Cheerleading Can Be Murder
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In our spare time, Cynthia and I enjoy reading (of course), going to live theater productions, watching reruns of favorite TV shows such as "Sports Night" and "Gilmore Girls," and traveling to some of those distant and exotic places I used to read about as a child. So far, we've been fortunate enough to walk in the sands of Waikiki, swim in the warm waters of the South Pacific and share a romantic dinner in Paris.
I love interacting with my readers and getting their input on my characters and stories. Please feel free to contact me via my website and connect with me on Twitter and Facebook.
READ "LOGAN - A JEREMY BARNES SHORT STORY" HERE
Surrender to the Chase
Under Realm Assassins #2
By Amanda J. Greene
Genre: Paranormal Romance / Urban Fantasy
Knowing no other way to escape an arranged marriage, Fraya flees from her pack. As she contemplates slipping across the border and heading to South America, she is captured by a dangerously seductive vampire who plans on escorting her back to her family. Even as Fraya vows to make Ethan’s mission as difficult as possible, she can’t resist the riotous desire he sparks within her.
But Ethan isn’t the only predator that peruses Fraya. A powerful rival pack’s alpha wants to make her his mate. Will Ethan be able to keep Fraya safe and return her to her pack? Or will he surrender to temptation and claim Fraya as his own?
Lightning splintered the sky. Thunder shook the earth beneath his feet. Damp heat thickened the air. Any moment, the winds would kick up and the red hued clouds would release a torrent of rain.
Ethan loved summer storms and treasured Arizona for its monsoon season. It was only during the madness of the storm that he found peace. In those rare, precious moments, the world reflected the chaos that roiled inside him and he felt… as if he belonged.
Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath and savored the soothing scent of the desert. To his disappointment, he would not be able to appreciate the beauty of nature’s fury. Clearing his mind, Ethan unleashed his senses. His mark was close. He could feel her. Crossing the street, he headed for the quaint coffee shop he frequently sped past. She was here, which meant he could call an end to this pointless job.
Ethan was an assassin, not a damn babysitter. He was an expert tracker and sniper, yet the Under Realm Syndicate had him chasing after a spoiled little she-wolf. He had been tasked with fetching the runaway and returning her to her pack – a complete waste of his time and talents. He couldn’t believe he had let Cole talk him into this. The fact was this case should’ve never made the list. Why the Syndicate decided to get involved was beyond his understanding. This wasn’t a kidnapping or a hostage situation. The female wasn’t a criminal. She wasn’t a threat to the human world or Under Realm society.
His annoyed growl blended with the booming thunder. Cole had insisted Ethan accept this assignment, “You should be grateful the Syndicate is willing to give you a second chance. You’ve been out of practice.”
Who could argue with that logic? Ethan had been off the map for a year. Most within the Syndicate believed he had been killed on his last mission.
I should have been. Shaking his head, he dispelled the thought. He refused to take sober trips down memory lane. He needed to focus on his task.
The aroma of freshly ground coffee was overwhelming. Ethan reigned in his supernatural senses as he stepped inside the shop. The door closed and the torrential rain began to fall. He did a quick, nonchalant sweep of the café, careful not to meet anyone’s gaze. Eye contact encouraged conversation, and he was here on business not pleasure. He would grab the werewolf, take her back home, and detain her until he could make arrangements with her father. Simple.
Ethan walked to the counter. After the blonde and brunette baristas finished arguing over who would help him, he ordered and received a black coffee. The cup had both girl’s names and numbers written on it. He thanked them with a smile. They batted their lashes and insisted he stop by a college party later that night.
Ethan’s shoulders shook with a light laugh. Naïve mortals.
Turning, he headed up the winding iron staircase that led to the second floor loft area. The walls were made almost entirely of glass, providing a glorious view of the storm. Students sat at the tables working on their laptops while groups lounged on the sofas discussing the world of social media.
The delicate scent of wildflowers drifted through the air, drawing his sharp gaze to the far corner. There was nothing remarkable about her presence. She appeared to fit in perfectly with the scene, as if she were just another co-ed. She wore a pair of skinny jeans and a crimson sweatshirt. She sat with her feet tucked under her crisscrossed. Leaning over the table, her long dark brown hair tumbled forward, blocking his view of her face. Ethan noted the worn, tattered condition of the book she read. Her frame was small. She seemed fragile, but he knew better. She was strong, fast, and intelligent. His mark appeared to be ‘normal’ by human standards, but she was the wolf he was looking for.
Hoping everything would go smoothly, he advanced. This was a delicate situation. The female could freak out on him. She could cause a scene, and he loathed drama just as much as he loathed this particular job. It was not a search and rescue mission. No, it was a track-down-a-spoiled-brat-and-take-her-home mission. A simpleton could do it. Why it had to be done was beyond him. At twenty-four, she was an adult. She had a degree in biology and was a werewolf; she was more than capable of taking care of herself.
Who cares? Grab the girl and go.
Ethan quickly reminded himself of the two basic rules: never become personally involved with your mark and strike first, ask questions later – if you cared about asking question at all.
As he approached the woman, he felt a slight tremor in the air. A warning? A threat? Someone was watching them. He set his senses loose once more, scanning the café for the source of the violent energy, but it had vanished just as quickly as it had arrived.
The girl must have felt the glimmer of danger. Her gaze snapped up and met his. Her warm, honey colored eyes were round with surprise. Her tempting red lips parted with a silent gasp. Ethan froze. She was… more than beautiful.
She blinked up at him. Her gaze innocently seductive, her mouth violently tempting, and her wild flower scent was overwhelming. His body reacted instantly. It had been years since he’d felt such a strong, instant attraction.
He watched her lick her lips; lust shot through him like a lightning strike. Oh, yes. The wolf was alluring and, to his surprise, he was disappointed that she was his mark.
“Hi,” she said with a nervous lilt to her voice.
Ethan mentally shook himself and crossed over to stand at the chair opposite her. “Hi,” he replied.
Thunder rumbled; the force shook the glass walls. The girl flinched and her gaze fell from his. For a soundless moment, she sat with her hands clasped in her lap, her head tilted down. The mortals gasped and laughed as another boom shook the windows.
“You may sit,” she said, her voice low, barely audible.
Ethan could smell the fear that sparked within her. Was she frightened of the storm, or what possibly lurked outside? An overwhelming sense of protectiveness settled over him and he frowned. He didn’t like it. He wasn’t the protective type. He was a killer not a savior.
Focus and get this over with.
“Not a fan of thunderstorms?” he asked as he claimed the chair.
She straightened and fixed her gaze on him once more. Her expression was bland, her cute stubborn chin titled up, her shoulders back. She looked regal and refined. Every bit the aristocrat she was.
“I’m accustomed to snow storms.”
“Really? Where are you from?”
“Minnesota,” she answered with a hint of hesitation.
He smiled and was shocked he didn’t have to fake it. “You’re a long way from home.”
She shrugged and returned her attention to her book.
Ethan took a sip of the surprisingly good coffee and relaxed in his seat. He picked up a golf magazine, which rested on the table beside them, and began flipping through the pages. He wasn’t at all interested in golf. Being a vampire, he preferred keeping out of the sun. Although, contrary to popular lore, he wouldn’t burst into flame or turn to ash. He could work on his tan, he just preferred not to.
He casually glanced over at the werewolf and inwardly groaned. She was reading a list of the top ten hot spots in Chile. It appeared she was interested in sunbathing and he couldn’t stop the image of her in a bikini from cropping up in his mind even if he’d wanted to. And he certainly did not want to erase the image.
She sighed, closed the book, and tucked it away in her backpack, which hung off the back of her chair. She took up her latte and settled her gaze on him. Her lips turned up with a sweet smile.
“You don’t strike me as the golfing type.”
He raised a brow and tossed the magazine down on the table between them. “No?”
She shook her head, her long dark curls waving around her shoulders. “Not at all. You look like you’d rather go to a shooting range than work on your golf swing.”
Ethan couldn’t argue with that. He’d had his basement converted into an indoor gun range.
“Very observant,” he said. “What about you? What’s your hobby?”
She bit her bottom lip as she contemplated. Ethan wanted to bite it for her. “Traveling. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. You know, see the world, and experience different cultures.”
“Is that what your trip to Arizona is all about?” he asked.
“More or less,” she answered with a shrug.
“Well, South America is beautiful.”
Her eyes grew wide. She leaned forward, placing her hands on the table. Excitement laced her voice, “You’ve been?”
Ethan shifted closer and reached for her hand. The air trembled with another flicker of danger just before the lights went out. Darkness flooded the café.
His mark shoved away from the table, snatched her backpack, and darted toward the stairs. Ethan was right behind her. The mortals grumbled complaints, some laughed, while others stumbled through the dark.
She was about to reach the exit when the door flew open, crashing against the wall. Humans screamed and shouted in alarm. The girl froze, and Ethan cursed. Clearly, he hadn’t been the only one searching for her. He could sense the alpha’s presence and, judging by his target’s reaction, so could she.
Ethan grabbed her wrist. She swung around. Her fist raised, her honey colored eyes glowed, and her fangs bared. Shadows of a wolf’s fierce visage flickered over the fine features of her face. Her fierce growl vibrated her entire body. Ethan ignored the warning and tugged on her arm, pulling her toward the emergency exit at the back of the coffee shop.
He pushed the door open. His mark tried to twist free of his hold, but he held her firm.
“Let go of me,” she demanded, her voice roughened by her partial transformation.
“Not a chance, sweetheart.”
She growled and fought harder. He wasn’t surprised by her strength and knew she was still holding back. So was he.
Pushing her now soaked and tangled hair from her face, she snarled, “What’s going on?”
“I thought it was obvious,” he said.
“That you’re attempting to kidnap me?”
Ethan shook his head. “No. That you have an alpha hunting your ass.”
Her stare was one of confusion, awe, and horror. She stopped, and he paused. Literally dragging her across the street would draw unwanted attention. He reluctantly released her wrist. She was soft and warm while he was hard and cold. A frown creased his brow when the sharp sense of loss pricked his long dead heart. On some level, he’d enjoyed the feel of her.
She blinked up at him. Her large, honey eyes sparkled with fear. “W-what did you say?”
His chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “I’ll explain. For now, come with me.”
She shook her head.
Ethan glanced over his shoulder, scanning the parking lot for any sign of the alpha. He could sense the wolf was close.
“We don’t have much time. We need to go.”
The woman fell back a step and Ethan’s body tensed. His instincts flared. She retreated another step. Would she run? A part of him wished she would. He loved the chase. The hunt. His heart began to pound, his pupils dilated, and his fangs began to sharpen, all in anticipation.
“Don’t,” he warned.
LINK TO FIRST 3 Chapters
http://amandajgreene.blogspot.com/2015/04/extended-excerpt-surrender-to-chase.html
Amanda is also an associate reviewer on The Book Nympho.
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I love women. I’m not ashamed to admit that making a beautiful woman come is my main goal in life—one that I accomplish night after night. Women are as drawn to me as I am to them. I don’t get turned down. It’s not a brag, just a fact. At least it was a fact. Until I met Quinn—the one woman who didn’t fall for my easy charm. Now, I have to have her. She may not want to get close, may not want to admit that I turn her on and can give her a night that she’ll never forget, but she was mine the first moment I saw her. Eventually, I’ll have her beneath me, my hands in her hair, and my name on her lips. It’s what I do. I’m the Panty Whisperer.
TOMMY IS SHAKING his head too much for comfort as I walk up to him at the bar top.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing, man. Didn't say a damn thing, bro."
"Megan tell Quinn?"
He stares at me like I'm an idiot. "Herbert, I just wanna shake the ever-loving shit out of you sometimes. Quinn knew the second she walked by you and you poked your little head, yes I mean both of them, up like a turtle coming out of his shell. Megan tell Quinn? Fucking Michelangelo over here. You didn't learn shit from Splinter, did you? Fucking honorary Foot Clan member."
"It wasn't like that."
His eyes are about to pop out of his head. "Just save it, bitch. You're making my life oh so complicated. You're lucky you're a hot piece of man meat."
"But—"
"Don't!" He bugs his eyes at me again.
"I—"
"I said don't." He talks so damn fast I can't get out a word and his puffed out cheeks are trying not to laugh. His eyes open wider.
"Look—"
"You are terrible at this game, Sir. I said don't!" He's on the verge of an aneurysm.
"Fine. You are such a persistent prick. You know that? What the fuck is new?"
He looks away. So smart to have such an obvious tell. He's withholding information.
"What is it?"
"Nothing." He won't look at me, and now I have to know.
His voice gets all high pitched. He's nervous. "You see the new Force Awakens trailer? If Abrams doesn't bury that goddamned Binks clown I will murder him, Herbert. I will fuck his Facebook page with the fury of 1,000 angry porn dicks, by god!"
"Tell me what you're going to tell me." I inch closer to him.
He shakes his head. "Didn't work. Did it? Changing the subject. You can't be persuaded to the dark side?"
"Tell me. I know you want to. Join me, Thomas."
He looks away.
"Thomas, look at me." I'm the one bugging my eyes now.
He turns back to me and cackles. "Your Jedi mind tricks won't work on me, Sir. I am enslaved by the pussy of one Megan, much like Leia tied to the likes of a forty-ton gila monster. I am a Jedi, like my father before me."
I crouch down in his face. "So be it, Jedi. And now young Skywalker, you will die."
"Fine, man goddamn!"
I grin huge.
He glares back at me. "Quinn's leaving town. She's going to speak at some bullshit conference for their company. And it could be permanent if she does well." He gasps like he's been holding his breath for hours.
My heart drops into my stomach. Pain rips through my bones at his words, but I compose myself. "Good for her. I'm sure it'll be good for her career." I look around and want to rip the walls off this building and burn it to the ground.
"I'm sorry, man."
"For what?"
He looks up at the bartender and orders two scotches, then tosses me a look like I'm clueless and want to copy his calculus homework. "I'm sorry."
I give in and stare down at the ground. "It's okay, buddy. It's not like it's a hundred percent sure thing she’s leaving forever, right?"
"Yeah, well. I don't know. I wish you two would stop being idiots. Everyone can see it but the two of you." He stares out the window.
I want to change the subject, but my thoughts are flying back and forth like a Blue Angels air show. "It's too late, man. Yeah, I love her. But I fucked it up. Can we all please move on?"
His face tightens and his jaw clenches, grinding his teeth together.
Guilt pummels my abs with a right cross.
"You didn't fuck it up, man. You could still have her. You're just too much of a pussy to do anything about it." He slams his fist on the counter, rattling all the glasses down the bar, then turns and walks toward the door.
"Dude, what the fuck? What do you care anyway? Sorry I'm not making things convenient for you and Megan." I squeeze my glass of scotch so hard I'm worried it might break.
He pauses for a second, then turns back around and walks over to me. His hands are clenched into fists. I don't know that either one of us has ever been in a fight, so I don't know what the fuck to do.
Sloane Howell lives in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media. You can almost always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.
Visit his web page www.sloanehowell.com to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new releases, promos, and giveaways. Thanks for reading.
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I’m the best operator in the entire agency. The plum assignments—always mine. So when an American heiress goes missing, I’m the guy they call to get her back. Rescuing Collette Stanford is my mission. What I do to her after that is purely up to me, as long as she makes it back to the States in one piece. I’ll kill the bad guys, get the girl, and get a little taste of what the heiress has to offer. None of this is negotiable. I’m Cash Remington, and I never miss.
“Collette.” I strip my shirt off and toss it onto the vanity as she walks in hesitantly, her head bowed and her eyes down. “Take the jacket off and get in the bath.”
Her shyness only taunts the beast inside me. I want her naked, showing me all her secrets and yielding to my every desire. My eyes are desperate to see all of her again, my hands over-eager to touch her soft skin. I turn the knob and stop the pour of steaming hot water.
“But you’re in here.” Her voice is so soft, like a rose petal, and color rises in her cheeks.
I strip my boxers off and walk to her. She looks up now, to avoid seeing my erection. I smile at her bashfulness as I slide my hands down the lapel of my jacket she’s still wearing. I undo the buttons as she stares at me, her eyes fearful, but also full of a heat that I want to stoke until she’s a raging fire. The jacket slides to the floor with a little push.
And now it’s just Collette and me. Nothing else between us. I tip her chin up and taste her lips for the first time. She’s tentative, unsure. I run my hand up her smooth back and tangle my fingers in her hair. Giving a slight tug, I pull her head back and slant my mouth over hers. That gets her hands on me, where I want them.
I run my tongue along the seam of her lips, daring her to open them for me. Her hands travel to my chest, my abs, and then to my back. Her breasts press into me, the tips hard and tantalizing. I need them in my mouth, but I want her surrender first. All of it. I want her to give me her virginity like a gift, something to treasure and keep, and I also need her submission. With the way she melts under my touch, I know I’ll have everything I want, and soon.
Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.
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USA Today bestselling author Taryn Elliott is obsessed with rock stars, men, and her unending playlists--maximizing these things seemed like a very good idea. When she's not writing, she's losing hours to hot men on TV, and/or a graphic design project. Multitasking is her middle name.
They decided to combine forces and found that hey...this writing deal is even more awesome when you collaborate with your best friend.
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A Legend is Born
By T.L. Phillips
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Nineteen-year-old Lissa witnessed the brutal murder of her parents by blood-thirsty vampires at the tender age of fourteen. She would have suffered the same unpleasant fate had tall, dark, and mysterious stranger Max not intervened. Every night since Lissa, along with an elite group of fighters, trains and patrols the mostly abandoned streets around the city of Buffalo, NY. They quietly thwart the dastardly plans of rogue vampires and cursed shifters in an attempt to protect mankind.
Having been told that all shifters are evil, Lissa is taken by surprise when she learns that there are good ones in the world - the Guardians. And she's bonded with one of them, an ultra-rare occurrence amongst Guardians in recent years and unheard of between a Guardian and a mortal. When a typically fatal injury threatens to end her, her bond-mate throws caution to the wind and uses his own blood to save her. The consequences could be disastrous when Lissa wakes up to find she is no longer human, and not only a shifter herself but the shifter queen.
On Amazon.com at http://www.amazon.com/Legend-Born-Champions-Night-Book-ebook/dp/B01D6D8040/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1460693181&sr=8-1&keywords=a+legend+is+born+by+tl+phillips
On Barnesandnoble.com at http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-legend-is-born-tl-phillips/1123485501?ean=2940152899696
On Smashwords at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/619927
My lips brushed across her earlobe, and her body shuddered. I should have pulled away, put some distance between us and regained my composure. However, the scent of her shampoo mixed with her desire kept me planted there, our bodies hovering against each other without touching.
Her voice was low and husky, barely a whisper. “Max...”
I brushed my lips across the scar along her jaw, our hearts racing in our chests. Before I realized what was happening, my lips were pressing down on hers unleashing years of pent-up desire. Her body arched forward, encouraging me to continue. I wove my fingers through her hair as I cradled the back of her head in my palm, leaving her no room to back away from me.
My free hand trailed the soft, creamy flesh on her arm, leaving a sea of goose bumps in its wake. Lissa's body relaxed into mine with a muffled moan as I traced her perfect lips with my tongue. Her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling us closer together. I deepened the kiss. Excitement pulsed through my body as I instinctively guided us to her bed.
She felt so good in my arms, like she was made to be there. I gently pulled her down onto the bed on top of me, never letting our lips lose contact. My breath caught in my chest as she took control of the kiss. She ran her fingers through my hair and moaned with pleasure as she thrust her tongue deeper into my mouth.
I ran my hands down her back, encircling her in my arms. A jolt of electricity shot through me as my hand brushed across the exposed flesh of the small of her back, and I froze. In all my years, never had I experienced anything like it. My mother used to tell me that I would know when I found my one.
From the way her body fit perfectly against mine to its reaction to my touch, I knew she was the one. My mate. My only thought after that was making her mine. I needed her more than she could ever imagine.
It was that blinding, deafening, all-consuming kind of need that only comes along once in a lifetime. The fire raged deep in my soul. Burning me to the bone with the knowledge that if I didn't claim her at that moment, it would kill me for sure.
Blurb
Only a madman makes a promise in the heat of passion...During a midnight tryst in a moonlit garden, Nicolas Needham fell in love—only to walk away. As a younger son with few connections, his pride demanded that he better his circumstances before paying his suit to Lady Mariah. When Nicolas is finally given the opportunity he needs to advance—by negotiating a contract of matrimony on his employer’s behalf—he is shocked to learn that the intended bride is the same woman to whom he once pledged himself.
And only a fool believes him....
Mariah Morehaven has lived a quiet, almost reclusive life in the country. While she accepts that marriage is her unavoidable destiny, as a baroness in her own right, and heir to one of the oldest and land-rich estates in England, she fears becoming the target of fortune hunters. After entrusting her cousin, Lydia, to help her find a suitable match, Mariah is devastated to discover that the man sent to negotiate for her hand is the very same who broke her heart.
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Excerpt
NICK FOUND HER on one of the private terraces overlooking the gardens. Alone. Thank God. Dressed in her ivory gown and drenched in soft moonlight, she resembled nothing so much as an ethereal being leaning wistfully over the balustrade."Lady Mariah?" he called out softly.
She turned to face him with a look of surprise. "Mr. Needham?"
"I thought to find you with Rochford."
"Then you were mistaken."
"Mistaken?" He frowned. "I don't believe I mistook his interest in you."
She released a bitter laugh. "His interest is in my estate, perhaps. In my dowry, most certainly. But in me? I assure you not, Mr. Needham."
"Then he is a fool."
"No. We are simply from different worlds. That one is his," she inclined her head to the door, "and this one is mine."
"Are you not enjoying yourself?"
"To be honest, I feel completely out of my element without Lydia. All too much like a sheep in a cow pasture."
"You don't look like a sheep," he said. "A sprite perhaps, but never a sheep."
"A sprite?" She laughed. "You told me you weren't given to false flattery, Mr. Needham."
His grin instantly faded. "There's nothing false in my words, Mariah." Her name slipped all too easily over his tongue. "You have no idea how lovely you are tonight."
Unable to help himself, he reached out to stroke the curls that lay over her pale shoulder. His gaze followed the cascade of golden-brown locks to where the ends rested just above her milky-white breasts. "In the morning sunshine, I thought you resembled a wood nymph, but by moonlight, you are nothing short of angelic. You should always be out of doors, Mariah."
"It's where I prefer to be," she said. "It's where I feel most alive—walking, riding, tending the garden. I've always despised being stuck inside, but now that's where I spend most of my waking hours. My only escape is at night when I sit on my own terrace or walk in the gardens."
"Alone?" he asked, his gaze searching hers. Was he mistaken about her? Did she perhaps have a secret lover?
"Yes," she whispered softly. "Very much . . . alone."
She suddenly looked so forlorn, making him ache for what he couldn't have. It was all he could do not to pull her into his arms.
"It would not be so if you were you to marry . . ." The words were out before he could take them back.
"To whom? Someone like Lord Rochford?" she asked, searching his eyes.
"A woman in your position may have her pick of nearly any eligible bachelor in the realm."
She released a derisive laugh. "And I would still be very much alone. I don't seek that kind of marriage, Mr. Needham. 'Tis too beautiful a night to speak of such unpleasant things as marriage." She tilted her face up toward the heavens, exposing the full column of her beautiful neck. "Do you ever stargaze? Or is such an activity too frivolous for a man of your serious temperament?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, I have always loved astronomy."
"I have never learned to identify the constellations, but the myths fascinate me. When you look up there tonight, what do you see?"
"The moon is too bright to see much," he said. "The best time to view stars is during the new moon."
"Can you find Cassiopeia for me?"
"She doesn't emerge in the heavens until autumn, but Ursa Major is best viewed in spring. It's also the easiest to recognize. Do you know the myth?"
"It is the story of Callisto, is it not?"
"Yes. Zeus was smitten by her, and Hera, his jealous wife, transformed Callisto into a bear. While she was in animal form, her son Arcas was going to shoot her, but Zeus intervened and turned Arcas into a bear as well. He then placed mother and son permanently in the heavens."
"It seems so unfair that Callisto was punished merely for attracting the attention of Zeus, but then again, maybe she's happier lighting up the nighttime sky than worrying about unwanted propositions from powerful men."
"Unwanted propositions?" Her words rang a peal in his ears. "Did Rochford importune you?"
"No. He did not, but he hinted at a proposal of marriage."
"When?"
"Earlier this evening."
"How did you answer him?"
"I didn't. Please, Mr. Needham. I don't wish to talk about it. Why were you looking for me? Did you receive any news from Lord Marcus?"
"Yes. He anticipates he and Miss Trent will arrive late tonight."
"What has detained him for so long?"
"He didn't elaborate. He only said it was a matter of urgency." She shivered. "You are cold." He immediately stripped off his coat and laid it over her shoulders.
Her eyes met his. "Thank you, Mr. Needham."
"Nicolas," he said. "Or Nick would be even better."
"Nick," she repeated with a soft smile. "I like the sound of it. It suits you."
"And why is that?"
"It's a no-nonsense kind of name, isn't it? You don't seem to care for their disingenuous ways any more than I do. Indeed, you are the only one here with whom I am at ease. It's hard to believe we met only a few short days ago. I feel as if I have known you so very much longer."
"Perhaps it's just the wine?" he suggested.
"No," she murmured, leaning toward him, close enough for him to catch a teasing hint of lilacs. She licked her lips. The gesture drew his gaze to her luscious rose-colored mouth. He couldn't help wondering if her lips were as sweet and petal soft as they looked. "It has nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with the man."
Her tone and demeanor were warm and inviting, and innocently seductive. He was surely courting danger to be alone with her any longer. "We should go back inside and join them at cards," he said.
"Must we?" she asked, soft and pleading.
"Yes, we must," he replied resolutely. He'd come looking for her to protect her from Rochford, but who would protect her from him? "If you don't wish to join them at cards, you could always make an excuse to retire early to your chamber."
"But I won't be able to sleep. I'm far too restless. What about you? Do you intend to wait for Lord Marcus and Lydia?"
"Yes."
"Then I will wait with you," she said. "That is . . . if you would care for some company."
"No," he said. "It wouldn't be appropriate for us to be together. Indeed, if we stay out here much longer, we will surely become an object of speculation."
"Would that be so terrible?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" He was half afraid of her answer.
"If my reputation were tarnished, perhaps I would not then be troubled by any more unwanted suitors."
"You are quite mistaken in me if you think I would do such a thing," he replied tersely.
She had no idea the torture she was putting him through. What she'd just implied, that she was willing to be compromised, was pushing him perilously close to the breaking point. He was an honorable man, but a man nevertheless—made of flesh and blood.
"I'm sorry." She bit her lip. "It was a foolish thing to say. But I am no one. Why would anyone bother themselves with me?"
"You don't understand how it is," he said. "This world is full of malicious people, Mariah. To those who live meaningless lives, spreading gossip and fomenting scandal is the ultimate in entertainment."
"I have nothing in common with such people," she said. "I hate falseness and malice. I'm very sorry I came here."
"Are you?" he asked softly. "I'm not. If you hadn't come, I never would have had the delight of getting to know you, and that would have been a tragedy for me."
"But what does it matter? It's unlikely that we'll ever see each other again after tomorrow."
His gaze narrowed. "After tomorrow?"
"Yes. In the morning, I intend to pack my belongings. I'm returning to Morehaven."
"You're leaving?"
"Yes. I am needed at home."
“But you can't leave so soon," he protested. "I promised to teach you about cricket. I could never break my word to a lady. I have my reputation to protect."
His effort at levity only seemed to annoy her. “Your reputation?" She gave a snort of indignation. "Is that all that matters to you, Mr. Needham? What others think?"
"Not at all," he replied. "In truth, most of them can go to the devil for all I care."
"Then why are you afraid to be alone with me?" she asked softly.
"I'm only trying to protect you from those who live to destroy others," he answered.
His chest squeezed as her gaze grew misty. "I don't belong here. Don't you understand? Can you even imagine how it feels to be sought out only because you have property and a fortune? How will I ever know if someone actually cares for me?"
Nick stifled a groan. The anguish in her beautiful blue-green eyes unraveled his last threads of self-restraint. He drew her into his arms, knowing he was making a mistake, maybe the biggest of his life, but the kiss was his fate. It was as inevitable as the rising sun and as unstoppable as the ocean tide.
"How will you know?" He moved in slowly, deliberately, until their faces were mere inches apart, until the sweet sough of her breath caressed his face. He couldn't hold himself back now if his next breath depended on it. "This is how."
Cupping her face with both hands, he finally claimed the soft, sweet lips that had tormented him since he'd seen her in Lady Russell's garden. Her kiss was the tenderest torture. Although unschooled, her lips were indescribably sweet. He wanted to lose himself in the drugging pleasure of them forever. He resisted the urge to probe with his tongue, knowing if he took this any further, he'd never be able to pull away, and he had to. He couldn't let it go on. One long and lingering kiss was all he would allow himself . . . because anything more could never be enough.
Other Books In The Series
About The Author
Victoria Vane is a selling author of of smart and sexy contemporary romance and an award-winning author of historical romance. Her books have received many accolades to include the 2016 Red Carpet Award for Jewel of the East, 2014 RONE Award for Treacherous Temptations as well as Library Journal Best E-Book romance of 2012 for The Devil DeVere series.Connect with Victoria
Website: www.victoriavane.com
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The Doctor in Unit H
Series: A Mockingbird Place Novel
By Kris Cook
Genre: M/M Contemporary Romance
Release: May 17, 2016
Some people say you can’t fall in love at 18. But I did. And the man of my dreams? Jaris Black. He was also 18.
Our first year at medical school we moved in together. It was…perfect.
Until…
I haven’t seen or talked to him in six years. But I’ve never stopped thinking about him. Jaris is a very successful doctor, which is no surprise to me. Still living in Unit H at Mockingbird Place.
God, how I’ve missed him.
I won’t drag Jaris into the chaos that is my life. No. I won’t. But my mother who is dying has requested to see him. They were so close. Still are.
I had to honor Mom’s wish. I called him and he’s arriving in an hour. Can I keep my feelings hidden from him? I need to, for his sake.
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My roommate and best friend, Jackson, always teases me about my process—or in his words my “idiosyncrasies.” My last painting took me over a month to complete, but the first ten days was like this one, staring at the canvas before I pressed a brush filled with paint to its surface.
Out of the corner of my eye, through the window, I see one of my new neighbors walking up the sidewalk. Ava Stone is pregnant and is carrying a big box. In her current condition I wonder if she should be lifting heavy things.
She and her good-looking cowboy, Luke Wagner, are moving into the apartment next to Jackson’s and mine—Unit E. That leaves Oliver’s old apartment, Unit F, as the only vacancy at Mockingbird Place. I met the couple at the complex’s yard sale when they were taking a look at the apartment. They were living in a motel so that Ava could start her classes at the university on time until they could find a place to rent. Ava and Luke’s new home had been empty for quite some time. Until now. I’m glad it’s finally going to be occupied and hope the new couple will be good neighbors. And most of all I have to stop thinking about one of them.
I’ve never been attracted to cowboys before, but there is something about Luke that I can’t quite seem to shake. But I need to. He’s obviously taken and straight.
When Ava smiles at me as she turns to go into her apartment, I wave.
Glancing back at my canvas, I feel so frustrated. I’m no closer to an idea than before. Why do I do this to myself? No one will ever see this work when it’s completed. This painting is for my eyes only now that Malcolm is gone. He was the only one I was ever comfortable sharing my work with. He got it. He knew what I was trying to say with each piece.
Like everyone else at Mockingbird Place, I thought he would live forever, even though he was eighty-two when he died. In June, we had his memorial in the courtyard and planted a tree in his honor near the pool.
I see Ava heading back to the parking lot and wonder how many more boxes she and her boyfriend have to unload. I decide to finish my coffee before I put my brushes away and help them.
I step back from the blank canvas. Should I paint another portrait of Malcolm? No. I just can’t bring myself to paint him again. It hurts too much. I need more time. Right now, I could use an idea for this canvas, but I’m at a total loss. Damn it.
My art continues to be therapeutic for me. When I was twelve years old my counselor suggested art therapy and I found my passion. I can place myself inside my paintings, feeling the breeze on my skin or hearing the crashing of the waves on the shore. I’m there and I don’t feel the pain. Still, my paintings allow me to gaze into the darkness of my past. They also help me release the tension and anxiety.
Actually, I wish all of my paintings could remain private. Each is so personal and carries its own meaning. Whenever anyone looks at my paintings I feel exposed and vulnerable. Dirty. I wonder if people can see my younger self weeping from the despair in my brush strokes. I definitely can, no matter the composition I’ve created, whether beach or mountain scene, whether wild animal or newborn baby, whether impressionistic or realistic. Each painting carries drops of the pain from my past.
Two of my pieces were on display for my professors to judge. I wonder if it was worth the As I got on both, because it nearly wrecked me until I was able to take them back to my storage unit. That’s where I keep my completed paintings.
This semester is so much better than last. I have a fantastic schedule and only have to be on campus two days a week. The rest of the week is mine. All mine. And the classes that I am taking don’t require students to create and present a work of art, unlike last semester.
As I put my empty cup down, I see Ava collapse and the box she was carrying crash to the ground.
A blast of electricity shoots through my body, and I toss my brushes aside and rush out my door.
“Ava. Ava.” I lift her head off the ground and start shouting for her boyfriend. “Luke. Get out here. Ava has passed out.” Where the hell is he?
Her eyes open. “What happened?”
“You passed out and fell,” I tell her.
“Oh no.” Ava rubs her hands over her belly. “Thank God, I just felt a kick. I think the baby is fine.”
Kick or not, I know she needs to see a doctor. “Where’s Luke?”
Before she can answer, I see him running up the sidewalk.
He kneels down next to me and shoves a sack in my chest. “My God, Ava, what happened?” he asks in his thick West Texas accent. “Are you okay?"
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About Me
I'm a Texas gal with a wonderful husband, an amazing six year old son, and an adorable newborn baby boy!
My blog is about the best things in life - cooking, books, giveaways and reviews of everyday products!
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