Month: July 2023

The latest from Cynthia Terelst!

Coming out July 31, 2023!

Love can heal the scars on your heart

Lachlan

So what if I’ve gone through four nannies in three short years? I know what’s best for my children and it’s not the nanny my mother and ex-wife have hired.

Peyton may be all kinds of beautiful but she is totally unsuitable—city girl, former doctor and no experience.

Problem is, everybody loves her. I don’t want to feel the same; one failure at love is enough. Besides, I have a duty to my family and the farm.

Except the more I spend time with her, the more I’m drawn to her honesty and bravery. I need to remember, a farm is no place for a woman like Peyton; she will not stay.

Peyton

After an accident put an end to my surgical career, I jumped at the opportunity to be a nanny. Moving to Australia will get me away from my controlling family. It’s time I start making my own decisions.

But falling for my boss is not the wisest one I could make, even if it feels right. It doesn’t hurt that his singing makes my panties melt.

Everything is perfect—I feel heard and seen for the first time (and I don’t just mean my scars).

I’m where I belong…until my family get involved. Then I’m left with no job and no home.

Now I need to make the biggest decision of all—stand up to my family, choose my happy and fight for love.

**This is a standalone romance with medium heat**

Excerpts:

Two figures made their way down the stairs. I knew Ann instantly from our video calls.

The man beside her was striking. Sunlight glinted off his thick golden-brown hair like surgical blades would shine under focused lighting. He was tanned and muscular with tattoos down one arm, a mixture of black and white and colour, indistinct at this distance. Wowsers, I didn’t know farmers looked like that. I blushed. While Ann oozed warmth, he oozed stoic resignation.

***

“Peyton.” Lachlan’s voice aroused me from my sleep. I forced my eyes open. I was lying on the couch. Where were the kids? Lachlan reached out for the remote and turned the TV off. I must have fallen asleep during the movie.

“It’s time for bed,” he said.

I didn’t want to move. My eyes were awake, but the rest of my body was in slumberland. My eyes wanted to follow. 

“Do I need to carry you to bed like the kids?”

I let out a soft laugh. “I’m quite a lot heavier than a child.” 

“You don’t think I could?”

“No.”

Before I could swing my legs around to sit up, Lachlan had lifted me from the couch. I yelped. Then to help him with my weight, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. I breathed in grass and man. Good man, not just aftershave and cleanliness. Earth and strength.

I melded into him, swaying with every step he took. Being in his strong arms, I felt secure. I shouldn’t feel like this. But I didn’t try to jump out of his arms. What was I doing? 

“Show off,” I mumbled against his shoulder.

“Just proving you wrong.”

He walked into my room and made his way to my bed.

“Is it wrong to like you?” I asked. My heart beat fast in my chest. Would he think I was stupid?

He lay me down on the bed. His face was shadowed. Was he going to answer?

“No, it’s not wrong.”

He bent down and kissed my temple softly.

Oh, the sweetness of it. I sighed. My eyes closed as my body floated in bliss. 

“I like you too.”

Was I dreaming?

I opened my eyes. He was gone.

Buy Link – https://books2read.com/Bull?store=amazon

Author Bio

Cynthia Terelst is an Australian author based in regional Queensland, where the sun shines 283 days a year. She is a document controls manager by day and a writer by night. Her contemporary romance novels share a little bit of history, some Australian scenery and a whole lotta love. Cynthia does not shy away from difficult topics, as she feels they should not be ignored.

Terelst has published seven books in her Love Down Under Series and has added short stories to multiple anthologies. She refers to her writing style as heat with heart. Her stories will leave you feeling warm and hopeful.

Social Media Links

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Remember Chincoteague?

PLEASE WELCOME M.S. SPENCER!

Thank you so much, Alana, for giving me space to talk about my new mystery The Wishing Tree: Love, Lies, and Spies on Chincoteague Island.

My family has been going to Chincoteague for decades, and my mother is buried there. We loved birding and beaching.  Addison (my heroine) says about Chincoteague, “there is something about it—hardscrabble, rough, enduring, clinging to its roots with all its might in the face of an implacable Mother Nature.”

While most people draw a blank when I mention Chincoteague, they perk up when I mention the ponies. Assateague salt hay ponies—probably descended from shipwrecked horse—were made famous by Marguerite Henry’s books, especially Misty of Chincoteague. There’s a statue on Main Street of Misty. The ponies are still there. There are several herds, maintained by the Chincoteague Fire Department, which holds the famous annual Pony Swim. Every July they round up the horses and swim them across the channel from Assateague to Chincoteague, where they are auctioned off. Many people choose to sponsor a pony—leaving him on the island but monitoring his welfare.

OUR STORY:

Will the wind whip her token from the Wishing Tree and make her wish come true?

Addison Steele dreams of the day her husband—lost at sea—returns to her. Instead, she meets Nick Savage, whose every word may be a lie. She is soon embroiled in mystery, all related to the top secret science station at Wallops Island, Virginia.

After a Belarusian scientist at Wallops is murdered, the questions multiply. Was it because he caught the person stealing classified documents or because he wanted to defect? Is Nick the spy—or is it his brother? How can she trust the man who is slowly claiming her heart when his story keeps shifting?

Excerpt: Cheyenne, the Pony & the Lounge

He gestured at the passenger’s side door. “May I offer you a drink? I thought I’d head to that place on Main Street for something to raise my temperature.”

“You mean Dobie’s?”

“That’s the one. The upstairs bar is called something else though.”

“Cheyenne’s Lounge. Cheyenne is Dobie’s mare.”

“Mare? Isn’t that a little chauvinist?”

“What? No, he sponsors her. He…” She petered out.

He grinned. “I knew what you meant. Cheyenne is one of the salt hay ponies that locals can sponsor, right?”

She nodded, relieved. “Yes.”

“So, how about that drink?” When Addison looked pointedly at her car, he held up a palm. “Oh, I see. Well, you can leave it here, and I’ll bring you back.”

Did he just wink? Despite her attraction, her mother’s voice rang in her ear. Never get in a car with a stranger. She cleared her throat. “No…urk…no, thanks. The refuge closes at dusk. The entrance is barred.”

“I see. I could drop you off at your house then.”

Oh, and never let him know where you live. “Then I’d have to find a ride back to the refuge in the morning. So…sorry.”

His friendly optimism dissipated. “Oh. Well. Then I guess I’ll see you around the ’hood.”

“No! I meant…I’ll meet you there.” She smirked. “A hot toddy would be nice.”

His eyes narrowed. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, it’s a standing joke around here. The bartender at Dobie’s is nicknamed Toddy.”

“I see. Does he entertain?”

“Huh?”

“You know…” He wiggled his hips. “Do a pole dance or strip?”

“God, no.” She envisioned the squat old man with the pug nose. “God. No.”

“Well, let’s hope he knows how to make a good hot toddy, then.”

He fired up the tank and rumbled over the sand to the refuge road. Addison’s Subaru felt like a wind-up toy trundling along behind him. They’d almost reached the ticket booth at the entrance to the refuge when she remembered that she hadn’t made her usual prayer to the storm gods to take her token and bring her husband back.

The Wishing Tree: Love, Lies, and Spies on Chincoteague Island

The Wild Rose Press, July 17, 2023

First Edition, 2023

368 p.; PG-13

Murder mystery (Cozy), Romantic Suspense

Buy Links:

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About the Author

Librarian, anthropologist, research assistant, Congressional aide, speechwriter, nonprofit director—award-winning, multi-published author M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five of the seven continents and holds degrees in Anthropology, Middle East Studies, and Library Science. She has published sixteen romantic suspense and mystery novels. She has two children, an exuberant granddaughter, and currently divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.

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Any husband in a pinch?

She never wanted an arranged marriage. Now she’s got the husband to prove it.

Blurb:

Marrying a perfect stranger to nix Neha’s parents’ plans to marry her off seemed to be a great idea. It was for show only, after all. That is, it was until Neha’s powerful father threatened to have the marriage annulled so she’d be free for the fiancé he had chosen for her. Neha thought hard and long for a sanctuary, but the only place that came to her mind was her husband’s. And so she was stuck in exactly the scenario she had tried to avoid: make-do with a stranger as a husband.

Someone I Chose takes off where the second book in Ella Braeme’s Married in Windfall series ended, yet it is part of the multi-author Hallow Fall series, set in the Colorado mountains. If you like small-town romances about reluctant lovers, you’ll love this one.

This is a standalone novella for a mature audience.

About Ella Braeme:

I’ve dreamed of being a writer since I had learned how to read. The first stories I sold when still in grade school were handwritten. Then life got into this writer’s way and it took me decades to start writing again. My romances are short, a little over the top, with a pinch of sizzling heat—in short: The perfect getaway.

Someone I Chose is my third book and part of my Married in Windfall series. This is the first time a book of mine is part of a multi-author series, Hallow Falls. It was fun to work together with other authors and make our stories intertwine.

Tags:

small-town romance, marriage of convenience, steamy, novella

Excerpt:

And then the bouquet hit the fan.

Like in a movie, suddenly everything became so slow that one could perceive many things at the same time. At first, laughter bubbled up in Neha. The bouquet toss ending in the large ceiling fan was funny, after all. The dismayed cries of the single ladies that had been fighting over the best spot to catch the flowers were funny, too. Neha hadn’t meant to be part of this stupid game. She had no intention at all to be the next bride, thank you very much.

The fan grabbed the bouquet and swirled it around a couple of times. An angry whooshing sounded from the ceiling. Whether it came from the aggressive fan, or the captured bouquet was impossible to make out. After a few tours around, centrifugal forces helped the flowers to come loose—and sent them Neha’s way. They surged towards her in big cartwheels, mocking her attempt to stand at the far side of the venue, trying to not partake in a ceremonial divination of who would marry next.

Oh, her parents would love this! They had been nagging her about getting married and starting a family for years, but, with her thirtieth birthday only months away, they had become veritable pests. The constant badgering was grinding on Neha’s nerves, and she was appalled at fate’s trick to send her the bouquet. Her feet felt like they were glued to the ground, and her spine was unyielding—she could neither move to the side nor duck away. The only thing she could do to avoid being hit in the face by the stems of two dozen roses was to catch them.

She stared at the flowers in her hands and let them drop to the ground. Her hands itched, and she wiped them on her bridesmaid’s gown.

Everybody was staring. Some laughed and cheered. Neha wished to vanish. She turned to the door, but before she even took a step, Shanae came running and wrapped her into a tight embrace. Who would have thought her best friend would toss her wedding bouquet that wretchedly?

Shanae whispered, “I’m sorry.” She rubbed Neha’s back.

Neha hated to see that mortified look on her friend’s face. Just because she abhorred the thought of getting married off didn’t mean she wanted to ruin Shanae’s wedding. “I’m fine.”

Shanae squinted at her. “The hell you are.” They had lived together as roommates long enough to know each other well.

“No, really, I’m fine. It’s just flowers, you know.” Neha smiled and hooked her arm into the bride’s. “Let’s get back to the party.” She took Shanae’s hand and pulled her to the dance floor. Together, they egged the guests on to start dancing again.

Neha even let Nathan, the best man, whirl her around the dance floor, but a little while later she sneaked out. The rain had lessened to a soft drizzle, and it wasn’t too bad to walk through the dunes for a few minutes. Neha walked towards the shore and breathed in the salty, fresh air. Her shoulders relaxed. The errant bouquet had been an unfortunate sling slip. No clairvoyance involved at all.

Just when she had managed to calm herself, her phone rang.

Links:

Buy link: https://books2read.com/u/bpNR0k?store=amazon

website: https://ellabraeme.com/

Instagram: @ellawritesromance https://instagram.com/ellawritesromance/

newsletter sign-up: https://ellabraeme.com/landingpages/landingpage-homepage.htm

Don’t throw anything away!

Welcome, Lisabet Sarai!!

Inspiration is fickle. One day you’ll be seized by an idea that just won’t let you go. You throw yourself into the writing, intoxicated by the process of creation, certain this will be the best book you’ve ever produced. The sentences and paragraphs flow, the story taking shape on the page almost without effort.

Then, suddenly and inexplicably, the fire dies out. The magic evaporates, and you’re left to plod along, trying dutifully to complete the opus to which you’ve devoted your time, despite your doubts about its quality.

If you’re trying to make a living writing, you can’t afford to wait for the muse. You’ve got to produce. If, like me, you write primarily for the joy of the process, you may abandon the entire project when your inspiration disappears.

That’s what happened with By Moonlight. For years, I’d wanted to write an erotic tale based on the Alfred Noyes poem “The Highwayman”. One day the stars aligned. I sat down and wrote the first chapter in a couple of hours. It turned out exactly as I’d imagined it, both lyrical and arousing. I was chuffed, as my UK author friends would say, eager to push the tale forward.

The next weekend, though, when I sat down to continue, I discovered that inspiration had fled. The whole notion seemed silly. I really couldn’t force myself to write any more.

So I put the barely-started tale aside and worked on something else. I always have lots of potential projects in mind, far more than my writing time allows.

That was four years ago. I’d almost forgotten By Moonlight. Then a stormy night recently reminded me of the poem, and the poem reminded me of the story. When I pulled it up and re-read it, I was freshly impressed and determined to complete it.

After such a long lag, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to recreate the tone of that intense first installment. Fortunately I was able to get feedback from my online critique partners, who helped me to adjust the language and the atmosphere appropriately. All in all, I’m happy with the result. I think I’ve managed to fulfill my intentions, offering homage to the Noyes poem while twisting the story in an original (and happier) direction.

The lesson here, though, is clear. If you are an author, don’t throw anything away! Keep all your snippets, all your abandoned projects, all your monuments to the departed muse.

You really never know when inspiration will return.

I’ll come for you by moonlight – though Hell should bar the way…

In her eighteen years on earth, Bess has never traveled more than twenty miles from her Devonshire village. The raven-haired innkeeper’s daughter has little time to dream of adventure as she labors from dawn to dusk to keep her abusive father satisfied.

Then, at the weekly market in Tavistock town, she meets a handsome dandy who claims her with a single stolen kiss. When the gallant gentleman makes a midnight visit to the inn, Bess learns that her new lover is none other than Kit Latour, a notorious French highwayman who has been boldly relieving the local nobility of their valuables. Well-aware of the risk she’s taking, Bess still offers herself to the seductive outlaw. Even Kit’s darkest secrets cannot quench the flames of her love.

Excerpt (PG)

She must have drowsed, despite her determination to remain on guard. She heard no hoof beats clattering in the inn yard, no tapping on the barred shutters, only a soft whistle under her window that had her instantly alert.

She leaned out, her hair spilling over the casement. “Kit!” she cried, heedless of anyone hearing. “You’ve come at last.”

“Well met, my fair lady.” The lithe figure below gave a little bow. “Did you doubt me?”

“No doubt, my love, only fear. Your fame has spread wide. There be many who’d delight in spilling your blood.”

“Even more after tonight, I’ll wager. I’ve had rich takings along the high road. A fat, dyspeptic earl and his broomstick wife contributed generously to my cause.”

“Lord Haverstock? Oh Kit, he has the King’s ear.” She shrank back into the shadows of her bedroom, then peered anxiously into the distance. She almost expected to see His Majesty’s troops mustering on the country lane. “Why must you take such risks?”

Kit chuckled. “Without risk, life wouldn’t be worth living.” The bandit grasped the gnarled ivy vines that clung to the old inn and clambered up to the second floor. In moments, Bess was face to face with her beloved.

What was her Kit thinking, to ride in such finery against the wealthy and powerful? The coat was burgundy velvet, worn over a pure white linen shirt with a ruffle of lace at the throat. Supple doe-skin boots rose half-way up those strong thighs. The jeweled hilt of a dagger glittered at Kit’s waist. The hungry light in the bandit’s eyes burned brighter still.

“Oh, Bess, how I’ve missed you!”  Kit seized her, crushing her against the velvet, and captured her mouth. Bess pressed her soft body against her lover’s harder form, savoring the heady mixture of familiar comfort and forbidden arousal she always felt in Kit’s arms. A brazen tongue ravaged her mouth while knowing hands slipped under her shift to palm her buttocks and pull her closer still.

“Take this off, girl, before I rip it from your limbs,” Kit gasped, tugging at the fabric that hid her flesh. “I cannot wait another instant.”

Not so long ago she’d been a bashful virgin, but there was no shyness in her now. She pulled the garment over her head and tossed it onto the chair, shaking her long hair free.  Moonlight from the window made her pale skin glow. Kit’s eyes roamed over her nakedness. She’d never felt so beautiful, or so needy.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/1183-by-moonlight-/

Amazon  US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C99C59RY

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0C99C59RY

Smashwords –  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1413596

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/by-moonlight-lisabet-sarai/1143711659?ean=2940166073495

Kobo  – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/by-moonlight-8

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6450718058

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/180643788-by-moonlight

Add on BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/by-moonlight-by-lisabet-sarai

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, LGBTQ, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh