Alice Roelke

A Warm Welcome to Alice
Alice Roelke has been writing since the age of eight. She's had short stories stories accepted by "Young Salvationist," "GateWay S-F," "Ray Gun Revival," "Tower of Light Fantasy," "Wayfarer's Journal," "Haruah: Breath of Heaven," "Residential Aliens," "Stories That Lift," "Ethereal Tales," "Space Westerns," and "Whortleberry Press."
She has volunteered as a slush reader at Ray Gun Revival, an online magazine of space opera and golden age-inspired science fiction. (www.raygunrevival.com) She likes oldies music, red t-shirts, and every kind of animal in the world except hyenas.

BUY

Her latest release with MuseItUp Publishing is a sweet romance, 
Peaches in Winter

Here's the blurb:
Betty wanted nothing more than to be a secretary, to forget the past and a fiancé who jilted her. But sexual harassment from her boss left her jobless, struggling to survive in the big city. A new job with grumpy author Jake Watterson is the second chance she needs.
Unfortunately, she starts out on the wrong foot: talking too much and bringing the police round by her ignorance of city life. But all the same, he accepts her, and she can’t help liking him. He’s smart, handsome, and such a kind man underneath that gruff exterior. He talks to her like she’s a real person, not just a pretty face.
Warmth and attraction grow between the two main characters in this ‘sweet’ or ‘traditional’ romance set in the 1950s. Betty and Jake both have wounds on their hearts, but somehow, being near each other thaws the winter in their lives and heals their pain.
Betty is convinced that Jake could never look at her as anything but a secretary—and not even a very good one. Jake’s certain he’s too damaged and could never be good enough for the sweet and beautiful farm girl who’s entered his world, talking about life on the peach farm and baking him the most delicious things. But he’s falling hard for her.
Jake’s friend and publisher gets into the mix when he sees how beautiful Betty is and decides to start flirting with her, to Betty’s shy consternation and Jake’s jealous irritation.
Then Betty’s fiancé who jilted her shows up on her doorstep, hat in hand…
Before treating us to an excerpt, Alice Reveals:

What do you think are the main ingredients for a successful book? - Characters we care about so much we can’t stop reading. J  I think every author wants that!

What do you most enjoy about writing fantasy? - I can make up everything.

What do you like best and least about writing? - I like that I’m in charge of what happens—except for when I don’t!  No one can really tell me what decision to make, but it’s all my fault if I get it wrong!

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block? What would be your tips to overcome it? - Yes, many times.  For me, it’s usually related to something else.  I’m struggling with depression or I’ve lost confidence in myself and my writing.  It’s not that I physically can’t write, just that I feel useless and worthless.  Working through depression or lost confidence is the best way to get back my writing mojo, even if it feels like I’m taking the long way round.

Anything special you require to keep the creative juices flowing? - Confidence!  And that’s not my greatest strength.  I have to shepherd it carefully and make time to write when I have it.

What can we look forward to from you in the near future? - A YA / coming-of-age / fantasy / romance novel, Watch Over Me, about a girl who falls in love with a shape-shifter.  It’s long, complicated, and emotional, and will be out soon from MuseItUp Publishing.  :)

How do you like to spend your free time? – Reading and writing usually.

What was your favourite book as a child/teen/adult? Are you currently reading anything? - Runaway Robot, by Lester del Rey was my favorite book as a kid.  I’m currently re-reading a Rex Stout mystery.

What is your culinary speciality? – I’m pretty good at making pies.  :)

Now A Taste of Alice

Excerpt:
Betty Ann faced the secretary pool’s main desk. She wore her best flower-print dress—her only store-bought one. “Please, Miss Johnson, I’ll work really hard. I won’t lose my next job, I promise! It really wasn’t my fault I lost the first one. You’ve got to believe me.”
She had brushed her hair till it curled neatly around her shoulders, but her face felt pinched and small, ready to dissolve into tears any minute now. She dearly hoped she wouldn’t. She knew her boss thought her far too young already.
In the background, the sound of typewriters clacking echoed from the back room. Nearby, a radio played, and the swinging sounds of big band music floated out. A telephone rang, and someone answered it. It was another busy day for the Jefferson Secretarial Agency, another busy day in 1957—for everyone but Betty Ann.
Miss Johnson, an elderly woman with her glasses attached to a beaded string, sat behind a big oak desk and answered Betty patiently. “I’m sorry, Miss Keene, but whether it was your fault or not, most of our secretarial jobs require the ability to type—and type well. I don’t know how you graduated secretarial school without that skill, but apparently you did.”
Miss Johnson adjusted her glasses and peered over them. “I don’t think I have to remind you,” she drawled, “that you don’t need to come in every day and ask for work. You were informed the agency would contact you as soon as we received a job offer for you.”
“I-I know,” faltered Betty Ann. Her voice shook. “But—” I’m not going to cry, but I’ve got to find a job! I can’t go home yet; I just can’t.
“It’s hard to be patient, I know.” Miss Johnson’s voice continued, not without sympathy. “It’s never easy waiting for a job, but maybe you shouldn’t. Take my advice, Miss Keene—go home. It’s going to be a long wait if you stay here.
“You’ve got good qualities: you’re cheerful, pretty, and apparently you know everything there is to know about peach farming. It shouldn’t be hard for you to find a husband. Why don’t you go back to the country and marry a nice farm boy, because here in the city, we don’t need— Excuse me.”
The phone rang. She broke off talking to Betty and answered it. She listened for a moment. A look of awe slowly overtook her tired features.
“Yes. Yes, Mr. Armstrong. Cheerful, you say?” Her eyes flicked up to Betty with growing wonder. “I think I have just the girl.” She wrote an address down and nodded. “I’ll send her right over. Thank you for using Jefferson Secretarial Agency.”
She hung up and looked at Betty Ann with a dazed, amazed expression.
“Well, Betty, it looks like you have a job after all. Mr. Anderson is a publisher who wants to cheer up one of his authors. Apparently the man hates winter. Mr. Anderson wants to find him a cheerful secretary.”
“Thank you!” Betty Ann clasped her hands together, a huge smile overtaking her face.
Miss Johnson gave her the address, questioned her to be sure she would know how to find it, instructed her not to be late, and with a perplexed frown growing on her face, watched Betty leave.
Betty left her coat in the agency cloakroom. It was ugly and worn and certainly wouldn’t make the best impression at her new job. She hurried to the address Miss Johnson had given her, checking the street signs, and following Miss Johnson’s instructions carefully.
On the walk, she sniffed the air, smelled the heavenly aroma of fresh baked bread. Maybe she could risk spending nearly the last of her money. She hadn’t eaten yet today, and she’d need some energy for her new job.
Her new job! Yes! She clasped her hands together and grinned up at the clear blue sky.
She stopped at a bread store, bought a day-old roll, and crunched it on the way.
Everything was going to be all right, she realized, walking with a little skip in her step, smiling up at the watercolor-blue sky.
The wind was brisk, and she shivered. But it was only a short walk to the address, and she moved quickly.
She spotted trees in the city park, their tall, empty branches making dark lines against the sky. Remembering something from her life on the farm, she headed over to them, beginning to hum happily.
* * * *
Jake Watterson shuffled out of his bathroom, bleary-eyed and scowling, one hand wrapped around a mug of orange juice, the other scratching his chin stubble. He picked up the heavy receiver on what must have been its twentieth ring and snarled, “Yes?”
“Jake, that you? Sounds like I woke you,” said his editor with unwholesome cheerfulness in his voice.
And you sound really apologetic about it. “Well you didn’t. What do you want? I’m eating.”
“Hire a cook again? Good for you. Listen, I just called to ask how your new book was com—”
With a wordless growl, Jake slammed the receiver down.
Within moments, the phone rang again. Jake ignored it for another twenty rings, by which time he had finished his orange juice and was starting to feel more human. He picked up.
“What do you want, Matt?” he asked.
“I want you to start working,” said editor Matthew Armstrong. “And I have an idea that might help.”
“What?”
“Listen, don’t get mad. I’m having a secretary sent over to help you.”
“Matt—” Jake ground his teeth.
“Hey, don’t interrupt. Let me fin—”
“You know I don’t like giving dictation.”
“—ish. I know you say you don’t like doing dictation—don’t interrupt—but I also know that for the past three years you haven’t done a lick of work in the winter months. Why, you haven’t typed a single word since October!”

Read more about Alice at the following links :

Blogs: http://roelke.livejournal.com/, http://thewritinglifeforme.blogspot.com/

Facebook: http://on.fb.me/avHvJ0

Amazon Author page http://www.amazon.com/A.M.-Roelke/e/B00A2AV9BW/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1356548585&sr=1-2-ent
Reviewers - Alice will send a free copy to anyone who's willing to write a review on Amazon

Pleasure to meet you! 

