When Ash Remains is Dena Garson's latest romance. You don't want to miss it. The storyline mixes paranormal, Nature American and historical for a rousing good time. Dena's also offering a great contest. Read on for details...
When Ash Remains
By Dena Garson
A paranormal, Native American, historical romance
Release Date: March 2, 2017
Blurb: A warrior with a mission There isn’t a buffalo or deer that Kajika cannot take down. So when his cousin is slaughtered he relishes the chance to track down the killer. The trail leads him to a woman with gifts he has trouble believing in. Despite their differences he cannot fight his instinct to protect her from all threats – even those he cannot see. That drive even rivals his desire to explore every inch of her body. A woman with a destiny Knowing the spirits will protect her, Ahyoka allows the handsome warrior to take her to be questioned by his chief about the unexplained deaths in their village. He may not believe in her abilities but he is one of the few who doesn’t treat her like something to be feared or shunned. He awakens feelings that make her yearn for things she thought she’d never have. Her biggest fear is that once he learns the full extent of her gifts he will reject her like most of her tribe did. A killer twisted by hurt and anger Kajika and Ahyoka must work together to find the one responsible for the string of deaths in and around their villages. Faith, trust, and even a little bit of love will be needed to defeat the killer and right the wrongs committed in the pursuit of power and revenge.
Excerpt: Awake Spirit Talker. A man. He watches. A man. He comes. A man. He hunts. Ahyoka listened to the sounds of the spirits around her. Even without their warning, she would have sensed the presence in the shadows. She rolled to her side and looked to where she knew he crouched. The darkness hid his features from her eyes, but his spirit radiated from the fire that burned within him. Never before had she met someone with such a potent life force. Even her brother’s wasn’t as intense as this man’s, and her family descended from a line of powerful shamans. Did he mean her harm? Or was he just passing through? Without taking her eyes off the place where he hid, she groped behind her for the knife she had been using before she dozed off. The apples she ate sat heavy in her belly as she contemplated whether she should run or just face whoever it was. The crunch of leaves from her left drew her attention. No sooner had her vision shifted than a blur from the place the man had hid raced toward her. She rolled as her father had taught her to do in order to minimize the impact of the assault. At the same time, she pulled her knife and tried to put it between her and her attacker. The man grabbed her wrist and pinned it to the ground, rendering her weapon useless. Her heart pounded in her chest and a roar sounded in her ears. Who was this man? She fought to free herself from his hold but found he outmatched her in size, speed, and strength. In an alarmingly short span of time, she found herself pinned beneath one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. She pushed aside her shock and renewed her efforts. “Get off of me!” Even the attractiveness of his face didn’t deter her from ramming her head into his nose. He loosened his grip on her and covered his face as he mumbled some expletive. She used this distraction to her advantage and bucked him to one side so she could wiggle free. Before she could get to her feet and scamper away, he grabbed her by the ankle. “Let go!” She kicked at his hand with her other foot, trying to break his hold. As she struggled with the warrior, two more men appeared from out of the surrounding trees. “Do you need help, Kajika?” the taller of the two men asked. The laughter in his tone suggested their struggle amused him. Ahyoka renewed her efforts to break free of the first man’s grip. “Who are you and what do you want?” The warrior kept his hold of her even as he climbed to his feet. “Who are you and what were you doing in our village?” Ahyoka stopped struggling. “In your village? What village?” “Don’t play dumb with me. We tracked you here.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She pointed to the bank just behind them. “I’ve been following the river all day. I stopped to rest when I realized how far I’d come. Where is your village?” Now that he had released her, she could see the rest of the man who had interrupted her peace and quiet. Her eyes traveled up the length of his legs. She skimmed over the short deer skin he wore about his waist and tried not to speculate about what might be hidden beneath. His bow hung across his broad chest, making her wonder how he managed to squeeze into such a narrow span. Every line of his chest and belly could be seen clearly. If she wanted, she could count each one even from where she sat. Something stirred within her and made her heart skip a beat. That same something counteracted her impulse to escape.
About the Author: Dena Garson is an award winning author of contemporary, paranormal, fantasy, and sci-fi romance. She holds a BBA and a MBA in Business and works in the wacky world of quality and process improvement. Making up her own reality on paper is what keeps her sane.
She is the mother of two rowdy boys, two rambunctious cats (AKA the fuzzy jerks), and a loving Labrador. When she isn't writing you can find her at her at the sewing machine or stringing beads. She is also a devoted Whovian and Dallas Cowboys fan.
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Please welcome Naima Simone. Naima has another awesome millionaire romance A Millionaire at Midnight. Her teasers and excerpt will make you hot. Plus, she's running a great contest. Read on for details...
It's a business arrangement...no strings, no touching, and
absolutely no love. 💍A Millionaire at
Midnight💍 by Naima Simone is #LIVE! Grab your copy
Boston socialite Morgan Lett is having a run of bad luck.
Her fiancé just dumped her for her stepsister, the charity foundation she’s
given her life to is in danger of folding, and now, the gorgeous man she bid on
and won at a masquerade bachelor auction turns out to be a cold-hearted
jerk…and her new employer.
Millionaire Alexander Bishop needs the best wife money can
buy. In order to inherit his family business, he must get engaged—fast. And Morgan,
with her beauty and pedigree, is the perfect candidate. Her sharp tongue may
drive him crazy, but she needs money to save the foundation she loves, and he
needs a fiancée. It’s a flawless arrangement—no strings, no love. But soon she
has him craving more, and cursing the platonic terms of their agreement.
Still, he won’t allow need—no matter how hot it burns—to
threaten everything he’s built.
“Do you fully understand what we would
have to do?” Alex growled, advancing on Morgan, momentarily forgetting his
resolve to maintain distance between them. “My father isn’t an idiot. He knows
how much I despise the idea of marrying again. He—”
“Wait, hold up.” Morgan threw up a hand,
palm out. “Again?”
“—won’t be easily fooled. I need to
convince him that I’ve done the impossible. That I found a woman I not only
want to be with, but who’s also fallen in love with me. Which would explain the
whirlwind romance and quick engagement.” The words tasted like day-old ashes in
his mouth. “It’s going to be hard enough pretending I’ve gone stupid over a
woman—any woman—but can you be that woman, Morgan? Can you pretend you want me?
My touch? And not just for a night, but for weeks. Months, if necessary. I
Morgan moved forward. No, prowled
forward with a sensual sway of her hips that had the moisture in his mouth
drying up like a drought. She didn’t stop until her chest pressed against him,
and her thighs brushed his. Jesus. He
ground his teeth together, caging the groan that climbed up the back of his
throat. The layers of her dress and his sweater didn’t hide the firmness of her
breasts. The soft weight of them had his hands itching to yank down the top,
slide inside the cups of her bra, and cradle the tempting flesh. To thumb nipples
he knew would be a delicate pink—at least until he had his mouth and tongue on
them. Then the color would deepen into a dark, beautiful rose…
“Do you know why I came here tonight?”
she whispered, lifting a hand and cradling his face. Slumberous blue eyes
stared up at him, the same need winding through his blood reflected there. “I
couldn’t stop myself, even though I know this is the last place I should be.
You…” A breath shuddered out from between her lips, caressing his chin. She
whisked her thumb over his cheekbone, shaking her head. “You are like a drug. I
shouldn’t want you. I know you’re bad for me, will probably hurt me, but I
don’t care. I…need you. Want to just look at you, touch you.” She trailed her
fingertips down his temple, over his jaw. Grazed his lips. “You’re all I think
about, and…and I can’t fight it anymore,” she confessed on a trembling sigh as
her gaze dropped to his mouth. “I don’t want to fight it anymore.” Abruptly she
dropped her hand from him and stepped back. “Aaand scene.”
She flung an arm out to the side and
folded over at the waist into a flamboyant, exaggerated bow, the knot of hair
at the top of her head bouncing. When she straightened, a smirk quirked her
lips. The arousal that had hooded her eyes and softened her generous, a
shade-too-wide mouth had disappeared as if it’d never been.
“As you were saying?” she asked, arching
a dark blonde eyebrow high. “I can’t pretend to want you?”
“You are…” Amazing. Scary as fuck.
But he couldn’t force out anything else pass the lust strangling him. His body
still hummed with arousal, the need droning inside him like a hundred angry
“Awesome. I know.” She nodded. “I told
Mrs. Bradley she should’ve let me play Peter Cottontail in our third-grade play
instead of Tree Number One. She missed out on all this.” She swept a hand down
her body. “So?” She held her palms up. “Do we have a deal?”
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Naima’s love of romance was first stirred by Johanna Lindsey
and Linda Howard many years ago. Though her first attempt at writing a romance
novel at 11 never saw the light of day, her love of romance and writing has
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experience the dizzying heights of passion and the tender heat of love.
She is the wife to Superman – or his non-Kryptonian, less
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Shea Balik's here today to tell us about Purring with His Mate, a M/M shifter romance. Sounds exciting. Please give Shea a warm welcome, and read on for details...
"Purring With His Mate M/M, Miracle, Book #1" by Shea Balik Genre: Gay/Paranormal Release Date: February 20, 2017 Preorder Amazon Kindle Unlimited
a world where everyone was against them, they needed a Miracle. What no
one had expected was to find their salvation in an abandoned town that
was ready to collapse. Yet, that is exactly what happened when they
moved to the town of Miracle, Oregon. Edrick Rapp, a mountain lion
shifter, wanted to kick himself for not moving he and his friends far
from their former pack years earlier. It wasn’t until he came upon one
of his friends being beaten to death for their sins that he realized his
mistake. Mouse shifter, Nole Hayward, had been punished by his
Alpha. Left for dead, he barely managed to crawl away with his life. He
ends up hiding out in Miracle, Oregon until a group of mountain lion
shifters shows up. Before he could get away he ends up with a building
collapsing down around him and his mate rescuing him. Can Edrick and Nole find love or will they let the ghosts of their pasts tear them apart?
TWO winners will each receive a $25 GC for either Amazon or B&N. Other
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ends 21 February at midnight ET. To enter: Find the 20 author/industry rep
pages that have the icon like the ones you see above AT THIS PAGE: http://www.romancebooks4us.com/Monthly_Contest.html(the contest page and the Welcome
Page don't count). Make a list of the names of those pages (ex: Marianne
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Be sure to look at all author pages AND Industry rep pages! Names listed on Welcome
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NOTE: Snail mail prizes only shipped to US or Canadian addresses. Before sending your entry, add the country where you
1. TWO $25 Gift Cards for either Amazon/B&N from RB4U.
2. Ebook from backlist books by romance author Tina Donahue.
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20. Audio book of Shattered Dreams by romance author SandyLoyd.
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This post first appeared on my other site Sweet n Sexy Divas, written by resident Diva Denyse Bridger. I love Denyse's work and style and wanted to share her great books. Enjoy!
A number of years ago, I began what I intended/hoped would be a series. The central character was a tormented but brilliant police inspector, a man scarred by his involvement with the notorious Jack the Ripper investigation, and a penchant for opium. The two books that introduce the series, a long novella and a short sequel never grew into a series for whatever reason - maybe no one else found Michael Devane as fascinating as I did! At any rate, I like to occasionally remind people of these stories because I do love them and consider them some of my best work. I have the desire to write a new tale, as well, so who knows - maybe he will be back again. At any rate, I hope you enjoy this exclusive excerpt and peek into Michael's world...
Several nights after Goodwin had found him in Whitechapel, Devane was once again walking the streets, contemplating a trip to his usual haunt to meet with the dragon. Somehow, for the first time in years, it wasn’t overly appealing to his senses. The mist and fog that had been the genius behind his work for so long had begun again as a balm to his tortured soul after the death of his only child, a daughter, and his wife’s desertion. He knew he was an addict, yet was able to function in spite of it, perhaps because of it. Still, it was disturbing to the sensibilities he’d been brought up with, and he had pause to wonder for the first time in a long while if it was time to begin the painful process of withdrawal. He’d done it once, he knew he was more than capable of enduring it a second time.
Another typical London night, he noted in an abstract part of his mind as he pulled his coat closer and fought down a shiver. The fog wasn’t as thickly cloying as it often was, and he walked more by habit than actual interest along the familiar streets. Dutfield’s Yard loomed ahead of him before long and he did stop to look at the buildings in the area that had been the subject of so much police scrutiny when the body of the Ripper’s third victim, a pretty prostitute called Elizabeth Stride, had been found in the yard by Louis Diemschültz. Devane had been raised in the Whitechapel district in his earliest years, his parents had eventually escaped the poverty and hopelessness that prevailed in the East End, and it was during the years of his youth that he had often returned to the area. He’d met Liz Stride many times, and she was a beautiful woman who had charmed him in her easy-going manner. There were many people who questioned whether she was, in fact, a Ripper victim, but it no longer mattered to anyone, really. Elizabeth Stride had often reminded Devane of his beautiful wife during their meetings to exchange information for Abberline.
Against his better judgment, he allowed the old memory to surface and taunt him. Liz’s lush, dark curling hair, her beautiful dark eyes, and sensuous curves had been the stuff of his heart’s dreams for a long time. He’d always been fond of Stride, who was his senior by roughly fifteen years, but honesty forced him to admit that he’d fallen more than a little bit in love with the pretty prostitute, and had remained attached to her throughout his life. For the first time in a long time, the ache of her absence, and Evelyn’s, wasn’t quite as acute, and the dulled edges were more bearable. Time was healing his soul of these wounds, too, he realized.
He turned away, and was sincerely surprised to see a closed carriage moving toward him. Not a Hansom, but a carriage of wealth and quality. Seconds later, as the horses drew closer then came to a halt, he recognized the young man on the high seat holding the reins. It was Percival Vaughan, one of the footmen from Bradshaw Manor.
“Something I can do for you, Mr. Vaughan?” Devane asked sharply. The young man had been truculent and sulky from the instant he’d spoken to him, but before the footman could answer him, the door to the carriage opened a small bit and to Devane’s utter surprise, Bethany Bradshaw looked out at him and smiled.
“Sergeant Goodwin said you might be found here, Inspector Devane,” she told him once he’d walked up to the carriage and stood at the door. “Please,” she held out her hand to him, “do come inside, Inspector,” she requested. “If there is someplace you wish to go while we are talking, Percy can take you.”
“Actually, Mrs. Bradshaw,” he smiled and settled across from her. “I was planning to go home.” It was almost the truth, and he left it at that.
“Then we will be happy to take you to your home, Inspector,” she assured him.
“Where to, ma’am?” Percival asked from the driver’s seat above them.
Devane gave him the address, then leaned back in his seat, half hidden in shadows as he studied her for a few moments. She was dressed in layers of black velvet and satin, with demure ribbons the only adornment on the severe dress. Her hat and mourning veil sat on the seat next to her, he noted with curiosity.
“Why did you want to see me, Mrs. Bradshaw?” he finally asked. Her appearance late at night, alone in a carriage in the Whitechapel district was not only startling, it was potentially dangerous.
“I thought it would be easier to speak freely away from my home,” she explained softly. “My father has moved in again and he tends to enjoy interfering in anything that concerns me. I thought you might have questions that would be better asked without his presence.”
A candid and surprisingly astute reply, he thought, revising his initial assessment of her strength of character. She was not typical of most women, to be certain, and he knew there was a great deal more anger inside her than grief. The reasons for her rancor were less apparent.
“Sergeant Goodwin shouldn’t have sent you into Whitechapel to look for me, ma’am,” he said firmly. “It’s hardly an appropriate place for someone like you.”
“I would have thought the same about you, Inspector,” she remarked with a slightly raised eyebrow and a discernible note of challenge in her clear voice.
He nodded, his smile deepening.
“Inspector Devane,” she hesitated, then visibly gathered her thoughts and went on, “you are one of the officers who were assigned to the murders committed here, were you not?”
“I was,” he affirmed in a low voice.
She looked directly into his eyes, measured the lack of emotion in his response, then bowed her head briefly. “My apologies, Inspector, I can’t even imagine how horrible that memory is for you.” She glanced again at him, adding, “I thought your name familiar when we were introduced a few days ago, but it wasn’t until my maid said something about Jack The Ripper that I recalled where I had read it. The more sensationalist papers are creating tales about Robert’s murder being linked to those atrocities.” She met his eyes fully again, and held their dark depths without flinching, “That is absurd, is it not, Inspector?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed. “But, from what I’ve learned about your husband, he had enemies, Lady...”
She shook her head impatiently, the action a reflex, and not really an admonishment.
“Inspector, may I ask a favor of you, sir?”
“Anything,” he replied instantly, inwardly startled by how sincerely he meant it.
“Please, call me Bethany,” she said with real weariness. “I could scream I am so tired of polite correctness and formality. It drains the spirit of any joy.”
“How well did you know your husband, Bethany?” Devane asked, using the name smoothly, turning it unconsciously into a verbal caress.
She stared at him for a moment, her cheeks flushed, even in the flickering gaslights that lined the streets and cast momentary illumination into the carriage as they passed them. The reaction to his voice shocked her, and she shivered suddenly.
“Yes, Inspector De...”
“Michael,” he inserted softly, with a slight smile. “If you are to permit me to use your first name, then you must do the same.”
“Michael?” She nodded, savoring the texture and sound of his name as though it were a fine wine she tasted. He inclined his head, and she smiled at him, not a fleeting glimpse, but a radiant, bright expression that warmed Devane’s heart. She was a lovely woman, he thought, and a quietly strong person, too, he guessed. Her manners, while impeccable, showed a frustration with constraints of class and propriety. She did not think herself better than others who lacked her wealth and advantages, which was a refreshing change. He liked her, and in that instant learned also that he respected her intelligence and sensitivity.
“I have no illusions about my husband, Michael,” she assured him. “He was often away for weeks at a time, despite being less than an hour from home. I know the kind of women he frequently associated with, as well.”
“Did you love your husband, Bethany?”
The information was irrelevant to the case, but somehow vital to him in spite of that.
As before, she met his eyes candidly, calmly.
“No,” she responded softly. “I did not even like him over much,” she told him. “My father arranged the marriage, though I have wondered many times why he was in favor of the match. Perhaps Robert blackmailed him. I wouldn’t have judged it a thing of which he was incapable.”
He was taken aback by the bluntness of her words and she caught the expression before he could conceal it.
“You’re shocked, Michael,” she mused. “I could shock you a great deal more if I chose to,” she confided. She turned away, suddenly ill-at-ease in the close confines of the carriage. Pain touched her heart, and moved like a spearing dart into her brain. Red hazed her vision, then dissipated; in its wake, cold sweat beaded her brow and she felt herself falling, fading into a peaceful abyss... Devane’s beautiful voice trailed after her, and she tried, vainly, to hold onto it as she fell, but it, too, drifted out of reach...
Devane caught her in his arms as she began to slip from her seat. They were a block or two from his flat and, as he held her, he ordered the driver to get them to their destination more quickly.