Grace Marshall's Blog

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[image error]Big news for 2015! Grace Marshall is moving in with K D Grace! That’s right! Let the raunchy, romantic cohabitation begin! If you’re a follower of Grace Marshall’s blog, don’t worry! You can find her over at K D Grace’s blog now. While Grace Marshall moves in and makes herself at home, some of her links will be active on her blog and website for awhile, as well as Facebook and Twitter links, but then she’s going to move right on in and make herself totally at home on the combine blog of K D Grace and Grace Marshall, as well as Facebook pages and Twitter links. Make sure YOU move right in with her so you won’t miss any of the fun! You’ll be able to find all of Grace Marshall’s hot romance novels on their own page right next door to K D’s erotica and erotic romance.

[image error]You’ll probably notice that the move has already begun, but don’t worry, we’ll be sure to keep you updated and well -connected through the transition.

As always the Two Graces will open up their blog to some of your very favourite authors as well as some exciting new ones. There’ll be delicious excerpts and interviews, fabulous sneak peeks at the story behind the story as well as insightful posts that have to do with — well just about anything that’s totally cool.

The Two Graces will share the occasional navel-gaze along with writerly stuff and the occasional interview with their characters at least once a week. Roomies at last! Twice the sexy romance, twice the fun! Now all together on one Grace-filled, glorious, gregarious, ginormous blog!

Please visit K D and me at my new home! 

Websites: http://kdgrace.co.uk/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KD_Grace

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/kdgraceauthor/

 



 

 

 

One of the intriguing things about history is how perceptions of it often don’t stack up to the reality of it—which is why when I read about something that kicks my school-learning-belief system in the head, my writer’s ears prick. Being married to a historian has given me a keen sense of how history written in books skims the surface. My husband has taught me to look deeper and think harder about history.

TEMPTING WILL McGLASHEN takes place in the Virginia backcounty—a very different place than, say, colonial Boston. Wilder, to be sure, but it was also a time of culture clashes and growth, along with exploration and hardship. The backwater was a brew of different ethnicities, religions, and customs. Thinking about romance in that situation provided much fodder for my writer’s mind.

Here’s a few things I thought I’d pass on that might give you something to think about.

 

African-Americans were not all slaves at the time, which is not to say that even though they were free, life was good and easy for most of them. I’ve worked a couple of “walk-on” characters into this novel that are based on odd but true stories. One of the stories is about Ned, the African-American man who was married to a white woman. This was mentioned in the Moravian Diaries and there is a recently-published book about it—The Road to Black Ned’s Forge: A Story of Race, Sex, and Trade on the American Colonial Frontier by Turk McClesky. I actually went to hear Turk speak about his book and was able to ask a few questions.
Speaking of marriage. Often in the backcounty, there were no preachers or magistrates. Agreements may have been made by families. But many “marriages” were not what we would deem legal. Sometimes couples would live together for years, have a huge family, before a traveling magistrate or preacher would come through and make it legal.
Almost everybody was a “farmer.” My manuscript has been through so many edits by now—and at one point one of my readers asked me if my characters were innkeeper or farmers. Hmmm. Then, if you didn’t farm, you didn’t eat or feed your family. Subsistence farming was the way you lived on the frontier of Virginia. You didn’t necessarily call yourself a “farmer.”
Women did not sit idly by needlepointing. In the backcountry, women had to be strong to survive, of course, and there could be no slackers in a family. Everybody worked—and worked hard. One of my walk-on characters is a real historical person named Mary Ingles, whose story of capture, escape, and survival is nothing short of miraculous. “Follow the River” by James Alexander Thom is a novel that brings to life this inspiring true story. Her escape consisted of a 43 day and 1000 mile journey through incredibly rough country. She and another woman made it back home to Draper’s Meadows. Mary’s hair had turned completely white although she was only about 24 years old.
The puritanical view many Americans tag onto the colonists was not prevalent. Sure, among the “puritans,” it was. But the made up a small portion of the population. Colonists came from everywhere and brought their views with them. Many of them had healthy, sort of earthy, views about sex—especially sex after marriage. Sex before marriage is trickier business—but according to the medical records of the time, a huge percent of women were already pregnant when they were married—this is across all colonies.

A clashing of cultures. A shifting of paradigms. Great changes that brought about the United States of America. Set a romance against all of this—featuring a recent immigrant from Scotland who wields a blacksmith’s hammer and the daughter of an innkeeper—and be still my beating heart.

 

Excerpt

When she peered into the window of the shop, she nearly lost her breath. His shirtsleeves were rolled beyond his elbow and the linen was so worn that she could see his upper arms, along with his sinewy forearms, which were glistening with sweat. The muscles in his arms slid underneath the skin as he pounded his hammer to the anvil. She had never seen a man’s bare arms—even though they weren’t quite bare, they may as well have been. It was indecent, she knew, and should have immediately lowered her eyes and cleared her throat to let him know she was there, as a polite well-bred young woman would certainly do. But, she was paralyzed, her heart raced and a strange surge crept in her stomach. Was she going to faint?

Will’s thick copper-penny colored curls stuck around the edges of his face and he grimaced with each pound of the hammer, revealing deep dimples on either side of his full mouth. Now his tongue moved over his lips. She was as mesmerized by the rhythm of the bell-like sound as by the arms producing it.

His muscular legs stood firmly beneath him, solid at the top and sloped down to a robust, firm-looking behind. She drew in a breath. Surely she must look away. What sinful pull was this?

A bubble of trembling crept into her hands and the tin cup start to slip. She saved it by holding it against the wood of the door, but it made a terrible clunking noise.

Will looked up as the door flew open. He dropped his hammer and the wheel as Mathilde lurched forward. The harder she tried to get her balance, the harder it became, until finally she landed in his arms, with the cup of water clanging around on the floor, but the wrapped food still firmly in her hand and pressed against his chest. He held her firmly—she had never felt such hard arms before.

