Tuesday's Special is There's Only Been You

There's Only Been You by Donna Marie Rogers

Lies, drugs, and a videotape are the reasons young lovers Sara Jamison & Mike Andrews have spent the last eight years apart, each believing the other betrayed them.

Sara has no clue where Mike's been all these years, but she knows where she's been - busy raising their son, Ethan. Two weeks after he accused her of cheating and disappeared from her life, Sara discovered she was something she never expected to be - an unwed pregnant teenager. But with the love and support of her annoyingly alpha-male family, she's managed to make a good life for herself and her young son. She even owns her own business, Sara's Bakery, which she's built into a thriving success. Sure, she works too hard and her social life is nonexistent, but for the most part, she's content.

Until the day Detective Mike Andrews walks into her bakery and back into her life...

"There's Only Been You is a heartwarming story of family and a second chance at love. Reading Donna Marie Rogers is like coming home." ~ Best-selling, Award-winning author Tori Carrington

"...Wonderfully heartwarming..." 4-Stars* Romantic Times BOOK Reviews

Buy There's Only Been You:

www.thewildrosepress.com
www.amazon.com
www.barnesandnoble.com

Excerpt:

Sara glanced over her shoulder when the screen door opened. Mike. The pan she'd been drying fell from her hands and clattered to the floor.

"We need to talk."

"Where's Garrett?" she asked, attempting to peer around his broad shoulders. She tried not to make eye contact with him. As long as she didn't look him directly in the eye, she'd be able to maintain her composure.

"You've always put him on a goddamn pedestal."

She bent over to pick up the pan. "Don't you dare say anything unkind about him."

"He's a pain in the ass."

Sara shot him a look. "He's not the only one."

A slow smile curved his lips. "Now there's the Sara I know and love."

"Don't you dare throw that word around. If you loved me we wouldn't be in this situation." A surge of emotion tightened her chest, and she silently cursed herself for letting him get to her.

Hands on his hips, Mike sighed. "Look, I know you have every reason to believe that, but it's just not true. I've loved you since the first moment I laid eyes on you."

She paused. God, how she wanted to believe him. But if he'd truly loved her as he claimed, he'd never have been able to stay away for so long. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and reached into the drainer for something else to dry.

"All right, I'm done playing. Come on, we're going for a ride." Mike reached out and grasped her elbow.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," she said, yanking her arm free. "If you want to talk, we'll talk, but we're doing it right here." She tossed the dishtowel on the counter and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You either follow me to my truck or I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you there. But one way or another, we're taking a ride."

She gasped. "If you touch me I'll scream bloody murder."

"Then I guess I'll have to gag you as well."

He took a step toward her. She took a step back.

"You stay the hell away from me." She took another step back and bumped into the table.

"Not a chance. I made that mistake once, I won't make it again."

About the author:

Donna Marie Rogers lives in a renovated old schoolhouse in beautiful Northeast Wisconsin with her husband and children. She's an avid gardener and home-canner, as well as an admitted reality TV junkie. Her passion to read is only exceeded by her passion to write, so when she's not doing the wife and mother thing, you can usually find her sitting at her computer, creating exciting new characters, fresh new worlds, and always happily-ever-afters.

Answer one of the following questions for a chance to win a copy of There's Only Been You:

Your significant other has just returned after leaving several years ago to get milk at the corner store. What's the first thing you say as they walk in the door?

OR

What do you think would be the best thing about living in a renovated schoolhouse?

Or just stop by and say hi to Donna!

I May Be Cheap, But I'm Not Easy. Who Am I?

From the desk of Ms. Sally Spitfire...

My Dearest Suzy-Q,

How is life down in the gorgeous south? NYC is chugging along splendidly and I'm just tickled pink that the warm weather has finally arrived. Flowers are peeking out all over and Brooklyn Bridge, Central Park, and all other outdoorsy beautiful city spots are filling up with people soaking up the sun.

Work is, as usual, busy but good. The big news of the week was Amazon holding a conference to announce the KINDLE 3. Although I didn't go, I spoke to a few people who did and it sounds like Amazon is getting closer and closer to taking over the world (which we all know will happen eventually, if Google doesn't beat them to it.)

The announcement of the new Kindle couldn't have come at a more appropriate time. I have ebooks on the brain and how can I not? The topic seems to come up everywhere I look, in one form or another. For the consumer, e-readers are an interesting new electronic toy and ebooks an interesting--for some exciting and for some detestable--new way of reading. But for those of us in publishing, it opens up a whole new range of questions about how we do what we do.

