This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Enter the Rafflecopter for a chance to win a $25 Amazon/BN GC. What's better than a dashing duke? A dozen of them! In this case, a baker's dozen--thirteen of your favorite historical romance authors have come together to bring you more than a dozen tantalizing novellas, with one per month, for a year's worth of never-before-released romances. Read an Excerpt from The Duke and the April Flowers By Grace Burrowes April ***Henning, Duke of Clonmere is bound by a promise made by his late father. He must marry one of the Earl of Falmouth’s daughters, though only the oldest, Lady Iris, who considers herself on the shelf, interests Clonmere… In fact, she fascinates him. *** “The waltz will start soon,” Iris said. “We should be going inside.” His Grace of Clonmere remained on the bench beside her. “Might I confide a secret? I’m all waltzed out. I have no more waltzes, minuets, quadrilles, gavottes or Roger de Coverley’s in me. Not tonight. Your sisters have worn me to flinders.” I want my waltz. And yet, Iris was also relieved. To twirl around in Clonmere’s arms, pretending to be merely amused, pretending to merely enjoy what Iris would instead be savoring and resenting and treasuring…. Clonmere’s demurral was in truth a reprieve. “My sisters thrive on society’s entertainments. You will have a waltzing duchess, Your Grace. Best accommodate yourself to that reality now, even if it’s not precisely what you wish for.” Clonmere plucked a flower from the urn beside the bench. “What do you wish for? If you had a fairy godmother, and she granted you a wish-come-true, what would it be, Lady Iris?” Just as the duke was out of waltzes, Iris was out of witty rejoinders. The plain, honest truth begged to be spoken, if only this once, if only to a man making conversation to avoid the ballroom. “A wish? My deepest, most secret wish?” “The wish your heart whispers as you drift into dreams, that wish.” To not end up with cat hair all over my life. To not be a burden on my family. To never… but those wishes were all in the negative. What did Iris wish for affirmatively? She had the sense Clonmere would wait for her answer until Michaelmas, though by then he’d be married to some sister or other. “I wish that a worthy man would regard me, the true me, as the fulfillment of some of his dreams, Your Grace. Not all, of course, just as I wouldn’t expect him to be the sum total of my life either. I was raised to anticipate that I’d find a partner though, and I’m not ashamed to long for it. I wish that man would find me, and kiss me as if all the love in his heart had finally found a home, and as if all the love in my heart was his dearest treasure. Just once, I’d like to experience such a kiss.” The admission surprised her, but also came as something of a relief. Twenty-six was not ancient, and longing for somebody to love was purely human. “You are very brave,” Clonmere said, rising. “Very fierce.” Now he was ready to return to the ballroom? “I am neither.” He offered his hand—not his arm—and Iris rose. She’d confided much more than she’d intended, but the recitation had given her courage. She would not slink off to Surrey, she would not consign herself to the company of dyspeptic cats and literary spinsters. “Where are we going?” she asked, for the duke was not taking her in the direction of the ballroom. “What matters one more waltz, when I can make a lady’s wish come true?” He came to a halt toward the back of the garden. The sound of the ballroom faded to a distant roar, moonlight glinted on a trickle of water splashing from a fountain sculpted into the shape of a blooming rose. “I must make my own wish come true,” Iris said. Clonmere shifted his grip on Iris’s hand, linking their fingers. “On Saturday, I will choose which of Falmouth’s daughters to court. From that day forward, I will be devoted to her and only to her, if she’ll have me. I must make my choice in a manner that offers none of your sisters insult, or the woman I choose for my duchess will forever regret that she caused her siblings to suffer. Jealousy among siblings is the very devil, and I won’t be the cause of it in my wife’s family.” He was trying to make some point, but Iris grasped only the first part of his declaration. “You have not yet made your choice. You aren’t devoted to anybody yet.” “Precisely.” He took off his gloves, a curious thing to do when the supper was still a set of dances away. “I am free to behave as I please, and I please to make your one, honest wish come true—if I may?” A peculiar sensation welled from Iris’s middle, part glee, part terror. “You’d like to kiss me?” “That was your wish.” Her wish had