Wednesday, February 28, 2018

#BookQW word is eye #Tirgearr #RomanticSuspense Deadly Alliance, excerpt and interview from the author

The random excerpt from Deadly Alliance below contains the word, EYE, which is the #BookQW word of the day.


“Ha.” He released her and leaving her on the couch, walked to his umbrella stand. He carried back a vase of flowers. “These roses are for you.”  He leaned down, his eyes as blue as robins’ eggs.

“Thank you.”  A man giving a woman flowers was not unusual. She took the vase and her lungs inflated with onrush of the sweet scent. “This is what it is to be happy. Pink and yellow roses given to me, by you.”

He looked pleased. “The colors reminded me of your blonde hair and rosy cheeks.” He was good with words. Good at keeping things vague.  He pulled her jacket from her shoulders and hung it on a peg. “Hope the flowers earn me a few points.”
* * *
The interview below centers on some of my thoughts about the publishing industry.
a.      Action sells! Books that have an action sequence within the first 25 pages sell better. Readers of romantic suspense look for fast paced.  Plotting is critical to build a cohesive, multilayered storyline. 

b.     Should an author publish traditionally or self-publish? It’s okay to ride two horses at the same time. It does take longer for a novel to go from proofing to publication, but often self-pubbed books rush through edits. I submit longer books, over 40,000 words, to my publisher but self-publish novelettas (10,000 and under).

c.      Is paperback coming back as opposed to paperless eBooks?  My publisher focuses first on eBook sales.  If the eBook doesn’t sell, neither will a print book. That is true, but the readership of romantic suspense is 60% eBook and 40% paperback. In other genres print books took an upswing.  Some readers like both print and e-readers.
d.     What’s good about being a writer? In our own lives, even a bit of negativity is usable.  Were you ever involved with an alcoholic? That experience can help shape a character. How about being a single parent and providing for children while making ends meet? My books feature ordinary heroes and heroines.  Maybe I’m in love with the everyday people who strive and work through trials. They don’t accomplish obstacles with the snap of their fingers.  We live in a complex world, and my writing reflects this.  That said, I do like the male protector with a strong and determined heroine. Everyday but special!
Another wonderful part of being a writer is hearing from fans. I learned on the reservation that the ancient, sacred charge of the storyteller is to beguile the time. I’m thrilled when I hear that someone has used my books to get through some particularly difficult illness either as a patient or as they sit on the sidelines while someone they love is terribly ill. It gratifies me to know that by immersing themselves in my stories, people are able to set their own lives aside and live and walk in someone else’s shoes. It tells me I’m doing a good job at the best job in the world.
e.      Is bringing something new to the table with research or breaking news better than following trends relevant to your genre?  I write romantic suspense, and the most popular contemporary romance subgenre is action/adventure. I feel a smart-selling author needs to have awareness of requirements within a sub-genre.  Romantic suspense requires DANGER.  Allow me to expand.  Suspense incorporates a sense of tension throughout the book with heart-pounding action, adrenaline-inducing chase, edge of your seat thrills, life-threatening situations, and dangerous criminals. These are common elements.  ROMANCE. There’s a central love story.  Our lovers have to traverse nail-biting adventures before they become acquainted with each other and fall in love. As an author I weave both romance and mystery. 
f.        May I leave you with a word of caution?  No backstory! The biggest error is over-writing and manufacturing emotions.  Characters must react in the present, be honest and real. They react to their situation and to each other.  Their issues are background.  Life is messy. The thrill ride is dangerous, authentic, eye-widening, and passionate. 
g.      Tell me about your heroes in your Alliance series— Heroes in my Alliance Series are kick-ass alphas, strong as steel but gooey in the middle.  Finbar Donahue from Deadly Alliance cares about his dad who suffers from COPD.  Finn checks the oxygen levels in his dad’s portable oxygen generator.  He puts himself between his woman and danger.  In another scene he serves dinner on his porch.  His mouth is perfect.  From the sweet way he smiles when he sees her to the way he uses it on her body.  His words tilt her world, rev her engine. “Baby, I can’t sleep.  Come over here and f--- me ‘till I pass out.”  With his arms, he treats her as if she’s a feather.  Those same arms knock out a bad guy with a single punch.  He makes her feel protected but intimidates everyone else. He’s got a sharp mind with a wicked sense of humor.  He makes her laugh.  He loves her hard.
h.     What do you read? I read romance fiction (particularly romantic suspense) to escape the grind of my sometimes overwhelming, busy life.  Like most humans who sat around the campfire and shared legends and fairytales, I’ve always enjoyed stories. Have you ever pictured your TV as a campfire experience? After watching an episode or movie, we talk about it. What did we like or not like? Good or bad, we choose how to be entertained, and it’s the same with books we read. We want to be taken out of ourselves and into the lives of the protagonists. This means we have to like them.
In this same way, writing fiction allows us to entertain people.  As authors we invent characters to tell their story.  Coming up with ideas, and then crafting a realistic story is challenging and fun.  To captivate a reader, a story must unfold in real time with action, dialogue, and struggle all the way to the satisfying conclusion.

Tuesday, February 27, 2018

Spotlight on Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire-- #SciFi #MFRWauthor #adventure with a touch of romance! @kayelleallen


Today I have the pleasure of spotlighting talented SciFi author, Kayelle Allen, and her book, Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire! Reviewers admire the intensity of Allen's writing, her well-drawn and vulnerable characters. Highly recommended!



When the immortal Pietas is marooned on a barren world with no food and few survival tools, he knows it could be worse. He could be alone. But that's the problem. He's not.

Half a million of his people sleep in cryostasis, trapped inside their pods and it's up to Pietas to free them. He can't release one at a time. It's all or nothing. He's facing over five hundred thousand hungry, thirsty, homeless immortals who will call on him for rescue and he has no way to answer.

It's not all bad. The beautiful telepathic warrior he's loved for lifetimes is at his side. He's bonded with a sentient panther. He hates humans but the one dumped on this planet with him has become a trusted friend.

Before Pietas can build shelter, figure out how to grow food, or set up a government, he must take back command from a ruthless enemy he's fought for centuries. His brutal, merciless father.

Immortals may heal, but a wound of the heart lasts forever...



Excerpt


In this scene, Pietas has been playing with the panther, a huge animal he calls Tiklaus. The name means "Loyal Warrior."



Tiklaus batted at him, knocked Pietas onto his back and then flipped itself down beside him. The panther wrapped its front legs around his arm and gnawed at it in gentle play while the hind feet kicked him without injury. Claws flashed, but did no harm.

Now I know how a chew toy feels. Pietas blew out a breath.

When the panther draped itself over his chest, Pietas struggled to slide out from under but could not get up. The animal weighed less than he did, but with no visible effort, it kept him from rising.

"I concede, my friend. You win."

The panther ignored him.

"Tiklaus, off."

Nothing.

"Off, please."

The panther yawned, opening a huge maw. Fangs flashed.

Pietas tried a signal that worked with sparring partners and asked for release by double-tapping the panther's side.

The cat stood at once and stepped over him. It shook from nose to tail, then sat and groomed itself.

He stood and brushed himself off. Standing beside Tiklaus, who reached him mid-thigh, Pietas took pride in knowing this sweet, playful cat was also the snarling ball of animal rage that had nailed his father to the ground. Mahikos had not seen it coming.

He should have let the cat eat him when he had the chance.

Pietas ensured no one was on the path in either direction before he knelt and scratched the cat's ears. "Who's a good kitty?"

The animal sneaked in a lick of his hand and face and flopped down on its back.

"My Tiklaus, that's who. Tiklaus is a good kitty." He rubbed the smooth belly. "Yes, you are! Such a good, big kitty. You're my kitty, aren't you? Good, good kitty."

The panther accepted the attention, one paw twitching. After a moment, it stood and shook itself. A purring sound rumbled from its chest. It sat, licked one paw and added a lick of Pietas's face as well.

"Thank you for the bath." He hugged the panther's neck. "You have as soft a heart as I do but you don't show it either. Pact, my friend. I won't tell if you won't." He kissed Tiklaus on the nose.

The panther bumped its head against Pietas, then bounded to a tree and up it.



This science fiction novel includes romantic elements, sweeping adventure, humor, and a ginormous panther "kitty" who likes to play.

Available on Amazon and in print. Free on Kindle Unlimited until March 28, 2018
http://amzn.to/2ABIcCI



Kayelle Allen writes Sci Fi with misbehaving robots, mythic heroes, role playing immortal gamers, and warriors who purr. She's a US Navy veteran who's been married so long she's tenured.
https://kayelleallen.com Twitter https://twitter.com/kayelleallen Facebook https://facebook.com/kayelleallen.author Join the Romance Lives Forever Reader Group Download four free books and get news about books coming soon. You can unsubscribe at any time.

Saturday, February 24, 2018

#EggcerptExchange #eroticromance Want a #hotread? Visit for excerpts from the Black Dragon series by @anitaphilmar


Are you ready for a special anthology from Amazon Best Selling erotic author Anita Philmar? I read and loved Black Dragon's Blood and highly recommend Philmar's tantalizing tales. 


Blurb from Black Dragon's Blood:
Amanda Spencer is a woman haunted by her first husband’s murder and determined to find his killer. After two marriages, she doesn’t believe there is a man that can give her what she truly wants a child. 

William VanHorn is a determine politician that has black Dragon’s blood running through his body. With strong desires, he finds the perfect mate in Amanda. Yet the political unrest of the Dragon blood sector of the population is driving him to search for answers to the declining birth rate of the group. As leader of the Dragon Center, he wants answers and Amanda holds the keys to everything he needs. 

Excerpt

The predator’s scent hung in the air, a direct contrast to carefree party going on. The tart citric aroma mixed with the spicy heat of Habanero peppers trapped her as effectively as shackles tightened about her limbs.

She had no doubt about his hunger. Raw and greedy, a strong sexual appetite made this man prowl, drove him to search for the right mate.

The same cravings ran through her dragon blood, ruled her thoughts and fought with her intellectual side. The hunger to have a man had plagued her since she reached puberty. But as the female of the species, she’d learned to hide it beneath a fey veil of decorum and graceful avoidance.

Her tongue ran over her lips. The tart flavor of him floated on the twilight breeze and tickled her taste buds. Her body responded with an excitement that alerted every cell to his proximity and to the hot desire to have him as her mate.



Or read more of the whole series


Now for  Free
Sample of Black Dragon's Series

Meet Anita Philmar--
Amazon Best Selling sizzling hot romance author, Anita Philmar enjoys writing stories that push the limit and take her readers to new exciting places.

In a house full of men, she has learned the inner working of both boy's and men's minds which has enriched her stories.

Having grown up in Texas. she's a big fan of cowboys. She couldn't help but write westerns set in her home state. Hot, historical, or erotic fantasies, she lights up the pages with sizzling sex scenes. Check out her free read - Hot Prairie Nights for a glimpse into Anita's world.

She also enjoys connecting with her readers. Feel free to email her at anitaphilmar@yahoo.com or visit her website www.anitaphilmar.com

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

#BookQW word is TAKE, and the lawyer hero's detective will TAKE his just sprung client shopping. #Tirgearr #RomanticSuspense

Today's Book Quote Wednesday word is TAKE. Below is an excerpt from Unholy Alliance. The detective who works for the lawyer hero will take his client shopping.


Chapter One



“Don’t let the anxiety of freedom consume you.”

Attorney Grady Donahue Fletcher clenched his teeth and rehearsed what he’d say to his client, Victoria Morningstar. He’d won her appeal and drove to pick her up at Gladstone Penitentiary. “At least you won’t be placed in solitary.” That was worse.

Six months earlier Grady had phoned a reporter at the Los Angeles Globe. "Drew Barker. Grady Fletcher here.”

“Ah, the lawyer. Calling about a tip?”

“I am. Here's something you can investigate. Tori Morningstar, did she murder Irene Brennan?"

"I wrote that story many years back," the journalist had said. “I assume you have new discoveries.”

"Fraud, illegal testimony.  Do you want the story first?" A second passed. "Otherwise, I'll call the Orange County Guardian."

"Okay, okay. We want it."

Three days later Grady had a hand in writing the first article in Drew Barker’s column. "The public labeled Tori Morningstar as an undesirable. Not black and poor, but disfavored, accused, incarcerated, and wrongly condemned. Her cellphone has been recovered. Her call to 911 identified her voice and substantiated screams of the victim in the background. Could she have beaten someone while speaking to dispatch at the same time?"

The reporter had written the second article. "People who get their ideas about criminal lawyers from TV probably would be disappointed in Grady Fletcher. He lacks flash but stands up straight, his posture neither ramrod nor slouched.  He doesn't smoke, doesn't wear thousand dollar suits.  His voice is soft and low, one of his assets. He speaks truth with a voice inviting confidences."

As nice as that was, Grady’s stomach cramped over pressure and strain from Drew Barker’s final article with the headline, Tori Morningstar, Released Today.  Picked up by the online service, Newser, KTLA and CBS Los Angeles, they planned to broadcast his arrival to escort his client from Gladstone.  

Tori’s decade-long prison sentence ended today but with a sobering fear over tomorrow.

