Hello! *waves*

Babylonia Jones came to me by mistake or should I say it was by fate. I was at a conference and was walking past a table when I noticed this drawing on a flyer of a statuesque African-American woman with a city back drop and with guns strapped to her. I did a double take, backed up and grabbed the flyer. Later, when I got home I set the flyer on my nightstand and kinda forgot about her. Then one day she called to me again. I picked up the flyer and thought about who she was and what she was about. Ideas just started coming to me. I knew she was a paranormal, but I had no idea which one.

I later sent the picture to some author friends, told them her back story and had them help me brainstorm some ideas. Thus, Babylonia Delilah Jones was born.

Babylonia Jones has never fit in the human world. She can do things that regular people can’t. Her mother had always taught her to hide who she was for fear that someone from the government would come to take her away. When Babylonia found Amelia, her best friend who also happens to be a Vampire, she thinks that she has finally found her place in the world. Unfortunately the paranormals think she too human and don’t really accept her either.

Babylonia will do anything to fit in the paranormal world known as The Undercity. As a PI, that means taking the jobs that the other PI’s won’t. In the first book of the series, Babylonia has to follow after one of the most powerful Vampires in The Undercity to see if he has the Guiciai Talisman, which was stolen from a Witch. Babylonia finds herself in a world of trouble because, Zaid, the Vampire really doesn’t appreciate being followed and Tina, her employer isn’t what she claims to be.

The Undercity Chronicles of Babylonia Jones, P.I.
The Guicai Talisman

Here’s an excerpt:

Zaid finally sauntered out of the club.

There he is.

He looked the same as he did on the previous nights I’d watched him; tall, about six-foot-two, nice sleek body covered in an expensive suit that I guessed was tailored to fit only him. He was lean, but by no means skinny. His shoulders were broad and the few times I’d seen him without a jacket I noticed he had well-defined muscles in his arms and pecs. The cinched belt around his narrow waist highlighted a flat stomach and showed off a nicely formed ass—yes, on a couple of occasions, while I was cataloguing his looks, I did let my eyes linger on his ass, which was a very nice one, round and firm. The kind of ass a girl could take a nice bite out of.

My mouth salivated at the thought of doing just that. Not a for real bite, but a nice little playful nip. I’m sure he’d appreciate that. To hear Melia tell it, Vampires were into some pretty kinky stuff.

I shook my head.

Get your mind out the gutter and back on the target Baby D.

I snapped back to attention and put my hormones in check. Raging hormones plagued me ever since I took this job, but it’s an expected hazard. Vampires had something in their makeup that made women and men want to fall at their feet. Dealing with Vampires isn’t like how it’s portrayed in the Hollywood movies, where terrorized people run kicking and screaming away from them. No. In reality people go to them willingly.

Case in point, there were two creamy-skinned blondes, one on each of Zaid’s arms. Arm in arm, they walked along the red carpet that led to valet parking. To me the women looked like the cookie cutter versions of the women he’d taken home last night and the night before that; they were all pale, tall, blonde, gorgeous and wore tight clothes. These two had on dresses so short I could see the bottom of their butts hanging out as they walked.

“Have some pride ladies,” I muttered to myself. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you that your dress should be longer than your vagina?”

Zaid stopped at the curb and looked from left to right. I didn’t bother ducking past the rim of the cement rooftop barrier. Even with his great eyesight he couldn’t see me nestled on the rooftop more than a block from where he was, scoping him out with my high-powered binoculars. And, even with his sensitive hearing, he definitely couldn’t hear me talking to myself. There were too many other distractions between us for him to even get a lock on my location. Plus, he didn’t know he was being watched anyway—why would he be looking for me?

He was probably trying to figure out if any Witches were in the area. Vampires could sniff out Witches and, while they weren’t scared of them, usually tried to avoid them. And if he did have Tina’s talisman I’m sure he wanted to steer clear of her.

Zaid lifted his chin and turned his head in my direction. He then closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shuddered on an exhale.

