North Parish Book Tour with Rohn Federbush #Giveaway

Today, as a Buy the Book Tour participating host, I’m welcoming Rohn Federbush as she tours with her new release, North Parish. I was initially drawn to this book by it’s gorgeous cover and title, then after reading the blurb, knew I had to showcase it. Please welcome Rohn as she shares her background, writing process, and what inspires her creativity. There’s also a Rafflecopter giveaway link at the bottom, so be sure to enter!

Tour banner for North Parish by Rohn Federbush~ooOOoo~

I lived on farms in Illinois until I was fourteen. Those wind-swept plains can’t compare to the storm-free, surrounding hills of my adopted state of Michigan. I’m dyslectic and uncomfortable in crowds. I’m happier in my old-age than I ever was in the riotous, experimental years of youth. Who hasn’t wanted to know everything about everything?

I first realized I wanted to be a writer when I was sixteen. My sister’s baby died after not completing a day of life. Her name was Diane Thaddeus Schultz. I was shocked because my high-school English class remained unaware of my family’s loss, or the world’s. So I wrote a poem and eulogized my niece, hooking me forever on the potency of catharsis and the power of adding to the remembrance of a lost child. What gave you your first clue that you were one of us, unable to stop putting words on paper?

How long does it take you to read a book? My first writing draft is finished in about three months, but the editing takes even longer. I’m usually at my writing desk by 9:00 in the morning. I outline. I use Elizabeth’s system from “Write Right” and Michael Hauge’s “Six Stage Plot Structure,” which is a furtherance of Debra Dixon’s “Goals, Motivation, and Conflict” structure for characters. I put the finished outline, which includes one-sentence scene descriptions into the body of my manuscript and start writing the Rough Draft. Nothing is ever final, the outline, the sequence of scenes, etc. But the skeleton exists. The next day’s scene can be reviewed before bed and embellished in the morning. If I get stopped, I interview the characters to find out where we’re going.

I’ve been writing full time since 1999, when I retired from the University of Michigan as an Administrative Assistant. Of course, I take breaks, and lunch. However, I try not to stop until I have ten new pages or 4:00 arrives. My completed books are piling up, but I am still happiest and better balanced when new work is created. It is tempting to market full time, but the writer work-ethic in me rebels.

My ideas for books follow my curiosity. How does it feel to be this character or that one? Could I live in this place or that climate? What if I had lived in those times, in that war, or among those gardens? What if my goal had been to be a race-car driver, or a ghost-hunter, or a forest ranger? While I yet live, the wonder of life keeps me intrigued.

When I’m not writing, I paint cartoonish pictures in oil and even watercolors. I love the control over colors. I paint in primary colors, heavy on the brush. After fifteen years of steady fictional work output, my family has pretty much resigned themselves to the fact that I’ll be writing on my death bed. One sister-in-law thought I might have missed a career as a painter, but she received one of my better oils.

I’ve completed 15 novels. The three historicals about Michigan and Ann Arbor history are my favorites. But the one I’m working on, editing or writing new scenes, always claims my heart. When an idea presents itself for a story, the title usually comes first and then the resolution. I think we all write with a purpose. Sure to entertain is required, but to last in the world of more books than people, the need to share an understanding of how life works and my belief in a Higher Power, Our Father’s presence in our lives motivates me.

Hiring my GirlFriday, Florence Price, has saved me from frustrating chores I don’t have the patience to learn. Such as my website design, promotion ideas and an increasing number of tasks I ask her to undertake.

I like being married better than living alone. Of course, I am married to the best man in the universe. I’m also thankful for moderate good health in old age. My grandchildren are perfect and my children claim every ounce of affection I own. Isn’t this  every woman’s dream?

Have you read any of my books on Amazon, yet? I’m on Linkedin and have two               Facebook pages. Feel free to contact me at rohn@comcast.net. My website is             www.rohnfederbush.com

NORTH PARISH BLURB

An Ann Arborite, Professor Silas Douglas, became the first president of Michigan’s Historical Society. He was a teenager who witnessed the 1818 Maumee River treaty signing by seven tribes for President Monroe’s Erie Canal. The names of the tribes and the individual natives have been preserved in the Ann Arbor Public Library.

North Parish follows the diplomats around the Great Lakes.

* * * * *

Book cover for North Parish by Rohn FederbushParish North is the blonde adopted son of a Huron native, and with his manhood-quest completed in time for his father’s trip with a Jesuit bishop, he’s allowed to participate in the efforts to secure powwow agreements from seven tribes around the Great Lakes for the building of the Erie Canal. During the trip, Parish recognizes his vision temptress in Dorothy Evans.

Hoping to join the delegation, Dorothy Evans dreams of escaping duties as her mother’s cook-helper at Fort Detroit. Exciting windows to the wider world open for the girl in the Fort’s Jesuit library. Two centuries worth of European books convince her everything good and pure comes from nature. And when Dorothy meets the blond native, Parish North, she feels her heart quicken when he smiles in her direction. She’s positive Parish is half of her future.

When a bishop assigned to the trip persuades Dorothy’s mother to allow him to chaperon her intelligent daughter on the trip to facilitate her education, Dorothy’s mother accepts his kind offer with the comforting knowledge that Dorothy is under the protection of a man of the Church. But the Bishop’s intentions may not be as pure as they appear and Dorothy’s virtue is in danger. Will the Bishop’s unholy plan succeed?

EXCERPT:
Fort Detroit, Fall, 1817

Cheers from the fort’s crowd drew sixteen-year-old Dorothy Evans to the river’s shore. Two high-ended Algonquin canoes from Lake Erie and a smaller French trapper’s canoe advanced toward them on the Detroit River. With each new shout, more yellow aspen leaves tumbled to the ground, crushed under the feet of soldiers and civilians rushing along the riverbank. The sober clothing of the throng clashed with the riotous colors of the maple trees.

A Chippewa runner had arrived the night before to warn, or rather to assemble the fort’s population for Bishop Pascal’s arrival. Father Sebastian, the Jesuit pastor, rose on his tiptoes to peer down river. Dorothy and her mother stood on either side of the nervous priest. Elizabeth’s short, plump figure advertised her success as the rectory’s cook. Dorothy considered herself a competent but reluctant cook’s helper.

Preparations for meals left little time to think, to read, to dream. She hurried through her daily chores to escape into the priest’s extensive library. For more than a hundred years, the Jesuits at Fort Detroit had collected Europe’s finest literature. The tomes whetted her appetite for adventure and romance.

