Monday, July 31, 2017

Monday's Montage Mantlepiece: Contemporary Male/Male Romance Box Set


Summary:
Four sexy stories from the hottest names in gay romantic fiction, available now at one great price.

Also available individually.

Icecapade by Josh Lanyon

Men of Smithfield: Mark and Tony by LB Gregg

Bending the Iron by Libby Drew

First Time, Forever by KC Burn



Icecapade by Josh Lanyon
On the eve of the new millennium, diamond thief Noel Snow seduced FBI special agent Robert Cuffe, then fled into the dawn. Now a successful novelist, Noel uses his capers as fodder for his books, and has modeled his hero's nemesis (and potential love interest) on Cuffe. Though he leaves Robert a drunken phone message every New Year's Eve, Noel hasn't seen or heard from him in a decade.

So he's thrilled when his former lover shows up at his upstate farm one Christmas Eve. Elation quickly turns to alarm when Robert accuses Noel of being responsible for a recent rash of diamond heists. Robert is all business and as cold as ice: it seems his only interest in Noel is to put him behind bars.

Innocent of the crimes, and still as attracted as ever to the oh-so-serious lawman, Noel plans a second seduction—providing he can stay out of jail long enough .

Men of Smithfield: Mark and Tony by L.B. Gregg
Coming home from work to find my boyfriend banging our hairy, married landlord -- in our bed -- was bad enough. Discovering Jamie had also cleaned out my bank accounts made it officially the worst day of my life. I think I can be forgiven for wanting revenge, even if a few little laws (and possibly Jamie's nose) got bent in the process.

Fortunately, the law is on my side in the form of my oldest friend, Tony Gervase. I've tried to deny my attraction to the sexy trooper for years. After all, he made it clear long ago that he wasn't interested in me that way. But if the hot encounter in his kitchen is any indication, he is now. At least the day is ending a whole lot better than it began...

But the morning after, the Jamie situation goes from bad to seriously messed up. The jerk's in more trouble than I could have imagined. And as it turns out, I don't know Tony as well as I thought I did either...

Bending the Iron by Libby Drew
Michael feels trapped. In his conservative, poor hometown where he has to keep his sexuality hidden. In his dead-end job. In caring for his alcoholic grandfather. Everything changes when he meets Eric, the new curator for the railroad museum. His curiosity about the passionate man quickly gives way to an intense attraction—one that Eric happily returns.

Carefree and refreshingly confident, Eric guides Michael to places he's forgotten, reminding him that it may not be too late to follow his dreams for something more in life. But the truth is, Eric knows exactly how it feels to be stuck in a bad situation. A failed relationship has left him with personal demons that may hurt his connection with Michael.

To give their future a chance, they both must fight being trapped in the past.

First Time, Forever by KC Burn
Derrick and Trevor used to have an incredibly passionate relationship, full of spontaneity and sizzle. Now that their son is off to college, they want to put their days of routine, vanilla sex behind them and bring back some of that spark.

Realizing that they’re empty-nesters, Trevor begins to notice their age difference. He suddenly feels old and unsure of himself, and isn’t confident Derrick still desires him. When Trevor decides to keep his health issues and gray hairs down there to himself, Derrick is hurt by his partner’s secretive behavior and thinks Trevor must be having an affair.

Nothing could be further from the truth, but Trevor doesn’t know how to communicate his fears to his partner. He desperately wants to reconnect with Derrick and rev up their sex life, but will it be enough to reclaim their marital bliss?


Icecapade by Josh Lanyon
January 1st, 2000
The world did not end.

Given his hangover, maybe it should have. Noel stared up at the tiny red eye of the hotel room smoke detector. A little late for red lights, considering the warm weight lying against him, the muscular hairy leg tangled with his own, the big hand resting possessively on his groin.

Talk about having him by the balls.

He smiled faintly, turned his head on the fine linen pillowcase to study his bedmate. Tumbled black curls, a strong nose, a thin, ironic mouth. Not a handsome face, exactly, but undeniably attractive in a craggy, tough guy way.

So this was FBI Special Agent Robert Cuffe.

Noel’s lips twitched with self-mockery. Well, that answered one question.

He resisted the temptation to touch his mouth to the surprisingly soft lips a few inches from his own. As dearly as he’d love to wake Cuffe up for another round of fun and games, play time was over. He could see the watery frame of light around the top of the long ivory draperies. It must be five-thirty or so. Longer than he’d intended to stay.

Cuffe muttered in his sleep, a gust of alcohol-scented breath warming Noel’s ear. Noel’s mouth curved again. Cuffe was a big guy and he could hold his drink all right, but Noel knew a trick or two to even the odds. Even so, there was no pretending he too hadn’t been drunk off his ass last night. To take that kind of a chance?

Definitely the worse for drink.

But it had been worth it.

From his standpoint anyway. Cuffe might feel differently once he figured out who had actually been seducing whom. Not much of a sense of humor, Special Agent Cuffe. Took himself and his mission very seriously. And his mission last night had been to try and get the goods on diamond thief Noel Snow.

And he’d been close. Not as close as he thought, but close enough. Closer than anyone else had come in the three years Noel had been in business. In fact, Noel had begun to take a friendly interest in Cuffe—even before last night.

He stretched cautiously, respectful of his aching head and the tiny, mostly pleasurable pangs of a body well used. Cuffe’s hand flexed in a responsive, an unconscious caress, and Noel’s cock came instantly awake. He mentally shook his head. at himself.

But God, it had been good. What he wouldn’t give to lie curled against Cuffe’s long, strong body for a couple more hours. When Cuffe woke they could have a nice leisurely fuck, shower together, perhaps order room service. The Michelangelo had the best coffee and hot croissants outside of Paris.

But no. Cuffe would probably resemble a bear with a hangover. He was too smart not to start questioning his good luck the night before, and before long he’d put two and two together and Noel would be in bracelets—the stainless steel kind. After that, it would only be a matter of time before Cuffe figured out exactly where Dahlia Boaz’s 33-carat diamond ring had been stashed.

Speaking of which, Noel needed to get downstairs before the cleaning crew got rolling.

He threw his bedmate a final cautious look. Cuffe continued to sleep the sleep of the just. The just fucked. His face was hard even in his dreams, softened only by ridiculous eyelashes—as thick and dark as a doll’s.

Keeping his breaths even and slow, his movements minimal, Noel inched out from beneath Cuffe’s arm and slid to the edge of the bed. He rose, careful not to bounce the mattress, and stood for a moment watching Cuffe in the gloom.

Was he faking?

No.

Not much for subterfuge, Cuffe, regardless of what he believed. For nearly two years they’d been playing cat and mouse, and all this time Cuffe had imagined he was the cat. Noel had become quite fond of his endearingly single-minded nemesis. He always made sure to leave a few promising clues for him, enough to guarantee Cuffe remained point man on his case.

Of course after last night... well, Noel had his own problems to deal with after last night.

It took him less than three minutes to pack his remaining belongings. He never really unpacked. He’d enjoyed watching Cuffe painstakingly—considering how smashed he was—rifle through his suitcase last night while Noel feigned sleep.

Easing open the hotel door, he hung out the Do Not Disturb sign, slipped into the hall and soundlessly closed the door behind him.

At this time of the morning it only took a couple of seconds to catch an elevator to the main lobby, chill and pristine as a marble tomb following the revelries of the night before. A hint of antiseptic hung in the air. Noel could hear the distant howl of a vacuum. Through artful arrangements of creamy orchids and gilt Italian vases he spotted household staff going about their duties.

There was no sign of surveillance. No sign that anyone was paying him any attention at all. Why would they? Everyone in the city was probably recovering from the night before and the blow out New Year’s Eve party in Times Square.

Noel checked out without incident, and headed straight to the downstairs lavatory. Using the small, universal key on his fob, he opened the door of the metal trash container, moved the basket out of the way, and retrieved the plastic wrapped ring he had left tucked in the back of the metal compartment. He unzipped the lining of his London Fog trench coat, dropped the ring in and rezipped.