“Are you all right, Mathilde?” he asked, keeping his arms firmly around her waist as if to steady her.

The heat of the shop enveloped her and she found it a little hard to catch her breath with him pressed to her in that sweltering heat. “Ye-es,” she said hesitantly, her eyes cautiously meeting his firm stance.

One of his hot, blackened hands reached up to her face and touched it softly. His touch stayed there even as he moved his hand from her. She was bewildered and found it difficult to speak.

“Will—” she began to say, but the ravenous look in his eyes held her there. She could feel his hot body beneath his leather apron. She could not control her thoughts, her words, or even her body. She felt herself trembling and wanting to . . . she didn’t even know what. Wrap herself around him. Feel those strong arms and that chest pressing into her. Taste his mouth on her mouth, ja.

Fear ripped through her, snapping her back to reality. What if someone were to see them here in one another’s arms? Unmarried? Unbetrothed? Her father would fire him, maybe kill him, and disown her for committing such a sin. She quickly pulled away from him.

“Mathilde thought she noticed a slight tremor in his sweat-slick cheeks.

“I don’t know what I’m doing—with the daughter of John Miller. Can you please forgive me?” Will asked, untangling himself, but running his hands along her sides to linger at her hips for a moment more, as if he didn’t dare move too quickly. He looked at her with raised eyebrows.

She could not find any words in her dry mouth, but handed him his lunch.

A knock came at the door. “What’s going on in here?” It was Joshua, smiling at them both.

“Oh!” Mathilde jumped to attention. “Just me being clumsy again.” She stooped over to get the dropped cup.

“Let me get that for you,” Joshua said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mathilde said, not looking at him. “I’ll get it and fetch the water myself.”

The two men looked at one another, shrugging and smiling as Mathilde hurried out of the blacksmith shop.

 

Blurb

Mathilde Miller wanted to be a good daughter and marry the son of a long-time family friend, Joshua Bowman. But she didn’t want to be the wife of a Pennsylvania farmer. She loved her life, cooking on the Virginia frontier at her family’s ordinary. The minute blacksmith Will McGlashen walks into her kitchen, her restlessness focused on him. Fresh from Scotland, with a voice “like a song” and thick coppery hair, her heart belonged to him. Was it possible for the daughter of a Pennsylvania German to marry a hired man from Scotland? What did she really know about Will McGlashen and his secret past?

Will McGlashen needed to keep his own counsel. A man with a past full of violence and loss in Scotland, he was grateful for this chance to rebuild his life as a blacksmith in Virginia. He’d have to ignore the undeniable pull he felt toward his boss’s eldest daughter. When Joshua Bowman showed up and claimed her, instead of providing resolution for will, it burns like the fire he wields in his blacksmith shop. As events unfold, Will wonders if the signs she’s sending him are all in his head and prays that he has the strength not to find out.

The story is set in the Virginia frontier in 1765, a time when Native Americans still lurked in the hills, bandits and robbers were handed swift justice, and enterprising men and their families attempted to live in and tame the wild western edge of the new colonies. An ordinary offering good food, a bed, and company for travelers along the way was a much welcomed respite. Mathilde and Will’s story is woven into the history, adventure, and danger of the time period.

Buy Links

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Barnes & Noble

Smashwords

iBooks

Kobo  

 

About Liz Everly

Liz Everly writes, plays, and cooks in a tiny house with a big garden. She writes under a pen name to escape expectations and to embrace all possibilities. She’s the author of the SAFFRON NIGHTS SERIES (e-Kensington), and a contributor in THE LADY SMUT BOOK OF DARK DESIRES. She also writes regional bestselling cookbooks and Agatha-award nominated traditional mysteries under her own name. On any given day, you may find her researching murder, sex, or cooking techniques. She’d not have it any other way. @Lizeverly1

http://www.lizeverly.com

http://www.ladysmut.com

lizeverly@rocketmail.com

 

You can also find Liz on Facebook.

 

GIVEAWAY!

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Once upon a time I killed a cat.

It wasn’t a real cat, but a cat in a book. It belonged to my heroine and fell victim to her vengeful rival; poor Romy wept buckets over her pet, just as I wept buckets as I was writing it and one editor as she read it. (She didn’t like the rest of the book, but that, so to speak is another story). But at least I know that I managed to touch someone’s emotions.

There’s a cat in my newest book, No Time Like Now, as it happens. He’s nobody’s cat and he creeps about like the predator he is, chasing mice and lizards and even beetles. Chico the semi-feral tabby hints at the suspense in the book but he leaves the romance to others.

Those others are my heroine, Megan, housekeeper at a university field centre, and my hero, Tim, a geologist arriving there on fieldwork. She’s there for a quiet life and an escape from her problems (of which he is one) and he’s there on the lookout for information. Needless to say, it doesn’t work out quite like that and Megan’s dream of a quiet life evaporates when she finds  body on the beach.

No Time Like Now is a romantic suspense novel and so it has emotion by the bucketload. Desertion, breakdown, danger and misunderstanding, never mind loneliness, heartbreak and desperate choices.  Tim and Megan, thrown together by coincidence, he with another partner and she with one in the offing, both believing the other one broke their hearts.

There are plenty of tears in the book — and yes, my editor told me she cried when she read it. But I’m not giving anything away f I tell you that the cat survives, purely because I don’t think I had the emotional energy to kill him off.

I always include a cat in my books now, as a reminder that I managed to make someone cry even though they didn’t like the book. That’s the most precious thing a writer can offer a reader — touching their emotions, making them believe. Of course there’s more to it than that (a lot more to it) but that’s at the core of it. As writers we want to touch your emotions.

