UPDATE: The winner is…Keri Richards!
*~*~*

Hello all and many thanks for Delilah for having me on her blog.

February is the month of love…and Valentine’s Day, and chocolate!

Did you know there’s a stimulant in chocolate called Theobromine (spell and/or say that twice) a bitter alkaloid found in cocoa and chocolate that affects the central nervous system to release endorphins for pleasure? Incidentally, it’s also the ‘cousin’ to my other favorite stimulant: caffeine. A match made in stimulant heaven.

Sign me up!

In the quaint town of Havenport Rhode Island, the fictional backdrop of my stories, there’s a shop and bakery called Led Zeppoli. In almost all of my stories, I mention the bakery’s famous chocolate croissants and exotic blends of coffee. Caffeine fuels my creative genius…well maybe not genius, but it certainly helps me come up with ideas and stay awake.

Led Zeppoli is a play on words between a certain famous four-member English rock group from the sixties and another decadent treat: the Italian zeppole. Ah yes, the zeppole, a fried dough cookie covered in massive amounts of powdered sugar.

Have you ever tried one? No? Well then get to getting because they are heaven in a greasy bag.

Where I grew up in Staten Island, NY was a popular pizza place called Pizza Town, which was located in walking distance from my high school. Besides the best pizza on the planet, Pizza Town sold zeppole and man, oh, man were they delicious. When you opened the white paper bag the powdered sugar puffed a white cloud of sweet goodness into your face.

Many days after school, I would “hang out” with friends at Pizza Town. It’s where I groused about homework and boys, prom dates, and how much Aquanet we put in our hair. Yes, it was the eighties after all. And it’s where I had many conversations with my high school crush who was tragically unaware of my deep-rooted feelings for him. Incidentally, we are still friends but sadly, the old building that was Pizza Town was torn down years ago.

Good memories, indeed.

What makes you get up and go? Coffee? Tea? Soda? All three have caffeine and I find the older I get the more I need something to help me start my day.

One lucky commenter will be chosen at random
and win a $10 Dunkin gift card.

Rescuing the Ranger

Now onto my latest release: The hero and heroine in my latest story, Rescuing the Ranger are Gabe Preston and Francesca Montefiore. Francesca grew up in Little Italy, NYC and now lives in Havenport and owns the florist shop. She loves the small town, which reminds her of the old neighborhood she left behind. When she volunteers her time to help write letters to the troops, she finds an unexpected connection to Havenport and one sexy, former Army Ranger, Gabe who’s in for a visit. And, when her past comes back to haunt her, Gabe comes to the rescue.

Here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite…

God, she hated making him feel any kind of stress. As much as this connection of theirs felt like a million bucks from the first correspondence, in her heart she knew it would cost him. Getting close to anyone again was dangerous. For him and for her.

How Pete had found her was anyone’s guess.

“Look, Gabe. You said it yourself, you’re decompressing after those tours of duty and I…” She stopped, shaking her head, wanting to warn him away. “I’ll destroy you.”

Her voice broke from exhaustion and worry and…damn it, caring and concern for him stuck in her throat. “My past will eventually annihilate this friendship we’ve built with our letters. It’s best if you don’t get mixed up in it, believe me. That’s one of the reasons I never sent you the email. You don’t deserve it.”

She felt compelled to warn him. Hell, he’d survived war as a Ranger, and she wasn’t about to be the person to bring him harm, not when Adele needed him.

His eyes widened before he let out a cynical laugh.

“You? Destroy me?” He crowded her, pushing her back and against the bedpost. His hands wound around her waist, but she couldn’t look up at him, so she fixated on the perfect vee between his pecks. “That’s not possible. My bike helmet weighs more than you.”

“Not physically,” she whispered. “Here, and here.” Frankie finally glanced up and traced his creased temple with her index finger before flattening her palm on his shirt above his heart. God, he was so solid. It would be easy to lean in and borrow his strength. “I know you went through something traumatic back in Afghanistan. I can tell. Those puckers on your hands feel like burns.” At her words, his face paled. “And, you don’t need more strife.”

He closed his eyes for a second and his jaw locked. “You’re so fucking sweet-natured.” He caressed the side of her cheek. She wanted to melt into his touch.

“Don’t you worry about me, and this isn’t just a friendship. You feel it. Don’t deny it. We’re good together, baby. And believe me, you can’t destroy me. Truth is—you kinda saved me.”

Get your copy of Rescuing the Ranger on Amazon. Available in Kindle Unlimited, too: https://amzn.to/2RstmrF

Have a fantastic February filled with love and lots of chocolate and coffee!

Visit me on social media at:
Nicole S. Patrick website: www.nicolespatrick.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/NicoleSPatrickauthor/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/NicoleSPatrick
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nicoles.patrick/

I am not a fan of Valentine’s Day. I think it forces people to proclaim their affection for others in rather commercial and materialistic ways. I find it ridiculous that we measure someone’s love by how widely they open their wallet on a single day.

Consider these numbers:

• This year, Americans are expected to spend $19.6 billion on Valentine’s Day.
• In 2018, the average consumer spent $143.56 on Valentine’s Day gifts. (Only $5.50 was spent on pets.)
• Approximately 144 million cards will be exchanged on that day.

That’s a pretty large investment in love, but I want to know I am loved 365 days a year.

So it may seem strange that my latest book, The White House Wedding, is considered a Valentine’s Day romance. However, my book focuses more on the intangibles of love, rather than on a holiday that celebrates love.

For me, all the chocolates, flowers, and jewels in the world won’t compensate for a tender kiss, a gentle hug, a whispered, “I love you.” A man who listens, who comforts, who supports, and who encourages is worth far more than truffles and champagne. He is priceless.

I don’t ask for and I don’t expect baubles and treats on Valentine’s Day. In fact, I don’t even want them. They have no real value. A man who feeds my soul, fills my heart, and stimulates my mind is all I need. You can’t buy love—though some may disagree. Love thrives on intangibles. It’s the million little things that wrap your life and your heart in a blanket of kindness, affection, contentedness, and peace.

I have been in love. I have thought I shared true love. I believed my love was everlasting. Only to have my heart shattered into a million pieces, the illusions held in the mirror of my soul obliterated. The anguish that followed was intense. The despair and denial. The utter hopelessness. Then the anger and the urge for revenge. And, finally the acceptance, the acknowledgment that it was time to move on. I can honestly say gifts or the lack thereof have never played a role in the failure of my relationships. The lack of intangibles did.

