Tag Archives: contemporary romance

MISSING FROM ME – SALE BLITZ

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Today we have the sales blitz for Jayne Frost’s MISSING FROM ME audiobook! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy now!
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Title: Missing From Me
Author: Jayne Frost
Genre: Contemporary Romance
About Missing From Me
Sean
As the drummer for the band Caged, I’m the poster boy for living the fucking dream. I’ve got it all. Success. Money. A new woman in my bed every night.
Too bad it’s all a façade.
The only thing I really want, I can’t have — Anna Dresden.
When I decided to follow my dream, she was the price. But I never forgot her. Never moved on.
And then she was there, backstage after one of our shows. That’s when I knew — Anna was mine, would always be mine. And if she gave me a half a chance, I’d convince her.
Anna
When Sean Hudson walked out of my life, he shattered me. Broke me in untold ways. Now it was my turn to run.
The last thing I expected Sean to do was follow. Especially since I was wearing another man’s ring. Never mind it was just for show.
My marriage was over — had been for a year.
But that didn’t matter. Sean was my past. I couldn’t survive his brand of hurt ever again.
Soul mates, he used to call us. Too bad there was no such thing.
Missing From Me
Audible Narrated by: Jacob Morgan and Elena Wolfe
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Exclusive Excerpt:

Chapter One

4 YEARS AGO

Sean

The front door slammed, shaking the walls in our small apartment. I snuggled closer to Anna’s side and buried my face in her hair.

Logan’s agitated voice cut through the fog of near sleep.

“Dude, wake up!”

Whatever mess my best friend had gotten himself into, he’d have to solve it on his own. This was one of Anna’s rare mornings off, and since we’d had the apartment to ourselves, we’d stayed up late, listening to the rain and having lazy sex until we’d passed out.

Smiling at the thought of a repeat, I grumbled in Logan’s general direction, “Go away. I don’t have any condoms. Carry your ass to the store like a normal person and leave us alone.”

His footsteps echoed in the tiny room, and then he was beside me, his long fingers digging into my shoulder as he gave me a hard shake. “I’m serious. Get up.”

Not happening.

A frustrated groan escaped my lips when Anna twisted in my arms. She propped herself up on one elbow, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “What do you need, Lo?”

A swift kick in the ass.

Rolling onto my back, I smothered my face with the pillow, hoping he’d get the hint. Of course, he didn’t.

Cursing under his breath, Logan rooted around under the comforter.

“Hey!” I snarled, tossing the pillow at him. “Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t have it.”

Running an agitated hand through his blond hair, Logan glared at me.

“Where’s your remote?” Anxiety laced his tone when I didn’t answer right away. “For the TV, douchebag—where’s the remote?”

Anna fumbled around on the nightstand and then handed him the clunky device. “What’s wrong with the TV in your room?”

Logan walked to the end of the bed and took a seat.

Anna sat up, scowling. “Make it quick.” She slumped against the headboard, glaring at the back of Logan’s head. “Seriously, Lo, hurry up. I have to pee.”

Logan ignored her, all his attention focused on the screen as he flipped through the channels. His shoulders sagged when he reached CNN.

Cable News? Now he had my attention. The only things Logan ever watched were MTV, VH1, or the Cartoon Network.

I popped up to see what was so important, but something told me I didn’t want to know. “What’s going on?”

“Quiet,” Logan whispered.

Buttoning my lip, I reluctantly focused on the screen where a stone-faced commentator stood in a field, fat droplets of rain pelting her microphone.

“. . . live footage from the scene of the tragic accident outside of Fredericksburg, Texas this morning where two members of the super-group Damaged lost their lives in a fiery crash. At this point, we’re unable to confirm the identities of the deceased. Damaged, arguably the hottest band in the country, just completed a series of shows in the Southwest and . . .”

The camera panned out for a wide-angle shot. Wisps of smoke rose from the wreckage, dissolving into the gray morning sky.

A gasp from Anna. “Oh my God.”

She crumbled against me, her small hand curving around my waist as she buried her face in my chest. Unable to make sense of what I was seeing, I stroked her hair with numb fingers.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Logan jumped to his feet. “What the fuck is she smiling about?”

Confused, I blinked at him. “Who?”

“The fucking reporter.” He pointed at the TV with a shaky hand. “What the hell is she grinning for?”

I shifted my gaze back to the screen, and sure as shit, the reporter was smiling. Just a slight upturn of her glossy lips.

I tightened my grip on my girl. “It’s her job, man. She doesn’t . . .” Emotion clogged my throat, and I struggled for breath. For words. “She doesn’t know them.”

But then, neither did we. Not really. Damaged hailed from Austin, our hometown. And over the last five years, as their star ascended, our paths had crossed on occasion.

Our band, Caged, was one of the many groups on Sixth Street that loosely followed the Damaged blueprint. Since high school, we’d been playing the same bars where Damaged got their start, hoping a little of their magic would rub off.

The news report abruptly cut to KVUE, the local ABC affiliate. Terri Gruca, the nighttime anchor, sat stoically behind the half-lit desk, her co-anchor nowhere in sight.

“Thank you, Sandy.” Terri blinked into the camera. “We’ve just got word at the studio that Rhenn Grayson, lead singer for the Grammy winning band Damaged, and Paige Dawson, lead guitarist, were pronounced dead at the scene of the accident on Highway 290 this morning.” She looked down at the copy wobbling in her shaking hand. “Rhenn’s wife, singer Tori Grayson, and drummer, Miles Cooper, were airlifted to Brackenridge Hospital via Care Flight. According to band manager, Taryn Ayers, Mrs. Grayson and Mr. Cooper are both in critical condition. The bus driver was also pronounced dead at the crash site.” Still photos of Rhenn and Paige appeared on a split screen in the background behind Terri’s head. “Our prayers go out to the families. After a brief commercial break, we’ll cut to the CNN studio for further updates on this tragedy and a look back at the lives of these two gifted musicians.”

My head pounded as a commercial for toaster strudel flickered across the screen. Smiling faces and cheery voices, touting the virtue of strawberry jam tucked inside a fluffy pastry shell. Somewhere, people were probably eating that shit.

But not Rhenn or Paige.

“They were twenty-four years old,” Logan murmured.

As he turned to face me, questions clouded his arctic blue eyes. The same questions I’d seen every day since the first time we met. About death, and why it visited some while leaving others alone. Death was what brought Logan and me together, after all. Our shared bond. Two kids whose mothers would never sit at the long table in Mrs. Varner’s classroom handing out cookies. Because our mothers had “passed.”

That’s the polite term people used when someone died. The same folks made sure to tell you they were “sorry for your loss.”

Which I always found funny, since my mother wasn’t lost. She was dead.

Rhenn’s voice boomed from the speaker on the worn-out TV. Smiling his most iconic smile, he stood back to back with Paige as he crooned the band’s latest hit.

I leaned forward to drink it all in. Because that’s all that was left now, bits of light and shadow caught on tape.

Slithering from my loose hold, Anna stumbled to her feet. “I’ve got to pee.”

Before she got away, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and then slipped my arms around her waist to pull her between my knees.

Resting my forehead against her chest, I breathed deeply, her peach scent soothing me like a balm. “I love you, Anna-baby.”

She sifted her fingers through my hair until I stopped shaking, and then kissed the top of my head. “Love you too.”

Reluctantly, I let her go, and she retreated into the tiny bathroom. Through the paper-thin walls, I heard her crying softly.

When she returned, her face splotchy and her eyes glistening with leftover tears, I gave her a soft smile and lifted the covers so she could crawl in beside me.

An hour later and we still hadn’t moved, like if we stayed here, it wouldn’t be real.

But it was.

When they showed the Care Flight helicopter on the roof of Brackenridge Hospital for the second time, I snapped. “Change that, will you?”

Logan flipped the channel to MTV while I reached for the pad of paper I kept beside the bed to jot down lyrics.

Like everyone else, the music channel was covering the Damaged story. But instead of reporting what everyone already knew, they were running a special broadcast about the three lesser-known bands that had followed Damaged up the ladder.

A solemn voice spoke over a montage of snippets flickering on the screen.

“While it stands to reason that Leveraged, Revenge Theory, or Drafthouse will fill the gaping hole left by today’s tragic event, a few lesser-known groups from Austin have amassed quite a following.”

Jolted by the familiar beat, my gaze snapped to the television where footage of Caged performing at the Parish flashed on the set.

“One such group, Caged, is currently playing the same venue where Damaged got their start some five years ago.”

The camera panned to the front of my drum kit where the band’s logo, a lion inside a gilded cage, shimmered under the lights.

“Like many of the smaller Sixth Street bands, Caged is still fighting for notoriety outside this small, but illustrious, stretch of road.”

“Oh my God,” Anna whispered, squeezing my hand. “That’s you.”

Guilt flooded my insides, sweeping away the momentary jubilation.

They’re dead, I reminded myself, turning my attention back to my lyrics.

Voices dying on the breeze, eyes now see what no one sees.

Will you be among the masses, forever frozen as time passes?

As I pondered the morbid compilation, the incessant ringing roused me from my next thought.

“Answer that call, dude,” I grumbled to Logan’s back.

He glanced down at his hand as if he just realized he was holding the phone. Swiping a finger over the screen, he took a deep breath before lifting the device to his ear.

“Hey, Chase.” Logan pushed to his feet and began to pace in a tight circle, glancing at the television every few seconds. “Of course I heard.” Stopping in his tracks, he listened intently. “Tonight?” He glanced at me, brows drawn together over troubled blue eyes. “I don’t know. Let me talk to Sean first.”

Tossing the phone on the bed, Logan dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “That was Chase. He wants us to do a set tonight.”

My stomach twisted as the shock rolled through me. “Why tonight?”

Logan’s eyes met mine, conflicted. “There’s going to be some kind of candlelight vigil.” He cleared his throat. “They’re expecting music, so someone’s got to take the stage.”

Might as well be us.

About the Author:
I’m an author who hails from Texas (by way of California), currently living in Sin City.
A romantic by nature, I believe in fairytales and happily ever afters. And music. Because the best stories always have a soundtrack.

 

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Attack Zone – Cover Reveal

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Today we have the cover reveal for Attack Zone by Jennifer Rebecca! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today:
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Title: Attack Zone
Author: Rebecca Jennifer
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Day: Jan 16th
Cover by Alyssa Garcia at Uplifting Designs.
About Dead & Buried:

I had one goal.

Win an Olympic Medal.

Winning the Ladies Figure Skating Olympic Gold Medal should be my only focus, but my life has other plans for me. My father, the U. S. Senator, and my Stepmonster like to remind me that my role in our family comes with great expectations — and even greater responsibility.

Translation: Marry a man that will make them even more prestigious and powerful.

But that’s not my plan.

I have one last chance to prove myself.

And now, on top of everything else, I have to aid the sexy as sin Detective Kane F**king Green in finding the person who killed my friend.

My name is Sophia Eleonore Dubois, and holy mother of Dorothy Hamill, my life just got complicated. . .

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Exclusive Excerpt:

“You have got to be kidding me,” I growl as I see that big blond bastard climb from his truck. Well, it’s really more of a sandy blond but I’m an alliteration kind of a gal.

The parking lot is still dark, with the exception of the tall lights that pock the black asphalt. It’s four in the morning, so the sun won’t be up for a few more hours. I should be the only one here. Something Kane and I had already argued out last night. I even won best two out of three on rock-paper-scissors.

“Better believe it, Princess,” he barks out as he pulls a gear bag from the bed of his truck.

“No. No, no, no, no, no. Put that back. You’re not supposed to be here,” I plead as I grab my own skate bag and toss it over my shoulder. “I offered to rock-paper-scisor you for this spot and you said no. That makes it mine by default.”

He sighs. “You know, you don’t always have to be such a selfish bitch.” I rear back as if he struck me. “You could share the ice.”

“I’m here at four so I don’t have to,” I whisper.

He shakes his head as if he’s trying to clear a bad thought, erasing something that didn’t turn out right on an Etch A Sketch.

I look away. If ever there was anyone who could make me feel like a bug, like dog poop on my shoe, less than, it’s Kane Fucking Green, and trust me, others have tried. I feel the burn in my nostrils. I refuse to let him see me cry. Ever. And Lord knows I have cried my fair share of tears over Kane Fucking Green, and I’m not going to shed another one. I’m just not.

I take a deep breath, turn on my heels, and walk away from him. I feel his gaze burn my skin. It’s not the only thing he’s burned in the last year. He’s burned almost every bridge I had. Literally, the only thing left in my life is figure skating. I feel him on my heels as I walk up the concrete steps at the front of my home rink, Del Mar Ice House.

The big glass doors and windows that line the entire front of the rink are dark. That’s weird. Usually, Vadim turns the lights on when he comes in to unlock the doors for me. Maybe he’s having a late start this morning. Although, that’s not like him at all.

Most people think that my early mornings are crazy. That my four-in-the-morning practices are insane. But I love it. I love the smell of fresh ice. I love the quiet time when I can pace through my routines free from distractions. It’s my time to think or to not think, to clear my head and just be free. And my life is anything but free. Being a sitting senator’s daughter pretty much guarantees that, so I love this time to myself. I love mornings like this.

Vadim, the rink owner, loves these mornings too. He’s always here well before my early time slot. He unlocks the doors for me and turns on the lights. We once struck up a friendship over our love for Moscow. He was surprised to find out that I trained there for a whole summer under some of the best figure skating coaches in the world.

From that moment on, we were bonded. He’s like a favorite uncle doting on his beloved niece. So Vadim took to surfacing the ice on the Zamboni before I come in, even though it was surfaced right before closing the night before. He sharpens my blades for me when I need it. And he’s the best. No one can get me a better hollow. So it’s surprising when the lights are still out upon my arrival.

Although, he did double-book this time with Kane as well. I was so mad when I found out Kane Fucking Green had weaseled his way into my favorite ice time. I need this time to clear my head. From people like Kane Fucking Green. I haven’t been able to be in the same room as him since The Event.

I don’t think anyone could blame me. Who did he hurt? He hurt me.

I look at my sterling silver Rolex watch on my wrist. It’s ten after four in the morning. That’s so unlike Vadim. He should be here by now.

“What’s wrong?” Kane asks, reading my mood.

“He’s late,” I say softly.

I reach for the handle of the door, and it pulls free without effort. The door is unlocked. I pause for a second and then walk through the door. Vadim must be here after all. He must have forgotten to turn on the front lights.

“Wait, maybe I should check it out,” he says as he places his palm on my shoulder. I immediately stiffen.

I shrug off his hold. “You would just love that, wouldn’t you?” I growl. “Oh, sure, go right ahead and enjoy my ice time while I stand here like an idiot in the parking lot, Kane.” I roll my eyes.

“Is that what you really think of me, Princess?” he asks, his voice low in warning.

“At this juncture, I’m not sure what to believe,” I say honestly, meeting his blue gaze.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he sighs.

“I suppose you do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a National Championship to prepare for,” I say as I start walking down the hall toward the ice.

The rubber mats squeak under my sneakers—the shoes my stepmonster hates with a passion, but which are so comfortable. Especially after a long workout on the ice. I head toward the team boxes. That’s where I’ll put on my skates and stash my music and my water by the boards.

Kane is beside me as we turn the corner and stop in our tracks.

Whereas the main building lights were off, the lights over the ice are on. The whir of the Zamboni is deafening as it circles the ice top over and over. I gasp when Kane’s hand closes tight over my bicep, bringing me to a halt, and I raise my head to see what he sees.

Vadim is sprawled back over the seat of the Zamboni. His eyes point up at the championship banners of the local professional hockey team, all lined up in a neat row, but they don’t see them. They won’t see anything again. The bullet hole between his blank eyes saw to that.

“Holy son of Scott Hamilton,” I speak without thought.

“You got that right, babe. Whatever that means,” Kane says before he leads me back through the rink and out the glass front doors.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but instead find myself racing over to the bushes to toss my cookies. Kane is behind me, rubbing my back and making soothing noises. He hands me a water bottle from his gear bag before pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Dispatch, this is Detective Kane Green, badge number 57635. I need to report a homicide,” he says into his phone before lowering the volume of his voice. “And I have Senator Dubois’s daughter with me.”

Six months ago, I had hoped to put Kane Fucking Green and all of his bullshit behind me. I swore I wouldn’t focus on anything but myself and this next Olympic cycle. Not my dad—the US senator—or his bitch of a wife. And definitely not the feelings of hurt and betrayal that seeing Kane always seems to bring to the surface. Not to mention other feelings. My name is Sophia Eleanor Dubois, “Sophie” to my friends, and I have a funny feeling Kane Green just screwed me and my plans . . . again.

I finish up my program, and the smile on my face matches those of my girls and their moms. I nailed it. But I can’t slack off now. This is my last chance at the Games. I’m aging out, and it’s time for me to transition to coaching full-time. But I want to win one. Just one Games.

“Go home and enjoy your weekend!” I call out.

They laugh and start to file out of the rink. I take a second and then a third victory lap around the rink. I shake out my arms before I move back to center ice to run through my long program.

It’s one of my favorite Celtic Woman songs. A slow, soul-wrenching melody in which I can show off the decades of classical ballet training. I slowly wrap my body around the music, letting it swirl around me as we float and fly down the ice.

This routine is all layback spins transitioning into perfectly choreographed jumps. I’m pushing my body around the short end of the rink and then diagonally down the length in an Ina Bauer when I lean so far back that my long, emerald skirt of my competition dress flows with me, as part of me, during my program.

I’m halfway across the rink when a pair of anaconda arms wraps around my middle and plucks me off the ice.

The scream that rents the air is torn from my lungs, and I have absolutely no shame in that. I’m still tipped over backward, and the strong arms that are wrapped around my waist pull my body flush with a decidedly . . . male one from the waist down. Blades clank against each other as our feet tangle, bulky, muscled legs against slender, sinewy ones, and then up and up and up until my pelvis is pressed against his. And he is unmistakably hard . . . everywhere.

My breath catches in my throat as I realize that we look like the famous V-J Day couple. I see the famous statue every time I drive past the USS Midway downtown. His hot breath blows in heavy pants across my face, and he smells of mint and man, sweat and sin. I open my eyes and stare straight into baby blues so light in color and cold in depth that a shiver wracks up my spine. Suddenly, I’m cold to the core. No, this isn’t some romantic comedy where the guy gets the girl; this man is no Prince Charming. These eyes belong to the snake that lies in the grass. This man is Detective Kane Green, my worst fucking nightmare.

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About the Author:
Jennifer is a thirty something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay.
Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta.
10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of a 8 year old and 6 year old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.

www.JenniferRebeccaAuthor.com

JenniferRebeccaAuthor@gmail.com

facebook.com/JenniferRebeccaAuthor

Twitter: @JenniRLreads

Instagram: @JenniRLreads

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After the Storm – Cover Reveal

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Today we have the gorgeous cover reveal for Katy Ames’ AFTER THE STORM! Check it out and be sure to preorder your copy today!
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Title: After the Storm
Author: Katy Ames
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Day: Jan 18th!
About After the Storm:

Tristan Hurst is tired of running. He’s spent every day since he was 16 trying to escape the consequences of one inexplicable, horrible night. So when his cousin buys a Caribbean resort and offers him a job away from the family firm, Tristan jumps at the chance to leave behind his intolerable father and the life he barely lives.

Tessa Armstrong has a plan and moving to a tropical island isn’t part of it. But when she lands the position of head pastry chef at a luxury hotel, she can’t pass it up. A new country, a new kitchen. And a fresh start far away from the secrets that are becoming harder to ignore.

On an island where neither expected to end up, Tessa and Tristan discover something they’ve always wanted: a safe haven. And when friendship becomes something more, they think they’ve landed in paradise.

But there’s a storm coming, and the secrets they’ve worked so hard to escape aren’t far behind. And with them, a truth that has the power to wash away a love they never dreamed to find.

A standalone contemporary romance from the author of After the Island and After the Fall.

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Catch Up on the Series!
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Exclusive Excerpt:

Tessa covered her stack of crêpes with a kitchen towel then waved. “Hey. Looking for something?”

He turned towards her, hand still on his neck. His eyes hit her face.

They were wary, almost hesitant. But oh, so blue. Not deep and dark, but bright and icy. And watchful.

“Yes.” His voice came out scratchy. Unused.

“Okay…” She scanned the kitchen, checking to see if there was anything out of place. Or something that looked like it belonged to him.

Tessa was about to ask what he was looking for when he saw something behind her. He came forward and, without thought, she stepped out of his way. “Did you find what—” Tessa turned and stopped. She watched in horror as he stuck one long finger into the bowl of whipped cream.

Her cream. For her cake.

“Excuse me!” She yanked the bowl away and hugged it to her chest. And told herself not to stare when he casually pushed that finger into his mouth and sucked it clean, his eyes narrowing as he watched her hands flex.

“Give it back.”

Tessa turned, shielding it from him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Those black brows dropped, the line between them deepening. “Eating.”

“Not this, you’re not.” Tessa swallowed back a crazy laugh. This guy was nuts. Coming into her kitchen, taking her food. Sucking on his finger while looking at her like that.

With his attention on the whipped cream, the intruder took one step forward. Just one. And it practically had Tessa pinned to the counter. Her head fell almost all the way back as she watched, astonished, as he reached around her and dipped his finger—the same finger—back in, scooping up a huge dollop.

Tessa closed her eyes on a gasp. What the…!? She couldn’t believe he’d done it again. And she definitely couldn’t watch him lick it off.

“Stop,” she squeaked. Tessa glared at the black-haired giant and summoned all of the command she was used to wielding in a kitchen.

“That’s enough. You need to leave.” She looked pointedly at the door.

He didn’t pay any attention. Instead, he retrieved a drop of cream from the corner of his mouth with his tongue and propped his hip against the opposite counter. “You really should share.” He wasn’t looking at the bowl anymore. Those hypnotic eyes were on her.

Tessa wasn’t getting into a staring contest. Not with him, not on her first day. Not in her kitchen.

“You really should ask permission before taking things that don’t belong to you.”

“So I’ve been told,” he said, shoving both fists into the pockets of his dark jeans.

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About Katy Ames:

Katy Ames has spent most of her life on the East Coast and hopes to spend more of it in the UK. In part, so she can indulge in her serious plaid obsession. There isn’t a teenage drama on the CW or a period British TV show she hasn’t binge-watched at least twice. And she can be persuaded to do most things with the promise of bourbon, coffee, chocolate, or a nap, not necessarily in that order. Katy is mom to a small human who has an obscene amount of energy and a blissful ability to ignore swear words, and wife to a man whose reading habits are far too serious. Katy and her family reside in Washington, D.C., a city she where never planned to live and loves so much she’d be happy to talk about for hours. Just ask.

Katy writes contemporary romances that feature heroes who are strong but not so silent, heroines who aren’t afraid to kick ass, and stories that get a little messy before they end happily ever after.

Connect with Katy:
Enter Katy’s Giveaway:

 

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ONE NIGHT TO FALL – BLOG TOUR

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Today we have the blog tour for One Night to Fall by Kelsey Kingsley! Check it out and grab your copy today!
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Title: One Night to Fall
Author: Kelsey Kingsley
Genre: Contemporary Romance
About One Night to Fall:

Patrick Kinney wasn’t a god. He was a parasite, and nobody worships a parasite.

Patrick Kinney was a glob of sticky, persistent peanut butter stuck to the roof of Kinsey McKenna’s mouth, and she craved him.

In fact, she had been craving him ever since he set foot in River Canyon, Connecticut, when they were just three years old. And she hated it ever step of the way. (Well, sort of.)

But Patrick has a plan to fix it, and set the wrong things right. Can he turn it all around with one night and a sweet, but painful, trip down memory lane?

Fall in love again in this novella of firsts, second chances, and a little town on the coast of Connecticut, where everything meant everything.

EXCERPT

The night was too quiet and the quiet made it too easy for my mind to drift. My breath hitched in my lungs, as I looked over at Patrick, gently swinging back and forth. The swing set continued to scream its threats with every shift of weight, but Patrick wore this annoying little smile, like he didn’t have a care in the world, and he hummed.

“What are you smiling about?” I asked, and he turned to face me.

“Kinsey, I’m sittin’ here, with you, in one of my favorite places in the entire world. Why wouldn’t I be smilin’?”

I pushed my eyes to roll, pushed myself to keep nudging him away. “Give me a break.”

Patrick laughed as he stopped his swing from moving and reached over to grab my chains, pulling me alongside him until my side pressed against his. I know I could have gotten up and walked away, but that required wanting to. It required willpower, and he seemed to suck that desire away along with the air in my lungs.

His eyes found mine, and they held me while he brushed a strand of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. He inched closer, putting his lips centimeters from mine, and he hovered, watching me with those eyes.

“You want this so bad, Kinsey,” he said, his voice graveled with desire.

“No, I don’t.” I shook my head for good measure, but I did nothing to put distance between us. Because while distance was needed, and while distance was good, distance, was also torture.

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About Kelsey Kingsley:

Kelsey Kingsley grew up in the great state of New York, and still lives there with her family and a cat named Ethel. When she isn’t writing her fingers to the bone, she enjoys a good (or bad) book, reruns ofFrasier, ruining the lives of her Sims, and singing and dancing in the kitchen. She somehow survives off a diet of tea, doughnuts, and French fries. However, she hates cheese and listening to people chew. You’ve been warned.

Connect with Kelsey:
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Enter Kelsey’s Giveawy:

 

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Second Chances – Virtual Book Tour

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Contemporary Romance
Date Published: 11/30/17
Publisher: Carolina Blue Publishing
 
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 Dr. Charlotte Avery is the newest resident of Windsor Falls, North Carolina. Just back from the war-ravaged plains of Africa, Charlie only wants to settle into her new life and to reconnect with Elizabeth Fitzgerald, her best friend from residency. What she doesn’t expect, or need, is the instant attraction she feels for Elizabeth’s brother-in-law, Brendan. A single dad, Brendan Fitzgerald isn’t interested in anything that will further complicate his life. Will they be open to a second chance?

Second Chances Excerpt

 Charlie locked the door and came down the driveway. She carried a duffel bag over one shoulder. “Where do you want this?”He pulled his head out of his ass and got out of the truck. He walked towards her, reaching for the bag. “I’m sorry. I would have gotten that. Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

She grinned at him. “For two days?” She handed the bag to him. “This is it.”

His grin answered hers. “I might be falling in love with you.”

Both stood in the driveway, less than five feet apart, staring at each other. Brendan swore he could hear her heart thudding. Or maybe his. What was wrong with him? First thoughts of her living in his home. Then this. At least the thoughts had been just that. Thoughts. He stared at his sneakers, unsure what to say, or not, next. “Uh, what I meant was…”

“Should I pick a date?”

“What?” If it was possible for him to swallow his own tongue, he would have. Then he heard her laugh. At him.

“If you could see your face!” Laughter bubbled up from her.

Brendan stood there, annoyed with himself. “When you’re through, we can go.” Great! Now he sounded like a pouting teen. “I meant to say, we have a long drive. We should go.”

She stretched up and kissed him. He felt it to his toes. “I’m sorry, Brendan, but I couldn’t resist. Of course, you don’t love me yet. You don’t even know my favorite flavor of ice cream.” Leaving him scratching his head at that one, Charlie walked around his truck and got in.

Brendan did the same. “Mine’s mint chocolate chip. In case you were wondering. And what does favorite ice cream flavor have to do with anything?”

She buckled her seat belt, grinning at him. He backed out of the driveway. “That’s what I call it when you’re getting to know someone. The ‘what’s your favorite flavor of ice cream list.’ You know, like when’s your birthday? What’s your favorite holiday or season? Dogs or cats? Things like that, superficial but fun facts about someone that you don’t know yet.”

They came to a red light. He turned to look at her. “September 15th, Thanksgiving, winter, and definitely dogs.” He grinned.

“I’m more of a December 1st, Memorial Day, summer kind of gal. You get points for dogs though. Dogs rule, as everyone knows.”

“Memorial Day? I had you pegged for more of a Christmas or Valentine’s Day kind of girl.” The light changed, and he continued on.

She stuck her tongue out at him, making him wish he wasn’t driving. “Memorial Day is the unofficial start to summer, my favorite season. It became very important to me when I lived in Chicago. By Memorial Day, I knew I wouldn’t be cold again for a while.  I hate being cold.”

“Noted.”

“And Valentine’s Day is a Hallmark holiday. I want flowers because it’s Tuesday and someone thought of me. Not because it’s a national holiday and there’s a marketing campaign. Of course, I do love Christmas. Who doesn’t? From the day after Thanksgiving until New Year’s Day. I love the decorations, especially the over the top, ridiculous ones. The ones my parents looked down on. And gifts are fun of course. But more than anything, I love the way people are a little bit nicer to each other.”

Brendan couldn’t stop the grin if he tried. Charlie was unique. “It’s a shame you’re so shy about expressing your opinions,” he quipped, tongue planted in cheek.

About the Author


Kimberley O’Malley is a recent transplant to Charlotte, North Carolina from the frozen North. She is learning to say y’all but draws the line at sweet tea. Sarcasm is an art form in her world. When not writing, she is a full-time nurse and part-time soccer Mom, but not necessarily in that order. She shares her life with an amazing husband of more than twenty years, two teenagers, and one very sweet Shetland Sheepdog, Molly.
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