involved a particular kind of kiss, which Clonmere couldn’t possibly deliver. She nodded. He framed her face in the warmth of his hands. “Then… as you wish, my lady.” About the Author: New York Times Bestselling, award-winning author Eileen Dreyer has published 40 novels and 10 short stories under her name and that of her evil twin, Kathleen Korbel in contemporary romance, paranormal romance, historical romance, romantic suspense, mystery and medical forensic suspense. A proud member of RWA's Hall of FAME, she also has numerous awards from RT BookLovers and an Anthony nomination for mystery. She is now focusing on what she calls historic romantic adventure in her DRAKE'S RAKES series. A native of St. Louis, she still lives there with her family. She has animals but refuses to subject them to the limelight. Website: http://eileendreyer.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EileenDreyer Twitter: https://twitter.com/eileendreyer Instagra: https://www.instagram.com/eileendreyerauthor/ Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/list/19012.Eileen_Dreyer BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/eileen-dreyer a Rafflecopter giveaway
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How to Marry a Rake in Ten Days by Samantha Holt
The years had added the slightest touch of grey to his hair at the temples. Though he must have shaved in the morning, stubble was beginning to show on his jaw and upper lip. Something about that roughness made her want to reach out and stroke it. Lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. Not a lot but enough that his intense eyes were softened. And his lashes...dear Lord a man should never have such thick, long lashes. It was thoroughly unfair to the fairer sex.
âI always watched you,â he told her in a low voice, the timbre of it spearing deep inside her and making her feel warm and all twisted up inside.
She knew that. But she wouldnât admit as much. A lady shouldnât be aware of these things. However, he likely didnât realise that she understood the reasons behind his stares. He probably had little clue that she even knew he was responsible for Robertâs change of heart.
âI never noticed.â
The lift of one brow told her he didnât believe her. âI watched you dance. Watched you flirt. Watched you laugh.â
âA lady does not flirt.â
âYou did.â
âWell, I have changed.â
His gaze met hers. âI noticed. A pity.â
Angelina eyed him. A pity? Here was the man who had so thoroughly disapproved of her behaviour that he had warned his all too impressionable friend away from her and now he was claiming that he liked that behaviour. Though she supposed such behaviour was favourable in a conquest but not in a wife.
There was no chance she would be a conquest. She was here for a marriage.
âI have grown up, Benedict, that is all.â
His lips curved. âYou have grown up in many ways.â He glanced over her figure. âThe years have done you many favours, Angie. However, Iâm not sure you are all that different.â
âI am,â she insisted. âIâm nothing like I was when we knew each other.â
Benedict released the curl and tilted his head to view her. âWell, we have ten days together. Iâm certain it will become clear whether you have or not.â
âThat sounds almost like a challenge, my lord.â She cursed the words once they were out. Those were the words of impulsive, silly Angie. Even the addition of his title had been used with every intention of being daring instead of polite.
He lifted a shoulder. âPerhaps.â He leaned forward and took her hand in his. She eyed their gloved fingers meeting and tried to force her arm to retreat but she had gone boneless at his touch. He eased his palm into hers and held her hand.
âA challenge would certainly make this rather dry party a little more interesting, do you not think?â
She was too busy gaping at their linked hands to even agree with him. Or tell him no. She already had one challenge to worry about, she didnât need another.
âWe have ten days together. Let me prove to you that you are not changed. That the Angie I knew still resides behind those stiff manners.â
âWhy on earth would I agree to such a thing?â
âTo prove me wrong.â He lifted her hand up toward his mouth and brushed it over her knuckles.
âI have no need to prove it.â
âAre you scared?â
She raised her chin. âNever!â
He released a flash of a grin. âAh, there she is.â
âDamn you, Benedict.â
His grin widened. âAnd again.â
She puffed out her cheeks, feeling how hot and red they were. This was all going so wrong. How was she meant to act like a lady when he was so infuriating? She should probably start thinking about a new job already. Sheâd never persuade Oliver theyâd do well together if this continued.
Angelina tugged away her hand and shook her head. âYou wonât win, Benedict. I can assure you of that. Now it is not appropriate for us to be alone together so I shall bid you good afternoon. Will you tell the marquess that I am suffering with a headache and I shall join them for dinner?â
âOf course, my lady.â He offered a mockingly formal bow and Angelina just knew he had no intention of giving up his idea of scandalising her.
She shook her head again. As if he could scandalise her further.
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âThe Rogueâs Seduction by Lauren Smith
Perdita pushed the door open and froze when she realized it was a bedchamber. Darlington had the audacity to call her to his bedchamber? Did he believe she had come for amorous reasons, or that she would condone such a brazen attempt at seduction? It was entirely possible, given the scandalous hour and the fact she was without a chaperone, but she would set him straight if he dared to try to seduce her. She wished for the hundredth time it would have been possible to visit him during the day, but there had been no alternative. People would have seen her enter his home, and that would be the end of her carefully kept reputation. She tensed when a dark, rich voice spoke. Vaughn Darlington, the viscount dubbed by ton as the Devil of London. His voice sent tingles of excitement and fear through her. She took an instinctive step back toward the door. âFleeing so soon? I would have wagered you were braver than that, Miss Darby. Or perhaps, given the lateness of the hour and the method of this meeting, I should call you Perdita?â She bristled and pushed the hood of her cloak back to better peer around the room. There was a four-poster bed against one wall and a fire crackling in the hearth. The wood floor showed dusty outlines of where carpets had recently been. The dark-green brocaded curtains about the bed were faded, and a few rings were missing, letting the fabric gape in odd places. Worn and peeling silk wallpapers depicting men hunting in the forest covered the walls. A once beautiful wardrobe stood in one corner, a door missing. The shaving stand held a white china basin with a large crack down its side. The masculine air of the room was overpowering, just as the man himself was, but the circumstances and the condition of his rooms filled her with a strange pity that made her go still as she turned her focus on the man himself. Leaning against one worn, ancient chair was Lord Darlington. He was tall, broad shouldered, and had a dangerous look about his all too beautiful face. With piercing blue eyes and light-blond hair, Darlington could have passed for an angel if it werenât for the sensual, wicked curve of his lips. He wore buff trousers and a white lawn shirt, with a dark-blue waistcoat. His cravat had been untied and lay loose over the back of one chair. Perditaâs heart quickened. She had never stood in a room with a man in a state of partial undress like this. She forced herself to rally to the task at hand. âLord Darlington, I come here with a proposal.â Her tone was brusque with a manner of business about it. This was not about seduction, no matter how sinful he made her feel. Though sheâd rehearsed this speech a dozen times on her own, she had not been prepared for the strange and frightening feelings that assaulted her now as she spoke to him alone. He crossed his arms as he studied her with that wicked twist of his lips, making her breath quicken. She shifted in place, and her boots scraped softly against the wood floor. âDo go on.â He chuckled, seeming to enjoy her discomfort. âWell, you seeâ¦â She spoke haltingly, still mortified that she was here begging him for his help. âI need to stop an unwanted marriage proposal.â She twined her fingers nervously as she removed her gloves. âMy mother has convinced a certain gentleman that I am willing to consider his offer, when I most certainly am not.â She tried not to think of Mr. Samuel Milburn and how that man had made it clear he would imprison her in a life that would slowly kill her. She could still see him leaning in close to her and whispering: âThe women I care for know better than to seek the company of others, when I should be enough. My home has all you will need, so I will hear no talk of travel or nights out. They would only distract you from your duty, which would be pleasing me.