One of the biggest questions--of course--is that of rights. In the past, editors, agents and authors negotiated over contracts that included rights for the different ways and places a book could be published: US rights, international rights, audio rights, first serial rights, and so on and so forth. Now, the standard contract has been altered to include digital rights. All well and good. But what about those more old-fashioned authors who resist the idea of putting their work out in digital form? Should it be optional? Will that ultimately hurt the book or not? (I think that in most cases it will.) And what about books that were published before digital rights were part of those contracts? Can those books--for which there may be an audience that wants to buy it in ebook form--be published digitally without the author's consent? (In most cases, no.) And who is going to track down the authors to all backlist titles and ask them to sign a new contract that includes digital rights?

But those questions don't concern me--in marketing--personally. For me, the questions fall more along the lines of "how can we best use ebooks as a marketing tool?" and "how long will it be before it becomes common to accept ebooks instead of galleys?"

The latter question, as of yet, seems relatively unclear. There are a small number of reviewers who--when offered a galley--will request an electronic one instead but, interestingly enough, most reviewers still insist on a hard copy. Not only is it surprising that reviewers--who surely receive hundreds upon thousands of books they don't end up liking or even reading--wouldn't jump at the opportunity to trade those book piles for a slim little ereader, but the amount of money that could be saved by not producing huge quantities of galleys would be a boon for the marketing departments. Of course, it's also a matter of what each publisher is capable of; so far, it seems that the smaller publishing houses (the independent ones, so to speak) are ahead of the game when it comes to offering ebooks to reviewers. The bigger publishing houses are still trying to figure out the best way to do this without risking "big" books getting leaked early to consumers.

As far as marketing goes, the ebook is a brand new promotional object and one that is, relatively speaking, cheap to offer on a large scale. Although I am still no expert on the technical aspects of ebooks, I've been learning as much as quickly as I can about them. Already, it's becoming common practice to offer ebooks as a prize in online sweepstakes, much the same way in the past we have offered finished books or galleys. But can this be taken further? Some people are offering "original content" such as exclusive "prequels" or "gap stores" (that bridge the plot between two books of a series) in a digital form. What else is on the horizon?
As usual, there are a lot of questions floating around. You know, I've been thinking, even with all of the uncertainty in the industry right now, due to economy and changing attitudes towards "what is a book" and the rise of self-publishing, it's probably one of the most exciting times to BE in the books world...

And aren't you lucky to get to hear about it all from me, Suzy, dear... ;-)

Much love and hope to see you soon for a visit,

(Ms.) Suzy Q

Friday's Special Is...Shadows

SHADOWS by Joan De La Haye

Buy from Mobipocket.

Visit Joan's website.

Sarah is forced to the edge of sanity by the ghosts of her family’s past. Suffering from violent and bloody hallucinations, she seeks the help of psychiatrist and friend, Michael Brink. After being sent to an institution in a catatonic state covered in blood - from stabbing her unfaithful boyfriend - Sarah is forced to confront the truth about her father’s death and the demon, Jack, who caused her father's suicide and who is now the reason for her horrific hallucinations. Unlike her father, Sarah refuses to kill herself. She bargains for her life and succeeds. In Sarah’s struggle to regain her life and her sanity, she discovers there is more to the world than she could ever have imagined, and it leaves her seeking the answer to the nagging question, "Who is really mad?"



Excerpt for Shadows:

I rolled over and managed to switch off the bedside lamp before falling asleep. Gypsy snuggled up in her usual spot. I always slept on my stomach which left the backs of my legs free for her to perch herself on. She usually slept with her head on my arse. I drifted off into a deep sleep and dreams floated in and out.

Gypsy hissed. My heart pounded. There was something in the room with us. Gypsy bolted off the bed. I could still hear her hissing and screeching from under the bed. I rolled onto my back and looked around to see what it was. I thought it was another cat from next door. But a voice at the back of my mind screamed – RUN.

Shadows moved and took shape. I closed my eyes and blinked to clear my vision. There was something there: something with shape and form. It was coming for me. I wanted to scream but no sound came out. A hand came out of the shadows. It was a claw, not a hand. It grabbed my ankle. I felt its talon dig into my flesh.

“There’s nothing there,” I whispered. “It’s just my imagination.”

Another claw grabbed my other ankle. Using my legs, it pulled its way out of the darkness, coming closer towards me. Its head emerged out of the shadows. It looked at me, smiling. It was the man from the parking lot.

He slowly clawed his way up my body. A scream locked in my throat. I was paralysed with fear. The air in the room froze and time stood still.

His face was above mine and his breath stank of rotting flesh.

“Real enough for you?” He said with a grin. “I'm really going to enjoy our time together.”

The weight of his body pressed down on me. I couldn’t breathe. Cold, hard lips pressed down on mine. I closed my eyes. His sharp teeth bit into my lower lip and I tasted blood. His tongue slithered into my mouth. I bit down hard. And bit my own tongue. I opened my eyes. He was gone.

I switched on the bedside lamp and scanned the room. My heart was pumping ninety to the dozen. A cold sweat covered my body. My teeth chattered and I could still taste blood. My tongue and lip hurt like hell.

Gypsy jumped back onto the bed and made herself comfortable on my stomach. I tickled her under her chin with shaky fingers and she started to purr.

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Let's scream some awesome answers to win a copy of Joan's fear-fest, SHADOWS. As always, please hang out too. I don't expect anyone to get murdered. Here's your question:

What is the most embarrassing (or illegal) thing your shadow has ever done?

Thursday's Special Is...Vamped!

VAMPED by Lucienne Diver

Order from Amazon.

Visit Lucienne:
As agent
As author
As hybrid

From “Valley Vamp Rules for Surviving Your Senior Prom” by fashionista Gina Covello

Do not get so loaded at the after prom party that you accidentally-on-purpose end up in the broom closet with the surprise hottie of the evening, say the class chess champ who’s somewhere lost his bottle-cap lenses and undergone an extreme makeover, especially if that makeover has anything to do with becoming one of the undead.

Gina Covella has a problem. Waking up a dead is just the beginning.
There's little she can't put up with for the sake of eternal youth and beauty. Blood-sucking and pointy stick phobias seem a small price to pay. But she draws the line when local vampire vixen Mellisande gets designs on her hot new boyfriend with his prophecied powers and hatches a plot to turn all of Gina’s fellow students into an undead army to be used to overthrow the vampire council.

Hey, if anyone's going to create an undead entourage, it should be Gina! Now she must unselfishly save her classmates from fashion disaster and her own fanged fate.



Excerpt for Vamped:

Gina Covello's “Valley Vamp Rules for Surviving Your Senior Prom” from the spring issue of Modern Goth Magazine:

1. Don’t go strapless. I don’t care how sexy you think it is, you’re going to spend half the night tugging your dress back into place. If by some miracle it’s tight enough to stay put, chances are you’ve got overhang. And let me just say for the record, “Ew.”


2. Do not get so loaded at the after-prom party that you accidentally-on-purpose end up in the broom closet with the surprise hottie of the evening—say the class chess champ who’s somewhere lost his Coke-bottle lenses and undergone an extreme makeover—especially if that makeover has anything to do with becoming one of the undead.


3. If because of said chess champ’s ridiculously irresistible vamp mojo you’re compelled to skip Rule #2, do not let your extremely jealous boyfriend—let’s call him "Chaz"—catch you.


4. Never get into a car, no matter how well the cherry red finish goes with your gown, with anyone who’s been drinking or just found you in a compromising position with the mother of all hickeys forming on your neck—just for example.


5. If you’ve ignored the previous rules—and I mean, seriously, give some thought to #1 (talk about wardrobe malfunction)—make sure you have a death plan. It’s kinda like an emergency plan, but, you know, for death. For example, make sure there’s absolutely nothing in your closet you wouldn’t be caught dead in, because it’s a freakin' guarantee that’s what they’ll dress you in for the viewing. You also may want to leave some kind of instructions behind about not being buried for four days—at which point you’re either risen or beyond caring—because digging yourself out of the ground, not to mention prying open the damned coffin, is hell on your manicure.


6. Now, chances are that in the midst of everything, Rule #5 never even popped up on your radar. I get that. So, you’re famished and filthy, but, hey, you’ve survived—better than a certain somebody’s cherry red convertible anyway. Now, to keep up that trend. Normally, I wouldn’t advocate going about in public without freshening up, but here’s a tip: blood is never fashion forward. Chances are as a newly risen vamp, you’re going to be a bit, um, indelicate in your feeding, so you may want to eat first, shop later.


7. Here’s where it gets dicey. Vamps have no reflection. Yeah, don’t even get me started. No way at all to fix your hair and make-up. Who wants to go through eternity a total shlub? I mean, what a cosmic joke, right? My recommendation: turn your own stylist, start an entourage, whatever it takes.


8. Okay, so you’re fed, you’re fab. Chances are your geek-boy sire is waiting in the wings somewhere expecting you to be his sex slave for all eternity. Girls, all I can say is I don’t care if the man is the second coming of Brad Pitt, you make him work for it. Begin as you mean to continue. You’re young, beautiful, and, as long as you avoid stakes and beheadings, immortal. The world is your oyster. Make him crack it open and set the pearls (preferably in platinum).

*******************************

Are you all ready to mix it up to win a free copy of VAMPED? The person who wins over Lucienne with the answer to this question gets eternal bragging rights:

In your opinion, what's the sexiest chess piece? If it became real, what would be its signature move?

Keep the party going!

Wednesday's Special Is...Silver Phoenix!

