Thursday, June 16, 2016


This was my first time going to Lori Foster's RAGT.  If you have never attended and I highly recommend you go.  First off it is really affordable to register and for your fee we had all of our meals provided except for breakfast on Sunday.  The biggest expense is the hotel and we split it 4 ways so it wasn't to bad.  The number of free books that are given out is awesome. Swag everywhere you go, and fun and games with the authors.  On Friday and Saturday there were booksignings and the crowd was massive.  The longest line was for Karen Marie Moning, I chose to go on Saturday and the line was not as long.  I wanted to meet the other attending authors before I stood in her line.  On Saturday the awesome author JR Ward showed up as a guest of KMM and she took pictures and signed autographs.  One of the ladies that I attended with told JR Ward about her niece being a big fan and she had her call so she could speak with her. She is such a nice person.  I got to meet some of my Facebook friends and a couple of authors that I have been friends with on Facebook.  I will attend again in the future it is just 5 hours up Interstate 75.

Friday, July 3, 2015

The Kinnison Legacy Returns

 The Kinnison's return in the third installment of the series.  We are getting to find out about Dalton, the wild one of the brothers.  Wyatt and Rein have found their wives and a baby is on the way and Dalton has no plans to settle down.  With all the new happenings at the ranch along comes Angelique a memory from the past.  Angelique brings a bundle of feelings to Dalton that he doesn't want to feel, but she also brings secrets that she wants to keep from everyone in the small town of  End of the Line.

  I am a fan of this series and was really anticipating this book.  I couldn't wait to find out about Dalton and his past.  Like most of the women in the small town he lives in I am fascinated by his character.  Angelique is defiantly his match, she is just as stubborn and has just as many secrets.  I enjoyed this book and can not wait to find out about the other characters that populate this small town.
The ebook is available on July 10th.                                                                                                                

A staunch believer in potential and possibility, best-selling,multi-genre author Amanda McIntyre has succeeded in an office career, as a mother, a newspaper columnist and now fiction writer.
Since 2001, Amanda has enjoyed writing and receiving awards for numerous novels, novellas, short stories, anthologies,as well as non-fiction books. Her readers and reviewers describe her work as "highly sensual and character-driven".


Monday, July 21, 2014

The Forest Bull by Terry Maggert

Three lovers. Two immortals. One mystery.
When Ring Hardigan isn’t making sandwiches for, and with, his two partners, Waleska and Risa (they’re cool like that), he’s got a busy schedule doing the dirty work of sending immortals to the ever after. Wally and Risa provide linguistics, logistics, and finding the right place for him and his knife.
A reclusive Baron from the time lost forests of Europe asks for their help—find a stolen collection of jewelry, and find the thief—his daughter Elizabeth, an immortal of purest evil who wants nothing less than control of Hell itself. With the help of a 2400 year old succubus hooker named Delphine, they might just live long enough to what is evil, who is human, and exactly who wants to reign in hell.
Beauty is indeed a good gift of God; but that the good may not think it a great good, God dispenses it even to the wicked. - Saint Augustine
Elizabeth stood with her elegant silhouette backlit by the city at night. One hand absently held an empty champagne flute; the other toyed with the heavy curtains that framed a view of the heart of Paris. Her brown eyes lingered over the city as she stretched her sculptured body in a feline motion that sent black hair falling down her snowy back in a silken rush. Over her shoulder, on the edge of the tangled bed, the girl dressed, pulling boots on her long legs. She was tall, young, and radiant, possibly Czech, a honey blonde in her late teens. Her looks were natural and fresh, but unfinished, where Elizabeth was a classic dark beauty with a commanding presence that only breeding and maturity could grant. Money could buy the appearance of wealth but not the assurance to wear it like a second skin. The girl’s beauty would command the eyes of men wherever she went, but Elizabeth’s would bend their will even as she entered a room. Even a fool could see that the blood of kings flowed in her veins. Standing in heels, the girl met Elizabeth’s height, eye to eye. Around the
women, furniture of rich wood gleamed with the luster of wealth. Upholstery, flawless from disuse, covered the beautifully framed items that were tastefully scattered across the rooms. Each room of the suite spoke of money and taste. Even the single lamp that threw muted light from the corner was a model of understated style. The immediate area was in the disarray of harried intimacy. An empty wine bottle, berries on a bone china tray, and the scent of perfume and damp linen testified to the activity of the previous night. At least some Europeans still respected a Do Not Disturb sign, regardless of noise. The sign had also allowed them to sleep the day away, a dreamless sleep of joyous exhaustion. She looked at the girl, who now had her luggage near the door.
Before you go, are you ready? Do you need anything?”
In the girl’s purse rested a first class ticket to Miami and credit cards, all with no limit. Elizabeth’s tone was light but warm. The girl reddened slightly from the remembrance of the previous week and the life that she was about to begin. She was also flushed from her internal struggle as her body began to change.
No, I have everything. Thank you. Thank you a thousand times. This is . . . ,” she trailed off as Elizabeth gave the smallest of frowns.
Something is missing, Here This.” She held the girl’s hand and slipped a delicate ring on her finger. The diamond was framed on either side by a strange stone deeper than oxblood. Light swirls of silky color danced in the gems. The antique platinum setting was graceful and worn, like an heirloom.
I cannot -,” the girl started.
Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “It was my daughter’s. Wear it, and, when you have a daughter you love, give it to her.”

To a girl of such youth and beauty, children were far away where she was going.
reddened slightly from the remembrance of the previous week and the life that she was about to begin. She was also flushed from her internal struggle as her body began to change.
No, I have everything. Thank you. Thank you a thousand times. This is . . . ,” she trailed off as Elizabeth gave the smallest of frowns.
But what if I have no daughter?” she asked. Elizabeth looked briefly at the window.
Petra, your life will be one of gifts, giving. And receiving. Men will want you. They will try to own you. All of them, drunk with lust, an endless line of their eyes shining with greed,” Elizabeth gave a wintry smile. “You will appeal to their vanity even as they feed you. Savor it. There is no other feeling like it.”
She kissed the girl on the cheek in dismissal and turned to the champagne bottle settling in the silver urn. “Whether you want to or not, you will be a mother of sorts. Many daughters, I think. And when you find one who meets your mettle, you will give her the ring as a gift. In the meantime, the gift you will give is yourself.”

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Born in 1968, I discovered fishing shortly after walking, a boon, considering I lived in South Florida. After a brief move to Kentucky, my family trekked back to the Sunshine State. I had the good fortune to attend high school in idyllic upstate New York, where I learned about a mythical substance known as "snow". After two or three failed attempts at college, I bought a bar. That was fun because I love beer, but, then, I eventually met someone smarter than me (a common event), and, in this case, she married me and convinced me to go back to school--which I did, with enthusiasm. I earned a Master's Degree in History and rediscovered my love for writing.
My novels explore dark fantasy, immortality, and the nature of love as we know it.
I live near Nashville, Tennessee, with the aforementioned wife, son, and herd, and, when I'm not writing, I teach history, grow wildly enthusiastic tomato plants, and restore my 1967 Mustang.
Terry is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Card + your choice of any of his e-books

Friday, May 30, 2014

The Dark Seduction of Miss Jane

Book Blurb:
A scandalous betrayal sets Miss Jane Goodwin on an unexpected journey to London to pursue her dream of being the first female investigative journalist, but she soon finds herself in a hotbed of murder and controversy. Seduced by the passions of a mysterious lover and stalked by a madman, tensions mount as Jane falls prey to her desires, only to discover a deadly secret that threatens more than just her trust in men.

Inspector Randolph Mansfield is one of Scotland Yard’s elite, battling the dark secrets of his past while trying to solve a rash of grisly murders threatening to mar Queen Victoria's Jubilee. His respite is the anonymity he finds in the decadence of a private gentleman’s club, until a determined American journalist goes undercover in search of her stalker and he finds the lines between protection and passion blurred.
But as tensions heat and her life is threatened, he must choose whether to reveal his true identity at the risk of losing her trust and his career.

The Dark Seduction of Miss Jane
By Amanda McIntyre
Cover Reveal Excerpt

London 1887
“Of course, the Her Majesty is having her Golden Jubilee in June. They say it’s to be one of the grandest celebrations that London has seen in some time. There are preparations being made for a parade, a gala ball, and fireworks, as I understand it.”
“Not if the socialists have anything to say about it,” Wesley muttered.
The conversation came to an abrupt standstill. From the look that Isabella darted to her nephew, Jane sensed that she did not appreciate his interjection.
“What?” He looked back at his aunt. “Shouldn’t she have a realistic view of what is happening in lovely London town?”
Isabella pointed her finger, prepared to respond when the carriage came to an abrupt stop, taking with it any semblance of a breeze.
“Probably traffic. I’m sure it’s just a slight delay. We should be moving soon,” Isabella said, working the fan diligently in front of her face.
Jane poked her head out of the window, hopeful for a gulp of air, but curious just the same as to the delay.
“Why don’t I tell you about our writing club while we wait?” Isabella suggested.
Jane drew in her head, less interested in hearing about the club than what was preventing their progress in getting there. She dropped her book and gloves on the seat beside her and gathered her skirts to exit the carriage. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just step outside and see what the reason for our delay is.” The truth of it was that the stifling heat inside the cab was making her nauseated.
“Watch out, miss,” a gruff voice boomed out of nowhere as she opened the door. Caught off guard, she missed the step entirely and escaped total embarrassment of landing on her face thanks to a set of strong arms that captured her waist. “You should learn to look, young woman, before you step from a coach.”
Jane steadied her legs, preparing to face her rescuer.
“Excuse me, miss. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“But I…” She barely caught a glimpse of him as he turned and headed at a quick gait up the street. From her view, she noted his hair, badly in need of attention, was thick, coal black and hung in deep waves over his collar. His dark brown coat flapped around his long legs in his determined haste.
“Ah, I see you’ve met our illustrious Inspector Mansfield.” Wesley hopped from the carriage. Together they watched him disappear around the corner of a building a few yards ahead. Other curiosity seekers were trotting toward the same direction.
“Come on.” Intrigued, she grabbed Wesley’s hand.
“Where to, Miss Jane?” He gave her a puzzled look, but kept up with her stride.
“To wherever he is going. He is the inspector, correct?”
“True, but…”
Jane lifted the hem of her skirt, empowered by the familiar rush of a reporter’s adrenaline infusing her stamina. She looked over her shoulder and spoke to Wesley, who lagged a few steps behind. “Then we certainly don’t want to miss whatever he is so hell-bent to get to.” This is what she lived for, the drama of everyday life. Perhaps it was the thrill of the unknown—the chase, as it were. A trait derived no doubt by her adventuresome parents. They never settled for long between their journeys, always, it seemed, in a constant state of preparation for their next mission. They loved Jane, of course, but as she grew older, she began to wonder if her conception had simply been another grand venture. When they were around, they were larger than life to her—filled with glorious stories and tales of their journeys. And when they were gone and her life was divided between boarding school and Aunt Cornelia’s house, their letters were all that Jane had to cling to in her adolescence. They had promised that when she was of a proper age, they would take her with them. But that promise—unfilled—
followed them to their graves. Now it was up to Jane to find her own adventures.
“Miss Jane, it could be dangerous,” Wesley called as they waded into the crowd beginning to clog the street. He caught up to her, keeping pace with her tenacity in pushing through the throng.
“Very possibly, but what great story isn’t just a bit dangerous, I ask you?” She smiled at him with a quick glance as they neared the top of the hill to follow where the inspector had disappeared.
A rigid wall of uniformed constables formed a barricade at the end of the street, keeping gawkers from disrupting whatever scene lay ahead. The crowd pressed close to the human barrier, trying to catch a glimpse at what was going on.
“They’ve blocked the street.” Wesley craned his neck over the huddled mass in front of them.
“Do you see any possible way of getting closer?” she asked, searching for a way through the tightly packed humanity.
“Another body part.”
Jane whirled to see where the whispered comment had come from, but too many people had crowded around her.
“The second in a few weeks’ time. I hear the inspector has his hands bloody full. He’s got no way of knowing how to identify the bits.”
Jane was astounded by the whispered rumors. How was it that such news had not yet made it across the Atlantic? Quiet murmurs followed with a gasp or two, but no one spoke aloud. Jane struggled, backtracking until she found Wesley. She grabbed his arm and leaned close. “Did you hear? They say it’s a body part?” Horror-stricken, she stared at him. “What is going on in London that you’ve not told me about?”
Wesley’s expression clouded and he looked around, leaning close so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Be cautious of what you say, Jane. And don’t jump to conclusions based on hearsay.”
Her gaze narrowed, and so too, her patience. “A good reporter will verify the rumors, you can be assured, sir.”  Still, she couldn’t say why it perplexed her that the Hamptons had not even mentioned
such macabre goings-on in their correspondence. “Still, I heard it plain as day. Someone said it was a body part.”
He tucked his thumbs in his pockets, his lip curling in a brief smile. “People love to gossip, Jane. The longer you’re here, the more you will see that London is a great melting pot of many types of people. They arrive daily, bringing their beliefs, their way of life, with them. Frankly, not all of them agree with how the queen dictates the government.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered sternly. “Are you saying that these murders are motivated by”—she waved one hand—“politics?”
“Sshh.” He frowned at her. “The streets have ears.”
Jane sighed and noticed over his shoulder an opening near the barricade of solemn-faced Bobbies. She surged forward, determined to see for herself what the city agencies were trying to hide. She heard Wesley calling her name, but fought through the mob, making her way to the front.
“Miss Goodwin!”
Wesley’s voice carried over the heads of the crowd. She pressed forward, confident he would catch up. She faced the determined uniformed officers and pushed up on her toes to catch a glimpse beyond the broad shoulders of London’s finest. A few yards away, she spotted the dark-haired inspector. He was kneeling beside an object that he’d hastily covered with his own coat. Her thoughts raced with how she could get close enough to speak to him, but even as she considered her options, an ambulance with the words St. John’s Hospital painted on the side arrived. The drivers, holding white sheets up to shroud the object from public view, placed it in the wagon, and carted it away. Within moments of its departure, the congested group of gawkers began to dissipate as quickly as they’d assembled. Looking weary and slightly frustrated from his battle with the crowd, Wesley arrived at Jane’s side.
“Were you able to see anything?” Wesley eyed the inspector and the men circled around him as he spoke. He appeared to be giving out instructions.
“No, they’ve shielded something from the crowd.” Jane looked at Wesley, knowing that whatever it was, seemed very small. Wrapped in the hospital drape, it had taken only one man to carry it back to the ambulance. “Has this happened before? Do they have any leads?”
Wesley hesitated, and then gently took her arm. “We’ll discuss this in private, Jane. Not here on the street.”
She walked beside him, his arm looped through hers. She slowed as they passed by the inspector and the small group of men he spoke to, hoping to overhear some of what was being said. She was so focused on listening that she didn’t realize until too late the dark eyes of the inspector studying her. Transfixed, she regarded him and his brooding expression. His firm jaw looked as though untouched by his morning razor, clenched as his provocative mouth turned down in a grim frown. His eyes, unwavering, held hers, following her like a panther watching his prey. Despite the warm temperature, a shiver skated across her shoulders. Jane forced herself to look away.


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Author’s Bio
Amanda McIntyre grew up the daughter of a father who was a distributor for a New York magazine publishing firm, and usually had her nose stuck in the latest issue of Vampirella magazine or a Hitchcock Mystery paperback. She has been called “a true artist in the writing realm' and her zest for life inspires her "character-driven" stories. Her passion is to take ordinary people and place them in extraordinary situations. She is a best-selling, multi-genre hybrid author and has received numerous awards and nominations for her work. Amanda is published internationally, in audio, e-book and in print. She currently writes sizzling contemporary cowboy romance and is about to release her first historical erotic thriller

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