Shelly Ellis's Blog

Copyright @ 2016 by Shelly Ellis

Prologue

 

Hospitals weren’t usually happy places, especially the Wilson Medical Center ICU where many of the patients were hovering near death’s door and a pall of sickness seemed to hang over every surface. But today the ICU staff at least tried to be festive in honor of the new nurse’s birthday. Meredith, the plump nurse with the springy red curls and freckles, was turning thirty. The other nurses figured the big 3-0 deserved, at minimum, a small party in their break room. They had even brought a cake and candles for her. One of the nurses, Rhonda, had brought balloons and streamers that were left over from her nephew’s birthday earlier that week. By the time they had finished decorating that sad-looking room with its bare white walls, lone microwave, coffee maker, and two tables, it looked like a completely different place. A small two-tiered cake sat at the center of one of the tables on a cotton bed sheet they used as a makeshift tablecloth.

They decided to hold the party mid-day when visiting hours were at a lull since many of the patients’ families would leave to eat lunch and return in an hour or so to stand vigil at their loved ones’ bedsides. The five nurses on that shift had agreed to take turns at the front desk and keep an ear out for buzzing from patients’ rooms, though most of patients were so sedated they wouldn’t be buzzing anything. Not Mr. J. Hinkler in Room 402 who was dying of cirrhosis of the liver, or Mrs. C. Reynolds in Room 410 who had suffered multiple strokes and was now little more than a vegetable connected to a respirator, and certainly not Mr. D. Turner in Room 406.

Turner was the youngest patient in the ICU, and if it wasn’t for the gunshot wound to the stomach that he had suffered a week ago, he probably wouldn’t have found himself in the ward at all. He looked fit and handsome. The nurses had speculated that he had been quite the heartbreaker before the shooting. A few of them had even whispered about his six-pack abs and muscular arms, and admired and giggled about another appendage they had noticed while changing the dressing on his wound.

“No wonder his name is Dante,” Rhonda had murmured ruefully as she pointed to his bare crotch. “A man that fine wielding that thing could certainly drag a girl through hell and back!”

But Mr. Turner wouldn’t be putting any women through hell and breaking any hearts any time soon. He remained heavily sedated while his body repaired itself. And unlike the other patients, he’d had little to no visitors in his room.

Nurse Kelly took the first shift while the rest attended Meredith’s birthday party. She glanced through the glass doors of each hospital room, including Mr. Turner’s, as she walked from the break room to the front desk, carrying her slice of carrot cake. She passed an old woman who gave her a wan smile before entering Room 403.

“Hello, Mrs. O’Shea,” Kelly said, giving her greeting from the doorway.

“Good afternoon,” Mrs. O’Shea said as she dragged a chair towards the bed to sit next to her husband who was dying of end-stage lung cancer.

A minute later, Kelly plopped into her rollaway chair and dug into her carrot cake, finishing the entire slice in less than three minutes and licking the remaining icing off the plastic fork tongs and the tips of her fingers. She looked longingly at her empty paper plate. She could use a second slice.

A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips, she thought, glancing down at her wide hips that were encased in blue scrubs. She had been trying to lose her last 10 pounds of baby weight for ages. Plus, she was supposed to be manning the front desk while the other nurses were at the birthday party.

But then Kelly ran her tongue over her lips, tasting the remains of the cream cheese icing and she almost shuddered in ecstasy. She remembered how fluffy the cake itself had been, how the bits of carrot had been so crisp.

“Just one more,” she mumbled rising from the chair. “I’ll be quick.”

With the exception of Mrs. O’Shea, it was dead as a door nail around the ward—no pun intended. None of the patients would miss her.

It was just seconds after Kelly walked out of the break room and plunged her fork into her second slice of carrot cake that she heard the alarm, a piercing beep to alert them at the nursing station that a patient was in distress. She rushed down the corridor, still holding her plate of cake in one hand and fork in the other, wondering if it was Mrs. Reynolds or poor Mr. O’Shea.

That’s when she spotted something black jump out of Room 406 and flash past her, like a wraith in a horror movie. She screamed and dropped her cake and fork to the floor. It was only after a few blinks that she realized it wasn’t some ghost that had flown out the room, but a person—a living, breathing person dressed head-to-toe in a black hoodie, cap, and sweatpants who was racing with breakneck speed down the hospital hallway.

“Hey!” she shouted after him—or her. She couldn’t tell the sex of the person at this distance. “Hey, what were you—”

Her words died on her lips when the person slammed into the metal doors, shoving them open and disappearing into the adjoining hall. The door slammed shut behind them.

Kelly began to give chase but paused near Room 406 when she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She looked and saw a pillow slumped on the linoleum floor. Her eyes raised and she saw Mr. Turner. His head was now tilted to the side instead of sitting forward and upright in its proper position, and it looked like his breathing tube had been partially removed. The white tape below his nose now flapped limply, revealing the peach fuzz above his lip. His mouth hung open like a catfish on a slab of ice.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, feeling the carrot cake and bile rise in her throat as she realized what had happened. She rushed into the room and heard thunderous footsteps behind her as the other nurses and doctors came to assist.

It looked like someone had tried to kill Dante Turner—again.

 Copyright @ 2016 by Shelly Ellis

 

 

 

 

 

Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start writing!

The lovely DJ Kimberly Kaye had me back to 96 KIX to talk about my next book, BED OF LIES, to be released April 26.

Listen to me talk about the book and what’s next in the series!

Listen to my interview with DJ Kimberly Kaye

https://shellyellisbooks.files.wordpress.com/2016/04/shelly-ellis-bed-of-lies-book-2-interview-track-1.mp3

Copyright © 2016 by Shelly Ellis 

Chapter 1

Terrence

“Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about, baby!” Terrence Murdoch yelled over the heavy bass before tossing one-hundred-dollar bills into the air and letting them fall like confetti. The cute brunette in front of him showed her appreciation by doing a split on the stage, clad in only a smile and a bright yellow G-string that glowed under the blue-hued stage lights. Two other strippers danced beside her in clear platform stilettos, gyrating and swinging around each pole as Terrence and his friends hooted and yelled with delight in the VIP section of the club.

Terrence didn’t know where to look first. It was a delectable sampling of full breasts, round thighs, and pert behinds. He just wanted to dive in and bask in all the womanly beauty.

He raised his beer bottle and toasted the sexy performance. “I’ve died and gone to heaven!” he cried. He then turned to his older brother, Evan, who had hung back from the stage and chose to stay at the table behind them. “Ain’t they beautiful, man?”

When he saw what Evan was doing, his grin disappeared. He slammed his bottle back to the table in outrage. “Ev, what the . . . what the fuck? Are you kidding me?”

Instead of admiring the strippers, Evan had been peering down at his BlackBerry under the flashing strobe lights. At Terrence’s cry of outrage, the company CEO glanced up from his phone screen.

“Huh?” Evan asked absently. “Oh yeah, it’s great, Terry.” He began to type on the phone keys again.

“Ev, put that damn phone down and look at this, man!”

“I’ll be right with you. Just let me finish this e-mail,” Evan said, still furiously typing. “Got to get this out tonight. They’re in a different time zone.”

Terrence reached over and yanked the BlackBerry out of Evan’s hand, catching his brother by surprise.

“No, look at it now! How can you be doing business when you have this in front of your face?” he asked, jabbing toward the stage.

One of the women dropped to her knees before turning her ass toward the men huddled around her. She did a twerk that made the men holler for more. Another stripper hopped up on a pole and twirled around and around, letting her blond curls dangle inches above the ground.

“I mean . . . come on!” Terrence turned back to look at his brother with a grin that was so wide it could barely be contained on his face. “Look at this!”

Evan gazed at the two strippers, inclined his head, and nodded. “Nice,” he said thoughtfully, like he was considering a new pair of shoes.

“Nice?” Terrence comically looked at the women onstage, whipped his head to glare at his brother, then stared at the women on the stage again. “What the hell do you mean, ‘Nice’?” He jabbed his index finger at the strippers. “Those women are fuckin’ perfect, Ev!”

Evan emphatically shook his head and smiled as he reached into his jacket pocket and whipped out another cell phone. He dragged his index finger across the screen, scrolling through a series of photos. “No, this is perfect.”

He held the glass screen toward Terrence. Terrence squinted under the club lighting to see what his brother was showing him. It was a photo of Evan’s fiancée, Leila. She was wearing a tank top and yoga pants and rolling her eyes as Evan took the picture, like she had wanted anything but to be photographed at that moment.

Terrence had to admit that his future sister-in-law was one gorgeous woman. And Evan had been pining after her for years—hell, decades! He had been secretly in love with her since he was nine years old. In Evan’s mind, Leila Hawkins had probably reached almost mythical proportions in beauty, brains, and loveliness.

But still, how could a man ignore what was right in front of his face? It destroyed the whole purpose of Evan being here at the strip club if he sat toward the back of the room, fiddling on his BlackBerry.

Terrence had invited Evan out with his friends for a night of drinking and debauchery to give Evan a long-needed break. His older brother was a consummate workaholic, and now, when he wasn’t working, he was almost plastered to the side of his new fiancée. Terrence had wanted his big bro to have some fun. But Evan looked like he would be more entertained if he was sitting at his desk going over contracts and sales figures at Murdoch Conglomerated, where he was CEO. Or maybe he’d rather be sitting beside Leila, staring at tablecloth swatches for their wedding reception.

“Are you telling me you aren’t just a little bit interested in looking at those titties?” Terrence pleaded. He once again pointed to the stage. “Not just a little?”

Evan burst into laughter. “I’m sorry, Terry, but from here they look like average breasts to me. But you know what? Go ahead and enjoy yourself. Don’t let me ruin your fun.” He yanked his BlackBerry out of Terrence’s hand. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll take this back.”

Terrence slowly shook his head in bemusement as he watched his brother sit down in one of the leather club chairs and start scanning through his e-mails again.

Operation: Get Evan Turnt Up was going downhill—fast.

Terrence glanced at the drink Evan was now sipping: a Shirley Temple. He could try to ply Evan with alcohol to make him loosen up, but he knew that wouldn’t work. Evan didn’t drink thanks to his alcoholic wife, Charisse. Her drunkenness had been part of the reason they were now getting a divorce—that and the fact that she had been cheating on Evan.

Nope, getting him drunk is out of the question, Terrence thought.

An idea suddenly popped into Terrence’s head. A wicked smile crossed his full lips.

“Well, if they just look like average titties from here. I guess you’re going to have to see them up close.”

Evan frowned quizzically as he lowered his glass black to the marble tabletop and looked up from his e-mail. “I’m sorry . . . what?”

Terrence suddenly turned on his heel, marched toward the stage, and shoved a group of his friends aside so that he was front and center.

“Ladies!” he shouted as he whipped out a series of hundred-dollar bills, spread them into a fan, and brandished them in the air. “My brother would like a lap dance. Now! A grand to the first woman who does it.”

The three strippers paused mid-routine. One almost fell off her pole. Another scrambled off her knees. The three women ran off the stage and came barreling toward Evan, whose mouth was agape. One looked like she nearly twisted her ankle trying to make her way down the short staircase.

“No!” Evan said, holding up his hands in protest and furiously shaking his head. “Really, ladies, I’m fine. I don’t . . . I don’t want a lap dance!”

Terrence cackled as he watched the strippers shove and elbow-check each other to get to Evan first. The blonde turned out to be the victor and promptly fell onto Evan’s lap and started gyrating for all her worth.

“Terry!” Evan yelled, trying his best to rise out of his chair without touching the half-naked women who were huddled around and over him. “Terry!”

“Enjoy it, Ev!” Terrence grabbed his beer and held it up before tossing the hundreds in his hand into the air and taking a swig. “You deserve it!”

“Hey, you forgot this,” Terrence said as he handed Evan his suit jacket.

The two men walked out of the strip club almost two hours later into the chilly February night. A few of Terrence’s friends trailed behind them, laughing and joking with one another.

“I didn’t forget it,” Evan mumbled as he tossed the suit jacket over his forearm. “It was stolen from me.”

Terrence chuckled.

One of the strippers had ripped off Evan’s suit jacket as soon as they had descended on him like a herd of locusts. His necktie had been removed, too, when one of the other strippers used it to bind his hands behind his back when he kept struggling. Another had smothered his verbal protests by shaking her double-Ds in his face.

“Come on! Admit it!” Terrence prodded, looping an arm around Evan’s neck in brotherly affection. “You had fun, didn’t you?”

“It was . . . interesting,” Evan said just as one of the guys behind them leaned over and vomited on the walkway not too far from the club’s red carpet.

“Oh, hell no!” the burly bouncer boomed, hopping off of his stool in front of the door. “Ya’ll better get his ass outta here!” he ordered, making one of the guy’s companions nod and grab his sick friend around the shoulders. Another helped guide him toward a car that was parked at the end of the block.

Evan and Terrence shook their heads in disgust as they watched the trio walk off.

“Is your friend gonna make it?” Evan asked.

Terrence waved his hand dismissively. “He’ll be fine. One of them will get his sorry ass back home tonight. I don’t know what his wife will think when she sees him like that, though, but”—Terrence shrugged—“that’s his problem.”

Evan narrowed his eyes at Terrence. “You had plenty to drink yourself. Are you going to be okay driving back to your place?”

“Me?” Terrence pointed at his chest and laughed. He had a slight buzz, but that was about it. He could remember being in far worse states than he was now. “Man, please! I am far from drunk. Trust me. I’ll be fine. ”

“You sure about that?” Evan asked again, just as a black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb. Evan’s driver climbed out, quickly walked to the rear door, and held it open for him. Evan paused before climbing onto the leather seat. “I could give you a ride, you know.”

Terrence waved him away again as he started to walk in the opposite direction in search of his Porsche. “I’ll be fine, Miss Daisy. Just give Lee a kiss for me. All right?”

“Oh, I most certainly will,” Evan said with a wink before climbing into the sedan. The driver shut the door behind him.

Terrence turned and walked down the block back to his car. He raised the collar of his wool coat to block out the chill and rubbed his hands together to warm them. He bet Evan would give Leila a kiss as soon as he got home. Thanks to the erotic performance the men had witnessed tonight, he bet Evan would give her a lot more than that.

After a few minutes, Terrence spotted his silver Porsche two-seater, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“There’s my baby,” he whispered, almost with reverence.

The strip club hadn’t had valet parking, and he had been loath to leave her parallel-parked along the curb in this neighborhood, but he had had no other choice.

Terrence inspected his car with a careful eye and whispered a prayer of thanks when he saw no dents or scratches. The paint on his Porsche still glistened, and the rims still sparkled from the wash, waxing, and buffing the car had gotten earlier that day.

If the love of Evan’s life was Leila Hawkins, then the love of Terrence’s life was certainly his 2015 Porsche 911 S Coupe. A close second was maybe the De’Longhi ESAM6700 Gran Dama Avant Touch-Screen Super-Automatic Espresso Machine on the granite kitchen countertop back at his condo in Chesterton, Virginia. If he could be buried with that thing, he would.

Terrence didn’t have a love of the female variety, and he had no desire to fall in love with

anyone. Oh, he was no monk; he dated often. He had his fair share of girlfriends and one-night stands. But so far, no woman had made him want to “put a ring on it,” so to speak. Terrence had seen the ravages married life could have on a person by witnessing his parents’ horrendous marriage for decades and the trials Evan had gone through for the five and half years he was married to his soon-to-be ex, Charisse.

Though Evan often encouraged him to finally settle down, Terrence couldn’t work up enough optimism about love and relationships to try his hand at anything permanent with a woman. He’d rather live in the moment and collect honeys like they were Pokémon trading cards.

He opened the door of his Porsche and climbed inside. As he drove, he listened to the voice messages on his iPhone. Unlike Evan, he had turned off his cell while inside the club, not wanting to be disturbed.

“Hey, Terry,” a female voice cooed over the phone’s speaker as Terrence merged onto a roadway, “it’s Asia. I’ve texted you three times today, baby! Where are you? I was hoping we could meet up this weekend. Give me a call back when you get this. I miss your fine ass. Byeeeeee!”

Asia was a waitress at Cuban restaurant downtown. She had full lips, big thighs, and a beautiful smile, but lately, she had become kind of clingy. Terrence wondered if he should call her back or cut her loose.

“Bonsoir, mon ami!” Terrence heard next, instantly making him smile. “Ҫa va?”

He knew that throaty purr from anywhere. It was Georgette, a blond Victoria’s Secret model based out of Montreal whom he had met back during his modeling days. He loved Georgette because of her good taste in food and wine, her French accent, and because she understood the true definition of “no strings attached” sex. They had been hooking up off and on for the past six years.

“I will be in the city for a few weeks,” Georgette continued. “Let me know if you wish to meet, huh? I packed the lace teddy you like and the . . . you know . . . the stuff that you lick . . . qu’est-ce que c’est? Ah, who cares! I show you, Terry! Je te veux! Can’t want to see you, mon ami. Au revoir!” He heard kissing sounds and then the line clicked.

Oh hell, yeah, he thought.

He would call her back as soon as he got home. He would check her schedule and make reservations at their favorite spot. After dinner, he’d take her back to his place and they would try out “the stuff that you lick.”

“Terry!” a voice suddenly screeched from his iPhone, snatching him out of his sexual reverie and making him wince. “Terry, you know who this is. Don’t play like you don’t! I saw you with that chick yesterday. Yeah, she was all up on you. Is she your new girl now? How dare you dump me like I was yesterday’s trash, you son of a—”

Terrence reached over the armrest and immediately pressed a button on the phone’s glass screen to delete the message.

Oh, Monique, he thought with exasperation.

Now, that was a girl who definitely did not understand the definition of “no strings attached” sex. Monique Washington had given off alarm bells the moment he had met her—she had been high-maintenance, constantly had checked her reflection in mirrors, and had wanted to talk endlessly about trips to Europe and trust funds. But he had pushed his misgivings about her aside. So what if she was a little shallow? He wasn’t a deep man himself. And besides, she was good in bed, and when he had told her that he wasn’t ready for a real relationship, she had seemed okay with his revelation. But he should have trusted his first instincts. She had turned out to be a real nutcase. She went past clingy and straight to Fatal Attraction, showing up at his condo at all times of the day, threatening other women that he was dating. When he had tried to shake off Monique, she started blowing up his phone, leaving pissed-off and threatening messages.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again. If he sensed that a woman wasn’t up to staying at a distance, then he wouldn’t bother to start anything with her. For now, he would just have to block Monique’s number.

“On to the next one,” Terrence murmured as he pulled to a stop at a stop sign.

“Hey! Heeeeeeey!”

Terrence frowned and turned to find two women smiling and waving at him on the sidewalk. Despite the temps being in the low thirties, both women were wearing short skirts and flimsy shawls. One had flowing dark hair. The other looked like she was wearing an auburn wig. They both seemed to be heading home from a hard night of partying.

“Hey, cutie!” the dark-haired one yelled, motioning wildly for him to lower his car window.

Terrence obliged.

“Evening, ladies,” he said in his smoothest Billy Dee Williams voice.

They ran toward his Porsche—or more like stumbled—holding onto one another for balance. “Is that your car, baby?” the auburn-haired one slurred, leaning on her friend.

Terrence inclined his head. “I’m driving it, aren’t I?”

“Where you headed?” the other asked eagerly, sticking out her chest.

“Home,” he answered.

The dark-haired one licked her red lips and smiled. “Well, it looks like we’re headed there, too.”

“Home with me?” He raised his brows.

The two women nodded in unison. “Yeah! Let us in!” the auburn-wigged one shouted before groping for the passenger door handle and missing it by several inches. She fell back onto the sidewalk instead and landed on her rear, making her wig shift askew. Her friend burst into laughter.

Terrence shook his head. “I’m afraid not, ladies. But get home safely, okay?”

Terrence waved at the comedic duo and floored the accelerator, unaware of the Mitsubishi Galant that was simultaneously plowing through the four-way stop in the opposite direction. It hadn’t paused or stopped.

“Hey! Watch out!” one of the girls shouted.

Terrence turned in just enough time to see the bright headlights of the Mitsubishi coming toward him, but not in enough time to brake before the two cars collided.

Tires squealed. Metal crunched. Glass shattered in all directions. That’s when the two women began to scream.

Chapter 2

Evan

“Goodnight, Mr. Murdoch,” the driver said as Evan climbed out of the Lincoln Town Car while it idled in the circular driveway in front of his home.

“’Night, Bill,” Evan called back. He paused to tiredly rub his neck. “Oh, and tell your wife I’m sorry for keeping you out so late. All right?”

The driver waved away Evan’s apology and grinned over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, sir. If you keep giving me those bonuses you’ve been giving me, she won’t care if I don’t ever come home!”

Evan laughed and shut the passenger door. He watched the car pull off and then slowly climbed the stone steps leading to Murdoch Mansion. Though the floodlights were on, illuminating the exterior of the expansive estate, only one light inside the mansion burned bright. Evan smiled when he looked up and realized that light was in his own bedroom. Though it was almost three o’clock in the morning, Leila had waited up for him.

Unlike Charisse, he thought grudgingly as he inserted his key into one of the French doors and stepped inside the silent three-story foyer. Charisse either would have been passed out drunk on her bed or too preoccupied sharing that bed with someone else.