Read the book and see if I did.

Excerpt

I ’ d thought I was alone. I ’ d deliberately chosen a spot where I could be. So it was with a touch of irritation that I realised I might have company.

At first, I wasn ’ t sure. The thing that caught my eye, about a hundred yards away at the far edge of the beach, looked like a piece of wreckage washed up by the waves. And it was a moment before I realised that it was a person. I looked past and then back again; my interest caught. Because something about the sunbather looked wrong.

Naturally curious, that ’ s my problem. And anyway, I had nothing else to do with the morning since Miss Austen had failed to engage my attention and I wasn ’ t keen on risking my peace of mind back at the centre. Clutching the photo between my fingers, I crunched my way along the narrow strip of beach. Just a few yards along, it dawned on me that what I was looking at wasn ’ t a sunbather, that it wasn ’ t even actually on the beach but washed by the shallow sea.

The pebbles spitting under my feet, I broke into a run and, even before I got there, I knew that I ’ d found a body.

It was a woman, face down in the water. At some time in life she’d tucked her hair into a practical red bandana, probably at the same time as she’d donned her olive green shorts and walking boots, before she’d strapped a maroon rucksack to her back. The side of her head might have been covered in blood not long before, but the water had washed it away leaving behind an ugly dent in her left temple. I reached down to touch her, and her body — washed by the soft sea — was warm under my fingers.

 

About No Time Like Now

Hiding away from a disastrous past, Megan McLeod is getting along nicely in her job as housekeeper at a university field centre in Majorca. But the arrival of geological researcher, Tim Stone, throws everything into disarray — because Tim was the father of the baby she lost some years before and the two of them had parted very messily indeed.

As if having Tim on the scene wasn’t bad enough, he’s there with his new partner, Holly. But when in the course of his research he comes upon something extremely nasty along the cliffs of north Majorca, he’s forced to turn to Megan for help.

Buy it from

Tirgearr Publishing

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Smashwords

 

About Jennifer Young

Jennifer Young is an Edinburgh-based writer, editor and copywriter. She is interested in a wide range of subjects and writing media, perhaps reflecting the fact that she has both arts and science degrees. Jennifer has been writing fiction, including romantic fiction, for a number of years with several short stories already published. No Time Like Now is her second published novel; her first novel, Thank You For The Music, is also set on the Balearic island of Majorca.

Find me on

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jenniferyoungauthor

Twitter: @JYnovelist

Blog: http://jenniferyoungauthor.blogspot.co.uk/

 

GIVEAWAY!

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Many thanks to Grace for inviting me to here today to share a little of the latest sequel in my Another Cup of… series.

Christmas in the Cotswolds is the festive (short novella) sequel to Another Cup of Christmas – which in itself follows the novel, Another Cup of Coffee. Rather than being set in the Pickwicks cafe in Richmond however, this year I’ve taken Megan, Pickwicks regular waitress away from her day job, and sent her on a mercy mission…

 

Blurb

Izzie Spencer-Harris, owner of the Cotswold Art and Craft Centre, is due to host the prestigious Cotswold Choir’s annual Christmas carol concert in her beautiful converted church. Or at least she was, until a storm smashed a hole right through the chancel roof.

Days from Christmas, Izzie suddenly finds herself up to her neck in DIY, with her last dodgy workman having walked off the job. She does the only thing she can … calls in her best friend Megan to help.

Leaving Peggy and Scott to run Pickwicks Café in her absence, Megan heads to the Cotswolds for Christmas. Within minutes of her arrival, she finds herself hunting down anyone willing to take on extra work so close to Christmas. It seems the only person available to help is Joseph Parker – a carpenter who, while admittedly gorgeous, seems to have ulterior motives for everything he does …

With Izzie’s bossy mother, Lady Spencer-Harris, causing her problems at every turn, an accident at work causing yet more delays, and the date for the concert drawing ever nearer, it’s going to take a lot more than Mrs Vickers’ powerful mulled wine to make sure everything is all right on the night …

 

I’ve always loved the Cotswolds, and was lucky enough to grow up not too far from their villages filled with yellow stoned picturesque cottages and stunning churches. For me, once I’d decided to take Megan away from Pickwicks for a while, the Cotswolds was the obvious choice of location. It is precisely the type of area I can imagine Izzie setting up an arts and craft centre, which- were it real- I have no doubt would flourish! I’d go there for sure. It has a cafe after all!!!

Although Christmas in the Cotswolds is a sequel, it can also be read as a standalone story.

If you’d like to have a read, you can buy my latest novella from all good e-retailers including-

Amazon UK- http://www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Cotswolds-seasonal-short-story-ebook/dp/B00PK2MA3I/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1415899501&sr=8-1&keywords=Christmas+in+the+Cotswolds+jenny+kane

 

Amazon.com – http://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Cotswolds-seasonal-short-story-ebook/dp/B00PK2MA3I/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1415899535&sr=8-1&keywords=Christmas+in+the+Cotswolds+Jenny+Kane

 

Many thanks again Grace,

Jenny  xx

 

Bio-

Jenny Kane is the author the contemporary novel Romancing Robin Hood (Accent Press, 2014), the best selling contemporary romance novel Another Cup of Coffee (Accent Press, 2013), and its novella length sequels Another Cup of Christmas (Accent Press, 2013), and Christmas in the Cotswolds (Accent, 2014).

Jenny’s third full length romance novel, Abi’s House, will be released in early 2015.

Jenny is also the author of quirky children’s picture books There’s a Cow in the Flat (Hushpuppy, 2014) and Joe’s Letter (Coming soon from Hushpuppy)

Keep your eye on Jenny’s blog at www.jennykane.co.uk for more details.

Twitter- @JennyKaneAuthor

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/JennyKaneRomance

Jenny also writes erotica as Kay Jaybee.

