Friday, April 30, 2021

#Friday'sFeaturedTitle #Feathers


Title: Feathers

Author: Courtney Rene

Genre: YA/Fantasy


Buy at: AmazonBarnes and Noble

Read first chapter




What happened to the angels that fell from heaven?  Do they still live among us?  Gracie is about to find out, whether she wants to or not.  


BLURB: Feathers


Feathers, brings you into the world of fallen angels. Orphaned since birth, sixteen-year-old, Grace finds her teenage world crumbling around her. Her home is burned to the ground. Her foster siblings and housemother are killed. Her life falls apart and there is nothing she can do to stop it. Her dreams have become dimensions where she can be hunted and hurt. Words like fallen angels, halflings, and nephilim are tossed around without explanation. When Grace sprouts a pair of wings, things go from bad to worse, as the fallen angels believe she may be the key to them returning to the side of God, but only upon her eradication.



EXCERPT: Feathers


We made it to the wireless store and quickly found the cells we were looking for. After being talked into a basic phone with full keyboard and a card for one hundred minutes, we were out the door in less than half an hour, cell phone set up and ready to rock. I was a bit lighter in the purse, but seventy-five dollars for the lot sounded pretty good.

“I wonder how long a hundred minutes will last?” I said.

Tory smiled at me and said, “Well, you’ll find out soon enough. Hey, what time is your curfew?”

“Eleven.” I looked at my watch. It wasn’t even ten yet.

“Want to get something to eat before we head back?” Tory asked as she pointed across the street at a pizza place.

“Sure,” I said. Before we could cross the street though, I felt it. He or it, whatever it was, had returned. I felt their stare. The hard feel of it firm against my skin. Goosebumps lifted along my arms. I looked over to see if Tory noticed it. She didn’t seem to, so I pretended I didn’t either. I didn’t even try to locate it that time. I ignored it. Completely. If they wanted to spend their Friday night staring at me, fine. Let them waste their time.

“You should come over tomorrow. We can go through my clothes. See if we can find you anything to add to your…wardrobe.”

“Hey,” I said and gave her a friendly shove. “My wardrobe isn’t that bad.”

“Yes. It is.”

Yeah, it was. “I wish I could, but I work most of the day tomorrow. I could on Sunday? After church.”

“You go to church?”

I laughed. “Mrs. Brown’s rules. Church every Sunday, no excuse, unless you’re dying or dead.”

“Okay, how about…Jesus! Gracie, look out!” Tory screeched.

I turned to see what had made her eyes widen to the size of saucers and grab my arm in a grip as tight as a cinch. Two blinding lights were barreling down on us. A car, a big one, was headed fast, right to where we stood, in the center of the crosswalk.

A heavy weight hit me from behind with a hard-smacking thud. The impact pushed the air from my lungs in a woosh. I flew through the air to land in a sliding grinding halt on the sidewalk in front of the overcrowded pizza place. Every eye right on me as I lay in a heap on the ground

“Ow,” I said, trying to hold back tears of pain as I got slowly to my feet. Blood ran down my arm where it had rasped against the concrete. My knees stung. I most likely skinned them as well. My shoulder ached. I had a feeling it took the brunt of my weight on the walkway when I landed.

I saw Tory in the same condition next to me. “Tory? You all right?”

“Yeah. What happened?” she asked as she tried to smooth her hair back into a semblance of order.

Before I could answer her though, I was roughly grabbed around the upper arms by a huge dude. He lifted me up to dangle with my feet off the ground and shook me like a rag doll.

“You stupid…girl!” he shouted right in my face. His dark blue eyes sparked in anger.

“Hey!” Tory yelled and shoved him from behind. “Get off!”

He whipped around to stare down at Tory. His long straight blonde hair flew around his shoulders like a cape. “Don’t,” was all he said.

Tory’s face turned white and she took several quick steps back. With a shaky voice she said, “Gracie?”

My feet finally back on the ground, the guy shoved a finger almost in my face and said with such quiet anger that I felt the blood wash out of my face as well, “Get home where you belong. Now.”

I looked at Tory and shrugged at her. Who the hell was he? I was shaking in my sandals, but something made my back straighten and my pride set in. I slowly but firmly shook my head at him and said, “No.”

I watched as disbelief and maybe a hint of rage crossed him face. I stepped quickly around him and grabbed Tory by the hand and made to go inside the restaurant.

“Grace Ann,” he growled. “Don’t push me anymore tonight. Go home, where you are safe.”

How did he know my name? I glanced at him once more. He was tall, well over six feet. He was stocky with muscles and bulk, but not quite huge and overwhelming. It was his face that drew me in though. It was beautiful. Even as angry as he was, he was lovely. Big dark eyes surrounded by long full eyelashes snapped at me with anger. His eyes, they pulled at me. Spoke to me. With surprising effort, I pulled my gaze away from those eyes and stepped inside the pizza place. The dark shadowed interior wrapped around me like a blanket and hid me within its depths.

“Is he gone?” Tory asked.

I tried not to, but I couldn’t help but glance outside where he’d stood, to see if he was still there. “I don’t know. I don’t see him.”

“Who was that?” she asked as she craned her head around me to do her own looking.

“I have no idea.”





Angles. Nephilim, Fantasy, Young Adult, Religion









Facebook page:




Thursday, April 29, 2021

#MySweetBroc #HistoricalRomance


Title: My Sweet Broc

Author: Christine Young

Genre: Historical Romance

Book Heat Level: 


Buy at: AmazonBarnes and NobleAppleKoboGoogle Play


Read first chapter




Bliss MacTavish finds the repercussions more than she bargains for when she gives herself bad boy, Broc Wallace.





He's a bad bad boy...


Broc Wallace is a fun-loving rake who never thought any beautiful woman could melt his heart. He lives life in the present enjoying the camaraderie of his friends and the pleasures of his mistress. When Bliss races into his life, he is ill prepared to deal with her secrets or give up the tenor of his life. When the truth is revealed, he finds himself unable to forgive and forget the betrayal. 


...but she's sweet for him


Bliss MacTavish knows she's playing with fire when she refuses to tell this bad boy her name. He tempts her with sweet whispers of seduction knowing her innocent nature will be unable to refuse all he yearns to give her. Deciding to follow her heart, she finds the repercussions more than she bargains for when she gives herself to this bad boy.





Broc didn’t want to let go of her hand, at least not until she made it clear she didn’t like this tiny advance. He was inexplicably drawn to her and hoped she wasn’t some debutant who would seek a commitment. He liked his freedom and didn’t mean to lose it anytime soon.

            “Bliss,” he paused, “where do you live?” he asked, trying for a bit more information from her. The thought of a debutante seeking him out sent a wave of precaution through his head. But what would some random debutante be doing riding hell bent across a meadow on MacTavish land? A debutant would not have to earn a living.

            “Why?” Her answer was curt.

            “Just curious. It seems you know more about me than I do you. It’s only fair, don’t you think?” 

            “No, fairness has nothing to do with any of this. I barely know you,” she said. “I’m not going to give you my address. A lady needs an air of intrigue about her.”

            “You know me well enough to watch me half naked chopping wood,” he told her, thinking he’d like to see her naked. Her dress hid her curves fairly well, but he could still tell quite a lot about her body. “I’m sure you know exactly where I live.”

            “And you weren’t a wee bit bashful either. I also saw a beautiful woman ride to the stables. I saw you kiss her. When you were half naked. So,” she paused gazing at him, her eyes simmering, “I’m sure you don’t care if I saw your chest and rippling muscles.” With that said she looked away as if she didn’t want him to see her reaction. He was sure he saw more than she intended.

            “Jealous?” Good lord but that was at least two months ago. His mistress paid him an unusual visit and he sent her away with the order to never come to his home again.

            “Of course not,” she protested to quickly.

            “The blush rising on your cheeks tells me you’re not speaking the truth. I think you should apologize or let me kiss you. Perhaps we should make a bet. Every time you lie you have to kiss me.”

            “No, I wouldn’t like to make a bet like that with you. I’ve been told you’re a very bad man where it comes to women.”

            “Who told you that?” He could only think of a few people who would say that about him, and it would be in jest or to warn a debutant away.

            “Just heard it. Don’t remember where. Probably one day when I was in town to sell my paintings.” She smushed her lips together, squinting, her eyebrows drawn together as if she was thinking.

            “Something doesn’t ring true.” 

            “Don’t know why you say that?” 

            “Back to my question, are you jealous? Should we find out if you like my kisses?” He grinned at her hesitancy, but the way her tongue swept across her lips told him she was thinking about telling him yes, or at least about a kiss.