Because love isn’t a dozen roses on Valentine’s Day. Love just is.

An Interview with Seelie Kay

Q. Why do you write romance?

Because I am fascinated by the games people play to find and secure a lasting relationship, which is not always love. There’s the chase, the courtship, the falling, the surrender. That’s what I try to capture in my stories.

Q. Do you prefer a certain type of romantic hero?

I adore smart, dashing gentlemen who aren’t afraid to live on the edge. They can be a bad boy, a billionaire, a prince, or a secret agent. That hint of danger just hooks me! However, I also love strong, independent women who aren’t afraid to fight for what they want, even love.

Q. Why did you write The White House Wedding?

It was a bit of a romp, really. I wanted to play off all the craziness that is politics and Washington, D.C. The creatures in the great swamp have become so predictable, a story about the political implications and hijinks of a White House wedding just flowed from my pen. Plus, I always found it interesting that a country that intentionally broke away from the monarchy, goes crazy over royal weddings. Admittedly, I am one of them. I won’t get up at 4 a.m. to watch, like so many of my friends, but I will tape a royal wedding and watch it later. And yes, I did seek teacups from Diana’s nuptials. Unfortunately, none were to be found. At least stateside. I imagine once she dumped Prince Charles, their value went up dramatically! Unfortunately, White House weddings are rare and although we go crazy over royal weddings, I doubt things would proceed so smoothly here. Every aspect of the wedding would be dissected and criticized by the media and political opponents, making the wedding itself a pretty negative experience, which is probably so few occur here.

Q. The characters in this book also appeared in The President’s Daughter?

Yes. The President’s Daughter is where the bride’s—Sarah Lee Pearson—story first began. She had been kidnapped at age five and raised by her nanny into her teen years. It was only after the people who raised her were killed in a paper mill explosion that she began to search for other relatives. A chance meeting with a presidential candidate, Jamisen Powell, leads her search in a new direction and she discovers that he is, in fact, her birth father. This is the continuation of that new relationship.

Q. I imagine in this day and age, being the president’s daughter would not be an altogether positive experience.

(Laughs.) As I observe the impact of the Trump presidency on his children, I am exceptionally happy I was never put in that position. It must be a horrible experience. We live in such negative times, a time when people seem to place high value on their ability to shred reputations and destroy people. All of the current chaos puts us one step away from anarchy. In fact, if you think about it, it would be a perfect time for the Monarchy to attempt to reclaim the colonies. We are so busy fighting each other, I question whether we would band together to fight an outside threat. That’s just sad.

Q. How does your former profession as a lawyer impact your writing?

In two ways. First, my knowledge of the legal system permits me to predict the outcome of certain events. Those events have played a key role in some of my stories. Second, my friends say I am obsessed with justice and I guess that’s true. After 30 years, the law and the legal world are so firmly embedded in my brain that I can’t flush them out. That has become the lens through which I view the world and that naturally guides my characters and plots. Injustice infuriates me, but it also leads me to great stories!

The White House Wedding

When politics interferes with love, can love survive?

Getting married isn’t easy when your father’s the President of the United States! After reluctantly agreeing to a White House wedding, Sarah Lee Pearson, the president’s daughter, finds herself swept into a political maelstrom of unimagined proportions.

The White House staff and the first lady see the wedding as a political event, a way to sweep the president into his next term. Congress is complaining about the collateral costs. The media is delightfully rehashing every aspect of Sarah’s life, even those events that have nothing to do with the impending marriage. And the American public? Visions of an American royal wedding have swept them into a frenzy and vendors take advantage, making a quick buck off of everything from limited edition t-shirts to commemorative teacups.

Sarah and her fiancé, Sam, fight hard to ignore the craziness, but after learning a bounty has been put on their heads by an anti-government militia group, they have to decide whether a White House wedding is indeed worth it. And given all the hurtful controversy, perhaps a better solution is to not get married at all.

Excerpt from The White House Wedding…

“How does my father feel about this?” Sarah asked.

“Your father wants you to do what makes you happy.”

Jamisen Powell entered his Chief of Staff’s office and nodded coldly at Jeremiah. He added, “He would never ask you to do otherwise.”

Sarah smiled and rose to kiss her father on the cheek. “Thanks, Dad. I knew you wouldn’t ask me to be a political stool pigeon.”

Jamie Powell chuckled. “No. That job apparently falls to staff.” He smiled at Sarah. “Look, hopefully, you only get married once. Make a memory that will mean the most to you and Sam. Nothing else matters.” He shook his head, “Maybe Jeremiah will get lucky and your sister, Melissa, will hook some poor sucker before the next election. She and her mother would be overjoyed planning a White House wedding.”

Jeremiah scowled. “I am only thinking about your re-election, Mr. President. Your first term has been a bit rocky. You need a solidifying factor, something that will grab the hearts and minds of the American public and provide a clear path into the next term. Your story, a daughter lost and found after twenty-five years, especially a daughter who just happens to be a stellar human being and a successful international law attorney, won their hearts in the first election.

“Walking that same daughter down the aisle, something you had never dreamed was possible? The ratings alone will rival a royal wedding. No offense, but Melissa’s marriage—if it ever happens—could never have the same impact. People don’t view her in the same light as Sarah. Melissa is a flighty socialite. Her deep-seated sense of entitlement offends. The ratings for her wedding would be nonexistent. But Sarah? She’s the golden child. The American public loves her.”

The president’s sapphire blue eyes, which mirrored Sarah’s, flashed with annoyance. “Be that as it may, I am not about to force either of my daughters into something they don’t want. Sarah has declined your request, and as far as I am concerned, that’s the end of it. You will have to find another solidifying factor, Jer. Surely I have done something that’s re-election worthy!”

Buy links:
Publisher: https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2796-2-the-white-house-wedding/
Amazon: TBD
Barnes and Noble: TBD
Kobo: TBD

About Seelie Kay

Seelie Kay is a nom de plume for an award-winning writer, editor, and author with more than 30 years of experience in law, journalism, marketing, and public relations. When Seelie writes about love and lust in the legal world, something kinky is bound to happen! In possession of a wicked pen and an overly inquisitive mind, Ms. Kay is the author of multiple works of fiction, including the Kinky Briefs series, the Feisty Lawyers series, The Garage Dweller, A Touchdown to Remember, The President’s Wife, and The President’s Daughter.

When not spinning her kinky tales, Ms. Kay ghostwrites nonfiction for lawyers and other professionals. She resides in a bucolic exurb outside Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where she shares a home with her son and enjoys opera, gourmet cooking, organic gardening, and an occasional bottle of red wine.

Ms. Kay is an MS warrior and ruthlessly battles the disease on a daily basis. Her message to those diagnosed with MS: Never give up. You define MS, it does not define you!

Author links:
Website: https://www.seeliekay.com
Blog: https://www.seeliekay.blogspot.com
Twitter: @SeelieKay https://twitter.com/SeelieKay
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/seelie.kay.77
Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Seelie-Kay/e/B074RDRWNZ/

Prior Books:
https://www.extasybooks.com/kinky-briefs/
https://www.extasybooks.com/kinky-briefs-too/
https://www.extasybooks.com/kinky-briefs-thrice/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-1734-5-kinky-briefs-quatro/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2023-9-kinky-briefs-cinque/
https://www.extasybooks.com/the-garage-dweller/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-1504-4-a-touchdown-to-remember/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-1795-6-the-presidents-wife/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2263-9-snatching-diana/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2032-1-the-presidents-daughter
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2291-2-infamy/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2349-0-seizing-hope/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2538-8-cult/
https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2658-3-hope/

Thank you, Delilah, for hosting me on your blog today. I’m very excited to be here.

One question I get asked a lot is how I come up with my story ideas. Some are based on experiences, things I see or read, and some are based on my family.

I was so excited when my first book was published. I had worked hard on it with my editor. It was a very proud moment when I saw it on Amazon. It was a time travel romance with a handsome druid knight and modern history professor. Everyone loved the book except one reviewer. I read and re-read the critique and finally realized only a small part of the review was about the story, the rest was a personal attack. Devastated, I spoke to a good friend. A day later I had an email from a very well-published author who talked to me about reviews.

How did I turn that into a story? I used some of that review in the opening to my book Happily Ever After. Well-published author Beth Alexander has fallen off all the list and blames it on a bad review that has gone viral and the new author JD Watson, who has replaced her. She has no idea JD is the man romance covers are made of. He may have been the cause of her fall from literary stardom but only until he became her salvation!

One of my stories is about my brother and his wife. They had been married for ten years when they discovered their marriage had never been registered. Their second wedding was wonderful, but it got me thinking about what I could do with that storyline. You can find Alan and Eloise’s story—yes, I used their real first names—in How to Marry a Stuart Brother.

My most recent story, Heart of the Matter, also comes from a family incident. My mother left me her small bible that was handed down in the family. It had a beautiful mother of pearl cover. I was looking through it and found a letter. It was addressed to my mother but wasn’t in my father’s distinctive handwriting.

This was a story begging to be written. This is truly a love story that just in time for Valentine’s Day.

Heart of the Matter

Digging into the past can be murder…

Addison Moore, a well-known psychiatrist, is having difficulty coming to terms with the death of her grandmother Cookie. The woman was everything to her after her parents died in the plane crash over Lockerbie, Scotland. Little did Addy know that an old picture, tucked away in the family bible of Cookie with a handsome stranger would lead her to a discovery for which she is little prepared.

Ethan Taylor is an art historian. He’s lived with his Great Uncle Ben for a long time and would do anything for him. He never anticipated that Ben’s dying wish would introduce him to Ben’s biggest sacrifice.

Neither Addy nor Ethan are prepared for the lengths at which their families went through to keep Cookie and Ben apart. As they try to put the pieces together, they uncover a decade’s old unsolved murder implicating Cookie and Ben. Will Addy and Ethan’s blossoming love be able to stand the strain of finding the truth? Will they be able to overcome their own matters of the heart?

Excerpt from Heart of the Matter

Havenport, Rhode Island
September, 2019

The dull thud of earth hitting the casket again and again tore at Addy’s heart. Generations of Foxes filled the small family cemetery. Some died well into their old age while others died much before they ever lived, the youngest only nineteen days. Addison Moore looked out over the low wall surrounding the family graves, past the cliff, to the ocean beyond. The beauty of the day and the sailboats gliding across the water was lost on her. Addy gaped at the shovel in her hand then the half-covered casket. A movement to her right made her turn. She faced a lone man standing across the grave, bowed in reverence. She didn’t want to interrupt but couldn’t pull her gaze away. He straightened, raised his head, and she stared into the most compelling gray eyes she’d ever seen. The mingled expression of eagerness and tenderness momentarily blurred her pain, but nothing could ease her grief. Her chest tightened. She struggled for breath against lungs unwilling to operate. Beads of sweat dampened her forehead. Her pounding heart echoed in her ears. Again, she tried to take a breath. Nothing.

“Stay calm. Open your mouth,” the man demanded.

But nothing went in or came out. Breathe, damn it! The silent scream echoed in her head. Her lungs burned for air.

Her eyes flew open. Her breath stuttered. One gasp followed another. Addy gaped at the book in her hand, not quite comprehending what she held. A quick glance at the room and the cobwebs cleared. She was alone. Her body sank deeper into the overstuffed chair. Her tension eased. She took a calming breath and let the life-giving air fill her lungs. Home. Her panic subsided and details of the library came into view. The safety of her family’s old Victorian house, Fox Hole Manor, held her close.

The memory faded until it became a lost dream. Only fragments of the disconnected emotional panic permeated her psyche. She rose and put the psychology book, The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg, in one of the many boxes scattered around the room. The bookcase with several empty shelves stared back at her like a boxer’s smile with several missing teeth. She made progress, slow, but progress nonetheless.

The hint of ginger floating on the dusty air made her turn toward the hall. A smile spread across her face. Her grandmother. Many people would expect a robust woman with gray hair, and perhaps an apron and the aroma of freshly baked apple pie coming from the kitchen. Not Addy’s grandmother, who stood tall, sleek, a well-dressed woman with short light auburn hair streaked with silver, and sporting only a touch of make-up.

“Make sure the shelves are dusted and the floor swept. I don’t want the historical society to think I didn’t keep a clean house. Besides, you never know when company may arrive.”

Everything had a place in Cookie’s house, including the twist ties lined up in the kitchen drawer. The woman kept every book, note, piece of paper, everything. Cookie considered herself organized, not compulsive. More often than not, their ongoing discussion, with examples, brought them both to tears.

