UPDATE: The winners are…Daun Ann Corty and Laura!
*~*~*

I loved writing my Uncharted SEALs series. All those rugged, alpha heroes and strong heroines. Humor. Action. All the ingredients that make stories fun for me to write, and hopefully, fun for you to read.

With Uncharted SEALs, I experimented a bit. For the first time, I did sequels with the same characters—for the simple reason I couldn’t say goodbye to them. I wanted to see inside their Happy Ever Afters. Through Her Eyes and Between a SEAL and a Hard Place share the same main characters, as do Dream of Me and Heart of a SEAL. Big Sky SEAL gave birth to my Montana Bounty Hunters, introducing Jamie and Reaper, who as a result of their work in Big Sky earned their own satellite office of MBH.

A fun theme I used in two of the stories was a cruise ship. Both Before We Kiss and Hard SEAL to Love are set on the same ship and have the same supporting characters. Plus, Hard SEAL to Love features a disabled female vet! Enjoy the excerpt below!

   

   

  

Click on the covers to learn more!

Contest

Win your choice of one of my Uncharted SEALs stories! There will be 3 winners! All you have to do to enter is answer me this…

(IGNORE COVID) If you got two free tickets for a cruise, who would you take with you and where would you go?

Hard SEAL to Love

Former SEAL, “Big Mac” McLane, is sure he earned all kinds of bad karma somewhere when his first mission with Charter Group is guarding the “Love Boat” and its activity director. Okay, so the cruise line is sponsoring a special cruise for wounded soldiers and their families — a great cause — but Big Mac doesn’t do well around families and children, and Kylie Hammond is cute, but he feels like he has two left feet whenever she’s around. But he’s going to do his job, keep it strictly business, fade into the background whenever she’s around, but it seems Kylie has other ideas…

Kylie knows the big SEAL isn’t exactly gung-ho for his new assignment, but she can’t be more pleased. The big man’s the yummiest thing she’s ever seen, and coaxing blushes and glares from him becomes her favorite sport. But then things begin to go wrong aboard ship, people disappear, and then someone’s killed. The thing her charity most feared — a terrorist attack at sea — appears to be underway. Now, she has to trust Big Mac and his team to keep her wounded soldiers safe.

Excerpt from Hard SEAL to Love…

“Big Mac” McLane stood on the well-lit dock beside his team leader, Deke Warrick, and his teammate, Jackson Keller, as crewmembers and dockworkers rolled storage containers from the belly of the huge cruise ship. Soon, the refuse from a four-day cruise would be disposed of, and new provisions, along with a new group of passengers, loaded.

Waves lapped against the piers, the wheels of the rolling containers whirred and grated, and forklifts beeped. All familiar sounds but made surreal because he wasn’t waiting to board some Navy battleship, and the size of the cruise ship was astounding.

Mac admired the lock-step precision of the entire operation as the unloading continued. Despite the added pressure of law enforcement personnel crawling all over the ship, the Delphin’s crew didn’t miss a beat. Nothing would delay the ship from leaving the dock just after fourteen hundred hours that day. The cruise ship had a schedule to keep.

Stretching his arms, Mac stifled a yawn. The trio had taken a red-eye flight from Dallas to meet the ship in Miami. Due to the recent troubles, Charter Group wanted feet on the ground to make sure the Countess cruise line and law enforcement were taking seriously the string of events aboard their ships that had unfolded over the past weeks since the abduction of Poppy Shackleford. Although Charter Group’s people had successfully recovered the general’s daughter, everyone involved with the upcoming Soldiers’ Sanctuary cruise feared the problems would only escalate. Mac had been tapped to provide the program director protection during the special cruise which was scheduled to leave the Port of Miami the following day.

Although the time was just past O-five-hundred, the air this morning was warm and balmy. Temperatures would rise to a boil by mid-morning, so Mac didn’t mind waiting on the dock to speak to the Delphin’s captain while passengers set to disembark midmorning still slept. A Miami-Dade County medical examiner’s van stood by to remove the body of one unlucky soul whose cruise hadn’t ended well.

“And the ship’s doctor is sure the cause wasn’t a heart attack?” Jax murmured.

Deke’s lips tightened. “He smelled almonds, and the woman’s cheeks were cherry red. Her traveling companion described her as having a seizure and not being able to breathe. M.E. looking at the body now thinks it was cyanide, but we won’t know for sure until an autopsy’s performed.”

Jax scraped his palm across his stubbled jaw. “No one else was affected?”

Deke shook his head. “It happened while they were eating in the dining room. No one else’s plate was tampered with.”

“The traveling companion?”

Deke shrugged. “Her girlfriend of thirty years. The ship’s doctor had to administer a strong sedative because she freaked. He doesn’t think she did it.”

“So, another incident.” Mac took a deep breath. “How many does this make?”

“Three.” Deke lifted his hand and began counting off the list with his fingers. “First, a water system was tampered with on the Tethys. Someone flushed red dye through the ship’s fresh water. Passengers thought it was blood.”

“So they may have been testing methods of dispersal,” Jax muttered.

“Looks like. Or they could be assessing which method of attack will cause the most panic. Next, was the small explosion in the engine room aboard the Nereus. The ship had backup generators, so services weren’t stopped, and the crew effected repairs to continue to their next port. Other than a loud boom, the incident caused no injuries, and the passengers were no wiser. The cruise line can’t be a hundred percent sure whether it was sabotage or a malfunction. So their resistant to cancelling any voyages. But their security’s stretched. And now, we have last night’s poisoning…”

“Gonna be bad PR for the line,” Jax said, shaking his head.

“The company’s keeping the incidents under wraps,” Deke said. “And Homeland’s locking down this investigation here. Miami-Dade will help with interviewing passengers and crew, but they’re informing everyone for now that it was a routine death at sea.

“Just got off the phone with Jake Patton at Homeland. He says they want to catch whoever did this. They don’t want the culprits spooked and scattered to the winds. If their ultimate target is the soldiers’ cruise, we’ll be waiting. In the meantime, they do their due diligence, talk to every person on that ship who had access to the victim’s meal, and search every corner of the ship to see if any clues were left behind. He’ll have men with the ship when it sails today to continue the investigation.”

“Had to have been wait staff,” Mac said, frowning while he thought about the thousands of support personnel that worked on the ship. Homeland and the police had a small army ready to question all cooks and waiters and still wouldn’t be done before the boat sailed.

“Probably was some waiter,” Jax said, “maybe someone embedded, or someone bribed or threatened to get them to add the poison to her plate. And the next question is whether the victim was a random target—as in, just another test.”

“Or they’re taunting us.” Mac’s hands slowly curled into fists. He hated goddamn cowards who picked a fight but didn’t bother showing their faces. “Maybe they’re letting us know they can get to our guys, no matter how well prepared we are.”

Deke’s cheeks billowed as he blew out a long breath. His gaze darted to Mac. “You’re set to meet with Kylie Hammond at the Hampton Inn this morning. Have to warn you, she’s no happier at the thought of having a babysitter than Poppy was to discover we’d put Wiley on her detail.”

Mac grimaced. “Doesn’t matter if she’s not happy. I’m her date for the next four days. She won’t move without me one step behind her.”

As he leaned forward to look sideways, Jax’s mouth twitched. “Didn’t turn out so bad for Wiley and Poppy.”

Yeah, right. Mac gave him a blistering glare. A wedding at sea wasn’t in his plans. Nope. Didn’t matter if Kylie Hammond was a knock-out or not, he was immune to commitment. After transferring teams, all he wanted was to settle into this gig and prove his worth to Deke. “So, you two wanna tell me who I pissed off to get this assignment?”

Jax chuckled.

Deke’s grin was wry. “Thought you were ready for a vacation.”

Mac shook his head. Maybe he’d been too quick to accept Charter’s offer for an “easy assignment” after the last one where he’d spent weeks guarding freighters dodging Somali pirates. He’d been ready for some down time. Had even considered doing some house hunting or heading to his buddy Carter’s ranch in Texas. Although the last time he’d been there, he’d grown restless after witnessing just how happy Carter was with his new wife and little niece he’d adopted to raise as his own.

All that domesticity had made him itch. As a guy who’d spent his teenage years bounced around in foster homes, he couldn’t imagine any man willingly being leg-shackled to one woman or even planting roots to live in one place. Not that he couldn’t see the attraction. Carter had carved out a nice life for himself. Now that his father was on the mend, Carter wasn’t tied to the ranch, although he was always eager to return there after an assignment. He had a pretty wife, a great kid, and nice-sized piece of heaven in the ranch he’d someday inherit.

Family, a home passed down through generations of Texans—all that was as foreign to Mac as the thought of sitting on the “Love Boat” for a fancy cruise with a privileged society girl building her social media cred through charity work. “Hell,” he muttered. “Job’s just four damn days.”

“Five. The assignment starts today.”

Mac lifted his shoulder. “Whatever. She’s locked down in the hotel until the buses come tomorrow morning to take the soldiers to the ship.”

Jax slapped his shoulder. “You do know ships’ captains can perform marriages in international waters…”

“Hey, I’m happy for Wiley.” Mac shuddered. “But he has General Shackleford for a father-in-law. Wonder if he has to snap a salute before they sit around the table to eat turkey and cranberries at Thanksgiving.”

Deke coughed into his fist. “Having a powerful father-in-law isn’t always a pain in the ass.”

Mac winced, having forgotten that Deke’s father-in-law was a former Navy commander-turned-congressman, and was now in charge of special operations for Charter Group. “How’s old Commander Martir doing, anyway?”

“Still a badass,” Deke said, giving him a glare.

“Once a SEAL…” Shrugging, Mac didn’t complete the phrase.

“Stop bellyaching about the assignment, McLane.” Deke braced his feet apart. “You might be bunking in a stateroom but don’t treat this assignment differently from any other you’ve had. Kylie Hammond’s safety is your mission.”

Five hours later, Mac stepped through the entrance of the Hampton Inn. The lobby was a study in orderly chaos. Suitcases were lined up and stacked against one wall. Men and women, some in wheelchairs or walking with crutches and walkers, and missing limbs—some multiples—filled the space.

Mac tamped down a feeling of guilt for being able-bodied and whole as he walked through the throng, nodding now and then as he passed the veterans. He headed to the concierge and asked where he could find Kylie Hammond. After being informed which conference room Soldiers’ Sanctuary had commandeered to hand out welcome packets to arrivals, he headed down a hallway, relieved he didn’t have to push through a sea of bodies. He was ready to start this op. Sooner the better. Five days would fly by, and then he’d have the down time he needed to get his head on straight before the next assignment.

Stepping inside the room, he noted two long conference tables filled with plastic buckets of folders. Three elderly men manned the table.

One of them who sported a gray buzz cut and a surprisingly muscular build glanced his way. He lifted his chin in greeting.

Mac decided he was as good a place to start as any and strode toward him.

The old man held out his hand. “Joe Olinksy,” he said, in deep, loud voice. Then he leaned against the table edge and whispered, “You with Charter?”

Mac eyed him then glanced at his two buddies who were moving closer. His presence as part of the security team was supposed to be on a “need-to-know” basis.

Grinning, Joe waved a hand. “We’re part of your support. Eyes and ears only. We’re a little too long in the tooth to be the muscle, but we’re here to help. We’ll be staying in the stateroom next to yours.”

Skeptical that this band of elderly brothers could be of any service at all, Mac drew a deep breath and gave Joe’s two companions another look.

“This is Morty,” Joe said, pointing toward a thin man with a round, pot belly. “And that’s Sly.”

Sly smiled, and his teeth were blindingly white and little too large in his mouth.

“Ex-marines, 3rd Division during Viet Nam,” Joe said. “You a SEAL like Wiley?”

“Semper Fi,” Morty said, grinning.

Mac grunted, revising his original assessment. These guys had seen real action. “I’m looking for Kylie Hammond.”

“She’s out in the atrium,” Joe pointed toward the windows behind him, “getting a cup of coffee. She’s been manning the tables since dawn. And don’t worry about us. We can handle ourselves. After all our help on the last cruise, Poppy made sure to add us to the team. We’ll have your six.”

The three elderly men hadn’t been mentioned in any of the briefings he’d attended back at HQ. Wiley for damn sure hadn’t said a thing, but then again, Wiley had looked a little smug when he’d heard Mac was being assigned to protect his wife’s best friend. He cleared his throat. “Mac McLane by the way,” he said, giving a nod to all three men.

“We’ll see you aboard the Oceanus,” Joe said.

Mac left them and thought about calling Wiley to find out why the hell he hadn’t mentioned his geriatric buddies. Just to bitch because he was already dreading the coming minutes. He didn’t have a lot of experience with Ms. Hammond’s brand of womanhood. He’d served with women in the field, and slept with the women who swarmed bars outside Navy bases, hoping for a hookup with a SEAL.

Women outside those two categories tended to make him nervous. In his experience, women had served only two purposes, as support and/or stress-relief for a SEAL. Not that he looked down on them. He liked the women he’d known. But he hadn’t had to think much about what kind of impression he made or how to talk to them. He could be gruff and blunt. What the hell would he talk about for the days and nights he and the princess would be glued to each other’s sides?

Entering the atrium, he glanced around for someone who fit the picture he’d made up in his mind. She’d be pretty, no doubt. He couldn’t imagine anyone who was friends with Poppy Shackleford and attending her social functions looking any different.
Most of the small round, brightly tiled tables were filled with men and a few women. Probably wives of the wounded soldiers, who’d be accompanying their husbands on the cruise.

One woman sat alone, her head bent over her cell phone which lay flat on the tabletop, a tall Styrofoam cup beside it. Her hair was a mass of dark brown curls. Her body, what he could see of it hunched over the table, was slender. Her bare arms and the tops of her shoulders, revealed by an olive tank, showed well-developed muscles. She wore no jewelry, save for a watch on an olive-colored web strap. Faux military-issue? And now he wondered whether she was one of those who was so enamored of military men she wore cammo pajamas. He’d met a few like that. As he moved nearer, she must have sensed someone watched her.

The woman’s gaze lifted from her phone and locked with his.

As he took in her features, he slowed his steps. Wide-set green eyes whose gaze never wavered, tan skin, rose-colored lips, cheeks that were prominent and high. She was lovely, but didn’t wear a hint of makeup. She didn’t need it. Unbidden, interest flared inside him, heating his blood.

“Are you Mac?” she asked, her voice even and little husky.

His tongue felt thick as he gave a crisp nod and replied. “You Kylie?”

Her smile was a little tight, but she pushed up from the table to greet him, her arm reaching forward.

When he looked down at her hand, with its long fingers and short bare nails, his gaze dropped to her legs. Another shock stole his breath. She wore shorts which ended at mid-thigh, revealing one long, nicely turned limb paired with a shapely thigh that disappeared into the black cup of a prosthetic limb.

Not long after I published the Soul of the Witch trilogy, I received several emails asking about Jason and Amy, the married couple from Boston who went West to help his uncle manage the Harris Highland’s Ranch.

How did such diverse personalities meet? Their passion for each other was evident, but what was their story?

Then, while crafting Jason and Amy’s story in Pyromancer, two more characters made it abundantly clear they had a past to air as well.

Hence, two prequel novels for the Soul of the Witch trilogy (Prodigy and Pyromancer) and a third novel (Patriarch) to wrap up the six-book series is coming soon. But numbering two prequels became an issue. 0.25 and 0.5 were not an option, so I gave these tales an entirely new series name. Coven Moon.

Prodigy, Coven Moon, Book 1

Ayden saw Margaret’s face in his very first fire-vision. They came to believe their love to be inevitable, their destiny and passion as enduring as his visions, able to overcome any obstacle.

Or so they thought.

Excerpt from “Prodigy”

The sky darkened. The heavy, threatening clouds that had lined the western horizon on their way to the farm rolled across the sky, bringing with them the scent of rain. Dry cornrows rustled in the brisk breeze and made it impossible to hear piglets running in the field.

Or Ayden. I’d best turn back or chance a soaking.

Ahead of Margaret, two figures crossed her path. The first, a black sow, followed immediately by a pale woman in a flowing white gown. The woman paused, her gaze directed beyond Margaret, and slowly raised her hand to point down the row.

Margaret spun on her heel, chilled to the bone by the apparition, and bounced off the chest of a strange man. She struck him with such force she stumbled back, fell to the ground, and rubbed her nose.

The stranger laughed. His gaping mouth displayed missing and rotted teeth. The breeze lifted white hair and tossed it about his head like a crazed ghoul. “Look what I found.”

Not a ghoul.

Margaret scrambled backward, rolled to rise to her feet, but was knocked back down by a boot to her backside.

“And they said there weren’t no women here.”

She twisted to watch him and kicked his hand when he reached for the hem of her skirt. “Don’t touch me.”

“Mighty prissy.” He leaned forward and grabbed her boot when she kicked. “That ain’t nice. You must like it rough. I know I sure do.”

His chuckle turned into a surprised grunt as he was knocked back by a man who burst from the adjacent row.

“Ayden?” Margaret scrambled to her feet, eyeing the two men who wrestled on the ground.

“Go,” Ayden yelled at her. “Run.” The ghoulish man’s fist knocked Ayden’s head back.

She ran past where they fought, then stopped in the row to watch.

There must be something I can do.

Ayden fell back across the row.

Her assailant thrashed to his feet and picked up the long rifle Ayden had knocked from his hands. “This won’t be pretty, but I’m sure gonna like it.” He lifted the rifle butt to his shoulder and squinted down the barrel at Ayden.

Ayden gained his feet and lifted his hand toward the rifle barrel. “Don’t shoot,” he warned.

With a grin, the white-haired man squeezed the trigger. As the firing pin struck the cap, the gunpowder exploded backward, sending the breech plug and blast of the weapon into the attacker’s face. Smoke and fire followed the dead man to the ground.

Ayden closed his fingers into a fist, and the fire ceased. His gaze turned from the man on the ground to Margaret, and his eyes widened with astonished recognition.

“Run back to the farm.” He closed the distance between them. “There are two more of these men in the field.”

“What? How do you know?”

“They came to the farm after the moon gathering.” He gripped her upper arm and pushed her ahead of him. “Run, Margaret.”

She lifted her skirt and dashed through the corn. Freezing rain, driven by the wind, pelted her head. The row curved, limiting her vision, her heart thundered in her ears, then she was out of the corn. She stumbled to a stop and gazed around the empty yard.

The members at the Samhain celebration had retreated inside to escape the storm. No one would have heard her cry for help.

“Let’s get inside.” Ayden took her hand and led her toward the house. “Leader Brown needs to be told what’s happened.”

*~*~*

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($0.99 through the end of the year–Free in KU!)

Pyromancer, Coven Moon, Book 2

Indentured for twenty years, a hostage of magic in a foreign land, Ayden MacKenna returns home seeking more than vengeance and searches the flames for an inkling of what he may have lost.

Excerpt from “Pyromancer”

The flames in his stove burned brightly, and the chill in the room lessened. The tingling sensation of foretelling tightened his scalp. “Show me Margaret’s child.”

The shadows between the flames whirled and dipped as they flickered across the coals in time with a silent rhythm.

Then she stood before him in the fire, on a grand staircase.

Ayden groaned, and his soul chipped a tiny bit more. She looked like the memory of Margaret he had carried in his mind—in his heart—for so long.

The young woman’s fingers played nervously with the string ties of a beaded mask.

A blond-haired man stepped into the vision. He took her hand and bent to whisper in her hair.

Ayden slammed the door to the stove shut and covered his face as his shoulders shook.

Loss filled his heart, and he battled with hatred and resentment. They’d taken so damned much from him. For so long he had begged to see visions of home, tidings of the ones he’d been forced to leave behind, and now that he had—now that a face had formed in the fire, showing him the child that could have been his had he been allowed to stay, he could hardly bear it.

He pushed the tears from his lashes and shook his head.

The fire had given him two faces tonight. One he recognized—the blond lad that came in regularly to bed Molly. He rolled his eyes and lay back on his bed.

What had been the boy’s name?

Ah yes, Jason Harris.

*~*~*

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C. Marie Bowen Amazon Author Page – https://amzn.to/3rY52Su
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UPDATE: The winner is…Donna Barker!
*~*~*

When I was a kid I used to watch an old game show called To Tell The Truth. The curtain came up on three contestants who would claim, “My name is …” The host Bud Collyer would read a mini-bio on the person then a panel of celebrities asked a series of questions to discern which of the contestants was telling the truth. At the end of the round, the panelists stated who their guess was. Collyer then turned to the contestants and asked, “Will the real…  please stand up?” This old game show question came to me as I crafted today’s post about Stagecoach Mary Fields.

Mary Fields was a former slave who became the first African American woman to work for the postal service. She was awarded two Star Route mail contracts. These were contracts given to a private carrier to deliver mail for the post office in rural and sparsely populated areas. Despite her nickname, Mary carried the mail with a horse and wagon from 1885 to 1903. She is believed to have been born in 1832 which means she would have been fifty-three when her first contract was granted.

I first learned of Mary in William Loren Katz’s Black People Who Made the Old West. Born in slavery in Tennessee, she made her way West to Montana with her former master’s daughter who’d become an Ursuline nun. Mary worked in the school the Ursulines founded for Native American women. She was six feet tall, dressed, drank, cussed, and handled a gun like a man.

In a 1959 Ebony magazine article, actor Gary Cooper wrote this about her, “Born a slave somewhere in Tennessee, Mary lived to become one of the freest souls ever to draw a breath, or a .38.”

Episode five of the Weird Wonderful Women Youtube channel is dedicated to her. You can view it here: https://youtu.be/6-xFSexopwo. Another realistic depiction is shared in this stage presentation: https://youtu.be/khhIwpxrtFk.

Imagine my shock when I saw a picture of Zazie Beetz, the actress who portrayed Mary in the Netflix film The Harder They Fall. Check out this side-by-side comparison created for this op-ed in the Curvy Fashionista, https://thecurvyfashionista.com/stagecoach-mary-op-ed/, and you’ll understand why that old To Tell The Truth question, “Will the real Stagecoach Mary please stand up?,” came to be the title of my post.

But why should Hollywood’s depiction of Mary be any more realistic than those of other Western women? Does anyone believe Doris Day was chosen to play Calamity Jane because she resembled the real Martha Jane Cannary? Or Betty Hutton because she looked anything like Annie Oakley? Zazie Beetz and Stagecoach Mary are in good company. I’m just grateful Mary is being featured at all. Maybe it will send viewers to learn more about her so the real Stagecoach Mary can not only stand up but stand out.

So for a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, share in the comments about a woman whose story you wish Hollywood would tell.

“The Patience of Unanswered Prayer” by Michal Scott,
inside Cowboys

A feisty businesswoman about to become the next victim of Post-Civil War revenge receives rescue from an unexpected source…

Excerpt from “The Patience of Unanswered Prayer”…

The cock of a gun hammer turned them both in the same direction. Radcliffe aimed at her and fired. The shot burned its way into her shoulder, knocking her to the ground onto her back.

A second shot shattered the night silence. Through pain-drenched tears she saw Flyte whirl, stumble backwards and collapse with a splash into the creek.

Eleanor lay spent, her shoulder warmed by her blood, her chest no longer tight with fear. Above, the moon shone through a black canopy of leaves. The smell of creek water, crisp and clean, filled her lungs. She’d never imagined where she would die, but a place of beauty like this was as good as any.

Radcliffe’s grin loomed over her.

She stared into the barrel of his gun then closed her eyes as surrender seeped through her.

Father into thy hands I commit my spirit.

 A peace descended upon her mind, the peace that passeth all understanding spoken of in the Bible. Although feeling peaceful at this moment made no sense.

 Neither did the screaming, cursing and snarling that rent the air.

Buy link: Amazon – https://amzn.to/3iwUhkN
Michal Scott Amazon Author Page – https://amzn.to/2TSHzRn
Website – www.michalscott.webs.com

House of Rae franchisee Marie Argenta is on the run after her estranged husband Ned inflicts unimaginable tortures. Leaving her Paris House to hide out in the U.S., she ends up at the San Francisco House to serve as temporary manager. The very first day, her gaze lands on the most arrogant man she has ever seen, Adrian Velasquez. He’s also the most compelling devastatingly attractive, over-the-top pleasure partner the universe could ever conjure, which makes her think twice about the rules forbidding employee relationships.

Adrian knows what he likes and this new House manager Marie ranks above and beyond anything he’s ever imagined. Too bad his life is already crammed too full of family troubles, work overload, and finishing his law degree to even consider stretching the rules with this irritating woman. But a touch here, a kiss there, might be too delicious to refuse and she’s, well, she wants him. He knows it.

What Marie and Adrian are soon to discover is that Ned knows where Marie has fled and plans to take her back no matter what.

West Coast life like you’ve never imagined! Take luxurious surroundings, drop in a few gorgeous men, and stir. Don’t forget there’s serious trouble ahead.

Get your copy! Amazon Free promotion Dec 7, 8, and 9 ONLY

Follow my blog for GIVEAWAYS of Book III and IV, coming up in a few days! https://lizzieashworth.com/

** Reviews Needed! ** Please take a moment and review this book!

Excerpt from Reprieve…

Adrian lounged in the hallway outside the ground floor conference room. If it were his call, he’d bring everyone to the room at once throwing out ideas and arguing over word choice. But it wasn’t his call and Marie obviously preferred to take advice from one person at a time. He stopped himself from further questioning her reasoning. He didn’t want to think about her reasoning, her, or her luscious body.

Damn it.

He’d found it unexpectedly difficult to craft language that surpassed hers. He’d actually wasted a lot of time thinking up clever ways to make her uncomfortable with over-the-top sexual innuendo. Which wasn’t the purpose of the task, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He wanted to provoke her, push her limits, test her control. Any opening and he would storm past her walls.

Ridiculous, he knew. Storming her walls was the last thing that should be on his mind. She set something loose in him, something he’d never encountered in all his thirty years. Not carefully calculating his hours, his days, his future as had been his pattern. Instead, this doppelganger lurking inside him plotted devious methods that would result in Marie’s eager nude body in his bed.

He shifted uncomfortably as his cock twitched.

The door opened and Savannah walked out, throwing him an amused glance. “Hey, sex boy. You’re next.”

He shook his head and grinned. “Tear it up, Savannah.”

He rolled his shoulder around the door frame, crossed his arms and looked down the long table to where Marie sat at the far end. Surrounded by papers she was organizing into stacks, she glanced up only momentarily before motioning to a nearby chair. Her hair had been fastened loosely on top of her head but a few strands had worked loose, drifting around her face and doing something outrageous with her beauty. A gauzy pink blouse floated around her shoulders and vanished into the shadow of her sumptuous décolletage. He was instantly hard as iron.

Did she know the image she presented, part sex goddess, part ice queen? He had no doubt of her intellect, whip smart and aggressive. He also had no doubt that she would be a wild cat in bed, a tempest of little moans and cries, all of which would ensure his undying servitude to her unending pleasure. Yes, in a perfect world, he would devote himself utterly to Marie, to fulfilling her every sexual need in long leisurely episodes of rampant lust.

His balls had drawn up tight.

As he pulled out the chair nearest her and sat carefully, her gaze followed the bulge straining his pants until his hips disappeared under the table. He watched her reaction, a careful flick of her tongue against her full bottom lip and a slight flush of pink across her cheeks. Goddamn it, that’s all he needed for his rowdy dick to threaten to leap out of his pants.

“Whatever this game is you are playing, monsieur, it will go nowhere,” she said in a husky voice. “Surely you know I cannot entangle myself with an employee.”

He cleared his throat, fighting against laughter. Triumphant laughter. So the cards were on the table.

“Of course,” he said in his most dignified voice. “But I don’t know what ‘game’ you mean. I’m here only to offer advice on the advertisement.”

Her long lashes blinked up and her aquamarine gaze intensified as she studied him, her brow creased. Oh, he could make that gaze darken and smooth that lovely brow all in the same moment. Just one moment to bare her lovely breasts, taste the dark pink nipples—she would call his name. He would draw those rosy tips hard against his tongue until she cried out.

Then he would move lower, teasing with little kisses and bites, until he reached the altar of her body, that delicious valley of moist ruddy flesh where he would live off her delectable nectar. His tongue, his mouth, and his fingers would perform ancient rites of homage until she flailed and cried out, desperate for his engorged cock.

He suppressed a groan, couldn’t help that his glance had drifted to those luscious mounds waiting for him under that flimsy pink blouse. Was it his imagination or could he actually make out the erect peaks of those perfect tits pressing their captivity, begging him?

She brought her papers into a neat stack and looked up. “When you manage to tear your eyes away from ma poitrine, perhaps we can hear your ideas? S’il vous plait?”

He dragged his gaze back to her face, unable to keep the guilty grin off his face. “Ma poitrine,” he drawled. “Is that what they call those lovelies in French?” He leaned forward, as much to punish the rigid length of his raging cock as to push the boundaries of her personal space. He knew he was acting like an ass, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. His outrageous alter ego was in full control.

“It’s a shame their beauty must be hidden from the world.”

“Pah, you are not here to seduce a client, Monsieur Velasquez.” She tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail on the papers. “What ideas do you have?”

Wow, it’s December already. I have no idea where this year has gone. But I can tell you I’m hard at work on Elemental Dragons. And I’m thrilled to share a sneak peek at a scene from book two, Wind’s Fury.

Haunted by her loss of control and the injuries she and her air dragon caused to another of her kind, Nina Buchanan knows there’s no more running from the rare gender mismatch that made her dragon, the other half of her soul, male to her female. She’ll do anything to make this right. Haunted by the death of his older brother, Reuel Damaris knows these dragons are like a disease. He’ll do anything to cure the human race of the terrible shifter affliction that took his brother and shattered his family. But when the battle lines are drawn, only together can they unravel the lies and calm the fury of a dragon.

This scene is when Nina shifts for the first time in front of Reuel. (How do you think you’d react if a dragon appeared right in front of you?) Enjoy!

He clenched his fists. Hell, he clenched his entire body.

A dragon.

That was a fucking dragon. And somehow, that dragon was also Nina.

No. Not possible.

Reuel pressed his fingers against his carotid. Hard. He still had a pulse. So not a heart attack. Unless he was actually lying on the ground, gasping his last, and this was some kind of death-knell hallucination.

The dragon landed in front of him. Right in fucking front of him. Close enough for him to see each individual scale, sharp-edged and sparkling in a thousand different shades of white. Close enough for him to smell the musk of the beast. For him to feel the heat rolling off the massive body. For him to see the endless depths of those faceted eyes.

Close enough for him to reach out and touch.

He clenched his fists again.

Damn it, he wasn’t ready to die. He had things to do. Things to prove to his father. Things to say to his mother. He had to make them see.

Fucking heart attack.

The dragon–he couldn’t call this thing sitting calmly, proudly in front of him Nina, no matter what he thought he’d seen, not even in a hallucination–lowered its massive head and snuffed at him. The heat and force of the beast’s exhale actually pushed him back a step.

He should turn around and walk away. Maybe hallucinate a super model with him on a nice, eighty-foot yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean. No, ditch the super model. How about a fishing pole and a cooler full of beer and nothing but the sound of the water against the hull and the wind in his face. Geez, didn’t he deserve some peace in the last few moments of his life?

And now he’d never get to know Nina better. Would she have liked to go fishing with him?

Or would a woman who could turn into a dragon just grab fish from the waters with her razor-sharp claws and eat them with those massive jaws?

Walk away.

He dipped his shoulder. Shifted his weight. He hadn’t asked for this craziness. Didn’t want it. But in that split second before he could turn, the dragon tilted its massive head and the stunning blue of Nina’s eyes caught him. Wrapped around him and held him motionless. Promised him heat and strength and a power he couldn’t comprehend.

And silently called to him, with more sorrow and pain than he’d ever felt in a lifetime of sorrow and pain.

He knew that pain. Understood to the depths of his bones the primal longing for acceptance he could see in those stunning eyes. In Nina’s eyes.

This wasn’t a hallucination.

Reuel swallowed hard. “Nina?”

He felt a thousand times a fool, whispering to this beast like it could understand him. Like Nina was actually somewhere in there.

But that massive head nodded, the tiniest fraction.

His breath left him in a giant whoosh. It physically hurt to inhale again, to take all the hot scent of dragon into his lungs. “You’re… Fuck, Nina. I can’t…” Shifting, he swiped a sweaty palm across his jaw. But the word dragon wouldn’t come out of the tightness constricting his throat.

The dragon’s head drooped. Had the beast just… sighed?

“I’m sorry,” Reuel said, not sure what he was apologizing for, but positive that was all he could manage.

Again the dragon nodded. And then the light around the beast… shifted. Shimmered. Danced.

He blinked as the brightness grew, but he couldn’t look away. Or maybe he wouldn’t look away.

This was magic.

He knew it suddenly, totally, like he knew his own name. Like he knew he was meant to be a scientist. Not an athlete. No matter what his father thought. Or said. Or did.

Or didn’t do.

This was magic, and that dragon was somehow Nina.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

The warmth of the dragon’s breath wafted over him. And then the dragon wasn’t there anymore. Nina was.

For a half a heartbeat he thought she was naked.

About the Author

Grace Adams is a 2017 Golden Heart® finalist and award-winning author of paranormal romance who loves nothing more than a happy ending. Whatever the genre, regardless of the medium, as long as justice prevails, the good guys win, and people are falling in love, she’s in.

A lifelong reader of science fiction, fantasy, and of course romance, Grace also enjoys painting and drawing and is an avid skier. One of those rare Geeks who loves both Star Wars AND Star Trek, she’s got a closet full of costumes she created and firmly believes that she who dies with the most fabric (and books) (and shoes) wins.

Grace has a B.S. in Mathematics from Ursinus College and an M.A. in English from Wright State University.  She is a veteran of the USAF as a communications officer and currently works as an IT Controls Analyst. She shares her home with the best super cats ever, Thor and Loki.

Even after 110 books published, I still get excited about the release of a new one. WOLF IN THE WOODS was released earlier this month. It’s the start of a new series, but it has roots in the past.

My Salvation Pack series was a labor of love—all 9 books. Luckily for me, it’s also been a reader favorite. For years, readers have asked if there would be more books. I honestly wasn’t sure, but I always felt as though the series wasn’t complete.

Thus was born Salvation Pack: The Next Generation. I’m so excited about this new 5-book series. Each book stands alone, so if you haven’t read the original series, you can still read and enjoy the book. If you’ve read the original series, you’ll see many familiar faces. I hope my readers love this new series as much as I do.

Take a peek inside WOLF IN THE WOODS.

Wolf in the Woods
Salvation Pack: The Next Generation, Book 1

Not wanting to be forced to mate to an eligible male in her pack who won’t take no for an answer, Addie Fuller is on the run.

Billy Gallagher might be human, but he understands werewolf culture all too well after being raised in the Salvation Pack.

When their paths cross, he helps her, even knowing it will likely mean his death. He’s no match for a full-blooded male wolf. A short, brutal fight, leaves him near death and Addie fighting to save his life.

He recovers, but he’s not the same man he was. The one thing he does know for sure—he and Addie are meant to be together. All he has to do is convince her of that and deal with the threat looming over them.

Excerpt from Wolf in the Woods…

So much blood.

He flinched at the pressure and gave a moan of pain but didn’t tell her to stop. He had to know just how bad the situation was. He licked his lips, his breathing labored. “Gear.” His fingers uncurled and pointed to the right.

She jumped up and raced in that direction, inhaling deeply to find his scent. His knapsack was partially hidden under a short pine tree. With shaky hands, she grabbed it and hurried back.

“I’ve got it.” Adrenaline pumped through her veins, allowing her to focus past her own pain. She ignored the gashes in her stomach. Her werewolf metabolism was already working to heal them. They weren’t as deep as they could have been. He wasn’t so fortunate. She opened the bag and dug out a long-sleeved flannel shirt. It would do for a makeshift bandage. She ripped the arms off and then folded the rest into a thick padding.

I don’t know how to do this. This was beyond anything in her experience. Werewolves healed naturally, for the most part, and she’d never been around anyone who’d been this seriously injured.

I have to clean the wound first. Fear was making her sweat. She swiped her forearm over her forehead.

You can do this. She didn’t have a choice. The alternative was to just let him die.

*~*~*

Want to read more? You can find WOLF IN THE WOODS here:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09K6TDQ3H/
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1111548
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/wolf-in-the-woods-n-j-walters/1140407948
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/wolf-in-the-woods-2
Evernight Publishing: https://www.evernightpublishing.com/wolf-in-the-woods-by-n-j-walters/

About the Author

N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, assassins, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

Visit me at:
Website: https://www.njwalters.com
Blog: https://www.njwalters.blogspot.com
Newsletter Sign Up: https://eepurl.com/gdblg5
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/N.J.WaltersAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/njwaltersauthor
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/NJWalters
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/njwalters
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/n-j-walters

Ideas for this story rolled around in my head for years before I started trying to write it. I am one of those who learned to hide under my schoolroom desk in case of an atomic bomb attack, so yeah, that kind of gives away my age group. When I met the right guy and we wanted to start a family, we still had that idea of an imminent attack. So we grew our own food and stored salt and prepared in a hundred other ways to ensure our survival when doomsday arrived.

I’m happy to say that the Cold War ended, and we’ve (hopefully) moved away from someone’s finger hovering over the red button that would start a nuclear war. But that threat remains, as well as many other newer threats, and not all of them caused by a political adversary. Nature has a whole bundle of tricks up her sleeve as well.

What happens if/when the power goes out, not for an hour or a day, but for weeks—or longer? What happens if our cars don’t work? I wanted to explore these ideas—and somehow make it a romance.

There’s nothing new about a massive earthquake in the Los Angeles area, but every time that story is told, there’s an annoying focus on the adventure aspect of it, people dying, sirens wailing, etc. I wanted to create a romance forced by circumstance. I also wanted to delve deep into what it would mean to do away with conveniences like electricity and transportation. I tossed it all in and stirred.

Refuge in His Arms is the result, and I’m proud to say it’s a compelling story with circumstances based fully in scientific facts. It’s also rich with the sensual connections between two people who had to come a long way together, figuratively and literally.

Right now, the book is FREE in Kindle Unlimited. Take advantage of this countdown deal to grab your copy for as low as 99 cents. The deal runs from November 24 through November 30, and if you know about countdown deals, you know that the 99 cent price won’t last long.

Refuge in His Arms

Strangers meet in a cataclysmic crisis and despite their prickly acquaintance, circumstances force them to cooperate. Not what Mackenzie expected or ever wanted. Not what David could have ever imagined, and yet here they are fleeing Los Angeles together. Bad turns to worse as a geomagnetic storm wipes out the power grid and stops the car, leaving them stranded in Flagstaff.

In this journey in search of food and shelter with her faithful German Shepherd Captain by her side, Mackenzie Kilpatrick denies her attraction to this man. He’s forced himself on her, an opportunist who only needs what she has. He might be the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen, and he might have hidden talents, but she’s totally not interested. Is she?

Tumbling down from his rock star success, David Evans thought he’d found bottom. But this is worse, dependent for his very survival on an angry woman who barely tolerates him. He’s hanging on, trying to do right, but how can he ever meet her impossible standards? He just wants to hold her, wrap his arms around her and ease her pain.

Is there a place for them to find safety?

Get your copy!

Excerpt from Refuge in His Arms…

They spent the rest of the morning gathering wood from a few vacant areas surrounding the shopping center, piling it on either side of the spot Mackenzie deemed best for a fire. David settled into his assigned role as helper, convinced that if he expressed his concerns or ideas, she’d send him away. Did that make him a weakling? The way he saw it, he didn’t have much choice. Every time he caught her looking at him, she was frowning like he was so much excess baggage.

Maybe that was her default attitude, all hostile and wound up tight. He’d like to unwind her, button by button until her delectable body stretched out before him like a feast of epicurean proportions. He already knew she’d taste delicious, those long legs spread open to reveal the soft pink folds of her intimate womanhood. Damn. Why did his mind conjure up such fantasies when his rational mind knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of making it reality? He shifted the load of dead brush in his arms in order to adjust the pressure on the front of his jeans.

The place she designated for the fire sat halfway between two small trees in the median near her car. No chance of fire spreading from there. Plus it was near enough to the car they didn’t have to shuttle supplies very far. He spent an hour gathering rocks to create a decent boundary for the fire.

Memories flashed, times he’d visited his grandparents’ farm when he was little, a rundown place somewhere in Kentucky. His granddad took him fishing at the pond, and he’d proudly come home with a catfish. Step by step, Granddad showed him how to gut and fillet that fish with a knife that had been sharpened so many times the blade was razor thin. They’d built a fire in an outdoor fire pit. The fish sizzled in a big iron skillet as the flames twisted and curled, orange and red, his granddad squatting beside him. Even without words, they shared something important, watching that fire. That fish tasted better than anything he’d ever put in his mouth.

He loved those people. They didn’t live in a fancy house. His mom smiled there and in some of his earliest memories, his dad had helped Grandpa out in the barn, working on an old car. They had a garden, chickens, and a hog with a bunch of little piglets running around. If he was there now, he’d figure it out. Do things. But he was in fucking Arizona in the middle of a parking lot, his future entirely too dependent on a woman who apparently wished he’d disappear. If this woman needed to keep him at arm’s length, he’d do it just to survive. If he pushed his luck with this crazy attraction he felt, he would end up alone.

He sighed and stood up to squint at the sky. “About noon.”

She glanced at her watch and looked at him with a strange expression. “Noon.”

Whatever that meant, he didn’t try to figure out. After her comment about a husband, as if she didn’t still have a husband—well, he had an idea that the man had died and she had shut down. Not something he could ask about. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, sorry for what she must have suffered, still suffered, this woman with the sad luminous eyes.

They knocked then waited at the side door of the supermarket. Sun beat down, baking the top of his head and searing his shoulders through the shirt. A black t-shirt was definitely not the ideal garment for standing in full August sunlight even if it was threadbare. His skin prickled as sweat rolled down his sides.

They knocked twice again.

“Do you think there’s someone in there?” he said finally.

She looked up at him. Streaks of amber and black shot through her brown irises. How had he not noticed the thick fringe of long dark lashes or the expressive narrow eyebrows, one of which now cocked as she glared at him.

“Did you have an appointment somewhere?” she asked.

He exhaled. “Christ, you’re hard to deal with.”

“No one is forcing you to be here.”

“Yeah, someone is. You. You think I could walk away from you, leave you here with your dog and your stuff and no one to help you?”

“You mean, walk away from your only resource? Someone who has food and water and a safe place to sleep?”

He wanted to punch something. His fist opened and closed. Was she right? Was it all about him? “That’s not why I want to be here.”

“Bullshit.” She knocked again, slamming the side of her fist against the metal door.

“Not bullshit,” he said, straightening his shoulders as anger rose up his spine. He’d just about had it with her insults. “You may think you’ve got it all figured out, but you need me, and lady, if you don’t know that, then part of your brain isn’t working. You’ve needed me since you got stuck between that lamp post and the fence.”

Her eyes blazed as she rested her fists on her hips. “I could have handled that on my own. You were looking for a way out of there.”

“I didn’t have to choose between trying to salvage every fucking thing I own and going along to help you.”

“No, you absolutely did not.”

“Or leave behind every professional contact, every hope for a future.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You probably didn’t have any hope of a future or you wouldn’t have been so quick about leaving.”

Her words hit him like a fist to bone. He sucked in air, momentarily speechless. This was what he couldn’t do, and here he was, standing in the boiling sun in a sparring match with the only person who could help him. A real bitch. Maybe he should walk away. He could find another way.

“Fuck you,” he said harshly. “You know nothing about me. I’m trying to be nice.”

The slightest flash of concern crossed her face. Or maybe he imagined it. How bad did he need her, really? There were a thousand other women he could charm in this town alone.

“Just pointing out the facts,” she said. “Sorry if you don’t want to hear it.”

She folded her arms across her chest and turned to face the door. Her shoulders looked almost fragile under that thin shirt, reminding him of a wounded animal that would bite you before it would let you help it. He wanted to grasp those shoulders, pull her back against his chest, and whisper comforting words in her ears, stroke her hair until she calmed and relaxed.

Which was fucking ridiculous, because she’d just find a way to throw that back in his face, accuse him of trying to manipulate her or some other selfish motive. He could read the anger in her frame, right down to the tense angle of her lovely neck.

*~*~*

PLEASE HELP! This book needs reviews. Load up your friends for a holiday read-fest and knock this one out of the park! And, as ever, a big THANK YOU from Liz!