Friday, 4 September 2015

Rick DeStefanis - Melody Hill - PROMO Blitz/giveaway

Military / Espionage Thriller
Date Published: April 2015

Surrounded by misty Tennessee mountain tops and thundering river gorges, Melody Hill is Duff Coleridge’s home town, one he believes is as close to heaven as one can get on this earth. Yet, he is leaving. He has joined the military and heading to the war in Vietnam. With the instincts of a natural warrior the young paratrooper quickly proves himself a more than capable soldier and is recruited into the shadowy world of black-ops. Despite months of jungle fighting, Duff soon finds counter-espionage is an even more dangerous proposition when he is approached by a female South Vietnamese intelligence operative. Are her advances based on true attraction, or are they merely a means of exploitation? Is this beautiful French-Vietnamese woman, as his CIA boss claims, a Vietcong spy? Duff must depend on his natural intuition and instincts to know who is telling the truth. His CIA boss, who seems more rogue than company man, is dealing arms on the black market when he’s not delivering an arbitrary and ruthless justice to the local populace. Duff realizes he must get out before it’s too late, but only then does he discover he is already trapped in a lethal game of cat and mouse.


The Hills of Tennessee

Duff Coleridge stood over a freshly killed deer, one he hadn’t meant to kill. It was a stupid mistake, one a seasoned hunter shouldn’t have made. He had watched a buck threading its way along a distant wooded ridge that late afternoon. Visible one moment and hidden in the shadows the next, the buck reappeared far back in the trees as Duff steadied his rifle. This was his last opportunity to stock the family freezer with much-needed venison before leaving. Again the buck disappeared, but then it was there in his crosshairs. At nearly four hundred yards, Duff found only the deer’s front shoulder visible. That was all he needed. Holding fifteen inches high, he squeezed off the shot.

There weren’t a lot of deer in the area, and conservation laws forbade the killing of does, but after the long walk to the top of the ridge, Duff found he had done just that. Somehow, the buck had traded places with a doe, one he hadn’t even realized was around. Duff ran his hand gently over the deer’s grayish-brown hide. She wouldn’t go to waste, but neither would she have any more fawns. His foster brother, Brady, who was hunting nearby, would arrive in a while to help carry the deer down the mountain. Duff would have to admit to a careless mistake. It was a hell of a way to end his thirty-day leave.

After making quick work of field-dressing the deer, he pulled it out to a high bluff on the edge of the woods where he awaited his brother. Far below, the waters of the Hiwassee spilled over the rocks in shimmering ripples and swirling eddies, curling their way to the distant horizon. Out beyond where the river disappeared into the hills, the winter sun offered a silent requiem to another day, and it brought back another ache that never quite left his heart.

Duff loved the Tennessee mountains and the town of Melody Hill. Growing up here had been as close to heaven as he could imagine being, but it was a bittersweet love, because despite all their beauty, it was these hills that had taken his father. And if he had learned anything the day they buried William Coleridge in the church cemetery, it was that life could come and go as quickly as summer rain. Perhaps this was what drove him to leave—to before his life, too, passed like the clouds on the horizon.

It wasn’t going to be without risk, but the military was his ticket to life, and he had taken what was offered. Duff had enlisted in the army, and he had no misconceptions about Vietnam. During Basic, and later at Fort Polk, the drill instructors said this new war was a bad one. Not that any war was good, but this one was like none before. There were no front lines. There was no easily recognizable enemy, but they left calling cards everywhere in the form of booby traps. Over the years, many of the men from around Melody Hill had done it— off to war. Most came back— didn’t.

He looked down at the dead deer lying at his feet. There would be little room for mistakes like this in Vietnam. He had to get his head right. Duff’s orders had come after jump school at Benning. He was going to the First Brigade of the 101 st Airborne, Phan Rang, Republic of South Vietnam. In five days his military leave would end. He was a paratrooper going to war.

Duff gazed out at the distant mountains. It seemed a natural progression of events had brought him here, almost as if his entire time growing up he had been guided by some invisible hand. Even as he played with Brady and Lacey in the hills and streams around home, every experience had somehow brought him to this point, experiences like the day down in Etowah when they saw the trick marksman. Only now did he realize it had been a seductive siren’s call.