Fox Hole Manor was one of the oldest homes on Manor Road, an area where the old guard lived in their grand mansions, an extension of the magnificent estates across the causeway in Newport. The children of each generation found a closeness and a tie that lasted a lifetime. They were civic-minded and politically active, with Havenport at the heart and soul of it all.

All those years ago, Edythe Emerson, of the annual Halloween Masquerade Ball fame, and Cookie rallied the other residents on Manor Road and established the Manor Road Christmas Cookie Exchange. One hundred percent of the proceeds went to the Havenport Historical Society.

Nothing was done small on Manor Road, not even the annual Christmas Cookie Exchange. Cookie and Edythe decided on the themes for their houses and each year added touches and refined the décor. The Emersons decided on an elegant Victorian Christmas. Her grandmother branded her event Cups and Cookies at Cookie’s, which brought peals of laughter from everyone. Her grandmother put her heart and soul into decorating the house and handled this event with the same attention. Each meticulously decorated room on the tour represented a different faith’s winter celebration.

Hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon and pungent ginger cookies greeted each visitor entering the Garden Room. The cups and cookies were always arranged on the table with precision. Yes. Everything had its place. No one would ever accuse her grandmother of a messy house.

The outside of the house, with its welcoming front porch and strategically placed flowerpots in place of railings, was just as important to Cookie as the inside and made Fox Hole Manor at Christmas a mecca for tourists. A must-see stop during the holidays. People came to watch the live deer that magically stayed on the lawn, the 1936 red Cadillac convertible filled with wrapped gifts parked outside the front door in the circular drive, and hear holiday music playing from strategically hidden speakers.

“I’ll make sure everything is neat and clean,” Addy said. “Is there anything else?”

“Concerning yesterday,” Cookie said.

She gave her grandmother a withering glance.

“There’s a finality in shoveling dirt onto the casket. The task takes a lot of love. I’m proud of you. All-in-all, the funeral was well-attended.”

Addy shuddered and searched for her cup of tea without success. “Please find another topic. This one creeps me out.”

Cookie raised a finely shaped eyebrow. “Should we discuss you finding a husband?”

Addy’s eyes welled up.

“So you made a bad choice. Live and learn. I think you should have waited. Neither of you knew each other very long.”

“We lived together for two years. I thought we knew each other very well.”

Another of Cookie’s stares meant to intimidate almost comforted her.

“You came to your senses before the wedding.”

Addie came to her senses a year ago. Her grandmother had it right, as usual. Don’t settle. Wait for the right man.

“It’s time for you to move on. Find your destiny.” Cookie leaned against the door frame. “What’s-his-name was an okay guy. I even liked him until you rushed here and cried in my arms. Afterwards, I pretty much hated him. Has he stopped calling you?”

“Yes,” Addy lied.

Cookie gave her a stink eye.

“Why the evil eye?” she asked, sounding like a high school teenager.

“You are aware Kenneth doesn’t believe the two of you are over. He doesn’t think sleeping with his secretary for the last year of your relationship has anything to do with you. The very obtuse boy thinks you have cold feet, not a cold heart, and doesn’t believe you’ll ever find a better man than him.” Her grandmother’s voice was quiet, but deadly. “I’m holding you to your promise. You’ll wait for the right man. Are you listening to me? Not just any man, not an okay man. The right man. Your destiny.”

Addy nodded. The words were etched in her brain, Cookie said them so often, even well before Kenneth Kendall made it into her diary.

“Was Grandpa Sky the right man?” She could play the deflect game, too.

Cookie smiled one of those wistful smiles loaded with silent meaning, said nothing and headed down the hall.

Addy followed, intent on getting an answer. She entered the kitchen. Empty. Her heart sank. Last Friday’s paper sat on the table next to her cold half-empty cup of tea.

“This is the story of Dr. Jessica Fox Jordan. Jessica was a wonderful woman who was loved, is missed, and will always be cherished. Called “Cookie,” by her only granddaughter, Addison Moore and a privileged few close friends, “Honey,” by her husband Skylar, and Jessie to everyone else, was an amazing wife, mother, grandmother, psychiatrist, and baker of the most amazing cookies. No one could bake a better ginger cookie than Jessica. Attendance at Fox Hole Manor for the Manor Road Christmas Cookie Exchange proves my point. Jessica Fox Jordan was the only child of Madison and Mildred Fox. Madison Fox was the colorful and flamboyant founder of the privately-owned Fox Brewery. Jessica is predeceased by her husband, Skylar; her daughter, Agatha Jordan Moore; and son-in-law, Phillip Moore. She is survived by her granddaughter, Addison Moore.”

The sense of loss hit her hard all over again.

“I miss you, Cookie.” A nervous laugh sounding more like a croak escaped her lips. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

Buy Link: Amazon Kindle Unlimited 

Thank you Delilah for this opportunity to showcase my newest release, Karma’s Slow Burn, about a sports journalist and a pro-ball pitcher turned chef. This incorporates my second and third passions: food and baseball.

This book is out of my hands now and out there, finally! Each time this happens, it is a thrill. Which I why I keep doing it. I’m actually exhausted by the planning and slotting of promos this requires. Which means I’m less inspired to write which in turn pisses me off. Which brings me to the eternal mystery: Why am I doing this?

Ah yes, I bloody love it! Things are quiet now before a new storm of promos hits me early next week. I will be googly-eyed after that. Still grabbing the time here and there to work on my next contemporary romance, the second in my East meets West series, 100 Acres of Separation: The Princess and the Cowboy. The first, Bollywood Blues, is somewhere out there, and I’m waiting for that boomerang to hit me any time now.

I know many of you are seasoned writers comfortable navigating NetGalley and Edelweiss, but I will not be using NetGalley or Edelweiss for my next book. It was a waste of money for me (as an unknown writer) and all stats and testimonials should be taken with a hefty pinch of salt.

Karma’s Slow Burn

Karma’s Slow Burn, only $0.99, new release!
Buy Links:
www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07ZJSZD5X
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/957769

Sportswriter Karma Huntington is going to hit Rafael Henley, star pitcher for the Sliders, hard to avenge her husband’s death. Rafael cannot ignore the chemistry between them and decides a one-night stand is in order. Karma agrees. Just to get that itch off. But once they get into each other’s pants, things get complicated. Revenge and guilt take a back seat with sizzling chemistry in control. Rafael likes willowy blondes and women who don’t look to him as their protector. Yet here is, lusting after the complete opposite: petite, raven-haired, Karma with a rose tat running up her neck. Can Rafael overcome the dark secret he hides and give in to what his heart wants? Will Karma finally admit she needs Rafael?

Excerpt from Karma’s Slow Burn: X-rated

Henley got back the very day the Sliders swept the White Sox. He got in late but Karma heard him anyway. She was reading, her face illuminated by the light from the e-reader. She put it down when she heard the door click. He came in, kicked his shoes off and sat down next to her, sighing deeply. She knew the feeling. He was happy to be home.

“I see you were up to the challenge.” He undid the top four buttons on his shirt and un-tucked it.

If he took his shirt off she was going to scream. Or jump him. It all depended. She was not going to ask him if he had eaten or if he wanted a drink. She was not his maid or his wife. He could very well get anything he wanted from his kitchen.

“Yep, I was. Great trip sweeping the Sox.”

A smile bloomed on his lips. “Indeed it was. Thanks for making it happen.”

“No worries. What are friends for, right?”

“So I’m a friend now?” He stood up and unclipped the cufflinks, pecs flexing, drawing her eyes to them.

“You’re not a lover. And friends cannot be lovers. That’s rule number 5.”

“In what book?”

“In my book of life.”

“What’s rule number 4?”

“You’re not an enemy. Enemies cannot be lovers either.”

He frowned then a smile twitched on his lips. “Hmm. Good to know.”

“Wait a sec! What was the smile all about?”

“Oh, just that I’m not enemy so I can be a lover.”

“No way!”

“That’s what you said. I heard you clearly. You said and I quote, ‘You’re not an enemy. Enemies cannot be lovers.’ I distinctly heard you say it.”

“Yeah so?”

“It means I can be a lover.”

“Yes a lover, just not mine.”

“You will not admit defeat.” He turned away from her. “Going to hit the shower. Be right back.”

His shirt flapped open as he walked away, patches of tanned skin flashing at her, leaving her hungry for more. She knew she should skedaddle out of there while she still could. But she was moored to the sectional, an unusual lethargy invading her limbs. Henley after a shower would be impossible to resist. She was a sucker for challenges and this one had her name written all over it.

Rafael stood in the doorway to the corridor leading to the bedrooms, watching Karma as she stared out into the night, her e-reader by her side. She’d gone way beyond a simple favor. And she’d done it, no questions asked. Karma was beautiful and he wanted her in his life. She was loyal and honest, all five feet nothing of her. From the top of her ebony head, down her luscious body to the tips of her delicate feet, she was in his dreams all the time.

He had to accept it. He had to forget the past. What was done was done. She was gorgeous and brave. He wanted her. He craved her touch. And right now all he wanted was to take her in his arms and make her disappear in them. Kiss her sexy mouth and see her with the lights on. That night had been unforgettable. It was not a one-night thing for him anymore. He had a hunch it wasn’t for her either. Her kiss told him that. He wanted to be buried deep inside her again feel her slick velvet folds clench around him and relieve him of this sweet torture.

He came toward her. She turned her head and watched him approach. He wondered if she was wearing the blue lace thing under the black satin top. Her hair was loose and hung down her back in soft waves. He wanted her body on red satin sheets, black hair fanning out and legs spread out for him to feast upon, her brown eyes watching his every move.

Hot desire welled up in him. His dick thickened. From his towering height, he looked down at her. Gray eyes hit her smoldering dark ones pulsing with black and gold flecks. Wisps of her irresistible scent lit sparks and fanned the embers of his desire into a raging fire so hot he took a step back. It would consume him. He would devour her. She would make him forget who he was.

It was what he craved.

He dropped to his knees by her side.

“I want to break the deal, Karma.” He heard her take in a sharp breath. “What happened was not a one-night stand for me. I dream of you all the time, of burying myself deep in you. I can’t forget that. I want to touch you again. Taste you again. Sweetheart, this is not something I can forget.”

He didn’t know it but the endearment was the third strike against her disintegrating defenses. She fell into his arms. He wrapped them around her and she disappeared.

“Rafe, break it then.” Her voice was a husky whisper.

And the deal was toast.

*~*~*

Fireflies in the Night

Literary Fiction, winner of the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Award; Best Books of 2016 by Kirkus Reviews; Starred Kirkus Review; Finalist Foreword Reviews Indie Fiction Award. A historical, coming-of-age novel.

Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01HZS28CW

The Enemy Within

Literary Fiction; Women’s Fiction

-Profound, Heart-Wrenching Story 4.5 stars, Amazon.com: Recommended for the mind and the soul

– Intense and Beautiful Look at Life, Love and Purpose, 5 stars, Amazon.com: From the familiar of India to the total unfamiliar of Quebec, Canada, where emotionally unsupported by her arrogant, selfish and traditional new husband, Sita must chart a way for herself through the myriad of problems being a different coloured, different cultured immigrant brings.

-Beautiful but heartrending, 5 stars, Amazon.com: …covers a multitude of issues from the iniquity of arranged marriages to the racism inherent in Quebec’s society to the rivalry and jealousy in the academic world.

Buy Link:
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01N6QVRHJ

About the author

Nalini Warriar dreamed of being a writer then forgot the dream for a bit as she went on to garner a Ph.D in Molecular Biology. While in her lab, the dream came back and hit her on the head and she’s never looked back writing through her years as a scientist. After more than a decade in cancer research, Nalini returned to the creative part of her soul and now devotes her time to dreaming up the perfect alpha male and feisty woman to appear in her books. Her novel, Fireflies in the Night, was a Foreword Reviews Fab Award finalist and won the Next Generation Indie Book Award in 2017. Kirkus Reviews awarded Fireflies in the Night a starred review and named it Best Books of 2016. Karma’s Slow Burn, a contemporary romance will be released in February 2020. She’s working on her next romance, a Crenshaw Brothers book, to be released in 2020. She lives in Ontario, Canada.

Author Links:
www.facebook.com/authornaliniwarriar
www.amazon.com/author/naliniwarriar
Twitter: @nwarriar

Psst! Just a reminder that there are three contests still running…
Enter while you can!

So, I’m still buried in “stuff” in my new office area. My desk is still a disaster, but I will tackle that today. In the meantime, my dd is tackling her massive move, ten boxes at a time. She fills boxes at her place, brings them over, puts the stuff away, then takes them back for the next load. Of course, she’s still moving around the furnishings that remained in the house to suit the new arrangement for her children. Since I’m old (**cough**), I’m excused from helping her move her things. But I do things like dishes that need to run through the dishwasher before they’re put away in the cabinets, laundry, etc.—and my workload, since my job still has to be done.

