Tuesday's Tales - Picture Prompt

Welcome to Tuesday's Tales

Welcome to Tuesday Tales and this week's picture prompt . This excerpt is taken from Megan's Story, the follow-on WIP from Duty Calls. [The large print version available at online outlets from May 29th] Luke Hawk is Rafe's half-brother (Duty Calls) and Megan's brother. (working title - Megan's Story) It is taken from an earlier scene than the one last week.

 

A couple of rings later Luke answered. “Vince? Hi, are you still intending to visit Megan?”

“Luke,” Vince ignored Luke’s question. “Listen to me. I’m with Megan now, and I think you should get here without delay, and call your parents and get them here too.”

“Hell, man. You’re scaring the shit out of me Vince. What the hell’s going on? If you’ve done anything to hurt her, you’ll regret it.”

“Luke, I’d never hurt her, surely you know that? I can’t discuss it on the phone, but she needs you all here now.” Vince waited long enough to hear Luke confirm he’s talk with his parents and get them and himself to Megan’s as quickly as possible before cutting the call.

Gently he eased Megan away from him and scanned the room for a comforter to wrap her in before taking off his Jacket and pulling it round her shoulders. He banked every cushion he could find around her before crossing the room to switch on the fire. Cheerful gas-induced flames leaped to life, creating an orange pattern of dancing flames on the opposite wall.

When he’d arrived, the summer sunlight filtered through a growing accumulation of grey clouds, now those clouds obscured it completely, darkening the normally cheerful room. Vince headed to the kitchen and filled the kettle with cold water. He opened cabinet doors searching for mugs or cups and saucers. The fourth try yielded up several cheerfully decorated mugs. He lifted two down and placed them on the counter top. Another search revealed tea, coffee and sugar containers. 

 

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Duty Calls is featured all this month by

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 and all versions are on a special

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HERE

Sarah Ballance, author of Last Call is cisiting today...

Thank you, Sherry, for having me here today to talk about my new romantic suspense LAST CALL!

You're very welcome Sarah. I love the way you take us into what Last Call is all about. Best wishes with sales.

To get to know more about the book and its characters, we’re going to take a close look . . . one letter at a time.

L – Lingering thoughts. The last time Rhys saw Nick, she’d just been shot . . . by him. She could forgive the accidental bullet, but the way he left her afterwards—without a goodbye—should have slammed the door on all the sexual tension between them for the last time. But when she wakes up in his arms, she discovers the truth is far from what she expected.

A – Action. Whether it’s the bad guys bearing down or the adversarial relationship between Nick and Rhys, there’s never a dull moment. These two truly can’t catch a break!

S – Suspense.  Someone kidnapped Rhys and left her in Nick’s care. Who, and more importantly, why? Who wants them both dead? And will they ever resolve their past?

T – Tortured Hero. Yep, that’s Nick. Not only did he shoot Rhys, but he left town without saying goodbye. Even after she’s forgiven him, those old wounds only serve to prove to him she deserves more. He’s trying to do the right thing, but will he ever listen to what she wants?
C – Cutter. He was Nick and Rhys’s contact when they worked undercover, and he’s their lifeline now. But with a leak in the department, will their communication prove to be an invaluable help, or will it lead a ruthless killer straight to their door?
A – Assumptions. Rhys assumed Nick was too wrapped up in his guilt to even think about betraying her again, but was she wrong?
L – Layers. They’re everywhere. Just when you think you’ve found the center, yet another truth is ripped away.

L – Lies. In a deadly game where no one seems to have a motive, everyone is a suspect. And the only thing more shocking than the truth is the impossible depth of the lie.

LAST CALL by Sarah Ballance – Romantic suspense for just 99 cents!

In a perilous game of trust, a shocking betrayal deals a dangerous hand.

An accidental witness to a murder-for-hire, ex-cop Rhys Clark becomes the target of ruthless killer—one determined to silence her at any cost. Playing dead seems to be the most likely way to stay alive, but when her protection comes in the form of mega-sexy former adversary Nick Massey, Rhys can think of  a few fates worse than death.

Nick Massey may have walked away from his troubles, but he never got past wanting Rhys. Once paired undercover, they’d been nothing but fireworks until a botched assignment ended her career, sending his into a tailspin. Now a mysterious client threatens Nick’s life if he doesn’t keep Rhys safe, but it isn’t until fate takes a critical turn that he realizes the devastating truth: he’s been her greatest threat all along.

Last Call | Excerpt

Rhys Clark swore and jerked her foot from the murky puddle that had just claimed one of her new running shoes. Perfect. The day was now officially perfect.

She blamed Nick Massey.

Blaming him was easy enough. She didn’t know which required more nerve on his part—leaving town or crawling back—but both events left her bitter and raw. And wet, she grumbled inwardly. With the sky spitting rain and the occasional pellet of sleet smacking her face, she should have skipped her evening jog. The street was little more than a concrete alley of shuttered businesses, and the bleak weather amplified the emptiness. But tonight, with Nick hot on her mind, running through the cold was her last ditch effort to return to her senses.

It hadn’t worked.

Another blast of icy air howled through the narrow street. If she hadn’t been standing still, she probably wouldn’t have heard the shouting that followed.

A few months ago, an altercation wouldn’t have been unusual in this part of town. But the whole area was under reconstruction. Local crime dissipated to nothing with the razing of several apartment buildings, and until now Rhys had long found her route to be a place of solace. She glanced around as the voices drew closer and more intense. Rapid footsteps smacked the wet pavement. Then the echo of a gunshot cracked the night.

Where fear left her paralyzed, instinct insisted she get out of sight. She looked around and found an unbroken expanse of concrete wall offering few options. Heart pounding, Rhys ducked into the recessed doorway of a vacant storefront and hoped the deep shadows would keep her concealed.

Terrifying seconds passed. The sound of her own suppressed breath roared in her ears.

Voices came, clearer this time. Close.

“If we screw this up…” The words, terse and hushed, were encapsulated in panic.

“Shut up,” demanded a second voice. “No one messed up. He’s as good as dead.”

“You think you’re going to sell that without a body? We didn’t get paid to lose him.”

“He took one to the gut. He won’t get far. We’ll find him.”

“He’s leaving a trail. Blood. We got the big bucks for a clean—”

“Shut up.”

A hit? Rhys shuddered, fear scaling her spine. A professional hit would have been silent—something not accomplished by the gunshot or the ensuing conversation—but in this game, experience wasn’t always a prerequisite for willingness to pull the trigger. Two years of undercover work had taught her as much.
So had a bullet.
Rhys froze, waiting for the voices to pass. But luck was not on her side. Rather than drawing away, the footsteps ceased.

“Well, well, well,” said the confident one. “Looks like our little game of hide and seek is over.”

Hope crumbled. The voice was far too close. Had they seen her?

She dared not move. Through her lashes, she saw nothing in her narrow view of the dimly lit street but dirty puddles and the occasional bit of trash plastered to wet pavement. She prayed they didn’t look her way should they walk past.

Grunts erupted nearby, followed by the sound of sneakers scuffling on concrete. Then two shots fired, and all sounds of struggle gave way to profane celebration.

In the same instant, a man fell to the sidewalk in front of Rhys. His eyes, sightless and familiar, bore into her.

She choked a gasp.

A man stepped into her line of sight, his weapon at the ready. Before she could stop herself, she locked eyes with him. Big mistake. The decision threw her into a cloud of emotional shrapnel, the past flying at her in shards. She’d been shot once before.

It hadn’t ended well.

The gunman opened his mouth and formed an ugly grin, his breath coming in visible puffs through yellowed teeth. “Looks like a double header tonight, T,” he said, never taking his gaze off Rhys.

“Whaddya mean?” came the reply. The voice . . . she blinked until the second man shifted into focus.

She knew him. From where? She couldn’t think.

She glanced to the dead man, and her vision wavered. Panic shifted her world into a screen of jarred pixels, the flashback jagged and severe.

