These Haunted Hills by Jana Denardo New Release Blitz! @ninestarpress

Title:  These Haunted Hills

Author: Jana Denardo

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/20/2024

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 88800

Genre: Contemporary paranormal, contemporary, paranormal, ghosts/ghost hunters, academics, mystery, steampunk, cosplay, nerds and general geekiness, haunted houses, violence/ malevolent spirit, grieving, suicidal ideation

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Young wildlife conservation professor, Joshua Zimmerman, adores foxes, steampunk, and paranormal investigation. As a geek of the first order, Josh is a collector of nerdy memorabilia and tattoos, and he’s an avid steampunk cosplayer. When his favorite author hires him for some ghost hunting for his new project, Josh can hardly believe his luck.

As an author of the wildly successful urban fantasy series, The Green Tablet, Brendan Halloran should have it all. And he did until his young son, Connor, died of cancer. Heartbroken and drowning in grief, Brendan stops writing, stops living his life. His marriage has disintegrated, leaving Brendan trapped in the moment Connor died.

When Brendan rents a cabin in Ohio’s Hocking Hills, it’s ostensibly to research his next book, an adult paranormal tale. Brendan hires a local professor who is an expert on the paranormal, thinking if he does pull out of his tail spin and makes good on his plan to write a new book, he might as well do it right. And the perfect place to investigate could be the remains of an old hotel constructed to suit the serial killer who built it.

Brendan finds himself swept away, completely unprepared for the joy and enthusiasm Josh brings to everything he does. Step by step, Brendan reenters life. His head might not be convinced he’s ready to love again, but his heart disagrees. Unfortunately for him, the ghost is every bit as vicious as the killer was in life, and he and Joshua have a target on their backs.

These Haunted Hills

Jana Denardo © 2024

All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

Brendan second-guessed his decision the moment he parked his car. He reminded himself it was exactly what he said he wanted: a cabin in the woods. The cold spring deluge lashing him from car to porch soured things further. To Brendan, the shower perfectly embodied the condition of his mind and soul.

Leaving his bag inside the door, Brendan drank in what would be his home for the next month. It could almost be called cute, in a rustic sort of way. The outside was a quintessential log cabin with a small porch bearing well-padded chairs. Only the green metal roof ruined the sixteenth-century settler homestead feel. Inside, the loft bedroom perched above the open-concept living area and kitchen. A tiny bathroom, tucked around the far corner of the kitchen, looked functional. As promised, there was a table, which would be useful as a writing desk for the times curling up on the couch with his laptop proved to be an ergonomic nightmare. He’d have to snap a photo of the stone fireplace with its fan-shaped iron guard and send it to Heather. She’d love it. A pang zinged his heart thinking about her.

He peered out one rain-streaked window. The only thing in view were trees, mostly pines mixed with something covered in blooms, dogwood maybe. Zimmermann had chosen Brendan the perfect cabin. The green isolation he’d chased after surrounded him. The forest suffocated him, the sheer aloneness of it. Those second thoughts skyrocketed. Heather hadn’t wanted him to come. She didn’t trust him alone. Brendan knew his ex had reason to worry. Both of them were mired in grief, and three years hadn’t moved them past it.

Brendan imagined giving in to the grief in a quiet place such as this cabin. No one would know until his month’s worth of rent was up. He shuddered and forced himself away from the window. His hypothesis wasn’t exactly true. Zimmermann would wonder where he was if Brendan missed their meeting. Brendan braved the chilling rain to grab his computer bag and three canvas bags of groceries out of the car. He busied himself with unpacking. His mood lifted to an inch above the floor once he filled the cabin with the scent of coffee.

With the groceries stowed, Brendan started a fire in a fireplace made for romance, but he wasn’t here for affairs of the heart. The small fire would be efficient in heating the cabin and driving the spring chill from the room.

Brendan planted himself with his coffee on the couch in front of the smallest TV he’d seen in ages. He shifted around on the futon, which seemed more comfortable than most of their ilk. Maybe someone had added a memory foam pad to it; whatever it was, Brendan was grateful since he would be spending a fair amount of time on it. Flipping on the TV, he reassured himself there was a functioning satellite and ditto the Wi-Fi for the computer, so there wouldn’t be some Overlook/The Shining isolation-driven craziness going on.