A seasonal easy read romance, Christmas in the Cotswolds is Jenny Kane’s festive sequel to Another Cup of Christmas. (It can also be read as a stand alone story.)

Blurb

Izzie Spencer-Harris, owner of the Cotswold Art and Crafts Centre, is due to host the prestigious Cotswold Choir’s annual Christmas carol concert in her beautiful converted church. Or at least she was, until a storm smashed a hole right through the chancel roof.

Days from Christmas, Izzie suddenly finds herself up to her neck in DIY, with her last dodgy workman having walked off the job. She does the only thing she can … calls in her best friend Megan to help.

Leaving Peggy and Scott to run Pickwicks Café in her absence, Megan heads to the Cotswolds for Christmas. Within minutes of her arrival, she finds herself hunting down anyone willing to take on extra work so close to Christmas. It seems the only person available to help is Joseph Parker – a carpenter who, while admittedly gorgeous, seems to have ulterior motives for everything he does …

With Izzie’s bossy mother, Lady Spencer-Harris, causing her problems at every turn, an accident at work causing yet more delays, and the date for the concert drawing ever nearer, it’s going to take a lot more than Mrs Vickers’ powerful mulled wine to make sure everything is all right on the night …

Extract

Izzie closed her eyes and counted to ten as the door of the Cotswold Arts Centre slammed shut.

There was no point in panicking. She simply didn’t have time for such luxuries if her converted church was going to be ready to host a Christmas carol concert by the renowned Cotswold Choir in nine days’ time.

Bored of being propositioned by men who weren’t remotely interested in her until they discovered she was a daughter of the gentry, Izzie had ejected the carpenter through her front door before he’d quite had time to work out just how insulting her rejection of his latest lurid suggestion was.

Now, her hasty tongue having deprived her of a desperately needed pair of tradesman’s hands, Izzie sat with a heavy thump onto the nearest pew. She knew she had to find fresh help, and fast. A task that wouldn’t be easy so close to Christmas.

‘Although,’ Izzie addressed the image of Noah, who smiled benevolently at her from his stained-glass window, as if grateful he hadn’t been smashed to pieces by the tree branch that had come through the top of the chancel and caused so much seasonal inconvenience, ‘I’m damn sure I’m not asking my mother to help out ever again!’

Reaching for the offending package of invitations that had arrived by courier first thing that morning, Izzie emptied it onto the table. The invitations were supposed to have been posted by now. As soon as she’d seen them, Izzie understood why her mother had left them to the last minute.

Unfussy, cost-effective, and with a medieval Christmas flavour in keeping with the spirit of the converted fourteenth-century church where the concert was to be held. That’s what she’d asked for.

What she’d got was decadent Victorian-style gold-edged invitations which weighed so much, Izzie was sure that posting them alone would break the bank. And if that wasn’t bad enough, her mother had done the one thing that she had expressively forbidden. She’d put Izzie’s full name on the invitations.

Lady Perdita Spencer-Harris had been unable to comprehend why her daughter didn’t want to use the family name to help sales. She simply didn’t understand that Izzie wanted people to come to hear the choir for its own sake, or because they wanted to see what she’d done in her art centre; not because she was a young and single female member of the landed gentry.

 

Miss Isadora Spencer-Harris

cordially invites you to a magical festive evening at

The Cotswold Arts Centre, Chipping Swinton

to hear the renowned Cotswold Choir’s

Christmas Carol Concert

Saturday 21st December

7 p.m. for 7.30 p.m. start

£25 per ticket

Refreshments provided

RSVP by 18th December to Harris Park

Wrapping her stripy woollen scarf more tightly around her neck, Izzie breathed warm air over her cold fingers. Deciding it wasn’t cost effective to heat the church this late at night just for her, she gathered up the invitations, and with one last check that the polythene sheeting would keep the rest of her chancel roof in place overnight, Izzie headed home.

Izzie scooped up three Christmas cards from her doormat. A smile replaced her frown as she opened the first envelope to see a cartoon robin wishing her a Merry Christmas. Inside, beneath the seasonal greeting, her friend Megan had written Must meet up SOON! I’d love to see your new art centre.

‘Should I?’ Izzie was sure her dearest friend from college would help. Megan always helped. Izzie addressed the picture of the robin, ‘But won’t she be hugely busy at Pickwicks café this close to Christmas?’

Switching on her laptop, Izzie started to hunt for a replacement tradesman to help repair her church roof. Half an hour of searching later, and her quest was looking increasingly hopeless by the minute.

It was no good, if she wasn’t going to be forced to ask her parents to bail her out – which was an ‘over her dead body’ situation as far as Izzie was concerned – she needed alternative assistance. Izzie picked up her mobile before guilt at disturbing her friend’s life at Christmas overtook her.

‘Megan, thank goodness you’re there! How can I put this … help!’

 

Buy links

Amazon UK

Amazon US

 

Bio

With a background in history and archaeology, Jenny Kane should really be sat in a dusty university library translating Medieval Latin criminal records, before writing research documents that hardly anyone would want to read. Instead, tucked away in the South West of England, Jenny Kane writes stories with one hand, while working for a Distance Learning Company with the other.

Jenny spends a large part of her time in the local coffee shops, where she creates her stories, including the novels Romancing Robin Hood (Accent Press, 2014), the best selling contemporary romance Another Cup of Coffee (Accent Press, 2013), and the novella length sequels Another Cup of Christmas (Accent Press, 2013) and Christmas in the Cotswolds, (Accent Press, 2014)

Jenny’s next full length novel, Abi’s House, will be published by Accent Press in 2015.

Jenny Kane is also the author of quirky children’s picture books There’s a Cow in the Flat (Hushpuppy, 2014) and Joe’s Letter (Coming soon from Hushpuppy)

Keep your eye on Jenny’s blog at www.jennykane.co.uk for more details.

