04 September 2023

Sympathy for the Gods Series: Briar Constance, Book Three by Tallie Rose New Release Blitz! @ninestarpress @indigomarketingdesign #LGBTQIA+

#fantasy #romance #booklover #bookblogger #bookaddict #romancereadersofinstagram #booknerd #bookworm

Title: Sympathy for the Gods

Series: Briar Constance, Book Three

Author: Tallie Rose

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/29/2023

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Female, Female/Female

Length: 70900

Genre: Fantasy, Fantasy, family-drama, gods, blood magic, lesbian, bisexual, nonbinary, witches, fae, murder, death, prime minister

With the death of Eliana, Briar had hoped the danger for her and her friends had passed, but killing a Goddess comes with consequences.
As Briar struggles to deal with her new life and responsibilities as conduit, Bastianna rallies others to try to destroy everything she is working for. A group of fanatics, known as Believers, want Briar to pay for her sins. Meanwhile, Eliana’s father Ivian wanders the earth as a fallen God. When he joins the Believers, lured by their promise of revenge, everyone Briar loves is in danger.
Will her new powers of Conduit be enough to keep them safe? Can Briar once again defeat a God?

Tallie Rose © 2023
All Rights Reserved
Early morning sun streamed into the nearly empty window display of Briar’s old shop. The only thing remaining was a book stand, the FOR SALE sign balanced precariously in its metal arms. Now, there would be a new inhabitant. Red lettering announced the building had sold.
Her once beloved shop was going to sell coffee, just like half the other buildings in Wesvik. She’d boxed the stock up, shoving first editions into her linen closet while she did her best not to cry in front of Lillia. She didn’t think she could handle the sympathy.
Briar watched the retreating figures of the buyer and agent. She’d signed the papers and the loss had carved a hole in the pit of her stomach. She tried to remember what she’d gained. She could have any book deal she wanted now. She was the conduit, though she still hadn’t figured out exactly what that would mean except filtering people’s sadness and grief.
Lillia and Fauna urged her to accept her new role. There was nothing to run from. Her new power and position were not an enemy to defeat, they were part of her. But she also saw the way Lillia looked at her sometimes, the way her eyes took in Briar’s flawless skin, the slight glow that emanated beneath it. She felt other, even further apart from everyone else than she had been before.
Soren told her to do whatever she wanted. He whispered it when the others weren’t listening, reminding her that she hadn’t chosen this, that she could still pick the path of her life. She didn’t owe anyone anything.
But every nerve beneath her skin told her she did.
New magic spread out, a web through the world, reaching into the beyond, and she could always feel the Gods, just a pull away. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass then she stepped away. She couldn’t run the bookshop. She couldn’t let the women who worked there deal with the constant barrage of people wanting things: help for sick kids, help with their bills, but mostly they just wanted to see if she was real, to see if the Gods had truly returned.
She sighed and turned, leaving the shop behind, and wiped her tears. Speaking of coffee, she could use some caffeine. She’d barely slept the night before, dreading the morning, but now it was done. There were only a few blocks between her store and her favorite coffee shop. She pulled her collar up before she ordered and tried not to make eye contact.
Coffee in hand, Briar found a spot outside. She stretched into the rays of the sun like a cat, and pulled out her phone, barely noticing the footsteps that approached, assuming some stranger wanted something. She glanced up, a quip ready on her tongue, and her heart skipped a beat.
Bastianna sank into the seat across from her, smiling sweetly.
“What do you want?” She’d seen her on TV, on social media. Bastianna’s face seemed to be everywhere these days, constantly calling Briar a murderer. She was nothing but a sad fraud, but that didn’t keep the followers, Believers as they called themselves, from flocking to her.
“Things are bad between us, Briar.”
The world’s largest understatement. “Do you think it’s because I’m f*cking Lillia or because you’re a psychopath trying to kill me? I’ve been debating it.”
A muscle in Bastianna’s jaw twitched at the mention of Lillia but her smile stayed plastered on. She opened her mouth to talk but Briar held up a hand, cutting her off.
“And it’s so odd, you’re constantly saying I killed the Gods, that you’re a true believer, blah, blah, blah, but I’m the conduit. The Gods come at my beck and call. Makes you a little hard to believe.”
“Are you done?”
A man stared at them from the next table. Good. Briar was glad to have witnesses. She caught his eye for just a moment before turning back to Bastianna. “She doesn’t mention you, you know. Though when would she have time? And I’m sure you know how delicious she is.” Bastianna’s smile finally died and Briar smirked in its wake. “Definitely not an easy person to lose, but I’d imagine you’re used to people leaving you. You’ve got abandonment issues written all over you.”
“I wanted to talk about Ivian.” Sparks flared at Bastianna’s fingertips and Briar wished she would try something, right now in the crowded street, full of witnesses.
“Why? As far as I can tell he’s waiting out his time.” At least, that’s what she hoped. Ivian was a fallen God, his punishment older than time itself. The finer points of what being a fallen God meant were hazy. But it seemed he had two choices: atonement or death. She couldn’t see how he could atone for trying to kill her, for nearly killing Evaria. Not unless he was about to pop out and take down Bastianna, which she’d really like to see.
“He’s contacted me. I won’t tell you where he is.”
“I bet I could make you.”
“Is that a threat? From the conduit?” She clucked her tongue. “Anyway, he’d like to talk, and I think you owe him that since you murdered his daughter.”

