Tuesday's Featured Author (11/12/13)

Sea Glass Island

(Ocean Breeze #3)

by

Sherryl Woods

 

With her two younger sisters heading for the altar, will Samantha Castle exchange old dreams for new ones? Lately she'd rather be on the North Carolina coast with family than in New York with agents and actors. Though she vows not to let her teenage crush on Ethan Cole influence her decision, it's hard to ignore her feelings for the local war hero.

Ethan lost more than his leg in Afghanistan. He lost his belief in love. Even being surrounded by couples intent on capturing happily-ever-after won't open this jaded doctor's heart. It's going to take a sexy, determined woman—one who won't take no for an answer.

 Preview Excerpt

Samantha plunged a spoon into a pint of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia, then sighed as the decadent ice cream melted in her mouth. Guilty pleasures like this were about all that kept her going these days. With enough Ben & Jerry's came hope that her acting career would pick up. A positive attitude had helped her to weather tough times in the past, after all.

It was getting harder and harder to believe, though. The silence of her phone lately had been deafening. In late spring, she'd had a minor role in a prime-time TV show that filmed in New York, but it hadn't led to other opportunities despite the enthusiasm of the director and the producers. Fall season shows were back in production, but she'd received none of the promised job offers, not even for bit parts.

She hadn't had a single callback for a commercial in weeks. If it weren't for her job as a hostess at a high-priced Upper East Side restaurant, she'd be in the most serious financial trouble she'd faced since coming to New York over fifteen years ago. Even with that, she'd had to dip into her savings already.

Though her sister Gabriella had mounted a terrific PR buzz campaign for her back in the spring, its effects had worn off in weeks, rather than months, and now, once again, she was struggling. She'd worn out her list of contacts. But with everything going on in Gabi's life these days, Samantha hadn't felt she could ask for more free publicity assistance. Gabi was adjusting to being a single mom and trying to work things out with the very patient man in her life, who'd agreed to postpone their own wedding until after their sister Emily's in a few weeks.

Ever the optimist, Samantha had survived discouraging times more than once since arriving in New York just out of high school as a fresh-faced girl with stars in her eyes. This dry spell, however, was the worst she could recall. More disturbing was that now it came with pitying looks from other actresses up for the same roles. Her once exuberant, supportive agent had started dodging her calls, then parted ways with her. His replacement, though enthusiastic, hadn't gotten promising results.

Samantha had been in New York long enough to read the handwriting on the wall. She was thirty-five, and while still beautiful, she was past her prime. Parts that once would have been hers for the asking were now going to women in their early twenties. It didn't seem to matter that the casting call was for someone her age, or even older. At the same time, she wasn't quite old enough for the burgeoning niche for older actresses. There wasn't enough optimism in the universe to counter that harsh reality.

When her phone rang, she lunged for it, which told her just how desperate she'd become. She didn't like the feeling.

"Samantha, hey. I'm so glad I caught you," her youngest sister, Emily, said, as if finding her at home was a rarity, rather than commonplace these days. "We need to talk. Now that Gabi's had her baby, it's time to get serious about my wedding. It's just around the corner."

Despite her generally sour mood, Samantha smiled. "Does Boone have any idea you weren't always serious about the wedding?" she quipped. "Remind me, when is it again? Sometime next year?"

"Very funny. It's less than a month away."
"That soon?" Samantha teased.
"Soon? This has been forever in the making. How long were Boone and I apart? Years and years. We need to make up for lost time."

The excitement in Emily's voice was wonderful to hear, Samantha thought, trying not to envy her. She and Boone did deserve this long-delayed happiness.

"When are you coming to North Carolina?" Emily prodded. "You have to have another dress fitting, not that you ever gain an ounce. It's more of a show of solidarity with Gabi, who's still fighting baby weight. And there's the bridal shower Grandmother and Gabi are throwing, then the rehearsal dinner. I'm thinking we need a bachelorette night, just us girls. I want you here for every minute. This is going to be the absolute best summer the Castle sisters have ever had in Sand Castle Bay."

"I wouldn't miss any of it," Samantha assured her. "After all, wasn't I the one who predicted last August that you and Boone were going to get back together?"

"Yes, you demonstrated amazing insight, but it wouldn't be the first time that some irresistible part came through at the last second and you bailed on me. My college graduation comes to mind."

"Well, there's no way I'd bail on your wedding," Sa-mantha reassured her. The likelihood of a plum role being offered was abysmally small. Besides, she'd never let Emily down after promising to be her maid of honor. The fact that Emily had even asked had come as a surprise. Their relationship had been tainted by some kind of sibling rivalry she'd never understood, but her sister seemed to be sincerely trying to leave that in the past.

"I'm driving south the day after tomorrow," she told Emily, not mentioning that the wedding was providing the perfect excuse to leave New York behind during these depressing dog days of summer. "I'll be there to do whatever you need."
"Are you bringing What's-his-face with you? The guy from the network or the producer? I lose track."
"Truthfully, so do I," Samantha admitted. "There's no one I'd want around for an occasion as important as my little sister's wedding."
There was a faint hesitation on the other end of the line and then Emily asked slyly, "Not even Ethan Cole?"

Samantha's heart did a predictable little stutter step. "Why on earth would you bring up Ethan? He's ancient history. Not even history, come to think of it. He never even knew I existed back in the day."

"Aha!" Emily said triumphantly. "You do still have feelings for him. I told Gabi you did. She thinks so, too. Our powers of observation are every bit as good as yours when it comes to romance."
"And you got that from my asking why you mentioned him?" Samantha inquired irritably, hating any possibility that at her age she could be wearing her heart on her sleeve for anyone to detect. Especially when the man in question probably wouldn't even recognize her if their paths crossed.
"I got that from your wearing his old football jersey around the house the whole time you were home after the hurricane last summer," Emily responded. "And, amazingly, it disappeared after you went back to New York. I'll bet it's in your closet up there right this minute."

"It is not," Samantha retorted, glancing down at the gold-and-green jersey she was currently wearing. So what if she still harbored a not-so-secret crush on the star quarterback from the high school? Three years older and surrounded by throngs of local girls, Ethan had never once noticed her back then. She was a summer kid, not even a blip on his radar. She seriously doubted he'd discovered deep feelings in the intervening years just from spotting her in some detergent commercial, and that was even assuming he knew it was her.

