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Romantic Comedy Feature: Tempered Steel Series: Books 1-3 Box Set by Maggie Adams @AUTHRMAGGIEADMS


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Romantic Comedy, Romantic Suspense, Erotic Romance


tempered-steel-series

Meet the Coalson brothers in the first three books of the Tempered Steel Series!
A few years ago, the tiny village of Grafton, Illinois, nestled along the banks of the mighty Mississippi River, was almost completely destroyed by flood. Mac Coalson sets about the arduous task of saving what could be saved.
When vandals strike the new construction, it was up to Mac and his brothers to catch the culprit before anyone is hurt. While laying a trap, Mac thought he had captured the criminal, but instead, he finds sassy spitfire, Dixie Harris, has stolen his heart.
Sam Coalson, ex-Navy SEAL, was run off fifteen years ago by the father of his high school sweetheart. He can’t forgive Angel Devereaux for her part in his humiliation, but he can and will find out who is behind the destruction of Mac’s construction business.
Charming Chance Coalson helps his brother run their construction business with a ready smile and a strong back. Considered the “Casanova of the County”, his love for women is legendary. Now this “bad boy” has become a one-woman man, and he must convince a shy firefighter he’s worthy of her love.

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Excerpt:

“Well, if it isn’t the Angel of Mercy. Have you come to administer to the weak and injured? I’m afraid you’re a little too late. Everyone’s been patched up. Of course you can always kiss the boo-boos, can’t you?” Sam drawled as he shifted position on the railing.

Angel felt a blush heat her cheeks at his words and started to turn away. This was obviously a mistake. She was getting nowhere with him. She saw him wince as he moved and she turned back. “Were you really hurt?”

“Yeah, I’m in a lot of pain. Do you think you can help me?” he drawled as he passed his hand across his brow.

Angel immediately became solicitous. “Where are you hurt?” She ran up the front porch steps. She looked him over, searching for injury.

“Here.” Sam smiled and pointed to his groin. She could see his erection tenting his jeans. “Still want to help?”

Angel stiffened in outrage. “You bast…”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Careful there, Angel baby, you wouldn’t want to tarnish that halo, would you?” He hefted himself off the railing and came to stand next to her.


About the Author:

maggie-adams

Maggie Adams is an Amazon Best Selling contemporary romance author. Her first book in the Tempered Steel Series, Whistlin’ Dixie, debuted in Amazon’s Top 100 for Women’s Fiction, humor, on November, 2014. Since then, she has consistently made the Amazon best seller 5-star list with Leather and Lace, Something’s Gotta Give, and Love, Marriage & Mayhem. She is also the recipient of the Dayreader Review’s Best New Series Award for 2015. Her series has launched the tiny town of Grafton, Illinois, into International recognition with sales in Mexico, Ireland, Scotland, Australia and the UK.

Back home, she resides in Highland, Illinois, with her high school sweetheart, Collinsville native, Ned Bugger, and their children, Katie (Kyle) and Ross (Valerie) and first granddaughter, Lorelei, otherwise known as “The Boss”

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Thriller Feature: No More Heroes by Roo I MacLeod @rooimacleod


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Thriller


no-more-heroes

A murder on the streets of Ostere isn’t headline news
A vagrant robbing a body is common place
But the police want a word
As do the killers
Ben Jackman, 20 year old vagrant by day, hunter of road kill by night, isn’t the man to take the fall
Proving his innocence-obvious
Finding the killer-Not so easy
So Ben needs a gun, a big gun, because the streets of Ostere have a new breed of criminal and they aren’t looking to take prisoners.

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Excerpt:

No More Heroes
Chapter One
Of snow, Christmas & Trouble

 

At three pm the clock in our town square chimed four deep tolls. Festive faces turned to the town hall looking at the clock in confusion. The juggler dropped his blades, the girls behind the veils stopped with their gyrations and Santa’s Ho became a Ha as his bell fell silent.

I retreated into the frigid dark of Smelly Alley and collided with old Fred the fishmonger. His large metal ring of keys fell with a sharp clatter to the worn cobbles and he stumbled against his shop window. I grabbed his arm and steadied his gait. He hauled a gold watch from his waistcoat, shook the time piece and placed it to his ear.

‘Yer making me late, you good for nothing pup.’

Seriously? Pup? Late? How could he possibly know? The silly old bugger walked with a white tap-tap-tap stick and the town hall clock was arse up.

The wind rattled at the drawn shutters and litter cavorted with the folk heading for the celebrations in the square. I stooped to retrieve his keys and he snatched them from my hand.

I pulled my coat tight and brushed at my hair. I was eager to enter the town square and chance a meeting with the bar maid from the Old Poet public house. The butcher’s boy blocked my path. He carried a dead pig across his narrow shoulders and seemed intent on sharing his burden with me.

‘Easy, eh?’ I said. ‘You closing early?’

I sidestepped his blood stained apron, alarmed by the manic look in the dead pig’s eyes.

‘It’s anniversary, isn’t it,’ he grunted. As he turned into his shop he tried to smack me with the dead pig’s trotters.

What bloody anniversary?

A shout greeted the fish monger’s entrance into the square, causing me to flinch, jump even. Man I hated random noises. My nerves were pretty crap to be honest. My mate Tommy said it was my diet being inadequate. He reckoned living on cigarettes and vodka had to play havoc with your nerves. Tommy was no intellectual but my diet did lack fiber for sure.

I pulled the hood over my head and followed the old boy’s steps. Fairy lights shone in the afternoon gloom. Sad droopy loops of tinsel glittered between the stalls. Vendors in Santa hats called out their wares and folk traipsed the frozen dirt bartering for a deal. In the corner beneath the video screen carol singers armed with a battery of flat sounding tunes shared their festive bliss. Faces beamed with Yuletide cheer, welcoming the snow bloated clouds lumbering across the sky. The weatherman had promised all good citizens a merry and white Christmas.

‘Bugger their perfect bloody Christmas,’ I muttered. I was well aware my tatty coat and I stood no chance of surviving the festive season if snow dumped on our town.


About the Author:

roo-1

Roo I MacLeod was born in Croydon, Australia on an excessively hot, humid day and fought three doctors, two midwives and the utilities type person against his entry into the world. This desperate attempt to remain womb bound, according to his mother left him with the ugliest mug yet to have graced the austere corridors of Nan Org Bush Hospital. Roo offers attached images as proof that his mother might be exaggerating, and finds it difficult to believe they’d let a utilities type person loose with a set of birthing forceps.

Time was served at a variety of schools before it was suggested he give living and working in the real world a go. So began his long sojourn trying to find the best and cheapest means of living. The Volkswagen beetle proved cheap, but uncomfortable for a man of such tall stature. In Darwin he found solace in a one bedroom house with 18 travellers (more commonly known as a squat) but found cohabiting with his own deranged thoughts hard, but 18 tourists caused neurotic tics, a dependence on alcohol and prescribed drugs and left him wandering the deserts of Australia totally unhinged.

A two man tent offered independence, until a tribe of angry locals burnt it to the ground. No one took the blame but Roo suspected the lads living in the dry river bed. They’d thrown rocks at him late one night when he wouldn’t share his hooch.

No More Heroes was conceived in a quaint English church when he took shelter from the rain. He stumbled into a funeral and found he’d doubled the mourners present. The vicar, a friend to this day, invited him to pray and sing a few tunes, and he, Roo and the young lady in black chucked dirt on the deceased come the end of the ceremony.

He now lives in West Sussex UK and has spent the last couple of years volunteering at homeless centers. He is barred from two of the five pubs in town for the same attitude that wreaked havoc in his school days and vows to antagonize the remaining four pub Landlords by the end of the year.

He is a passionate supporter of the Richmond Tigers, The Arsenal and any sport Australia are participating in. He has a partner, who doesn’t read or write or support any of the above teams.

He has two children from a previous unsuccessful attempt to cohabit.

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Chick Lit Feature: Being Shirley by Michelle Vernal @MichelleVernal


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Chick Lit – Women’s Fiction


being-shirley

“Who’s Shirley Valentine?”
Shirley Valentine was Roz’s favourite film. It was about a repressed, middle-aged housewife from Liverpool who spends her days talking to her kitchen wall. When she leaves her husband for an impromptu holiday to the Greek Islands with a friend, she rediscovers her lust for life and decides to stay.
Annie Rivers isn’t middle-aged; she’s thirty-one. She doesn’t hail from England; she lives in New Zealand and she doesn’t talk to the kitchen wall—just her cat.
Her late sister Roz had a passion for anything and everything to do with Greece, including Shirley Valentine and the New Age musician, Yanni. Just for the record, though, Annie never shared in her sister’s love of Yanni’s white trousers, unlike their mutual best friend, Carl. The print that once hung on Roz’s bedroom wall of Santorini now hangs on Annie’s and she’s picked up the pen pal relationship with Kassia Bikakis where Roz left off.
Kassia, along with the rest of the Bikakis family, help run her mother-in-law’s namesake Eleni’s guesthouse on the Greek island of Crete. These days, Annie and Kas prefer email to snail mail and in their exchanges, Annie confides how much she hates her new boss and how much she loves the wedding dress she’s spotted in the window of an exclusive boutique. If only her fiancé Tony would actually commit to setting the date and if only she could get the dress to fit.
Annie knows she’s drifting along and that something’s gotta give but will she be like Roz and let it pass her by? Or will she be brave like Shirley and grab life by the seat of a pair of white trousers?

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Excerpt:

This really was her princess moment but it wasn’t a surprise. She’d known the moment she’d laid her eyes upon the swathe of ivory fabric on display in the shop window that it would be. She twirled slowly and became aware of an impatient foot that tapped outside the fitting room. With one last glimpse in the mirror over her shoulder, she called out, “Okay, I am ready, so shut your eyes!”
“She’s ready—thank God for that!” Carl glanced over at Haughty Amanda, whose lips pursed as she raised her eyes heavenward and sent up a silent prayer that madam hadn’t split the delicate seams of the satin.
Annie opened the door and glided out onto the shop floor. “Okay, you can open them now.” Fully aware that Carl was peeping anyway, she smiled tremulously at him. “Well, what do you think?”
Carl clasped his hands steeple-like in front of his mouth as his eyes swept from her head to her toes but gave nothing away as she slowly twirled around.
Annie shifted awkwardly; her hands dropped back down to her sides. “Come on then, what do you think—do you like it?” She was surprised at how much it mattered to her that he approve.
Carl blinked rapidly.
“Don’t cry.”
He fanned his hand in front of his face in an effort to compose himself. “I can’t help it. Oh, it’s, Annie, it’s—oh, you just look so—”
“What? What do I look? Spit it out!” Annie nearly shrieked, desperate for the verdict.
“Beautiful, exquisite, perfect—oh, I’d need a thesaurus to put all the adjectives to describe how you look into words—”
“It does rather become Madam, I must agree, although perhaps it is a little tight across the hips?” Haughty Amanda homed in to give the bodice a little tug where the fabric had wrinkled ever so slightly thanks to the snug fit. Annie was having none of it as she shied away from the older woman’s hands.
“It’s fine, truly. It fits me just fine.” Or it will once I drop the choccie biscuits at morning teatime, she self-affirmed.
“Oh, I thought of some more: stunning, gorgeous, ethereal—” Carl continued to wax lyrical, “but—”
Annie lapped up all the adjectives until she froze. “But what?”
“It’s just that—”
“It is not too tight like I told Haught—I mean Amanda here. It is NOT TOO TIGHT.”
Carl held a hand up, well versed in his day-to-day dealings with models at calming a woman’s potential histrionics. “No, no, sweets, of course it’s not. It fits you like a glove. That’s not it at all.”
Annie placed a hand on her hip and looked at him searchingly. “Well, what is it then?”
“I don’t know how to say this—”
Carl was not usually one to be lost for words or to beat around the bush. Her skin went goosy as she wondered what it was he struggled to tell her.


About the Author:

michelle-v

Hello, I am a New Zealand-based novelist, local newspaper reporter, blogger and avid Facebook user. I am based in the pretty little town of Oxford, in New Zealand’s South Island. Writing is something I have always used as a way of expressing myself. My first foray into the romantic and humorous world of my style of women’s fiction is recorded in my thirteen-year-old self’s compulsory school journal. In it, much to the delight of my English teacher, I described in minutiae the heartbreak of being dumped after my first school disco. I have moved on since then and am now married with two boys.

After my first son was born, I attended a creative writing course at Canterbury University, and the first piece I ever penned was published by a New Zealand parenting magazine. I went on to write humorous; opinion styled pieces of my take on parenting but when the necessity for being politically correct got too much, I set myself the challenge of writing a novel. My first two books, The Brazilian Job and Second Hand Jane could be given the label of chick lit. They were followed by the slightly more contemporary, Being Shirley. The Traveller’s Daughter is my fourth novel and has a historical twist; all my books are written with warmth and humour.

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Post-Apocalyptic Feature: Lethal Seasons by Alice Sabo @Alice_Sabo


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Scifi / Post-Apocalyptic


lethal-seasons

 A Changed World Book 1

In the near future, a virus has whittled down the human race. The remaining population struggles to survive in a world ravaged by extreme weather. A reticent government provides food, vaccines and keeps the ultra-fast trains running. Cities are empty, farms deserted, factories abandoned. The world is running on a skeleton crew.

Nick lives at High Meadow med center. The people there stay hopeful as they work toward self-sufficiency. He counts survivors for Angus’s research. He wants his life to stay as normal as possible in a world he barely understands.

Wisp is a fugitive. He lives off the land, moving from town to town, hiding his extrasensory skills. He is a Finder and will accept the right kind of job. Silence and subterfuge keep him alive.

Lily is a young girl with long brown hair and eyes the color of ripe cherries. She is searching for her brother. They were separated while fleeing armed men. She is part of something that started before her birth.

When these three lives intersect, a chain reaction of death and violence will change the course of the future and impact the very survival of the human race.

Free on Kindle Unlimited!

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Excerpt:

“In what we would come to call Year Zero, a deadly virus was released in early fall by a madman. The records for that year are suspect, but the number of dead appears consistent with my own observations. Approximately 40% of the population died worldwide. We were not equipped to handle such a broad scale calamity. Nor were we prepared when it returned the following summer.”

History of a Changed World, Angus T. Moss

Nick grabbed his gear and headed for the shelter cubbies. High Meadow was one of the older style stations, built just as the world was coming to grips with climate change. It was barely far enough underground to remain in operation. Despite the thick walls and storm proofing, Nick could hear the howl of the wind and the pounding of the rain. But no thunder. He breathed a sigh of relief. Probably no tornados tonight

The cell-sized room was immaculate and smelled of antiseptic. The National Train Authority people were very thorough. Proud to have jobs in a world that had no industries left. He tossed his bedroll on the shiny metal shelf that passed for a bed, hoping the waterproofing held. It was a relief to be still for a minute. He’d been traveling for six days and the ultra-fast trains took a toll. He peeled off his wet clothing and dried off with the towel he carried in his pack. The clothes probably wouldn’t dry tonight, but he draped them on the row of coat hooks that lined one wall anyway.

He sat on the shelf with a groan. He’d been gone longer than planned. There’d been some unexpected complications. Things that he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to Angus about. Nick had been gathering information for Angus’s history book for the past three years. It gave him a purpose. A reason to go out into the world and talk to people. He was a man that needed those things—purpose, reason, order. Without them, he was too easily lost in regrets and sorrow for all the people he’d lost. Whenever the ghosts and darkness came calling, he got out his pack and bedroll and went searching for new communities. The world had shattered, and Angus was trying to knit it back together with cobwebs and good intentions. It was a cause he could easily support.


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About the Author:

alice-sabo

Alice Sabo is the author of the post-apocalyptic series A Changed World, the space fantasy series Transmutation and traditional mystery series Asher Blaine Mysteries. She lives in Asheville, NC, where she gardens and tries to outwit the squirrels.

For more information on upcoming books see her blog: www.alicesabo.com

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