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Tallie Rose lives in Charleston, SC with two kids, five cats, two goldfish, and one dog. She spends her spare time thrifting, watching bad TV, and reading books.

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02 September 2023

All Hail the Underdogs Series: Breakaway, Book Three Author: E.L. Massey New Release Blitz! @ninestarpress @indigomarketingdesign #LGBTQIA+

#contemporary #romance #booklover #bookblogger #bookaddict #romancereadersofinstagram #booknerd #bookworm

Title: All Hail the Underdogs

Series: Breakaway, Book Three

Author: E.L. Massey

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/29/2023

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 78100

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, gay, interracial, YA/new adult, sports, ice hockey, team mates, writer, humorous, private school/ dorm life, slow burn, enemies to friends to boyfriends, enemies/rivals to boyfriends, coming of age, coming out, adoption, alcohol/underage drinking, family drama, emancipation, accidental baby acquisition

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When seventeen-year-old Patrick Roman is offered a scholarship to a top hockey preparatory school, he thinks maybe his notorious bad luck has finally ended. With a hearing for his legal emancipation on the horizon, he dreams of getting scouted and securing a place on a D1 college team. There’s only one problem: Roman has serious beef with his new winger on the team, Damien Bordeaux. They’re supposed to be perfectly in sync on the ice. But Roman, with his buzzcut and tattoos, has nothing in common with trust-fund-kid Damien, his floral scrunchies, and designer T-shirts that cost more than all of Roman’s secondhand hockey gear combined.

When eighteen-year-old Damien Bordeaux starts his senior year, he tells himself he’s going to focus on hockey and school. No more making out in the stacks, no more dorm parties. He needs to decide what his future will look like. Does he pursue his long-held dream of becoming an author? Or stay in his lane and do what he’s good at: hockey. Regardless, he’s not going to let any pretty boys distract him from figuring his shit out. Except his new center, Roman, is possibly the most beautiful boy Damien has ever seen. And his hockey—the way he moves on the ice—might be even more beautiful. Too bad he’s also probably a homophobic, racist asshole.

But their antagonistic beginning turns into an unlikely friendship and then turns into something much scarier for them both. Navigating relationships is hard enough for normal teenagers. It’s a lot harder when contending with lawyers, NHL scouts, and mutual past trauma. Roman and Damien have to decide: What do they really want in life? Are they willing to fight for each other—including fighting against their own pasts and prejudices—so they can have a happy ending?

All Hail the Underdogs
E.L. Massey © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Patrick Roman has his mother’s eyes and his father’s nose, and on his face, they’re still a family.

He considers his reflection in the filmy bus station bathroom mirror. He rubs his thumb down the raised line of scar tissue bisecting his chin: pink and new and only partially hidden in the drip-paint collage of his freckles, and then rubs harder, more habit than intention.

After spending the summer as a stern man on his uncle’s crab boat—sorting, banding, baiting, resetting, trying his best to repair the limping hydraulic trap hauler that should have been scrapped a decade ago—layers of sunburn have turned into a tan, multiplying the pigment across his nose and cheeks and shoulders to a point where he looks constantly dirty. As if he’d been working in his other uncle’s garage and absently smeared an oiled forearm over his face.