SILVER PHOENIX by Cindy Pon

Order from Amazon.

Visit Cindy's website.

No one wanted Ai Ling. And deep down she is relieved-despite the dishonor she has brought upon her family-to be unbetrothed, free, and not some stranger's subservient bride banished to the inner quarters. But now, something is after her. Something terrifying-a force she cannot comprehend. And as the pieces of the puzzle start to fit together, Ai Ling begins to understand that her journey to the Palace of Fragrant Dreams in search of her beloved father-missing these many months-is so much more than that. Bravery, intelligence, the will to fight and fight hard . . . she will need all of these things. Just as she will need the new and mysterious power growing within her. She will also need help. It is Chen Yong who finds her partly submerged and barely breathing at the edge of a deep lake. There is something of unspeakable evil trying to drag her under. On a quest of his own Chen Yong offers that help…and perhaps more.



Excerpt of Silver Phoenix:

Her spirit surged. She concentrated on the immense cadaverous heart, focused her grief and ire. What she could heal, she could also destroy. Her spirit whirled around it in a frenzy. The heart erupted and splattered. The beast howled once before it fell to its knees. It toppled, nearly pinning Chen Yong beneath its rotten bulk. She snapped back into her own body, woozy, her head bent over the cold floor, her trembling hands barely able to hold herself up. Strong arms pulled Ai Ling to her feet. "Are you all right?" Chen Yong asked. He took her dagger, still clutched in one hand, and sheathed it for her.

*********************************
Ready to throw it down for a free copy of SILVER PHOENIX?? Answer the following question, and Cindy will pick a winner at the end of the day. Also feel free to just hang out and chat!

An unspeakable creature is dragging you to the bottom of a lake. You have the following weapons: one mitten, a travel size tube of tooth paste, and a Jonas Brothers CD. (Oh, and a new power growing inside you.) How did you get away?

Tuesday's Special Is...So This Fish Walks Into a Cemetery!

SO THIS FISH WALKS INTO A CEMETERY by Jason Evans


Jason Evans, also known as the Keeper of Twilight, is the long-time owner of a popular crossroads blog for writers, "The Clarity of Night." His quarterly flash fiction contests have drawn thousands of viewers, and even more importantly, have been a well of inspiration for writers from around the world.

He is also one of the co-founders of the Book Roast blog. As the Book Roast team brainstormed various titles and concepts for an interactive community of authors, Jason is the one who zeroed in on the name "The Book Roast." Getting the Book Roast off the ground was truly a team endeavor. Many thanks to Jason for all of the hard work and creativity he's put into our blog!!!

Over the next couple of weeks, it is going to be my pleasure to roast the Roasters! Without further ado, let's read about his latest manuscript, SO THIS FISH WALKS INTO A CEMETERY. (BTW, I hear he's pretty pumped to be finishing the project and starting to query in June!)

*******

After a childhood marked by the loss of his father, Richard Silva should finally be hitting his stride. He's young, smart, has a great job, and a hot co-worker is pursuing him. Unfortunately, a voice living inside his antique mantel clock pesters him with bad jokes, while mysterious, muttering creatures he can't see follow him on Philadelphia's streets. Before he's too terrified to leave his apartment, Richard travels to his hometown to find the origin of these "dust people." There, he meets Leah, a girl he was never brave enough to date in high school. Around Leah and her son, the dust people disappear. However, the calm does not endure. Back in Philadelphia, the final battle with the dust people awaits. Will a talking clock be the one to save him?



Jason working on revisions. (I used to call him Grisly Adams.)

Visit Jason at The Clarity of Night


Excerpt from SO THIS FISH WALKS INTO A CEMETERY


Richard limped along with his late day shadow. He just parked after his long drive home. Sidewalk cracks passed. His bag dragged on his shoulder.


He tucked the clock under his other arm. The pendulum perched ready in his back pocket in case he was jumped. Philadelphia's streets crisscrossed in every direction. No dust people. Just the echo of his footsteps.


Sunday evening traffic drifted lazy and listless through the yellow blinking lights. His mind dwelled on Leah ever since his drive began. He thought of the conversations they had. He thought of the conversations they didn't have.


His apartment building loomed. The shadows of its neighbor cut a harsh line of darkness down the facade. His own window was on the wrong side of the line. The western window. Standing out in the openness, Richard saw how flimsy his barricade up there seemed. A shade and a slid-over bookcase couldn't defeat evil. He couldn't defeat the creatures that crept beneath the uneasy world.


Knock knock, the clock said.


It startled him.


His foot caught a crack, and he stumbled.


Knock knock.


Cold sweat sprang under his arms. The clock hadn't peeped since last night at Leah's house.


Knock knock.


Richard felt pasty. Unwell. He pushed faster, the dread dragging at his heels.


Knock knock, knock knock. The voice was growing angry.


He approached his apartment building. The feeling of electricity buzzed around him. His hair stiffened, as if static sizzled up from the brush of his feet.


KNOCK KNOCK!


"Who's there?" Richard croaked.


He was going to double over. Be sick.


Few know you're real in there.

The revolving door. Just ahead.


He almost broke into a run, if he were capable of running.


Few know? Real?


The words gnawed into him. But the clock was waiting.


Richard spoke, the words rushing together. "Few-know-yer-real in there...who?"


The clock's voice darkened. Turned vicious. The fu-ner-ral in there is for you.


Richard crashed to a stop at the door.


The building moved. Swelled. It leaned over him and rumbled deep into the subway tunnels below.
*********************************************

Answer the following for a chance to win a $15 gift certificate to Amazon:


Tell me about your favorite fish. Then, tell me about your favorite cemetery. The quirkiest answer wins!

Your Summer Reading Pics

Hi Everyone,

Ms. Spitfire has the vapors and won't be able to join us today. But she sends her regards, and wanted to ask, "What is on everyone's reading list for the summer?" So if you have a moment, let's share!

Thanks!!

Friday's Special is...Touched By An Angel!

TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL by Sharon Donovan

On the eve of his wife’s death anniversary, Charles is as restless as the coming storm. Surrounded by the stillness of the Mojave Desert, he contemplates suicide. But just as he is about to jump, he hears the sweet voice of his wife, telling him it’s not his time. But when Charles meets Emma, whose resemblance to his wife is hauntingly striking, he is drawn to her. And when they discover their spouses have died on the same day and are buried side by side in the same cemetery, a spiritual bonding occurs that neither can deny. Is this fate—or is Cupid shooting arrows from the sweet hereafter?

To buy Touched by an Angel from White Rose Publishing, a subdivision of The Wild Rose Press, CLICK HERE

Click to visit, Sharon's website.


Excerpt from TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL


As the sun disappeared behind the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the sky blended into a menagerie of pale peach, rich magenta, and deep indigo. Charles thought of all the sunsets he’d seen with Jill. All those good times, better times. She should be here to watch the sunset with him. Why wasn’t she? Why did she have to die? He felt so betrayed. Life wasn’t fair.

White hot fury bubbled up inside him until it erupted like a quaking volcano. Pulling off to the side of the road, he hopped out of his vehicle. He stared up at the heavens and shook his fist at God. He wanted answers. He needed answers. Angry and frustrated, he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

“Why did you take my Jill from me?” his voice echoed across the canyon. “How could you take the love of my life away? How could you? How could a loving God do something so cruel? I love her! I want her here with me! I want her back!”

The air carried with it the scent of a coming storm. Thunder exploded in the distance. A desert storm was closing in on the Mojave. The wind rippled through the surrounding Joshua trees. The mournful cry of a desert thrasher sliced through the night. Charles was as restless as the approaching storm. He looked down. The hillside gave way to steep ravines, tumbling down over rugged cliffs to the valley below. The only thing separating him from a drop of several thousand feet was a mound of crumbled rock. He took a step closer.

Just as he was about to jump, a flash of lightning illuminated the sky. He thought he saw Jill. Pellets of hard rain pounded on his back, soaking him to the bone. He blinked several times, but whatever he’d seen was gone. Thunder exploded in the sky, the sound ricocheting through the heavens. Over the rumbling, he heard Jill’s sweet melodic voice. “No, Charles. Don’t jump. It’s not your time.”


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Please answer the following question for a chance to win a free copy of TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL. Or, pop in and chat with Sharon!!
What other scenic sites should Charles visit to see his Jill?


Sharon Donovan lives with her family in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She has a certificate from Bradford Business School and a certificate in medical transcription from the Community College of Allegheny County. She was a legal secretary in the Family Division of the Court of Common Pleas where she prepared cases for judges in Domestic Relations. Due to diabetic retinopathy, she lost her vision several years ago.
Painting was her passion. Devastated when she could no longer paint, she took several classes in creative writing and memoir workshops. And through the darkness, a new dream resurrected for a brighter tomorrow. Motivated by new insight, instead of painting pictures on canvas, Sharon paints her pictures with words.

Thursday's Special is...Cut Short!

CUT SHORT by Leigh Russell

You have been warned.
Don’t go near the park.
When a frenzied killer begins slaying young women in parkland in the sleepy town of Woolsmarsh, newly promoted Detective Inspector Geraldine Steel knows it is only a matter of time before the gruesome discovery of another naked corpse.

What began as a straightforward murder investigation is now a desperate hunt for a serial attacker whose bloodlust is spiraling out of control.

But Steel is already battling demons of her own. Her relocation to Woolsmarsh isn’t going as planned, her relationship with her boyfriend is in tatters, and now threatening messages suggest an old adversary is back to settle a score.

As the park monster continues to strike, the grisly trail begins to take some unexpected turns and Steel is drawn deeper into a deadly game of cat and mouse and a horrifying realization that she might be the predator’s ultimate kill.

To buy Cut Short from No Exit Press, CLICK HERE

Click to visit, Leigh's blog.


Excerpt from CUT SHORT


That afternoon, the DCI decided to bring John Drew in and ‘have another go,’ as Peterson put it. Pleased to leave her desk, Geraldine led the way up the stale smelling concrete stairs. This time they didn’t find the suspect alone. He peered round the door wearing nothing but a crumpled Tshirt and boxers and protested loudly when they pushed past him to see the dark-haired girl from the flower shop lying sleepy-eyed on the sofa, naked above the waist, her short denim skirt hitched up her thighs. Angela Waters’ boyfriend hadn’t wasted any time finding comfort in his loss.

‘What do you want?’ he growled.

‘Get dressed, Mr Drew,’ Peterson replied. ‘We’re taking a trip to the station. We’d like to ask you a few more questions.’ The girl rose unsteadily to her feet, tugging at her skirt. She yanked a dirty T-shirt over her head.

‘You arresting me?’ Johnny Drew demanded.

‘You arresting him or what?’ the girl repeated sullenly. Her speech was slurred.

‘Shut it, Millie,’ Drew snarled. She hung her head, glaring up at the detectives through her dark fringe.

‘You arresting me then or what?’ He struck a defiant pose, legs apart, hands on hips.

‘We’ll arrest you for wasting our time, if you don’t get dressed now,’ the DS answered.

‘Beat it, Millie,’ Drew shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bedroom, muttering about privacy, Peterson on his heels. The girl slammed the front door so hard the windows shook.

The suspect sulked in the car all the way to the station.

In the interview room, Peterson went in hard. ‘You like beating up girls, don’t you? It gives you a kick. That’s right, isn’t it? Makes you feel powerful.’

Drew wasn’t cowed. ‘What’s it to you?’ he countered, gazing levelly at the DS. ‘None of your fucking business, that’s what. I want a lawyer.’ He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms and stared at Peterson. They left him to kick his heels while they sorted out a brief. Once they reassembled, Peterson resumed. Geraldine felt confident that if Drew was guilty the sergeant would crack him, but she wasn’t convinced they had the right man.


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Please answer the following question for a chance to win a free copy of CUT SHORT. Or, pop in and chat with Leigh!!
What kind of interrogation tactics would you use on Johnny Drew?

Wednesday's Special is...Cynthia's Attic: The Magician's Castle!

CYNTHIA'S ATTIC: THE MAGICIAN'S CASTLE (Book Four!) by Mary Cunningham

Imagine the fun of meeting your twelve-year-old grandmother! Cynthia's Attic Series offers young readers an adventurous glimpse into the lives of Cynthia and Augusta Lee "Gus" as they travel through time from a magic trunk in Cynthia's Attic.

(From Gus’s perspective)

Maybe I should introduce myself. My real name's Augusta Lee, but if you're not looking for a kick in the shins, just call me Gus. I’m twelve years old (almost thirteen!) and the *star* of the series, “Cynthia’s Attic.” My best friend, Cynthia and I have traveled through time in three books so far, and have been real busy flying off to some scary castles in Europe for book four, Cynthia's Attic: The Magician’s Castle. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m going to give you a sneak peek! I’ve just returned from a finding Cynthia’s great-granddaddy, Beau Connor in Louisiana, and did I get a surprise! Someone, other than Cynthia, returned home with me.

To buy The Magician's Castle or another book in the Cynthia’s Attic series, CLICK HERE

Click to visit, Mary’s blog.


Excerpt from CYNTHIA'S ATTIC: THE MAGICIAN'S CASTLE

Cynthia had an attic. Not just an ordinary attic. Cynthia's attic was magic.

Cynthia and I came into the world just three months apart. We grew up on the same quiet, sycamore-lined street, our friendship as close as our houses. Fifty years earlier, our grandmothers were best friends. However, we didn't realize the extent of their friendship until after our experience in Cynthia's attic. This is the story of one of our great adventures...the way I remember it.


1864: The young woman paced. Be patient, Kathryn. He will get the letter and he will find you. It must happen quickly. Forces beyond her control were working to keep her there…keep her from her one, true love. Sebastien. Please, hurry!

Footsteps approached. She grabbed the book and flew up the basement steps of the castle.

1964:

Chapter One:

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah. She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah…

"An-neeee!" I reached Cynthia's bedroom moments after the Beatles record began blaring.

"This is just like the gramophone I saw at the circus, Gus, only you don't have to crank it! What's it called?" Her face was lit up like a Christmas tree.

Gramophone? She sounds like my grandmother. "It's called a record player, Annie, but, you're making too much noise! We can't let anyone know you're here. Not yet." I shut off the record. Too late.

"Who are you?" Suzette, arms folded, foot tapping stood in the doorway.

"She's with me, Suzette." This was bad. The last person I wanted to see was Cynthia's cranky older sister. "Her family is just visiting and, uh…Cynthia and I said she could hang around with us since she doesn't know…anyone…" My voice cracked.

Fortunately, Suzette didn't care enough to stick around and ask more questions. "Whoever you are…no more noise! I'm trying to practice." She stormed out of the room. "Pests."

I slumped onto the bed, head in hands. This is just a preview. How was I going to explain-away Annie's appearance? Or…disappearance. Now, where did she go?

"Wow, Gus! Look at all these clothes!" Annie flew from the closet, arms loaded dresses.

Oh, no. Cynthia will have a fit when…if she gets back from 1914. "Please put those back, Annie. Cynthia never lets anyone touch her clothes." I had to get through to her. "One day I got soaked in a rainstorm. Would she let me borrow a shirt and a pair of shorts? Nooo. I had to sit by the heat vent until I dried!"

Annie looked unimpressed with my lecture, but I continued, anyway.

"Cynthia could show up any minute and I, for one, don't want to hear her scream at the sight of wrinkles in her "precious wardrobe." I knew that my friend’s imminent return was wishful thinking because Annie had to get back to Beau's 1914 farm, before Cynthia could hope to travel home.

I unfolded the note that had appeared in the trunk moments after my return to the attic from my last trip through time.

Gus.
Gabriella is sending the medallion so Annie can use it to travel back. Keep her hidden until it gets there. I'll see you soon, if I don't get food poisoning from Grandma Sam's dumplings. Ha!
Your friend, Cynthia.


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Please answer the following question for a chance to win a free copy of the second book in the Cynthia’s Attic series: THE MAGIC MEDALLION. Or, pop in and chat with Mary!!
Where and when could Gus and Cynthia pop in to create the most chaos?



Author, Mary Cunningham, makes her home in the beautiful mountains of West Georgia with her husband. They are parents of three creative children, and a delightfully witty sixteen-year-old granddaughter.

She got the idea for her children’s mystery series, Cynthia's Attic, through a recurring dream. After realizing the dream was set in the attic of her childhood friend, Cynthia, the dreams stopped and the writing began. She has completed three books in the series and is working on a fourth, Cynthia’s Attic: The Magician’s Castle, due for release Dec. 2009.

Co-writer of a women's humorous lifestyle book titled, Women Only Over Fifty (WOOF), she’s a member of SCBWI (Southern Breeze Chapter), The Georgia Reading Association, and the Carrollton Creative Writers Club.

In between editing and getting her twelve-year-old characters, Cynthia and Gus in and out of trouble, the author enjoys golf, swimming and exploring the mountains.

Tuesday's Special is...Chasin' Mason!

CHASIN’ MASON by Stacey Joy Netzel

When his father announced his engagement to a gold-digger with a lying, scheming fourteen-year old daughter, seventeen-year old Tripp Warner left Warner Ridge Ranch and never looked back. Until the day he got the phone call that his father had died unexpectedly.

Reggie Reed lives with her guilt every day but can't quite work up the courage to track down the son of the man who raised her as his own. When Tripp shows up at his father’s funeral eleven years later--and a hell of a man to be reckoned with--he has no interest in her too-late apology. Worse, they’ve inherited half shares of the family ranch—but only if they work together to catch Mason’s Gold, the stallion a young Reggie let escape and made sure Tripp took the blame for.

Tripp proposes a secret competition to the beautiful witch who stole his life: whoever catches the stallion first gets the ranch all to themselves. It sounds simple, but once they’re out on the range, tempers and passions flare in the Texas heat and nothing goes as either of them expects.

To buy Chasin’ Mason from The Wild Rose Press, CLICK HERE

Click to visit, Stacey's website.


Excerpt from CHASIN’ MASON


“I expected you hours ago,” she said, exasperation heavy in her tone.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Hardly,” she said with a delicate snort.

Yet her eyelids lowered as her gaze swept down and up, taking stock of the comfortable tee shirt and jeans he’d worn for the long drive from Galveston. Something flickered in her eyes; something hot he instinctively recognized as more dangerous than a rattle snake. She shut it down quick and lifted her chin so her cute little nose stuck in the air.

“And now that I can see there’s no danger to Grandma, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Her bare feet whispered across the floor toward the stairs. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Shut up. Don’t go there. Don’t—

Her right foot hit the bottom stair, her nightgown swaying with the enticing movement of her hips.

“What about you?”

She paused and turned. “What?”

Hooking one thumb in the front pocket of his jeans, he took slow, measured steps across the floor. Tension spread through him like the flush sweeping across her pale skin. Her fingers tangled in the material of her gown, tugging the hem lower as he came to a stop in front of her. Unfortunately, she also succeeded in lowering the neckline. The thud of his bag dropping to the floor made her flinch.

Tripp lowered his tone. “You said there’s no danger to Nana, but what about you?”

“Th—”

Her voice cracked and her throat muscles worked fast. He dropped his gaze to the rapid pulse beating at the base of her neck.

“I’m f-fine.”

He lifted a hand to the rosy skin of her neck; felt her life beat beneath his finger tip. Anticipation hummed along his nerve endings, making him excruciatingly aware of every shallow breath she took. “Fine doesn’t begin to cover it, Princess.”

When he slid his fingers into her silky hair to rub the back of her neck, her eyelids lowered, then closed. Her hands rose to press against his chest. God, he was pretty sure he hated her, and yet he damn sure wanted her. It was the craziest thing. He shifted closer, slid his other hand over the curve of her hip to press against the small of her back, leaned in to inhale the evocative scent of peaches. The heat of her skin burned through the thin, satiny material of her nightgown to warm his hand where it rested along her spine.

His mouth hovered above her moist lips, his unsteady breath mingling with hers. He started to close the distance.

“You hate me,” she whispered, her hands fisting in his shirt.

“Such a strong word—hate,” he murmured, even though he’d just thought it.

Forgoing her mouth, he lightly brushed his lips over her smooth cheek with its charming freckles. It wasn’t enough. With the hand buried in her hair, he angled her head to give him access to the delicate column of her neck. He pressed his tongue to her pulse, licked, then sucked gently. She made a small noise deep in her throat. His body throbbed in response as his arm curled tighter around her waist.

“You…d-don’t like me, then.”

Stubborn witch wouldn’t let it go. That hadn’t changed. He worked his way back to her mouth. “Do you like me?”

Her violet eyes opened and locked with his, making his heart thump hard.

“Don’t mess with me, Tripp. Please.” The sincerity in her voice was astounding.

“Who’s messing?” he asked, making light of her plea while brushing his thumb over her lower lip. He wanted to taste her so bad, and she just wouldn’t shut up.

“You’re going to take the ranch from me—this isn’t playing fair.”

The reminder of what was at stake in this game was just what he needed. He lowered his head to whisper against her mouth. “Like you played fair all those years ago?”

In a heartbeat, she stiffened and shoved against his chest to be free. Tripp held on; let her see who held the control now.


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Please answer the following question for a chance to win a free copy of CHASIN’ MASON. Or, pop in and chat with Stacey!!
What’s the next move in this chess match?



Stacey Joy Netzel fell in love with books at a young age, so for her it seemed only natural to graduate to writing them. A member of RWA and WisRWA, she credits not only her parents for encouraging her dreams of becoming a published author, but also the very talented friends she’s made in WisRWA since joining in 2004. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband and kids, a couple of horses, and three barn cats. When not writing and living life in general, she loves to read and watch movies—Happily Ever After’s a must.

Cliffs Notes-They're Not Just for College Anymore...

From the desk of Ms. Sally Spitfire...

My dearest Suzy-Q,

Suzy, you know that one of the main reasons that I decided to work in publishing is that I've always loved to read. Really loved to read. Do you remember middle school when you sat me down to let me know that reading during recess was a sure way to miss out on a lot of new friends? Then in high school, you would try to keep me from bringing a book to football games...

Well, I got my wish. I have a job for which I am actually required to read. All the time. Not only do I need to be "well-read" in terms of current popular authors and best-sellers, but I also have to read all of the books for which I am doing the marketing. And Suzy, let me tell you, it is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I simply adore the fact that the "work" I often take home is reading. How many people can say, "Yeah, I'm reading a historical romance about the St. Valentine's Day Massacre... it's for work..." The flip side is that a great deal of what I read is either a) not good (especially when I'm asked to give an opinion on unpublished manuscripts and proposals) or b) not the genres of literature that I enjoy. There are days when all I really want to do is sit down with the new John Green young adult novel or a classic that I've still yet to read like The Confederacy of Dunces but instead I have something for work that--like it or not (and more often not)--I have to read by Monday...

Poor, poor me.

Sorry for the short letter, Suzy, but this week I have five things I have to read for work and I didn't crack a single one over the weekend... time to start playing catch-up...

Lots of love,

(Ms.) Sally S.