What the hell is that all about?

He opened his eyes and if I didn’t know any better I’d think he was looking right at me.

Impossible.

Amazon US | iTunes | Barnes and Noble | Kobo | ARE | AmazonUK | AmazonCanada

About the Author

A. M. Griffin is a wife who rarely cooks, mother of three, dog owner (and sometimes dog owned), a daughter, sister, aunt and friend. She’s a hard worker whose two favorite outlets are reading and writing. She enjoys reading everything from mystery novels to historical romances and of course fantasy romance. She is a believer in the unbelievable, open to all possibilities from mermaids in our oceans and seas, angels in the skies and intelligent life forms in distant galaxies.

Where you can find me:
Website: https://www.amgriffinbooks.com/
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I have another short story, and by the end of the week, I’ll have one more ready to go. First, Playing the Field is an LGBT story about two female soccer players. If you read the Cleis anthology, Girls Who Score, then you read the original version before I decided to expand it. Enjoy the excerpt I provide below. And no, I’m not a soccer player myself, but my daughter was, so she helped me with the “choreography” for the scene. Hope you enjoy! By the end of the week, I’ll have the next Stepbrothers Stepping Out story ready! Be watching for the announcement!

And because I love to do it, I have a question for you now. Answer for your chance to win your pic from among the many short stories I’ve published.

You can check out the list here: Short Stories

Do you like to watch or play sports? If so, which one(s)?

Playing the Field

A female soccer player has more at stake than scoring points
on the field. Win or lose, she’s making her move today…

Buy at Amazon

Enjoy the excerpt!

Sweat stung my eyes. I lifted the edge of my blue jersey and wiped my face, never losing sight of the black and white ball flying across the grass field.

“One minute left!” Coach shouted from the sidelines.

It’s just a damn game, I reminded myself, but still my stomach plummeted. We needed one point to enter the penalty phase. One lousy point to tie this game up.

The Sharks were playing like damn minnows, letting the Vipers kick our asses up and down the soccer field—our home field. And from their grim expressions, every one of my team members felt the same urgency. If we didn’t win, this would be the last game of the season.

For me, it was about more than just the game. The last game was also my last chance to work up my courage to do what I’d been fantasizing about since the team had first started training in early spring.

A green jersey bumped past me, the Vipers’ player turning her head to give me a smirk before loping on her coltish legs down the field to follow the ball. Anger flared.

One lousy point. I stretched my shorter legs, heart pumping so hard inside my chest the shouts from the sparse crowd in the bleachers faded away. My focus narrowed to the ball zigzagging from one Viper player to the next, my own blue-jerseyed teammates showing the strain in their grim expressions as their movements lost fluidity and grace, and they clumsily tried to muscle close enough to steal away the ball.

I stretched one last time, edged up to the player dribbling the ball between her clever feet, then swept out my foot, catching her ankle and sending her sprawling, then stole the ball.

I wasn’t the most graceful player, wasn’t the star, but I had the goddamn ball now. I lowered my shoulder and bumped a Viper out of the way, then pivoted on my toes and aimed myself and the ball toward the opposite end of the field.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her, backing up toward the other team’s goalie box.

Vicky Moldina gave me a little wave, and I tipped my chin, but didn’t want anyone catching my intent, so I ran to the right, skirting their players, lowering my shoulders and putting on the bull dog face I’d been told intimidated the hell out of other teams—something that always set my own team laughing, because they knew me better.

However, if they’d read the deadly intent in my heart, the searing determination, they’d have wondered who the hell I was.

My thoughts and heart slowed. I repelled the next player who moved in to steal the ball with a sharp, sly elbow. I charged forward, then zagged to the left, leaving two opponents to tumble over one another, and then headed on a parallel path with their goalie.

Vicky backed up again then shot toward the goalie.

I kept on my parallel path, then tried a move I’d failed more often than I’d completed, kicking the ball with my heel to send it like a bullet to Vicky who was poised in front of the goalie’s box.

Our star striker grinned, swept out her foot to catch it—but something happened.

Usually so graceful, her foot rolled over the top of the ball, her ankle turned. She fell in a heap to her knees, then beat her palms against the grass as a green-shirted bitch gave a whoop and stole the ball away, racing toward the other end of the field.

Three short whistles blew. I bent at the waist, hands braced on my knees as I dragged in deep breaths. My gaze remained on Vicky who pushed up from the ground.

She met my gaze and mouthed, “Fuck.”

I shrugged and forced a smile. “Just a game.”

We shared small smiles while our teammates pulled together, remembered their manners, and gave Vicky half-hearted pats to console her before lining up to run past the other team, slapping hands and offering insincere congratulations.

I ran behind Vicky, wishing I hadn’t passed the ball to her. Not because I was disappointed with the outcome, but because I didn’t want this to be the memory she took away from the game. I didn’t want our friendship tainted even a little bit. Not that it was a deep one. Or even very personal.

After my teammates huddled with the coach and offered each other hugs and promises to meet for lunch or dinner during our break—none of which would happen—I trudged toward the showers in the rec center.

“Dinner at Hooters!” Coach called out.

I grinned. We’d have had Outback if we’d won; the threat of Hooters had been meant to spur us toward victory.

As players headed to their lockers, Vicky limped toward the coach’s wire equipment cage. She dug beneath balls and netting then pulled out the first aid bag.

I didn’t like the little wince she gave and moved toward her. “Did you hurt yourself when you took that tumble?” I asked, my voice a little thick because hell, it was her I was talking to.

She wrinkled her perfectly shaped, narrow nose. “It’s my knee. I felt something pull.”

“Do you need to go to the emergency room?”

She shook her head, sweaty tendrils of dark hair shaking against her cheeks. “It’s probably just a sprain. I’ll wrap it after I shower.” She pulled a rolled ACE bandage from the pack and started to put the bag back into the cage.

I reached for the bag, taking it from her and rummaging inside. I pulled out a small jar of Tiger Balm and held it up. “I’ll massage it before you wrap. It’ll feel better faster.” Lord, my cheeks began to burn. Had I given myself away in my eagerness?

Her brows furrowed—just a subtle motion, almost indiscernible, but the glance that swept my body was less so. Subtle, that is. “All right. After we shower.”

After we shower. I know my jaw sagged just a bit at the way she’d emphasized that one little word. Drool pooled in my mouth. I followed her as she turned away, heading to her locker to pull out a plastic bag with her toiletries and a fluffy white towel. I did the same, hurriedly, a little nervous now.

I was reading too much into her words. Still, when we entered the open shower room, I hesitated before setting my items on the slatted wooden bench beside hers. When she raked her jersey over her head, I followed suit and stripped.

Most of the girls were already finishing up. One by one, spigots turned off, towels slid around nude bodies, and they trailed out the door, leaving us alone.

Good locker room etiquette would have been to choose a spigot on the opposite side of the room, but when she strode to the far corner, out of sight of the open doorway, I followed, choosing one right beside her and trying hard not to let my gaze linger on her gorgeous frame.

A small half-smile kicked up one corner of her mouth before she turned her head, closed her eyes, and let the hot water sluice over her hair and face, giving me the perfect opportunity to ogle her long, lithe body.

Which I did until she opened her eyes. I quickly glanced away.

She squeezed shampoo into her palm then handed me the bottle. Her fingertips glided against mine before dropping away. Swallowing hard, I squeezed shampoo directly onto my hair, then set the bottle on the floor.

With our gazes locked, we began to soap our hair.

Nothing had ever been this hot.

We’d both no doubt showered in open stalls in high school—naked women with slippery bodies—but I, for one, had never been this aware. With her hands raised, massaging her scalp, soap slithered down in long, winding ropes that caressed her shoulders, her small round breasts, and taut belly. Her legs parted, widening her stance a little so that I could admire the small, smooth labia framed so perfectly by her muscular thighs.

“My knee’s throbbing,” she whispered.