While he had been pulling long hours at Murdoch Conglomerated after taking the position of CEO, trying to maintain the legacy that his father had left to him, Evan’s wife, Charisse, had been occupying her time carrying on a hot-and-heavy affair with his backstabbing half-brother, Dante. But Evan wasn’t too upset when he finally had proof that she had been cheating on him. He had suspected it all along. His marriage to Charisse had been in name only for years, even if Evan had been unable to admit that truth to himself until he caught his wife screwing Dante in their marble shower. The blow of betrayal had been softened because he had been already firmly in love with someone else: Leila.

Evan quickly climbed the staircase to the west wing, hearing his footsteps on each riser. His steps echoed off the walls and high ceilings. He couldn’t get to the second floor fast enough, so impatient to slide into bed next to his fiancée.

Leila had been his childhood friend and lifelong crush. For years, he had hidden his feelings for her, only to watch her marry another man, whom he still despised. It had taken more than twenty years, Leila getting married and divorced, and Evan getting married and separated, before the two finally ended up together.

They no longer had to hide their feelings. Leila was no longer another man’s wife, and he would soon no longer be another woman’s husband. No more clandestine nights at his office, where they made love on the leather couch with the door locked. No more ultimatums from Leila about ending their relationship or revealing to his wife and everyone else in the world their own affair.

“We’re better than this, Evan,” she had told him back then, and it had humbled him to admit that she was right.

They were engaged and out in the open. She lived in his mansion, and so did her daughter and mother. Evan was ready to start the next chapter in his life, and he was beyond happy that he was starting that chapter with Leila at his side.

A minute later, he pushed open the door to his bedroom. The crystal pendant lamp on Leila’s night table was on, but unfortunately, Leila was fast asleep. She was propped up on several pillows in her silk nightgown. The hardback novel she had been reading had fallen from her hands and was fanned open on the bed beside her as she snored.

Evan inclined his head and smiled. Well, at least she tried to wait up for me, he thought before softly shutting the bedroom door behind him. He tiptoed across the room so as to not wake her, though it wasn’t necessary. The plush carpet drowned out any sound his footsteps could make. As he walked quietly, he took off his coat, tossed it onto a footstool, and began to unbutton his dress shirt and remove his cufflinks. He finished undressing and prepared for bed in the bathroom after shutting the door behind him. Minutes later, he returned to the bedroom in his boxer-briefs to find Leila still slumbering.

She had sunk lower on the pillows and was now partially splayed onto the bed. She was on her side facing him. Her peach silk nightgown was bunched around her hips, showing a great deal of thigh, both of her calves, and all of her delicate, red-painted toenails. The top lace panel of the nightgown had fallen open on one side, revealing one lone honey-hued breast and a dark nipple that was already hardening and puckering with goosebumps in the cool bedroom air.

Evan’s smile widened as he leaned against the bathroom doorframe. This was what he had been trying to explain to his little brother as they had watched the cosmetically enhanced, topless strippers pump, grind, and hump on stage. It wasn’t that he hadn’t found the women or their performances seductive, but he found it exceedingly more erotic to stumble on a subtle scene like this: a beautiful, sexy, natural woman whom he loved, fast asleep, unwittingly showing all her assets to him and turning him on in the process. Watching her lying there, Evan hardened.

He walked around the bed, extinguished the light, and placed her book on the night table. The bedroom fell mostly into darkness except for the glow of the full moon filtering through the gossamer curtains on the other side of the room. Leila didn’t stir as he turned off the light or even when he walked around their king-sized bed to the side where he usually slept. She shifted slightly only when the bed dipped as he climbed in naked beside her after tugging off his boxer-briefs. She mumbled something unintelligible, then started snoring again.

Evan let his eyes trail over her in the dim lighting. His gaze not only lingered on her breasts and long legs, but also rested on her slightly parted lips and the dark lashes that swept her cheeks. He pushed a lock of hair off of her brow, then let his fingers lightly trail down her neck and along her collarbone before descending even lower. He ran a finger along her breast, then her nipple, before cupping the full breast in his hand.

Leila still didn’t rouse, but her breathing instantly changed. Her snores halted and became sharp, quick breaths. She shifted and moaned softly in her sleep as he trailed his thumb over the nipple again and again, flicking his finger across the dark bud. When he leaned forward and lowered his mouth to her breast, she breathed in sharply. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Ev,” she murmured sleepily as he eased her onto her back, “what are you—”

“Sssshhhh,” he urged, holding a finger to her lips. He grinned. “Just lie back and relax.”

He then returned to suckling her breast, and her strangled moans became even louder. As Evan tugged the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, he raised the hem of the nightgown even higher. He was delighted to discover she wasn’t wearing underwear beneath it.

Good, he thought. There would be less fabric in between him and what he wanted: her.

His mouth didn’t leave those delectable nipples even as he eased his hand between her legs, coaxing her to spread them wider. He massaged her clit with a practiced touch and felt her grow wet beneath his fingertips. Her moans shifted to yells and back again. Just when he sensed her getting close to the edge, he pulled his hand and mouth away, and she whimpered in protest.

“What the . . .” She pushed herself up to her elbows so that she could glare down at him.

Leila was barely wearing her nightgown. It was now nothing more than a silken, crumpled belt around her waist. At that moment, she was naked, resplendent, and absolutely indignant. “What the hell, Ev? Why’d you stop?” she grumbled.

She looked so angry that he had to laugh.

“I didn’t stop, baby,” he said as he climbed between her legs. “I’m only getting started.”

He reached down and started massaging her again, bringing her back to the brink of ecstasy that he had dragged her to before. But this time he quickly replaced his hands with his mouth, licking and kissing the juncture between her legs until she was bucking underneath him, until she was balling the sheets in her fists and screaming his name. His dick ached to be inside her, but he held back, wanting to give her pleasure first. When the orgasm hit her, he sat back on his elbows and watched her stomach rise and fall. He watched her thighs tighten, then go slack.

When the last wave washed over her and she fought to regain her breath, he slowly climbed back on top of her.

“I love you, Evan,” she whispered to him in the dark, wrapping her arms and legs around him, drawing him close.

“I love you, too,” he assured her just before he entered her and she cried out his name again.

Evan drove hard and deep, loving the way she felt around him, loving her welcoming warmth. Leila clawed at his back and dug her nails into his shoulder blades. She widened her legs even further to let more of him inside her, and he readily plunged into her over and over again. She bucked her hips to meet each stroke.

As they made love, Evan rode the rollercoaster of sensations, felt the thrill of each plunge, and knew what awaited him at the end: pure bliss.

He closed his eyes and let out a long, tortured groan when the release finally came. His hold around her tightened to the point that he worried he might be crushing her, and then he went slack. He collapsed his full weight on top of her and panted against her ear. When he finally regained his strength, he peered down at her. She was beaming.

“So this is what you’re like when you come back from a strip club?” Leila asked with laughter in her voice. She licked her lips seductively. “Remind me to send you there more often.”

Evan pushed that bothersome lock of hair out of her eyes once more and kissed her chin, cheeks, and lips. “We could save the money and you could just strip for me every night?”

“For free?” she asked with mock outrage, cocking an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “No, for a nominal fee.”

She inclined her head and pretended to consider his offer. “Eh, you’re cute. I guess I could give you a discount.”

“I’d appreciate that.” He pulled out of her and turned onto his side, dragging Leila with him. Evan wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they lay naked beside each other in bed. Sex with Leila was always amazing, but the quiet moments they spent in bed alone together afterward were definitely a close second.