After turning the TV off, Brendan powered up his computer. He checked his emails and let Heather know he’d made it safely. He saw no emails from his agent, nor from the man he’d hired to show him around the haunted sites in the Hocking Hills area and the surrounding towns. Brendan brought up the These Haunted Hills website to determine what sites he should visit first. There were no pictures of Joshua Zimmermann on the website, just ones of the haunted locales.

Zimmermann had sent Brendan a photo at his request so Brendan would know who to look for when he met up with his guide for the month. One clue Brendan wasn’t completely dead inside was how cute he found Joshua. Zimmermann looked more like an undergrad in his picture and almost too boyish to be believable as an accomplished PhD, teaching wildlife conservation at a local university. It could be an old photo, or that his bright smile belied the number of years behind it.

Of all the potential haunted locations, Brendan wanted to visit Crooked Pines the most. A former hotel, Crooked Pines was now abandoned and theoretically too haunted and too ruined to be reclaimed; it contained a story, and Brendan needed to dig it out. His agent still doubted the idea of him writing a more adult ghost story, but it had been five years since the end of his young adult series. He’d written nothing new, though the adventures of Kiyomi Fujita, John Archer, and Vince Bianchi had generated more than enough money to live his life out twice over.

All his money hadn’t bought Brendan any happy endings. What had begun as a lucky break—and Brendan was well aware of how many fantastic authors never hit it big—became a noose. So many nights Brendan had lain awake wondering if the success of his series had drained the rest of the luck from his family’s life. The evidence suggested yes.

He stroked the cool glass pendant around his neck. All he wanted now was to write again. It had been so long. Most of what had come from his mind in the last three years had been pain-filled poems he had shown to no one, not even Heather. He thought, perhaps, taking a break from the young adult genre and all the memories associated with it would help him burst through his writer’s block.

Brendan could still taste the anger, bitter on his tongue. Being here in the wilderness made up the crux of his latest plan to move himself forward. The anger and grief had been woven into his soul, inseparable now. Either he had to live with it, or this was the end. Brendan wasn’t sure he cared which. He forced himself back to work, hoping to get lost in it.

Brendan tapped his lips in time to Piazzolla’s “Oblivion” as he rolled the outline for his new novel around in his mind. Maybe “Oblivion” was a little too on point for his state of mind. Perhaps he should hunt down some of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Transferring his fingers to the keyboard, he tried to type out something, but mostly, the outline was a loose collection of things he wanted to happen in the novel more than anything concrete. Granted, his outlines rarely were more.

Maybe I should return to working on the character studies. What he wouldn’t give to be able to draw his own characters. Some of his fans drew exquisite works, a few of which he saved. For the most part, he never looked at them, and legally, looking at fanfiction was a bad idea. Regardless, people tweeted them at him or shoved them at him at conventions. Some of it was downright smutty, and he did his best not to notice. It didn’t take away the frisson of jealousy over some of the artistic talent they had that had gone missing in him.

A knocking noise startled him off the futon. Brendan caught his balance and whipped around, trying to locate the source. Another knock echoed from the loft. Brendan backed up so he could peer up there without going up the steps. Nothing moved. At the third knock, he hauled himself up the stairs, but the loft stood empty. He looked out the window at the waving tree branches. What did he expect to see? A raccoon? A squirrel?

“Did you rent me a haunted cabin, Dr. Zimmermann?” Brendan’s laugh died when a fourth knock came from right next to the window.

He pinched up his features and stared out the window again. Still no critters. “Lots of wind though,” he muttered to himself. “You’re hearing the rain on the tin roof or tree branches. Totally normal. Not like you’d know.”

Comforted by the normal sounds of rain and wind—he’d never had a tin roof before—Brendan went downstairs and sat on the futon. Ghosts weren’t real.

Then why have you been uncomfortable in your own home?

He picked up the laptop, contemplating the thought. Because you’re haunted by Connor’s memory, nothing more.

He was lying to himself. He half believed it was possible Connor’s spirit was trapped in their family home. It was enough to have prompted Zimmermann to mention he didn’t necessarily go to houses to “clean” them, but his team did home investigations. Brendan had gotten the distinct impression Zimmermann did not want to do this, and he got it. Zimmermann had probably guessed his pen name and was wary of celebrity.