While all that chaos is happening around me, Brian is shaping up. I’m offering you a peek inside the first scene of the book, so you get to meet Brian before he was injured. I hope you like it, and again, if you haven’t already pre-ordered the book, here’s the link: Brian.

I’d love your feedback. I’ll think about offering up an excerpt from Raydeen’s point of view soon as well. Remember, the book releases February 24th!

Brian

MONTANA BOUNTY HUNTERS: Authentic Men… Real Adventures…

Physical Therapist, Raydeen Pickering, has seen her fill of stubborn veterans, some too angry to get on with their lives, some still living in hell in their minds, and some unwilling to let their broken bodies hold them back. She hasn’t figured out which Brian Cobb is yet. The first time she met the handsome, wheelchair-bound man, he was wary and defensive, his gaze always sliding toward the door, looking for a quick escape from the Soldiers’ Sanctuary meetings.

Even now, there’s something about the ex-Army MP, now bounty hunter wrangler, that sets him apart from the other men she’s helped mend. There’s something more–not just the haunted look in his eyes or the still set of his shoulders. The way he looks at her when he thinks her attention is elsewhere gives her hope that she’ll reach him, and that he’ll let her help him regain more of what he’s lost.

First though, he has to figure out he’s in love with the wrong woman. The one he needs is right here, and if she has to do the chasing, so be it, because those looks he gives her have rekindled a fire she thought was lost forever…

Excerpt from Brian…

Sweat trickled down the sides of Brian Cobb’s face. His helmet felt heavy on his head, his pack dragged on his shoulders, and his boots were so hot he was walking in pools of water. The transport vehicles his squad had been promised hadn’t arrived, so they were hoofing it back to camp with half a dozen prisoners chained in a line. Still, their plight was better than the infantry platoon’s they’d left a click back. Once they’d given the ISIS fighters into Military Police custody, they’d headed back to continue their sweep for insurgents hiding inside the village with the unpronounceable name.

“Hey, Corncob,” Private First Class Benny Sanders said as he walked beside him.

“You know I hate that nickname, Sanders,” Brian muttered.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, his smile stretching across his dark face. Benny jerked his chin toward the slender figure striding ahead of the chained prisoners, her dog Tessa walking, unleashed by her side. “I see how you look at her. Are you and she…?”

Brian gave Benny a glare. “No. We’re just friends.”

“She have a boyfriend back in the States or something?”

“No, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Huh. Just thought since you two spend so much time together…”

Brian shook his head. “We’re friends. We hang. That’s all.” Not that he would mind if their friendship grew into something more. He’d had a thing for Jamie Burke since they’d met during their first drill together back in Kalispell, for what felt like eons ago. Jamie was certainly easy on the eyes with her wheat-blonde hair, lightly tanned skin, and golden-brown eyes.

However much he might have wished it otherwise, Jamie had assigned him to the “friend zone”—and because he valued their friendship, he’d never acted upon his attraction. Perhaps once they were back Stateside, he’d work up the courage to ask her out.

He’d played a multitude of scenarios in his mind of how he’d go about doing it without blowing their friendship to hell should she shoot him down. Not one of them felt like the right fit. Sure, they had lots in common—they loved playing basketball and soccer, liked working out, liked animals, were both from western Montana…

Well, maybe they didn’t have that much in common, but they could certainly build on what they shared now. Maybe he needed to figure out what she liked to do outside of the military, what her hobbies were, whether she liked to dance.

He liked to dance. He could imagine asking her out for a beer, just buddies going for a drink together. The music would start up, and he’d hike an eyebrow. She’d give a laugh and say something like, “If you don’t mind me stepping all over your toes,” and he’d lead her to the floor. Once he held her in his arms, maybe then she’d see him as someone she could consider as dating material…

Ahead, Tessa gave a whine and moved away from Jamie, her nose going to the ground as she searched the trail they walked, moving from one side to the other.

They’d left the village and were following a well-traveled trail that led through rocky hills. The area had been cleared of enemy combatants, so they’d been ordered to march the prisoners back. Still, the danger didn’t have to come from a sniper on a hilltop.

Jamie held up her closed fist, and the squad drew to a halt. Brian looked to his left. “Benny, keep an eye out,” he said, indicating the hills behind them.

The squad leader, Sergeant Milligan, strode up to Jamie. “What’s the holdup, Burke?”

“Don’t know yet, Sarge,” she said. “Tessa hasn’t indicated yet.”

Tessa moved ahead of the formation but lifted her nose from the trail and ran back to Jamie, her tail wagging.

Tessa reached down to give her a pat. “Must have had a whiff of something, but I think we’re cool to move on.”

However, Tessa gave another whine and sniffed the air. A moment later, she left Jamie’s side again, this time heading down the row of prisoners toward Brian, her nose to the ground, sniffing the trail then moving slightly off it to Brian’s right. She whined and moved closer to Brian.

Brian glanced around him. Tessa was a trained bomb dog. An IED might be nearby. But where? The rocky outcropping beside him caught his eye.

“Cobb!” Benny whispered.

He turned to glance at Benny, whose eyes were large. He tilted his head toward a hillside in the distance. Brian didn’t glance at it directly. “You see something?”

“A glint. Then some movement. Might be one tango.”

Brian had a bad feeling. “Jamie, call your dog back,” he said, keeping his voice natural, “I think we’ve got company.”

Sergeant Milligan began moving his way. Brian smiled and shook his head, trying to act like his heart wasn’t racing and his stomach hadn’t dropped to his boots. “Better keep back, Sarge,” he said, keeping his tone carefree. “I think there’s an IED in the rocks beside me, and Benny spotted movement at your three o’clock.”

The sergeant’s gaze betrayed his concern. “We have his buddies chained in a line. Maybe he actually gives a shit about them. How about you move forward, Cobb? Sanders,” he said, calling out to Benny, giving them both a strained smile. “You move, too. Get his friends between you and him. But move slow and natural. Don’t let him know we know he’s there.”

Although every one of the squad members was aware of the threat, they began to patter.

“Man, I can’t wait to get back to my bunk. Mama sent brownies. Got a few left.”