“Did you guys have fun tonight?” she asked, trailing her fingers along his arm and shoulder.

“It was okay.” He shrugged. “I think Terry had a better time than I did, though.”

She chuckled. “Of course, Terry did. Strip clubs are right up his alley.”

“I felt bad while I was there.”

“Why?” she cried, looking taken aback. “I told you I didn’t mind! I meant it.”

“I know, but it’s not like I have a lot of nights at home. I mean, I’m always at the office. Tonight could have been time we spent alone together.”

“You have nothing to feel bad about, Ev. You can have some nights out with your brother and your friends. I don’t mind!” She shook her head. “Besides, tonight I had to help Izzy with her science project. I was up to my ears in Styrofoam and glue, trying to re-create the solar system.”

Izzy was Leila’s daughter.

“I could have helped, though.”

“You didn’t have to help. We had it covered!” She waved her hand. “We’ve got just a few more finishing touches and we’ll be done. She’s going to present it to her second-grade class on Thursday. She’s excited.”

“If you have a few more things you have to do, I can help. I did science fair projects back in the day, remember?”

“I told you . . . We have it covered, Ev.”

“No, seriously, Lee, what can I do? I want to help.”

Leila’s smile faltered. For the first time, she looked uncomfortable. “Actually, I think Izzy would . . . would prefer if just . . . you know . . . she and I work on it . . . alone.”

He tightened his jaw. “You mean, she doesn’t want my help.”

“Ev,” Leila began, “she’s still adjusting to all this, to us being together. I told you, bonding with her isn’t going to happen overnight.”

“I know that, Lee,” he said tightly, releasing his arm from around Leila’s shoulder.

He was a businessman. He understood things took time and that building relationships with people could sometimes be a slow process, but his relationship with Izzy was painfully stilted, almost prickly. She wouldn’t even let him call her Izzy.

“My name is Isabel,” the precocious seven-year-old had softly but firmly corrected him once when he used her nickname.

He had tried to be kind to Izzy, to shower her with attention, to joke with her, to pull her into conversations. Hell, he had even tried to ply her with gifts, but so far, nothing had worked.

“You’re just trying too hard, Ev,” Leila had insisted. “Let it happen naturally.”

Maybe Leila was right. Maybe eventually Izzy would warm to him. But for now Izzy was adamant that she had one dad and one dad only, and his name was Bradley Hawkins, not Evan Murdoch.

“She will eventually bond with you,” Leila now argued as they lay in bed together. “Please just give it—”

“Time? I know. But all the time in the world isn’t going to help if Brad keeps making her hostile toward me.”

Leila bit her bottom lip and fell silent. She knew he was right.

Though Brad, who lived back in California, was also engaged and planned to get married in the upcoming months, he didn’t seem as willing to let his ex-wife move on with her new life. He argued with Leila by phone and had threatened to file for sole custody and “take back what’s rightfully mine.” The only thing that kept Leila from worrying about losing Izzy was that Brad had been found guilty of fraud and embezzlement for an elaborate pyramid scheme and now faced jail time. With a criminal record, the likelihood of him getting custody of his daughter was very remote. But that didn’t stop Brad from pouring poison into Izzy’s ear, saying things about her mother and her mother’s “big-shot, millionaire sugar daddy.” So far, Brad hadn’t managed to turn Izzy against Leila, but it seemed he was having much more success in turning her against Evan.

“I’m sorry, but I have no control over what Brad says or does,” Leila now whispered, gazing at Evan in the darkened bedroom.

“Which is why you need to try even harder to sway Isabel in my direction,” he argued.

“Ev, that’s not how kids work.”

Leila sounded tired, and it wasn’t just because it was three o’clock in the morning. He knew she was tired of having these arguments, and frankly, so was he. But he also knew that even though Leila loved him, she would end their engagement if Izzy gave her an ultimatum or told her she didn’t want her to get married. He had seen before how much investment Leila had in making sure that her daughter was happy. On the rankings of importance in Leila’s life, Isabel Hawkins came first. That left Evan with a lot at stake in this.

“Then how the hell do kids work, Lee, because I don’t know what else to—”

He was stopped short by the ringing of the telephone. Both Evan and Leila paused, surprised to get a phone call at this late hour. When the phone rang a second time, Evan’s stomach instinctively tightened. Whenever he received late-night calls like this, it was always because something had gone wrong. And something had gone wrong—he could sense it.

He slowly picked up the cordless phone on his night table. “Hello?” he asked with a frown.

“Hello, this is the Metropolitan D.C. Police Department,” a woman’s voice answered. “Am I speaking to Evan Murdoch?”

“Y-yes. This is he.”

“Are you the next of kin for Terrence Murdoch?”

“Yes,” Evan nearly shouted, instantly sitting bolt upright at the mention of his brother’s name. Leila jumped at his side, startled. “I’m his brother. What’s . . . What’s wrong?”

“Sir, your brother has been in an accident.”

 

Copyright © 2016 by Shelly Ellis

ANY BOOK CLUBS OUT THERE? I’M DOING A GIVEAWAY!

 In honor of the upcoming release of the last book in the Gibbons Gold Digger series, I’m giving away up to 8 FREE signed copies (as long as supplies are available) of the first book in the series, Can’t Stand the Heat, to book clubs. 

If you’re part of a book club and would be interested in this offer, contact me at shellyellisbooks@gmail.com.

The Best She Ever Had Book Cover

Writers are a group of people who traditionally find it hard to let go of something. Maybe it’s the manuscript that you keep retweaking in hopes of making it better, but the story just isn’t working. Maybe it’s striking out over and over again with agents and editors while submitting a book you just L-O-V-E, but you step back up to the plate and take another swing in hopes of finally seeing it published. It’s a trait that can work to our advantage and disadvantage but sometimes, you just have to know when to walk away and let things go.

On Monday, I got the completed book cover for the last book in my Gibbons Gold Digger series, The Best She Ever Had. I got it in the mail from my editor. I marveled at the glossy cover and at the fact that I managed to write an entire series.

I didn’t know if this book would ever see the light of day when I first came up with the concept. When I signed my contract with Kensington, I was scheduled for only three books though I kept insisting to my editor it was meant to be a 4-book series.

“We’ll see how the sales go and then revisit this,” she said and I felt like a little kid who had been patted on the head and told that I might get cookies later if I was a good girl.

The series didn’t break any sales records LOL, but I guess it sold enough that my publisher was willing to put out a 4th book. I was happy that all the Gibbons sisters would get the chance to tell their stories but I also knew it would be the end of a journey that started for me four years ago when I brainstormed the idea of a family of gold-digging women and decided to pull out my laptop and start typing.

While writing The Best She Ever Had, I wasn’t sad about saying goodbye to characters I knew so well, that I had been with for so long. I was already excited about the next series I had slated. It’s about the Murdochs, another family in fictional town of Chesterton, Va., and their drama filled lives. (The first release from that series is tentatively scheduled for September 2015.) But as I began to write my new books, I had a sense of nostalgia for the Gibbons sisters. I knew those girls soooo well. They were like old friends. Now I was wandering into the school lunchroom looking for a table to sit, hoping that I can find a new set of friends and hoping the relationship would work out just as well.

Now I’m starting from the beginning: learning a new tone, new characters, new backstories, and new plotlines. I’ve gone back to my original edits of the Gibbons Gold Digger novels and smile fondly at the old days.

So it’s with a heavy heart that I say goodbye to the Gibbons sisters. Readers will get their chance to say goodbye too in December.

Peace out, Lauren, Steph, Dawn, and Cindy! It’s been a blast, girls!

Hi! I’m hosting yet another author today! This time its Christian romance author, Sheila L. Jackson. She’s sharing a sneak peak of her book, Where Was God?

Bio:

Sheila L. Jackson lives with her family in Shreveport, Louisiana. She is an anointed speaker, teacher, and writer that utilize her gifts to carry the Word of God to those in need of spiritual soul food. Sheila has penned two, inspirational non-fiction books, The Enemy Within and Through the Eyes of God. She has also written several inspirational and social articles for a local newspaper and magazine. For more information about this author and books, visit her website at www.sheilaljackson2.com.

Blurb:

“Where was God?” Fayth Angelica Hope, questioned after the death of her father. Reared by a mother who could give Cruella Deville a run for her money as, “The Queen of Mean,” Fayth turns her back on the church, her faith, and love. She believed no just and merciful God would have abandoned her to the harsh brutality of her mother’s iron fist. Her emotional and spiritual scars run deep, lasting into adulthood.

As a promising investigative reporter, she decides to change her name. Her given name of Fayth has more curses attached to it than blessings. She hopes the switch to Angelica will give her the clean slate she desires.

Assigned to investigate financial advisor Jasion McCoy, Angelica goes in determined to expose him for embezzlement. She hopes the story will advance her career as one of the top reporters across the country. Instantly, there is an attraction. But she hides her feelings from him. After a series of missteps, broken-heartedness, and rejections in her past, she buries the notion of any man, especially a man of his caliber, ever loving her. With the evidence stacked against him, she believes his only interest in her, is to keep from going to prison.

Top-notch financial advisor Jasion McCoy is in the middle of an embezzlement scheme. When Angelica Hope shows up in his office, he knows he’s in trouble. She is one of the hottest investigative reporters in Port City and now she’s gunning for him. How can Jasion convince her that he is innocent? And how can he hold back his feeling for the woman who’s out to do him in?

Links to where book can be purchase

Amazon: http://amzn.com/0988922584

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/where-was-god-their-hearts-burned-for-each-other-sheila-l-jackson/1118141761?ean=2940148185727

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/399985

KOBO: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/books/where-was-god-3/SQdCYTHp90KeRYMqb-scDA?MixID=SQdCYTHp90KeRYMqb-scDA&PageNumber=1

Concerning Life Publishing: http://concerninglife.org/where-was-god-their-hearts-burned-for-each-other

Chapter Excerpt:

Angelica stepped inside the vacant elevator at Spitzer Financial Firm. She pressed the button for the twelfth floor where her new assignment awaited her. She leaned her tired body against the steel guardrails as the doors closed. Even the smooth, melodic sounds of jazz bellowing from overhead couldn’t drown out the voice of her high-strung, over-the-top boss, Lance Swann as it invaded her thoughts on the ride up.

The last thing she wanted was to take on a new assignment. But Lance barged into her office more than a week ago with what he deemed another big story that needed her undivided attention. She could hear his flamboyant voice ringing clearly in her head. “Hope, CBN News didn’t earn Best Broadcasting Station of the year by sitting on our butts.” Then he’d pour on the flattery with, “You’re the best reporter this station has. The others are just too darned soft. I can trust you to get down and dirty to find the truth.” He was right about that. She took her job seriously, sometimes a little too seriously, and often leaving enemies in the aftermath.

She was blindsided when her overzealous boss assigned her to investigate Jasion McCoy without consulting her first. She had planned to take an overdue vacation, which Lance knew she deserved, after uncovering the teacher’s sex scandal that rocked the Port City school system last month. She had her own problems to sort out. As usual, Lance had thrown a monkey wrench in those plans when he’d handed her a folder containing Mr. McCoy’s profile.

She pulled a photo from the folder of a strikingly handsome young man; she’d remembered seeing on an infomercial. After the Procter Investment Firm scandal, people had begun withdrawing their investments from local financial firms in Port City. He had encouraged the public that it was safe to reinvest in their future and not allow one company’s mistake to scare them.

Angelica studied the photo of Jasion McCoy with awareness. She brushed her hands across the glossy image toward his eyes and then down to the most perfect set of lips she’d ever seen. He didn’t look like a crook, but neither did the rest of those high corporate thieves who’d scammed billions from their clients. Well Mr. McCoy, I hope you’re ready for me. I don’t take kindly to those who take advantage of the innocent, no matter how handsome they are, she thought, trying to convince herself that his good looks wouldn’t interfere with her doing her job.

Ding. The elevator alerted that she’d reached her destination. The sound pulled her back to the present. While exiting, she tried, refocusing on her purpose for being there. She proceeded down a narrow hallway in search of the man whose photo had her counting down the seconds until their meeting. She arrived at his office door, where a gold plate bore his name in bold black letters. Before she could knock, a tall, handsome, and immaculately dressed man charged out the door, nearly knocking her over.

The gorgeous creature leaning into her, quick reflexes and a strong masculine hold around her waist broke her fall. The last thing she needed was a concussion from landing on the hard ceramic floor beneath her.

“Ma’am, are you all right? I’m sorry. I didn’t see you,” He apologized, holding her securely in his arms.

Seconds ticked before Angelica could speak. There was a sense of familiarity about the man holding her in his arms. She’d seen those soft, brown, caring eyes before, but where? The only placed she’d seen him was in the photo and on television.

“You need to watch where you’re going, sir,” she scolded, breaking out of his strong grip. Straightening her oversized, black blazer, she sported an annoyed look. “I could’ve been seriously hurt.”

She was more than okay. It wasn’t everyday that a handsome, six-foot-three─ give or take an inch─hunk, stormed out an office and held her in his arms. Too bad, the hard nosed-reporter inside her, wouldn’t allow her vulnerability or gratitude show.

“You’re right. I should’ve been more careful.” He peered over her shoulders in the direction of his secretary’s empty desk. “May I help you?”

“Yes. I am looking for a Mr. Jasion McCoy.” She knew exactly who he was. The sight of him had taken what breath she had left. She tried to gather her composure in light of the awkward moment they’d just shared. Focus. Focus. Focus. She screamed within herself.

His photo and television infomercials didn’t do him justice. Live and in living color was much better. His bronze, chiseled face and beautiful full lips surrounded by a neatly trimmed goatee were enough to make her want to fall again, just so he’d catch her. There wasn’t a flaw to be found, and if there were, he hid them well.

Dateless for more than two years hadn’t diminished her womanly abilities to scan a man from head to toe in a matter of seconds. Her skills were still on high alert. His tan designer suit complemented his toned body, drawing attention to all the right places.

“I’m your man. Sorry…my apologies, that didn’t come out the right way.” Stumbling on his words, he extended his hand to her for a formal introduction. “I’m Jasion McCoy. And you are?”

“Angelica Hope, from CBN News. The station’s secretary scheduled me to meet with you at ten-thirty this morning.”

“Come into my office and let me check my schedule for today.”

She followed closely behind, checking out the full view of his masculine physique. Not too bad. Not too bad. His wife is one lucky woman to have a man like him to come home to. I thought Idris Elba was the only man who oozed sex appeal, but I was wrong.

“Have a seat while I verify the time with my secretary. I hope she’s returned from her morning break.” He turned, gesturing towards a black leather chair near his desk. “Ms. Kennedy is good at keeping me on track.” He dialed her extension, placing the phone on loudspeaker. “Ms. Kennedy.”

“Yes, Mr. McCoy,” she responded in a high-spirited voice.

“Do you have me scheduled to meet with a, Mrs.─”

“It’s Ms.,” Angelica interrupted. Why did I do that? I could slap myself. I hope he doesn’t get the wrong impression.

“I’m sorry. Do you have me scheduled to meet with Ms. Angelica Hope from CBN News at ten-thirty this morning? I could’ve sworn it was for tomorrow.”

“Hold, please, while I check.” She returned, “Yes, Mr. McCoy, I reminded you of the appointment first thing this morning.

“Thanks, Ms. Kennedy. That will be all for now.” He disconnected the call. “I apologize for my oversight, Ms. Hope. It’s been chaos around here ever since investigators stormed into my office, confiscating my clients’ portfolios.”

“Your boss, Mr. Lexington, contacted the station and briefed us on the matter.”

“If you don’t mind, can we discuss this over a late breakfast?” he asked, slipping on his suit jacket. “I’m famished.”

“I have lunch plans in a couple of hours. We could reschedule for tomorrow, if you’d like.” She couldn’t believe those words had escaped her lips. Postponing a meeting of this nature wasn’t in her vocabulary. She had to be insane or weak to the magnetic powers transmitting from the handsome man standing before her.

“No, I prefer to get this over with as quickly as possible,” he snapped.

“I don’t know about quickly, Mr. McCoy. We’re stuck together like Siamese twins. After the case, we can both go our separate ways. Where I come from, stealing is a serious crime.” No one took that type of tone with her, even if he did look as if he’d stepped off the pages of GQ magazine.

“Whoa. Hold on, Ms. Don’t come in here making false accusations. I know Mr. Lexington prefers that CBN News cover the story because of their network’s reputation for accuracy. However, I won’t hesitate to boot you up out of here.” He shot back.

“Look. I apologize for making false assumptions. In my business you’re innocent until proven guilty.” Her reporter instincts warned that things were going to get worse before the case was over, and sticking her foot in her mouth wasn’t helping. “Okay, let’s go and discuss the events leading up to the disappearance of your clients’ assets. Maybe we can put our heads together and figure it out before the news get out to the public. After the Procter Investment Firm closed its doors due to money laundering schemes, the last thing you need is for Spitzer’s investors to begin panicking.”

Morning! Today I’m hosting again a great literary friend on my blog, the award-winning author of interracial romantic suspense Stacy-Deanne. She’s sharing a sneak peak of her new e-book, Captivated, part of a new series. It’s coming out March 1.

Bio:

Stacy-Deanne (Dee-Anne) is a published novelist of interracial romantic suspense and mystery novels. She started writing professionally in 1997 when she was nineteen years old. Stacy grew up loving the suspense genre. Her idols are Edgar Allan Poe and Alfred Hitchcock. Her love for Psycho and many of his movies fueled her fire for suspense.

She was born, raised, and resides in Houston, Texas.

Find out more about her and her books:

http://www.stacy-deanne.net

Mailing List: http://www.stacy-deanne.net/newsletter.htm

Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/stacy.deanne.5

Twitter: @stacydeanne

Synopsis:

When she first lays eyes on Mya Riley’s slashed up body, Baltimore Detective Lisa Swanson is certain that the Sandman, a ruthless serial killer from her past has reemerged. Lisa dives headfirst into the case with her partner Dee, and lovesick Winston Lewis, a detective who grows more captivated with Lisa by the day.

The Sandman wreaks bloodthirsty havoc throughout the city, and this time he is determined to make Lisa his victim.

Armed with intense hatred for the Sandman and a stifling fear of who might end up dead next, Lisa struggles to solve the case by the book. But when the Sandman switches up his plan and goes after her lover Jake…Lisa ignores all the rules.

Publisher Link: http://www.sugarnspicepress.com/index.php?main_page=page&id=1&zenid=c3eb9402ba170decf717c8b78407b845

(Will be on retailers shortly after release)

Captivated @ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19465039-captivated

Excerpt from Captivated:

“There’s a song stuck in my head.” He hummed it. “I was listening to it earlier but can’t think of the name.” He swayed Lisa while he hummed. “It’s been a while since we danced.” He twirled them around in circles.

Lisa laughed. “Whoa! You’re putting all the moves on me.”

“You always like it when I do this.” He lifted the front of his wheelchair off the floor and came back down. “You like that, huh?”

“Whoa!” She laughed. “You’re right. It’s been a while since we went dancing.” She put her hand in his as he swerved them across the kitchen. “So we can go dancing then.” She lifted her head from his shoulder. “We could both use a break, don’t you think?” She played with a button on his shirt. “We can go to the Rush.”

He rolled his eyes. “How come we always go to the wheelchair nightclubs?”

“I thought it was your favorite place. I just want you to be comfortable.”

“I want us to go dancing for real.” He laid his arm on the armrest. “I used to love dancing.” He got teary-eyed. “I miss that the most.”

She kissed his hand.

“I wanna take you dancing like a real man would.”

“You are a real man.” She got off him. “And we can dance the regular way right here.”

He got a paper towel off the table and dabbed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

She went across to the living room and turned on the stereo in the entertainment system.

“Okay, let’s find something good.” She stopped on her favorite station that played old-school slow jams. The sultry beginning of Aaliyah’s “Rock the Boat” began. “Uh-huh.” Lisa bobbed her head. “That’s what I’m talking about.” She shimmied back into the kitchen.

“I love this song.” Jake tossed the paper towel on the table.

Lisa stood in front of him and held out her hands. “May I have this dance?”

“What?” he whispered.

She bent down. “You said you wanted to dance the real way. Let’s dance the real way.”

“You know my legs are too weak.”

She took his hands. “Then lean on me.”

He took a deep breath and slowly rose from the chair. “Oh.”

“It’s okay.” She put her arms around him. “I got you.”

He stood straight and put his weight on Lisa. “I’m six-three and two hundred pounds.” He leaned on her. “I’m gonna crush you.”

“I’m stronger than you think.” She laid her head on his chest. “Just take it slow and relax.”

He stumbled a bit then picked up his feet in perfect rhythm.

“Wow.” Lisa held him tighter. “You’re a smooth dancer, Jake.”

His lips brushed her cheek. “This feels amazing.” He swayed. “Just like the old days.”

“See?” She moved her hand up his back. “Now you’re leading.” She lifted her head. “How does it feel?”

“I…” His voice cracked. “I haven’t danced since two thousand eight.”

“Well, you’re dancing now.” She kissed him. “And you’re doing it beautifully.”

Today my guest is Shelia Goss, who’s new book The Joneses was recently released. She’s offering readers the chance to win a Coach handbag in honor of one of her characters and other prizes.