â He was a brute and a tyrant and worse, but Perditaâs mother, despite her ambitious nature, didnât usually believe in society gossip. Perdita did. Sheâd heard that Milburn had thrown a woman to her death from a window, but because the woman was his mistress, no questions were asked. It had been dismissed as an unfortunate accident. All Perdita knew for sure was that this man was a monster. She had tried to tell her father and mother what sheâd heard, but her words had been dismissed as idle talk. If her older brother Thomas hadnât been away at sea serving in His Majestyâs royal navy, she would have sought his help. In Perditaâs experience, being a wealthy heiress was a terrible burden. It put a mark on her. Sheâd fought off fortune hunters for the last few years, but a man like Milburn was dangerous in other ways. He didnât care about her moneyâhe cared about breaking her spirit and possibly even killing her if she didnât give him what he desired. She was sport. Secluded with My Hellion by Dawn Brower With a sigh, she headed to the door of the cabin and stared at the pile of snow blocking it. Maybe she could start removing it before Gavin returned. The sooner they were inside, the sooner they could find shelter from the storm. She prayed there was a way to light a fire in the hearth. The cold had already seeped into her bones. A broken branch lay near the steps. She picked it up and started to move the snow out of the way. It was a tedious process and sweat started to furrow on her brow. At least she was finding some warmth in it. âGood job,â Gavin said. His husky voice filled her ear and made her shiver from the inside out. He stood directly behind her, his body encasing her in warmth and blocking her from the unforgiving wind. âGive me the branch and Iâll finish.â She handed it over to him reluctantly and waited as he cleaned the rest of the snow from the entrance. He was a handsome sight to behold on any given day, but something about watching him work made her belly flutter. His arms bulged against his jacket and his breeches seemed to hug his thighs tighter. Maybe it was her imagination, but every inch of him appeared larger. She shook her head to clear the thoughts away. Finally, he brushed the last bit of snow off the front step and yanked the door open. He gestured toward her to enter. âAfter you,â he said. She slowly entered the dark cabin, almost afraid to see what lay inside. Gavin came up directly behind her, closing the door behind him. His hot breath brushed across her ear. âYou can go farther in.â His heat enveloped her, and she had no desire to go any farther than where she was. She wanted to lean back against him and marvel in every inch of him. The need to beg him to kiss her almost overtook her. Her cheeks warmed at the idea of his lips pressed against hers. How had she gone this long without feeling that wonderful sensation again? The one moment sheâd kissed him, it had been so chaste and over before the blink of an eye. âI canât see anything,â she said. He exhaled. âWalk a little more inside so I can move past you. I need to start a fire or weâll both freeze.â She did as he told her to do, and he quickly moved past her. With his heat no longer warming her, shivers wracked her body. The sweat on her brow made her skin clammy and cold. The sooner that fire was started, the better off sheâd be. She wanted to urge him to move faster, but it was futile. He couldnât make the fire blaze any faster because she wanted it to. Sheâd have to wait even if it irritated her. âPlease hurry,â she couldnât help the words. Her teeth chattered hard. âSo co-cold.â âYour clothes are probably soaked through,â he said. âYouâre going to have to remove your dress and hang it up to dry.â Surely he didnât suggest⦠âThatâs indecent,â she gasped the words out. âI canât undress.â How to Marry a Rake in Ten Days by Samantha Holt The years had added the slightest touch of grey to his hair at the temples. Though he must have shaved in the morning, stubble was beginning to show on his jaw and upper lip. Something about that roughness made her want to reach out and stroke it. Lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. Not a lot but enough that his intense eyes were softened. And his lashes...dear Lord a man should never have such thick, long lashes. It was thoroughly unfair to the fairer sex. âI always watched you,â he told her in a low voice, the timbre of it spearing deep inside her and making her feel warm and all twisted up inside. She knew that. But she wouldnât admit as much. A lady shouldnât be aware of these things. However, he likely didnât realise that she understood the reasons behind his stares. He probably had little clue that she even knew he was responsible for Robertâs change of heart. âI never noticed.â The lift of one brow told her he didnât believe her. âI watched you dance. Watched you flirt. Watched you laugh.â âA lady does not flirt.â âYou did.â âWell, I have changed.â His gaze met hers. âI noticed. A pity.â Angelina eyed him. A pity? Here was the man who had so thoroughly disapproved of her behaviour that he had warned his all too impressionable friend away from her and now he was claiming that he liked that behaviour. Though she supposed such behaviour was favourable in a conquest but not in a wife. There was no chance she would be a conquest. She was here for a marriage. âI have grown up, Benedict, that is all.