There was no real reason for the sick thud of his heart, the uncharacteristic tremor in his hands. He felt as nervous as when he’d pulled his first job. Why? It was going like clockwork. Hangover. That’s all this was. He needed a couple of Alka-Seltzer and sleep. He could have both on the flight to Amsterdam.

A moment later he pushed out of the restroom, strolled through the main lobby and walked out through the entrance of The Michelangelo.

Yellow dawn cast baked watercolor light across the tall buildings and shady streets. No planes fell from the sky. The computers of the world had not ground to a halt. The traffic signals continued to blink their messages to the eerily quiet streets.

Noel raised his arm to flag down a cab, and moments later one pulled to the curb, exhaust warming the cold air. From behind smudgy windows, he could hear the muffled blast of Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Only Living Boy in New York.”

He drew a deep breath of cold, dry air scented of exhaust and the salt and chemicals they used to keep the streets ice free—and something uncannily like expensive urine. The Manhattan cocktail. There was no place on earth that smelled like New York City.

Noel tossed his bags in the cab. No one tried to stop him. No one noticed him at all. It was the first day of the New Year. The first day of the new Millennium.

A new beginning.

So why did it feel like something was ending?

Men of Smithfield: Mark and Tony by LB Gregg
I stormed into St. Joe's at the height of the Noon Ash Wednesday Mass. Still dressed in my scrubs, I blew through those massive chapel doors like a gust of bitter February wind. I'd just seen Jamie's pretentious car parked in front of the church, and I figured he'd come to this penitential mass hoping for absolution. He sat in the third row, head bowed, his gloriously tousled mass of golden hair gleamed like a beacon of innocence next to the shining helmeted updo of his repressed, miraculously blonde mother.

I bypassed the ushers, ignoring the hello from Mrs. Banks, my seventh grade math teacher and the folded program she tried to place in my hand. Failing to genuflect or splash myself with holy water―it would have sizzled on contact―I marched straight down the center aisle. My red rubber Crocs squeaked my progress through the hushed, echoing chamber of the sanctuary. Heads turned as I passed, no doubt wondering who dared to clop down the tasteful Moravian tile in the midst of this somber service. It was officially the kickoff to Lent, and the house was packed with the well-dressed, good citizens of Smithfield.

Faces I'd known my entire life surrounded me, but I blocked them out. I'm sure that even Christ's eye was on me. The priest, Father David, droned the glum litany and looked my way for half a second, before dismissing me, as if he was the voice of reason and I, little Markie Meehan, needed to sit my ass down and get with the program.

Not happening.

I found a place in the pew behind Jamie and slid in. Glaring at the back of his head, I struggled with an overwhelming violence. Never in my life had I felt that kind of rage. I wanted to destroy him, not engage in some hissed conversation and exchange of keys. Fuck that. I was beyond civility. And Jamie DuPree wasn't stepping one Gucci-clad toe in to my apartment. Ever again. The prick.

As I clenched the book rack, my fingers brushed against the Bible proudly displayed there. Eyeing the curls that hugged Jamie's rough jaw, I slid the Good Book from its safe haven. The cracked leather felt worn, but the bulk was reassuring. Encouraging, even. So fueled by a boiling rage, I hauled back and gobsmacked that bastard as hard as I could in front of God and everyone.

The Bible hit the back of Jamie's head with a resounding thwack! and Jamie pitched forward. His beautiful face collided with the pew in front of us with a sick smack. He hit the wooden lip hard, the sound like a puck getting whacked by the high-priced stick he valued far too much, and he dissolved onto the tile.

My follow-through sent me into an awkward nosedive over the back of the pew and onto the maroon cushion. Legs kicking, ass high, my face came perilously close to landing in Mrs. Dupree's lap. I clambered to my feet, spewing outrage and fury and maybe a little filth.

"In our bed, you fucking bastard!" The words rang through the congregation as the entire community froze.