Shelia M. Goss is a national bestselling author and a screenwriter. The Joneses is her seventeenth book in print. She writes in multiple genres. USA Today says, “Goss has an easy, flowing style with her prose…” She’s received many accolades in her career, including being a finalist in the mystery category for the 2013 AA Literary Award Show and a 2012 Emma Award Finalist. Her books have been on several best sellers lists, such as: Essence Magazine, Dallas Morning News and Black Expressions Book Club.

Shelia loves to hear from readers so feel free to contact her via her website: www.sheliagoss.com or follow her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/sheliagoss or Twitter: www.twitter.com/sheliamgoss.

Take it away, Shelia…

Whether you’re single or married or in a relationship, you can’t deny that romance is in the air this month.  As a writer who writes about romance, this is one of my favorite times of the year.

Below is a list of some of my favorites. What are some of your favorites in each category?

My Top 5 Favorite Romance Authors:

Donna Hill

Brenda Jackson

Beverly Jenkins

Francis Ray

Danielle Steele

I’m an avid movie watcher. The movies on this list I’ve seen several times. Some will make you laugh, some will make you cry, but they all have one thing in common – romance. Here’s my top 10 Romantic Movies list, but in no certain order.

Top 10 Romantic Movies:

Love Jones

Two Can Play that Game

Lady Sings the Blues

Love & Basketball

You’ve Got Mail

Bridget Jones Diary

Sleepless in Seattle

Brown Sugar

When Harry Met Sally

The Best Man

Besides books and film, music is another one of my passions. If you want to set the mood for a romantic evening, you can’t go wrong with putting one of these in your CD player or iPod.

Music to Set the Mood

Best of Luther Vandross

Time Life Soul Ballads Collection

Body and Soul Collection

Isley Brothers Greatest Hits

At Last – Etta James

Now find out more about The Joneses…

Keeping up with the Joneses isn’t all it’s made out to be. In this intriguing novel full of drama and plot twists, one family tries to hold on to their “perfect” life before their secrets, lies, and scandals are exposed.

On the outside, the Joneses seem like the ideal family: Royce Jones, a funeral home mogul, and his wife, Lexi, are parents to Charity, Hope, and Lovie—and everybody wants to be them. But it’s true that money can’t buy happiness, and the Joneses are harboring secrets that can’t stay hidden forever…It’s only a matter of time before the Joneses’ perfect life goes spinning out of control.

Order your copy of THE JONESES from Simon & Schuster at http://books.simonandschuster.com/Joneses/Shelia-M-Goss/9781593095222

or purchase from other online retailers

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1593095228/simonsayscom

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-joneses-sheila-m-goss/1115884720?ean=9781593095222

IndieBound: http://www.indiebound.org/book/9781593095222

Goss is offering visitors the chance win a Coach handbag!

Lexi Jones, one of the main characters, from THE JONESES loves her handbags so it’s just befitting that the grand prize be a handbag.  Contest ends on February 25, 2014.

GRAND PRIZE: One (1) random entrant will receive a small Coach handbag {Retail value: $188.00, 10 3/4″(L) x 7″(H) x 3 1/4″(W)} and Bath & Body Works minatures (Retail value: $19.75)

RUNNER UP: One (1) random entrant will receive an autographed copy of Montana’s Way.

10 ENTRANTS: Ten (10) random entrants will receive the electronic version of the book Hollywood Deception.

Open to U.S. & Canada residents only. Avoid where prohibited by law. Click on link to enter!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Hey all! Once again, I’m hosting a guest blogger on my site. This time, it’s author LaShanta Charles sharing a sneak peak of her new novel, Lovely Lies 2, which comes out Feb. 11th!

LaShanta Charles was born and raised in the small town of Orangeburg, SC. She has always been an avid reader of all genres, but Urban / African American Fiction has always been her true love and is what inspired her to pursue a writing career. In high school, she began letting her classmates read the short stories that she would write and based off of their feedback, her passion for writing pushed her to become a published author. She published her debut novel, Lovely Lies, in 2013 and will release the sequel, Lovely Lies 2, in February 2014. Currently she is working in her third novel, Splitting Karma, along with other projects. In recognition of her work, LaShanta was named National Black Book Festival’s 2013 Best New Author and was nominated for 2013 Breakout Author of the Year through the African American Literary Awards Show. Lovely Lies was also awarded Most Underrated Book of 2013 for the Literary Scream Awards.

Currently she lives in Killeen, TX, with her husband and two children. She is pursuing a degree in English at Drury University and also serving in the US Army. Her hobbies include spending time with family, traveling, eating, and of course, writing. Her motto is “strive to excel, not to equal.”

Find out more about her at

http://www.randomlymeandyou.blogspot.com

http://www.delphinepublications.com

Facebook: Author Lashanta

Twitter: @twiety01

Lovely Lies 2

After Makynzee’s kidnapping, Kalil is left struggling to maintain his composure. He was supposed to protect her and he failed miserably. He’s left tormented by thoughts of what Nyeem may be doing to Makynzee or if she’s even alive. One thing is for sure, He needs to regain his focus because now he’s faced with the unlikely task of getting her back. Nyeem, the psycho stalker turned kidnapper, has finally succeeded in conquering his ultimate goal – making Makynzee his. So what if she was in a perfectly good relationship with Kalil? And does it really matter that he had to kidnap her to get her? It seems as though he’s taken full control of everyone’s lives and has no intentions of letting that control go. Because of him lives may be lost, Makynzee’s fate is unknown, and the chaos he’s brought with him has taken up permanent real estate.

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Excerpt:

I saw the flashing lights before we reached the studio. Police tape, ambulances, cops, and reporters were everywhere.the makings of a crime scene. Hindsight tells me that the “wind knocked out of me” feeling was me knowing that my baby was gone. KJ’s cries had escalated to screams and him telling me to go get Makynzee, a full-blown tantrum. My mom had asked me what was going on as though I hadn’t been with her the whole time. In less than ten seconds my eyes had scanned the parking lot at least a dozen times. I needed to see her. I willed myself to just catch a brief glimpse of her. Her hand, her jacket, her backpack.anything, just her. If I could see her, I could stop the tremors building inside me. Instead I saw Donte holding Jaida’s hand as they loaded her into an ambulance. Jaida. Makynzee’s best friend, they’re like sisters. Another sign that my baby was gone. If she were there she would have been holding Jaida’s hand too. I can’t remember if I put the truck in park before I’d jumped out and made my way to Donte shouting his name. He’d looked away and shook his head when he saw me. I’d pushed Kaeden and an EMT away to keep them from closing the ambulance doors.

“Where is she?” I’d asked. I needed him to tell me what I already knew. My mind wouldn’t process it, wouldn’t accept it. His reply was pathetic enough to make me hit him.

“I tried to stop him, but I would have shot her if I did.”

“What the hell does that mean? Where’s Makynzee?” I’d asked as I dragged him from the ambulance. Three cops with their guns trained on me, Kaeden trying to pull me away and Karmen and the EMT yelling for me to let him go did nothing but irritate me more. He had one job, one responsibility. The one thing I’ll never forgive him for failing. KJ’s cries were his saving grace. I let Kaeden pull me away. I tried to block Donte’s voice out as he finally said what I thought I needed to hear.

“He took her, Kalil. I tried to stop him, he shot Jaida and took her.”