My gaze darted up, and soap slid into my eyes. I grimaced and turned my hot face into the spray before blinking back at her. Her lips were pursed in a smile; her eyes wrinkled at the corners with silent laughter.

God, if she was teasing me because she knew I was queer I thought I might never get over the embarrassment. But she turned, showing me her ass, and then glanced over a shoulder, one dark, arched brow raised. “It’s okay for you to wash it. The others are gone.”

“You sprain your hand, too?” I blurted.

Although my voice was gruff, she didn’t seem put off. She squeezed soap from her short hair to trail down her back then faced the white tiles.

Saturday at about 1:00 a.m. I typed “The End” on my most recent project. All day it was as if the sun shone for the first time in months. I had been in the “writing cave,” as authors often say, and kept my head down, completely in the dark about anything going on around me.

We work hard to get what we want, don’t we? We put everything else aside and concentrate on our goals. But when we meet them…ooooh, when we meet them, the sun shines again and life bustles around us.

Big hot pink and white azalea blossoms are blooming here now. Last week it was the tiny wine-colored redbud trees. Everywhere I look there’s new life. It’s as if we’re offered a new beginning every spring. And coming out of my writing cave, this beautiful new beginning couldn’t come at a better time.

In the third book of my Descended of Dragons series, fiery redhead Stella Stonewall learns of an ancient curse that, if lifted, could alter the course of history. It could offer an entire race of people a new beginning.

Like shifters, dragons, and snark? Read an excerpt of the hot new fantasy romance / paranormal here: https://www.jencranebooks.com/blog/book-3-excerpt-1

A Bitter Betrayal
Stella Stonewall exposed her scaly side to save the man she loves, the soulful and sexy Ewan Bristol. But her troubles have only just begun. A treacherous betrayal at the hands of a trusted confidante leaves her running for her life.

An Impossible Choice
An unlikely savior offers Stella a way out, but it means leaving everything—and everyone—behind. Can she give up the only home, the only friends she’s ever known to save herself?

A Chance to Have It All
Stella learns of an ancient curse that, if lifted, could change everything. To alter the course of history she must trust her former lover Rowan Gresham, and she must trust the machinations of fate: that she may be the key to it all.

Betrayal Foretold

 

Betrayal Foretold is a fast-paced, emotional ride through the mesmerizing world of Thayer. This third book in the Descended of Dragons series, a new adult fantasy romance, is a can’t-put-it-down story of loss and self-invention, of survival, and of the selfless pursuit to secure the happiness of friends.

Pre-order Betrayal Foretold
Amazon US: https://amzn.com/B01D2BPH4W
Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/BFBandN
iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1093813799
Kobo: https://bit.ly/BFKobo

Find Jen Crane online
Website: www.JenCraneBooks.com
FaceBook: https://www.facebook.com/JenCraneBooks
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JenCraneBooks
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jencranebooks/
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/JenCraneBooks/
Tumblr: https://jencranebooks.tumblr.com
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZVviuC4ivjhiuJTI1XnwbA
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/JenCrane

Romance readers are AMAZING!  And . . . so is Habitat For Humanity, a charity that I love supporting and volunteering for.  So, I thought, why not pair the two and help a deserving family receive a home?  And, the Diana Cosby’s Romance Reader’s Build A Habitat For Humanity Home fundraiser was born.

I contacted Habitat For Humanity office in Grayson County, Texas, where I’ve had the honor of helping with several builds and spoke with Laurie Mealy, Executive Director.  She embraced the project, and was thrilled at the thought of pairing romance readers, who love stories where heroes and heroines overcome challenges to make their dreams come true, with making the dream of a home for a deserving family a reality.

How it works:

As readers send contributions to Habitat for Humanity of Grayson County, a bar beneath the home  on the upper right side of the homepage on their website will fill in, with total donations to date listed below.  The goal is to fund an entire home – $55,000.  Donations can be sent via PayPal by ‘clicking’ on the house, which takes you to the donation page, or by mailing a check or money order to:

Habitat for Humanity of Grayson County
901 N. Grand Avenue
P.O. Box 2725
Sherman, TX 75091

I kicked off the challenge by donating $200.  As I write this, we’ve raised $7,524.  I have total faith that romance readers together are an unstoppable force, and as the stories they love, they will leave a deserving family with a happy ending.

My sincere thanks to everyone for helping make an incredible difference in a deserving family’s life.  For when they walk into a Habitat For Humanity house, it’s more thank mortar and wood, but a place where  they can call home.

God bless,

Diana Cosby, International Best-Selling Author
www.dianacosby.com

About the Author

A retired Navy Chief, Diana Cosby is an international bestselling author of Scottish medieval romantic suspense.  Books in her award-winning MacGruder Brothers series are translated in five languages.  Diana has spoken at the Library of Congress, Lady Jane’s Salon in NYC, and appeared in Woman’s Day, on USA Today’s romance blog, “Happy Ever After,” MSN.com, Atlantic County Women Magazine, and Texoma Living Magazine.

After her career in the Navy, Diana dove into her passion – writing romance novels. With 34 moves behind her, she was anxious to create characters who reflected the amazing cultures and people she’s met throughout the world.  With the release of the third book in The Oath Trilogy and the e Box Set of the MacGruder Brothers series, she is now preparing for the release of the first book in The Forbidden Series, Forbidden Legacy, on 16 August 2016!

Diana looks forward to the years of writing ahead and meeting the amazing people who will share this journey.

www.dianacosby.com

UPDATE: The winner is…Armenia!

* * * * *

What’s sexier than a cowboy? How about SEAL who’s also a cowboy? How about a SEAL/Cowboy who also doesn’t give up on love? I had fun writing this story about a woman wooed by her high school sweetheart relentlessly over the years of their separation—due to her stubbornness and his many tours of duty. In the end, what woman could resist such a heady combination?

Comment for a chance to win your choice of one of my Lone Star Lovers books! 

Rules of Engagement

Callie Murphy had never been one to moon over a man. Fairytale romances were best left to novels. After all, she’d seen first-hand how transitory love could be after watching her mother drift in and out of three marriages, only to be left disappointed when “true love” faded. However, the video Callie watched for the thousandth time stirred a wistfulness inside that left her feeling restless and thinking about what might have been.

Just the sight of that warm, steady gaze enveloped her in warmth. The deep timbre of his voice as he sang raised the fine hairs on her arms and caused her nipples to prickle, because she remembered that same voice murmuring in her ear in the darkness.

Knowing she’d never get his approval for security’s sake, she’d snuck this recording of their Skype session using a plug-in installed on her computer because she’d wanted something of him to linger after they’d said their goodbyes. This recording been made before their final breakup. Now, watching and listening to him was a form of self-torture. Wearing desert camouflage pants and a brown tee stretching across a well-muscled chest, his dark hair a little shaggy and his beard scruffy, he was all man. All complication. Those piercing blue eyes stared into the camera at her, steady and determined, and Callie couldn’t help the tears welling in her eyes.

Prickles of dismay swept over her as she imagined some other woman, someone not her, on the receiving end of one of his calls, being serenaded with that husky, smooth-as-silk voice. The last time he’d proposed, she’d been firm, making it clear she had no interest in leaving behind the life she’d built in Two Mule, Texas while he was set on a career in the Navy. Rightfully, he should have moved on. No one here in Two Mule would ever fault him. No one really understood why she kept refusing him, but then they hadn’t walked in her shoes through her childhood.

Her mother had followed that “broken road,” uprooting Callie three times, from the friends she’d made, from the roots she’d tried so desperately to sink deep into every place she’d lived. She’d never make that same mistake. Love faded, turned bitter and dark. When love ended, good people drifted apart, or worse, struck out at each other. She’d lived it, first-hand.