His cousin Saoirse once said that Patrick looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. He thinks she was trying to be mean. Or elitist. Or both. But he sort of agrees with her. He didn’t know who Jackson Pollock was, at first, but when he went with his aunt into town the following weekend, he used the library computer to google him.

At thirteen, with new calluses on his palms from his first-ever crab haul, constant peeling skin over his nose and shoulders, and the kind of secret that scrapes your insides hollow, he’d found the paintings, grainy and pixelated as they were on the old computer monitor, strangely familiar.

Maybe he is like a Jackson Pollock painting: a dark, incensed, anxious spatter of reds and yellows and blacks and blues. Too much color for one canvas. Too much feeling for containment. Too much, maybe, in general.

Someone bangs on the bathroom door, and he stops glaring at his reflection because there’s nothing much he can do about it.

He uses a paper towel to dry his hands, runs his fingers, still damp, over his buzzed hair, and shoulders his duffel bag.

St. James Academy is waiting.

He googled St. James when he googled the rest of the best hockey prep schools in the country.

Same library.

Same shitty library computer.

Initially, he wanted to try to play for a junior team; he was good enough, he’d been scouted. But now, money issues aside, billeting would be all but impossible considering his legal situation. So he’d spent stolen hours at school and after work searching boarding schools with prep hockey teams, comparing stats and rosters and course offerings. He sent in his game tapes and paperwork with scraped-together application fees and letters of recommendation from his former and current coaches.

He applied to six schools and was accepted at two.

St. James was the closest, not that he really cared about staying close, but his lawyer said it would make things easier for possible future hearings if he was within a few hours’ drive of Port Marta.

St. James was also the cheapest, which he did care about, and it routinely produced D1 prospects, which was his primary concern. A full scholarship with housing, a meal plan, and a chance to elevate his game to the point that maybe, next year, he could get a scholarship to college? An easy decision.

After getting a handful of salt-crusted hundreds from his uncle at the harbor early that morning as payment for his summer of work, he’d hitched a ride with another stern man from Port Marta to Brunswick and then took a Greyhound from there to Concord, and then a city bus to the station closest to St. James.

And now he’s here, standing outside with a paper map from his library’s equally shitty printer, a duffel bag from the army surplus store full of abused hockey gear, and an address written in permanent marker on his wrist. It’s three miles away, but he’s not about to waste money on an Uber.

He shoulders his bag and starts walking.

The campus looks exactly like the online pictures—sun-dappled and idyllic, with people lounging under trees and throwing frisbees and weaving colorful bikes in and out of foot traffic on immaculate sidewalks.

He’s too hot in his leather jacket, and the strap of his bag is rubbing the side of his neck raw, but he walks with a purpose and doesn’t make eye contact when people look at him.

And people do look at him.

He’s six foot two, dressed all in black and carrying a bag over his shoulder that’s nearly as big as he is. Doubtless, he stands out like some sort of hulking freckled raven among songbirds.

By the time he finds the administration building, his palms are so sweaty it’s hard to get the stupidly ornate door open. Once inside, standing in line on the marble floors, looking up at the vaulted ceiling, the whispered assertion that’s been following him since he stepped foot on campus gets louder: You do not belong here. He’s felt that way for most his life, though, wherever he was, so it isn’t that disconcerting.

He clears his throat when it’s his turn, stepping up to the counter at the student center.

“I’m a transfer,” he says. “Patrick Roman. I need to pick up my dorm keys.”

Before the receptionist has a chance to answer, though, the person behind him speaks.

“You’re our new center?”

He turns to look at the speaker and pauses.

Because he recognizes the boy’s face.

He’s seen it on rosters and game footage and even a few news articles.

During his research, Patrick memorized the names of three players at St. James Academy. Three players he thought were exceptionally good. These would be your peers, he told himself.

The first was Aiden Kane. Junior. Winger. Number 5.

The second was Justin Lefevre. Senior. Defense. Captain. Number 73.

The third is now standing in front of him.

Damien Raphael Bordeaux. Senior. Winger. Number 21.

What he didn’t anticipate is that, off the ice, Damien Raphael Bordeaux looks a lot less like the goon he does on the ice and a lot more like the kind of boy Patrick’s father warned him against becoming, sometimes with words, but sometimes with fists.

Because off the ice, Damien wears cuffed skinny jeans stretched tight over the bulk of his thighs and half-unbuttoned floral shirts and velvet scrunchies to hold back his long, curly hair. His dark skin is clear and pore-less, and the delicate gold chain around his neck should look out of place on someone so broad, but it doesn’t.

He is irritatingly well-groomed.

He’s also waiting for an answer.

“Yeah?” Patrick manages, and it maybe comes out more aggressive than he intended.

“I’m Damien,” Damien Raphael Bordeaux says, extending a hand and smiling with straight white teeth and the easy confidence that comes with money. “I’m on the hockey team too.”

He has the slightest accent that might be French. Of course, he does.

Damien’s hand is warm and dry, and the torn calluses on Patrick’s own chapped hand scrape jarringly against his palm.

“Rome,” Patrick says. Because if there’s one thing hockey has given him, it’s a name that his father didn’t.

Damien squeezes his fingers, holds on a moment past comfortable, grins wider so the skin around his eyes crinkles, and says, “Rome. Cool. Coach says you’re going to be my new center.”

And all Rome can think is:

Oh no.

NineStar Press | Books2Read

E. L. Massey is a human. Probably. She lives in Austin, Texas, with her partner, the best dog in the world (an unbiased assessment), and a frankly excessive collection of books. She spends her holidays climbing mountains and writing fan fiction, occasionally at the same time.

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01 September 2023

Silent Comrade Project Morpheus Book 3 by Jillian David Book Tour! #authorjilliandavid @jilliandavid_author @SilverDaggerBookTours #SilverDaggerBookTours #SDBookTours

#Military #RomanticSuspense #Romance #Suspense #MilitaryRomance #ProjectMorpheus #NewRelease #SilentComrade #HiddenComrade #FallenComrade #OnSale #99cents

A military dude who thinks ‘haute’ is a temperature setting must help a flighty fashionista create the fashion show of the decade … before it becomes the world’s most explosive catwalk!

Silent Comrade

Project Morpheus Book 3

by Jillian David

Genre: Military Romantic Suspense

The Project Morpheus series: Military romance, steamy passion, and heart-stopping suspense.

The Morpheus Squad: Ultimate soldiers who hide in plain sight, fierce protectors risking their existence for those they love ... and virally-altered, ticking time bombs.

****

A military dude who thinks ‘haute’ is a temperature setting must help a flighty fashionista create the fashion show of the decade … before it becomes the world’s most explosive catwalk!

Ex-Special Forces soldier, Alfred “Red” Newman, never met a mission he couldn’t execute—with or without enhanced abilities. But protecting whirling dervish fashion student, Britt McNeill? The tough veteran will need combat pay and Excedrin. If he can’t shield her from Beau Lequire, a power-hungry CFO whose need for revenge has no limits, then Britt won’t be a pawn in Lequire’s sick game. She’ll be dead.

After battling anxiety and devastating losses in her personal life, Britt longs to make her family proud and accomplish her dream of becoming a fashion designer. Enter Red, a transfer student who can’t tell the difference between plaid and paisley, but whose unnaturally-quick reflexes … and scorching kisses … knock her off stride. When Red demands that she ditch her senior project to go into hiding? No way. The show must go on.

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Hidden Comrade

Project Morpheus Book 2

The Project Morpheus series: Military romance, steamy passion, and heart-stopping suspense.

The Morpheus Squad: Ultimate soldiers who hide in plain sight, fierce protectors risking their existence for those they love... and virally-altered, ticking time bombs.

Pele Tuitama’s Morpheus Squad mission infiltrating a Smoky Mountain children's camp is FUBAR. He might be a virally-enhanced military experiment, but augmented abilities won’t help him protect Reagan McNeill, the most unsecure-able target imaginable. Sweet Reagan’s kisses and the possibility of a future he should never consider, distracts his laser focus. If Pele can’t keep Reagan safe from an evil adversary bent on revenge against the entire McNeill family, then Reagan will die.

After a nasty breakup, Reagan doesn’t trust any man—or herself. Enter handsome Pele, the world’s worst camp counselor. She doesn’t believe his story or his motives. When overly-protective Pele draws her close and then rejects her, Reagan is finished with games. Then the truth she learns rips open recently-healed emotional wounds.

In order to escape through the mountains, Pele must share his deadliest secret. To have a chance at their future, they must reveal their demons and pray for acceptance ... and survival.

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Fallen Comrade

Project Morpheus Book 1

Ex-Green Beret Jake Zimmerman’s Georgia mountain seclusion is shattered when the one woman he should never have left, pregnant Kiera McNeill, shows up on his doorstep. Her life is in danger, thanks to a botched Morpheus Squad mission. If the nature of her baby is discovered, evil forces will stop at nothing to capture Kiera. When Kiera learns of Jake’s top-secret Morpheus Virus running through his veins, she realizes that her protector is the deadlier threat.

Kiera knows the secrets of Fallen Comrades, a billion-dollar “charity” which siphons donations away from wounded veterans and into the pockets of power-hungry CFO Beau Lequire. Now her sadistic ex-boss, Lequire, wants revenge. Her only chance of escape rests in the lethal hands of the man who once rejected her: Jake. All she needs to do is suppress her feelings for Jake long enough to destroy Fallen Comrades, stay alive, and save her baby.

**On Sale for Only .99cents 8/29 – 9/5!!**

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“Is relaxing under the stars part of the traditional meal?” Reagan’s face entered his field of vision.

A flash of her body above him shot a bolt of desire into his groin. The damned virus growled its demand for action.

He tugged on one of her braids. “It should be. What about S’mores?”

“They’re traditional campfire snacks here at Camp Foxfire.”

“Then teach me.”

With a nod, she handed him a stick. “Okay. You put two marshmallows on and roast them.”

He immediately thrust the white sugar puffs into the flame and they caught fire. “I don’t think that’s correct,” he said as the sugar turned to black carbon.

“Actually.” She blew out the flame. “Some people like the burnt flavor. Try it. Be careful, it’ll be like molten lava inside.”

He took a bite of the marshmallow, getting a smoky, thin crust and a hot, gooey sugary center. Not bad.

“Now, if you want to do it the expert way, ahem, then you must learn patience. The color you’re going for is light caramelized brown, which is the most perfect color for a roasted marshmallow.”

“I’m light caramelized brown, does that count as perfect?”

A snicker burst from her lips. “Sure, if paired with melted chocolate.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh. Never mind.”

A flash of Reagan licking chocolate off of his body sent another inappropriate jolt straight to his throbbing pelvis. Focusing on the task at hand, he followed her lead and kept the marshmallows well above the heat until they were bubbled and brown.

“Hold our sticks.” She reached into the other packages. “Next step is turning them into S’mores.” She sandwiched the steaming marshmallow between a second graham cracker and chocolate combo and slid the stick out. “Okay, try it.”

He bit down and got a burst of warm sugar, semi-melted chocolate, and crunchy graham cracker. “This is really good.”

“I know.” She sat back down on the tarp. “Simple but fun.” She sighed. He followed the line of her neck as she swallowed a bite.

“What?” A furrow formed between her brows.

“You have marshmallow on your face.”

She swiped at her nose and cheek. “Got it?”

The tiny piece of white remained on her lower lip. “Not quite.”

He leaned forward and licked his lips. She froze.

Gently. He would be careful. Shoving aside the drive to consume her, mark her, take her, he concentrated on Reagan’s sweet face instead. “May I?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He nipped her lower lip and a tiny shot of sugar combined with the taste of her lips burst on his tongue. Ti’o. Perfection. In a flash, his damned viral-driven lust infused every cell with a blinding wave of need. He wanted to possess her, here, under the stars and in front of the fire. Primitive and perfect.

“Mmm.” He nipped at her soft lips, tasting, and licking.

Angling his head, he slid his tongue along the seam of her mouth. His senses were overloaded with wood smoke, sugar, fresh air, and Reagan’s soft skin.

A faint warning alarm chimed.

Trailing his lips down one side of her face, he enjoyed the tiny sounds she made. He eased her back onto the tarp and exposed her smooth neck. With his finger, he traced the jumping pulse and dropped light kisses until she moaned.

She gripped his bare forearms. Then Reagan drew him down to meet her lips for a sizzling kiss that made every muscle in his torso clench.

Bracing his hands next to her head, he kept his lower body to one side. She’d be less likely to encounter the hidden knives and guns. Also, ti’o, the minute he got fully on top of her, all best intentions to take things slowly would fly out the window. As it was, the need to grind into her shifting hips was becoming a priority. A wave of desire, amplified by his virus, rushed over him until a buzzing sound traveled through his chest.

When she slid her hands under his shirt, he hissed his pleasure but couldn’t risk her finding the Sig. He eased her hands away and laced his fingers in hers above her head, trying to sell the move as part of the seduction.

Nudging her mouth open wider, he swept his tongue deep inside. He ran his hands down her sides and squeezed her hips through the denim until she whimpered. What would it feel like to hold on to her bare skin as he drove into her until he lost his mind?

He retained only the barest sliver of control.

When she lifted her head to brush her mouth against his, his leg vibrated.

Vibrations.

On his leg. Vibrating.

His leg?

The buzzing continued. Through the fog of lust, he registered the source and woke up in a hurry, like cold water thrown on hot stones.

Kefe. The motion detectors had activated. Cold sweat dried in the heat of the fire.

Now he positioned himself on all fours, but this time it was to shield her as he cursed the bright fire that knocked out his night vision.

He scanned the dark woods. Enemies? Where?

Award-winning and bestselling author Jillian David quickly writes then slowly edits paranormal, suspense and adventure romances. She loves to use medical situations and characters to drive drama in her books. Her favorite cell is the platelet and her least-favorite organ is the pancreas. She fully believes that curse words, when appropriately deployed during surgery, are hemostatic. Which also explains why no book of hers will ever bleed out...

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Faking the Fall (A Buckeye Falls Novel #4) by Libby Kay Cover Reveal!

Sparks fly when a reclusive artist meets his muse in this new installment of the Buckeye Falls series.

Faking the Fall

A Buckeye Falls Novel #4

by Libby Kay

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Sparks fly when a reclusive artist meets his muse in this new installment of the Buckeye Falls series.

Alice Snyder knows her reputation—and if she didn’t, Buckeye Falls loves to remind her. She may come from the town’s First Family, but that doesn’t mean she plays by the rules. After a decade of traveling and going to school, she’s back home and ready to settle down, or at least relax for a while. The trouble is, her neighbors are determined to find her a husband. She needs a way to get them off her back…

When James Gibson, a divorced artist, flees New York for the peace of small-town Ohio, he’s excited to get painting again. The only trouble is, he’s completely blocked. Despite his best efforts, his collection of canvases are blank and he’s at a career crossroads. A chance meeting with the mayor’s sister throws James’s routine off balance, and he’s eager to spend more time with this quirky spitfire.

And Alice might have the solution to both their problems…

Fake Date.

She gets the Nosey Nellies off her back, and James gets time with a woman who inspires him both inside and outside the studio.

Just a few weeks of pretending, and they’ll move on. Simple, right? The trouble is the more time they spend together, the realer their relationship feels. The laughter, the stolen kisses—it all starts to feel like more.

Can these two be honest with each other and find their happily-ever-after, or are they doomed for a real breakup?

**Releases October 3rd - PreOrder Now

Libby Kay’s FAKING THE FALL redeems Buckeye Falls’s spinster troublemaker with a fake relationship romance filled with sweet small town vibes. FAKING THE FALL will bring to mind amazing books like Practice Makes Perfect by Sarah Adams and Fix Her Up by Tessa Bailey. But best of all, it returns readers to the small Ohio town and the familiar characters from the previous Buckeye Falls books. All the zany, overbearing, and well-meaning ones! So sit back and grab FAKING THE FALL for the latest roller-coaster romance by Libby Kay.

!!**

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Libby Kay lives in the city in the heart of the Midwest with her husband. When she’s not writing, Libby loves reading romance novels of any kind. Stories of people falling in love nourish her soul. Contemporary or Regency, sweet or hot, as long as there is a happily ever after—she’s in love!

When not surrounded by books, Libby can be found baking in her kitchen, binging true crime shows, or on the road with her husband, traveling as far as their bank account will allow.

Writing is a solitary job, and Libby loves to hear from readers. Reach out and review her stories anytime. She’d love to hear from you.

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