Lauren Louise Hazel is here to tell us about The Book of Wands, The Tarot Series book 1, YA academy, urban fantasy.
There's also a great giveaway.
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The cards await,
ready to unveil their secrets.
Are you prepared to witness their magic?
The Book of Wands
The Tarot Series Book
1
by Lauren Louise Hazel
Genre: YA Academy, Urban Fantasy
The cards await,
ready to unveil their secrets. Are you prepared to witness their magic?
Olivia Pembroke is in her final year of The School of Wands, where she will
vie against her friends and rivals for qualification in The Final Judgment.
Designed to be the ultimate test of Intelligence, Strength, Creativity and
Courage, The Final Judgment is set by a mysterious figure called Rasmus, who is
wrapped in secrets.
Olivia has no doubt she is going to win and claim victory
and pride for her family. That is, until her grandmother dies, and leaves her
with her old Tarot Deck, which she claimed could see Past, Present and Future…
Olivia’s head was bowed, and her neck straining in its
awkward position. She had plaited her hair neatly, in a half-crown at the top
of her head, at her mother’s insistence. Olivia was already regretting the
decision. The weather was drizzling, the mist cool on her flushed skin, but she
had no protection from its light drops.
Nor did she have any shield from the flurry of
mourners.
Her mother was standing at the front, clad in a black suit
and skirt and black boots. Her face, starting to line with age, was stone cold
and remote. Her father was standing at her side, and like Olivia, he was
looking at the floor. He looked hunched and strangely small.
The casket, black and shiny, was lowered slowly into the
ground.
The priest was speaking, but his words were wrong. He was
talking about Olivia’s grandmother like someone who had never met her before;
he called her a bright and radiant light, kind and gentle and generous. She had
not been any of those things, but Olivia had loved her anyway. She had been
strong and resilient and a force of nature. She had advocated for Olivia when
nobody else had – attending every school event when her parents could not. Her
grandmother had stayed at the Pembroke Estate with her while her parents were
travelling for work, assisting with schoolwork and answering Olivia’s many
questions. She was always supportive and never judging. She always made time
for her.
But now she was gone…
And Olivia had never felt so alone. The distance between her
and parents was like a chasm, so far and almost unbreachable. Olivia blamed
them for their part in her grandmother’s death – for all that they had done to
her – and it was a thought, a feeling, that she could not shake. If they had
not sent her away, maybe she’d alive... maybe she would still be with Olivia.
She did not know what to do now.
How could her grandmother leave her? She didn’t understand.
What had seen done wrong? Olivia wanted to cry, the conflicting emotions
bubbling beneath her skin. She felt trapped, like she was suffocating under a
black cloud that only she could see.
After all, her mother was always watching – as soon as the
thought crossed Olivia’s mind, her mother turned towards her, reaching, as
though she hadn’t done anything wrong. Olivia swallowed and backed away.
“Don’t let this distract you, Olivia,” said her mother, her
quiet voice loud in the oppressive silence. Olivia jerked slightly, unable to
suppress the flinch. She did not reply.
Her mother barrelled on. “This is the most important year
for you,” she continued, oblivious to Olivia’s thoughts and feelings, as
always. “You could achieve anything.”
In
that moment, Olivia did not care.
Her grandmother was not coming back.
Lauren Louise Hazel is a Cyber Security Manager by day and
writes YA fantasy by night. She has one annoying brother and younger sister. As
she was growing up, the only item her dad would buy her without demanding her
pocket money was books. He’s hoping the writing is successful so he can get a
Ferrari!
Some of Lauren’s favourite books and influences include the
classics – like Lord of the Rings and The Hunger Games – and anything by Haruki
Murakami and GRR Martin.
Angie Cole is here to tell us about The Healing Hearts, A Later-in-Life Small Town Contemporary Romance, Cardinal Creek.
There's also a great giveaway.
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Their Healing Hearts: A Later-in-Life Small Town Romance
Angie Cole
(Cardinal Creek)
Publication date: March 17th 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Some hearts don’t need fixing. They need time—and the courage to hope again.
But when love appears quietly, will Deborah and Luke be ready to risk what they’ve built?
In the charming town of Cardinal Creek, Deborah Clemmons has found peace and stability after a difficult past. She’s content with her quiet life at the Old Hughes place, where she’s found meaning in transforming the farmhouse into a shelter for women in need.
Fire Chief Luke Erikson understands the value of careful living, shaped by his own losses. He believes love should be patient, honest, and kind. As he and Deborah grow closer, their relationship feels safe and steady in ways neither expected.
When a fire threatens the shelter, Luke makes a choice meant to protect Debora, fracturing the trust they’ve built. As Deborah fights to save the shelter and the life she’s reclaimed, she faces a difficult truth: protecting herself may mean standing alone.
In a town where people show up and hearts remember, Deborah must choose between retreating into safety or taking a chance on love.
Their Healing Hearts is a later-in-life small-town romance about second chances, found family, and the courage it takes to choose what comes next.
Perfect for readers who enjoy later-in-life romance, like The Inn at Rose Harbor, and heartwarming stories about community and love, such as The Quilter’s Apprentice. Don’t miss out on this emotional and uplifting read.
(In Cattle Trail Cafe Deborah sees Luke after months apart)
She picked up her phone, but before Deborah could respond, the bell over the door jingled.
She looked up—and froze.
Luke walked in, tall and easy. He paused by the counter, scanning the room, and then his gaze landed on her.
Her pulse slammed against her ribs.
His warm smile made her heart flutter. It had been too long. She’d forgotten how easily he could undo her—how her body reacted before she could stop it.
He ordered coffee, then turned and headed straight for their table.
He’s coming this way. Not now. I look a fright.
She tried to smile as a flush crept up her neck, suddenly aware of everything—her breathing, her posture, the space between them.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said, voice low and calm, his eyes fixed on Deborah.
“Good morning, Luke,” Liz, Peggy Sue, and Sissy chimed in together.
Deborah stayed silent, her throat traitorously empty while the rest of the room practically gushed with approval.
Luke winked, and she nearly fell out of her chair.
What on earth was happening?
He turned to her. “How are you? Jon told me your divorce is final. Are you holding up okay?”
His voice was gentle. Genuine.
She managed a nod, cheeks burning, words stuck somewhere deep in her chest. The café’s chatter blurred around her, drowned out by the pounding of her heart.
The moment stretched—too intimate, too exposed—until Luke cleared his throat.
He glanced at his watch. “Did you hear about the town hall meeting Monday? Someone’s opposing a new development on the edge of town.”
Sissy leaned forward. “What kind of development?”
“They’re not saying,” he admitted. “City Hall, 6:30. It could affect the small businesses.”
His gaze flicked over the group, then settled on Deborah again.
“It was really good seeing you all,” he said softly. “Especially you, Deb. I miss our dinners.”
Her breath hitched.
“It was great…for me too.”
She could only watch as he turned and walked away. When the door jingled shut behind him, Deborah realized she’d been holding her breath.
She dropped her face into her hands.
“That was intense,” Liz said.
“Yep,” Sissy added with a grin.
Deborah forced herself to sit up, pressing her palms to her cheeks. “So… the town hall meeting. Do you think it’s about the shelter?”
Her phone buzzed under the table.
Unknown number.
Author Bio:
Angie Cole pens endearing tales of small-town love, featuring reliable cowboys and charming firefighters in her hometown of Cardinal Creek, Texas. When she's not crafting delightful characters and fiery heroines infused with a hint of sass, she enjoys seeking inspiration at the local quilt shop or contemplating the unexpected success of her fictional quilt club within the local quilting community.
Angie Cole is recognized for her charming tales that intertwine romance with wit and deep emotion. She wholeheartedly embraces the notion of giving opportunities a second chance, cherishing slow dances, and the power of love and a close-knit community to foster healing. Her novels transport readers to a cozy realm where patience is essential in matters of the heart, small towns overflow with gossip, and happy endings are meticulously crafted.
Through her writing, she pours her heart and soul into creating stories that explore the intricacies and triumphs of the human spirit, drawing from her personal experiences with grief and her steadfast belief in the power of love. Her goal is to portray how love can unexpectedly blossom, offering a sense of hope and renewal. She also recognizes that grief is a deeply personal journey that manifests differently for each person, as she has learned through her own experiences.
Sharon Fernicola is here to tell us about her mystery Trial by Town.
There's also a great giveaway.
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Trial by Town
Sharon Fernicola
Publication date: March 31st 2026
Genres: Adult, Mystery
A gripping small town murder mystery
In the quiet coastal town of Keansbury, reputation is everything.
When eighteen-year-old Peter Keans—the heir to the town’s most powerful family—is found murdered, shock quickly turns to certainty. A young woman is arrested, and for all residents the case appears simple.
Justice, they believe, will be swift.
Attorney Katie Russo isn’t so sure.
Invited to review what seems like an open-and-shut prosecution, Katie begins to notice small inconsistencies buried beneath the surface of the investigation. As she looks deeper, she discovers a community bound by loyalty, economic dependence, and an unspoken understanding that some truths are better left alone.
With the trial approaching and tensions mounting, long-held assumptions begin to fracture. In a place where reputation defines identity and silence protects power, the search for truth threatens far more than a single verdict.
TRIAL BY TOWN is a character-driven small town murder mystery about justice, moral ambiguity, and the quiet pressure of a town determined to protect its own.
Perfect for readers who enjoy small town suspense, courtroom drama, and mysteries where the truth hides behind reputation and power.
For fans of Defending Jacob and Anatomy of a Scandal comes a gripping small town murder mystery where reputation, power, and truth collide.
“Mr. VanAnt, as you may know, the Professor asked me to speak with Miss O’Neill. I did so only to be of help.” She made certain her tone continued calm and reassuring, not wanting to give the misimpression that she was speaking as a defense attorney. “Miss O’Neill is unwavering in her claim of innocence.”
He was quick to respond, the red deepening in color. “I’m not surprised by anything she says. She’s always been a strange girl. Her uncle was strange. I guess it was just in the genes. However, that’s not an excuse. Mrs. Russo, as far as myself and this community are concerned, she killed him. Whether by accident or intentional, she killed him. The sooner she’s removed from here, the better. We have enough to deal with without her presence being a constant painful reminder.”
He tried to take another sip of coffee, but his shaking hand made him unsteady. A small amount poured onto the table. Katie grabbed a few napkins to blot up the puddle. She worried that she may have pushed him too far, but as concerned as she felt for him, she was compelled to continue the discussion.
“I can only imagine the pressure you’ve been under. The Professor mentioned that Mr. Keans Sr. has had virtually no involvement with the business since his son’s death.”
He paused a moment, then looked directly at Katie. “One does what one needs to do to survive. I have a responsibility to our customers, our workers, our community, and our families. A lot of people have been affected by this tragedy, and I’ll do everything and anything it takes to see that this business continues.”
Katie felt a chill up her spine. His words almost sounded like a threat. Perhaps he wasn’t quite the gentle giant she had thought. It was clear that the conversation had gone as far as it was going to go. “I’m certain you have everyone’s support and appreciation.”
Katie glanced at her watch and noted the lateness of the hour. “I’ve taken up enough of your time.” She rose and extended her hand. “This was an unexpected pleasure meeting you, and I very much enjoyed the tour.”
“Likewise.” He held the chair for her, the way a gentleman did in an old black-and-white film, and then escorted her to the elevator. “I hope you don’t mind if I say goodbye here. I have a few hours of paperwork ahead of me and I’d better get started.”
“Not at all. Again, thank you.”
He stood there looking at her until the doors closed. The chill she got earlier seemed to return. She tried to explain away her discomfort. After all, he had a right to feel such anger, and it wasn’t directed toward her. More chills as she walked briskly to the car, only this time, they were caused by the late afternoon breeze off the water. She slid into the seat and turned on the engine and the heater and waited until she was sufficiently warmed. As she drove out the gate, she thought about his words. Other than Jennifer, everyone she’d spoken to since arriving were aligned in their sentiment, although none expressed it so succinctly as Mr. VanAnt. “The sooner she’s removed from here, the better.” Katie rounded the bend, happy to be heading toward the comfort of the Professor’s home.
As he lost sight of her car, VanAnt drew the blinds and returned to his paperwork.
Author Bio:
Sharon Fernicola is a writer drawn to layered mysteries, emotional realism, and characters who challenge assumptions. Her fascination with crime and justice began early, watching Perry Mason with her father and falling in love with the genre’s blend of intellect and drama. Her debut novel, Trial by Town, explores the fragile line between perception and truth in a small town desperate to preserve its legacy.
In her 70s, Sharon completed three triathlons, obtained dual Italian–American citizenship, and wrote her first book—living proof that bold dreams don’t come with an expiration date. She brings a poetic sensibility to her storytelling, blending suspense with empathy and nuance. When she’s not writing, she’s mapping out her next adventure or putting in time at the gym, always chasing the next challenge with curiosity and grit.
Chantel never asked to be a reaper
and she sure as hell isn’t taking the virtuous or young before their time. When
it comes to dirtbags… that’s another story. Whether they’re ready or not, she
has them on her radar for extermination. Rogue reaping suits her just fine.
Rydan, Kahl, and Huntir don’t see
her crimes that way. As Enforcers tasked with keeping order in the para world,
she’s set for reeducation in their lair. Their goal? To ensure her obedience to
their commands while making her submissive to their carnal needs.
Yeah, right.They may be sexier than sin, but these bad boys won’t break her, ever. Bring on the interrogations,
indoctrination, and BDSM, the more hardcore the better.
This is a battle of the sexes they’ll
all win.
PRAISE FOR LAIR
FIVE STARS
Hot and Erotic Paranormal BDSM
John L
A Great Read!
Kathleen Bulfon
I really enjoyed this book
Samantha Davidson
Chanel and her Harem - oh my goodness!
Ashley A. Carr
Great start - Chanel is all alpha female
Elvira
TEASERS
Excerpt:
Chuckling,
Kahl pinned her left wrist against the brick structure.
She
clawed his stubbled cheek but her glove stopped her nails from breaking skin.
“Huntir.”
The bearded guy spoke to the one who looked as a lion would if it assumed human
form. “Some help here.”
He
imprisoned her other wrist against the wall.
She
kicked at whatever she could reach.
Huntir
increased his hold on her. “I could be wrong, Rydan, but I think she wants your
balls.”
Rydan
stroked his beard. “In time. And in the way I demand.”
They
laughed.
She
bristled. “Let me go, you cretins. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No?”
Doubt and amusement burned in Rydan’s dark eyes. “From what we’ve heard you’ve
been a bad girl.” He wagged his finger.
If
the scarf hadn’t covered her mouth, she would have bit him. “You heard wrong.
The prick I took out tonight killed an entire family during a home invasion.
Parents and little kids for fuck’s sake. One baby not yet walking. All for a
few hundred bucks they had lying around, their real valuables in a safe he
couldn’t open because he slaughtered the father before getting the combination.
You call that good? You consider that right? You believe that’s sane? Who in
the hell is going to miss him? Not his next victims, that’s for sure. Did you
want their blood on your hands?”
A
muscle in his jaw twitched.
Not
from anger. Something else. Curious as to what, she gazed deep into his eyes, a
test she performed on those she reaped, determining whether they were decent or
vile in their deepest core.
A
faint spark burned within Rydan, signifying honor or integrity or whatever
humans called the trait.
Hope
surged. Despite Kahl and Huntir holding her arms, she leaned toward Rydan. “You
know I’m right. I can see it on your face. Let me go.” She twisted her wrists.
The others held tight. “The powers-that-be will never know. You have other
paras to cow. Let me do my thing. I’m simply ridding the world of assholes who
shouldn’t be here in the first place. Who decided they had a right to live
while others had to die for their greed and amusement?”
Kahl
cleared his throat. Embarrassment flickered in his brown eyes, a righteous
spark in them too. The same for Huntir. Both as worthy as Rydan…if they allowed
their good sides to come out.
“You
guys know I’m right.” She used her most melodic tone, her pitch soothing and
cajoling, similar to the Sirens’ voices from Greek mythology. Another reaper
talent to make her job easier, other than having to take good people before
their time. “You can’t deny it.”
Rydan’s
features went slack, longing and wonder building in his gaze.
The
same for Huntir and Kahl.
This
was so easy it should have been a crime for her to do it. “Come on.” She upped her charm. “Let me—”
“That’s
not how this works.” Rydan’s weak moment hardened to indifference. “You’re well
aware of that, Chantel.”
His
and the others effortless resistance to her voice shouldn’t have surprised her.
Them already knowing her name certainly didn’t. Most likely, they had her
lengthy file detailing each rogue reaping. Even so, she played dumb. “Who? I’m
Dike.”
Rydan
threw back his head and laughed, the sound rich and thrilling. “That’s not what
I heard.” He inched closer, their boots touching. “Considering the many guys
who’ve been balls deep in you, you’re now telling us you’re a lesbian?”
“Dike
with an i not a y.” Men. “She’s the
Greek goddess representing justice.”
“No
shit? Guess I’ll have to remember that when my next assignment lies as much as
you do.”
“For.
A. Good. Freaking. Cause.”
“Your
words and misguided belief. Not ours. Let’s see what we have here.” He unwound
her scarf. Her waist-length hair spilled out.
Kahl
sucked in a breath. Huntir touched the fiery red tresses.
Rydan
stared, lust flooding his face.
If
it came to sleeping with them to beat this charge, she’d do so, more willingly
than she wanted to admit. However, playing into their hands too soon wasn’t
wise. “Do not touch me. Anywhere.”
Whitney Dineen is here to tell us about her contemporary romantic comedy Pity Prank, Pity Series.
There's also a great giveaway.
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Pity Prank
Whitney Dineen
(Pity Series)
Publication date: March 30th 2026
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
What happens when a quirkier than normal girl meets a hunky doctor from New York?
It’s not that I have subpar intelligence, or that I’m a total weirdo. In fact, I would consider myself kind, creative, and an all-in-all great catch—if you can get past a few peculiarities.
I love soft things. ALL soft things, and I surround myself with them to help self-sooth my way through the day. I have very particular opinions about sand, aluminum foil, and gum snappers. You wouldn’t believe how many men find this odd. In short, being on the spectrum has not exactly done wonders for my love life.
Enter Dr. Thomas Culpepper. Never in a million years would I have predicted someone like him would move to tiny little Elk Lake, Wisconsin. Then he gets sent to my photography studio to have his picture taken. I misunderstood the assignment, and instead of taking a boring old headshot like the hospital wanted, I forced him to take sexy pirate photos.
As far as meet cutes go, it was awkward. I won’t even mention the baby oil …
Pity Prank is a laugh-out-loud, small town romantic comedy featuring misunderstandings galore, a tiny bit of fake dating, a lot of fuzzy sweaters and socks, and oh, yeah, some sexy pirate photos.
Perfect for fans of Hallmark vibes. Book eight in a feel-good series of standalones.
As soon as I enter, I notice a man sitting on one of the two overstuffed shabby chic chairs by the window. He looks up and makes direct eye contact which causes every thought in my brain to pour out like sand in a sieve. Holy. Hot stuff. Batman. This man is extraordinarily handsome, but his appeal is more than just physical. He emanates a kind of golden energy that’s positively intoxicating.
“Hi there.” As soon as he stands up, I can feel the room start to sway. I stagger to the counter, so I don’t fall over. He’s well over six feet and from what I can tell he’s built like he spends hours at the gym every day.
“H…h…hi, yourself. Thomas Culpepper?” I ask, both hoping he is and isn’t at the same time. How in the world will I be able to take sexy pictures of this man and keep my wits about me? I can’t even look at him fully clothed without stuttering.
“That’s me.” He flashes a brilliant smile which makes me wonder if he’s ever starred in toothpaste commercials. His hair is the softest looking wavy chocolate brown I’ve ever seen. My hand lifts of its own accord like it’s trying to reach out and touch it. Which of course I know I can’t do. At least until it’s time for me to style his hair for the shoot. I practically drool at the thought.
Thomas looks at my hand suspended in mid-air before copying the gesture and waving at me. “He-llo.” He breaks the word into two syllables like I’m new to the English language and might not understand otherwise.
I drop my hand immediately and try to regain my composure. “Constance is very excited about these shots.”
“Really?” He looks confused, like he doesn’t know who I’m talking about.
“Really,” I assure him. “She’s ordered the basic package to start but if she likes what she sees…” In lieu of finishing my sentence, I give him an exaggerated wink.
“I didn’t realize this was such a big deal to her,” he says. I wonder if I got it wrong and they aren’t a couple? Darn it, that’s the thing with me, I have an awful time reading people.
“Oh, it’s a very big deal.”
Thomas’s hazel eyes narrow in confusion before he bends down to pick up the bag he brought with him. “I brought some different shirts.”
“Oh, we won’t need shirts.” There’s no way, I’m covering up this man in unnecessary clothing. No way. Unless of course it’s a pirate shirt, wide open, and billowing in the wind. Lucky for him, I have such an item in my costume collection.
Thomas’s gorgeous brow furrows, drawing my attention to the golden flecks in his eyes. “I brought a doctor’s coat too, if you prefer that.”
“A doctor’s coat?” I love the idea of turning him into a sexy doctor. It’s decided then, we’ll do a pirate look and a doctor one. Constance is going to love these.
Motioning to Thomas, I tell him, “Follow me into the backroom and you can get ready there.”
As he approaches, I inhale his spicy aftershave. Cloves, cinnamon, and orange, oh my! “You smell great.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. That’s another fun thing about me, I don’t always think before speaking, which can sometimes make other people uncomfortable. Like the time I told a woman in the grocery store that her pants made her butt look amazing. While meant as a compliment, it was clear she wasn’t used to such a forthright comment from a stranger. I figured that out when she walked out of the store, leaving a full cart behind.
The last thing I want to do is make Thomas nervous, so I hurry to tell him, “You smell like my favorite Christmas cookies.”
“Huh. I’ve never heard that one before.”
“It’s a compliment of the highest order,” I assure him. “My mom makes the best orange spice shortbread you’ve ever tried.” Just when I think I’ve saved the moment from getting too awkward, I groan suggestively and declare, “Yummy!” Thomas’s eyes pop open wider in an expression I once again worry is fear.
The backroom of my store is one big unfinished space with a variety of backdrops scattered about. I point toward the barber-style chair in front of a big lighted mirror in the corner and tell him, “Let’s start there. I’ll get your hair and makeup done first and then we’ll settle on wardrobe.”
“Hair and makeup?”
“Yeah, you know, so we can get the look we’re after.”
“I thought I was okay the way I am.”
“You’re fantastic,” I assure him. “Really great! But I want to make sure we capture your character to the fullest.”
“I’m a doctor,” he tells me. I’m starting to think Thomas might be the one new to the English language.
“Doctor, pirate, sexy duke with a superiority complex… you can be anything you want and I’m here to make that happen.”
Thomas sits down in the makeup chair looking highly uneasy. “I really am a doctor.” Then he asks, “Do you get a lot of pirates and nobility in here?”
“Tons,” I assure him.
Thomas sits down with the same amount of enthusiasm he might have knowing he was about to be electrocuted. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need hair and makeup,” he says again.
“I’m not putting lipstick on you, Thomas.” Picking up a bronzing palate, I tell him, “Just a bit of contrast to sharpen your angles.”
“Why exactly do I need sharper angles?” How is it possible that he’s even sexy when he’s acting stupid?
Turning to look him square in the eye, I ask, “Why do you think you’re here?”
“I’m here to get my picture taken for …”
“Constance,” I finish his sentence for him. “You’re here for Constance. And you want to make her happy, don’t you?”
“I… suppose?” He isn’t selling it.
“You suppose? She’s paid me four hundred dollars to take very specific pictures of you and that is exactly what I’m going to do. Do you understand?” He nods his head almost imperceptibly, so I tell him, “This is my job, Thomas. My job. It’s what I do for a living. It’s how I pay my bills.”
“Yes, but…”
“Constance came in here herself to tell me what she wants, and as she is my client. I’m not going to let her down.”
Thomas sits as still as a statue while I brush bronzer on his cheeks and jaw. By the time I’m done with him, he could have posed for a Michelangelo statue of a Greek god. I can’t take all the credit for that though; he practically is one on his own.
Once I’m convinced his face couldn’t look any better, I put the makeup brush down and face my model once again. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. After turning the chair so his back faces the mirror, I lift my hands and run all ten of my fingers through his hair. Holy heck. It’s even softer than it looks. It’s better than all my furry sweaters combined. It’s like running my hands through a litter of baby minks. It’s softer than the Barefoot blanket I spent way too much money on. But only because it lost some of its softness after being washed. Until then, it was worth ten times as much.
Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is to rub Thomas Culpepper’s head every day of my life until I die.
Reluctantly, I remind myself that Thomas is Constance’s boyfriend, not mine. Yet I don’t understand how that can be because this man is so vital and alive. Constance has the warmth of a vampire bat in winter. But they got together somehow and now it’s my job to give my client the best fantasy material I can.
She never has to know it’s doing the same for me.
Author Bio:
Whitney loves to laugh, play with her kids, bake, and eat french fries -- not always in that order.
Whitney is a multi-award-winning author of romcoms, non-fiction humor, and middle reader fiction. Basically, she writes whatever the voices in her head tell her to.
She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband, Jimmy, where they raise children, chickens, and organic vegetables.
Gold Medal winner at the International Readers' Favorite Awards, 2017.
Silver medal winner at the International Readers' Favorite Awards, 2015, 2016.
Dana Wayne is here to tell us about her contemporary small town romance Firestorm.
There's also a great giveaway.
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Some fires are set...others are felt
Firestorm
by Dana Wayne
Genre: Contemporary Small Town Romance
The greatest danger may lie in the firestorm burning
between them
Jenna McCray dedicated her life and trust fund to helping others succeed
through her charitable foundation, Pathways Mission. After a self-imposed
hiatus, her first venture back into the dating pool is an unmitigated disaster
witnessed by many, including hunky Fire Marshall Thomas Donovan.
Donovan had a profound mistrust of the upper crust—until Jenna McCray. One
photo in the paper. That’s all it took. Regal. Composed. A killer smile. She
looked straight into the camera…and into him--and he hadn’t even met her yet.
When he finally did, the effect was seismic. Prim, proper, and utterly
magnetic. Something primal flared to life inside him, and he was powerless
against it. Calling her “The Ice Queen” didn’t help. Mocking was easier than
admitting she'd gotten under his skin long before they even spoke.
When a fire ravages her business on the same night someone vandalizes her home,
he wonders if the incidents are connected and searches for answers.
But someone wants to keep their secret buried.
As danger escalates, so does the blistering chemistry between Jenna and
Donovan, and he vows to protect her at all costs—even if it means risking
everything.
Jenna
shrieked and jumped up, toppling her chair and stumbling into someone behind
her, who then collided with a waiter carrying a water pitcher, sending all
three to the floor in a shower of ice-cold water.
She
landed partially on top of the man, his arms around her waist as he bore the
brunt of the fall. Another scream lodged in her throat when she saw it resting
on her thigh.
Suddenly,
his hand moved, and the spider vanished.
“You’re
okay,” murmured a husky voice against her ear. “It’s gone. You’re okay.”
Laughter
filtered through a fog of humiliation. She’d freaked out—in a public place and
lay on the floor atop a total stranger while Oscar did nothing but watch, a
self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“Something
wrong, Jenna?” he crooned.
“I
t-t-told you I h-hate spiders.” Her body trembled, and she couldn’t control the
quiver in her voice.
The
man’s arms tightened slightly.
“Did
you?” cooed Oscar. “I must have forgotten.”
***
Donovan
couldn’t believe his eyes when he first saw Jenna McCray in person tonight. All
prim and proper, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and his crazy heart
raced like a runaway train.
She’d
dominated his thoughts from the moment he saw her picture in the paper two
weeks ago. Hell, he’d even cut the damn thing out and kept it in his desk. How
pathetic was that?
Everything
from her regal posture to how she sipped the wine screamed money and class.
Coffee-colored hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape, and pearl studs in her
ears emphasized the delicate bone structure of her face and the fullness of
ruby-colored lips. The basic black dress and single strand of pearls would look
simple on most women. On her, it was elegant.
When
their gazes locked briefly, the jolt of desire was so potent it shocked him.
The
returning look of interest stole his breath.
Every
unexplained feeling he’d endured the last two weeks hit like a tidal wave. It
took massive effort to walk calmly to his table.
Oscar's
joining her was an unpleasant shock. The man was dirty as mud. Why on earth
would a woman like her associate with him?
Thoughts
in turmoil, he decided to skip dinner and leave—until all hell broke loose.
He’d
never met anyone with arachnophobia, but judging by her reaction to a fake
spider, she suffered an extreme case. As snickers from the other patrons
registered, his protective instincts surged.
A
shudder rolled through her body, and she sucked in a jerky breath, mumbling
something he didn’t catch.
“It’s
gone,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”
She
made a move to stand, and he maneuvered to assist, one hand remaining on her
arm for stability.
“I’m
so sorry,” she muttered, avoiding eye contact and swiping at the water on her
dress. “I’ll pay to have your clothes cleaned.”
Face
flaming, she watched the waiter clean up the mess. “Oh, Alfred,” she asked. “Are
you all right?”
“I’m
fine, Miss McCray.” He nodded toward Oscar’s retreating figure. “And he’s to
blame—not you.”
Donovan
lightly squeezed her arm. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”
She
managed a shaky “I’m fine,” then swallowed. “Th-thank you. For helping me.”
Donovan clenched his teeth as his fantasy
dreams went up in smoke. She couldn’t even look him in the eye when she mumbled
insincere words of gratitude.
“Anytime.”
At
his terse response, dark, earnest eyes, filled with confusion and something he
couldn’t readily identify, whipped to his. Desire coursed through him, heady as
strong whiskey, leaving him off-balance.
She
frowned and retrieved a wallet from the bag on the table, pulled out a card and
some bills, then passed the money to Alfred. “If this isn’t sufficient for my
wine and the pitcher, please let me know.”
He
hesitated, then took the money. “It’s fine, Miss McCray.”
A
harried woman appeared from Donovan’s left. The manager—they’d met on a
previous visit, but he couldn’t recall her name.
“Oh
my God, Jenna. Are you all right?”
“I’m
fine, Katie. Embarrassed but unhurt.” She nodded toward Donovan. “This
gentleman broke my fall.” She nibbled her lower lip as though unsure of what to
do next. Inhaling, she passed him the card. “Thank you, Mr…”
“Donovan.”
“Mr.
Donovan. Please—”
“No
mister. Just Donovan.”
Lips
slightly parted, she hesitated. “Oh. Okay. Donovan. Please send me a bill for
the dry cleaning.”
“That’s
not necessary.”
“Yes.
It is.”
Cheeks
the brightest red he’d ever seen, her earnest expression softened.
“Please.”
That
one word curbed his resentment. He took the card, ignoring the tingle as their
fingers brushed.
“Donovan,”
said Katie. “Thank you for helping my friend.”
“No
problem, ma’am.”
“And
dinner’s on me tonight.”
“Actually,
I was just leaving.”
She
looked around. “Was something wrong with your table?”
He
shook his head. “Unexpected change in plans. I was on my way out when—this
happened.”
“Then
please accept a raincheck for next time.”
He
nodded, knowing he would never accept the offer, no matter how kindly extended.
Katie
rubbed Jenna’s shoulder. “Guess kicking him to the curb in a public place
wasn’t such a good idea after all, huh?”
Donovan
barely covered his surprise. So that’s what happened—good for her.
Jenna’s
gaze skipped from him to Katie. “No. It wasn’t.”
“I’ve
never seen you react that way before.”
She glanced
at Donovan. “I—it just surprised me. That’s all.”
He
immediately recognized the lie. She wasn’t surprised. She was terrified.
“I
told him they bothered me.”
And
that’s the understatement of the century.
“And you’d already told him to back off,”
added Katie, “so the creep had a Plan B to get even. I’m just happy you weren’t
hurt.”
This
time, when she looked at Donavan, her gaze held, and the intensity floored him.
A dark chocolate brown enhanced by a golden ring around the edges, they
glistened in the restaurant’s ambient lighting.
Or
was it unshed tears?
Texas Winds
by Dana Wayne
Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance
Two hearts shattered by betrayal. Once chance to trust
again.
Jake Holloway discovered his wife’s infidelity as she lay in
a coma, carrying a child that may not be his.
Four years later, his heart remains closed to all emotion. Lexie Morgan’s dream
of happily-ever-after ended the day she stood alone at the altar. The need to
put distance between her and the pain places her in the path of feral hogs and
Jake Holloway’s life. Neither is prepared for the intense attraction.
When Lexie meets his four-year-old daughter, Katie, the timid child with
downcast eyes steals her heart.
Forced to rely on Jake’s assistance, it’s impossible to ignore the escalating
pull.
But the past never dies, and resurrected hurts threaten their fragile bond.
Will the ever-changing Texas winds hold them together or reduce their love to
dust?
Ankle and hip
throbbed in unison, and a growing headache added to the misery mix.
She took a breath
and looked around. The front bumper dug into the far side of the muddy
embankment, and the blown-out tire rested in muck halfway up the rim. Dingy
water in the ditch swirled around her feet and leached up her mud-coated pant
legs. Her disgusted gaze took in the filthy jeans and soaked and blood-coated
tee shirt. “Crap,” she muttered. “Brand new shoes.” She swiped a hand across
her cheek, leaving a streak of bloody mud in its wake. “Great way to start my
first vacation in years.”
She adjusted her
grip on the door and blew wet hair away from her mouth. “Alrighty then.”
Muttering under her breath, she reached past the dog and plucked the half-full
Swear Jar from the floorboard. An irritated swipe at the wet hair
clinging to her cheek left more muddy streaks behind. “Time for the big guns.”
She placed the jug on the seat near Biscuit and pulled two soggy one-dollar
bills and three quarters from her pocket. She took a breath and ceremoniously
dropped the quarters through a slot cut into the lid, mumbling after each one.
“Damn. Damn. Dammit.” She took a deep breath and crammed the wet bills through
the hole. “And son-of-a-bitch.”
“Don’t reckon
that’s gonna help much.”
An f-bomb exploded
before she could stop it.
***
Startled by the
man’s deep voice, Lexie swore and spun around, tossing the jar over her
shoulder as intense pain shot up her leg.
Off-balance, she grabbed the door to keep from falling on her rear as
the jug landed with a mushy thump at the stranger’s feet.
The brim of a dark
Stetson cast his face in shadow, but there was no disguising his frame. Tall,
at least six-two or three, shoulders a mile wide, with long, muscular legs
encased in worn jeans. Muddy work boots covered his feet, and well-used leather
gloves stuck out of his front pocket. Rain dripping from the brim of his hat
left wet trails on his pale blue chambray shirt, and the rolled-up sleeves
revealed tanned, muscular forearms.
He hesitated, then
picked up the jar, one corner of his mouth curling up as he read the
inscription. “I’m guessing that last word is expensive,” he said as he passed
her the container before stepping back.
His husky,
just-woke-up voice raced through her like fine wine, leaving her momentarily
speechless. “It is,” she snapped and took the jug. “Five bucks.” She glanced past him and noted a
grime-coated, black Ford F250 crew cab parked behind him on the shoulder of the
road. Holy crap. I never heard a thing. She eyed her bag, mentally
calculating how long it would take to reach the pistol inside if needed. “You
shouldn’t sneak up on people. I have a gun. And I know how to use it.”
He made no effort
to approach, just stood there, hands on his hips. “Are you hurt?”
She gripped the
door tighter when her throbbing ankle threatened to fold again. “No. I’m good.”
“You have blood on
your face. And mud.”
His intense gaze
traveled up and down her body, causing an involuntary shiver.
“Were you ejected?”
“No. I slipped when
I got out.”
He tipped his head
toward the back seat. “What about the dog?”
She glanced at
Biscuit, who showed no concern over the stranger’s sudden appearance, and noted
a little blood on the side of his mouth. How did she miss that before?
“Biscuit!” Dismissing the man, she leaned against the car and ran her hands
over the dog again, checking more thoroughly for anything broken. “I’m so
sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
The dog stoically
endured her frantic exam with only a slight whimper when she touched his front
paw before moving to his mouth. “Come on, baby, open up.” She slowly pried his
jaw open and saw blood on his tongue.
“Looks like he bit
it. Probably on impact.”
It took tremendous
effort not to react to the unexpected voice behind her left shoulder. “Yeah.
Probably. I’ll have him checked out when I get to town.”
He looked at the
luggage piled in the back of the SUV. “Where you headed?”
She glanced up and
discovered walnut-colored eyes watching Biscuit, his square jaw visibly tense.
His face was rugged and somber, bronzed by wind and sun and covered with dark
stubble. No laugh lines around full lips, and unspoken pain was alive in dark,
fathomless eyes. In a heartbeat, his expression changed, switching to
closed-off and distant as he took two steps back, hands stuffed in his front
pockets.
Multi-awarding winning author Dana Wayne is a
sixth-generation Texan and still resides in the Piney Woods. She routinely
speaks at book clubs, writers’ groups and other organizations and is a frequent
guest on numerous writing blogs. A die-hard romantic, her stories are filled
with strong women, second chances, and happily ever after.
“I’m all about the romance, so my tales are heartwarming,
have a splash of suspense and humor. While they are a little steamy, I believe
romance is more about emotion than sex, and the journey is more important than
the destination.
“I retired in late 2013 and published my first book in 2016.
I was over the moon when it was awarded first place in a contest through the
Texas Association of Authors, and I never looked back. My books have been
nominated for and/or received various awards and numerous five-star reviews. To
have my work validated in such a manner is very gratifying and humbling.”
Affiliations include Texas Association of Authors, Writers
League of Texas, East Texas Writers Guild, Northeast Texas Writers
Organization, and East Texas Writers Association.