Did you want someone to go to your home and do an investigation?

Brendan wished he had an answer to the question. He’d promised Zimmermann that, no, he didn’t; he had no interest in it. But was it a lie? Another question without a clear answer. Instead of dwelling on it, he sent off an email to Dr. Zimmermann to let the man know he’d arrived and was ready to meet. He’d come up with a few plans of attack when it came to investigating the local haunts and wanted to see which fit Zimmermann’s schedule best.

Brendan turned his attention to the character information sheets for his new project. They might change by the end, but he needed a starting place, a way to keep his mind off things. At this point, distracting himself was the best Brendan could hope for.

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Jana is Queen of the Geeks (her students voted her in), and her home and office are shrines to any number of comic book and manga heroes along with SF shows and movies too numerous to count. It’s no coincidence that the love of all things geeky has made its way into many of her stories. To this day, she’s disappointed she hasn’t found a wardrobe to another realm, a superhero to take her flying among the clouds, or a roguish starship captain to run off to the stars with her.

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Here Be Jinn Fieldwork in Mesopotamia Book 1 by Dennis Tsarson Book Tour! #DennisTsarson @SilverDaggerBookTours

 Ancient magic is an advantage in the battle for the modern Middle East  

Here Be Jinn

Fieldwork in Mesopotamia Book 1

by Dennis Tsarson

Genre: Contemporary Mythic Fantasy Action Adventure  

Ancient and unknown forces have been unleashed in war-ravaged Iraq.

When Elliott Gildart decides to join an archeological dig in the drylands of northern Iraq, he expects a break from his monotonous job. But the discovery of an unusual and out-of-place megalithic platform turns exploration into a risky undertaking and leaves Elliott facing a future he’s not sure he’s prepared for.

Meanwhile, Neil Feaver and his cameraman, Jake Parvis, stumble upon their own strange developments while filming a documentary about Iraq’s ongoing civil war. Saved from imminent danger by a mysterious stranger, they soon learn that lost magic and mystical artifacts have fallen into the wrong hands. Now, everyone finds themselves caught in the crisis, involving coalition forces, Islamist militants, and enigmatic factions that have existed since the times of the Ancient Near East.

As terrifying forces align, can they prevent impending peril? Or will ancient magic be enough to turn the tides?

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At first glance, the drylands could have been mistaken for a desert. An arid and mostly lifeless landscape, they appeared to spread on and on with no end in sight. Yet when Elliott jumped out of the land cruiser, the crumbling feeling beneath his feet indicated that it was not sand but parched soil that he stood upon. He looked around the area. The terrain was uneven; many mounds of different sizes dotted the landscape, rising from the earth like boils on burnt skin.

And, of course, there was the heat. It might have been only February, but for somebody who hailed from lands of a significantly colder climate, it was unbearable. Elliott swore that had it not been for the baseball cap covering his blond head, the wall of heat would have brought him down on the ground unconscious. The door of one of the off-road vehicles opened. Mergham was the first to step out, followed by Lauren, who jumped out with her usual grace. They were then joined outside by another colleague: Mr Akhmad. A local of Iraqi Kurdistan who had met up with them in Erbil. He was some years younger than Mergham and noticeably bigger in muscle mass. He had been described as a local guide and logistics co-ordinator by Mergham, and this made him the third part of the triumvirate in charge of the dig alongside Lauren and the author himself.

Elliott was not a geography expert—he wasn’t sure if these drylands even had an official name. Yet here he was, at the end of the known world, countless miles away from the perpetual dullness of urban life and the wretched call centre. Still, though their small fleet of four-wheel-drives had brought them to the middle of nowhere, they were not just left there in the wilderness. A small camp had already been set up. He could see the pointed shapes of two dozen tents about a hundred metres away. As he had been informed, a couple of people affiliated with the dig had arrived at the site some days beforehand. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Dr Mergham spoke after summoning all the arrivals in a ring around him. “We’ve made it! This will be our camp for the next couple of months.”

“Woo-hoo!” shouted one of the team members. This comical cry of joy was followed by a brief round of chuckling from a few others.

“Yes, I am sure you are all excited,” Mergham continued, smiling himself, “but first please give a round of applause for the man without whom you would not be seeing this camp here.” He gestured towards the man standing to his left. “Mr Akhmad!”

People clapped, and they clapped sincerely.

“Thank you,” Akhmad said, his voice laced with a strong accent, lightly bowing his head. “Thank you.”

“Perhaps you could give the team an orientation tour of this camp?” Mergham suggested.

“Of course.” 

The camp was not big, but neither was the group: there were just over twenty of them. The main operations tent, a fabric pavilion, was located in the centre of the encampment; it stood out amongst its neighbours in length, width, and height. Next to it was a gazebo used for the storage of equipment. Nearby was the one for supplies, and another chosen to store finds. One was set up as a kitchen. Other than that, the campsite did not have a special plan or layout; the individual tents were pitched at random. Shower tents as well as toilet tents could be found a short distance away from the main cluster. The team were introduced to the people who were already on-site: three assistant archaeologists and the cook. 

Their guided walk ended back at their vehicles’ location. Then their first assignment began; they had to unload the supplies they’d brought with them and bring them to the storage gazebo. Naturally, three people were exempt from it—it was not hard to guess who. And once this task was done, with everything out of the vehicles and sorted, they received payment…in the form of another excursion, now led by Mergham himself. 

The sun was still shining far above them when they set out towards the archaeological site. Clutching a map in his hand, Leonard led them deeper into their new and unusual surroundings, this unexplored wilderness. They walked for about ten or so minutes, through flat land and mounds, until the site appeared before them. 

“Here it is!” the author declared, extending his hand as he gripped the map even harder. “This is the place we’ll be excavating.”

A self-described amateur scholar, Dennis Tsarson has been interested in the world’s mythology and folklore traditions since reading Greek myths as a boy. That interest grew into an undergraduate degree in history and archeological training, which he incorporates into his fantasy retellings while travelling the globe. When he’s not writing or exploring new countries and their cultural histories, you can find him settled in the United Kingdom, studying the comparative tendencies in folktales around the world.

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Bellehaven, KY was in my rearview as soon as I got my diploma and walked off the high-school stage. Fifteen years later, I don't expect to be back. 

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Surfer Girl by Alex Winters New Release Blitz! @a_winters_romance @ninestarpress

 

Title:  Surfer Girl

Series: Good Sports, Book One

Author: Alex Winters

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/13/2024

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 24400

Genre: Contemporary, Romance, contemporary, lesbian, sports, surfer, beach town

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Sophie Velasquez is staying at her parents’ beach house for the summer when a strange new sound wakes her up on the first day in town. She’s just graduated college and, with the whole summer ahead of her, had been planning on sleeping in. But all that changes when she finds a sexy surfer girl using their boardwalk shower after a little dawn patrol in the ocean. Suddenly, Sophie is bound and determined not just to learn how to surf—but how to win the sexy redhead’s heart.

Jessie Baltimore has been showering at the deserted beach cottage for months when, suddenly, a sexy young homeowner interrupts her daily routine—with a fresh can of iced espresso energy drink, that is. Rather than kick her off the property, curvaceous Sophie asks for surfing lessons instead. Jessie is all too glad to comply, hoping a morning in the surf will lead to a little afternoon delight—all summer long.

Surfer Girl

Alex Winters © 2024

All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

Sophie

Sophie Vasquez thought she’d set the sprinklers for early evening, not early morning. So why were they coming on just after sunrise? And why the hell was she up so early on her first day back in town?

She lay in bed for a moment, forearm over her eyes to shut out the morning light, before she realized she wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. The sprinkler must’ve been right outside the guestroom window. She heard it hiss and splash as she sat up from the futon, the wrought iron base beneath the thin mattress creaking wearily as she shifted.

There was a perfectly good queen size bed in the master bedroom, but that had always been her parents’ bed and, despite the fact they wouldn’t be joining her this summer (thank God!), Sophie still felt funny sleeping in their room.

Maybe if she had, she thought ruefully, the sprinklers wouldn’t have woken her up at such a godawful hour. It wasn’t that she was a late sleeper, per se. It was just she’d been hoping to sleep in after getting into town so late the night before.

She should have stayed on campus with a friend, but now that she’d finally graduated with her BA in Liberal Arts, all Sophie wanted to do was leave school in her rearview mirror and hole up in the family beach house, licking her wounds and plotting how to avoid the next, inevitable chapter in her preordained life.

She sighed, shaking the gloomy thoughts from her head. The transcripts, the low GPA, the disappointment, the inevitable dustup with her stepfather when Sophie announced she didn’t really want to pursue her graduate studies after all, the stony silence, the subtle insistence, and the inevitable acceptance that life would just be easier if she succumbed. What was another two years of college, anyway?

That was for later, though. Much later. For now, on her first day back in Siesta Beach, Florida after four long years matriculating in Atlanta, all Sophie wanted to do was to sleep for twelve hours straight, order some takeout from Chopstix, her favorite strip mall Chinese restaurant, raid her parents’ liquor cabinet, and binge-watch her favorite supernatural lesbian series, Vampire Vixens from Venus. Instead, she was up at the ass crack of dawn, fretting about how to set the sprinklers to come on later for future mornings.

Stretching like a cat after a midday nap, Sophie stirred from the futon and ignored the pile of clothes spilling out of her duffel bag like an overstuffed taco. Bras and panties and socks and baby doll tees overflowed from the center after she rifled through it to find her favorite sleep shirt, only to realize it was still in the car with the rest of her things.

Like the inevitable fight with her family, that could all come later too.

Frustrated, whiny, and wanting someone—or, at least, some inanimate object—to blame, Sophie slipped two fingers between the curtains, gently easing them aside to scowl at the offending sprinkler heads, as if one good side eye could silence them and somehow manage to salvage her sleepy morning and send her straight back to Dreamland. Instead, Sophie’s eyes grew wide, her heart racing and sleep suddenly the last thing on her frenzied, frazzled mind. Just outside, atop the rustic back deck, sagging and warped from years of weather and wear, a comely young surfer doused her alabaster skin in her makeshift boardwalk shower.

Sophie marveled at the sight as she followed thick rivulets of water down the surfer girl’s body, lean and glistening under the water’s gentle tendrils. She wore a crocheted bikini, chocolate brown and periwinkle blue against pale, freckled skin. Her eyes were closed as she slid her head beneath the spray, water dancing across her sandy shoulders and rippling off the bow holding her bikini top in place.

Sophie inched to the edge of the windowsill, the wood pressing against her aching loins, and slid the curtain open an inch or two more to steal a better view. She tried to ignore the sexy stranger’s small breasts, the long lean waist, and even longer legs as she stood on tiptoes to get the most from the weak water pressure above her head, combing her fingers through her wet auburn hair. But she failed. It was like a scene from a movie, one only Sophie could see.

The world shrank around her, zooming in tight on the window in front of her face, the curtains on either side of her, the dust bunnies on the hardwood floor beneath her feet and the soft, scruffy field of grass leading to the sagging walkway where the lone surfer showered, unaware she was being ogled by a desperate college grad just yards away.

The rising sun cast the athletic redhead in golden hues and dramatic shadows as Sophie licked her lips and made a split-second decision that would alter the course of her entire summer, one way or the other. She drifted from the windowsill, bare feet skittering across the wooden floors, and sprinted down the short, narrow hallway into the kitchen, heart pounding from the heady blend of anxiety and anticipation.

Not being a surfer herself, despite growing up in scenic Siesta Beach, Sophie had no idea how long it took a surfer to shower after a morning spent frolicking in the waves. Instinctively, however, she imagined it was far less time than she would need to brew a fresh pot of coffee. Panicking, the minutes ticking down, her spike of courage flatlining with every wasted millisecond, she opened the fridge to find a single tallboy can of Joltz, her favorite brand of iced espresso energy drink.

Her mother must’ve left it after spending last Christmas at the cottage with her second husband, Roy. Checking the expiration date, Sophie exhaled loudly to find she still had a few months left to go. Still, she cursed herself for being too lazy to stop at Bob’s Bodega on her way into town and stock up on something vaguely more…enticing.

If only she’d made the five-minute detour on her way back into town the night before, she might’ve had something a little more surfer-friendly to offer the sexy interloper. Organic gluten-free guava juice, for instance. Or perhaps even a pomegranate and kiwi smoothie blend in one of those fancy, hipster glass jars. Still, she reasoned that a cold can of iced coffee was better than showing up empty-handed.

Finger combing her curly black hair, fixing on a tempting (she hoped) smile, Sophie was about to breeze straight outside when she caught her reflection in the double French doors leading out to the deck. Unable to find her favorite baggy sleep shirt the (late) night before, Sophie had lazily unzipped her yoga hoodie and wriggled out of her capri pants before climbing into bed in nothing more than a skimpy pair of panties and the soft ribbed tank top she’d worn beneath the jacket. No bra, and she could practically feel the ocean breeze on the soft swell of her ass cheeks poking out from her skimpy boy cut panties.

Fortunately, her mom always kept her favorite silk kimono hanging from the edge of the dark wood Asian screen in the corner. She used it as a beach cover-up mostly, or as a robe in the mornings. Sophie dragged it on over her skimpy sleep outfit and hustled to the door. Breezing through at last, she approached at a cautious pace, still managing to startle the redheaded surfer who’d been reaching for her lemon-yellow board.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed, using the board to cover herself as if she was naked. Sophie laughed at the quick blush that rose to her pale, adorably freckled cheeks. Holding her hands up as if approaching a wild animal to feed it, Sophie wriggled the tall drink can like a white flag of surrender.

“It’s okay,” she said, adopting a soothing voice and hoping the sexy stranger wouldn’t notice the vague, husky tone of desire layering her vocal cords. The surfer shook her head as if no, it was definitely not okay.

“I-I didn’t know anybody was staying here,” she sputtered desperately, fingers clinging to the surfboard like a safety blanket. “It’s been vacant all year, so…”

Sophie nodded, inching closer—but not too close. “I just got in late last night,” she explained. “I heard the water this morning and saw you out here and, well, I…I thought you might like something to drink…”

The redhead lowered her board slightly, as if literally letting down her guard. “I’m so embarrassed,” she said, voice a hoarse croak of misery.

Sophie nodded toward her blushing cheeks, offering a wry, hopefully comforting smile. “I can…see that.”

Alas, it only made the mystery girl blush all the more. Not that Sophie was complaining, mind you. She had never seen anything quite so adorable in all her life. They remained at a quiet impasse, the two of them standing on the weathered walkway leading to the beach but still a safe distance apart.

Sophie leaned her hip against the wooden railing to make it clear she wasn’t coming any closer before setting the can of iced espresso on the top ledge. “Are you coming in from a session?” she hazarded, trying to remember what surfers called what they did out in the waves. “Or just going out?”

The redhead lowered her board a little more, until it rested along the opposite railing. “Just coming in,” she explained, before sliding a stray lock of wet hair behind one still blushing ear. Nodding toward the leaking shower head, she explained, “My apartment complex doesn’t have an outdoor shower. Since no one’s ever here, I usually stop by and rinse off before I head home. I’m sooooo sorry, it’ll literally never happen again.”

Sophie’s heart danced a little flutter to think she might never look out her window and see clear water caressing the curves and ridges of the redhead’s supple body again.

“Honestly,” she said, trying not to sound so desperate. “It’s no big deal. If my mom and stepdad were here with me this summer? Sure, maybe. Roy is pretty anal about things like that. Most things, actually. Like grades and GPA and grad school and weight and gym memberships, but…I digress.” Sophie shook her head at her sudden trauma dump and struggled to get back on track, offering a goofy grin. “But it’s just me for the rest of the summer and, honestly? I could care less.”

She grinned anew.

That’s the understatement of the century!

Surfer Girl still looked uncertain, long fingers wriggling at her side as if she might reach for her board and dash back out into the waves for a quick getaway.

“I’m Sophie, by the way,” she said, suddenly remembering her manners and extending a reassuring hand.

The redhead smiled, grabbing it strongly and pumping it twice before letting go. Somehow, Sophie knew immediately she’d never forget that first electric touch, soft, pale skin against her own flushing hands. “Jessie.”

Sophie had always liked girls with boys’ names, especially surfer girls with boys’ names. Especially surfer girls with boys’ names whose bodies looked like Jessie’s. She nodded, pushing the can of Joltz just a little closer. It slid along the weathered railing, leaving a soft, damp trail of condensation in its wake.

“Here, go on, take it.”

Jessie looked at it, eyes hungry as she licked her lips. “Are you sure? I mean, when I saw you bolting out here just now, I thought it was to kick me out, not give me breakfast.”

Sophie waved the thought away. “Don’t all homeowners offer you breakfast when you trespass on their property?” For once, Jessie skipped the blushing and went straight to giggling. Sophie thought it was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard.

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Alex Winters is the pseudonym of a busy restaurant manager whose curious young staff would love nothing more than to follow him around the dining room reading his steamiest, most romantic passages aloud! When not writing romantic holiday stories of various heat levels, he enjoys long walks with his wife, scary movies, and smooth jazz. Visit him social media to see what stories are brewing up next!

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The Belle of London by @authornicolaitalia Book Blitz! ⁣⁣#nicolaitalia #⁣TheBelleofLondon #XpressoTours⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣

 

The Belle of London
Nicola Italia

Publication date: January 30th 2024
Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance

On the English stage, the Belle of London is born…

During the late Victorian era, Amelia Westcott is without family and few friends and is forced to make her way in the world. Talented and beautiful, she takes to the London stage and attracts the attention of numerous powerful and wealthy men including the Prince of Wales.

But a close friend of the Prince’s is little impressed with the lovely actress. Christopher “Kit” Beaumont is not taken in by Amelia’s charms and believes she is a gold digger set to sink her claws into any man who will give her a comfortable life.
Kit knows nothing about the strong and independent Amelia who gains a powerful patron in the Prince of Wales even as she is given the moniker The Belle of London.
As her star rises, she vows to have nothing to do with the arrogant, handsome Kit.

From the London stage to New York’s Broadway, Amelia and Kit are thrown together and a battle of wills and passionate personalities ensues as Kit suddenly realizes he wants Amelia as his own.
Though Kit has decided that no other woman but Amelia will do, someone else is plotting to make certain the two are never together.

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KIT TRIES TO PAY OFF AMELIA

She surveyed the man before her. He was sinfully good-looking with brown, almost-black hair and brown eyes warm upon her. He was dressed impeccably, and the cut of his coat and pants bespoke wealth and privilege. His shoes were polished. She knew instinctively he was a man used to getting his way.

“How can I help you, Mr. …?” she sought out his name.

“Call me Christopher.”

She didn’t call him by his name. “How can I help you?”

“You can do me a great service.” As he spoke, he pulled out a small rectangular book and a fountain pen. “All you need do is name your price.”

Amelia frowned. “My price? I don’t understand.”

Kit smiled at her as he opened up the checkbook. “I know you aren’t in love. You’ve just met. And I’m sure, as a woman, you dream of finer things, jewels, and frocks. Name your price. You can have them tomorrow. But not Patrick. He’s not for you.” His eyes were as cold as stone.

“Patrick,” she breathed out, her heart sinking. She had badly misjudged him. Amelia took off her gloves and faced the man in the low gaslights. “Patrick wants me gone.”

The man frowned. “Patrick doesn’t know I’m here.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here?” She looked again at his clothes and considered his voice, so used to giving orders and being obeyed, and she knew. He was here to buy her off. She almost laughed at the thought. “Am I such a danger to him?” she whispered. “To you? And aren’t you placing the cart before the horse? Nothing has happened. One supper. What are you afraid of?”

Kit looked her up and down. “You must be very used to using your attributes as a way to make men do what you want. I’m sure you’ve had men tell you so. I’m sure you’ve been offered protection from older men. Look at it this way. In my bargain, Miss Westcott, you get the money, and you don’t have to take off a stitch of clothing.”

“How dare you.” Amelia was breathless at his degrading words. An intense rage swept through her. Taking three steps, she stood before him, her cheeks flushed and her breath coming quickly.

Kit was on his feet in an instant. He stared down into her face. “Is the truth so unpleasing to you, Miss Westcott?”

She met his eyes, and her chin notched up. “You think because you associate with a certain kind of woman, all women must be like that. Because I’ve fallen on hard times, my soul and heart can be bought for the price of a few shillings and pence.”

“Be careful.” Kit contemplated her oval-shaped face, auburn hair, and light blue eyes. “What I offer you is far more than shilling and pence. It would be more than you could make in a year.”

“You are so used to buying and selling people?” she asked him coldly.

“I’m not separating Tristan and Iseult,” he responded. “You have fallen on hard times. I can make those hard times easier. Name your price.”

She looked away from him. “I have no price.”

“Two hundred pounds.”

Amelia gasped. An Army officer would make that amount in a year. “I care for Patrick. I do,” she confessed. “And my care for him is genuine and honest. That you chose to come here and insult me when you know nothing about me, I cannot forgive. But because I know a part of you must care greatly for him as well, I will forget this night. But know this, you have judged me wrongly and falsely. And though I am not the type of woman you think I am, you seem to be the exact kind of man I think you to be,” she threw at him.

Kit’s jaw clenched as he stared down at her. “And what kind of man is that?”

Amelia narrowed her eyes at him. “You are a master. You are a man used to being obeyed and his orders followed. But you’re a coward.” She spat the words at him. “Instead of coming to me and asking me questions in a straightforward manner about Patrick, you made false assumptions and attempted to buy me!”

Kit almost sneered. “So, you do not have it in mind to marry Patrick for position and money?”

Amelia cocked her head. “Women can do little in society. Most of our worth is in being mothers and wives, is it not? So, if I were to say I was not interested in marrying, that would be a lie. But as Patrick has neither asked me nor mentioned it, I don’t see the relevance.”

Kit was about to respond, but she interrupted.

“And how is it your duty to confront me so? You are not his brother, I know he has little family. Would he appreciate you being here now? Behind his back. Offering me money to disappear? This is hardly the behavior of a gentleman, which I know you to be,” she demanded.

He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I’m a gentleman?”

Amelia made a sound of disbelief. “Though you seem intent to make me seem like some unintelligent, money-grabbing slag, I am not. I see the cut of your clothes, the polished expensive shoes, your authoritarian voice—”

Kit surveyed her then and was struck by the beauty of her clean skin, luminous blue eyes, and mass of auburn hair that was pinned up. “I won’t apologize for protecting my friend,” he said suddenly.

She rolled her eyes. “The last thing on earth I expect from you, sir, would be a warranted apology for your bad behavior. That would mean you realize you acted poorly. We can’t have that.”

Kit took a moment to study her again and then nodded. “Very well. Perhaps I misjudged the situation. But remember this. Patrick is an educated man and has a law practice. I’m certain a music hall dancer will not fit into that lifestyle. You’ll at least admit that?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You know nothing about me, sir,” she said quietly.

Nicola is a Los Angeles native. Early in elementary school, Nicola had a great fondness for reading and began to write creatively. She graduated from university with a degree in communications and has held a variety of positions in journalism, education, government and non profit.

Nicola has traveled extensively throughout Europe, China, Central America and Egypt and loves all things historical.

She has nineteen historical romance and mystery novels on Amazon.

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A year worth of flirting comes down to this kiss...

Abel

I've eaten more tacos the past year than I have my entire life. It's not because I love those little handfuls of goodness (although I do). It's because of the woman who runs the local food truck Let's Taco Bout It. Seeing her makes my day, and while I can't admit my feelings, I can at least see her smile.

Until Halloween. When a man gives her attention she doesn't want, she pretends we're together, and lays a kiss on me that I'll never forget.

Kara

I've spent the last year watching the hottie in the constantly torn and dirty jeans eating shyly walking up to my food truck and ordering the same thing each time. I've done my best to drag him out of his shell, but nothing works until a night of unwanted attention forces me to make a move. 

Now? He's hanging around even more, and when his husky voice calls me his girlfriend? I melt into a puddle, and he's the only one who can pick me up and put me back together again. 

Abel is book two in The Broken Falls Series: a series of interconnected standalones following a group of friends who have become family in small-town West Virginia, and the women who bring them to their knees. You do not have to read them in order, but each book builds upon the relationships of the last. 

#bluecollarromance #smalltownromance #newrelease