Duff remembered that magnificent autumn morning with its Indian summer sun shining brightly on colorful handmade quilts. His mother had sewn the quilts to sell at Trade Day, but she had three kids to keep busy that day. She gave each of them, Duff, Brady, and Lacey, a quarter, and turned them loose. Feeling like a twelve-old rich man that morning, Duff struck out across the grounds with his siblings. The Tennessee hills rose all around as the three kids kicked off their shoes and tromped barefoot through the thick, cool winter rye, talking, laughing, and soaking up the autumn sun.

Duff was almost a year older than the others, a little taller and burdened with the responsibilities of a big brother, even to Brady, who was as much a friend as he was a foster brother. With his two siblings in tow, Duff led the way as they wandered through the vendors’ booths searching for the one trinket they had to have— long as it didn’t cost more than twenty-five cents. It was midmorning when the crisp mountain air cracked with the sound of a rifle. It came from the far end of the grounds.

Etowah Trade Day was as much a community fair as it was a market. Guitar, mandolin, and fiddle players sat in a clutch of chairs circled beneath the sweet gums, while people plied wares that ran from home-baked pies to pickled okra and live goats. The kids ran along a row of cars and pickups parked in the grass as they heard more shots and the oohs and aahhs of a crowd gathered in the field beyond. It was a man doing a marksmanship demonstration.

Duff turned. “Come on, guys, hurry up.”

Brady was with him step for step, but Lacey was in no particular hurry as she ran her little fingers over jars of honey on a vendor’s table.
“Come on, Lacey,” Duff pleaded.

She turned and ran his way, and Duff led them toward the sound of the gunshots. The kids squeezed through the crowd of adults to the front row. A man wearing a white shirt with a dark brown vest and khaki trousers held a rifle high in the air. He was smiling, and his vest was filled with colorful championship patches.

“This, my friends, is the Remington Arms, Nylon 66, .22 caliber longrifle, and this particular model is the Apache Black version with a chrome barrel and receiver. It holds fourteen rounds.”

“Whoa, check it out,” Duff said.

The reflection was almost blinding, as the shiny black and chrome rifle glistened in the morning sunlight.

“Yeah,” Brady said, his eyes wide with amazement.

Lacey shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted, but said nothing.

“On the fence rail behind me you see seven cans filled with water,” the man said. With a quick but incredibly smooth motion, he pivoted and fired seven rounds inside of two seconds, sending each can bursting into a shower of water, jerking and tumbling through the air.

“Wow!” Brady said. “He’s good.”

The men in the audience hooted, cheered, and clapped, and the marksman held up a small object. The anticipation built as he waited for total silence. The last of the mumbling in the back tapered off as the crowd grew quiet with expectation.

“This, my friends, is your common, everyday black walnut, the wild variety, hardly fit for consumption, unless you own a sledge hammer to crack it.”

A ripple of laughter filtered through the crowd.

“I have several of these tasty little morsels, but I have no hammer. So, let’s see if we can do it another way.”

After setting them on a small table, the man began rapidly tossing walnuts one at a time into the air with his left hand, firing at them with the .22. As he did, each burst into a black cloud of fragments and dust, until he had shot seven in all. More applause and a loud whistle came from the crowd, and Duff, too, found himself clapping in amazement. The man began reloading his rifle, and Duff looked around at Lacey and Brady. The crowd behind them had grown to at least thirty people.

“For my final demonstration of the morning,” the man said, “I’m going to fire a bullet through the hole in this washer.”

He held a large metal washer on his index finger for the crowd to see. Another round of chuckles circulated through the crowd.

“Oh no, I’m not joking,” the man said.

With that he tossed the washer high into the air. His motions weren’t jerky, but fluid and focused as the rifle came to his shoulder. When the washer reached the apex of its climb, the man fired a single shot. The crack of the Nylon 66 quickly faded in the distance as the crowd remained silent and watched the washer fall to the ground.

“Wow,” Duff exclaimed.

The man beside him patted his head.

“It’s a joke, sonny boy. He didn’t really shoot through the hole.” Overhearing him, the marksman said, “Oh, but I did, sir, and it’s even more difficult to shoot two washers with two shots at the same time.”