So when Derek had stood on her doorstep that last day before heading back to Little Creek, where no doubt his team would be deployed on more dangerous secret missions in the Middle East, Africa, or whatever foreign hellhole the powers that be scrambled a SEAL team for, she’d shut the door on everything he’d offered, despite the fact he’d been sincere—and despite the fact her own heart had twisted inside her chest at the disappointment darkening his eyes.

Watching the video now, him seated on a narrow cot strumming a guitar while he sang about roads leading him straight to some other woman, Callie couldn’t help sniffling. He’d known even before that last proposal that she’d say no. And yet, here he’d been, reaching out to her, letting her see inside his heart as he strummed out his pain.

Watching him as he’d given her a smile, and then sat back to pull his guitar across his legs, she remembered everything she’d felt—nostalgia for their long-shared past, irritation he’d never give up, and joy, deep inside, that his love had never waned, because she was selfish like that. Although she’d been unwilling to hitch her star along with his, she’d depended on his love. Read the rest of this entry »

I’ll share a little secret. When I sit down to write a blog, I don’t have a list of topics I’ve brainstormed ahead of time like most efficient/professional/great bloggers do. I wing it. But sometimes, I sit staring at that blank screen and can’t come up with a single light bulb idea to write about that day. So, I have tools at hand to help me when I run up against that hated blank screen/blank mind moment. I cheat.

I shared a “blog cheat” earlier this week. The Story Cubes post. Readers had fun devising themes and plots based on a game I keep on my desk. That I had this game for years and never opened the plastic—well, that’s the fun. I was surprised by how well it worked, and now, I’m wondering what would happen if I turned to the cubes when I run up against that blank page moment in a middle of book. I found a new, exciting tool.

I’ll share another “cheat”. One I have used before.

I’ve found a couple of different versions of this conversation starter—one in a book store, another on Amazon. This is how it works. The container is filled with little cards with questions you can ask. Usually, I read the question and “riff” off the idea to come up with something more appropriate for my audience. I tend to run with my own questions, because I love keeping my blogs personalized.

At random, just now (I swear it’s kismet!), I pulled a card from the case.

The question reads:

In your opinion, what is the best book title ever conceived?

So, now you know another of my secrets. And you have a brand new question to answer. Have fun with it!

Lots of us dreamed of growing up to be princesses. With a little help from Disney, we twirled through our girlish play dates in lacy dresses and plastic heels and pretended to be Cinderella, Ariel, Snow White, and Belle.

As adults, some of us still enjoy dressing up for costume parties. Whether you’re one of those people or not, we have this is common: We never grow out of our dreams to experience our own special Happily Ever Afters.

In my upcoming release – Designed For You – the first scene in the story is a job interview. Interior Designer Jillian Lang must decide if the smoking hot Holland Sparks who walks into her office without an appointment is too good to be true. At first, she’s afraid he might even be connected to her cyber stalker.

Give the choice, would you hire Prince Charming to work for you? Even though he doesn’t need the money? What if he’s the best candidate for the job? With the most experience. And the most relevant skills. Would you be willing to swallow your concerns and risk hiring a man you need more than he needs you? Or would you rather spend your time training a fresh, gum-chewing college grad?

This is the decision Jillian has to make in Chapter #1. And that’s just the first few minutes of the heart-pounding suspenseful ride she must take in search of her Happily Ever After.

Join us for the Designed For You journey, book one in an all new series. For a limited time, you can reserve your copy for 99 cents (almost a 70% discount from normal price after release day).

Happy reading!

Jo

Designed for You
For You Series, Book #1
Coming – April 19, 2016

Despite a string of personal tragedies and setbacks, Jillian Lang’s interior design company is an enormous success. If she doesn’t count the cyber stalker who hounds her daily…

Knowing she can’t keep up with her fast-growing list of bids and contracts without help, she reluctantly breaks her number one personal rule of “don’t depend on anyone” and hires an office manager. Not only does Holland Sparks do an incredible job of running Lang Interiors, he provides a much-needed buffer between her and the cyber stalker, while steadily chipping away at a thousand barriers she’s put up to keep men out.