As Dorothy waited for the Bishop, histories of Florence, its free thinkers, faces of popes and red-garbed cardinals swam in her head. The band of young and seasoned soldiers from the fort held no interest. They smelled, and treated her as the stuck-up cook’s daughter. She was only someone to hand out an extra cookie or two when their buddies weren’t around to tease. But in her secret heart, Dorothy was a mysterious spy, an adventurous temptress, a princess waiting to be rescued.

No hint of cardinal reds were in the approaching crafts, only more drab brown and black clothing. Dorothy sighed, breathed in the cool, tannic-scented air and prayed for patience as the ceremonies began. Her chores awaited and her fingers itched to re-open the Italian history she had set aside.

After the first boat emptied its passengers, a sergeant among the troops yelled, “Attention!”

The thirty or so men lined up, tucked in their shirts and squared their shoulders. The newly arrived, tall, mustached officer with soft gray eyes under menacing bushy eyebrows introduced himself to the sloppy, disgraceful bunch. “Lieutenant C. Louis Cass.” He returned their salute and marched past them taking time to point out an unbuttoned tunic, dusty boots, or straighten a jauntily placed cap. “Where is your commanding officer?”

“Abed.” A young private in the rear yelled without fear of detection.

“This way,” Father Sebastian motioned for the Bishop to follow the troops on the half-mile trek back to the fort.

Dorothy’s mother gestured for her to follow, but Dorothy shook her head. Elizabeth delayed and tidied her hair until Dorothy relented and drew closer for what she thought would be a reprimand. Her mother merely whispered. “They’re going to take more land from the natives. Mark my word.”

“Not again. Where will they let them farm now? Is that why the Bishop came?”

“Father says the seven tribes around the Great Lakes will be affected.” Elizabeth tucked a loose black strand of hair behind Dorothy’s ear. “I guess the Bishop thinks a missionary is needed to persuade the tribes to attend the new treaty powwow.”

Dorothy shook her head. “What chance do the natives have to survive, if they disagree?”

“Hurry back to help me.” Her mother scurried away to catch up to Father Sebastian.

Dorothy wandered closer to the river. Dark clouds threatened to stop the sunshine’s play with the sparkling waves. The second smaller canoe purposefully tread water in order not to be drawn ashore. Dorothy examined its crew. A tall, straight-backed Huron sat in the front of the boat. Behind him a younger native caught her eye. The shifting sunbeams highlighted the man’s blond hair. His face seemed lit from within.

His eyes dreamily swept the shoreline past her, then sharply returned as if he had been startled into remembering something. Something important.

Me, Dorothy thought. He’s looking at me. For a moment her breath seemed to stop.

She couldn’t help rushing forward to mingle among the native men helping the two pull the boat onto the sandy shore. The natives nearly bowed before the tall Huron. He spoke kindly to each. Did he personally know their families? Then he introduced the younger man to them, “My favored son.” The older man inclined his head proudly in the direction of the blond young man, whose ethereal bearing evoked the capability of walking on water.

Noticing Dorothy among the group, the older man said, “They call me Ponthe Walker.”

Dorothy nodded but could not keep her face turned away from the infinitely more interesting younger man.

“And my adopted son, Perish North.”

“I’m…I’m,” Dorothy was sure she’d never remember her own name. “Dorothy Evans. My mother is Elizabeth, the rectory cook.”

Perish stepped forward. “A pious believer then?”

Dorothy gained full use of her tongue. “More of a favorite doubter of the Lord’s. Like Saint Thomas? You know the one who had to put his hand in Jesus’ side before he would believe in the resurrection?”

Ponthe seemed to lose interest, but Perish didn’t move.

“I’ve just returned from my vision quest,” he said.

Dorothy believed he grew an inch before her eyes. She slipped a glance down to his boots to see if he’d stretched up on his toes. As she brought her gaze up, she noted his waist adornments, his broad shoulders covered in buckskin. His light blue eyes seemed bleached by the sun, or his vision.

“The manhood rite,” she said, trying not to check. A stiff breeze lifted her hair, cooling the nervous sweat on her brow.

“You’ve heard of the Midewiwins?” Perish took a step closer.

Dorothy could smell a scent of juniper. “I have, but aren’t you too young?”

Perish laughed.

A thrill passed through her at the clear, rich tones of his voice.

When his father began to lead the natives back to the Fort Detroit, Dorothy boldly pulled at Perish’s elbow. “Walk with me.”

Perish slowed to stroll beside her.

Dorothy smiled as winningly as she knew how. “Tell me.”

“I can only share Orenda’s vision message with family.” His face was serious but his eyes were friendly.

“Adopt me,” Dorothy said, then raced ahead of the group. Aware of her silliness, she knew her mother would be needing help.

*

Author, Rohn FederbushABOUT ROHN FEDERBUSH
Rohn Federbush retired as an administrator from the University of Michigan in 1999. She received a Masters of Arts in Creative Writing in 1995 from Eastern Michigan University. Frederick Busch of Colgate granted a 1997 summer stipend for her ghost-story collection. Michael Joyce of Vassar encouraged earlier writing at Jackson Community College, Jackson, Michigan in 1981. Rohn has completed fourteen novels, with an additional mystery nearly finished, 120 short stories and 150 poems to date.

Connect with Rohn Federbush at:

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Google+ 

PURCHASE NORTH PARISH FROM:
Amazon | Barnes & Noble

THE GIVEAWAY:
Enter Rohn’s Rafflecopter drawing to win
$15 Amazon Gift Card
Winner’s Choice of North Parish ebook
a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Howling Heart by April Bostic #ParaRomance #BuytheBook

October is the perfect month to get wrapped up in a paranormal romance! Today, I’m presenting The Howling Heart, by April Bostic to tickle your love of all things spooky and romantic.

Tour Banner - The Howling Heart

BLURB:
Paige Donovan is an ambitious college graduate who aspires to reach the top of the corporate ladder. She’s climbing fast when given the promotion of a lifetime at a prestigious fashion magazine in New York City. Her bright future comes to an unexpected halt after news of her father’s death. She inherits his old cabin in the Colorado Rockies, and just when she thinks her luck couldn’t get any worse, she has a car accident in the mountains and awakens in the small, remote community of Black River.

Soon, she’s engulfed in the mystical world of Varulv—wolves descended from 13th century Scandinavia and blessed by Norse gods with the ability to appear human. Paige is desperate to return home, but never expects to fall for her rescuer, Riley Gray, a charming young werewolf from England who offers her an alternate future with his pack.

Now, she must choose between the career she’s always wanted and the love she’s always dreamed.