When was a July morning this hot? Grady balanced her release papers on his lap as he rolled up one sleeve then the other while gripping the damp steering wheel. Sweat blossomed on his throbbing forehead, wrapped like a python[S-E1] ’s grip. He adjusted the dial for the AC and embraced the challenge of helping another client get back on track. Embrace and conquer. Or at least sound like it.

Grady didn’t necessarily believe in heaven, but suppose such a place existed and he was eligible for entry when his time came? He expected it’d look like a courtroom where he won appeals for deserving people.

The mobster’s daughter, Tori Rourke, took Morningstar as her surname. She’d run from the Irish mob but couldn’t hide. With no patience for those who leave its ranks, the mob had framed her. She’d spent a decade at Gladstone.

His most recent client, Tyrone Marquis, black and poor, worked at a poultry plant where he’d plucked, hacked, and processed thousands of chickens. Marquis had written a bad check and committed a petty theft. The court had handed him a twenty-year prison sentence. When Grady believed in the falsely accused or excessively sentenced, he fought hard from a deep pit. He won this man’s appeal.

Poor and black did not describe Tori, born into an Irish crime family, but in essence, she was marginalized and excluded too. Society detests any mobster association.

His cousin, Finbar Donahue, managed the trust accounts for the Rourke offspring. In spite of Finn’s hostile relationship with the mob, he’d followed Tori’s murder trial.

Finn had guilted Grady into appealing her case. “She’s a fringe relative. Okay. Not by blood, but come on.” Finn’s words landed like punches, sapped his resistance.

The closer he got to the maximum-security complex, the more his heart pounded with blood pressure exploding like a grenade. Thump, thump. How safe will she be when freed? He scrambled for his game face.

He turned off Highway 5 and onto the stark, industrial City Drive of Orange, California. Sunlight reflected off a homeless man’s shopping cart and the broken glass in the gutter. A jaywalker lunged across the street. Grady swung the steering wheel to miss him, tires squealing over the concrete. Ahead at the red stoplight, three kids, about the age of his son, crossed the street on their way to school. They jabbered in Spanish but giggled just like his son. A sharp-edged thought boiled up.

Grady’s rancorous custody battle continued post-divorce, and he’d relocated to be closer to seven-year-old Shane. How long would his job-hopping ex-wife stay in Long Beach? He stuffed a wishful dream to coach soccer into the caverns of his mind.

Ahead, a sign marked the penitentiary run by the most hard-hearted Godzillas of the human race. A shrill hiss grew to an ear-piercing whistle. At its command, prisoners rose at sunrise and appeared at their cell doors. Doors opened, and they stood on the threshold. “Right face.” All wheeled to the right. “March!” Without energy, the inmates zombied along for two hours of labor before breakfast. They made license plates, jeans, jackets, T-shirts, and hats. They worked in the laundry room, kitchen, or in the sewing room where they cut, basted, and stitched.

Color televisions, said to be available for viewing by those who earned the privilege, amounted to one set per eighty offenders. In the dayroom, they watched a nine-inch screen while seated on metal benches bolted to the floor. Correctional officers held remote controls and flipped through basic networks, sports, and educational channels. From there prisoners marched to dinner, out in the yard, and then back to cramped stone cells.

On the bright side, according to his cousin Finn, Tori took college classes. She’d spent her college years in prison but earned a degree in restaurant management and planned to run a food truck.

Ahead, the Gladstone brooded on its hill. Beige stucco rectangles, complete with a tower, perched on the banks of the dry Santa Ana River bed. The penitentiary’s ten acres housed three and a half thousand inmates. He passed a complex for foster children. A knot formed in his stomach over its unfortunate location and similar architecture.

Grady’s experience with appeals was going on two years, and the details of each stood sharp in his mind. Nothing blurred into another. He slowed and checked his wristwatch. Nine o’clock, but a half hour early wasn’t early enough to beat the crowd. He tried to steady his shaking hands as he passed parked cars lining the curb. He looped twice before finding a space big enough. In another time, a throng of citizens would have suggested a terrible event such as the impending execution of a criminal or public whipping. Thanks to news media, this sympathetic crowd celebrated release of a woman who’d served a sentence for a crime she didn’t commit.

Grady stepped out of his Jeep, smoothed down his grey-striped tie and adjusted the cuffs of his white shirt. He let out a breath, spotted Drew Barker of the Los Angeles Globe, and waved to the reporter who was instrumental in sharing his discoveries of fraud and illegal testimony. Other reporters and cameramen shifted and rolled like an ocean of tipsy goodwill. Grady scanned over the waves for Tori Morningstar.

She stood stiff at the high security entrance and hugged a leather moto jacket wrapped over crossed arms. Dressed in her pre-incarceration style, her defined muscles created a perfect fit for her silk blouse, In prison she worked the heavy bag, labored hard so that she could protect herself in the yard.

Grady slipped papers into the hands of a guard. “Good morning, sir,” he said without another word, signed his clipboard, and rushed to her side. “Tori. It’s okay to speak to reporters.” The whoop-whoop of a hovering helicopter drew attention, and cameramen angled their equipment upward.

Beside him she swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “These reporters helped. I’ll answer questions, but the publicity worries me.” She froze where she stood, aware of the potential dangers ahead.

“I know.” Their gazes collided. Her eyes resembled honey-brown gems. Fine cheekbones, a firm chin, and a mouth he found disturbingly inviting. In the sunlight, her dark hair glowed chestnut. She’d skinned her hair back from her face so tightly, it had to hurt.

Drew Barker pushed his way in front of the others. “Victoria Morningstar.” The reporter in his sixties, with a round, open face and wide eyes lent an expression of constant surprise. “Can you tell us what happened the night you were arrested?” He held a microphone close to her face.

“Go ahead. Talk to him, Tori,” Grady whispered.

She stood like a brittle statue. . "My cousin and I were having dinner on the Long Beach waterfront. Rhubarb and Ginger, we went there a lot. Seamus McGinn and Timothy Noonan must have tailed us. They’re from Cobh, County Cork." Her words came out in a robotic rush.

“That’s in Ireland.” Grady chuckled for the camera. "For once Ireland was lucky. Lucky to be rid of them,” He took her ice-cold hand and stepped around Barker, a reporter familiar with McGinn’s government-agro kidnappings. Recovered victims had broken collarbones, fractured limbs, cigarette burns, stab wounds, shattered eye sockets and facial bones, accomplished with a blunt instrument. Casualties had been alive at the time of beatings, with foreign objects jammed down throats. Teeth were found in their stomachs.

“Excuse me.” Another reporter, a tall woman from the Long Beach Beacon, swarmed down on Tori. "So you saw McGinn and Noonan?"

"Correct," Tori lifted her chin, her vibrant eyes filling with the raw memory. “A half-dozen more stormed in. Carried automatics, ripped through the place. Found the owner, Irene Brennan. Dragged her out."

"The owner refused to pay them for protection,” Barker chimed.

Tori nodded, rubbed her forehead. “Same old deal, a mob upping the ante.”

And then what?" The earnest reporter from the Beacon leaned forward.

"My cousin Viv ran out the back. I was arrested."

“Make room, everybody.” Grady headed for his car, dragging Tori behind him.

Tori shuffled in slow, measured movements as if shackled.

“One last question, Tori,” Barker called from behind. “You tried to leave the mob. What did they want you to do?"

Tori turned halfway around. "Act as a lure. I refused." She shrugged. “I paid for that decision.”

The woman reporter elbowed Parker out of the way. “Tori. Your lawyer, Daniel McMahon. Didn’t he serve as the mob's lawyer?”

Tori nodded. “Just great for me,” She paused for a few seconds. “I didn’t anticipate a setup.”

The reporter touched her arm. “You’re a fighter. How will you bounce back?”

Tori looked up, her face bleached of color. “I’ll try to accomplish small things. This will help. Little by little, I’ll let go of fear.”

“We’ve got to go, folks.” Grady reached to shake hands with several surrounding him.

Barker popped his thick eyebrows up. “Glad things worked out.”

“Thank you for following the case.” Grady placed a hand on Tori’s trembling back and walked her to the passenger side of his Jeep.

She halted mid-motion. “Where to?”

He stared into her questioning eyes. “I’ll drop you at your apartment. From there, my assistant will come by.” Grady’s cousin Finn had rented a studio for her at the Marriott Residence Inn and paid the rent with her ample trust fund. “You’ll be on the top floor. The apartment overlooks the Queen Mary.”

“Sweet.” Tori placed a hand over her heart. “You, Finn, and Amy. You are so kind.” She squared her shoulders.

“If you have any questions,” he said, “ring my associate.” He handed her his private investigator’s business card. “Later you’ll meet Maeve McGuire.” He opened the passenger door of his Jeep and waited.

She stared at the card. “Oh, yes. Maeve. She found my cell phone at the scene. This made a big difference at the trial.”

“It did. You’d made a 9-1-1 call, silenced your phone, and jammed it in the slats under a table.”

Her smile, genuine and appreciative, drew him in. She glided onto the seat, but her boots remained on the curb. His ex-wife wore similar Saint Laurents at eight hundred a pair.

He watched her clutching hands and said, “Maeve will get you settled. Take you shopping.”

She angled her face up at him. “No need for shopping. I’ll order clothing online. T-shirts, capris, and sneakers. That’s all I’ll need.”

“Really? Sounds like you’re going to a church picnic.” He was about to close the door. “Where will you be going?”

“Not far.”

“You’ve been in a prison bubble.”

“Closed off for a decade,” she said. “A concealed bubble grows fetid.”

It happens, and he nodded. “Learn anything in prison?” It was a canned question, and he didn’t expect much of an answer.

“Accept dark times. Go from there. Find a teddy bear among the crocodiles.” She sat with a poker-straight back, a determined expression blossoming. “You represented my cellmate—”

“—Ebony Yves. Worked as a mule for her husband, Now she’s working as an embalmer for Coley-Reece Funeral Home. Ebony said you told her to drop your name when she interviewed.” He arched a brow.

“Mick Coley and my parents were friends.” She nodded. “It’s in the waterfront neighborhood. Used to be good for hiding illegal profits. The funeral home overcharged the living but paid employees well.”

“Now that you’re out,” he said, “you’ll need wheels. Unless you plan to drive your food truck around for supplies.”

“I considered a golf cart. It doesn’t hold enough. Eventually I’ll buy a small truck. Today, I’d love to get a haircut.” She frowned, and he sensed her uncertainly about being out. Her thick, dark lashes closed over her eyes. Without those big, troubled eyes to distract him, fatigue lined her face. Did she want to blend in?


 [S-E1]Like a python what?

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

#eggcerptexchange-- spotlight on IT Exec's Baby by Tina Gayle, Executive Wives' Club series, #contemporary #romance #!/AuthorTinaGayle


Welcome talented romance author Tina Gayle along the EggcerptExchange trail. I have the honor of spotlighting IT Exec's baby. 


Blurb for IT Exec’s Baby


Brie Sullivan has a new baby girl and there are a million things to do, but Brie doesn’t have the energy to keep up. Why? She’s still grieving for her husband and suffering from baby blues, but she won’t let that stop her. She’s come up with the answer--find a new husband to be the father of her kids.

Jason Clark has been doing everything he can to help Brie. He loves her but can he accept her proposal of marriage knowing she’s not thinking clearly about the future?



Comments from Reviews for IT Exec’s Baby (2nd book of the Executive Wives Club series)


“IT Exec’s Baby is almost a love story in reverse. The marriage comes first, then the sex, and finally the love - at least from Brie's point of view. It is tender and poignant at times, and full of strong descriptive passages.”



“What I love about series books. Every book gives you more about the characters that you've fallen in love with during the first book.”



“IT Exec’s Baby is a riveting story of a woman with numerous problems.”



Excerpt:

With the warmth of the sun beating down on her head and the sound of her children’s laughter ringing in her ears, Brie spread her arms and spun in a circle.

She raised her voice and called to her kids as she walked to the railing of the upper deck. “You better find a good hiding place because ready or not here I come.”

With Isabella down for a nap, Brie drew in a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air and the freedom from being stuck inside the house. The kids had convinced her to play with them outside. She loved the easy game of hide-and-go-seek. Glancing over the rail, she scanned the backyard, searching for Ethan’s and Allison’s young forms.

A giggle sounded from below the deck.

Brie stepped down a few stairs to search the patio below. Still unable to catch a glimpse of her children, she continued down the staircase, listening for sounds that might give her a clue to their whereabouts.

Not seeing either one of them, she hugged the back wall and silently slipped to the corner of the house that had concrete steps, which led to the front yard.

Determined to catch one of her kids heading for home-base, Brie refrained from peeking around the corner. The squeak of a tennis shoe alerted her to someone’s arrival.

Ready to grab them the minute they rounded the corner, Brie stayed out of sight. A shadow fell across the patio, and Allison’s young form raced past.

Jumping out to grab her, Brie touched her daughter’s shoulder.

Allison’s wail of surprise vibrated off the bottom of the deck and pierced through Brie’s brain. Undeterred by the noise, she caught her daughter’s arm and spun her around.

“I got you.”

“No,” Allison screamed again.




Purchase at




Pick up Tina’s Free Read at  http://www.tinagayle.net/



Bio

Tina Gayle grew up a dreamer and loved to escape into the world of books.

After years of working in the business world doing a variety of jobs, she decided to try her hand at writing and hope to incorporate the joy of being a woman into her books.


Married thirty years, she and her husband love to travel and play golf.  She can’t wait to do more of both.

Read the first chapter of any of her books by visiting her website.



Find Tina Gayle everywhere



Home - www.tinagayle.net

Blog - www.tinagayle.blogspot.com

Twitter - https://twitter.com/#!/AuthorTinaGayle

Goodread - http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1641826.Tina_Gayle

Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/tina.gayle

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

#BookQW word is LOVE. Excerpt from #Tirgearr #eroticromance One Night in Havana, still 99cents/99pence

The Book Quote Wednesday word is love. What a perfect word for Valentines Day. Will she kiss her lover goodbye in One Night in Havana in spite of love?

Here's a brief excerpt from One Night in Havana-- still 99 cents on Amazon.
“So, Bonita, give.” Dr. Carlos Montoya slid onto the bar stool next to her. “What brings you down from a lofty ship to grace us lowly Cubans with your presence?”

Bonita. Pretty lady was not an endearment coming from the mouth curved in a taunting smile, but not a slight either. Not with his deep, melodic voice speaking words as if he knew secrets about her. What secrets did he know? Would he pry into her personal life? She doubted this bad-boy college professor acknowledged boundaries.

“Just drinks and dinner.” She scrambled for composure. “Aren’t we attending a world-class conference? I find the local population to be friendly and kind. That’s not slumming.”

The bartender set down a saoco. “Hope you like it, senorita.”

“Gracias,” she said. “Very nice, served in a coconut.”

“Ah, the saoco,” Carlos said. “Rum, lime juice, sugar, and ice. The saoco,” he repeated, disbelief heavy in his words. “Um. Wow. Once used as a tonic for prisoners of the revolution.”

“Medicinal?” She couldn’t help it. She chuckled and sounded as if a rusty spoon had scraped her throat raw, but it was genuine. The warm glow in its wake was welcome and needed. .

He leaned an elbow on the bar, his beer bottle with the green-and-red Cristal label dangling between his fingers. “Be careful with that one.” He dipped his head toward the front door as if he needed to go somewhere soon.

That fast, the glow of love snuffed out. She cleared her throat and gripped the fuzzy surface of the coconut container.

Wednesday, February 7, 2018

#BookQW word is secret. Excerpt from new release #Tirgearr #eroticromance and suspense, One Night in Havana -- what secrets?


 Hello Wednesday! Today's Book Quote Wednesday word is secret, and Veronica Keane has plenty of those. 




One Night inHavana, excerpt-- Chapter One



“Why, Veronica Keane.” A voice heavy with a Spanish accent drawled from behind her. “A dive bar?” A taunting tsk. “What do we have? A slumming New Yorker?”

She stiffened and closed her eyes. She knew that voice and its owner, Dr. Carlos Montoya, a finalist like her, competing for the same damn grant at the biggest Cephalopoda conference of the decade. Her heart pitter-pattered against her ribs. To turn toward him would intimate distress, or worse yet, weakness. She wouldn’t fail to win this grant, not when she was a final contender. “I like this funky little place.” Sia Macario Café, smack in the center of Havana, allowed her to observe locals and their daily lives.

“You need to eat with all the mojitos you’ve downed.” The big tease wasn’t counting. This was her first drink, but his rumbling, sexy timbre hinted at all kinds of dark, hot promises. She’d rubbed shoulders with the Cuban scientist all week. This splendid specimen of Latin male brought on a physical ache that punched low.

A flare-up stirred fear. For her own good, she needed to resist. “I ordered camarones enchiladas.” By now she knew the menu on the chalkboard by heart. She tipped her head back to whiff grilled shrimp soon to arrive in sofrito sauce with fried sweet plantains.

“The flan is good. Just like my abuela makes.”

“I bet. Your grandmother would be happy to hear that,” she said, knowing he brought out the best in most people. Two days ago he'd invited her and a handful of others scuba diving. The chance to ogle him had been one of the perks. He’d worn nothing but swim trunks, his bare chest on display. Every glistening muscle was finely etched. Not a drop of fat on him. Since he’d not given her the time of day, she’d checked him out without him noticing.

The hard-bodied host had led the way toward habitats of soft-bodied creatures. To find where invertebrates lived was never an easy task. Octopuses squeezed into narrow passages of coral for protection and gave females a place to keep their eggs. She’d discovered the remains of a few meals nearby.Octopuses scattered rocks and shells to help them hide.

 This grant meant so much to her and no doubt to him as well. Veronica mindlessly toyed with the gold necklace around her neck, but anxiety crackled through her brain. Unlike this man of action, she lacked the flamboyant personality necessary to talk people into things. Carlos had that ability. He'd made friends with judges on board while she’d conversed with an older woman about a box of scones made with Cuban vanilla cream.

That day the wind had picked up to a gale force, and this woman named Bela with Lucille Ball red hair needed help walking to her home. The half mile down the seaside promenade, The Malecón, had provided her with time to practice her Spanish. Turned out Bela was Carlos’s grandmother. She’d worked as a maid when the Castro government came to power. When private homes were nationalized, titles were handed over to the dwelling occupants. Bela owned a crumbling home in the respected Verdado district and rented out rooms.

What Veronica detested about Carlos was his abnormal level of talent for schmoozing. Not that he wasn't charismatic; he drew her like a powerful magnet with emotions hard to untangle. Why was a self-assured woman who ran her own life thinking about a man who commanded everyone around him?

She inhaled a breath and turned around on the barstool, caught fast by a gut punch of Carlos Montoya in the flesh. She sighed and surrendered to the tendrils of want sliding up between her thighs.

Tall and muscular, his lush dark hair curled to his collar giving him a wild, roguish appearance. His face was lean and chiseled. His mouth full and tempting. His eyes the smoky-gray of a grass fire and fringed with black lashes as dense as paintbrushes. He smiled. A faint hint of mockery curved his mouth, a sensual mouth she imagined to be either inviting or cruel. Or both at the same time when he leaned over a woman with a diamond-hard gleam in his dark eyes while she drowned with pleasure. She fought a fierce desire to run her hand across his broad chest, tip her face upward, and…

His breath tickled her face.

Not going there. She blinked and forced her mind to focus. Carlos Montoya was not the kind of man you lost focus around. But that image of putting her mouth full on his and peeling away his shirt once introduced in her mind was impossible to expunge. Pointless even to try.

He was an intimidating blend of intellect and sexy danger. Both qualities had her leaning back against the bar’s edge. If it weren’t for him, she’d have a chance at winning the grant.

His lips twitched. “You’re staying on one of the cruise ships, am I right?” He rolled up the sleeves of his linen jacket to reveal a dusting of manly hair.

”Yes." Her cabin served as her hotel room while attending the January meetings with perfect high-seventies temperatures. His eyes locked with hers. She willed herself to move and yet she remained seated, clutching heat between her legs, a wetness so intense that her breath stalled in her chest while her heart hammered faster. Soon she’d return to freezing New York City.

“So, Bonita, give.” He slid onto the bar stool next to her. “What brings you down from a lofty ship to grace us lowly Cubans with your presence?”

Bonita. Pretty lady was not an endearment coming from the mouth curved in a taunting smile, but not a slight either. Not with his deep, melodic voice speaking words as if he knew secrets about her. What secrets did he know? Would he pry into her personal life? She doubted this bad-boy college professor acknowledged boundaries.

“Just drinks and dinner.” She scrambled for composure. “Aren’t we attending a world-class conference? I find the local population to be friendly and kind. That’s not slumming.”

The bartender set down a saoco. “Hope you like it, senorita.”

“Gracias,” she said. “Very nice, served in a coconut.”

“Ah, the saoco,” Carlos said. “Rum, lime juice, sugar, and ice. The saoco,” he repeated, disbelief heavy in his words. “Um. Wow. Once used as a tonic for prisoners of the revolution.”

“Medicinal?” She couldn’t help it. She chuckled and sounded as if a rusty spoon had scraped her throat raw, but it was genuine. The warm glow in its wake was welcome and needed. .

He leaned an elbow on the bar, his beer bottle with the green-and-red Cristal label dangling between his fingers. “Be careful with that one.” He dipped his head toward the front door as if he needed to go somewhere soon.

That fast, the glow snuffed out. She cleared her throat and gripped the fuzzy surface of the coconut container.

He placed a five-peso coin with a brass plug on the counter and whirled it. The spinning motion mirrored a dizzying attraction going on in low parts of her belly.

#BookQW word is DRINK-- excerpt from Unholy Alliance, a #Tirgearr Publishing #RomanticSuspense --

Book quote Wednesday's word is drink.   Here's how we play it-- find the word in an excerpt.  Below in Unholy Alliance , the...