"You know he never married," Emily said casually. "And he and Boone play golf together. Boone's asked him to be in the wedding."
Samantha's stupid heart did another of those annoying little telltale hop, skip and jumps. "Not on my account, I hope."
"Of course not," Emily said. "But he is Boone's best man, which means you'll be seeing a lot of him."
Samantha groaned. She'd expected this sort of matchmaking from her grandmother, who'd actively campaigned to see that Emily and Boone were reunited and had done her share of manipulating to see that Gabi wound up with Wade Johnson. Samantha had been certain, though, that Cora Jane would show a little more respect for Samantha's ability to find her own man. Then, again, there wasn't much evidence that Samantha had made any particularly good choices up to now. The men she'd dated had been seriously lacking in staying power.
"Did Grandmother put you up to this?" she asked testily.

"Up to what?" Emily replied innocently. "I told you, Boone and Ethan have been friends forever. Their families go way back. It makes perfect sense that he'd want Ethan in the wedding."

"I suppose," Samantha conceded.

"Gotta run. I love you," Emily said. "See you soon."

"See you soon," Samantha echoed.

Suddenly going back to Sand Castle Bay for her sister's wedding had gotten a lot more interesting…and maybe just a little dangerous.
Gabi held Daniella Jane in her arms, rocking her gently as she studied the color in Emily's cheeks.
"Well, did you find out whatever it was you wanted to know when you spoke to Samantha?" she asked.
"Oh, Samantha still has it bad for Ethan, all right," Emily replied with a smirk.
"Which means you intend to meddle," Gabi guessed.
"Well, why not?" Emily inquired, reaching to take the baby from Gabi's arms and cooing to her. "Grandmother does it all the time."

"And gets away with it because she's Cora Jane and we love and respect her," Gabi reminded her. "You and Samantha haven't always seen eye-to-eye on things, not that I've ever understood why that is."

Emily made a face that had the baby gurgling with what could have been delight…or a dire portent of something else entirely.

"I know that's all on me," Emily admitted. "And the worst part is that I honestly don't remember when it started. If I was going to feel this competitive nonsense, it should have been with you. We're the driven, ambitious ones. Or at least you were until you turned all mellow and had this beautiful baby. She's the one and only thing good to come out of your relationship with Paul the slimebag. Now you've fallen madly in love with Wade, and as much as it pains me to see, now you're just plain sappy."

"Hey, I have a thriving art gallery with a dozen temperamental artists working on-site. I'm trying to turn that into a tourist destination," Gabi protested. "I haven't exactly slacked off. I just redirected my goals."
"Yeah, yeah," Emily said. "You're missing my point. I can't figure out why I've always had this thing with Samantha, but I honestly do want to put it behind us. It's past time. I don't want any of those old lingering feelings to spoil what should be the happiest time of my life."
"Amen to that, and asking her to be your maid of honor was a really sweet gesture," Gabi said. "I know how much she appreciated it."
"It doesn't exactly make up for the way I've treated her over the years, as if her sole role in life was to annoy me." She tickled Daniella, then grinned as the baby squirmed. "Lordy, but she's cute. I think I want one."

Gabi laughed. "I have a hunch Boone will be more than willing to cooperate, but you might want to get this wedding behind you first."

"First, Boone and I have to be in the same place at the same time if we're going to make a baby," Emily grumbled. "He's checking in on all his restaurants on his way here from Los Angeles."

"So you'll be apart how long? A whole twenty-four hours?" Gabi teased.
"Two days actually," Emily replied with a dramatic sigh.
Gabi laughed. "You are pathetic. You were apart for years before you reconciled. Even after you got back together, your work kept you in different cities for quite a while."

"And now I'm spoiled," Emily conceded. "With Boone in Los Angeles with me while I work on those safe houses for abused women and families, I've discovered just how amazing living together can be. I had no idea I'd adapt so quickly to having someone in my life 24/7. Add in B.J. and instant motherhood, and it's been the most incredible few months ever."

"It really is wonderful to see you so ecstatically happy," Gabi told her. "It's great that you and B.J. formed this immediate bond. Not every stepmother is so lucky."
"Believe me, I've heard the stories," Emily said. "How about you? I can see what a contented mom you are, but what's the scoop with you and Wade? Why hasn't he moved in here?"
"As broad-minded as Cora Jane may be, I don't think I want to test her limits by suggesting that my boyfriend and I live together under her roof. Wade and I are committed to working things out. That's enough for now."

"You're really happy?" Emily asked, studying her worriedly. "Staying here in Sand Castle Bay is what you want? And the gallery's enough for you?"

"I have more than a job here, Em. I have family and a wonderful man and that little munchkin you're holding. My life is full. I don't need a ring on my finger just yet. I certainly don't need to go back to the stressful, demanding life I was leading in Raleigh. Besides, I think Dad would stroke out if I hit him with another wedding bill right now. You haven't been here when Grandmother's handed over the invoices for yours. Poor Dad's just grasping the reality that weddings don't come cheap, especially with a daughter who has very expensive taste."
"Hey, I'm not the one who insisted on inviting half the state of North Carolina. You can thank Dad and Grandmother for that. Boone and I would have been content with family and a few friends."
"So you say now," Gabi said, "but I never heard you putting up much of a fuss as the guest list grew and grew and started to include half of Los Angeles."
"Well, it is what it is now," Emily said blithely. "Let's get back to Samantha. Any idea what's going on with her? She didn't sound all that happy when we spoke just now. Is her career faltering again?"
Gabi winced. "I'm ashamed to say I haven't given it much thought. I've been a little distracted lately."
"Understandable," Emily said. "She hasn't asked for your PR help, has she?"
"No, but she wouldn't. I had to badger her into letting me help a few months ago. It seemed to be effective, so I guess I just assumed that things kept on snowballing. In a good way, that is. That's how it is sometimes, one job leads to another, but I shouldn't have taken that for granted. I should have asked," she said, feeling guilty.
"Why? Not everything is up to you to fix," Emily said, an oddly defensive note in her voice. "If Samantha wanted help, she could have said something. That's her way, though. She just suffers in silence, then resents it when nobody jumps in to save the day."
Gabi regarded her younger sister with dismay. "That's not true, Emily. Samantha's not like that. Why would you even say something so cruel?"

Emily looked taken aback by Gabi's vehemence, then buried her face in her hands. "Because I'm mean and spiteful," she said in a small voice, then lifted her gaze to meet Gabi's. "What is the matter with me? I always see the worst in her, even when she's done nothing wrong."

"It's times like this when I really wish Mom were still around," Gabi said softly.

Emily blinked back instant tears at the unexpected reference to their mother, who'd died several years ago. "What does Mom have to do with this?"
"Maybe she would understand why you have this attitude toward our big sister. Dad certainly wouldn't have any idea. He was oblivious to everything going on at home when we were growing up. I doubt Grandmother was with us enough in the early years before Mom died to know the root of the problems between the two of you."

Emily sighed. "And it's increasingly obvious that it isn't something I can just wish away. These careless, hurtful words just pop out of my mouth sometimes, and I have no idea why."

"Then dig deeper and figure it out," Gabi advised. "You and Samantha both mean the world to me, and I don't want to be caught in the middle. I want us to be sisters, in every positive, loving sense of the word, okay? In fact, in my dream scenario, you and Boone eventually settle back here and Samantha marries a local, too, and we all live blocks apart so our kids can grow up together."

 

Author of more than 100 romance and mystery novels. In addition to her more than 75 romances for Silhouette Desire and Special Edition, she has written thirteen mysteries — nine in the Amanda Roberts series and four in the Molly DeWitt series.








You can find Sheryl on her website or on her facebook page, she loves to hear from her fans.

 You can buy a copy of Sea Glass Island from these bookstores

Release date

(May 28, 2013)

My rating 

5 stars

 My Review 

 

Monday's Featured Sleep Over Novel (11/11/13)

The Vampire Next Door

(Strange Neighbors #3)

by

Ashlyn Chase

 

Room for Rent: Normal need not apply

This old Boston brownstone is not known for quiet living...first the shapeshifter meets his nurse, then the werewolf falls for his sassy lawyer, but now the vampire is looking for love with a witch who'se afraid of the dark...and you thought your neighbors had issues!

Undead Sly is content playing vigilante vampire, keeping the neighborhood safe from human criminals, until Morgaine moves in upstairs. Suddenly he finds himself weak with desire, which isn't a good place for a vampire to be. And Morgaine isn't exactly without her own issues -- will the two of them be able to get past their deepest fears before their chance at "normal" slips away...








 

 Preview Excerpt 

Sly Flores overheard an argument emanating from a nearby alley. His inner vigilante vampire paid attention. Creeping closer, but using the long shadows to hide his presence, he watched and listened.

"You take that back!"

"Fuck you, I will not."

Sly crept closer to get a better look at the happy couple. The guy wore a leather coat and expensive sneakers. A hat created shadows that obscured his facial features.

A roar and then a scuffle ensued. Sly wasn't sure who threw the first punch, but it didn't matter. The woman was taking a brutal beating. He didn't care what she'd said or done... nobody deserved that.

She fell, and the man kicked her. Just as he was about to kick her a second time, Sly's fangs extended and he flew out from his hiding place. He grabbed the guy by his leather collar and lunged for the thick neck in front of him.

Instead of sinking his fangs into the brute's carotid artery, Sly encountered something rock hard and unyielding. He tried to pull back, but one of his fangs was caught. He tried to retract them, but something cold and hard hit his gums first.

The woman shrieked.

Sly shoved the guy with all his might. Something popped and fell to the ground, making a "ching" noise. The jerk stumbled several feet away before catching himself.

Searing pain hit Sly's gums like a hot poker used as a dental tool. Shit! Fuck! Ow, dammit! He'd never experienced this kind of pain-even the time he was caught in the sun. Fortunately, his friend Konrad had thrown his big coat over him just before he thought he might burst into flames.

As Sly held his jaw and hopped around, the couple recovered from their shock and took off. They charged down the alley to the main street.
Ordinarily, when he was hurt, his incredible healing powers took over and whatever was wounded would be on the mend by now. Why wasn't the pain stopping?
Sly stooped to pick up the item that had fallen. A thick neck-chain draped over his hand. It looked gold on the outside, but where the links joined, he saw something white glinting through.
Silver!

The enemy of every vampire he'd ever heard of. Dracula himself probably couldn't escape its blistering damage. Sly fell to the pavement, curled into a fetal position, and rolled back and forth.

Just my luck to get a rapper whose bling was a knockoff.
***
Morgaine opened her door the moment Sly knocked. She might have been standing there because she'd sensed someone coming to see her. Psychics were fun that way.
"Hi, Morgaine, uh..."
His throbbing fang distracted him so much that Sly hadn't looked up to see her face yet. When he did, he was met with an intriguing surprise. The woman he thought would be dressed in black with long, black hair, and wearing heavy black eye makeup and red lipstick, almost looked like a different person. He had to blink and look again to be sure she was indeed the witch he was looking for.
She smiled. Her face seemed softer with glowing skin, pink lips, and golden hair falling around her shoulders. Her dress was a dark shade of purple. Maybe something called plum.
A few moments passed before he realized he hadn't finished his sentence and was staring at her.
"Sly? Is there something I can do for you?"
He recovered and said, "Uh, yeah. There ith. Can I come in?"

She tipped her head. "I invited you in years ago, didn't I?"

"Yeth. But if you'd rather not-"

"Don't be silly. Of course you can come in. I was just wondering if you thought vampires needed to be invited in again after a certain amount of time passed."

"Like an ecthperathion date? No. Even if there wath one, I'd knock and athk. I'm not rude, you know."
Her lips twitched in a smirk. He realized she'd noticed his lisp and she too was trying not to be rude.
"I know that. Please come in." She stepped aside.
He strolled in and admired her apartment. A far cry from his secret lair in the basement, hers was a bright and cozy place with a slipcovered couch, a rocking chair, and a trunk for a coffee table. Its only decoration was a glass dish holding some colorful rocks and crystals.
Lit candles graced the fireplace, making the lavender room glow. Wind chimes he'd heard during summer months hung silent in the window, which was closed against the chilly night air.
"You mutht like thith color." He indicated her dress and the walls.
"Yes, plum is my favorite shade of purple, and purple is my favorite color."
"Plum, huh? Ith pretty on you." He meant it.

He didn't often compliment people, not that he didn't appreciate a good-looking woman, but ever since his wife had died and left him a widower twenty-six years earlier, he'd had no interest in starting up a relationship with somebody else. It wouldn't be fair to let a woman think she'd be able to replace his late wife, so he avoided giving anyone the wrong idea. Morgaine had no such illusions though, so he felt safe telling her he'd noticed her attractive change.

"I had a makeover. Roz took me to a school for aspiring cosmetologists. It took them all evening to get the black dye out of my hair and recolor it to match my natural shade."
"Tho you're a natural blonde?"
"I guess so. My hair hasn't been natural for about thirteen years, but I don't notice a big difference at the roots now that it's growing out."
He wandered around the apartment, scanning the new-age books on her shelves and noticing how neat she kept the place. "You mutht have gotten into the goth thing a long time ago."
"Yeah, you could say I was the high-school weirdo."
He smiled. "We were all weird in high thchool."
She grinned back. "Have a seat. Can I get you some tea?"
"No, thanks. I came to athk you for thum magical help."

"You want me to heal your fang?"

"Yeth." He sat on the comfortable flowered sofa. "Did your thycic ability tell you what happened?"
"No, your lisp did." She giggled and sat next to him.
Man, she's pretty when she smiles.
"Let me see." She scooted closer, and he opened his mouth.
Her gentle, warm fingers pushed his upper lip out of the way as she examined his mouth. Her own lips were slightly parted as she studied his injured fang thoroughly. Her breath was pleasant. Minty, as if she'd just brushed her teeth. He could lean in and capture those sweet pink lips in his and... Whoa. What was happening?
"Does it hurt?"
"Like a mutha. I have a metallic tasthte in my mouth too."
"I can see why you wouldn't be able to go to a dentist. It looks like the fang that isn't healing well won't retract, and I guess they're not able to work independently, so the other one won't retract either."
"Egthactly."
"It's not the fang that's broken-or if it was, it's healed."
"Yeth. The fang grew back, but the pain won't go away. I bit into a thick thilver necklath."
"Ohhh... You were poisoned. Okay, I'll have to make a healing poultice so I can apply it directly to your gum. It will draw out the silver poison in your system. I'll reinforce its power with a healing spell if you like."
"Thankth. Will I ever be the thame?"
"Of course you will. Unless you're talking about your pre-vampire days. That I can't heal."

He hung his head. "I know. I remember athking you that when I learned you were Wiccan. You thed there wath no thpell to cure vampirithm."

"I'm afraid not. I'm sorry." She rested her hand on his knee.
When he looked up, she had a soft, sad expression on her face. It wasn't pity-not exactly. Empathy. That's what it was. He knew she had a kind heart, but there was more to it than just that. She was a nurturer. Much like his daughter, Merry, the pediatric nurse. An innate healer.
"Pardon my curiothity, but... the makeover? Are you dating?"
Her face colored. "I-well, no. I wouldn't mind meeting someone, but it's just not in me to go out to bars or anything."
"Thumthing tellth me you wouldn't meet the right kind of guy there anyway. Have you tried the Internet?"
"Not yet." She hesitated as if there was more to say, but instead she placed her hands on her knees and pushed herself up to a standing position. "Well, I'll go whip up that poultice. You try to relax."
***
On the second floor, Merry extended her arms to allow for her expanding pregnant belly and embraced her best friend, Roz, while trying not to cry. Tears brimmed in her eyes anyway.
"I'm going to miss you like crazy. I wish you two could stay."
Roz and Konrad were engaged and moving to Newton, where he was dean and she was a career counselor at the Newton Preparatory School for Boys.
Konrad stepped out of his apartment with a plastic milk crate full of books and smiled. "Newton isn't that far, Merry, and you're welcome any time. You can even take public transportation. The school is within walking distance."

"I know." She sighed. "But it won't be the same as having you right downstairs. Why are you taking stuff to Roz's apartment the night before you're leaving, by the way?"

Roz smiled up at him. "He doesn't want the movers to have to carry heavy things down an extra flight, so he's putting all the boxes and books in my apartment for tonight, and I'll sleep at his place. Isn't he thoughtful?"
Merry let go of her friend's hand. "Yup. He's always been that way. You got yourself a keeper, Roz."
Weird, soulful sounds drifted into the hallway from her right. "What the heck is that?"
Roz gravitated toward her fiancé and put her arm around his waist. "I think it's one of those nature CDs with whale calls."
Merry listened for a few moments. That was indeed what it sounded like. "I don't know our new superintendent very well. Is he the new-agey kind? Maybe he and one of the witches will hit it off."
Roz placed a fist on her hip. "What are you doing? Opening a matchmaker service?"
Merry laughed. "No. Like I said, I don't even know him. I guess I'm just so happy that I want everyone else to be happy too."
As soon as she said that, a door upstairs opened. They all waited to see who'd be coming down the stairs. When Sly came into view, Merry's jaw dropped.
"Sly? Who were you... Oh, sorry. Never mind. It's none of my business."
Sly smiled briefly but didn't say anything. Merry noticed something a little odd about his face but couldn't put a finger on what was different.
As she was wondering about it, Morgaine leaned over the banister upstairs.

"Oh, Sly? I forgot to ask you to come back tomorrow..."

She had apparently noticed the others in the hallway because she hesitated a moment. "I-uh, I should check your-thing." She blushed. "I mean... You know what I mean. Make sure everything's okay."

He was looking up at her with a silly grin on his face. That's what was different. Before, he had seemed to be trying not to smile and show his fangs. But looking up at Morgaine, he didn't seem able to stop smiling, fangs and all.
"I'll be there."
Morgaine grinned, nodded briefly, and went back to her apartment. As soon as they heard her door shut, Sly said, "Hi, Merry," gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then winced.
"Are you okay?"
"I will be. Morgaine ith taking care of me. I had an accthident to my gumth."
Konrad chuckled. "I guess you can't see a dentist for obvious reasons."
"Yup. Thank goodneth for Morgaine. Theeth a magical healer. How are you feeling, Merry? Ith the baby letting you keep your food down?"
"Yes, thank goodness. No more morning sickness. Now I'm getting kicked every once in a while."
"Good! I'm thorry, I meant ith a good thing that the babyth healthy. I can't wait to be a grandfather."
She giggled. "I knew what you meant."
Sly turned to his good friends. "Konrad, Roth, good luck with the move tomorrow."
Roz shook his hand and said, "Thanks. We'll miss everyone, but you have an open invitation to our place in Newton."
"I'd come, but I know your pack friendth don't take kindly to vampireth."

Konrad set down the box he'd been holding. "A few of them are stuck in the old ways. But if you're uncomfortable, I'm sure we'll come back here to visit once in a while. We'll look you up when we do." He extended his hairy arm and they shook hands.

"Can I help you carry thumthing?"
"Almost done, buddy. I had about a hundred boxes of books, but you can help me carry down the couch if you want to."
"Thure."
As the guys retreated to Konrad's apartment, Merry grabbed Roz by the arm and pulled her to the other side of the hall.
She whispered, "What did you think of Sly's reaction to the new Morgaine? I thought I saw some chemistry there."
"I did too."
They waited while the guys carried the couch out of the apartment and down the stairs before continuing.
"I'll never get over how strong those two are," Merry said. "They looked like they were carrying a two-by-four, not a whole couch."
Roz watched them. Then she turned back to her friend and said, "I sense you want to see someone else in the building hook up."
"I hadn't really thought about it until you said something, but Sly... He's been so lonely since my mother died and that was the day I was born-twenty-six years ago."
Roz shrugged. "Just get him to move into my old apartment and let it work its magic."
Merry snapped her fingers. "That's it! The love shack. When I lived there, I hooked up with Jason. Then you moved in and hooked up with Konrad. Now that you're moving out..."

"The love shack is available," Roz finished for her.

"But he doesn't have a job. How would he pay for it?"
"Does he have to? I mean, he's your father. Jason let his aunt and uncle stay in 2B rent-free for a while."
"You're right." Merry grinned and hugged Roz. "You're a genius. What will I ever do without you?"
"Oh, I'm sure you'll learn to be devious on your own one of these days. When you want something badly enough, you'll figure out how easily men can be manipulated."
"You mean like on Desperate Housewives?"
"Hell, no. Don't go to those extremes. Just cook his favorite meal and tell him how much you want this. Then if he says yes, give him a blow job."
Merry laughed. "It's that easy, huh?"
The guys exited Roz's apartment and ambled up the stairs.
"You haven't seen me carrying anything heavy yet, have you?" Roz raised her eyebrows and Merry laughed, then sneezed.
"You know what? I think your moving is kicking up some dust-not that Konrad isn't a good housekeeper, but I might need my inhaler."
"Of course. And you're right about the dust. With all of Konrad's dusty old books, I wouldn't be surprised if your allergies flare up."
"I'd better go upstairs. I'll see you tomorrow before you go, right?"
"Absitively. Posiloutly."

Merry hugged her again. "Thanks for understanding. Besides, I can't wait to put this devious plan into action."

"Let me know how it goes."

"I might leave out the details of his thank-you, but I'll tell you the rest."
***
Chad had the advantage of being the only spirit to haunt the building. Well, in some instances it was an advantage, but on the other hand, it could be lonely. Fortunately, he had Morgaine. Some of the other residents knew he was there but rarely thought about him. Out of sight, out of mind. And he honestly thought some of them were out of their minds.
Not Morgaine though. The two of them had the kind of friendship in which they could rib each other, but they always knew the sharp jabs were said in jest. That seemed to be the only fun Morgaine ever had though.
He'd like to see her happy.
Chad's time had come and gone, and what did he have to show for it? Nothing. And no one.
But it wasn't too late for Morgaine. He had noticed the affection growing between Sly and the gifted witch he thought of as his friend. Ordinarily, he wouldn't match her up with a vampire, but she had limited her options by staying inside all the time. Hell, he wouldn't do something as girly as play matchmaker, but maybe if he just gave them a little push...

He forced his way through the door to her apartment and found her in the kitchen putting away the groceries her cousin Gwyneth had dropped off earlier.

Morgaine turned toward him and smiled. "Hi, Chad. What are you up to?"
"Not much. I just thought I'd drop by and see how you're doing."
"In other words, you're bored." She placed a head of lettuce in the crisper and returned to the bag on the counter.
"Are you saying I only visit you when I'm bored?"
"No. You're always bored."
Chad chuckled and situated himself on the other side of the tiny kitchen so she wouldn't have to pass through him and shiver.
"I'm not terribly bored right now. I actually thought I'd tell you something about Sly."
Her eyebrows raised and she turned toward him. "Sly? Is he okay?"
"Ah ha, I knew you liked him."

"Well, of course I like him. Why wouldn't I? He's a kind, decent per... uh, vampire."

"Yes, I know. His kindness and decency are even more impressive because he's a vampire. And I've noticed he likes you too."
"Oh." She turned back to her groceries. "Really?" The color in her pink cheeks was deepening.
"Oh, yeah. He's into you. But I'm worried about something."
"Like what?"
"I think both of you are so used to being alone, you've forgotten how to begin a new relationship."

She snorted. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it? How would you go about it?"
She shrugged and didn't answer him. She just opened a cabinet and tried to set a box of granola on the top shelf.
"I can't quite reach the top shelf, Chad. Can you give me a hand?"
"You're changing the subject."
She shifted uncomfortably. "Never mind. I'll stick it on the counter."
"You can stick it in your ear for all I care, just don't ignore the question."
She whirled on him and folded her arms. "I don't have to answer your stupid question."
Chad concentrated on the cereal box until it floated up to the top shelf and slid into place among the other boxes and cans up there. "Okay, fine. Then think about why you don't want to answer it."
"Because it's none of your business."
"Or because you can't. You have no idea how to approach an attractive man who's attracted to you."
She blew out a deep breath. "Okay, fine. I've thought about it. But our friendship is too important to me. What if it doesn't work out? I don't have that many friends."
"You can say that again. Now that Konrad and Roz have moved out, you have exactly one cousin who you're fighting with half the time and a bored ghost. Your life sucks."

"Gee, thanks."

"I call 'em like I see 'em. And when I see you and Sly together, I notice the goofy grins on your faces. Think about it, Morgaine. If you snooze, you might lose. I've noticed Gwyneth seems to like him too."
"Well, then I better not get my hopes up. Any man will take the easy girl over the challenging one."
"I admit most of us are schmucks, but I don't think Sly's into superficial, dumb redheads. His eyes don't light up when he sees her like they do when he sees you."
"Whatever you do, never call Gwyneth dumb. She's super sensitive about it. Besides, she has a good mind. She just hasn't had the educational advantages a lot of people have had."
"You're changing the subject again."
"And with good reason. Not only is my life none of your business, but there's nothing you can do about it. He can't hear you."
"Yeah, but you can. And I might just decide to follow you around singing show tunes off-key until you go downstairs and make a move on him." He laughed maniacally.
"Chad, go away. You're pissing me off."

"Make me."

"Fine. I'll just ignore you."

"Aw, screw it. Go ahead and be lonely for the rest of your life. Maybe you can get a few cats or something."

"For Goddess's sake, Chad. Will you leave me alone?" Her tone had a chilly edge to it.
"OOOOOklahoma, where the wind-"
Morgaine clapped her hands over her ears and shouted, "Go away! I don't need your interference. If the opportunity presents itself, I'll do something about it, okay?"

"There now, was that so hard?"

Morgaine rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

 

Ashlyn Chase has been a registered nurse for 20 years. During those years, she wrote articles for professional journals and a thesis, but eventually, thank goodness, discovered the joy and freedom of writing fiction.

 You can find Ashlyn on her website or on her facebook page, she loves to hear from her fans! 

You can buy The Vampire Next Door from these bookstores

 

 Release Date 

(August 1, 2011)

 My rating 

5 stars 

 My review

Monday's Featured Author (11/11/13)

Lure Of The Blood

(Lure Series #1)

by

Doris O'Connor

 

 

 

 

 

Marnie's decision to finance her law degree by pole dancing awakens her latent sexuality, and the mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows sends her libido into overdrive.

Realizing her sexy lurker is a vampire is bad enough, but her boss is the alpha wolf of a pack of shifters? Torn between her attraction to both men and surrounded by danger, she has a decision to make. One that will change her life forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Preview Excerpt 

A ruthless determination emanated from the man carrying her up the stairs, three at a time, as easily as though she weighed no more than a feather. His heartbeat thundered in her ear as erratically as her own and his arms tightened around her, when she wriggled closer into the warmth of his skin, not able to stop her instinctive need to lick his chest.

The scent and very essence of Ion exploded on her tongue. Need slamming into her, all thoughts of injuries fled her befuddled brain, when Ion pinned her against the wall, the minute they reached the safety of the bedroom.

He slid her down his naked body with infinite slowness and they groaned in unison when his rock-hard erection made brief contact with her groin on the way down. Marnie couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She was locked in the prison of Ion’s arms, every cell in her body craving his touch. Her knees buckled when he sniffed her neck, inhaling deeply. One of his thighs, between her legs, stopped her descent and his wolf’s grumble vibrated through her, causing more moisture to seep through her soaked thong. He had to feel that! Heat rose in her cheeks, even as his cock seemed to grow bigger still, a hard shaft against her belly, setting her skin alight where it touched through the thin barrier of her summer dress.

Ion’s barely controlled growl in her ear was the most arousing sound she had ever heard. His delicious scent intensifying around her, she didn’t even try to stop the needy moan escaping on a shuddery breath of air.

“Ion, please.”

“What, little one?”

The rasp of his rough tongue along her sensitive neck stopped Marnie from being able to respond at all, as the friction his tongue created sent sparks of electricity dancing across her body. Every lick along her fevered skin pitched her arousal higher, until the whole world was centred on the next trail of friction along her jaw.  Her hips moved of their own accord, grinding her core into Ion’s roughened thigh, until the iron grip of his hands on her hips stopped her.

“Easy, little one. This will be so much better if we go slowly. I want to taste every inch of you, drink your cream and make you come again and again against my tongue and then, only then, my sweet will you feel my cock so deep inside you, you will never want to leave me.”

The hands on her hips softened, as Marnie froze. Shivers of excitement or fear or both, she couldn’t be quite sure which, danced along her spine at the images those growled words created. Her hands clung to his shoulders and she lost herself in his predatory smile, when she risked a glance up at his face. The eyes of his wolf were looking down on her and he crowded her further against the wall. Her breasts flattened against his chest and his thigh moved sinuously against her core.

“So wet, my little one. Tell me, is this bounty all for me?”

A renewed surge of moisture was his answer and his eyes darkened further. She could feel his claws slowly dragging along her sides as his hands wandered to her neck and he pulled back slightly, one hand cupping her breast through the fabric of her dress, whilst his head lowered and Marnie’s eyes fluttered closed in anticipation of his invasion.

The gentleness of the kiss that followed took her breath away. Not the harsh invasion she had been expecting, but a tender seduction of lips and teeth, coaxing her to open on a sigh. Ion slipped into that moan, his tongue exploring every part of her mouth with agonising slowness, whilst his hand on her nipple rubbed and teased, every roll sending shards of pure pleasure between her thighs. Desperate to take the kiss deeper, her tongue sought his, but every time she tried he withdrew with a muttered growl, shaking his head and the hand on her breast stopped its intimate massage.

“I told you, we’re taking this slow, little one. I have no wish to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me, Ion. Please, I need you.”

Something hot and dangerous flashed across his face at her whispered plea, the grip on her tightening for an instant. He smiled, the fangs of his wolf clearly visible, and Marnie held her breath at the struggle she sensed in him. The hand on her breast gripped the front of her dress and with one quick flick of his sharp claws the dress ripped, exposing her to his hungry gaze from the waist down. She sucked in her tummy on a shuddered moan as those menacing claws ran a trail over the soft skin of her abdomen, skimming the top of her thong with a feather touch, before he withdrew his claws and his fingers dipped under the elastic. His thigh spread her wider, as his fingers hovered over her clit and he resumed the kiss, his raspy tongue duelling with hers, until she thought she was going to dissolve into a sodden mess of drool and need.

His breathing was as heavy as hers when he finally pulled back, his eyes glowing in the darkness of the room.

“What makes you so sure I won’t hurt you. You’re such a little thing. You have no idea what my wolf could do to you.”

Marnie couldn’t breathe under the intensity of his fevered gaze. Of course she knew what he could do. Had she not seen his wolf in action mere minutes ago, about to rip Lucas to shreds? Terror slammed into her anew, not at Ion’s wolf, but at what could have happened to him, and she bit her lip so hard she could taste her own blood.

Ion released her with a muffled curse, all traces of his wolf gone. The flash of pain she saw in his eyes, before he turned his back on her, sliced straight through her heart.

“Good, I knew you’d come to your senses.”

 

 She likes to spin sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 You can find Doris on her website or on her facebook page, she loves to hear from her fans!

 

 

 

 

 You can buy Lure of the Blood from these bookstores

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Release Date 

(November 14, 2011)

 

 

 

 

 My rating 

4 stars 

My review

 

Thursday's Featured Sleep Over Novel (11/7/13)

Viscount Breckenridge to the Rescue

(The Cynster Sisters Trilogy #1)

by 

  

Stephanie Laurens

 

Three heros, three rescues, three weddings.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Miss Heather Cynster

...but not before she encounters kidnappers, danger, and a daring rescue at the hands of Viscount Breckenridge.

Determined to hunt down her very own hero, one who will sweep her off her feet and into wedded bliss, and despairing of finding him in London's staid ballrooms, Heather Cynster steps out of her safe world and boldly attends a racy soiree.

But her promising hunt is ruined by the supremely interfering Viscount Breckenridge, who whisks her out of scandal-and straight into danger when a mysterious enemy seizes her, bundles her into a coach, and conveys her out of London.

Now it's up to the notorious Breckenridge to prove himself the hero she's been searching for all along..

 Preview Excerpt

Chapter One

March, 1829
Wadham Gardens, London
Heather Cynster knew her latest plan to find a suitable
husband was doomed the instant she set foot
in Lady Herford's salon.
In a distant corner, a dark head, perfectly
coiffed in the latest rakish style, rose. A pair of sharp hazel
eyes pinned her where she stood.
"Damn!" Keeping a smile firmly fixed over her involuntarily
clenching teeth, as if she hadn't noticed the most
startlingly handsome man in the room staring so intently
at her, she let her gaze drift on.
Breckenridge was hemmed in by not one but three dashing
ladies, all patently vying for his attention. She sincerely
wished them every success and prayed he'd take the sensible
course and pretend he hadn't seen her.
She was certainly going to pretend that she hadn't seen him.
Refocusing on the surprisingly large crowd Lady Herford
had enticed to her soiree, Heather determinedly banished
Breckenridge from her mind and considered her prospects.
Most of the guests were older than she—all the ladies at
least. Some she recognized, others she did not, but it would
be surprising if any other lady present wasn't married. Or
widowed. Or more definitively on the shelf than Heather.
Soirees of the style of Lady Herford's were primarily the
province of the well-bred but bored matrons, those in search
of more convivial company than that provided by their usually
much older, more sedate husbands. Such ladies might
not be precisely fast, yet neither were they innocent. However, as by
common accord said ladies had already presented their husbands with an heir,
if not two, the majority had more years in their dish than Heather's twenty-five.
From her brief, initial, assessing sweep, she concluded
that most of the gentlemen present were, encouragingly,
older than she. Most were in their thirties, and by their
style—fashionable, well-turned out, expensively garbed,
and thoroughly polished—she'd chosen well in making
Lady Herford's soiree her first port of call on this, her first
expedition outside the rarefied confines of the ballrooms,
drawing rooms, and dining rooms of the upper echelon of
the ton.
For years she'd searched through those more refined
reception rooms for her hero—the man who would sweep her
off her feet and into wedded bliss—only to conclude that he
didn't move in such circles. Many gentlemen of the ton,
although perfectly eligible in every way, preferred to steer well
clear of all the sweet young things, the young ladies paraded
on the marriage mart. Instead, they spent their evenings at
events such as Lady Herford's, and their nights in various
pursuits—gaming and womanizing to name but two.
Her hero—she had to believe he existed somewhere—
was most likely a member of that more elusive group of
males. Given he was therefore unlikely to come to her, she'd
decided—after lengthy and animated discussions with her
sisters, Elizabeth and Angelica—that it behooved her to
come to him.
To locate him and, if necessary, hunt him down.
Smiling amiably, she descended the shallow steps to the
floor of the salon. Lady Herford's villa was a recently built,
quite luxurious dwelling located to the north of Primrose
Hill—close enough to Mayfair to be easily reached by
carriage, a pertinent consideration given Heather had had to
come alone. She would have preferred to attend with someone
to bear her company, but her sister Eliza, just a year younger
and similarly disgusted with the lack of hero material within
their restricted circle, was her most likely co-conspirator and
they couldn't both develop a headache on the same evening
without their mama seeing through the ploy. Eliza, therefore,
was presently gracing Lady Montague's ballroom, while
Heather was supposedly laid upon her bed, safe and snug in
Dover Street.
Giving every appearance of calm confidence, she glided
into the crowd. She'd attracted considerable attention;
although she pretended obliviousness, she could feel the
assessing glances dwelling on the sleek, amber silk gown that
clung lovingly to her curves. This particular creation sported
a sweetheart neckline and tiny puffed sleeves; as the evening
was unseasonably mild and her carriage stood outside, she'd
elected to carry only a fine topaz-and-amber Norwich silk
shawl, its fringe draping over her bare arms and flirting over
the silk of the gown. Her advanced age allowed her greater
freedom to wear gowns that, while definitely not as revealing
as some others she could see, nevertheless drew male eyes.
One gentleman, suitably drawn and a touch bolder than
his fellows, broke from the circle surrounding two ladies
and languidly stepped into her path.
Halting, she haughtily arched a brow.
He smiled and bowed, fluidly graceful. "Miss Cynster, I
believe?"
"Indeed, sir. And you are?"
"Miles Furlough, my dear." His eyes met hers as he
straightened. "Is this your first time here?"
"Yes." She glanced around, determinedly projecting
confident assurance. She intended to pick her man, not allow
him or any other to pick her. "The company appears quite
animated." The noise of untold conversations was steadily
rising. Returning her gaze to Miles Furlough, she asked,
"Are her ladyship's gatherings customarily so lively?"
Furlough's lips curved in a smile Heather wasn't sure she
liked.
"I think you'll discover—" Furlough broke off, his gaze
going past her.
She had an instant's warning—a primitive prickling over
her nape—then long, steely fingers closed about her elbow.
Heat washed over her, emanating from the contact,
supplanted almost instantly by a disorientating giddiness. She
caught her breath. She didn't need to look to know that
Timothy Danvers, Viscount Breckenridge—her nemesis—had
elected not to be sensible.
"Furlough." The deep voice issuing from above her head
and to the side had its usual disconcerting effect.
Ignoring the frisson of awareness streaking down her
spine—a susceptibility she positively despised—she slowly
turned her head and directed a reined glare at its cause.
"Breckenridge."
There was nothing in her tone to suggest she welcomed
his arrival—quite the opposite.
He ignored her attempt to depress his pretensions; indeed,
she wasn't even sure he registered it. His gaze hadn't shifted
from Furlough.
"If you'll excuse us, old man, there's a matter I need to
discuss with Miss Cynster." Breckenridge held Furlough's
gaze. "I'm sure you understand."
Furlough's expression suggested that he did yet wished
he didn't feel obliged to give way. But in this milieu,
Breckenridge—the hostesses' and the ladies' darling—
was well nigh impossible to gainsay. Reluctantly, Furlough
inclined his head. "Of course."
Shifting his gaze to Heather, Furlough smiled—more
sincerely, a tad ruefully. "Miss Cynster. Would we had met in
less crowded surrounds. Perhaps next time." With a parting
nod, he sauntered off into the crowd.
Heather let free an exasperated huff. But before she could
even gather her arguments and turn them on Breckenridge,
he tightened his grip on her elbow and started propelling her
through the crowd.
Startled, she tried to halt. "What—"
"If you have the slightest sense of self-preservation you
will walk to the front door without any fuss."
He was steering her, surreptitiously pushing her, in that
direction, and it wasn't all that far. "Let. Me. Go." She
uttered the command, low and delivered with considerable
feeling, through clenched teeth.
He urged her up the salon steps. Used the moment when
she was on the step above him to bend his head and breathe
in her ear, "What the devil are you doing here?"
His clenched teeth trumped her clenched teeth. The
words, his tone, slid through her, evoking—as he'd no doubt
intended—a nebulous, purely instinctive fear.
By the time she shook free of it, he was smoothly, apparently
unhurriedly, steering her through the guests thronging
the foyer.
"No—don't bother answering." He didn't look down; he
had the open front door in his sights. "I don't care what
ninnyhammerish notion you've taken into your head. You're
leaving. Now."
Hale, whole, virgin intacta. Breckenridge only just bit
back the words.
"There is no reason whatever for you to interfere." Her
voice vibrated with barely suppressed fury.
He recognized her mood well enough—her customary
one whenever he was near. Normally he would respond by
giving her a wide berth, but here and now he had no choice.
"Do you have any idea what your cousins would do to me—
let alone your brothers—if they discovered I'd seen you in
this den of iniquity and turned a blind eye?"
She snorted and tried, surreptitiously but unsuccessfully,
to free her elbow. "You're as large as any of them—and
demonstrably just as much of a bully. You could see them off."
"One, perhaps, but all six? I think not. Let alone Luc and
Martin, and Gyles Chillingworth—and what about
Michael? No, wait—what about Caro, and your aunts, and . . .
the list goes on. Flaying would be preferable—much less
pain."
"You're overreacting. Lady Herford's house hardly qualifies
as a den of iniquity." She glanced back. "There's nothing
the least objectionable going on in that salon."
"Not in the salon, perhaps—at least, not yet. But you
didn't go further into the house—trust me, a den of iniquity
it most definitely is."
"But—"
"No." Reaching the front porch—thankfully deserted—
he halted, released her, and finally let himself look down
at her. Let himself look into her face, a perfect oval hosting
delicate features and a pair of stormy gray-blue eyes lushly
fringed with dark brown lashes. Despite those eyes having
turned hard and flinty, even though her luscious lips were
presently compressed into a thin line, that face was the sort
that had launched armadas and incited wars since the dawn
of time. It was a face full of life. Full of sensual promise and
barely restrained vitality.
And that was before adding the effect of a slender figure,
sleek rather than curvaceous, yet invested with such fluid
grace that her every movement evoked thoughts that, at least
in his case, were better left unexplored.
The only reason she hadn't been mobbed in the salon was
because none but Furlough had shaken free of the arrestation
the first sight of her generally caused quickly enough to
get to her before he had.
He felt his face harden, fought not to clench his fists and
tower over her in a sure to be vain attempt to intimidate her.
"You're going home, and that's all there is to it."
Her eyes narrowed to shards. "If you try to force me, I'll
scream."
He lost the battle; his fists clenched at his sides. Holding
her gaze, he evenly stated, "If you do, I'll tap you under that
pretty little chin, knock you unconscious, tell everyone you
fainted, toss you in a carriage, and send you home."
Her eyes widened. She considered him but didn't back
down. "You wouldn't."
He didn't blink. "Try me."
Heather inwardly dithered. This was the trouble with
Breckenridge—one simply couldn't tell what he was thinking.
His face, that of a Greek god, all clean planes and sharp
angles, lean cheeks below high cheekbones and a strong,
square jaw, remained aristocratically impassive and utterly
unreadable no matter what was going through his mind. Not
even his heavy-lidded hazel eyes gave any clue; his expression
was perennially that of an elegantly rakish gentleman
who cared for little beyond his immediate pleasure.
Every element of his appearance, from his exquisitely
understated attire, the severe cut of his clothes making the lean
strength they concealed only more apparent, to the languid
drawl he habitually affected, supported that image—one she
was fairly certain was a comprehensive façade.
She searched his eyes—and detected not the smallest sign
that he wouldn't do precisely as he said. Which would be
simply too embarrassing.
"How did you get here?"
Reluctantly, she waved at the line of carriages stretching
along the curving pavement of Wadham Gardens as far as
they could see. "My parents' carriage—and before you
lecture me on the impropriety of traveling across London alone
at night, both the coachman and groom have been with my
family for decades."
Tight-lipped, he nodded. "I'll walk you to it."
He reached for her elbow again.
She whisked back. "Don't bother." Frustration erupted;
she felt sure he would inform her brothers that he'd found
her at Lady Herford's, which would spell an end to her
plan—one which, until he'd interfered, had held real promise.
She gave vent to her temper with an infuriated glare. "I
can walk twenty yards by myself."
Even to her ears her words sounded petulant. In reaction,
she capped them with, "Just leave me alone!"
Lifting her chin, she swung on her heel and marched
down the steps. Head determinedly high, she turned right
along the pavement toward where her parents' town carriage
waited in the line.
Inside she was shaking. She felt childish and furious—
and helpless. Just as she always felt when she and Breckenridge
crossed swords.
Blinking back tears of stifled rage, knowing he was watching,
she stiffened her spine and marched steadily on.
From the shadows of Lady Herford's front porch, Breckenridge
watched the bane of his life stalk back to safety.
Why of all the ladies in the ton it had to be Heather Cynster
who so tied him in knots he didn't know; what he did
know was that there wasn't a damned thing he could do
about it. She was twenty-five, and he was ten years and
a million nights older; he was certain she viewed him at
best as an interfering much older cousin, at worst as an
interfering uncle.
"Wonderful," he muttered as he watched her stride fearlessly
along. Once he saw her safely away . . . he was going
to walk home. The night air might clear his head of the
distraction, of the unsettled, restless feeling dealing with her
always left him prey to—a sense of loneliness, and emptiness,
and time slipping away.
Of life—his life—being somehow worthless, or rather,
worth less—less than it should.
He didn't, truly didn't, want to think about her. There
were ladies among the crowd inside who would fight to
provide him with diversion, but he'd long ago learned the value
of their smiles, their pleasured sighs.
Fleeting, meaningless, illusory connections.
Increasingly they left him feeling cheapened, used. Unfulfilled.

 #1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens began writing romances as an escape from the dry world of professional science.

 You can find Stephanie on her website or on her facebook page, she loves to hear from her fans.

 You can buy Viscount Breckenridge to the Rescue at these bookstores

Release Date

(August 30, 2011)

My Rating 

5 stars

My Review