At least I assumed they were frozen. I wasn't paying attention to anyone except Jamie and his stiff mother. I had nearly landed on top of her when the cushion shifted under her skinny ass and she rose to her perfectly clad feet and clutched her pearls. Her sour-lemon lips pursed, and she stared me down with―and perhaps I imagined this―the glowing eyes of demonic satisfaction. "How dare you?"

What did she think? That her words mattered here? Conversation with Jamie was definitely not happening now. I didn't spare her another glance.

Liberated of my usual control, I felt free. Or just out of my fucking mind, so I cuffed him again with the Bible. He went down a second time.

Bending the Iron by Libby Drew
I stormed into St. Joe's at the height of the Noon Ash Wednesday Mass. Still dressed in my scrubs, I blew through those massive chapel doors like a gust of bitter February wind. I'd just seen Jamie's pretentious car parked in front of the church, and I figured he'd come to this penitential mass hoping for absolution. He sat in the third row, head bowed, his gloriously tousled mass of golden hair gleamed like a beacon of innocence next to the shining helmeted updo of his repressed, miraculously blonde mother.

I bypassed the ushers, ignoring the hello from Mrs. Banks, my seventh grade math teacher and the folded program she tried to place in my hand. Failing to genuflect or splash myself with holy water―it would have sizzled on contact―I marched straight down the center aisle. My red rubber Crocs squeaked my progress through the hushed, echoing chamber of the sanctuary. Heads turned as I passed, no doubt wondering who dared to clop down the tasteful Moravian tile in the midst of this somber service. It was officially the kickoff to Lent, and the house was packed with the well-dressed, good citizens of Smithfield.

Faces I'd known my entire life surrounded me, but I blocked them out. I'm sure that even Christ's eye was on me. The priest, Father David, droned the glum litany and looked my way for half a second, before dismissing me, as if he was the voice of reason and I, little Markie Meehan, needed to sit my ass down and get with the program.

Not happening.

I found a place in the pew behind Jamie and slid in. Glaring at the back of his head, I struggled with an overwhelming violence. Never in my life had I felt that kind of rage. I wanted to destroy him, not engage in some hissed conversation and exchange of keys. Fuck that. I was beyond civility. And Jamie DuPree wasn't stepping one Gucci-clad toe in to my apartment. Ever again. The prick.

As I clenched the book rack, my fingers brushed against the Bible proudly displayed there. Eyeing the curls that hugged Jamie's rough jaw, I slid the Good Book from its safe haven. The cracked leather felt worn, but the bulk was reassuring. Encouraging, even. So fueled by a boiling rage, I hauled back and gobsmacked that bastard as hard as I could in front of God and everyone.

The Bible hit the back of Jamie's head with a resounding thwack! and Jamie pitched forward. His beautiful face collided with the pew in front of us with a sick smack. He hit the wooden lip hard, the sound like a puck getting whacked by the high-priced stick he valued far too much, and he dissolved onto the tile.

My follow-through sent me into an awkward nosedive over the back of the pew and onto the maroon cushion. Legs kicking, ass high, my face came perilously close to landing in Mrs. Dupree's lap. I clambered to my feet, spewing outrage and fury and maybe a little filth.

"In our bed, you fucking bastard!" The words rang through the congregation as the entire community froze.

At least I assumed they were frozen. I wasn't paying attention to anyone except Jamie and his stiff mother. I had nearly landed on top of her when the cushion shifted under her skinny ass and she rose to her perfectly clad feet and clutched her pearls. Her sour-lemon lips pursed, and she stared me down with―and perhaps I imagined this―the glowing eyes of demonic satisfaction. "How dare you?"

What did she think? That her words mattered here? Conversation with Jamie was definitely not happening now. I didn't spare her another glance.

Liberated of my usual control, I felt free. Or just out of my fucking mind, so I cuffed him again with the Bible. He went down a second time.

First Time, Forever by KC Burn
Breathing heavily, Derrick leaned against the car. He had no idea how Luke’s stuff was going to fit in that tiny dorm room. Likely Luke wouldn’t care about the lack of space. Living on campus would be a hell of a lot more fun for the kid than living at home with his dads.
Trevor exited the dorm and headed to the car, tape measure dangling from one hand. He’d looked kind of lost all day.

Derrick moved to meet his husband, tracing a finger lightly down his forearm. Trevor needed a hug, but a campus full of university students and their parents was far too public for him.

“How are you doing, babe?” Derrick asked.

“Fine, fine.”

Derrick didn’t believe him for a second. “Where’s Luke gotten to?”

“He said he’d be down in a minute.” Trevor fiddled with the tape measure, gaze on the ground.

“Don’t worry, babe, we’ll get through this empty-nester thing together.”

Trevor gave him a sad little smile, which helped Derrick smother the giggle wanting to escape at the thought of them as empty-nesters. Hell, he was only thirty-four and Trevor was still six weeks away from forty.

Luke ran out and skidded to a stop. “Hey, Dad, Derrick, we done here?”

“Trying to get rid of us?” Derrick ruffled Luke’s hair, getting an embarrassed glare in return.

“No, but some of the guys are going out for dinner and I want to go with them.”

“I think we’re done here. I got the measurements for your desk and dresser, so I’ll have them delivered tomorrow.” Trevor pocketed the tape measure and opened the driver’s door, wincing slightly as he did so. He’d better not be moving that furniture himself, not after straining his shoulder earlier in the week. Derrick had tried to take the heaviest boxes, but Trevor hadn’t taken too kindly to his interference.

“And your new laptop will arrive sometime tomorrow, as well.” Luke was probably the only guy in the dorm who’d have antique furniture and a fully loaded, state-of-the-art laptop. Not surprising, when one dad owned an antique store and the other was a network security consultant.

“Okay, thanks. See ya later!”

Trevor opened his mouth to say something, but Luke was already running back toward the building.

“Come on, babe, let’s get home. He’ll be fine. We’re only forty-five minutes away.” Derrick got in the car as soon as Trevor did and they pulled away.

A strange sense of loss tugged at him as Trevor guided the car onto the highway. The house would be much more silent without Luke’s energy. Hell, he was going to miss the kid as much as Trevor would.

Luke had been the result of a very young Trevor trying to convince himself he was straight. Not sure who he’d actually fooled, poor man. While Cassie was alive, Trevor had regular visitation and Derrick had been introduced to Trevor’s eleven-year-old son, all very proper, once Derrick and Trevor had realized how serious it was between the two of them.

Their lives had changed irrevocably the instant an inattentive driver on a cell phone plowed into the side of Cassie’s car while she was on the way to pick up Luke from soccer practice. Having to fight Cassie’s parents for full custody had been a surprise, but his and Trevor’s stable marriage, as well as their willingness to purchase a home in Luke’s school district, swayed the balance with the judge.

At fourteen, Luke moved into their home, and at twenty-nine, Derrick had to learn how to become a second father to a petulant, grieving teen.



Josh Lanyon
A distinct voice in gay fiction, multi-award-winning author JOSH LANYON has been writing gay mystery, adventure and romance for over a decade. In addition to numerous short stories, novellas, and novels, Josh is the author of the critically acclaimed Adrien English series, including The Hell You Say, winner of the 2006 USABookNews awards for GLBT Fiction. Josh is an Eppie Award winner and a three-time Lambda Literary Award finalist.

LB Gregg
LB Gregg (Lisabea) writes fun, fast-paced contemporary male/male romances for a variety of publishers including Riptide, Samhain, and Carina Press. Her wildly successful Men of Smithfield books feature hot, hunky men looking for love in small town New England.



Libby Drew
Libby glimpsed her true calling when her first story, an A.A. Milne /Shakespeare crossover, won the grand prize in her elementary school's fiction contest. Her parents explained that writers were quirky, poor, and often talked to themselves in supermarket checkout lines. They implored her to be practical, a request she took to heart for twenty years, earning two degrees, a white-collar job, and an ulcer, before realizing that practical was absolutely no fun. 

Today she lives with her husband and four children in an old, impractical house and writes stories about redemption, the supernatural, and love at first sight, all of which do exist. She happens to know from experience.

Libby’s STATE OF MIND received rave reviews for being fast, clever, and relentless and was nominated for a Bookie Award for Best M/M Novel of 2011. 40 SOULS TO KEEP, Libby’s third novel, has been described as intense and heart-poundingly good and was praised by Publishers Weekly for maintaining a high level of suspense. 

An avid supporter of gay rights, Libby donates her time to the Trevor Project and organizations that work to support marriage equality.

KC Burn
KC Burn has been writing for as long as she can remember and is a sucker for happy endings (of all kinds). After moving from Toronto to Florida for her husband to take a dream job, she discovered a love of gay romance and fulfilled a dream of her own--getting published. After a few years of editing web content by day, and neglecting her supportive, understanding hubby and needy cat at night to write stories about men loving men, she was uprooted yet again and now resides in California. Writing is always fun and rewarding, but writing about her guys is the most fun she's had in a long time, and she hopes you'll enjoy them as much as she does.


Josh Lanyon
FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
BLOG  /  NEWSLETTER  /  KOBO  /  B&N
CARINA  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS
EMAIL: josh.lanyon@sbcglobal.net

LB Gregg
FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
BLOG  /  NEWSLETTER  /  KOBO
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SMASHWORDS  /  RIPTIDE  /  B&N
CARINA  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS
EMAIL: lbgregg@lbgregg.com

Libby Drew
FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  CARINA
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B&N  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS

KC Burn
FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
KOBO  /  B&N  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS
EMAIL: authorkcburn@gmail.com



B&N  /  KOBO  /  GOOGLE PLAY

Pre-Order Blitz: Hold 'Em: A Gambling Hearts Romance by Jacquie Biggar

Title: Hold 'Em
Author: Jacquie Biggar
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Expected Release Date: August 15, 2017
Summary:
In the game of love all bets are off

When professional poker player Matthew Shaughnessy wins the pot of a lifetime, he didn't expect to land himself a fiancée.

Cassandra Gardener is left with little choice but to play the part of a Texan's fiancée for a week if she wants to clear her father's gambling debt.

Can two people with so much to lose win the biggest bet of all- love?


Cassandra gazed in astonishment at the small town laid like a sparkling blanket in the foothills outside of Austin, Texas.

“This is your home?” She came from a well-off family and had grown up visiting her friends sprawling mansions and fancy condos, but this was something altogether different. They’d landed in Austin’s International Airport mid-morning and had traveled south almost non-stop since. She was hungry, tired, her butt hurt, and she really needed to pee, but all of her discomforts were temporarily forgotten as she took in the scene on the horizon.

She looked at Matt and caught the gleam of his smile in the dashboard lights.

“Yep, that’s home,” he said, voice ringing with pride. “Not what you expected, Princess?” He slowed to a stop and rested his arm on the steering wheel to look at her. “It still grabs me that way, and I grew up here. It’s been in our family for five generations and Grannie has managed it for the last fifty years. We have two hundred forty-seven employees and run cattle and horses across two hundred and fifty thousand acres. It hasn’t all been a bed of roses, but an oil find back in the seventies helped make her what she is today.”

“It’s beautiful, Matt.” Cass was unaccountably moved by the obvious love he had for his childhood home. With a father who had been in the military before his appointment to the Canadian Senate, she’d lived in a variety of countries and houses—she could never call them homes. She envied him his heritage.

“Thanks,” he said. “Ready to meet my family?”

Uh, sure,” she answered, while inside the jitterbugs started dancing again. Anyone who managed an operation this large had to do it with an iron hand. She pictured Matt’s grandmother with a baseball bat in one hand and a horsewhip in the other.

He shifted into gear and the truck started rolling toward the pit of doom. “Don’t worry, they’ll love you.”

Sure they will. Until they found out the engagement was a big, fat hoax—then, all bets were off.

The ranch house sat on a knoll overlooking the rest of the complex. As they drove up, lights flickered to life behind gauzy white curtains. The double Spanish style entry doors of the hacienda-type structure swung open, and what seemed like half the village spilled out onto the courtyard.

Cassandra turned accusing eyes on Matt. “You told them we were coming.”

He grinned and shut off the truck. “Of course, I did. The eldest son is bringing home his future bride. It’s cause for celebration.”

Before she could blister him with the words on the tip of her tongue, he hopped out and held his arms open to a gorgeous young woman who’d been practically jumping up and down since they pulled up. More arms opened, and more, and soon he was swallowed from view. Cassandra wished she could vanish herself. Back to before she ever knew Matthew Shaughnessy.

Short of sliding into the driver’s seat and disappearing into the sunset—oh, so tempting as it was—Cass pulled up her big girl panties and opened the door of the truck. The noise hit her first, a cacophony of laughing and crying, and what seemed like a hundred voices talking all at once. This was ten times worse than meeting Jeff’s family. For one thing, he hadn’t deserted her like bait left out for the wolves to find.

A pair of muscular arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her off the seat to her startled shriek. She had a blurred vision of laughing blue eyes, then she was swung around and set down in the middle of the crowd. A younger, carbon-copy version of Matt leaned down and kissed her cheek before he stepped back after a stern warning from a tart voice.

And then Cassandra was face to face with the matriarch of the Shaughnessy family.

Far from the dragon lady she’d been imagining, Matt’s grandmother looked as though sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Slim, tiny, with smooth unlined skin and hair that still retained much of its natural thickness and wave—though Cass had been told the chemo was taking its toll—she rolled closer and held out her hand, the wheelchair cutting a swath through the crowd.

“So, you’re the young lass who stole my grandson’s heart.”

Cassandra squirmed under her piercing gaze and cursed Matt for leaving her alone. She gently took the old woman’s papery hand in greeting, but when she tried to let go, Grannie tightened her grip.

“Let’s have a look at you then,” she said as if Cass was a horse at market. Should she show them her teeth?

“Gran, let my fiancée go, you’re scaring her,” Matt’s laughing voice came from behind Cass. She turned… and his lips grazed her cheek to take possession of her mouth.

She froze, shocked to the core by the heat and textures bombarding her senses. His mouth stilled, then moved against hers, soft and demanding at the same time. The noise faded, taken over by the buzzing of her pulse and the encouraging murmur coming from his throat—or was it hers?

A loud war-whoop from nearby broke them apart. Cass stared into his chocolate brown eyes and saw the same bemused arousal that she was feeling. Not good. Not good at all.

She yanked herself out of his grasp and turned back to Grannie, ignoring the cheers for more from the crowd. “Is there some place I could get cleaned up? It’s been a long trip.”

Grannie’s speculative gaze turned sly. “Of course, honey. We don’t stand on ceremony around here. I know how you young people are so I had Sophia put you in the adjoining suite next to Matthew. Matt, take her to your room, son.”

“Oh, but,” Cass protested, but Matt cut her off.

“I missed you, Gran.” He leaned down and gave his grandmother a hug filled with a little boy’s love. “We’ll let you get off to bed and talk more in the morning. I can’t wait for you two to get to know each other.” He grinned at Cassandra and grabbed her hand. “C’mon, darlin’, time to hit the hay.”

Cass stumbled along behind him, not sure how she’d managed to fall down this rabbit hole.

Author Bio:
Jacquie Biggar is a USA Today bestselling author of Romantic Suspense who loves to write about tough, alpha males who know what they want, that is until they're gob-smacked by heroines who are strong, contemporary women willing to show them what they really need is love. She is the author of the popular Wounded Hearts series and has just started a new series in paranormal suspense, Mended Souls.

She has been blessed with a long, happy marriage and enjoys writing romance novels that end with happily-ever-afters.

Jacquie lives in paradise along the west coast of Canada with her family and loves reading, writing, and flower gardening. She swears she can't function without coffee, preferably at the beach with her sweetheart.

Free reads, excerpts, author news, and contests can be found on her website. You can follow her on FacebookTwitter or email her via her web site.

Jacquie lives on Vancouver Island with her husband and loves to hear from readers all over the world!  You can join her street team on Facebook, her exclusive Review Crew or sign up for her newsletter.


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