“Rhys! Stay with me, Rhys. Do you hear me? Rhys!”

Blood. So much blood.

“Nick.” She touched his face, feeling stubble beneath her fingertips. Then the weight of her arm was too much; as gravity won he slipped away. The world twisted into a sickening spiral until all that was left was his voice, the desperation in his tone bringing warmth to the darkness.

“Rhys!”

Motion jarred her to the present.

The gunman gestured. “Our witness here is about to have an unfortunate accident.” He raised the weapon, aiming for the kill.

It was a short view down the barrel at point blank range. She expected that.

What she didn’t anticipate was the speed with which he pulled the trigger.

Or how quickly the pain hit.

Title: LAST CALL
Author: Sarah Balance
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Publisher: For the Muse Publishing,
2013ISBN 13: 978-0-9889995-0-3

LAST CALL is available from: 
For the Muse Publishing, 

Amazon,          Barnes & Noble, 
  
and Smashwords 
(formats: .mobi, .epub, HTML, PDF, RTF, LRF, PalmDoc, and Plain Text).

Click here to add to Goodreads or here for reviews.

About Sarah Ballance

Sarah and her husband of what he calls “many long, long years” live on the mid-Atlantic coast with their six young children, all of whom are perfectly adorable when they’re asleep. She never dreamed of becoming an author, but as a homeschooling mom, she often jokes she writes fiction because if she wants anyone to listen to her, she has to make them up. (As it turns out, her characters aren’t much better than the kids). When not buried under piles of laundry, she may be found adrift in the Atlantic (preferably on a boat) or seeking that ever-elusive perfect writing spot where not even the kids can find her.

She loves creating unforgettable stories while putting her characters through an unkind amount of torture—a hobby that has nothing to do with living with six children. (Really.) Though she adores nail-biting mystery and edge-of-your-seat thrillers, Sarah writes in many genres including contemporary and ghostly paranormal romance. Her ever-growing roster of releases may be found on her website.

Website: http://www.sarahballance.com/
Blog: http://sarahballance.wordpress.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/sarah.ballance.author.news
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SarahBallance
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4103362.Sarah_Balance

 

Sweet Saturday Sample 25-08-12

Another week has flashed by andhere we are again offering more Sweet Saturday Samples for you.
Here is another sample from my wip for your this week. My heroine and hero are being questioned by a particularly suspicious gendarme.

Still held in a tight embrace, Honor listened in astonishment as Vidal castigated the intruders in fluent French for their untimely interruption.

“We beg a thousand pardons,” the leader offered, “but we are searching for a traitor and were told he was here.”

“Well unless he is hiding in a cupboard, “Vidal let his glance roam round the intricately carved wooden panelled walls of the room, “he is not here.”

“When did you arrive?”

Honor hid a smile in Vidal’s chest when she heard the doubt in the interrogator’s voice.

“My bride and I arrived,” he made a display of digging out his watch, “about two hours ago.”

One of the men standing behind the speaker and just beyond the door leaned forward and whispered something.

The speaker’s eyes sharpened and he stepped forward.  “What if I told you, you were seen in Bordeaux this afternoon?”

“I suppose it is possible.” Vidal put his arm round her shoulder and pulled her even closer to him.  Something inside her trembled and knew the heat spiralling within her had reached her face.  Embarrassment added fuel to her sudden longing and guilt added to discomfort.  How could Vidal’s kisses create such a storm of wanting within her?  And at critical moment when they were in danger of being exposed as English travelling through an enemy country?

“My dear,” Vidal’s finger beneath her chin brought her head up until her eyes met his.  A look, strong, demanding and yet full of an understanding the added to her confusion unsettled her further. “The chief of gendarme is asking you if you have seen the man they are looking for?”

“Man?” She dimpled at the official, who she suspected was more likely a soldier than a gendarme. “I have eyes only for my husband.”

“Perhaps I can jog your memory?”

Her heart pounded to the rhythm of her fear, what had she missed while daydreaming about her reaction to Vidal’s kisses?