“No, you don’t, Packer. I snuck the last one when you were showering.”

“Shithead, you better not have.”

“Hey, Tessa,” Jamie called to her dog, indicating with a finger toward the ground that Tessa should move back to her side.

The dog ran back, turned in a neat circle, and sat beside her feet. Jamie’s gaze went to Brian. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her gaze shifted toward the rocks as she said, “Brian, you and I have a rematch to play against Pike and Sherman. Better hurry your ass up.”

Brian gave her a crooked grin, took a deep breath, and stepped out.

A shot sounded, and Benny dropped to his knees, his head sagging toward his chest.

Brian took another step, but sound exploded then went suddenly muffled. He felt something hammer against his lower body, felt searing pain, then he was flying, everything moving in slow motion, clumps of dirt and flares of fire, tumbling head over heels until he dropped with a sickening thud on the trail.

He couldn’t hear voices, but he saw movement—Sergeant Milligan pointing toward the hill and signaling for two men to move out and engage with the sniper; Pike kneeling beside Benny, who still knelt on his knees, blood gurgling from his chest.

Jamie’s face entered his vision. Tears filled her eyes.

“I’m okay,” he shouted, then pointed at his ears. “Can’t hear though. And I’m feelin’ a little…dizzy.” Okay, a lot, but he didn’t want to worry her.

Sergeant Milligan knelt beside Jamie, talking into his radio. Someone else moved to the opposite side of him…Kinsey, the medic. His back was to Brian as he leaned over his body.

Brian tried to get up on his elbows to tell him the problem wasn’t with his legs; it was with his head. He couldn’t hear, but then he glanced downward, past Kinsey.

His boots were gone. Then he realized…so were the feet that had been sweating inside them.

He drew a deep breath and glanced up at Jamie.

She was mouthing words he couldn’t hear, cupping his cheeks. When she bent and kissed his cheek, he knew he was dead. “I’m not fucking dying,” he tried to shout, but he knew it came out a whisper because he was weakening, barely able to keep his eyes open.

The wind pulsed against his face, and he opened his eyes, saw the helicopter above, a fiery trail of rounds blasting toward the hill before it wobbled in the air then settled on the sand beside the trail.

He raised a hand to point toward Benny. “Him first,” he said, glancing sideways, but Benny was no longer kneeling. He lay with his eyes open, staring up at the cloudless blue sky.

Kinsey moved away, and Brian glanced down. Tourniquets were on his legs, below his knees. He glanced at Jamie. “They find my boots?”

Her face crumpled, and Tessa wiggled her way in between Jamie and Sergeant Milligan. Her tongue lapped at his cheek. Her cold, wet nose nuzzled his ear.

Any other time, he would have pushed her away, but Brian no longer had the strength. “Hey…they find my boots?”

Thanks so much for welcoming me to your blog, Delilah. I always enjoy visiting! I’d like to share my inspiration for writing the Dr. Brogan Corkie Matchmaking Doctor series.

I’m so excited to introduce a new series — Dr. Brogan Corkie Matchmaking Doctor. I’ve been busy working on this series for the past year. I originally had the idea for this story two years ago. I’m a physician, and I work at an Urgent Care Clinic. I frequently see patients with infectious illnesses and advise them to stay home from school or work until they’re no longer contagious. Sometimes, it’s difficult for working parents to find care for their sick children — often they just can’t take a day off, and it’s nearly impossible to find a caregiver willing to look after a child who is ill. It also isn’t easy for someone living on their own to cope when they don’t feel well. I thought caring for the sick when they are temporarily ill would make a great job for a retired doctor, since a doctor wouldn’t be daunted by the illness.

That’s how Dr. Brogan Corkie’s character was born. Initially, I was going to have her look after the sick in their homes, and then bring two people together in that context. But when I started writing, I ended up giving Brogan a hobby — she enjoys cooking and catering for people and that became her second career. She uses her cooking know-how, her medical knowledge — and her matchmaking skills — to care for other people. I “upgraded” her M.D. from Medical Doctor to Matchmaking Doctor. Brogan is the romantic catalyst — she brings couples together and then through good advice and a warm heart she weaves her magic to make love happen. And throughout the series, Brogan’s own heart gets tangled up in romance, too! Medicine — it truly is a work of heart.

Don’t Drop the Baby
(Dr. Brogan Corkie Matchmaking Doctor Book 1)

Genre: Medical Romantic Comedy
Rating: PG

Dr. Brogan Corkie is happily semi-retired from medicine and now has time for other hobbies. Her passion for food is only second to her skill at matchmaking!

Ross Skye, owner of BabyCare, a high-end line of baby merchandise, is injured in an accident, and Brogan uses her cooking, medical — and matchmaking — skills to help him out. Dr. Lauren Kane is taking care of her nephew for two weeks, and Brogan agrees to babysit while Lauren is at work.

Two years ago, Ross and Lauren dated. At that time, Lauren wanted kids, but Ross wasn’t keen. Now the tables have turned, and Ross is trying to convince Lauren that they’d make an awesome parenting team. Brogan suggests they test-drive parenthood by looking after a simulated baby for a week — a computerized version that eats, sleeps, wets, and cries. Ross and Lauren experience the “joy” of having a newborn firsthand, and the bar is set pretty low. Their first goal is: don’t drop the baby. The second goal is to find out if their love for each other will survive the test of…parenting.

Excerpt Don’t Drop the Baby

Lauren picked up her phone on the first ring.

“Hey Lauren, it’s Ross.”

“Hello, Ross.”

Aloof and frosty. She must not have his name stored anymore or she wouldn’t have answered the phone. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

Ross winced. So far, so terrible. He jumped right to the chase. “Brogan mentioned that you’re taking Joey to her house this afternoon. I wondered if you’d consider changing your plans and bring him here instead.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I?”

“They delivered some of the new merch from BabyCare, and I’d love to see how Joey reacts to it. He’s the perfect demographic.”

Silence. “Ross, you have a whole team of researchers and developers. I’m sure any product sent to you has already had extensive testing. I can’t see how my nephew’s reaction to it is going to make one iota of difference.”

His jaw dropped. He was glad she wasn’t in the room with him to see it. “Joey’s your nephew?”

She sighed. “Ross, what is this really about?”

“I didn’t realize Joey was your nephew.” His brain couldn’t get past this simple fact.

“Not that it’s any of your business. Are we done here?”

This was going nowhere fast. He decided to come clean. “Actually, Lauren, I’m asking as a favour.” His voice was sombre. “Since the accident, I’ve had trouble sleeping. I wake up with flashbacks.” It was hard to admit. “The only restful sleep I’ve had was when I fell asleep holding Joey, so I wanted to try it again.”

“So you can patent it?”

He grinned reluctantly. “I wish I could.”

“Eventually you’re going to have to deal with the demons, you know. You can’t just hire out a baby.”

“Maybe I’m rethinking having my own.” As soon as the words came out, he regretted it. “I’m sorry. I’m making a mess of this. Blame it on the lack of sleep. I know this is a temporary solution, but I’m desperate. Please Lauren. Could we just try? I have a roomful of BabyCare merchandise that I’d be happy to give you in exchange. You could take your pick.”

“My sister does love your stuff.” The grudging reluctance in her voice gave him a glimmer of hope. “Is Brogan okay with this?”

“Yes. And I promise, if he doesn’t settle with me, then Brogan can take him home.”

She sighed. “All right. As long as he’s happy and gets his sleep, I’m okay with it.”

“Thanks Lauren, I appreciate it.”

“Be good to him, Ross. I’m trusting you.”

“Of course. I’ll treat him like he’s my own.”

“Wasn’t that part of the problem?”

“Good point. I’ll treat him like he’s a pair of 100-level tickets to a Stanley Cup final game.”

Lauren laughed. “We’ll be there in half an hour.”

Buy link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0847SFBFV

About the Author

Award-winning author Linda O’Connor started writing romantic comedies when she needed a creative outlet other than subtly rearranging the displays at a local home décor store. Her books have enjoyed bestseller status. When not writing, she’s a physician at an Urgent Care Clinic. She shares her medical knowledge in fast-paced, well-written, sexy romances — with an unexpected twist. Her favourite prescription to write? Laugh every day. Love every minute.

Social Media ~
Website https://www.lindaoconnor.net
Twitter https://twitter.com/LindaOConnor98
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/LindaOConnorAuthor
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/795688.Linda_O_Connor
Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/Linda-OConnor/e/B00S7CNLEA

By her 21st birthday, Jessica had completed two years of college, put 1,685 miles between herself and her family, got married, started work in a federal prison, got pregnant, and obtained an (illegal) abortion. That should have been enough adventure for any intelligent, well-raised young lady.

But Jess was just getting started.

Not that her seven years with Parker Grant came without sacrifices:

Excerpt…

More than anything, I wanted this to be his plan, not mine. Such a proposal belonged to men and I was well aware I was violating time-honored courtship norms. But I had waited all my life for a man to take the initiative, make me feel loved. I longed for him to sweep me up in his arms, tell me he couldn’t live without me, and get down on one knee to reveal the diamond ring that symbolized his promise. Whisk me away to be his wife forever.

My failure as a woman meant I would never have that.

His response, after a period of quiet pondering, came in a soft, stern voice. “I won’t have a wife who smokes.”

A flush swept up my neck. How could he agree to get engaged and criticize me in the same breath? Was this an excuse for saying no?

I stuffed away hurt feelings, not seeing far enough ahead to recognize the harness he was slipping over me. At the time, I prided myself on my ability to be whatever anyone required me to be. But then, what choice did I have?

“Okay! No problem,” I chirped. “No more cigarettes.”

*~*~*

And its rewards:

Excerpt…

At our southernmost destination, we checked into a resort nestled in the midst of tangled forest that curled down to the banks of the Pagsanhan River. In the resort’s sprawling dining room, open to jungle fringing the sides of its big vaulted roof, we sat around a huge fire pit to drink rice wine, feast on chicken adobo with rice, and exclaim over the custard of soft coconut they served for dessert.

A routine for the tourists included dancing the native “tiningaling.” First the demonstration: held close to the floor, two long bamboo poles were rhythmically clacked together and apart while trained dancers performed a series of jumps in and out of the poles. The tourists were expected to try their luck at this, and with the help of more rice wine, Parker and I managed to jump at the right time to avoid having our ankles whacked.

After the festivities and giddy on wine, we left the common hall and retired to our tiny room with its one window looking out into darkening emerald night.

I stood at the window. “How do people live out here, without telephones or television, without roads?”

“They probably have a lot of sex,” he muttered, coming up behind me and running his hands over my hips.

“You’re twisted.” I laughed as he pulled at my clothes.

“In all the right ways,” he laughed back.

We finished undressing each other and fell groaning into the bed.

“I love you, Parker,” I said later. My head rested on his chest, both of us sweaty from our bout of lovemaking.

“I love you, too, Jess.”

I meant it. I felt joyous in the experience of honest affection for him. I felt cared for, protected. Somehow things were right. We made love again, drawing out the embraces until the Filipino maid knocked with towels and halting instruction that the electricity and water shut off from ten p.m. until six a.m.

Looking back fifty years to tell her story, Jessica struggled with concerns about how to avoid hurting people who had been part of her journey. About how to avoid tarnishing her modern-day reputation and the lives of her grown children. More than once as editor and publisher of Jessica’s story, I (Liz Ashworth) questioned whether it would all be worth the effort.

Not many young women today appreciate the obstacles facing women of the late 1960s and early ’70s. So many things taken for granted in 2020 were mountains not yet climbed fifty years ago. And who among readers today want to delve into the torment of that era?

Jessica was driven to tell her story, and I’m glad I helped her. It was an emotional experience for both of us. No matter whether the book becomes a bestseller or even sells one copy, Jessica has satisfied herself that her story is told, that the love, despair, guilt, and frustrations she experienced are preserved as a testimony to life in those times. This is one woman’s story in the framework of her relationship with Parker Grant.

About Jessica

When I was nineteen, I longed to be a writer. Actually, I was a writer, winning awards in high school for poetry and essays. But what I slowly came to realize was, I had no life experience. So you could say that I started living my life in a way that gave me something to write about.

My memoir chronicles seven years of that fully-lived life. From age 18 to 25, I saw some of the world and a lot of adventure, what would later become poignant memories of a man and the times we shared. Now as the fire crackles in the stove and wind howls at the window, I can sit back in my comfortable chair and smile at the story I have written.

But it wasn’t just me writing it. I enlisted the help of my friend, Lizzie Ashworth, to put this story together and make it come to life. I can’t thank her enough!

Ebook buy link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08121M6VZ
READ FREE! On Kindle Unlimited