â His lips curved. âYou have grown up in many ways.â He glanced over her figure. âThe years have done you many favours, Angie. However, Iâm not sure you are all that different.â âI am,â she insisted. âIâm nothing like I was when we knew each other.â Benedict released the curl and tilted his head to view her. âWell, we have ten days together. Iâm certain it will become clear whether you have or not.â âThat sounds almost like a challenge, my lord.â She cursed the words once they were out. Those were the words of impulsive, silly Angie. Even the addition of his title had been used with every intention of being daring instead of polite. He lifted a shoulder. âPerhaps.â He leaned forward and took her hand in his. She eyed their gloved fingers meeting and tried to force her arm to retreat but she had gone boneless at his touch. He eased his palm into hers and held her hand. âA challenge would certainly make this rather dry party a little more interesting, do you not think?â She was too busy gaping at their linked hands to even agree with him. Or tell him no. She already had one challenge to worry about, she didnât need another. âWe have ten days together. Let me prove to you that you are not changed. That the Angie I knew still resides behind those stiff manners.â âWhy on earth would I agree to such a thing?â âTo prove me wrong.â He lifted her hand up toward his mouth and brushed it over her knuckles. âI have no need to prove it.â âAre you scared?â She raised her chin. âNever!â He released a flash of a grin. âAh, there she is.â âDamn you, Benedict.â His grin widened. âAnd again.â She puffed out her cheeks, feeling how hot and red they were. This was all going so wrong. How was she meant to act like a lady when he was so infuriating? She should probably start thinking about a new job already. Sheâd never persuade Oliver theyâd do well together if this continued. Angelina tugged away her hand and shook her head. âYou wonât win, Benedict. I can assure you of that. Now it is not appropriate for us to be alone together so I shall bid you good afternoon. Will you tell the marquess that I am suffering with a headache and I shall join them for dinner?â âOf course, my lady.â He offered a mockingly formal bow and Angelina just knew he had no intention of giving up his idea of scandalising her. She shook her head again. As if he could scandalise her further. Alpha’s Call: A Collection of Shifter Romances
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- SNEAK PEEKS: Alpha Untamed by Misha Carver “To a great week,” Jonathan shouted over the music as he clinked his beer bottle against mine, Bob’s, and Charlie’s. Yeah, a great week, I thought to myself. It was the worst week of my entire life. I’d prosecuted six cases, and lost five of them. My days as a prominent lawyer were coming to a close if I couldn’t get back on top. A five-year winning streak, and one week threatened to topple it all. My feet kept tapping on the floor, not so much to the loud music playing in the background, but more out of nervousness. The guys, they all had a great week defending their cases against me and pulling ahead. A great week for them was a huge defeat for me, and yet there I was celebrating with them, just like they’d helped me celebrate each and every win along the way. It just felt so wrong. I never lost. NEVER. But I had, and I’d lost big. “Ah, suck it up, Michael,” Charlie said as he took another sip from his bottle. “You can’t win every time.” Charlie was such a schmuck. With his red hair, freckles, and big blue eyes, he appeared much more innocent than he was. Judges let him get away with countless courtroom antics because of his boyish good looks along with his ability to win almost any debate. Wanna bet? I thought as I nodded my head in agreement with him. I didn’t have the energy to argue with an idiot. “Buy me another beer, loser,” Bob said as he set his empty bottle down on the table and grinned. Great, thanks for rubbing it in, I thought to myself as I motioned for the waitress to come over and grabbed a twenty out of my pocket. After the week I’d had, I didn’t need to be reminded of my failures. -- An Alpha’s Fate (A Birchwood Pack Novella) by Lia Davis No. No. Bile rose, threatening to force Reagan’s lunch to make a gruesome return. The snow-white walls of her home closed in around her, and the air seemed colder. How had she not known? Because they weren’t true mates. Even though they were bound together, their emotions and thoughts weren’t, not like they would have been if she’d mated with her fated mate. She stared at the open journal as fury built inside her, putting her wolf further on edge. The names neatly handwritten in black ink blurred. For ten years, she’d done all she could to protect the wolves of Greenhedge; the least she could do after being forced to mate the male who’d become Alpha—a title rightfully hers. All her efforts were wasted. The bastard had sold packmates to a rogue Pack to be made into monster assassins in exchange for what? She didn’t know. She sure as hell didn’t see any extra money go into the run-down den. Fucking power-hungry bastard. The front door swung open, slamming into the wall. A low growl cut through her as she met the poor excuse of an Alpha’s stare. Lifting the journal, she shook it at him. “You lied to me.” He stalked toward her, his eyes glowing with his wolf. “You are out of line, Mate.” Was she? She thought not. “My place is protecting my Pack from monsters like you.” Anger had all but consumed her. It was one thing to blackmail her into a loveless mating and slap her around, but to hurt her Pack? Mason stopped before her, then gripped a handful of her hair, jerking her to him. Pain shot through her skull. She gritted her teeth and focused on his energy, his Alpha power. As his mate, she had the ability to use his strengths. Something he hadn’t realized she could do. Or maybe he thought she didn’t know how. “You have crossed the line for the last time, asshole.” He bared his teeth and flipped her so he could shove her torso against the desk. Her vision blinked out as her head hit the wood. When he started to tug her pants down, she roared and jerked her head up, slamming it into his nose. Crying out, he released her and stumbled away a few steps. Not wasting time, she shifted into her wolf faster than she ever had before and lunged at him, tackling him to the ground. Her wolf had taken over, and for once the woman relished in it. The thought that it was unfair to fight another while they were in human form was a whisper. One her wolf ignored. Mason Doyle had fucked over his last victim. She struck, fast and hard, sinking her teeth into his neck. He bucked under her, but he was unable to shake her off. Adrenaline raced through her veins, fueling the rage. The animal wanted blood for all the innocents lost over the years. With a growl, she shook her head, tightening her hold until his body went limp and the mating bond broke. Her breaths came in and out in deep waves as she slowly backed away. The taste of his blood coated her tongue. The wolf wanted to finish him, to revel in the kill, but there was no time. Someone was coming, and without the bond to the Pack she couldn’t tell who. GIVEAWAY! This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The authors will be awarding a $50 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn commenter. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour. A Lord for Christmas: Heart-warming Regency Yuletide Tales is a collection of novellas with both holiday themes as well as those of love, passion, intrigue, and romance running throughout. With each story, you’ll long for your own Lord for Christmas. Read an Excerpt from The Rogue’s Seduction by Lauren Smith She marched up the steps and rapped the metal knocker mounted on the stout oak door. Suddenly doubt assailed her. This was a terrible idea. Her mind screamed at her to flee as she stood upon the threshold to the underworld. Perhaps she could beg her parents to let her go to the continent for a few years and avoid the fate that had driven her to this door at such an hour. Yet that would only spare her, not her family, of the consequences of running away from the blackmail she was facing. The door creaked, the old oak protesting as the hinges grudgingly gave in. A middle-aged butler stood there, his beady eyes peering down at her over his long, thin nose and pointed chin. His professional demeanor lacked the politeness expected of a servant in a decent household. His shoulders were broad, and he seemed far too muscular for a refined position of a butler. But this wasn’t a decent household. This was the devil’s own home. “Er…” He blinked at her, apparently startled by her appearance. It was a risk to be seen standing on this particular doorstep after midnight, a fact of which she was all too aware. “I must see Lord Darlington at once,” she told the man, praying he would let her inside. She could not take the risk of being seen and starting a scandal. Or rather, a different scandal than the one she was meticulously planning already. The man hesitated, his body barring her entrance through the still partially closed door. “This is late, even for my master.” Perdita didn’t back down. “I am aware of the hour, but he will want to see me.” She raised her chin and announced this with such regal bearing that he would not dare question her. He sighed and stepped away from the doorway. Her mother’s lessons, it seemed, hadn’t been wasted on her after all. “This way, madam.” He waved a hand for her to step inside. She entered the townhouse, her body relaxing, but only just. She may have been out of view of the