“I think he means the man who stopped us in Bordeaux and asked for directions.”

“Oh, I see.” She let herself give in to her longing to touch Vidal’s face, and trailed her finger down his cheek, and hid a smile when his eyes darkened with desire.  “He was not as tall as my husband, more slender I think, and his hair was darker. Was it darker?” she asked Vidal. Then before he could answer addressed the man now standing directly in front of her.  “I cannot say for sure, for he was just someone asking the way.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“What could I tell him?” She waited for his challenge and when it didn’t come looked up at Vidal. “You gave him directions, did you not?” She let the memory of his kiss heat up her face again. “I’m afraid I only had eyes for my husband.” She reached up and kissed him on the lips.

Tuesday Tales 13-03-12 Legs

Today's Prompt for this week's Tuesday Tales is LEGS. So I have chosen to offer a scene from the first of my Gasquet Princes series, From Now until Forever.

Thank you to everyone who visites and to those who leave comments, too. :-)



Unfurling his six-foot-five-inch frame, he scrambled to his feet. More dirt flew up around his shoes. He raced for the house, dove through the aperture and rolled beneath the solid pine table in the centre of the room.

Sunlight—bright, golden, offering false promises—cut a path across the floor to his sanctuary. “Shut the freaking door,” he snapped.

Stillness replaced the sound of gunfire. Even the birds, outraged by the disturbance of their tranquillity, fell silent.

Expectancy hung in the air.

What would their attackers do next?

The view from beneath the kitchen table changed the dimensions of the room. Chair legs, square and curving away from him, still managed to crowd his refuge.

The frayed hem of Mel’s jeans brushed her sun-kissed bare feet. Her sandals lay where she’d abandoned them beneath one of the chairs. A rogue ray of sunlight stroked the surface of the faceted coloured glass adorning her sandal-straps and shot rainbow beams of tinted light across the surfaces of the cupboards and nearby walls. Who would have thought the owner of those girly sandals could tote a gun as though it was second nature to her?

Egg-cerpt with Kathy Reinhart

Blurb:
Meg Embry has finally faced up to the fact that the shine has worn off her engagement ring, her family members are the equivalent of comfortable strangers and her dreams are running faster than she is. Change is imminent, but where does she begin?

With the support of her two closest friends, one who’ll make her laugh and one who’ll let her cry, Meg faces life head on and learns that sometimes, love, family and betrayal are bound together by lily white lies.

Excerpt:
I bit down on my lip as the door handle slowly turned. The door opened and a big-bosomed woman in a simple gray dress squealed with delight. “Connor, my boy. Come here and give me a hug. Why do you wait so long between visits?”

Con wrapped his arms around the woman’s waist, giving her what she requested. Turning to me, he said, “Meg, this is Ivory…” the affection in his eyes was apparent as he continued, “She’s been like a second mother to me and the only person—other than my grandmother—who could put up with Joker for any length of time.”

Ivory let out a belly laugh. “The ornery one. Yes, well, he’s an acquired taste.” She extended her hand. “Ivory Steck, I’m the housekeeper here, and you are?”

Taking her hand, I replied, “Meg. Meg Embry.”

“Embry?” Turning her attention to Con, she asked, “Is your grandfather expecting you… better yet, is your grandfather expecting her?”

Offering a mischievous smile, Con answered, “I thought we’d surprise him.”

Ivory shook her head and motioned us in. “Oh, you will. The man’s over seventy-years-old, you may just be dishing up his last surprise.”

I found her remark disturbing and turned to Con for reassurance. He smiled and shook his head at Ivory.

“Mom used to say there wasn’t enough arsenic in the world to kill him off so I wouldn’t worry about this fazing him.”

Ivory let out another full belly laugh causing her large chest to vibrate, and then led us from the foyer, down a long hall.

The house was enormous with pressed tin ceilings that had to be at least twelve feet high, an open staircase that was a solid sex feet wide and plank flooring covered with enough lacquer to reflect the light that streamed through the floor to ceiling windows. Carved in intricate detail, the woodwork was commonplace in a house built over a century ago. Antique furniture filled every corner of every room and framed artwork hung on the walls.

The hallway ended at a set of French doors, the glass panes covered by white lace curtains. Ivory stopped I n front of the doors, turned toward us, and said, “Good luck,” as she knocked twice.

I heard, “What is it?” barked out from behind the door.

Ivory appeared unaffected by his rudeness. “Your grandson is here to visit. Shall I send him in?”

“Grandson? It’s been so damn long since I’ve seen the boy; I almost forgot I had one. Yeah, get him on in here.”

Ivory opened the door, offering a sympathetic smile.

Con patted her arm and whispered, “Don’t worry Ivory. I’ll get her out before he hurts her.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat. What had I gotten myself in to? I looked up in time to catch Con wink at Ivory and let out the breath I’d been holding.

About the author:
Kathy Reinhart, restauranteur turned author of 3 novels, including the award-winning ‘Lily White Lies’ lives in southern Pennsylvania where aside from writing, she enjoys interacting with other authors on her blog ‘Ink Drop Interviews’, cooking, horses, travel, but most of all, spending time with her granddaughters, Joonie & the Little One.

Lily White Lies – Paperback or Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Lily-White-Lies-ebook/dp/B005C478SG/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&qid=1328721969&sr=8-1Ink

Drop Interviews: www.inkdropinterviews.com

Website: www.kathyreinhart.com

Tuesday Tales 28th Feb

Tuesday Tales word promt this week is 'Dress'.

Thanks for coming by and I'd love to hear from you, too. You'll find plenty of other talented authors at TUESDAY TALES.
*Note - changed Rosamund to Rosemary.*

Rosemary studied her son, Callum Hamilton. Eight years old, and the love of her life.

“You know,” he said, rising to his knees on his bed, “you look like a princess in that dress.”

“Oh!” Shocked almost speechless, Rosie swooped down and hugged Cal. “What a lovely thing to say. Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

Quickly knowing how much she’d embarrass him if she held onto him any longer than a couple of seconds, Rosie moved back and made a play of studying herself in the mirror.

“I lack the crown, don’t you think?” Angling her head from side to side, she met her son’s reflected grin in the mirror.

“You don’t need a crown when you wear that dress.”

The floor length pleated skirt of her diamond blue satin gown billowed round her legs when she turned. She still wasn’t sure about the single flowered strap that led the eye to the snug fitting bodice that hugged her curves and emphasized her slender waist, but had to agree it looked good on her.

Instead of her son’s voice, the words triggered the memory of his father’s voice when she’d joined him at the Estate’s church alter on their wedding day. On that day, she wore cream Nottingham lace over satin, with long slender sleeves ending in a ‘v’ on the back of her hand. The woman at the bridal gown shop gave it a fashionable name, which she’d ignored. Love at first sight, first with her almost husband, then with her wedding dress, and finally with her son the moment the nurse placed him in her arms.

And now…

Now nothing! Liam’s brother Sacha, didn’t mean a thing to her, how could he?

She’d met him for the first time at the Valentine day bash, Melanie and Monica held every year to raise funds for their riding school for disabled children—well partly her riding school since she’d bought into the business and virtual taken over Monica’s role since she’d returned to her new home with her fiancé and heir to the tiny European kingdom Henri would one day inherit from his father.

If she ignored the punch to her gut the first time she set eyes on him, the feeling would disappear in time. If the look he’d given her earlier this evening set the blood pulsing though her veins almost causing her heart to leap out of her chest with delight, so what? He was a handsome man. A stunningly good looking man, she corrected.

It was over eight years since her husband of six months had died from injuries sustained from a rampaging stag during the deer-rutting season, and she still missed him, still mourned he’d never met the son who mirrored his image and many of his mannerisms.

“You don’t need a crown to be my queen.” He’d whispered when he placed his ring on her finger that day so long ago. With a shake of her head, she smiled back at Cal.

“It would probably fall off if I had to wear a crown, so I’m thankful I don’t have one.”

Something in her son’s eyes dimmed her smile and silenced her laughter.


“What?”

Rosie crossed the room and sat beside Cal when he sat back on his heels and looked down at his hands resting on his lap. “What’s the matter?”

“Do you ever regret walking away from Dad’s inheritance? I know you did it for me.”

“Sweetheart, I loved your father not his lifestyle or his estates. Yes, I did do it for you, and your uncle is prepared to talk the whole situation through with you whenever you want to.”

“I know that.” Cal raised his gaze to meet hers, anxiety darkening the heather-coloured eyes so like his father’s.

“But?” She knew what was coming, the guilt the fear, and the sense of failure and her heart wept for the son who wanted to emulate his father and couldn’t because of the circumstances in which that father had died.

Tuesday Tales 21st Feb

Tuesday Tales word promt this week is 'Cheat'.

Thanks for coming by and I'd love to hear from you, too. You'll find plenty of other talented authors at TUESDAY TALES.

“I say, that’s a bit of a cheat. Isn’t it?”

Sacha watched the dull red creep up the young man’s neck and into his face beneath his scrutiny. No explanations necessary, he thought, and wondered how the man had managed to gain a seat at his table; unless, he narrowed his eyes in further contemplation, the stranger had expected to sit next to Melanie, his sister-in-law. Instead of sitting next to a 'real-live-rags-to-riches-princess' he’d find himself seated next to Rosemary Hamilton.  “What is it you say is a cheat? Forgive me, English is not my native language, perhaps you could explain it to me.”

“I was assured the Princess Melanie would be attending and now I learn she’s been replaced by a woman no one has ever heard of."

Before Sacha could reply the third gentleman at their table laughed. “Surely you’ve heard of 'Lady Highlander?'” He looked round at the other occupants of the table and offered a satisfied nod in Sacha’s direction. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Angus Dewar, laird of the Highlander Estate.”

Impressed, Sacha gave silent thanks to his security chief for providing the information less than half-an-hour ago and remained silent. A look in his direction confirmed that Dewar realised he'd heard of the honorary title given to Rosemary Hamilton by her late husband’s tenants. He also knew Dewar was Rosmary's brother-in-law.

He’d also learned she had an eight year old son, and was wondering why she’d given up the child’s entitlement to his inheritance.

Would the child consider she’d cheated him out of his right when he grew up?

More, he wondered why he was wondering about it in the first place.

Sure, he admitted she'd sucor-punched him when he first saw her, but that couldn't account for his sense of... betrayal? No, how could he feel betrayed when he hardly knew the woman? How could he feel his world shifting on its axis at the thought of her giving life to another man's child?

Children?

That was the biggest cheat of all.

No, he wouldn't go there. Not tonight, not on any night. The young man may whine about being cheated out of his sister-in-law's presence, but there were bigger cheats in life than that of a switch of celebraties at the first in a long line of social events marking his father's Jubilee celebrations in the up-coming months.

The rise and fall of surrounding chatter interspersed with the clink of glasses and the select orchestra playing in the background faded out while he studied his table companions. The young and disappointed man was shaking his head, eyes wide in anticipation. Was he a journalist who’d managed to circumvent security? 

Next to him an overblown bottle-blonde grinned like a Cheshire cat at everyone before leaning forward just enough to allow every male a full and uninterrupted view of her assets. Her pillar-box red talons on one hand rested on her partner’s arm, while the other was wrapped round the stem of her wine glass.

The second speaker, Dewar, Sacha noted, was in his mid-forties, early fifties, his pepper-and-salt hair added to his distinctive air and when the man glanced at him, he returned the rueful smile.

“Lady Highlander.” The man said now, “is a courtesy title given to Hamilton’s widow by his people.”

“I see.”

The young man replied, but to Sacha, it was apparent the man saw nothing at all. Sacha didn’t know why Dewar was playing with the young man, and moved sideways to allow the waiter top up his wine glass.

“Lady Highlander is here at the express wish of the Princess.”

The young man’s eyes glittered with eager anticipation. “Then where is she?”

“She is saying goodnight to my nephew.”

“She has a child?” Miss Red-talons piped up, righteous indignation lacing her voice. “Why is she here instead a member of the royal family?"

Sacha's outrage at the woman's stupidity diminished when Dewar cocked an eyebrow in his direction, he gave an infinitesimal shake of his head and watched the humorous gleam in the Scotsman’s eyes.

Please welcome author Patty Kiyono today.

Author Bio:
During her first career, Patricia Kiyono taught elementary music, computer classes, elementary classrooms, and junior high social studies. She now teaches part time at Grand Valley State University.

She lives in southwest Michigan with her husband, not far from her children and grandchildren. Current interests, aside from writing, include sewing, crocheting, scrapbooking, and music. A love of travel and an interest in faraway people inspires her to create stories about different cultures.

Aegean Intrigue was released on February 2,

The Blurb:
Someone has been stealing priceless Greek artifacts and it's Alex Leonidis' job to uncover the thief. His prime suspect is beautiful archaeological graduate student, Francie Vasileiou. His plan is to join in an archaeological dig and catch her in the act. All he has to do is keep his mind on his job, and not on the way his lovely suspect warms his heart. He's learned the hard way not to trust fragile-looking women who seem to need his help.

Francie wants to get her PhD and become an archaeologist, like her famous father. The sudden invitation to participate in a dig on the beautiful Greek island of Paros is a wonderful opportunity. She has no time for distractions like Alex, the handsome Project Director. Experience has taught her to stay clear of handsome, charismatic Greek men.

On the shores of the Aegean Sea, Alex and Francie work together, searching for treasures from Greece's past. While pursuing their goals, they discover some of the truths they had believed to be carved in stone may have been flawed.

Astraea Press buy link: http://astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=662245&mode=product&product=8347324

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0074NQ410/spea06-20#customerReviews

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/aegean-intrigue-patricia-kiyono/1108566346?ean=2940014115506&itm=1&usri=aegean+intrigue

Six Sentence Sunday

Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, and visits every week. I truly appreciate your company.

The Gasquet Princes ~ Book 2

It didn’t take Henri long to pick up Liam’s eagerness to share and explain his enthusiasm for the farm and training the horses used to help disabled children. He supposed that at some time he’d heard of such things, but as he watched Melanie, and occasionally Monica, working with them, their joy transmitted itself to him.

Several volunteers gave their time to the charity, but it was watching Monica working with the children that soothed his soul and taught him there was far more to life than the meetings, duty, and ceremonies he’d immersed himself in so far.


The children loved her. And she reciprocated the emotion. It flowed around the arena when she worked, echoed in the children’s laughter each time they achieved a new goal.

Please hop on over to SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY to read more fabulous snippets on offer this week.

Sweet Saturday Sample

Thanks to everyone who visits me on Sweet Saturday Samples and I truly appreciate your comments. 
After diverting further into the story to give you a real Valentine smaple last week, I am hopping back to Henri's reappraisal of his enforced holiday at his brother and sister-in-law's riding school for disabled children.

The simplicity of Christmas at the farm had appealed to Henri. The joy of seeing it through the eyes of his three-month-old nephew, Jonathan, intrigued him, and brought a new magic and meaning to the day. Yes, they’d exchanged presents and stuffed themselves motionless with the awesome food Melanie prepared. It was, he knew, a Christmas that would ever remain as one of his most precious memories.

He’d expected to chafe at the lack of a filled schedule. Had wondered what he’d do with himself during this enforced period of inactivity, and laughed at the absurdity.

True, for the first few days, the disruption of his life, coupled with the re-entry of Monica into his orbit, stoked both his fury and sense of disconnection. Used to a life of routine with every moment accounted for, it took several days to acclimatise to the rhythm of the farm.

The sight of his brother’s joy filled him with an unknown sense of yearning he couldn’t identify. Heck, his life was all mapped out for him. One day he’d step into his father’s shoes, marry the woman his parents chose for him, sire the required heir and a spare, and—

His steps faltered, and he reflected back over the last few weeks, since his arrival.

Six Sentence Sunday

12th Feb
Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, and visits every week. I truly appreciate your company. 

To celebrate Valentine's Day on Tuesday, I am again sharing more from of my Valentine Story, His Chosen Bride, coming soon from Astraea Press, about Henri Gasquet, hero in the second story of four about the Gasquet Princes.

Today's six follows right on from yesterday's offering...

Her hands moved from Henri’s hair to roam over his back; raking, pulling, pushing. Emotions she never suspected herself capable of coursed through her. While Henri’s lips moved from her throat to the swell of her breasts, her hand began tugging his shirt free.

Something changed. Cool wind blew over heated skin, Henri’s hands dropped away, fisted and disappeared into his pockets. And so far he’d not spoken one single word.

Please hop on over to SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY to read more fabulous snippets on offer this week.

I hope your Valentine's day is everything you wish for.

Sweet Saturday Sample

11th Feb
Thanks to everyone who visits me on Sweet Saturday Samples and I truly appreciate your comments.
Today is special because I got my cover pic yesterday and  I get to sharewith with you all today.


Every final touch she’d put into this year’s Valentine dance was prompted by her love for Henri, and the man hadn’t had the decency to turn up.

“Yes, he has.” Sacha laughed.

“What?” Bewildered Monica missed a step as she tried to make sense of her partner’s words.

“He’s turned up.” Sacha swung her round and there, framed by the open doorway was Henri, his eyes searching the room. Obviously she’d spoken her thoughts aloud, and she blushed, wondering just how many of them she’d verbalised. One look at her dance partner’s face told her, more than she’d intended.

Before she knew what Sacha was up to, Monica found herself waltzed across the floor and standing in front of the man she loved.

Unaware of Sacha’s signal to the band she stepped into Henri’s arms and sighed when he pulled her firmly against his chest and began to dance. His heart was beating as fast as hers. The warmth of his breath fanned her hair away from her eyes, the smile she was sure lit her face started in her heart. If this was all she’d have of him, she’d treasure every millisecond of it so she could take it out and remember it in the future, long after Henri had returned to his own country and his royal duties.

The warmth of his hand on her back spelled safety. His arms cradled her, even while dancing. Her dislike of dance partners holding her so firmly normally shattered her nerves.

Not when in Henri’s arms. Not when he danced her out of the area and into the night.

Starlight replaced the overhead lights in the arena, and the sighing wind orchestrated the waving branches overhead.

And then everything vanished and the only thing in the world that mattered was Henri’s lips on hers. Feasting; demanding, taking.

She relished the feast, offered more, and gave wantonly. Whatever he offered this night, she’d accept, she promised herself.

Whatever.

His hands cupped her face angled it to better taste her. She opened for him and tasted the whiskey on his tongue. Smelled the woodsy cologne he favoured, and fisted her fingers in his hair to pull him closer.

With his free hand, he cupped the back of her head. The heat scorched through her hair and down her neck as his hand moved, followed by his lips. When he found the pulse point at the base of her throat she swore she heard bells ringing.

~~~

I hope you all have a wonderful Valentine's Day

Six Sentence Sunday ~ 29th Jan

Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, and visits every week.

Today I am sharing more from of my Valentine Story about Henri Gasquet, hero in His Chosen Bride.



His father’s bald statement rocked Henri back on his heels. “You?”

“It is a year since my heart attack,” the king said again, “and for the most part I have accepted the dictates of my doctors and advisors, and am now taking a leaf out of my son’s book before my heir drops dead from physical and emotional exhaustion.”

With a snap the king closed Henri’s diary, leaned back in his chair. Instead of pushing it towards him, the king slipped the diary into one of the desk drawers his gaze still focussed on his son.

“So you, my son, are on leave until I say otherwise.”

Please hop on over to SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY to read more fabulous snippets on offer this week.