Twitter – @JennyKaneAuthor

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/JennyKaneRomance

Jenny Kane also writes erotica as Kay Jaybee. (www.kayjaybee.me.uk)

When I find myself writing an emotional scene, I think about a time when I went through the emotion my character is going through. I try not to put myself through the wringer again but I think back to when I felt the particular emotion I’m trying to put into words. What made me feel that way? What did I think and do? Did I try to hide my emotions or did I let all pour out? What was my facial expression like? How did I react physically?

Once I’ve done that, I decide how my character would react. What would he or she do when faced with the situation I’m writing about? Will their emotional state make them do something they’ll later regret? How would they react physically? Would it be messy?

I use the setting. Is it a modern or historical setting? Where is the character? What are they seeing or smelling? Are they alone or with other characters? Does this influence whether they let their feelings show or try and hide them? I describe the area where the action is taking place, the objects in that setting, and even the other characters, who can help to increase the emotion in a scene.

Readers are seeing everything through the eyes of the main character and the main character’s emotional state will influence what he or she sees, thinks about, and reacts to. I try and avoid using emotional clichés as these are now weak though over use and they make me cringe! I try and use words which are concise and to the point instead as these will create a more vivid reading experience and readers will be more eager to turn the pages.

 

Excerpt:

“I suppose you think it’s so funny.”

“Funny?”

“Turning up here with him!” Mags pointed at Robert.

Justin’s face registered nothing but bewilderment.

“Robert Armstrong,” she shouted.

Justin’s eyebrows shot up. “Mags, stop shouting.”

“Oh shut up!” she retorted.

“Mags, you shut up,” Justin told her quietly. “Right, someone needs to go home with Mum…”

“I will,” Mags said. “Jane’s got much more important things on her mind.”

“Mags, shut it!” Justin snapped. “Sorry,” he apologised to Robert, who got up.

“I should go.”

Jane went with him to the hospital entrance. Compared to the temperature inside the hospital, it was chilly outside. She’d done a lot more walking than she’d planned tonight and was beginning to hobble in the three-inch heels. Knowing her luck, she would end up with a blister.

“I’m sorry about Mags.”

“She’s upset. It’s understandable.”

“Thanks for staying.”

“No problem. Give your dad my best.”

“I will.”

He kissed her cheek. “Go back inside, Jane, it’s freezing.”

“I’ll ring you.”

He nodded and walked across the road to a taxi.

As soon as the taxi pulled away, Jane rushed back inside to her family.

“You mean that really is him?” Justin was stuttering as she returned to the Relatives Room. “I kind of wondered, but—”

“Well,” Mags sneered. “Robert Armstrong. No one else would do, eh?”

“Not now!” Jane snapped. “Who’s going home with Mum?”

“I am.” Mags was adamant. “So you can toddle off after darling Robert.”

“Mags,” Justin warned, then turned to Jane. “We’re not allowed to see Dad tonight.”

“Okay, I’ll come back in the morning.”

“You do that,” Mags said.

“Okay, I’ll go.”

Jane squeezed Justin’s arm on her way out, but was wise enough not to go anywhere near Mags.

 

Blurb:

Jane Hollinger is the wrong side of thirty, divorced and struggling to pay the mortgage her cheating ex left her with. As a qualified genealogist, teaching family history evening classes is a way for her to make ends meet. But she begins to wonder if it’s such a good idea when a late enroller for the class is a little… odd. “Badly-blond Bloke” both scares and intrigues Jane, and when she discovers he is her all-time favourite actor and huge crush, Robert Armstrong, she’s stunned. Even more stunning to Jane is the fact that Robert is interested in her romantically. He’s everything she ever dreamed of, and more, but can she overcome her fear of living in the public eye to be with the man she loves?

http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Peel_Lorna/only-you.htm

http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/lorna-peel

 

About me:

Lorna Peel is an author of contemporary and historical romantic fiction. She has had work published in three Irish magazines – historical articles on The Stone of Scone in ‘Ireland’s Own’, on The Irish Potato Famine in the ‘Leitrim Guardian’, and Lucy’s Lesson, a contemporary short story in ‘Woman’s Way’. Lorna was born in England and lived in North Wales until her family moved to Ireland to become farmers, which is a book in itself! She lives in rural Ireland, where she write, researches her family history, and grows fruit and vegetables. She also keeps chickens (and a Guinea Hen who now thinks she’s a chicken!).

http://lornapeel.com

http://twitter.com/PeelLorna

http://www.facebook.com/LornaPeelAuthor

http://pinterest.com/lornapeel

http://www.goodreads.com/LornaPeel

Thank you for featuring me on your blog, Grace!

 

Blurb: The Diary of a Mother, Her Son, and His Monster:

Caroline Burch experienced every parent’s worst nightmare when her son

Elliot was diagnosed with cancer aged just six months old. To document her

experiences she kept a diary detailing the ups and downs of her son’s

treatment and the emotional anguish of their situation from diagnosis to

 

Ten years later, and with Elliot happily recovered from the condition that

threatened his life, Caroline looks back at the traumatic months when there

appeared to be no end in sight to the misery.

 

Caroline’s story is proof that there is life after cancer and this book is a

tribute to the tireless work of the individuals who help parents and their

children emerge from their nightmare.

 

Macmillan Cancer support will be receiving £1.00 per book sold. This is more than I, as the author, will receive. My aim is to make £1,000,000 for Macmillan. Please support this campaign; spread the word, treat yourself and also buy as presents for others…it is an amazing cause.

 

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What’s next for Caroline?

I have two writing projects on the go at the moment but before I tell you about either of them, I feel that I should explain the thought processes behind my future writing. As a new author, I believe that it is important that I continue to write about things I know and understand. As my professional background is the NHS and I am still (and always will be) developing my writing skills, I have decided that my next couple of books will have some kind of health issues involved within them, either physically or psychologically.

Since January 2014, I have been writing a 10 year follow on diary based on my own and Elliot’s lives, which will give updates, information and funny anecdotes from our everyday lives…I am unsure whether I will publish this yet. It really depends how well this first book goes and whether there is a need/demand for a follow up diary.

My other writing project is a completely fictional novel based on the life of a 40 year old nurse working in Neurosciences, with a husband, 2 children and a strange passion for murder…which she commits as often as possible. I can say no more, except of course, that it will be exciting and sad at the same time.

 

Find Caroline here:

 carolineburch.com

 

 

Excerpt:

As we walked to recovery, the nurse told me that an epidural had been inserted in theatre to block the pain and that a bed was waiting for him in the High Dependency Unit. He would be transferred directly to HDU. Our bags were already on their way and the bed was waiting.

We entered the small recovery room. Elliot was the only child in here. Nurses were busy around him, flicking switches, monitoring beeps, checking tubes and drip bags. I stopped and watched. He was so tiny and fragile, so small. How could he be so strong? How could he fight so hard against a cancer that was killing him? Such a tiny being with such a strong desire to live.

“Mama.” Elliot squirmed and cried out. The nurse touched my arm, bringing me back to the here and now.

“Do you want to come over?” A theatre nurse asked. I was silently crying. “Come on over and see him. He’s been shouting for you.” She turned to face Elliot as I approached.

“Elliot… your mama’s here. She’s come to look after you.”

I held Elliot’s hand and put my face close to his, my tears hitting his soft skin. My mind was a complete mixture of emotions. I was experiencing the complete joy of being with Elliot, of touching his skin, seeing his adorable face, being glad that he was alive, but this was mixed with the apprehension of hurting him or touching him in the wrong place.

“Elliot, angel, I’m here.” I sobbed softly into his ear. “I love you and missed you so much.”

His head turned towards my voice and I could see the frown disappear from his face. His jaw relaxed a little and he seemed visibly calmer on hearing me and feeling my touch.

“Mama… mama.” His voice was weak.

“I am here Elliot, it’s okay, mama’s here. I’m holding your hand.”

His eyes remained closed. He looked angelic and peaceful as I stroked his forehead. Oxygen was swirling into my face from his oxygen mask. His facial expression suddenly changed. Pain gripped his face, he was disturbed and squirming. “Mama… mama,” he shouted.

His hands flailed around, looking for me and the comfort he so desperately needed. I held onto him and talked softly into his ear. I told him how much I loved him, told him what we’d do when he was better, I described how he’d learn to walk and run, ride a bike and swim in the sea. I talked about everything, just so that he could constantly hear my voice. My poor baby. What was he going through? What was he thinking? I wish he could talk more, communicate with me. Tell me how to help him. I sat feeling so bloody useless. All I could do to help was to hold him and talk, anything to help him relax.

“Please be calm Elliot. Stop wriggling angel. You could hurt yourself.”

Dressings seemed to be stuck everywhere, right across his abdomen, under both arms, and on his spine. Tubes were feeding into his Hickman line and through his spine. Cannulas were sticking out of both hands.

No wonder he was crying in pain. Finally I thought of something that might soothe him. It often did. And so in theatre, I sang our song, surrounded by nurses, theatre staff and machines.

“You are my sunshine,

My only sunshine,

You make me happy when skies are grey,

You’ll never know dear,

How much I love you,

Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Tears were streaming down my face. I couldn’t see properly, I had to hold it all together for Elliot; be strong, comforting and calming, but our song crushed me to the core. The thought of Elliot leaving me was heart wrenching.

Buy Links:

Diary of a Mother Her Son & His Monster

 

It is a pleasure to be here as part of my Midnight Kiss tour. A widowed man with children faces many challenges. While that is still true today, I think the challenges were even harder in the 19th century due to the burden of expectations placed on a man’s shoulders. Unable to care for two small children after the death of his wife, he places his children in an orphanage while he grieves. As soon as he finds out his children are being beaten in the orphanage, he knows it is time to step up and be the father they need. Except he can’t work and take care of them at the same time…

Matt Seever, an officer on the steamer the Queen Bee, knew he couldn’t raise a family on the ship. He is ready to find a wife and take a job on land. After several attempts at wooing white women into matrimony fails, he is relieved when April enters his life and agrees to be a nanny to his two children. Matt goes to work for his older brother knowing his children are in good hands.

While in the late 1800s more women entered the workforce a woman’s proper place was still in the home. A wife was expected to keep house, cook, take care of the children and entertain guests. Desperate for a job, when April agrees to be Matt Seever’s nanny she had no idea he had other intentions … wife hunting.

She is unsettled by the idea of being attracted to a white man. Colored women were not supposed to marry colored men. Yet, he is the first man to ever get to her like this, to make  her feel all warm and tingly. Will she learn to accept his advances and love or will she run?

 

Excerpt:

Matt approached April slowly, wondering if she was going to avoid him. She didn’t. He reached out and gently wrapped his hands around both of her arms, keeping space between them.

“Ever since I met you I’ve felt like you were trying to find fault with me.”

She didn’t respond, her lips curled in.

“I know I’m not perfect. No man is, but why are you always thinking the worst?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a shaky voice.

That was a damn lie, but he did not call her on it. She hadn’t told him a single thing about her past other than a bit about her previous jobs. Not one word about her personal life. Something had caused her to be this suspicious.

The tension between them was too strong to ignore. Even holding her at a distance stirred feelings inside him.

“Stop trying to push me away, April. It isn’t going to work. I live here. You live here. It is only natural…” He pulled her toward him until her chest was pressed against his. “…we have feelings for each other.”

Without giving her time to react he pressed his lips against hers. Fire blazed where they touched. Blood rushed to his cock and he feared she’d feel it pressed against her.

 

Blurb:

Unjustly accused of stealing, nanny April Windmire is turned out on the streets without pay. With no place to go and no friends, she stows away on a Mississippi River steamboat. Her hopes to hide through the journey to St. Louis are dashed when a handsome white officer finds her. But instead of turning her in, he takes her to his private quarters where she fights her growing attraction to a man she cannot have.

Matt Seever’s wife died four year ago, leaving him alone with two small mulatto children. But his job as an officer on the Queen Bee isn’t family friendly. He knows he needs a new wife, but no southern white woman will marry him. When April lands in his lap, his prayers are answered. Or are they? April’s not the trusting type and racial prejudice runs deep in post-Civil War Missouri. Just when Matt convinces April he loves her, his new family becomes a target and there’s no backing down from this fight.

Together, April and Matt must brave heinous race prejudice crimes to find an enduring love.

 

Buy Links:

Liquid Silver Books | Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Amazon UK | ARe

 

Author Bio:

Haley Whitehall lives in Washington State where she enjoys all four seasons and the surrounding wildlife. She writes historical fiction and historical romance set in the 19th century U.S. When she is not researching or writing, she plays with her cats, watches the Western and History Channels, and goes antiquing. She is hoping to build a time machine so she can go in search of her prince charming. A good book, a cup of coffee, and a view of the mountains make her happy. Visit Haley’s website at http://haleywhitehall.com.

 

Where to find Haley Whitehall:

Twitter: http://twitter.com/HaleyWhitehall

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/LightonHistory

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5752677.Haley_Whitehall

Blog: http://haleywhitehall.com/blog/

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Haley-Whitehall/e/B0078EO6CE/

Newsletter: https://tinyletter.com/HaleyWhitehall

Beginning tomorrow, May 26th, I’m celebrating my romantic erotic Executive Decisions Trilogy with a two-week blog tour and a giveaway of two signed print copies of the first novel in the trilogy, An Executive Decision.  I’m very excited about this huge event – never done a two-week tour before. I’ve packed up my blogging bags, got my passport all ready, and I’ll be off first thing tomorrow, for two fun-filled weeks with some fabulous blogs all over the world, talking about the fabulous Northwest of the US where the Executive Decision Trilogy is set, interviewing characters, talking inspiration, and giving insights into the evolution of the trilogy and the fun I had on the journey to its completion. I hope you’ll follow the tour, enjoy the sizzling excerpts and have a good time. Join us at these fantastic sites on these dates and help us celebrate The Executive Decision Trilogy

Follow The Executive Decisions Blog Tour Here: 

The SubClub Books Mon May 26th

Illustrious Illusions Tue May 27th

Slippers and Stilettos Charlotte Howard Wed May 28th

Romance lives forever Thur May 29th

ARE Café  Fri May 30

Books and Banter  Mon June 2nd

Destiny Blaine  Tue June 3rd

Lisabet Sarai  Wed June 4th

Snarky Mom Reads  Thur June 5th

Blood Lust and Erotica  Fri June 6th

An Executive Decision, book one of the Executive Decisions Trilogy, went free on Amazon yesterday and by last night it was number one on the Amazon.com free Kindle downloads chart in Romantic Erotica! Dee and Ellis are known for working hard, and they must have been working all night, because as of 10:30 this morning, they’re still holding the number one position in Romantic Erotica and are now number one in Erotica as well. They’re holding their own in the UK chart as well, hanging in there at number 8.  Excited much!?!?

Of course that’s totally fabulous news for me! I couldn’t be happier! But it’s also great news for those of you who haven’t yet sunk your teeth into the trilogy. Now is your chance to get the first book for FREE!

And here’s a little teaser for you enjoy while you’re downloading.

An Executive Decision Blurb:

Book 1 of The Executive Decisions Trilogy

Overworked CEO Ellison Thorne has no time for sex, let alone romance. The only answer, at least where his retiring business partner Beverly is concerned, is a no-strings sex clause in her replacement’s contract, designed to make Ellis’ busy life easier – and hotter. But she’s joking, right?

When Dee Henning takes over Beverly’s job, sparks fly between her and Ellis, but work takes priority in driven Dee’s life too. Can one night of passio

n in a Paris hotel room prove Beverly’s Sex Clause is their secret to success in the boardroom and the bedroom, and what will happen if that private clause becomes public knowledge?

An Executive Decision Excerpt:

‘Storm’s breaking.’ He mouthed the words to her, and she moved still closer, trying to overhear the conversation. He placed a finger to his lips and strained to hear. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way.’ He disconnected and practically catapulted off the sofa. ‘That’s the outfitters. I made them promise to call me the minute they knew anything.’

She was off the sofa too, following him to where his backpack leaned against a wingback chair. He’d had Harold prepare it and deliver it to the office just in case.

‘And?’

‘I’m going back. Jeffries is on standby with the limo. The plane is fueled and ready. I figure we can be at PDX in thirty minutes, if traffic’s not too bad.’

She grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. ‘You can’t go back without at least one night’s rest, Ellis. You’re exhausted, and what about Beverly’s important meeting?’

He jerked away from her and hefted the pack onto one shoulder. ‘Fuck her meeting. I just want her safe.’

‘Ellis, be reasonable. As soon as things settle, you could get a phone call from Beverly laughing the whole thing off. Do you know how upset she’d be if she knew you’d put yourself in danger traipsing down there when there was no need? Please,’ she grabbed the backpack and wrestled it off his shoulder. ‘You know I’m right. Just rest. Just for tonight, and then tomorrow…’ She stepped into his personal space and placed a hand on his bicep. ‘Tomorrow I’ll go with you.’

‘Are you crazy?’ he jerked his arm away. ‘You can’t go with me. It’s awful down there, flooding, wind damage, it was bad where I was and I wasn’t anywhere near the worst of it.’

*****

‘I don’t know what to expect, and we don’t know where Beverly was when the outfitters lost contact. I don’t want you there, Dee. And neither would she. Don’t you understand?’

But of course she didn’t understand, and he really didn’t expect her to. God, she was as stubborn and pigheaded as Beverly was. She held him in a hard blue gaze. ‘She wouldn’t want you there either, damn it.’

‘Don’t tell me what she would want. I don’t care what she would want. I’m going and you’re staying. That’s final.’

Dee shoved both her hands onto her hips and glared at him, her eyes suddenly like raw heat. ‘You’re not my boss, and I do what I want, and right now I’m telling you you’re being an idiot.’

It came as a total shock when he grabbed her. He didn’t see it coming. He didn’t see any of it coming. Before she could do more than utter a gasp of surprise, he pulled her to him so hard that he feared he’d given her whiplash, then he did the unthinkable. He kissed her. He kissed her hard. His mouth was bruising and tyrannical against hers, like he’d forgotten how to be gentle, like he’d forgotten how to be civilized. He swallowed her breath even as she fought to swallow his. At first she pushed him, pushed him as hard as she could, and he thought she was pushing him away, but her mouth sparred with his for still more contact. He only yielded enough to step back, pulling her with him, kissing her harder, holding her tighter, tight enough to crush her breasts against his chest. She bit and nipped at him like an angry wolf, with him yanking and shoving her jacket off her shoulders and going to work on her buttons while she pushed and shoved and clawed.

There was ripping and tearing. At least one button went flying. He wasn’t sure whose. He didn’t care. He’d fucking buy her a new suit if he had to.

With one hand he tugged and yanked her skirt up over her hips, with the other he shoved down the straps of her bra and kneaded and cupped until his thumb raked her nipples into heavy, responsive peaks.

She managed to force his trousers down over his hips as he figured out how to release the front catch on her bra. ‘Wait, wait,’ he said, struggling to breathe in the charged atmosphere, trying to keep his head clear. He nearly elbowed her as he tugged his wallet from his pocket.

In his distracted efforts, he stumbled backward over the backpack, pulling her down on top of him, forcing the breath from his lungs with a grunt.

‘Oh my god!’ she cried out. They landed in a heap sprawled across the soft carpet. With her sitting astraddle him he yanked and tugged at his wallet, money, credit cards and receipts falling like confetti until he found the silver foil packet, which he ripped open, launching the condom into the air in his frenzied efforts.

‘Shit,’ they both cursed at the same time. She was already tugging at his boxers as he grabbed up the rogue condom, rolled it down over his arcing erection and thrust up into it nearly bucking her off his thighs with the effort. He tugged the crotch of her panties aside. For a second he glimpsed the warm depths of her before they clawed and shifted and positioned to get what, until now, neither of them had known they both needed so desperately.

Once he pushed into her, it was his turn to cry out. ‘Oh god, Dee! I can’t stand it!’ He grabbed her hips and held her tight. ‘Hold still. Don’t move. Give me a second.’ It had been a long time since he’d had any real sex, and his sensitivity was astounding, embarrassing actually. His chest rose and fell like bellows. Dee sat impaled, eyes closed, hands cupping her breasts, breathing like there was fire in her chest. She felt stretched exquisitely tight and warm and tetchy around his girth, and the few seconds he held her there seemed forever, suspended in the delicious agony of needing to thrust, but knowing to wait. Just a few more seconds until he felt in better control

Then when he was certain he wouldn’t embarrass himself, he gathered her to him, feeling the carpet abrade his elbows as he rolled on top of her, still buried to the hilt. And he began to thrust. She tightened her legs around his hips and rose in rhythm to meet his efforts, growling at him, as he growled back, balling her fists against his back, straining upward onto him as he impaled her, meeting strength with strength. And her strength was impressive. She was muscle and sinew, rounded and softened with delicious curves engulfing him in the feel and the power and the scent of femaleness, the tidal scent of steamy summer, the scent of lust tightly controlled. No doubt some of that was his own scent. And the blending of the two was intoxicating.

It was all over in a few minutes. They exploded into release together like glass shattering on concrete. He came with a heavy groan and collapsed on top of her while she convulsed in orgasm. Surely he was dreaming. Surely he was asleep, and his psyche had fabricated the whole experience in an effort to relieve stress. Surely it couldn’t be real. He’d wake up soon.

They lay panting on the floor in a tangle of discarded clothing and trembling arms and legs, as his brain gradually regained control. In his fantasies, he always made it last, lingering to tease and pleasure Dee their first time together. And it was true; he actually had fantasized about her, about the woman he’d never met, about the woman whose photo was in the dossier Beverly had put together. He’d fantasized about her from his first glance at Beverly’s wild concoction of a resume. And he had no doubt that had been a part of Beverly’s scheme.

But he was always a good lover in his fantasies, no awkward moments, no clumsy efforts. In his fantasies he always pleasured her like she’d never been pleasured before. He never imagined he’d take her with such force. He never imagined he’d take her at all, at least not in the real world. God, what must she think? He found himself remembering Beverly’s Executive Sex Clause. No doubt this situation would meet with her approval, but at the moment, he wasn’t sure what he felt, other than embarrassed that he’d lost control.

Finally he found the breath to speak. ‘Dee, are you alright? I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me; I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t mean to be such an animal.’

‘I like animals.’ She spoke around labored breath.

The sting her nails had left across his shoulders and back convinced him she might be a bit of an animal herself.

Free Download Here:

Amazon UK

Amazon US 

An