With that, he quickly turned and tossed two more washers, and fired two more shots. Both washers fell, seemingly untouched, back to earth.

“Bull feathers,” the man said.

“No, sir,” the marksman replied. “It’s not.”

He tossed yet another washer into the air. The crack of the rifle was followed instantaneously by the zing of the washer as it rocketed away.

“You see, I can hit the side of the washer if I want.”

“So, how are you gonna prove you really shot through the hole in them others?” the man asked.

The marksman smiled.

“If I can prove it, will you take a friendly wager that I can shoot through the holes of three washers on the same toss, say a quarter a shot?”

“I reckon so,” the man said.

“Would anyone else like to make a bet?” the marksman asked. Men began stepping forward and tossing their quarters, dimes, and nickels on the table.

“Heck fire,” another man said. “I don’t doubt you, but reckon I’d pay seventy five cents just to see you do it.”

When they were done, the man quickly counted the money. “There’s eighteen dollars here,” the marksman announced.

“Anyone who placed a bet, regardless of the outcome, is entitled to a free box of Remington .22 longrifle ammunition, courtesy of Remington Arms Company. Just pick it up here at the table.”

He pulled a wrinkled twenty from his pocket and laid it atop the money on the table.

Duff had never seen so much money at one time.

“Now,” the man said as he laid three more washers on the table. “I’m going to place a postage stamp over each of the holes in these washers.” He licked the stamps and stuck them to the washers. When he was done, he held them up for everyone to see, then picked up the Nylon 66. Again, washers sailed upward. Again, the marksman fired shots. Again, the washers fell back to the ground, seemingly untouched. The marksman laid the rifle on the table and turned to
Duff and Brady.

“Would you boys mind going over there and finding the three washers with postage stamps?”

The boys scrambled forward and searched the grass. Brady found the first one. Holding it up to his eye, he peeked through the small hole in the stamp. Duff picked up the second. It too had a .22 caliber hole. When they had found all three, there came applause and the crowd began dispersing, but Duff, Brady, and Lacey lingered as the boys admired the shiny new Nylon 66.

“How did you learn to shoot like that, mister?” Duff asked. The man smiled.

“Practice, practice, and more practice,” he said. “Do you own a rifle?”

Brady and Duff nodded together. “Yes, sir. We both do, but they’re just old JC Higgins single shots. My mama got them for us here at Trade Day last year.”

“Well, those old JC Higgins rifles will shoot just as accurately as this rifle,” the man said.

“Really?” Duff said.

“Really,” the man answered. “You just have to shoot them. Like I said, practice, practice, and practice.”

“We do, when we have bullets,” Brady said.

“Do your rifles shoot .22 longrifle cartridges?” the man asked. “Yes, sir.”

He reached into a box on the table.

“My sponsor, the Remington Arms Company, supplies me with free ammunition. I’m sure they won’t mind my sharing a few boxes. Here.”

With that, he placed two boxes each in front of Duff and Brady.

“Wow! Thanks, mister.”

“Just be safe. Don’t aim at anything you don’t intend to shoot, and remember that ninety-nine percent of making a good shot comes from that little knot-head of yours.”

That had been almost seven years ago, and Duff had since become an exceptional marksman, but the dead deer at his feet presented a new realization. Such talent brought with it a huge responsibility. From the opposite side of the mountain came the distant sound of chimes from the Melody Hill church, signaling another day’s end. With dusk quickly fading into nightfall, he decided to go find Brady. Having his help carrying the deer down the mountain would make the task easier. He turned, and there came a soft whistle from back in the trees. Duff whistled back. A moment later, Brady appeared from the shadows.

“You’re not going to believe what I did,” Duff said. Brady looked down at the deer.

“I was looking at a buck,” Duff said, “and I don’t know how, but—”

“Stop your worrying,” Brady said. “We’ll get her skinned-out and in the freezer. You’ve got more important things to think about.”

“You mean like leaving?” “Exactly,” Brady said.
Duff nodded. “Reckon you’re right.”

There remained only five days before he departed, and though it was late fall, they planned to spend the next afternoon down at the river. A rocky shallows of gravel bars where the kids hung out, the shoals were part of the Hiawassee where they built campfires, floated the rapids with inner tubes, and often had their first taste of liquor. Tomorrow it would be just the three of them, Duff, Brady and Lacey. It would be their last time together down at the river— time for Duff to say his good-byes

Writer, photographer, and avid outdoorsman Rick DeStefanis lives in northern Mississippi with his wife of forty years, Janet. While his nonfiction writing, such as The Philosophy of Big Buck Hunting, focuses on his outdoor excursions, it is his military expertise that informs his novels. His works, Raeford’s MVP (coming fall, 2015), Melody Hill, and the award-winning novel The Gomorrah Principle, all draw from his experiences as a paratrooper and infantry light weapons specialist serving from 1970 to 1972 with the 82nd Airborne Division. Learn more about DeStefanis and his books at, or you can visit Rick on Facebook at Rick DeStefanis Books and Photography

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M.D. Melai C.S. Leigh - Deceptive - Virtual Book Tour

Contemporary Romance
Date Published: February 5, 2015

Twenty-one year old Liliana Dapprima was living her life exactly how she planned. She had an amazing job as an interior designer and lived with her best friend Violet in Toronto. But, everything changes when her father forces her to move to New Jersey to re-design his businesses in New York City. Upon her arrival in New Jersey, she finds out she must live with her old flame, Emilio Amante, who had completely tore apart her heart.
She must learn to live alongside Emilio as she tries to start a new relationship with the new man in her life, Lucas. And to make matters even more complicated, Emilio is Lucas’ boss.
Dealing with a love triangle is hard enough, but then Lily must also deal with secrets from and about her family. She is constantly lied to and when she gets attacked multiple times by a rival family, she wants answers and will go to any extent to get them.
            Liliana has been living in a world where everyone and everything is not what it seems.
What will happen when tragedy strikes and secrets are revealed?

M.D. Melai & C.S. Leigh are a cousin writing duo that live in North Central Texas.They are the self-published authors of the Deceptive Series. Deceptive, the first in the series, was published in February of this year. Fugitive, the second in the series, was published in July. They are currently hard at work writing the third book in the series that is slated to be released in the Winter of 2016.
C.S. Leigh has a degree in business administration. When she isn’t writing she is working her day job, that she enjoys as well. Leigh loves being adventurous and shopping.  

M.D. Melai is a full time stay at home mom. When she isn’t writing she is chasing around her very active five year old.

Both Melai and Leigh believe family is of the utmost importance and enjoy spending their free time with them, as well as friends. They are both devout readers, and read as much as time will allow them too.

Their love for books and storytelling is what inspired them to tell the story of Liliana. 


Why Book Covers are So Important
As avid readers ourselves, book covers are very important when we personally are looking for a book to read. If the book cover doesn’t catch our attention, then the likelihood for us to even read the synopsis is very low.
That is why we have chosen very symbolic meaning for our book cover. We chose the Lily, because it represents our main character, and we chose the colors of red, black, and white, because they symbolize her and the trials she faces throughout the book. The whiteness of the flower shows Lily’s purity at the beginning of the book. The red shows all the bloodshed and loss that she faces her life, and the black shows the deception by those around her.
Our goal was to have the reader see the symbolism that we displayed on the front cover. We wanted to capture the reader and give them first hand representation of what they were about to experience while reading Deceptive. By the end of the book, we hoped that the reader could see what we were trying to portray to them and give them some foreshadowing of the story.
One of the best parts of the book is when you reach that aha moment and finally realize what the author was trying to say through the cover. It’s when everything comes together and makes perfect sense.  
As one author to another upcoming author, we advise that you choose your cover wisely and show the creativeness of your story. Book covers are the brand image of your story, so make sure that you represent it well.

This is exactly what we look for when we choose a book to read. We want the cover to show us a picture of the story we are about to read. A picture is worth a thousand words and the cover can perfectly sum up a story. 

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Twitter: @DeceptiveSeries

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Thursday, 3 September 2015

Dave Cravens - The God Thought - PROMO Blitz/giveaway

Science Fiction
Date Published: April 23, 2015

A MASSIVE EXPLOSION… levels a small town in Kansas and rips apart the commercial airliner flying overhead. The wife and child of Oliver Wells are among the thousands reported dead. Authorities blame the tragedy on an accident at a fertilizer plant not up to code. A year later, still grappling with his depression, Oliver is accosted by a mysterious stranger who offers another answer: 




Thrust into a hidden world of conspirators and luminaries who would do anything to attain the farmer's knowledge, Oliver finds himself in a race to confront the man who killed his family. To do so, he must test the limits of his sanity... AND UNLOCK THE POWER OF THE GOD THOUGHT FOR HIMSELF.


San Diego, CA.
May 4 – one year after the Bloomington Blast

Oliver Wells drew an exhausted breath as he stepped out of the deplane tunnel and into the airport lobby. His weary eyes scanned the blank faces of those who trolled about at the midnight hour. Though he knew it wasn’t possible, Oliver entertained the idea that the same oblivious souls who ignored his departure fifteen months prior were present to ignore his return.
Nothing has changed.
The same dank smell of cleaning chemicals assaulted Oliver’s nose just as they did before. The same broken electronic kiosk remained under repair. Even the advertisements shouted the same message from a year ago in their gaudy backlit colors. It was as if the entire San Diego International Airport had been perfectly preserved in a protective bubble, completely untouched by the hands of time.
Why did I come back?
“Holding up the line, Shaggy,” a man barked from behind.
Oliver snapped to attention. Shaggy? He looked behind himself to realize he blocked the exit for a number of passengers who flashed him glares of disdain without so much a stutter in their own cell phone conversations. Oliver stepped to the side. Before he could apologize, the offended blew past to continue their business.
 The sight of the cell phones reminded Oliver of his own. He fumbled inside his duffle bag to retrieve a phone wrapped in a filthy ziplock bag along with a house key and a wad of carefully folded paper money from various countries. The phone appeared alien to Oliver as he palmed it for the first time in several months. To his surprise, the dark display and blank reflective screen provided a crude mirror. Oliver recognized only the cold, blue eyes of the thirty-five year old that stared back at him—a scruffy brown beard and long, matted hair obscured the remainder of his face.
Who was this guy?
Oliver turned his phone on. When the device finally booted up, it occurred to him—who would he call?
No wife or child awaited Oliver’s return. His cousin would be too eager to pick up and ask where the money he owed him is. Jeff? Michael? Gretchen? The phone’s depleted battery solved the dilemma.
Oliver casually tossed the phone into a garbage can as he exited the terminal. The weary traveler stepped out onto the sidewalk to find himself immediately accosted by a Prius taxi driver desperate to earn a fare.
“Where to?” the cabbie offered a kind Latino smile as he took Oliver’s duffle bag. The man’s silver hair and laugh lines hinted at a confidence Oliver longed for.
“I used to live in Orange County,” managed Oliver. He wondered if his house was still standing and if the teenage neighbor he’d paid in advance to tend the lawn lived up to his promise.
“Used to? Is that where you want to go? Long drive. Should’ve flown into John Wayne.”
Ollie hunched his shoulders. “You want the fare or what?”
The cabbie looked Oliver up and down, his smile noticeably absent. “You have cash?”
Oliver lifted up a wad of twenty and fifty dollar bills. The cabbie’s smile returned as he opened the passenger door.
Traffic proved unusually sparse as the cab sped up the northbound five. Unable to sleep, Oliver stared blankly out the window, watching the lights flicker by in various rhythms. Thirty minutes into the drive, they coasted along the Pacific just north of Oceanside—one of the few stretches of freeways in Southern California not littered with homes or industry, illuminated only by the starry night sky and the headlamps of cars.
Oliver studied his driver through the rearview mirror, who hummed along to the mariachi songs that were emitted from the radio in low volume. That’s when Oliver noticed a familiar object resting on the cabbie’s dashboard.
“That book. It’s yours?” Oliver asked.
The cabbie smiled. “This?” he responded, holding the paperback up. The faded cover proudly announced Our Secret History in bold bronzed letters that hovered ominously over a group of men in dark cloaks, their faces masked by shadows. Behind them, a tree of light branched up majestically toward the book’s title. “Who else’s would it be?”
“Right,” sighed Oliver. Published twenty or so years ago, Our Secret History was written by the eccentric billionaire Lord Montague Graves. It portrayed a controversial esoteric view of the entire world’s history from the dawn of man. Each chapter exposed classified documents, alternative theological texts, ancient alien theories, transcribed oral histories, and new age thinking. Such a cocktail of ideas invited ridicule from the general public. The work proved disastrous and led to near financial ruin for the publisher, White Tower Books. To find a physical, paperback copy that survived the retailers’ purge was nearly impossible, and here, this cabbie from San Diego had one on his dashboard.
“It’s not that, it’s just—” Oliver reached into his duffle bag and produced his own worn out copy. “It’s a rare book. Not many people have read it, let alone owned it.”
“I see,” said the cabbie. “How did you come across it?”
“Read it as a kid—I was into anything that bent toward the unusual or fantastic back then. Lost track of it as I grew up. Then, when my wife—” Oliver choked on his tongue. Really? She’s been gone a year! Oliver swallowed. “The book turned up when I was selling off some old things. I thumbed through it again. It inspired me to travel, actually.”
“Travel where?”
“Stonehenge, Jerusalem, Tibet—places I’ve just always wanted to go to since reading about them. There are a lot of silly ideas about history in this book, probably none of which are true, but the destinations are real.” Oliver hid his copy away. It all sounded so childish now.
“Most history is written through the lens of victory and power,” the cabbie mused. “That same lens will blur any details that surround its focus on ‘truth.’”
“I’m an accountant,” explained Oliver, surprised he still described himself by a job he hadn’t held for a year. “Things either add up or they don’t. Therein lies truth.”
“So—do things add up for you?”
Oliver grimaced. He had strictly followed the tried and true Wells Family Formula for Success during most of his life. He became an accountant like his father and his father’s father. He married a beautiful, prominent business woman at the age of twenty-five, bought a modest three-bedroom single-detached home, all of which were supposed to add up and equal “happy.” But he wasn’t happy. Happiness didn’t enter the equation until he met Audrey, the woman who would prove to be the love of his life. In a random moment of chance, she’d received his order by accident at a coffee shop. The instant their eyes met to exchange drinks, any and all math that had ruled Oliver’s world seemed to break down. A messy divorce led to a second wedding and the birth of a beautiful baby girl, Ava, followed by the eight most glorious years of Oliver’s personal life. Professionally he took a hit—his ex-wife saw to that. Even when investments went bad and money became tight, Oliver didn’t seem to care. All he needed was Audrey and Ava for the equation to balance and equal happiness.
Then in a flash he’d lost them both. A small piece of debris shot up from an explosion over Kansas, Kansas of all godforsaken places, and started a fire in the airliner’s engine. No one survived the crash. How the hell does that add up?
“It doesn’t, does it?” The cabbie flashed his knowing smile again in the rear view mirror. “That’s why you found the book again. The ideas in it inspired you to search for another truth. Your own truth.”
Oliver leaned back in his seat, now regretting the conversation. “Maybe. I don’t know. Doesn’t everyone do that?”“Many are satisfied with the truth provided to them.”
Oliver closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Stop talking. Please, just stop.
“So did you find it? Did you find your truth?”
“I’d rather not go into it.” Why am I philosophizing with a cabbie?
“If you don’t know, then you didn’t find it, Oliver.”
The accountant’s eyes popped open. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. “I don’t recall giving you my name.”
“You didn’t.” Wheels screeched as the cabbie abruptly turned the car off the freeway and exited onto a bumpy dirt road. Oliver had driven this stretch of freeway probably a hundred times, but never noticed such a road’s existence. If one hadn’t known exactly where the path lies, he or she would surely miss it.
“What the—what are you doing? Is something wrong with the car?” yelled a jostled Oliver.
The cab skidded to a halt, kicking up a cloud of dust that glowed an eerie red from the brake lights. “Relax, Oliver. Nothing is wrong with the car.”
“Why did you pull over? How do you know my name?”
The cabbie turned around to face Oliver. His smile was absent again, but a great calm remained about him despite his passenger’s nervousness. “You’re at a crossroads,” he answered.
  “What the hell are you talking about? The freeway is right over there! All you had to do was drive straight to remain on it!”
“You can return to the freeway if you want,” the cabbie hunched his shoulders. “But I’ve been sent to make you aware of another path.”
“What?” Oliver kicked open his door, threw his duffle bag onto the dirt, and frantically climbed out of the car. The cabbie followed. “Stay away from me!” Oliver stretched his arms out as if to hold the man at bay. “I said stay away!”
“Take the moment, Oliver. You’ll need a clear head to make your decision,” the cabbie replied with a nod.
Oliver surveyed his surroundings. It was probably three hundred meters to the empty freeway. There were no other cars in sight that he could flag down for help. To the opposite side was a desert brush that faded into the soft outlines of starlit foothills. For all intents and purposes, he was stranded alone with this mad cabbie.

Dave Cravens has written, edited and directed for a wide range of entertainment media since 1992, including award winning video games, TV commercials, promotional trailers and documentaries. The God Thought is his first science fiction novel. Dave lives in Southern California with his wife and three children.

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Wednesday, 2 September 2015

Staying on Course Cover Reveal

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Adored. Cherished. Worshiped.
Bryce Randolph accomplished the impossible when he stormed back into my life. He repaired my shattered heart and promised to love me
forever. My dreams now include a future with the man I’ve loved since I was twelve years old. He owns
my soul, and a life without each other is not an option.
Sometimes, though, even the strongest bonds are tested.
How much am I willing to give up for the love of my life?
Ambition. Passion. Commitment.
As we chase our dreams, distance separates us, threatening to shake our
foundation. Jealousy and insecurities unravel my confidence, but Bryce’s
devotion never falters. When we’re faced with tough choices regarding our life together, I’m forced to rely on his unwavering strength.
Can we both have it all?
Then the unthinkable happens. Now, it’s my turn to fight for our happily
ever after. Are we falling apart after finding our way, or are we…

Staying on Course

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About the author
Ahren spent her formative years living in an active volcano. There her family made collectible lava art. She studied rock collecting at the Sorbonne in France. There she met the love of her life-her pet pig Sybil. She returned to the states and started writing. She is happily married to a guy who used to live under a bridge and she met while pole-dancing. They have one amazing daughter.
Now, meet the real me. I grew up in the south and consider myself a true “Southerner”. Most of the special locations mentioned in my books are reflections of my favorite places. Living on the Florida coast, my family spends a lot time at the beach which is where I usually can be found with a book in my hand. I started writing my Surrender Series, in the spring of 2013 and have received incredible support from the Indie community. Throughout this year, I have been privileged to meet some amazing people that I am thankful to have in my life.

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An Indecent Invitation
by Laura Trentham
Series: Spies and Lovers, #1
Genre: Historical Romance - Regency
Release Date: August 25, 2015

Keeping her safe is difficult, keeping a proper distance from her is downright impossible.

Lady Lily Drummond understands only too well the danger of spy work. Her father, a preeminent master spy, has been missing for months, and her brother barely survived his final mission for the Crown. Lily is still determined to help find her father, no matter how hard her brother and his best friend try to keep her in the dark.

Busy trying to untangle the web of deceit surrounding the Earl of Windor’s disappearance, Crown spy Gray Masterson also has to ensure Lily Drummond, the gangly, awkward child who was his constant shadow growing up, doesn’t get herself ruined at her London debut. But the girl with scraped knees and elbows has evolved into a lush, sensual beauty surrounded by a bevy of suitors.

Realizing Lily is going to investigate on her own if he doesn’t let her join the hunt for her missing father, Gray assumes he can give Lily a few minor tasks to pacify her, but he quickly learns she is a valuable asset. Moreover, she fairly crackles with life and warmth—things he craves after his dark years in service.

Warning: This book contains spies, scandals, naughty liaisons in houses of ill repute, men who think they know everything and women who know they do not. 

Lily slyly watched Gray confront Montbatton and then execute a courtly bow to Lady Abbott. How long before her reckoning? Only a few minutes had passed. Not nearly long enough for her heart to slow. He approached—not with angry mincing steps or even hurried anxious ones, but in a casual loose-limbed saunter.
Did he know?
Gray had been lanky in his youth, but he’d always possessed an unusual agility and grace. Seemingly never feeling awkward in his body, he moved with a compelling confidence that had only grown more telling over the years. A broad, deep chest and narrow, lean hips complemented indecently muscled legs. Not that she had made a close examination, heavens no, but she could hardly miss them flexing during their dance.
Perhaps he wasn’t the tallest or the most handsome man in attendance, but there was something about him. In fact, several ladies’ heads turned when he passed them by. Not that he noticed, because his gaze pinned her like an insect on display.
Not smiling nor frowning, his face revealed not a single clue to his mood. He stopped directly in front of her, cocked one foot in front of the other and clasped his hands behind his back. A purely masculine stance that, along with his silence, set her nerves jangling.
She tucked several escaped tendrils back into pins and then opened and closed her fan a few times. Unable to tolerate another second of the increasing tension, she yielded, feeling somehow as if she’d lost the first skirmish of a war. “We meet again, Mr. Masterson. Mayhap did you learn anything interesting?”
His eyes, vibrantly green and arresting even partially shielded behind his spectacles, shimmered with an emotion she couldn’t interpret. “I learned Montbatton is indeed in pursuit, and you should expect an offer. He informed me most vehemently to pass that information on. Lady Abbott thought it highly amusing I didn’t know your name. And lastly, I discovered Lady Lily should be in the corner with her chaperone.”
“Very impressive, but did anyone reveal my name?”
“Absolutely no one.” A single eyebrow arched above the rim of his spectacles.
Her shoulders, which at some point had bunched toward her ears, relaxed, and she tapped her fan against her lips to stem a victorious smile. “And I was so looking forward to another dance. Mayhap I’ll help you find your wayward friend instead. Over here did you say?”
A dark-haired matron in a red dress occupied the corner in question. She sat upright in a chair next to a ficus and, at first glance, appeared to be serenely observing the tableau of couples on the dance floor. The only indications she was soundly asleep were her closed eyes and slightly agape mouth. Her Aunt Edie was quite possibly the most worthless chaperone in all of England, which suited Lily perfectly. She’d no desire to relinquish the relative freedom she enjoyed in the country.
“That’s certainly not your debutante,” Lily said. “Come, let’s stroll while we look.”
“God’s teeth, that’s most likely her chaperone. Sound asleep while Lily runs wild.” Gray sounded truly aghast.
“Yes, your friend might be in the company of the worst sort of rogue who inappropriately whisked her away.” A cough covered her spate of giggles.
“Indeed.” His tone turned solemn. “She’s a highly impulsive chit not used to male attention. No doubt, she’d be easily lured into an indiscretion by a charming smile or prestigious title.” He tutted. “They’d only be after her dowry, poor thing.”
She sucked in a huge breath, ready to unleash her tongue, but his next words ripped the air from her lungs.
“Would you care to take a turn in the gardens as I haven’t earned a dance?”
“What about your friend? Shouldn’t you find her? What if she waits for you?” Her words spilled out too quickly. How many times had Rafe told her to never enter the gardens with a gentleman? At least a hundred. Although it was only Gray. If any man could be trusted, it would be him. Wouldn’t it?
“I was to surprise her tonight. She doesn’t even know I’m attending. We won’t be long, just a breath of fresh air. It’s rather stuffy, isn’t it?”
“I suppose a very brief turn in the garden wouldn’t hurt. It is awfully close in here.” Lily snapped her fan open and cooled herself with frenzied flicks of her wrist. Was it the crush of people or his suggestion making her feel so heated?

I was born and raised in a small town in Northwest Tennessee. Although, I loved English and reading in high school, I was convinced an English degree equated to starvation! So, I chose the next most logical major - Chemical Engineering- and worked in a hard hat and steel toed boots for several years. Now I live in South Carolina with my husband and two children. In between school and homework and soccer practices, I love to get lost in another world, whether its Regency England or small town Alabama.

Books One and Two of my Falcon Football Series are available from St. Martin’s Press (Slow and Steady Rush; Caught Up in the Touch). Book Three, Melting Into You, is available for preorder.

Book Two of my Spies and Lovers Series, A Brazen Bargain, will release January 2016.