street, but she was still in very dangerous territory. Two dim lamps illuminated the hall and staircase. She was surprised they were still lit. Was the master of the house still awake? She had assumed he would be, but the house was hushed and ghostly quiet. She took a moment to study her surroundings with open curiosity. The foyer was bare of any decorations, paintings, or even end tables. The starkness of it surprised her. So this is where the Devil of London resides. About the Authors: USA Today bestselling author Ella Quinn’s studies and other jobs have always been on the serious side. Reading historical romances, especially Regencies, were her escape. Eventually her love of historical novels led her to start writing them. She is married to her wonderful husband of over thirty years. They have a son and two beautiful granddaughters. After living in the South Pacific, Central America, North Africa, England and Europe, she and her husband decided to make their dreams come true and are now living on a sailboat. After cruising the Caribbean and North America, she completed a transatlantic crossing from St. Martin to Southern Europe. She's currently living in Germany, happily writing while her husband is back at work, recovering from retirement. Website: http://www.ellaquinnauthor.com Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/EllaQuinnAuthor Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ellaquinnauthor Blog: http://ellaquinnauthor.wordpresscom/ USA Today Bestselling Author Lauren Smith is an Oklahoma attorney by day, author by night who pens adventurous and edgy romance stories by the light of her smart phone flashlight app. She knew she was destined to be a romance writer when she attempted to re-write the entire Titanic movie just to save Jack from drowning. Connecting with readers by writing emotionally moving, realistic and sexy romances no matter what time period is her passion. She’s won multiple awards in several romance subgenres including: New England Reader’s Choice Awards, Greater Detroit BookSeller’s Best Awards, and a Semi-Finalist award for the Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Award. She is a 2018 RITA ® Finalist in the Romance Writers of America Contest. To connect with Lauren, visit her at www.laurensmithbooks.com Website: http://www.laurensmithbooks.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LaurenDianaSmith Twitter: https://twitter.com/LSmithAuthor Blog: http://theleagueofrogues.blogspot.com/ USA Today Bestselling, award-winning author, Collette Cameron pens Scottish and Regency historicals, featuring rogues, rapscallions, rakes, and the intelligent, intrepid damsels who reform them. Blessed with fantastic fans as well as a compulsive, over-active, and witty Muse who won’t stop whispering new romantic romps in her ear, she lives in Oregon with her mini-dachshunds, though she dreams of living in Scotland part-time. You’ll always find dogs, birds, occasionally naughty humor, and a dash of inspiration in her sweet-to-spicy timeless romances®. Website: https://collettecameron.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/collette.cameron.5 Twitter: https://twitter.com/Collette_Author Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author of historical romance in all time periods because, she says, “passion is timeless.” She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, Jenna has always loved a dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to incorporate all of these elements into her own stories. She’s a theatre director when she’s not writing and lives in Gloucester, Virginia with her family, including two very vocal cats and one silent one. Jenna is a PAN member of Romance Writers of America as well as an active member of Chesapeake Romance Writers, her local chapter of RWA. She has four series currently available: The House of Pleasure, set in Georgian England, Handful of Hearts, set in Regency England, and Time Enough to Love, set in medieval England and France, and The Widows’ Club series, also set in Regency England and available from Kensington Publishing in both print and digital. She currently writes to support her chocolate habit. Website: https://jennajaxon.wordpress.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jenna-Jaxon/146857578723570 Twitter:: https://twitter.com/Jenna_Jaxon BUY LINKS: - on sale for only $0.99 Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07JK77K9V/ref=x_gr_w_bb BN: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-lord-for-christmas-lauren-smith/1129769409 a Rafflecopter giveaway |
AuthorLayna Pimentel is a multi published author of romance since 2013. Educated in computer technology, her true passion is all things romance: music, books, movies and food of course. pre-order todayout nowEventsArchives
May 2019
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