Eliza Daly

A Warm Welcome to Eliza

Eliza Daly’s first attempt at creative writing was in fourth grade. She and her friends were huge Charlie’s Angels fans and she would sit in her bedroom at night writing scripts for them to act out at recess the following day. She was Kelly Garrett. Fast forward to the present, she’s still writing stories about beautiful women who always get their men. The journey from fourth grade script writer to published author wasn’t an easy one, but it was always an adventure and the final destination was well worth it.

When Eliza isn’t traveling for her job as an event planner, or tracing her ancestry roots through Ireland, she’s at home in Milwaukee working on her next novel, bouncing ideas off her husband Mark, and her cats Quigley and Frankie.

Here's her latest release:

Under Her Spell   by Eliza Daly

BLURB:

When a series of failed relationships and business ventures have Monica Jackson doubting her self-worth, she turns to spell casting to attract positive energy and the opportunities needed to achieve her goals.  But can Monica’s belief in spells restore her belief in herself? 

Monica creates a spell to find her soul mate, and one to ensure the success of her new romantic event planning company, Enhance Your Romance.  Monica is confident she has found her niche until divorce lawyer Reed Walker opens a practice next door to her office.  The anti-marriage slogan plastered on his office window, and his down-on-love clients, quickly prove detrimental to Monica’s business.  When his arrival appears to trigger a string of bad luck, Monica fears one of her spells sent negative energy into the universe and it has returned to her threefold.  Although Reed is beyond sexy, and she admires his self-confidence, she’ll do whatever it takes to get the universe back on her side, and Reed out of her life. No way is she losing another business.

Reed finds himself attracted to Monica’s beauty and her optimism. His job and his parents’ divorce have made him a pessimist, especially when it comes to love. However, he soon finds that Monica’s pro-love attitude is rubbing off on him, causing him to lose his edge.  If Reed doesn’t distance himself from Monica, he’ll likely destroy his reputation as a pit bull divorce lawyer.

Can Monica and Reed look past what they might be losing to realize the love they have found?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And now A Taste of Eliza

 Prologue

BUY

 “A spell … ” Hope mused, then her face lit up. “If there’s a spell to attract a man to a woman, there must be one to repel women from a man. Right?”

“Spells shouldn’t involve negative energy. Sending out negative energy can cause it to return threefold. They aren’t intended to harm someone or make them do something against their will.” Jordan had drilled this into her head.

“I wouldn’t be making Kyle do anything against his will. I’d be warning women to stay away from him.”

Sounded borderline.

“Please,” Hope whined, picking a clump of batter from her long, wavy hair.

Monica let out a defeated groan. “All right.” Hope would never actually cast the spell anyway. When they were young, Hope refused to wear a Casper costume for Halloween because she didn’t believe in ghosts. She was closed-minded when it came to paranormal or New Age beliefs. And you had to truly believe in a spell for it to work.

Monica set down the bowl of salt and grabbed a pencil and pad of paper off her desk and handed them to Hope. “Write this down. It’s called,” she tapped a hot pink nail against her lip, “the dirtbag spell. Take one of Kyle’s socks, fill it with dirt, and add a photo of him. It’s critical you aren’t in the photo.” Monica paced, tightening the sash on her lavender silk robe. “Include something of his like … ”

“His new Rolex?”

Personally, Monica would list the watch on eBay and pray for a bidding war. But Hope, no matter how ticked off, was too timid to sell Kyle’s precious watch, and too frugal to risk damaging it by mixing it with dirt.

“That’s fine. Sew up the sock and bury it in your front yard. It’ll warn all women he’s a dirtbag.”

Hope poised the pencil against her lower lip, reviewing the spell. “Don’t I have to say something when I bury it, like a chant?”

What happened to being spell ignorant?

“Bury it in the moonlight while saying … ” Monica scrambled for a few rhyming lines, “moonlight, glowing bright, warn all women in your sight, the man who lives in this house, is a dirtbag and a total louse.”

“Perfect.” Hope sprang from the bed, looking inspired. “Kyle’s at work. I’m going over to the house right now to bury that sock.” She turned and marched out, a woman on a mission.

Monica nibbled nervously on her fingernail. Hope wouldn’t seriously go through with casting the spell, would she? A big part of spell casting was psychological, focusing all your energy on making something happen. Monica had never seen Hope look so determined, or vindictive. Hopefully, if she did cast the spell the negative energy didn’t return threefold.

What was the worst that could happen?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Follow the rest of the tour here

You can find Eliza on the web at:

Website:  http://www.elizadaly.com/   Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/ElizaDalyAuthor

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ElizaDalyAuthor
Goodreads:http://www.goodreads.com/elizadaly

BUY LINKS: Amazon   Barnes and Noble   iTunes   Kobo   ebooks

 Pleasure to meet you Eliza!
Leave a comment for the chance to win a $25 GC or one of three $10GCs for either Amazon or B & N

Stan Hampton Sr

A Warm Welcome to Stan

SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a divorced grandfather to 13 grandchildren, and a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007). He has served in the Army National Guard since October 2004, and holds the rank of staff sergeant. He is a published photographer and photojournalist, an aspiring painter, and is studying for a degree in photography and anthropology—hopefully to someday work in underwater archaeology. His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories, and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, Ruthie’s Club, Lucrezia Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others. As of December 2011, he became the latest homeless Iraq war veteran in Las Vegas, Nevada.

A word about the photograph. This was taken in June 2007 at the Great Ziggurat of Ur, Sumeria (Tallil AFB, Iraq). We were about 30 days away from coming home, and my initial enlistment in the Guard would be up in a few months. I wanted a little more time to decide whether to stay in the Guard or not. So, what better place for a writer to do a 1-year extension than Sumeria, where writing was invented?

Here's the blurb for Stan's latest release:
 'Bettter than a Rabbit's Foot.'

BUY

BLURB: Sergeant Jerry Stanton is a young soldier serving in the War in Iraq. He is a gunner on a gun truck nicknamed “Lucky Bear,” one of those tireless workhorses that escort supply convoys from camps in Kuwait to destinations scattered throughout the war-torn country. In the early morning hours before a scheduled mission, a dust storm howls across his camp and threatens to bring convoy operations to a halt. Worse, the camp receives word that a gunner from his company was killed by an IED while on a convoy mission. Unlike most soldiers, Jerry doesn’t carry a lucky charm, but upon receiving news of the death of the gunner, he begins to mull over/ponder the merit/virtue of a good luck charm—only, what would work for him? Perhaps mail call will provide the answer.

Before treating us to an excerpt, Stan Reveals:

What do you hope your readers come away with after reading your books?

I hope that the readers will think that their time was well spent, that my writing was worth their time. If that’s the case, then I’ve done my job properly.

What do you think are the main ingredients for a successful book?

I’d say the quality of writing, the believability of the world and characters, whether today’s mundane middle class setting or a fantastic setting on another world or in a different time, and believability of the plot. Without these ingredients, you can have the best ideas and best stories in the world, but the reader won’t buy into your writing. And, writing aside, follow a good public relations plan to ensure your name and writings spread before an ever-increasing audience.

What do you like best and least about writing?

Most of all I like creating a world or setting for my characters, in which the story takes place. Sometimes the research to “get it right” can take awhile, and will consist of a lot of “sifting” to get everything just right—which I enjoy. When it works, the resulting story is wonderful. What I like least is the editing involved; I view it as a necessary evil, but the time taken—with the help of a great editor—can result in a great story, rather than a mediocre story.

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block? What would be your tips to overcome it?

Hell yes! I suffered from writer’s block this past year, beginning in June, and it continued up until December. I’m not sure why, unless it was simply the stress of life finally catching up with me. The only suggestion I can offer is to nurture a stubborn determination to write even if it’s only 100-500 words per day. That may not be much, but if you’re not writing at all, it’s better than nothing. Unfortunately, I didn’t. When I finally started writing again in December I rediscovered a growing excitement as my story unfolded before me and came to life. So, even when you don’t feel like it, write—write something every day!

Anything special you require to keep the creative juices flowing?

A stress-free life would be helpful. Until then, while developing ideas, conducting research, and writing, plenty of cigarettes, coffee with French Vanilla creamer, and listening to music or having a DVD playing for “background noise.” And, an occasional lunch or dinner with friends—and beer to go with the meal.

What can we look forward to from you in the near future?

As long as the writer’s block doesn’t return, I’ll be dabbling with haunted tanks, zombies, and even a vampire in the old American West. Plus, writing a few Thanksgiving and Christmas oriented stories. I realized this summer that I’ve written very few such holiday themed stories. Appearing on a blog around such holidays, and then “pitching” stories that involve death and destruction (military themed writing), or ghosts and demons, seemed a little “out of kilter.”

What are you currently reading?

“Afrika Korps” by Major K.J. Macksey, M.C. (Ballantine); “Tiger I Heavy Tank 1942-1945” by Tom Jentz and Hilary Doyle (Osprey); “The Forgotten Soldier” by Guy Sajer (Brassey’s); and “Everyday Life in Byzantium” by Tamara Talbot Rice (Dorset). These are all for research for current and future writings. In spite of the number of books above, I only read a few pages each day. And, I actually read very little in the way of fiction writing because I believe I have very little time between my own writing, college, and the necessities (stress) of life. Sometimes I wish for a return to a simpler life when I spent all day reading books by Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clarke, H.P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, and Frederick Forsyth, among others.

Any exciting plans for the near future?

For the most part, continue fiction writing, and even try writing a movie screenplay. Due to my college studies I am looking forward to making the leap back into photojournalism and photography. I am also trying to wrap up my Anthropology degree through conducting research into Post Traumatic Stress Disorder among World War II and Global War On Terrorism Native American and non-Native American veterans. This involves a trip to South Dakota where there are several reservations, therefore the need for raising funds. The resulting research paper is the end of my Capstone Project—a couple of more classes after that, and I’ll have my Anthropology degree.

Now A Taste of 'Better than a Rabbit's Foot'

“People like a happy ending.”

Sergeant Jerry Stanton, an M4 Carbine slung across his chest, glanced at the dark form that trudged alongside him in the hot, early morning darkness. It was all the darker for the dust storm howling across the small camp, a dusty and sandy convoy support center, CSC, a mile south of the Iraqi border. He placed his hand over the tall styrofoam coffee cup from the messhall that was open at all hours to serve those about to head out on a mission. He felt the itchy dust filtering down his back, along his arms, and coating his fingers.

In spite of his short time deployed to Kuwait, he had learned that dust storms were worse than sand storms; they were hot and itchy while the sand storms stung exposed skin and chilled the air. Breakfast was good but tasted flat, more due to the question of whether their mission would be a go or no-go because of the storm that roared out of the midnight darkness hours before.

“What?”

“People like a happy ending,” the soldier repeated. He was a gunner from another gun truck as the squat, venerable M1114 HMMWVs, which were never meant to be combat vehicles, were called. He held up a rabbit foot that spun frantically in the wind and added, “I like a happy ending.  Especially now.” They rounded the corner of a small building, actually a renovated mobile home trailer with a covered wooden porch lit by a bare electric bulb. The gunner pointed to a small black flag, suspended from a log overhang, flapping furiously in the wind.

“Oh shit.” Jerry sighed as a cold chill raced through him.

“It’s been there for an hour or so,” the soldier said as he enclosed the rabbit’s foot within both hands and brought it up to his lips as if to kiss it. He glanced at Jerry. “I’m not superstitious, but still, I mean, there’s nothing wrong with having a lucky charm. You know?”

“Yeah.” Jerry nodded as he watched the twisting flag. “I know.”

The soldier looked once more at the black flag and then walked toward the shower and restroom trailers beyond which were the air-conditioned sleeping tents they called home…

BUY 'Better than a Rabbit's Foot' at MuseItUp Publishing click here

 Great pleasure to meet you, Stan!

Cheryl Douglas

A Warm Welcome to Cheryl

Cheryl began her professional career as a nutritionist, but her love of books started at an early age. She studied writing for many years before she decided to pursue her passion as a full-time career. After receiving constructive criticism from several well-known authors, Cheryl finally had the confidence to write her first romance novel.

The first book in the Nashville Nights series, Shameless, was a book that had been dwelling in Cheryl’s subconscious for years. For her, the surprise came when the manuscript began taking on a life of it’s own. Characters came to life, secondary characters became more prominent, outlines were forgotten, and a single title evolved into an eight book series, and another eight book spin-off series entitled Nashville Nights, Next Generation.

One word would aptly describe Cheryl: workaholic. She lives and breathes her writing, when she’s sleeping, watching TV, driving, reading… it’s always in the periphery of her mind. Her imagination rarely takes a holiday, even when she escapes to a sandy beach with her husband and son, she’s planning, plotting, outlining, and daydreaming.

Cheryl feels blessed to be able to get up every day and do something she loves. The thousands of fans who have embraced the Nashville Nights have made that possible. She writes for the readers who ask for more, she writes to satisfy the muse residing inside of her, but most of all, she writes because she couldn’t imagine doing anything else with her life. It took her thirty-seven years to decide what she wanted to be when she grew up, but now that she knows, she’s convinced she’s found her purpose.

Shameless  by Cheryl Douglas

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLURB:

Trey Turner may be topping the country music charts, but his life has been going downhill since his wife left him five years ago. He's desperate to make amends for the mistakes he's made and convince Sierra their love deserves a second chance.

 

Sierra Brooks is happy for the first time since her divorce. She has a career she loves, and a man who loves her. Unfortunately, the man she intends to marry isn't the only one professing his love for her. He may be able to offer her safety and security, but will she decide to risk everything for another chance with the man who broke her heart?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Taste of Cheryl:

Prologue

Five Years Earlier

 

The sexy little waitress stretched to offer her neck as Trey Turner prepared to do another body shot at the urging of his inebriated friends. He licked the salt off her neck as he felt a small hand grip his shoulder.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

He turned to see his wife, Sierra, staring up at him, disgust darkening her bright blue eyes. He heard a few of his friends mutter curses as the crowd broke up and went back to drinking and dancing.

 

“Baby, I was just havin’ a little fun.” His words slurred and he wondered how many body shots he’d had before Sierra intervened. 

The waitress slid her hand down his chest, hooking a finger through his belt loop. “That was fun. How ‘bout we pick up where we left off later?”

 

Sierra turned away, not waiting for his answer as she began weaving her way through the crowd.

 

“Sierra, baby, wait,” he called, trying to push his way through the throngs of people before she reached the door. He grabbed her wrist just as she was about to cross the threshold. “Wait. Please, don’t go.”

 

“It’s over, I’m done with this shit,” she said, trying to shake loose of his grip.

 

BUY

He had more than a foot and a hundred pounds on her. She wasn’t going anywhere until he decided he was ready to let her go, which wouldn’t happen in this lifetime. “What’s that supposed to mean? Where the hell do you think you’re going?” 

 

“Home to pack.”

 

He felt the room begin to spin out of control. “What did you say?”

 

“I’m leaving you. Our marriage is over.”

 

His grip on her wrist tightened. “No, you can’t leave me.”

 

She pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s been over for a long time. I’m just making it official.”

 

“We’re not having this conversation out here in front of a hundred people,” he said, pulling her through the horde of friends he’d invited to his private party. He opened the door to the small dressing room usually occupied by the nightly entertainment that performed at Jimmy’s bar. “We’ll have some privacy in here.”

 

She was finally able to shake free of his tight grip. “I’ve already said everything I have to say to you.”

 

He gripped her waist. “Don’t do this, Sierra.” He bent to kiss her neck. “I love you, baby. God, I love you so much. I can’t live without you.” He backed her toward the couch as he lowered himself down on top of her.

 

“You’ve been living without me for the past year, Trey. You’ve spent your days on a tour bus and your nights in a stadium or bar.” Her voice broke. “We lost our baby girl and you don’t seem to care.”

 

“Don’t say that,” he whispered furiously. “Don’t ever say that I didn’t care about Callie. I loved her, Sierra. It damn near killed me when we lost her.”

 

She glared at him. “Really? Is that why you boarded that goddamn tour bus a week after her funeral?”

 

“I’m a musician; it’s what I do.” He knew the excuse was weak. Sierra was right. He’d been trying to run away from his grief and sadness instead of staying at home where he belonged, supporting his wife.

 

She shook her head, looking defeated. “It’s what you do—it’s who you are. Trey Turner, country music’s award-winning, platinum-selling mega-star. What about my husband? Callie’s father? Where is he?”

 

He closed his eyes, feeling disgusted with himself for letting her down again. “Baby, I’m sorry. Look, I know I’ve made mistakes, but let me make it up to you, okay?” His hand eased up her shirt to cup her breast.

 

Her head rolled back and she closed her eyes. “No, we can’t do this. It won’t fix the problem.” Making love to her may not solve all of their problems, but it would buy him some time to figure out a way to convince her to give him and their marriage another chance. “Just relax,” he whispered, licking her neck.

 

“Hmm, that feels so good.” She wrapped her denim-clad leg around his. “But then you had lots of practice with your girlfriend right before I got here, didn’t you?”



click here to follow the rest of Cheryl's tour

 

He cursed himself for indulging in the adolescent drinking game and giving his wife reason to question his fidelity yet again. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, flipping the button on her jeans. “You’re the only one I want; you know that.”

 

She squeezed her eyes shut as she shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

 

He hated that he had given her reason to doubt herself, to doubt them. “Let me prove it to you, then.”

 

His tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips until she finally parted for him. He groaned, taking her mouth with a savage intensity. His mind raced; fear warring with panic as he realized this may be the last time they made love, the last time he had the right to touch her.   
                                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cheryl's LINKS:

Amazon Buy Link for Shameless: click here Barnes and Noble Buy Link for Shameless: click here  All Romance Ebooks Buy Link for Shameless:click here 

Website: http://www.cheryldouglasbooks.com     Facebook: http://www.cheryldouglasbooks.com

Pleasure to host you, Cheryl!

 

Cheryl will be awarding the following prizes to randomly drawn commenters during the tour: * two $20 Amazon Gift Cards     * ten trading card/cover flat packs (US/Canada) * ten eBooks from the Nashville Nights series (winner's choice)  * two Swarovski crystal necklaces (US/Canada).                       LEAVE A COMMENT TO ENTER THE DRAW

B.J.Scott

               A Warm Welcome to B.J.
With a passion for historical romance, history in general, and anything Celtic, B.J. always has an exciting work in progress. Each story offers a blend of romance, adventure, suspense, and, where appropriate, a dab of comic relief. Carefully researched historical facts are woven into each manuscript, providing a backdrop from which steamy romance, gripping plots, and vivid characters—dashing alpha heroes and resourceful, beguiling heroines you can’t help but admire—spring to life. A member of RWA, World Romance Writers, Celtic Hearts Romance Writers, and Savvy Authors, B.J. also writes contemporary, paranormal, time travel, and romantic suspense.

C.S. Lewis first captivated B. J.’s imagination in the fourth grade, and her desire to write sprang from there. Following a career in nursing and child and youth work, B.J. married her knight-in-shining-armor, and he whisked her away to his castle by the sea. In reality, they share their century-old home in a small Canadian town on the shore of Lake Erie with three dogs and a cat. When she is not working at her childcare job, on her small business, or writing, you will find her reading, camping, or antique hunting.

Highland Quest

by B. J. Scott

BLURB:

No longer content in the shadows of his older brothers and on a quest to find his destiny, Bryce Fraser's chosen path is fraught with danger, passion, and decisions. Can his unspoken love for spirited, beguiling Fallon be triumphant in a time of war and uncertainty, or will they both fall prey to the devious plans of a traitorous laird from a rival clan?

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And Here's A Taste of B.J.

Loch Ryan Scotland, 1307

 

“Wa . . . water,” Bryce mumbled, but there was no one there to listen.

 

BUY

 His throat was parched and he ran his tongue over dry, cracked lips, but his action offered no relief. An entire loch lay only a few feet away, but he couldn’t muster the strength to drag himself to the bank and quench his thirst.

 

“Cold . . . so cold.”

 

 Despite the sun beating down on him, he’d swear he was encased in ice. His life’s blood seeped from his wounds, soaking the ground beneath him. He tried to raise his head, but the excruciating pain radiating across his chest stole his breath away.

 

Was this what it felt like to die? If so, he prayed the Almighty would be merciful and take him now.

 

Bryce moaned, a shift in his position bringing on another nauseating wave of agony. He sucked in a short, sharp, gulp of air and stretched his arm out as far as he could, his fingers grappling in the dirt.

 

If only I could reach my sword.

 

Beads of perspiration dampened his brow. As the strength slowly drained from his body, drawing a simple breath became more difficult. The end grew near. No time to make amends for sins of the past, and he had committed his share.

 

Regrets? He had those, too. “Fallon.” He whispered her name then heaved a ragged sigh.

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You can find B.J. at the following links:

https://www.facebook.com/authorbjscott

http://www.authorbjscott.com/ 

 http://authorbjscott.wordpress.com/
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