When the stalker suddenly moves his game from the cyber world to the real world, Jillian discovers no one in her immediate circle is exactly who or what he claims to be. Not her landlord. Not even her two brothers.

Will Holland be the one man she can turn to, or will his own secrets be reason enough to scrap her designs on the man of her dreams?

Excerpt:

I know who you are.

Jillian Lang’s insides froze as she read the email with its dreaded XX signature. She was tempted to run to the front door of Lang Interiors to make sure she’d locked it after closing time.

“Of course you know who I am!” She threw her arms up at the computer screen. “Any moron with Internet access can find my company website.” And exact street address. Her hands shook as she returned them to the keyboard.

More than likely, it was just some junior high prankster. Still, it unnerved her to receive the cryptic email message day after day. Who was sending it and why?

She shook her head at the screen. Should she report her stalker to the police? Would they even care? They had bigger fish to fry investigating the daily burglaries and muggings that plagued the city. Probably earn her little more than a good chuckle from them if she complained about someone who simply claimed to know her identity. The emails were creepy and obnoxious but hardly criminal.

She punched a few keys and carefully filed the email, hating how powerless she was to do anything about it.

Jillian preferred being in control. Climbing her own mountains. Putting out her own fires. Unfortunately, the emails from XX weren’t the only thing testing her patience today. She was in the process of hiring her first employee.

Another thread of her precious control tore loose with a nearly audible snap. Depending on others inevitably led to problems, at least in her experience; but she needed the help too badly these days to hold off the inevitable any longer.

She kicked her favorite strappy silver heels beneath her desk and shrugged out of her pumpkin-hued blazer. Nearly seven o’clock already. An hour past closing time, despite all the work that had piled up while she’d interviewed candidates. She unfastened her all-business bun and shook out her honey-blonde waves. A mother of a cramp knifed its way across her shoulder blades. She stood and placed her hands on her hips, threw her shoulders back, and stretched, eyes closed.

“Hello?” the smooth baritone resonated through her system, jolting her back to her uptown storefront office.

Her eyes flew open to regard the owner of the voice. A haze of fear clouded her vision. She blinked to clear it. Guess I didn’t lock the front door after all. “Hello. Ah…we’re closed for the day, sir.” She reached for the button under her desk, the one she’d stretched her budget to install a few weeks ago. A button that connected her one-woman office to the security firm her two brothers claimed was the best in St. Louis.

“No problem.” The man held up both hands, a gesture of full surrender that made her pause before pushing the button. “If you’re willing to give me an appointment, I’ll be happy to come back at a better time.”

He was tall. Certainly was no stranger to the gym, not with the way his shoulders and chest stretched the crisp creases of his shirt or the way his stone-colored slacks hung on his hips. But was he dangerous?

She nodded, forcing herself to swallow the golf ball-sized lump of misgiving clogging her throat. “Just give me a moment, and I’ll pull up my calendar.” She gave herself a mental high-five for keeping her voice from trembling and studied him from beneath her lashes while she fumbled with her keyboard.

Not a client or subcontractor, yet he seemed to fit the general ambiance of her design studio. A perfect blend of mod and complexity, much like the infinity art print displayed to his left—a single splash of color against the white walls and minimalistic white couch that comprised her tiny waiting area.

Dark hair waved its way down to the collar of his navy dress shirt in a style she instantly dubbed as touchable. It was slightly tousled as if he deliberately avoided appearing too slicked up but not tousled enough to dent his air of sophistication. His fair complexion hinted at a life that didn’t include a great deal of time outdoors, or he wore plenty of sunscreen when he did.

She swallowed again, forcing her thoughts back to her crammed schedule. “How does tomorrow sound? Noon sharp.”

“Perfect.” The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes indicated he was accustomed to smiling. It should have put her at ease. Instead, his smile along with his faint Northern accent stirred a fresh swarm of butterflies in her midsection. Scandinavian, perhaps?

“Your name, sir?”

She might be a little rusty on the dating scene, but interest lighted the man’s gray eyes. His gaze travelled across her face, dipped briefly lower, and returned to look her in the eye.

“Holland Sparks.”

She quickly straightened her shoulders, feeling exposed in her scooped white tank top with its lacy neckline and spaghetti straps. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to discard her blazer.

“What sort of appointment can we set up for you, Mr. Sparks? Renovation, addition, landscaping?” She pasted on what she hoped was her best professional smile, warm enough to appear welcoming without coming across as desperate. Not the kind of smile that begged a customer to buy something so she could afford her next meal. She hoped that category of smiles was far behind her. For good.

His gaze leisurely roved the room and returned to hers, glinting with unspoken questions.

She hoped speaking in plurals would give him the impression she possessed another employee or two on the payroll. But he if was up to no good, there was always the emergency call button within reach.

“Actually, I was sitting in the coffee shop across the street, scanning the local news when I ran across your advertisement.”

My help-wanted ad? Jillian straightened her spine and clasped her hands in front of her. Though preposterous, his statement was firmly planted in safe territory.

He shrugged an apology. “Figured it would take longer to dial your number than to walk over here.”

“You’re, ah…applying to be my office manager?” Her voice rose to a higher pitch than she intended. She cleared her throat. He hadn’t simply lost his way to the modeling agency down the street?

“Yes.” He offered a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. It made her think of frivolous things like bathing in sunshine and dancing in the rain—sensations her dazed mind was beginning to vaguely identify as his unique brand of magnetism. Administrative duties aside, holy Batman! With a hunk of burning man-candy like him running her office, women would form a line to sign up for remodeling projects whether they needed them or not.

BUY & TBR LINKS (Please Complete The Ones You Use Feel Free To Add Others)

AMAZON KINDLE US – https://amzn.com/B01AU8SEAO
AMAZON KINDLE CA –  https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B01AU8SEAO
AMAZON KINDLE UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01AU8SEAO
BARNES & NOBLES NOOK – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/designed-for-you-jo-grafford/1123296144?ean=2940152837261#productInfoTabs
ITUNES – https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/designed-for-you/id1077543099?ls=1&mt=11
KOBO – https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/designed-for-you

About the Author

An award-winning author from St. Louis, Missouri, Jo has served as a corporate trainer, junior college finance instructor, and high school business teacher. Along the way, she discovered the only thing she enjoys as much as teaching is writing. Especially writing romance!

In her stories, the stakes are always high and there’s nothing her heroes won’t risk for the brilliant, sassy women they love.

A typical day finds her with her laptop balanced on her knees, a caffeinated beverage within reach, and a cat snoozing nearby who dreams of taking over the world.

Jo writes across the genres and is presently writing three series:

• For You Series – heart pounding contemporary romantic suspense
• Lost Colony Series – the epic historical saga of the Lost Colonists of Roanoke Island
• Vikings Saga – a collection of fantasy novellas

When Jo’s not writing romance, she’s reading it. She adores alpha males, strong-minded women, humorous sidekicks, diversity, Vikings, dashing lords, vampires, zombies, cyborgs…you get the idea.

She loves to stay in touch with readers on Facebook, Twitter, BookBub, and Amazon. Plus you can read free chapters of all her books on Wattpad. To receive a free copy of one of her bestselling stories, visit JoGrafford.com to sign up for her newsletter.

AUTHOR FOLLOW LINKS (Please Complete The Ones You Use Feel Free To Add Others)

AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE –  https://www.amazon.com/Jo-Grafford/e/B00G56XKS2/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1
WEBSITE / BLOG – www.JoGrafford.com
FACEBOOK – www.facebook.com/JoGraffordAuthor
TWITTER – www.twitter.com/JoGrafford
GOOGLE+ – https://plus.google.com/u/0/+JoGrafford/posts
PINTEREST – https://de.pinterest.com/JoGrafford/
GOODREADS – https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7360736.Jo_Grafford
OTHERS – WattPad – https://www.wattpad.com/user/JoGrafford