EXCERPT:
I wasn’t expecting us to have this type of conversation so soon, but there we were, sitting on the riverbank while discussing Varulv sex. He didn’t seem embarrassed to talk about it, and I was getting more curious.

“Have you ever made love to a human?” I asked timidly. My ears felt hot, and I looked at him through shy eyes. I hoped I wasn’t overstepping the boundary of personal information.

He answered quietly. “No.”

His revelation came as a surprise, but I was still curious. “What about a wolf?” I don’t know why I asked. I knew there was no possible way this extremely attractive man was a virgin.

He hesitated this time. Seconds ticked by before he replied, “Pack law states we can only make love after we claim a mate and the leader recognizes our union.”

His indirect answer caught me off-guard, and I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my words. “You’re not one to follow the rules, so I’ll take that as a yes.”

I looked away and lifted my feet out of the water. With my legs bent, I pressed my knees against my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I thought the conversation was over, but Riley was determined to have my attention. His fingers grasped my chin to turn my head toward him.

“That’s probably the only law I haven’t broken.”

Our gazes locked, and he almost stole my breath, again. “Why? I know abstinence can’t be easy for you.”

His voice was almost a whisper. “Not anymore.”

I noticed his green irises had flecks of amber in them—the same color as his wolf eyes. That’s when I realized our heads had moved closer.

Riley’s warm breath caressed my face, and it smelled of hickory and clove. “I’m not interested in any she-wolves in the pack.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
April Bostic is a New Jersey-based, Adult Romance author who enjoys unleashing her creativity and letting her imagination run wild. Her love of romance books inspired her to become not just a reader, but also a writer. In December 2008, she self-published her first novel, a contemporary romance with a supernatural twist entitled “A Rose to the Fallen.”

Her first short story, “Right Here, Right Now,” released in January 2012, is an erotic romance with a dash of S&M. The following year, she released two more short stories: a romantic urban fantasy inspired by the Greek myth of Eros and Psyche entitled “Eros, My Love,” and a sexy romantic comedy entitled “Love Addiction.”After five years, she released her second novel, “The Howling Heart” in August 2013, a paranormal romance that delves into the mystical world of werewolves and Norse gods. To end her busiest year in publishing, April will release her fourth and final short story in December 2013, a historical vampire romance entitled “A Dark Scandal.”

Connect with April at the following haunts:
Website
Goodreads

The Howling Heart is available for purchase from:
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
iTunes

Blog Tour: Christine Warner and Some Like it in Handcuffs

I’m delighted to have Christine Warner on my blog today as she tours with her contemporary romance, SOME LIKE IT IN HANDCUFFS.

Christine and I originally connected back in the days of Six Sentence Sundays, and have  become blogging and social media buddies. She’s always friendly, helpful and supportive of other authors and–hey–she knows how to create a swoon-worthy hero as you’re about to find out.

So, grab a cup of your favorite beverage (I’ll make mine Green Mountain Vermont Country decaf) and enjoy the special treat Christine has prepared for us!

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Before I get started I want to thank Mae for letting me take over her awesome blog today! Thanks for making me feel so welcome :)

One of my favorite things about sitting down to enjoy some reading time with a good romance is the moment the hero and heroine meet. I love to see what they think of each other in their own words—either by their internals or if they are so bold as to comment aloud. Lol

When I wrote Some Like it in Handcuffs—my light-hearted romantic suspense with humor—I also discovered I liked the process of writing their first impressions. To me, those first impressions show so much about who they really are.

I’d like to share Sunny Kennedy’s first impression of her hero Judson Blackwolf…and I hope when you’re finished reading you have as much of a crush on him as I do :)

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ENJOY!

His large hand combed through his thick overgrown hair before he stopped in annoyance then

swung around on his heel. The mercury light on the pole behind her lit his face as he looked down at her with the most extraordinary pair of gray eyes she’d ever seen. Not solid gray as she summed up in her hasty inspection, but the type of blue-gray color that matched the sky during a spring storm.

Definitely easy on the eyes. The startling realization that this no nonsense detective was quite

a specimen of manhood surprised her. It took her what…all of five minutes to notice. The word handsome didn’t do him justice. His strong, rugged features and dark coloring made his Native American heritage obvious. His height and size made her feel feminine and—she flinched—protected.

Her gaze traveled from the top of his head to the toes of his well-made leather shoes. If she’d paid attention from the start, instead of pouting over her predicament, she’d have noticed all of this sooner. Her lips twitched at her own blatant evaluation of him.

Just the type of guy she was attracted to, too bad he worked law enforcement. All her life she’d been surrounded by men who talked cop day and night. Sunny had sworn off ever actually dating anyone in the profession.

Okay, you’ve learned what weakens my knees at the beginning of a good romance…tell me what weakens yours. :)

About Christine Warner
Christine Warner is living her dream in Michigan along with her husband, three children, one laptop and a much loved assortment of furry friends. Besides laughing and a good round of humor, she enjoys spending time with her family, cooking, reading, writing but no arithmetic. A confessed people watcher, she finds inspiration for her stories in everyday activities. She loves to read and write about strong heroes and determined, sometimes sassy, heroines. A girl gone wild, at least where social media is concerned, she enjoys meeting other avid readers and writers on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads and her Website.

Buy SOME LIKE IT IN HANDCUFFS at:
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
The Wild Rose Press

Rosanne Bittner: RIDE THE FREE WIND Book Tour

A Vector Comic Book Explosion Background with StarsToday, I’m pleased to showcase another book by Rosanne Bittner who is touring with her historical western romance novel, RIDE THE FREE WIND. A short while ago, I had the pleasure of featuring book 1 of the Savage Destiny Series, SWEET PRAIRIE PASSION. Rosanne continues the story of Zeke and Abbie in RIDE THE FREE WIND.

BLURB:
Book 2 of the Savage Destiny Series

Abigail Trent Monroe abandons the only life she’s ever known to live among the Cheyenne with her half-breed husband, Zeke. Together they face peril and enjoy a passion most never experience. Their love is so strong that no amount of danger or rugged living can come between this man and woman so devoted to one another.Against the backdrop of a magnificent landscape and during a time when freedom meant everything to the Native Americans, Zeke and Abbie cling to one another for courage and strength.

EXCERPT:
Clinging to Zeke tightly, Abbie pleaded. “Don’t let go! Don’t ever let go!”

“It’s all right, Abbie-girl,” he told her quietly. ……

He gladly kept his arms around her, and she kissed his neck, breathing in the wonderful, manly scent of him, running her hands across his broad, strong shoulders. He moved his lips back to her own in one long, lingering, hungry kiss, then he swung her up into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder and asked no questions. … It did not matter at the moment where he had been or why. All that mattered was that he was here now. …

~ooOOoo~

Buy RIDE THE FREE WIND from Amazon
This book is exclusive to Amazon

~ooOOoo~

Portrait 1AUTHOR BIO from Rosanne Bittner:
I’ve been writing for nearly thirty years and to date have had 57 novels
published, all about the American West of the 1800′s and Native Americans. I
write romance, but not the typical bodice-ripping adventures. My stories are
deep love stories, often family sagas told as a series. It is the hero and
heroine’s love that holds them together through the trials and tribulations of
settling America’s western frontiers. I absolutely love the Rockies, the Tetons,
the Sierras, and the wide-open plains, prairies and desert land west of the
Mississippi. In my books, I strive to tell the truth about the settling of the
West and how it affected our American Indians, as well as the gritty depth of
what our brave pioneers suffered in their search for free land and a better
life.

I am a member of the Nebraska and Oklahoma Historical Societies,
my local southwest Michigan historical society, Women Writing the West,
Mid-Michigan Romance Writers of America (treasurer) and the national RWA, and a local charity group called the Coloma Lioness Club. I help run a family business
and love doing things with my three young grandsons. If you visit my web site at
www.rosannebittner.com, where all my titles are listed as well as a page that lists all my many writing awards; or you can visit me on Facebook. At either site you will learn news of new books to come as well as reprints of many of my past titles soon to be published in trade paperback and as e-books! I also have an author site at Amazon.com.

Look for Rosanne Bittner at the following haunts:
Website
Blog
Facebook
Twitter
Goodreads

Rosanne Bittner: Sweet Prairie Passion Book Tour

A Vector Comic Book Explosion Background with Stars

Today, I’m pleased to showcase another Buy the Book Tour author…Rosanne Bittner who is touring with her historical western romance novel, SWEET PRAIRIE PASSION

Sweet Prairie Passion Book CoverBLURB:
Book 1 of the Savage Destiny Series

The first in a powerful series about the settling of the American West and its
affect on pioneers and Native Americans alike.

Zeke Monroe, a half Indian scout, meets 16-year-old Abigail Trent on a wagon train west, and therein lies the beginning of a magnificent love story that covers fifty years of
passion and drama set against the rugged frontier of an untamed land.

EXCERPT:
When Zeke and Abbie’s eyes met, their gazes held in the moonlight, and they both  knew what had to be. In the next moment Zeke’s lips were on hers, searching tenderly for what he needed, and giving in return. … Abbie looked into Zeke’s eyes, once more searching. Then she smiled. “Even if it can’t be forever – it’s you I want. Only you.” Again, Zeke’s lips took hers …

~ooOOoo~

Buy SWEET PRAIRIE PASSION from Amazon
This book is exclusive to Amazon

~ooOOoo~

Portrait 1AUTHOR BIO from Rosanne Bittner:
I’ve been writing for nearly thirty years and to date have had 57 novels
published, all about the American West of the 1800′s and Native Americans. I
write romance, but not the typical bodice-ripping adventures. My stories are
deep love stories, often family sagas told as a series. It is the hero and
heroine’s love that holds them together through the trials and tribulations of
settling America’s western frontiers. I absolutely love the Rockies, the Tetons,
the Sierras, and the wide-open plains, prairies and desert land west of the
Mississippi. In my books, I strive to tell the truth about the settling of the
West and how it affected our American Indians, as well as the gritty depth of
what our brave pioneers suffered in their search for free land and a better
life.

I am a member of the Nebraska and Oklahoma Historical Societies,
my local southwest Michigan historical society, Women Writing the West,
Mid-Michigan Romance Writers of America (treasurer) and the national RWA, and a local charity group called the Coloma Lioness Club. I help run a family business
and love doing things with my three young grandsons. If you visit my web site at
www.rosannebittner.com, where all my titles are listed as well as a page that lists all my many writing awards; or you can visit me on Facebook. At either site you will learn news of new books to come as well as reprints of many of my past titles soon to be published in trade paperback and as e-books! I also have an author site at Amazon.com.

Look for Rosanne Bittner at the following haunts:
Website
Blog
Facebook
Twitter
Goodreads

Deborah Brown: CRAZY IN PARADISE Book Tour

A Vector Comic Book Explosion Background with Stars

Looking for a breezy fun read? Check out the debut release, CRAZY IN PARADISE, from author Deborah Brown!

BLURB:
Dying in the middle of the summer in the Florida Keys is sweaty business.

Welcome to Tarpon Cove.  Madison Westin has inherited her aunt’s  beachfront motel in the Florida Keys.  Trouble is she’s also inherited a  slew of colorful tenant’s – drunks, ex-cons, and fugitives.

Only one problem:  First, she has to wrestle control from a conniving  lawyer and shady motel manager.  With the help of her new best friend,  whose motto is never leave home without your Glock, they dive into a  world of blackmail, murder, and drugs.

7722162EXCERPT:
I tried to speak to Dickie about the arrangements when I first arrived  in town. He told me firmly that he only took instructions from Tucker  Davis and he wasn’t allowed to discuss any of the final details. I  wondered why the secrecy, but he was so nervous I didn’t ask any more  questions. He told me not to worry; he had worked hard to make  everything memorable.

I appealed to him, “Don’t family members usually participate in the planning?”

But he was very clear; Tucker Davis’ approval was the most important thing to him.

I took a deep breath. Later, our family would create a lasting tribute  to Elizabeth showing how much we had loved and respected her, and how we  would deeply miss her. But for now, this would have to do, I guess.

I glanced up and saw a man who looked to be in his 60’s walking to the  podium. He was well-worn, beer-gutted with dirty looking grey hair, and  dressed in jean shorts and a tropical shirt that looked as though he’d  worn them for several days.

“Hey, everyone,” he said into the microphone. “My name is…” he paused,  “well, all my friends call me Quattro.” He held up both of his hands in a  two-handed friendly wave.

He was missing his middle finger on his right hand and his thumb on his  left hand. Brad and I glanced at one another and laughed. I mouthed  “Quattro” at him and waved four fingers. He turned away, biting his lip.

“I told Dickie I’d speak first because he worried no one would come up  and say anything and it wouldn’t look right. I told him don’t worry so  much.” Quattro slowly scanned the crowd. “I reassured him there were a  few people here who could think of something nice to say.” He ran his  fingers through his hair and scratched his scalp.

“Elizabeth was a great old broad. Too damn bad, she died so young. She  seemed young to me. Hell, I’m only a few years younger. You know she  checked out in her sleep, and in her own bed. How much better does it  get than that?”

I looked around. A few people were nodding their heads in agreement.

“Now that she’s kicked the bucket…” He paused. “Well, everyone knows  there’s no bucket involved.” He laughed at his own humor. “Have you ever  wondered what the reward is?” He waited as though he expected an  answer. “Hmm, I’ve no idea either. Damn, it’s hot in here. You’d think a  funeral place would turn on the air conditioning.”

“Yeah, I’ve got sweat in my shorts,” I heard someone say. A few others voiced their agreement.

“Keeps the smell down and all,” Quattro continued. “I know when it was a  drive-thru the air worked good and sometimes the place was downright  freezing.”

I saw a few people sniffing at the air. Were they sad? Or were they disappointed they couldn’t smell hotdogs and fries?

Dickie Vanderbilt stood off to the side, staring at his shoes, and  picking at his rather large tie tack in the shape of a flamingo.

“But back to Elizabeth. I called her Betty once and, boy, she got mad.”

Mother sobbed loudly, which I knew was actually laughter. People turned to stare.

I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Mother, please. This funeral is bad enough.”

Her body shook with laughter. I gripped her tightly. “Oww,” she whispered.

“Behave yourself, or I’ll keep squeezing.” I shifted again on the bench,  having a hard time sitting still when my legs kept sticking to the  wood.

“Elizabeth was good to a lot of people,” Quattro continued. “Too bad she  won’t be around to do any of us any more favors.” He looked around and  rubbed the end of his nose.

I stared wide-eyed at him wondering if he was about to pick his nose.

“The truth is, I’ve run out of stuff to say. I know she wouldn’t have  wanted to die so soon, but the problem is we all think we’re going to  live forever, and we don’t. So, ‘God Bless’.” He waved and walked away  from the podium.

~ooOOoo~

Buy CRAZY IN PARADISE from Amazon
(This book is exclusive to Amazon)

~ooOOoo~

Author PicAUTHOR BIO FROM DEBORAH BROWN:
Crazy in Paradise, is my debut novel, a Florida Keys mystery, which makes the reader laugh, cry and cheer…

My personal ad would read:

Since all great journeys start with a single step, I’ll have on a cute pair of shoes.

Crazy.  Ice cream loving.  Redhead.  5’2″, long legs.  As an avid  exerciser, I get to the gym every five years or so.  I hate being  tricked by that stinking raisin in the oatmeal cookie when my heart was  set on chocolate.  And it’s totally acceptable for me to be mildly  annoying when it makes me laugh.  South Florida is my home, with my  ungrateful rescue animals, where Mother Nature takes out her bad  attitude in the form of hurricanes.

You can find Deborah at the following haunts:
Website
Facebook
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WEATHERING ROCK by Mae Clair: Post Christmas Blog Tour #Paranormal #TimeTravel #Romance

A Vector Comic Book Explosion Background with StarsHello friends! I hope you all had a wonderfully Merry Christmas with many blessings, family, friends and good cheer. Today is the launch of my post-Christmas WEATHERING ROCK blog tour. Please join me, Caleb and Arianna as we roam the blogosphere from 12/26 to 1/2 to ring in a New Year!

Today’s stops are:

December 26, 2012 – You Gotta Read Reviews
December 26, 2012 – Real World on Writing
December 26, 2012 – Romance Writer Sara Walter Ellwood
December 26, 2012 – Melissa Keir- Sexy Between the Covers

Happy Holidays!

~ooOOoo~

December 27, 2012 – It’s All About The Romance
December 27, 2012 – Janna Shay’s Fair Play
December 27, 2012 – TheWormhole
December 27, 2012 – TBQ’s Book Palace
December 28, 2012 – Paranormal Opinion
December 28, 2012 – Book Junkie
December 28, 2012 – Writerly Ramblings
December 28, 2012 – Just One More Chapter
December 29, 2012 – Jennifer Lowery
December 29, 2012 – Krystal Shannan – Where Love and Destiny Collide
December 30, 2012 – Romance Me
December 30, 2012 – Author Jinni James
December 30, 2012 – Let’s Get BOOKED!
January 1, 2013 – Books, Books The Magical Fruit
January 1, 2013 – Author’s Café
January 1, 2013 – Books Complete Me
January 2, 2013 – Have Novel, Will Edit
January 2, 2013 – Evolved World
January 2, 2013 – Cheryl Yeko, Where Love Always Win

Javier A. Robayo: THE GAZE Book Tour

A Vector Comic Book Explosion Background with Stars

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Blurb
As a sophomore in college, Samantha Reddick meets Tony Amaya, a brokenhearted young man, whose written words she keeps as a memento of a weekend long affair. The words, written on the back of a paper placemat, become her only solid ground during a tumultuous decade that nearly destroys her, leaving her searching for answers at the bottom of the bottle.

Haunted by guilt and the constant menace from a man she once loved, Samantha searches for Tony and inserts herself into his life through an online friend request to his wife, Gwen. Mutual curiosity opens the door to an unexpected friendship that becomes the catalyst of an inner battle between the better woman Samantha longs to be, and the Samantha who despises her own gaze.

Excerpt
Tony didn’t look nervous at all. Meanwhile I was awash in uneasiness at the prospect of bringing him into my dorm.

The story, all I want is the story and to find out what motivates such passionate writing, that’s all. Just the story…

Liar…

I felt shaky while he walked. In contrast, his breathing was even as though he was so comfortable with the situation. I suddenly wondered if this particular situation was familiar to him.

We took the stairway to the second floor. Our footfalls echoed loudly, the sound joined only by the faint buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lights.

I unlocked the door with trembling hands that jangled the keys. Somehow, I found the light switch and chased the shadows away, revealing a second hand living room set on cheap flat carpeting. I peeled off my denim jacket and threw it across a chair in the kitchen nook. When I turned, I was surprised to see him leaning against the door, held back by uncertainty.

I held the paper placemat between us like an amulet to ward off his intensity. “Do you mind if I read it?”

He fixed his eyes on me and nodded before glancing away, his chin coming to rest on his chest.

untitledI started reading. It was far more intense than I could have ever imagined. It was nothing but raw fury and passion, a determined declaration of love. It read of this girl that had become the center of his thoughts, the very core of his being. I could feel my heart breaking as I was overwhelmed with the strange notion that I wanted to be this Gwen of his. I wanted to know what it was to feel such passion, such love. Tears sprung in my eyes and I cried for him, for this fortunate girl…

For me…

He didn’t ask what was wrong right away. He simply stared just past my shoulder while I made a futile attempt to dispel a sob. I muttered that this was beautiful and he gave me a sad, crooked smile as a tear rolled off the corner of his eye before he turned his face away.

I don’t know what it was about that tear, but it made me go to him like a magnet to steel and place my hands on his face. His skin was burning. There was a little stubble that only made me too aware of his masculinity.
“Kiss me,” I whispered into those confused brown eyes of his. “Just kiss me.”

His hands found my wrists and his eyes stayed on mine. Need became a force as tangible as the strong winds that fuel a storm.

I knew he was thinking I was crazy. I knew he thought of all the reasons why he should stop this crazy bitch in heat and go away. Bloody hell, I was thinking I was crazy.

A tiny voice in my head was screaming all sorts of warnings but just when I felt rejection eating away at me, his eyes fell on my lips and after one breathless moment, he leaned down and kissed me.

Molten lead would have frozen my insides in comparison. I was trembling and when I felt his breath stutter, I opened my lips in invitation. He pulled away and a disappointed moan escaped my throat, allowing reason to slowly take root in my brain. I kept my eyes on his.

His hand held my face as delicately as a summer breeze. His thumb brushed away the tears I finally tried to blink away. His eyes seemed to glitter as they searched mine and time seemed to stop its endless march in perfect silence.

Was this wrong? I let out my pent up breath slowly in a sorrowful sigh as electricity crackled between us.

In one swift motion, his hands brought my face up at an angle and he kissed me so hard, I lost what little restraint I had left.

He loves someone else…

He loves her…

Stop this!

I felt weightless. His touch was firm yet gentle. The kiss grew needier and heat traveled down into my body, setting my abdomen aflutter. My hands found the flat planes of his chest and then ran down his sides to his hips. On their way back, they pushed his shirt up. His hot skin sent a pang of need that had my heart hammering in my ribcage.

My tickling fingers forced him to shift and pull away for a breath. I answered his smile with a lustful gaze as I brought his hands to the buttons of my uniform shirt.

His hands ventured over my abdomen and moved up to grace the underside of my breasts, making my head swim. I shrugged the shirt off and his t-shirt joined it on the floor within seconds.

We engaged in a stumbling waltz as we somehow made our way to my bedroom. Our clothes kept pooling on the floor, marking our passing like bread crumbs on an unknown trail. I was almost sick with need as the coarse hair of his chest made contact with my skin. When I felt him rigid on my thighs, I pulled hard on his neck, bringing him on top of me as he braced his fall with his arms on either side of me, never breaking from the kiss.

“Wait…” he panted. “I… um… I don’t have anything.”

It took a few seconds before I realized what he meant. Shame colored me a shade of red I thought would make me glow in the semi darkness. “It’s okay, I promise…” I said breathlessly.

He gave me a dubious look that I hoped to eradicate with more kissing. His lips found my throat, my face, my shoulder, and I curled driving my hips up to meet him. He was being gentle, too gentle, I thought in frustration, when all I wanted was for him to go right through me. I grabbed hold of his hips, and then thoroughly enjoyed the feel of the muscles on his back as I pulled him into me. The sudden fullness forced me to bite my lip to keep me from crying out. It had been so bloody long…

“Kelly…” he whispered almost breaking the spell, but I was too far gone to care.

A thin wisp of rational thought told me he was probably thinking about someone else. I wondered if he called out Kelly only to remind himself that he wasn’t with the girl behind his writing. It didn’t matter. My body overrode my mind as he moved within me. I held on tighter, needing the closeness, if only physical.

…I’ll be no more than a transient thought in her mind, a small measure of time, insignificant. No more than a barely familiar set of notes to a song seldom remembered…

The lines of his writing flashed through my head as my breath grew shallower.

…No more can I feel the soft warmth of her kiss and its absence becomes me in the form of a living death…

All I could do was accept this moment and quell my own thirst for that kind of love with what little he offered me. The kind of love he obviously reserved for the girl from his writing.

His muscles grew taut under my touch while I held my breath as the inevitable rush of heat converged into my center from all corners of my body. I parted the kiss and screamed my ecstasy, burying my face into his chest while he grew impossibly large in me before collapsing, his own conclusion reached. We held onto each other, our breath ragged, both of us feeling each other’s tremors. If this was the one and only time I was to feel this way, then I’d go into the grave smiling to the high heavens.

View the book trailer for THE GAZE here

502741_origAuthor Bio
Javier A. Robayo is the author of THE GAZE and THE NEXT CHAPTER. He immigrated to the United States in 1988 at the age of 12 from Quito, Ecuador. He began writing as a way of learning English throughout his high school years, and studied at Slippery Rock University in Pennsylvania. He lives in Connecticut, with his wife, and two daughters, where he is currently at work on his next novel.

~ooOOoo~

Look for Javier A.Robayo at the following haunts:
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Buy THE GAZE at:
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Ellen M. Collier: FLAPPERS, FLASKS AND FOUL PLAY Book Tour

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“Boardwalk Empire” meets “The Great Gatsby” in this soft-boiled  historical mystery, inspired by actual events. Rival gangs fight over  booze and bars during Prohibition in 1920s Galveston: the “Sin City of  the Southwest.” Jazz Cross, a 21-year-old society reporter, feels caught  between two clashing cultures: the seedy speakeasy underworld and the  snooty social circles she covers in the Galveston Gazette.

During a night out with her best friend, Jazz witnesses a bar fight at  the Oasis–a speakeasy secretly owned by her black-sheep half-brother,  Sammy Cook. But when a big-shot banker with a hidden past collapses  there and later dies, she suspects foul play. Was it an accident or a  mob hit?

Soon handsome young Prohibition Agent James Burton raids the Oasis,  threatening to shut it down if Sammy doesn’t talk. Suspicious, he  pursues Jazz but, despite her mixed feelings, she refuses to rat on  Sammy. As turf wars escalate between two real-life Galveston gangs,  Sammy is accused of murder. Jazz must risk her life and career to find  the killer, exposing the dark side of Galveston’s glittering society.

Excerpt:
Why in the world was Agent Burton here? Everyone stopped working to watch him make his grand entrance. People don’t usually parade around in a newsroom: They sort of shuffle or stumble or stomp—unless a story’s really hot, then they’ll run. I felt like running away too, but I stayed glued to my chair, pretending to work, my heart racing. What did he want from me?

Burton seemed to enjoy the attention as he headed my way. He was hard to ignore: Standing before me, all six feet-plus of golden skin and hair, he towered over my desk. Looking up, I noticed the curious eyes watching us in the too-quiet newsroom. The reporters stopped typing, fingers poised over keys, hoping for a scoop. My boss stared with unabashed interest.

“To what do I owe this disturbance?” I adjusted my cloche, acting nonchalant.
He grinned at me, then looked around the suddenly still office. “I need to ask you a few questions. Can we go somewhere private?”
“What do you want?” I put on a brave face so the newsboys wouldn’t see me sweat.

Burton scanned the hushed room. “You really want to discuss it here, out in public?”

He had a point. Did I want the whole staff listening in on my private conversation? He probably wanted to discuss Sammy, who was no one else’s business.

“Let’s go outside,” I agreed. Head down, I followed him past a leering Hank, feeling like a naughty kid going to the principal’s office.

Nathan entered the newsroom, a camera slung over his shoulder, stopping to stare at Burton. “Jazz, is everything jake?”

“Everything’s berries.” I smiled to pacify him but, I admit, I had the jitters.

“I remember him. Your boyfriend?” Burton seemed amused.

“He’s the staff photographer.” I ignored his crack. “And a good friend.”

Outside, I felt safe among the throng of people and automobiles passing by in a rush. The hustle and bustle of the streets and sidewalks seemed almost comforting. I looked around for Golliwog, our resident stray cat, but she must have been making her daily rounds for scraps.
“How was lunch?” In broad daylight, Burton didn’t seem quite as menacing or intimidating. Besides, a group of hard-boiled reporters peered out the newsroom, spying on us.

“Fine.” I covered my growling stomach. “What brings you here?”

“Sorry to barge in that way.” He smiled, tugging on his hat. “But I had to get your attention. You wouldn’t give me the time of day the other night.”

“Can you blame me? A raid isn’t exactly the best way to meet new people.”

“I think we got off on the wrong foot.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, jingling some change. “Perhaps we can talk over dinner, instead of standing out here on the sidewalk?”

“Dinner?” Was he serious? “Just like that?” I snapped my fingers. “You waltz in as if you owned the place—like you did at the Oasis—and expect me to dine out with you, a total stranger, because of your badge? You’ve got a lot of nerve, mister.”

“I wouldn’t be a Prohibition agent if I didn’t.” He looked smug. “How about tonight?”

“Tonight? I usually work late.” I admit, I was curious. What did he really want?

“Every night?” He raised his brows. “Don’t they let you off for good behavior?”

“For starters, I don’t even know you and what I do know, I don’t like at all.” I squinted in the sun. “And I don’t appreciate the way you bullied us at the Oasis. I thought people were innocent until proven guilty, not the other way around.” I wasn’t usually so bold and blunt with strangers, especially lawmen. Maybe it was his youth, or maybe I’d finally found my moxie.

“You must mean Sammy. Fair enough.” He held up his hands. “If it makes you feel any better, my gun wasn’t loaded that night.”

“Small comfort now, after you scared everyone half to death.” So it was all an act?

Burton looked down at his boots, as if reconsidering his options. “I hoped you could get to know me over dinner, but how about a quick bite now? I haven’t eaten.”

“Why not?” I nodded, not wanting to let on that I was famished.

Burton stopped at a sandwich vendor on the corner, and tried to pay for my lunch and Nehi, but I pulled out a quarter before he did. It wasn’t a date!

“Where can we talk, in private?” He motioned towards the newsroom. “Away from prying eyes and ears.”

Anxious, I led him towards a city park and we sat on opposite ends of a bench, my clutch bag like a barricade, keeping my distance.

“So what’s the emergency? Why did you come by today, out of the blue? I hope I’m not under arrest!” I half-joked.

Author Bio:
Ellen Mansoor Collier is a Houston-based freelance magazine writer whose articles and essays have been published in several national magazines including: FAMILY CIRCLE, MODERN BRIDE, GLAMOUR, BIOGRAPHY, COSMOPOLITAN, COUNTRY ACCENTS, PLAYGIRL, etc. Several of her short stories (both mystery and romance) have appeared in WOMAN’S WORLD.

A flapper at heart, she’s the owner of DECODAME, specializing in Deco to retro vintage items (www.art-decodame.com). Formerly she’s worked as a magazine editor/writer, and in advertising sales and public relations. She graduated from the University of Texas at Austin with a degree in Magazine Journalism. During college, she once worked as a cocktail waitress, a short-lived experience since she was clueless about cocktails. Flappers, Flasks and Foul Play is her first novel, inspired by real people and places. Currently, she’s working on the sequel.

“When you grow up in Houston, Galveston becomes like a second home. I had no idea this sleepy beach town had such a wild and colorful past until I began doing research, and became fascinated by the legends and stories of the 1920s. I love the glamour and excitment of The Jazz Age, but Prohibition was also such a dark and dangerous time in American history. Jazz isn’t a debutante or socialite, she’s a reporter caught in between the two halves of Galveston society, struggling to do the right thing despite all the temptations and decadence of the era.”

Look for Ellen at the following haunts:
Website
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Buy FLAPPERS, FLASKS AND FOUL PLAY at:
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Andrew P.Weston: GUARDIAN ANGELS Book Tour

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In a series of terrifying events, otherworldly beings intervene to save innocent lives.

The world community reacts with relief as they realize that guardian  angels may in fact exist, and they are diligently protecting us.

But there are those who would seek to stop what they feel is a threat  against their livelihoods. How far will some go to battle the Guardians?  Is the fairy tale over before it even begins?

Guardian Angels is a powerful and compelling story about the catalyst  that has the power to unite society in the hope for a better future. The  spark of hope is fragile—can it last?

Excerpt:
Luigi decided to toast himself and his accomplishments again. Finding  his glass empty, he rang the bell for a top up, and continued to gloat,  firmly believing he was beyond accountability.

When the door to the study opened a few minutes later and Gianni, the  housekeeper, came in with his favorite Black Pearl Louis XIII cognac on a  silver tray, he insisted the old servant stay with him and drink to his  success. “Come, Gianni, stay, celebrate with me. Good times should be  shared with trusted friends.” The gesture wasn’t missed by Gianni. At  fifty-five thousand dollars a bottle, the cognac was one of the most  expensive in the world, and he quickly poured a generous helping into  two glasses. As he handed one to his boss, he paused momentarily to  savor the bouquet of the blended flowers, fruits, spices, and the deep  amber color of the aromatic liquid.

“You’re looking particularly pleased with yourself today, young Sir. Good news?”

“It’s the very best of news, Gianni, and one that appears to be  maturing with age.” He replied without looking away from the screens.

The old housekeeper tossed down his drink in one and shuffled to stand  deferentially behind his employer. He listened as yet more reports of  the suffering caused by the missile detonations were announced. “That  mess doesn’t look like there’s much to be happy about, Sir. Surely that  doesn’t please you, does it?”

“Aah, Gianni, sometimes, when you need to make a point, you have to  catch your enemy’s attention,” Luigi replied. “You have to ensure they  not only respect you, but fear you. I’m pleased because I’ve done just  that. Wouldn’t you agree, my old friend?”

When no reply was forthcoming, Luigi naturally assumed the old housekeeper must have been unable to hear his question.

Turning in his seat, he felt a peculiar throbbing, tingling sensation  in his teeth and sinuses. “I said ‘wouldn’t you agr . . . .’” Luigi’s  voice choked off in his throat as he caught sight of Gianni’s eyes. The  distinctive, familiar, lazy old eyes of his longtime employee seemed to  be undergoing some kind of metamorphosis. Gone was the semi-vacant,  un-focused faraway look he always seemed to display as he pottered  about. Instead, Luigi was looking into the hardest, most piercing eyes  he had ever seen, eyes that seemed to glow with an inner furnace to  match the cold look of rage chiseled onto his face.

The shock made him drop his glass onto the carpet, spilling about three  thousand dollars worth of the deep amber nectar. Transfixed he watched  as Gianni’s body straightened, grew, and bulked out.

As the years fell away from his face, he realized without a doubt that  he was going to fully shoulder the burdens his choices had wrought.  Before him stood his own personal living nightmare made flesh, dressed  from head to toe in black. Instantly he felt the fire rising within him,  straining for release.

The Guardian stepped forward, making the barest of gestures with his  finger as he did so, and Luigi found himself lifted into the air by some  unseen force. He was held motionless, helpless as a puppet awaiting the  commands of his master.

Nodding at the screens, the Guardian spoke. “Allow me to introduce  myself. I am Andrew, Guardian Lord of Shadow Operations. Did you  seriously think you’d get away with something like this?”

Luigi stared defiantly back, fighting to overcome his shock at the  Guardian’s presence, and surprised at the lack of access to his ability.

“Do what you want, asshole, at least the world sees you as the frauds I knew you were!” he hissed.

“Do what I want? I’d love to, but unfortunately my boss won’t let me.”

Luigi stared impotently back at his nemesis as he strolled closer.

Once he was standing in front of him, the Shadow Lord said, “As for  exposing us as frauds? Well, I really don’t know why you would think  that. We never said or intimated we could be everywhere at once. The  world’s a sad enough place as it is without you adding to it. All we are  doing is trying to help people avoid as much heartbreak as possible.”  Andrew pointed to the repeat bulletins on the screens. “So, once the  world finds out that all this was the deliberate act of some sick and  twisted psycho who didn’t care how many suffered, just so long as he  could score some points, how do you think they’ll react to you, Luigi?”

The point struck home. Luigi struggled in an attempt to slap the  Guardian across the face, to do something to help vent the building fury  inside him.

Helpless, he continued stewing as the Guardian moved so close he was  able to whisper in his ear. “And when they find out about your  abilities, can you even begin to imagine how they’ll react to that? You  worthless, spineless, pathetic little man. I really wish they’d let me  play with you before we throw you to the wolves.”

“Fuck off, asshole, you don’t scare me.”

“Scare you?” Andrew smiled wickedly. “Oh no, Luigi, that’s not my job.  That’s hers!” The Guardian gestured behind Luigi at the same moment he  let go with his telekinesis. Although Luigi only dropped about a foot,  he crumpled to the floor, becoming acutely aware that the strange  throbbing in his teeth was even more pronounced than before.

Turning, Luigi was met with a vision of such barely contained power and fury that he immediately soiled his pants.

Andrew squatted beside him. “Allow me to introduce you to the head of  our investigations branch. This is Victoria, our Lord Inquisitor, and  she’s very pleased to meet you after all the suffering you’ve caused.”

Victoria stood in front of the TV screens, wreathed in a visible static  discharge that blew the circuits of all the electrical equipment in the  office and made the hairs on Luigi’s arms and head stand on end.

Her eyes, so similar to those of the Shadow Lord, intensified in luminosity and turned from grey to white hot.

Luigi shielded his eyes and cowered on the floor in his own excrement. What a fool I am. He thought.

In reply to his thoughts, the Shadow Lord said, “Yes Luigi, what a  murderous, cowardly fool of a man you are. I think the whole world will  agree when they find out, eh?”

Author Bio:
Andrew P Weston was born in the city of Birmingham, in the UK and grew  up in the towns of Bearwood and Edgbaston. He eventually attended Holly  Lodge Grammar School for Boy’s where he was School Captain and Head Boy. He was an active sportsperson for the school, college and a variety of  rugby, martial art, swimming and athletics teams throughout the city.

On graduation in 1977 he joined the Royal Marines fulfilling a number of  specialist roles both in the UK and abroad. In 1985 he became a police officer with the Devon & Cornwall  Constabulary, and served in a variety of uniformed and plain clothed  departments until his retirement in 2008.

Over those years, he wrote and illustrated a selection of private books  for his children regarding the life of a tiny kitten, called, The  Adventures of Willy Whiskers, gained further qualifications in Law and  Religious Studies, was an active member of Mensa and continued to be an  active sportsperson, providing lessons free of charge to local  communities.

An unfortunate accident received on duty meant Andrew had to retire  early from the police force, but after moving to the sunny Greek island  of Kos to speed up his recuperation, he was at last able to devote time  to the Guardian Concept he had developed over his years in the  military and police.

When not writing, Andrew enjoys Greek dancing and language lessons,  being told what to do by his wife, Annette, and hunting shadows in the  dark. He also has a magnificent mustache collection.

Andrew is now contracted to Pagan Writers Press for three books. Fairy Tail, is a short, but dark and gritty erotic paranormal/thriller  with a twist. The second book, Guardian Angels is the introductory book to the Guardian Series, a sci-fi action/adventure epic set in the near  future. The latest short story, Blood Moon, is a paranormal action/thriller  set in the jungles of South America. Further work on the Guardian Series and a new paranormal series, The  Cambion Journals, has been completed and will hopefully be published  during 2013.

Look for Andrew at the following haunts:
Website
Blog
Facebook
Twitter
Goodreads

Buy GUARDIAN ANGELS at:
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords