kiss along his lips. Trembling, she pulled away. She opened her eyes and, not trusting her ability to school her features, looked down at her hands.
Barb moved to their right. “Can we try that again from this angle?”
Neither Juliet nor Parker moved.
“And keep your eyes open for this one. I want to capture you gazing into each other’s eyes,” Barb said.
“One more,” Juliet said, trying to keep the waver out of her voice.
Parker moved first. His hand slid up her bare back and shot shivers along her spine. Juliet’s gaze locked with his. He looked as stunned as she felt. Or maybe she was projecting. But as he leaned down and kissed her, the lights, the room and the people in it melted away, and she was locked in the throbbing energy of his kiss.
Shocked at her response, she broke off their kiss and stepped back from him. Leaning her palms on the wine barrel to steady herself, she turned to the camera and pasted a false smile on her face that would’ve had her drama coaches applauding.
Then she turned to Parker. His lips were pressed together in a tight line.
“Smile,” she whispered so that only he could hear. “Mission accomplished,” she added, widening her own smile.
He flashed a quick grin that only she knew wasn’t real. Athena, Brandy and Mark applauded. But Barb stared at them, head nodding, her lips quirked into a smile as if they’d pleased her. Juliet could only hope that the camera had captured what Barb had wanted it to. The way Juliet’s legs were trembling beneath her gown, she couldn’t pull off a repeat performance.
“That’s a wrap,” Barb said as she flashed through the shots on the preview screen. “We definitely have our cover shot.”
Parker handed Juliet her glass of wine. “I’m thinking you might need this. God knows I do.” He turned from her and filled everyone’s glasses.
Barb flashed the shot for the cover to the group. Still stunned by Parker’s kiss, Juliet barely registered the good news. Her heart stuttered when she saw the photo. Anyone viewing it would think she and Parker were truly in love.
“To First Flight wines,” Mark said as he clinked his glass against Barb’s. “And to your always amazing work.”
“He says that to all the ladies.” Barb set her glass down and began to wrap the light cords into their cases. She looked up at Juliet. “Have you set a date?”
“April twentieth,” Parker answered.
“I’m sure you already have your dress,” Barb said. “But if you don’t, my friend Vera has the most delicious wedding designs. They’d be gorgeous on you.”
Juliet couldn’t look her in the eye.
Parker topped off the glass that Barb had set aside. “That’s the date we’re launching First Flight.”
Barb smiled and picked up her glass. “Ah, yes.” Her eyes slid to Juliet. “First things first.”
Thankfully, the sound of raised voices coming down the passageway had everyone turning.
“You really are a rat,” Zuri said, aiming her comment at her brother as she and Coco burst into the room. “Did we miss all the action?”
“You could say that,” Parker said. “But I saved you a taste.”
Coco sidled over to Barb. Juliet heard her asking for tips about lighting and camera angles.
Parker poured wine into a glass and handed it to Zuri. He turned to Juliet and raised the bottle. She shook her head. Her head was spinning well enough without alcohol. Zuri knit her brows as she looked from her to Parker and back again to her.
Mark took out his notebook and began peppering Parker with questions about the launch.
Before Zuri could corner her with questions, Juliet slipped out of the room. The stiletto heels made it hard to navigate the brick flooring of the dim passageway, but it wasn’t the shoes that made her feel unsteady. What had happened back there? Flaring passion she didn’t want to admit to feeling flooded her as she finally exited the tunnel and stepped out into the daylight.
She didn’t stop walking until she reached the barn. Just past the entrance, she sank down onto a bale of hay, ignoring the prickle of the straw through the silk of her dress.
Lowering her head to her hands, she pressed her palms to her eyes. She hadn’t planned on her heart having to pay the price of her deception.
“Yo!” Zuri’s voice startled her. “Hope you don’t mind that I followed you.” Zuri sat on the bale next to her. “Hey, you okay?”
“Just tired.”
“We could spend the night here. Unwind. Have a girls’ night. You can drive home in the morning.”
“I should get back. We wrapped the shoot.”
“I heard. Parker seems pleased.”
When Juliet didn’t respond, she added, “This was really, really good of you. Parker said you played your part perfectly. He even admitted I was right—pulling this off was so much easier without all the stickiness of attraction.”
But she hadn’t played her part perfectly. Her heart had pulled up stakes and crossed the line and now... Now she had to corral it back to reality.
But at hearing Parker’s words via Zuri, her anger fired and she couldn’t stuff it down.
No stickiness of attraction.
Well, wasn’t that a kicker?
When had her feelings begun to run away with her? To obliterate her good sense?
She shouldn’t feel anger toward him. He’d donated to the foundation. He’d done everything he said he would.
Zuri tapped Juliet on the knee. “He owes you, you know. He told me so this morning.”
“He doesn’t owe me. He wrote the check.”
Zuri narrowed her eyes. “Did he do something he shouldn’t have? I’ll have his—”
“Zuri, he was a perfect gentleman.”
“Well, he has many talents, my brother. If you ever need help, just ask.” She laughed. “I doubt you’ll need a polo player, but he’s really good at throwing parties.”
Juliet stood and brushed the hay from her gown. “I need to change. And I should get going. Mom will be thrilled that I can have dinner with her tonight. Especially since she couldn’t make it for the shoot.”
And maybe, after a good night’s sleep in familiar surroundings, she’d wake up and be able to remember the past two days for what they were—a caper. Wasn’t that what Zuri had called it?
She’d fly back to Kona early, wrap up her work there and make her reservations to fly to Greece.
And try to forget the chasm that Parker had unwittingly opened in her heart. Try to forget a caper gone wrong.

​Pamela Aares is a USA Today Bestselling, award-winning author of contemporary and historical romance novels. Her contemporary series, The Tavonesi Series, explores the lives, loves, friendships and sizzling romances of the Tavonesi family.

Her popularity as a romance writer continues to grow with each new book release, so much so, that the Bay area author has drawn comparisons by reviewers to Nora Roberts. 

Pamela Aares writes romance books that she loves reading, particularly those that entertain, transport and inspire dreams while captivating and tugging at the heart. She takes her readers on a journey with complex characters in both contemporary and historical settings who are thrown in situations that tempt love, adventure and self-discovery. 

Before becoming a romance author, Aares wrote and produced award-winning films including Your Water, Your Life, featuring actress Susan Sarandon and NPR series New Voices, The Powers of the Universe and The Earth’s Imagination. 

If not behind her computer, you can probably find her reading a romance novel, hiking the beach or savoring life with friends. You can visit Pamela on the web at http://www.PamelaAares.com.

Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
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It’s her turn to drive.
Men take from Jana. Her dad and brother: money. Stage-side gawkers: her dignity. Still, she finished nursing school, won a spot in Manhattan’s top ER—thanks to no man. But when her dad’s business and heart fails, ever-loyal Jana Park must return to the stripper’s pole. Now even her boss’s chauffeur ogles her in the rearview. Faux-kindness—and irrefutable heat—aside, she glares back.
Because screw ’em all.
Chauffeur Antonio Ruiz is done with his cheating wife, the city, the almighty buck. His seaside home in Mexico calls. One last gig for his biggest client, the city’s strip club king, then he’s out. Except that the sharp, exotic, petite powerhouse of a woman he’s been hired to drive—day in-day out, glaring at him with those deep, solemn eyes—takes him over. If he could pierce her shield of doubt, he’d bring her home, far from this hell.
But, no. Jana’s got to take the wheel and drive. Away from her family’s abuse, her boss’s clutches…and toward Antonio’s true brand of love.
The road’s rocky. Will they make it to paradise? Or will it all go south… in the city.  



Buy Links:
https://www.amazon.com/Taking-Jana-Paradise-South-Book-ebook/dp/B01FY1L9WC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1465793069&sr=8-1&keywords=taking+jana+rissa+brahm

​But there she sat, centered on the plush leather bench seat, with too much room to know what to do with. She looked straight ahead through the center partition so that the road ahead was within her field of vision, ready to keep her motion sickness in check. She’d just die if she got sick all over the fine leather interior. She’d absolutely die.
Tony, the driver, glanced up at her repeatedly through the small rectangular rearview mirror. Maybe he thought she sat there, smack in the middle of his back seat, on purpose, ready to chat. He looked nice enough, a clean-cut, seemingly professional and undeniably handsome man––a welcome change from the recent line of cab drivers she’d experienced over the last day and a half. But chatting with him or anyone for that matter was the last thing on her mind.
To keep her nausea at bay and her nerves from completely short-circuiting, she really only wanted, rather needed, to zero-in on the view ahead, his reflection not included, in silence. Not to be rude, but she was too tired. Too drained. Hopefully, he would intuit her exhaustion and understand.
Or maybe he didn’t care about her etiquette at all. Maybe he was a gawker, catching a glimpse at a semi-pretty face? Oh, and there they are again, those eyes. Takin’ a peek, then back to the road.
His eyes were gentle, kind.
God, she almost wished he was an asshole like her recent cabbies, offering no words, no smiles, no nothing. That might be way easier.
But he seemed nice. Mellow. Not an asshole, at least not on the surface. Maybe deserving a word or two, at minimum. But she couldn’t. She really was too beat to even utter a syllable. Because that would lead to words, then sentences, then potential backstory and explanation. And she couldn’t muster the strength to explain anything to anyone, including to herself.

​

Contemporary romance writer Rissa Brahm grew up in New York and has since lived in all four corners of the United States, and beyond. The beautiful paradise of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico—the core setting of her hot & heartfelt debut series, Paradise South—is Rissa’s most recent and beloved home.
After two decades of working in the rigid—and sometimes blurry—world of finance, she's taken hold of her truest dream, writing hot and heartfelt stories full time.
When not chained-by-choice to her MacBook, she is embarking on outdoor adventures with her husband and little girl, laughing to tears with a good rom com, eating amazing Indian food with something chocolate for dessert; reading good, hot scorchers in bed; biking, long walks, and yoga; zoning out to killer music from across the decades and the globe; and getting lost only to discover a new exciting route home again. You can connect with Rissa on Facebook, Twitter or by email anytime by heading to www.RissaBrahm.com.

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​In 18th century Ireland, drought forces Edward and Henry McConnell to assume false names and escape to America with the one valuable thing they still own–their ancestor’s gold torc.

Edward must leave love behind. Henry finds it in the foul belly of The Charming Hannah, only to lose it when an elusive trader purchases his sweetheart’s indenture.

With nothing but their broken hearts, a lame ox, and a torc they cannot sell without invoking a centuries-old curse, they head for the backcountry, where all hope rests upon getting their seed in the ground. Under constant threat of Indian attack, they endure crushing toil and hardship. By summer, they have wheat for their reward, and unexpected news of Henry’s lost love. They emerge from the wilderness and follow her trail to Philadelphia, unaware her cruel new master awaits them there, his heart set on obtaining the priceless torc they protect.


Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/bNzrVFnl9Ts


Amazon
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​CHAPTER 1

County Donegal, Ireland
1755

Henry stood next to his father surveying their largest field. He longed to say that the seeds might yet sprout, that there was still time to yield a return, but the undeniable truth lay right before them: drought had come to Ireland. Their investment in imported flaxseed was lost.
“A hundred days, Henry.” Father’s face bore the pained expression of a man whose hope was as withered as his crops. “A hundred days was all we needed, all that stood between us and prosperity.” He kicked a clod of dirt, and it turned to dust. “It’s all gone, gone along wi’ the horse that harrowed the ground.”
A lump rose in Henry’s throat. He ached for his father, and he missed their horse. Paddy was a fine animal purchased ten years ago after a bumper crop of rye, when Edward McConnell’s luck was good and Henry’s only chore was to stay out of his mother’s hair. Elizabeth McConnell moldered in the ground now, and Paddy plowed another man’s fields.
“We will pray, Father. God will help us.”
“God?” Father kneaded his forehead with calloused fingers. “God’s groping in our pockets right along wi’ your Uncle Sorley. Praying did nae pay our tithes or the hearth tax, did it?”
Surely he didn’t mean that. Everyone knew Edward McConnell to be a godly man.
“We’ll get more seed, Father. It’ll grow next year.” He squared his shoulders and tried to look confident.
“Will nae do us any good. Your Uncle Sorley plans to decrease our tillage in favor of pasture.”
“Wi’ no cut in rent, I’ll wager, and early payment again this year.”
Father spat on the parched ground. “He stopped by yesterday looking for it. Said he’ll call in after services on the Sabbath.” He ground his teeth together. “I’d gi’ anything to see the look on his face when he finds our empty hoose.”
Henry’s chest tightened. Were they moving again? He rubbed the back of his neck and looked across the rolling patchwork of fields to the northeast, where their last home rose above a copse of ash, and where his mother’s daffodils still swayed in the Ulster wind. Four years ago, the cattle plague put them out of that house and into the windowless shack they now shared with Phoebe, their only remaining sow. The hut contained a hearth, a curse necessitating the payment of tax despite the fact that it never contained a fire.
With no peat left and no horse to haul more from the bog, the McConnells relied on a moth-eaten blanket and Phoebe’s body heat for warmth.
They had room to fall; many Catholics lived in the open, bleeding cattle and boiling the gore with sorrel for sustenance. Perhaps his father intended to join them.
“Are we moving again?” he asked.
Father slipped two fingers under his brown tie wig and rubbed his temple, something he often did when puzzled.
Henry followed his gaze to the ruins of Burt Castle, which sat atop a knoll, just above Uncle Sorley’s grand plantation house.
“Nine years we’ve suffered bad luck, Henry. E’er since I buried . . .”
Buried what? Maw? She died five years ago, not nine.
Father sunk his head into his hands, muffling his speech. “I . . . I guess it’s time to . . .”
Henry stepped into the hard, hot field, directly in front of his father. “Father, what in the name of heaven is it?”
Father tilted back his head and whispered to the sky, “Forgive me, Elizabeth.” He looked at Henry. “I buried something. Your maw insisted on it, said it was pagan and she did nae want it in her hoose. I did as she asked. A woman can talk ye into cutting off your own hand, Henry, remember that if ye can.”
Henry nodded, not comprehending, wondering what pagan thing lay buried. He’d never heard it mentioned before, and he was a skilled eavesdropper. “What was it? What did ye bury?”
Father inhaled deeply, removed the worn tricorn from his head, and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll tell ye the whole tale, but first, we have to dig it up. We canny do that until after dark.” He turned without warning and headed for home.
Henry followed him, volleying questions against his back.
Father said nothing until they reached their hut. There, he stormed past Phoebe, flung open the door, and nodded toward a worm-ravaged chest sitting next to a heap of rushes that served as their bed.
“Gather up our claithes and shoes. Use my good cloak for a sack. Bring the dried nettles.” He grabbed the peat spade, the only tool left from his once abundant array of implements, and used it to prop open the door.
“Why bring the nettles?” Henry hated the bitter leaves. “There are more nettles than rocks in Ulster.”
When his father offered no reply, he lobbed another question, desperate for clues as to their destination. “Will ye not wear your good cloak, if we are traveling far?”
“My auld cloak will draw less attention.”
So, they were going to some populous place where good cloaks were bad.
Henry spread the cloak across the dirt floor, careful to avoid Phoebe’s manure. The cloak was long out of fashion, but still a quality garment that Edward McConnell could not afford to replace. He threw their scant belongings into the middle of it, brought the cloak’s corners together, then tied them together to form a sack. Excepting Phoebe and the clothes they wore, the sack contained everything worth saving.
He sat on the rickety chest to watch his father pace.
When Burt Castle became a silhouette against an amber horizon, Father donned his hat and cloak and ducked outside.
Henry followed him to the stone wall separating their field from Uncle Archibald’s.
Father began to tumble a section of wall.
With his perplexity and fear mounting, Henry assisted until there was enough of a breach to push Phoebe through the wall.
She trotted away, grunting and wagging her curly tail, while he helped restack the stones to prevent her from returning.
He could no longer hold his tongue.
“What are we doing? Why are we putting Phoebe in Uncle Archibald and Aunt Martha’s field? Are we going somewhere? Where are we going? Why are we taking nettles?”
In his frustration, he grabbed his father’s arm.
Father whirled around and gave Henry’s shoulders a fierce shake. “Get hold of yoursel’, lad, or I’ll cloot ye upside the noggin. No more questions. Just do as ye’re told.”
Henry stared at his father, who had never once laid a hand on him, nor threatened to.
“I’m sorry, lad. Go on in the hoose and get the bundle.”
When Henry returned with their belongings, his father was holding the peat spade.
“Get a good look around ye, son. It’s the last time ye’ll clap eyes on your hame.”

​Julie Doherty expected to follow in her artist-father’s footsteps, but words, not oils, became her medium. Her novels have been called “romance with teeth” and “a sublime mix of history and suspense.”

Her marriage to a Glasgow-born Irishman means frequent visits to the Celtic countries, where she studies the culture that liberally flavors her stories. When not writing, she enjoys cooking over an open fire at her cabin, gardening, and hiking the ridges and valleys of rural Pennsylvania, where she lives just a short distance from the farm carved out of the wilderness by her 18th century “Scotch-Irish” ancestors.

She is a member of Romance Writers of America, Central Pennsylvania Romance Writers, Perry County Council of the Arts, and Clan Donald USA.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/juliedohertywrites/
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Web: http://juliedoherty.com/
Blog: http://juliedoherty.com/blog
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​Unable to contain the deadly nature of her family secret and powers, nine-teen year old Romarin Demetri hails from California, U.S.A, to unearth her heritage as a descendant of serial-killer, Countess Bathory, the woman that lent Dracula his legend, and cursed Romarin with an appetite for blood.
Unenthusiastic about relocating to her birth city of London, a charming paranormal investigator with claim to the throne could change her mind, as he leads her to the only living and distant relative she has: a raven-haired recluse named Talia, who has taken refuge in an old castle in the heart of the city, and doesn’t seem to have a heart of her own.
After a rough introduction to the lethal, inappropriate, and enchantingly sarcastic people she calls her housemates, perhaps the other misfits will be her first true friends; However, as much as these people are like her, they still have hidden vendettas, a taste for revenge, and will struggle between what is just, and what will settle their psychological upheaval. There is only one way for Romarin to become part of the Supernatural London Underground: Can she be the one who challenges them to put down their ghosts and demons and make their world together?

​ Romarin Demetri is a story crafter who loves black coffee, traveling abroad, and when her characters come home in some sort of trouble she swears she didn’t invent. Pulling from her B.A. in English and Psychology, her debut series, The Supernatural London Underground, is a blend of fantasy ground in reality, and a world a reader can truly escape to. As an eccentric and reader, she still enjoys creating the alternate reality in her urban fantasy series (more than anything!), and her interactive world waits for you at RomarinDemetri.com.
 
Links


Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Mirror-Shattered-Supernatural-London-Underground-ebook/dp/B01CIZM6KQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1457060930&sr=8-1&keywords=romarin+demetri

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29416363-a-mirror-among-shattered-glass?ref=ru_lihp_up_rv_0_mclk-up2960656363
Newsletter: http://madmimi.com/signups/176318/join

​Poppy Reagan is a Type A personality who runs her professional life with the precision of a Swiss watch. After catching her latest boyfriend cheating, she decides it’s time to take her dating life as seriously as she does her business. She swears off the bad boys and strategically maps out a plan to find an honest, attractive man to become her life partner. 

As she works her way through a summer of dates ranging from crazy to plain boring, she begins to wonder if her soulmate’s even on the same coast. Her foolish emotional spirit secretly yearns for the sexy Ohio dermatologist she met on a trip to Hawaii last year. The one who she insists is “just a friend,” because she refused to engage in a long-distance relationship. 

Will her heart overrule her head and move this California girl to the Midwest?


Planning for Love is a 2016 InD'tale RONE Finalist in the Chick Lit Category


Link to Follow Blast: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2016/04/planning-for-love-love-california-style.html
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23897812-planning-for-love


Buy Links:     Amazon | B & N | Google | iTunes | Kobo
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Planning-Love-California-Style-ebook/dp/B00R71GIO2/
B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/planning-for-love-ellen-butler/1120956962
Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Ellen_Butler
_Planning_for_Love?id=DcfkBQAAQBAJ

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/planning-for-love/id953350003?mt=11
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/planning-for-love-1

​“You’re behind the times.”
“Probably so. I’m not much on technology. My phone is four years old and I’m told it’s considered a dinosaur. So, how have the computer dates been going?”
I stared at the green lip on the coffee cup. “I’ve just started.”
He snorted, “That well?”
I allowed the silence to speak for me.
“Sorry. I’m not usually such a jerk. I’m out of my element.”
“What is your element?”
His eyes narrowed and his jaw muscles worked. “You like adventure?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Sure. Who doesn’t like an adventure?”
“You have anywhere you need to be in the next, say…” he studied his watch, “three hours?”
My curiosity piqued. “Three hours? Not in particular.”
He ducked under the table to glance at my crossed legs. “You wouldn’t happen to carry a pair of boots or tennis shoes in your car?”
“I have a gym bag. Yoga pants, T-shirt, sweatshirt, shoes, socks.” I rattled off, listing each one by finger.
“A well prepared woman, I love it.” He rose and held out his hand. “C’mon, let’s get your stuff.”
“I need gym gear for a three hour breakfast?”
“That’s right, I promised you breakfast. Wait here.”
Campbell sauntered over to the counter and perused the glass case of pastries. He exchanged conversation with the barista behind the counter and pointed to different confections, and I turned back to the table to gather my materials.
“All set.” He held the bag aloft.
I rose, shouldering my tote and grasping my coffee like a lifeline.
What the hell am I doing?
It’s an adventure; you said you were up for an adventure.
Yes, but I hardly know this guy.
Just go with it.
As my subconscious argued with itself, Cambell held the door for me. “Where’s your car?”
“I lucked out. Street parking, around the corner.”
“That’s me, right there.” He indicated a black four door jeep with a hard top, big knobby wheels and splashes of dirt fanned along the sides.
“Okay, why don’t you stay here, I’ll drive round the block and follow you.”
“No need. Let’s get your stuff, I’ll drive.”
My head moved from side to side. “I don’t think so. I’d feel more comfortable if I followed you.”
“It’s about forty-five minutes away.”
“So.”
“Fine,” he sighed. “We’ll take your car.”
“Hold up,” I placed a hand on his chest. “I’m not getting in a car alone with a stranger.”
A light bulb went on. “Ah. I see. Did you read this in a dating handbook? You’re right. You shouldn’t get into a car with a stranger, except, I’m not a stranger. We were introduced through mutual friends.”
“First, Erika and Neil, though very nice people, are not my friends. They’re clients, and I’ve only known them a few days. Second, you’re much larger and stronger than me. It wouldn’t take much to overpower me, steal my car, and leave me stranded along the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.”
“Hey, I offered to drive.” He ran his hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ears.
I frowned.
“Okay, okay. I get it. Here’s what we’re gonna to do. Who’s on speed dial on your phone?”
“Why does that matter.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed, “Work with me. Who’s on speed dial?”
“Office co-workers, best friends, my mom…”
“Who’s expecting to see you soon?”
“That would be either Sierra my assistant, or Cody an account manager.”
“Call one of them, and tell her you’re going to Malibu for an adventure. Then take a photo of me and text it to her. Tell her if she doesn’t hear from you in three hours to call the police and turn me in.”
“Hmm…it’s a thought.”
“Here,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife, deftly flicking it open.
I sucked in a breath.
He laid the sharp end in his palm and offered the handle to me. “You can hold onto this for security. If I make any false moves you have my permission to gut me with it.”
A passerby eyed the knife and scuttled quickly through a neighboring shop door.
“Oh, for the love of Pete. Put that thing away,” I hissed. “We’ll do the photo thing. Say cheese.” I held up my phone and clicked a photo. 

Ellen Butler is an award winning novelist living in the Virginia suburbs of Washington, DC. She holds a Master’s Degree in Public Administration and Policy, and her history includes a long list of writing and editing for dry but illuminating professional newsletters, and windy papers on public policy. The leap to novel writing was simply a creative outlet for Ellen’s over active and romantic imagination to run wild. She is an admitted chocoholic and confesses to a penchant for shoe shopping
Planning for Love won The Romance Reviews Readers’ Choice Award for Romantic Comedy and you can find the entire Love, California Style trilogy on Amazon and other major eBook retailers. Book club questions for Ellen’s novels can be found on her website.


Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads
Website: http://www.ellenbutler.net/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EllenButlerBooks
Twitter: https://twitter.com/EButlerBooks
GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/EllenButlerBooks ​

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