            “Probably not a good idea.” She backed away from him, but she didn’t take her hand from his. “A kiss. No something like that could lead to other things a lady shouldn't do.”

            “Other things? What do you know about other things?”

            “Nothing really.”

            He decided a bit more persuasion might be appropriate here. He traced gentle circles on her wrist with his thumb and he watched her eyes cross for a second. “Probably not, but what if kissing you is a very good idea? What then? You’d miss something you would enjoy.”

            “Again, I barely know you. It’s not proper to kiss a man when you’ve only known him for a few minutes. One must wait...”

            “Proper!” he roared then chuckling. “You are the least proper woman I’ve ever met. And we’ve known each other over an hour now, not a few minutes. So a kiss would certainly be proper.”



























Barnes & Noble:






Google Play:



He's a bad bad boy...Broc Wallace is a fun-loving rake who never thought any beautiful woman could melt his heart...but she's sweet for him Bliss MacTavish knows she's playing with fire when she refuses to tell this bad boy her name. He tempts her with sweet whispers of seduction knowing she will be unable to refuse all he yearns to give her


Wednesday, April 21, 2021

#MyAngel #HistoricalRomance


My Angel by Christine Young

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 


Buy at Amazon



BLURB: My Angel



When her father decided to send her to a finishing school back East, Angela Chamberlain refused to be confined to stuffy drawing rooms. Instead, the daring spitfire who could shoot like a man and ride like the wind longed for a life of adventure and romance—and she knew exactly who could give it to her. Devil Blackmoor was a hired gun with a dangerous reputation. But Angela was willing to go to the ends of the earth to capture the handsome devil's heart.



He'd come to America looking for excitement, but Devil Blackmoor got more than he bargained for when he encountered a beautiful rebel who answered his kisses with a wild innocence that touched his very soul. Yet standing between them were more obstacles than either ever dreamed. For Devil had strapped on a gun for the wrong man. And that made Angela his enemy. Now he'll have to choose between his duty and the woman he loves more than life. 




Denver, 1893


A polished azure sky looked down on a day that vacillated between winter and spring--a day unable to make up its mind. Cool breezes lifted Angela Chamberlain's brand-new canary yellow skirt off the moisture-laden sidewalk. A blazing hot sun dried the puddles in the street left over from last night's deluge.


Unlike the day, Angela had no trouble making up her mind. Angela knew what she wanted out of life. She touched one finger to the sapphire earrings adorning her newly pierced ears.


She wanted adventure.


She had a terrible craving to see the world--to climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower, to walk the Great Wall of China. She yearned to fly in a hot-air balloon high above the earth, or ride in a gondola in Venice. She wanted to fall in love with a man who was as brave and smart as her father and as dangerous as Devil Blackmoor.


Angela's wish list had no end.


Instead of adventure and romance, in three short weeks she'd be enrolled in Miss Somebody's finishing school for young ladies, where knowing which fork to use was more important than riding with the wind on her favorite horse, Kangee. A place where changing one's clothes three times or more each day was common practice.


Two days ago she'd told her father she didn't want to go.


And two days ago her father had told her she would learn to appreciate the schooling and that she was a very lucky young woman. He'd also promised her a trip to the continent for a graduation present.


A graduation present! She wanted to yell at him, but wisely kept her mouth shut. She wanted to travel now. Today. But more than anything, she didn't want to be confined to the stuffy drawing rooms in the East. Just like her father, she needed freedom. But her father meant to take the choice from her.


To gossip and chatter with rich society women was not her destiny. To know which wine was served with fish would not make her happy. This was his dream for her. Sam Chamberlain needed to look to his own heart and remember the choices he had made twenty-five years ago.


Her destiny was out there somewhere, waiting for her to snap it up and hold the moment close to her heart. She knew what she wanted, and to prove her point, she'd bought a camera and had the machine sent over to the hotel. She meant to photograph all her adventures, every nook and cranny, every monument, every intriguing person.


Across the street and down two blocks, Devil Blackmoor had just taken the saddle off his horse. He brushed the stallion's back, all the while petting the animal's sleek coat and crooning into the horse's ear. Mesmerized, she watched his hands and the gentle way he stroked the horse. 


She wished she had her camera.


Devil Blackmoor commanded her attention. He symbolized everything a father cautioned his daughter to be wary of. Despite the warning, Devil's strong jaw, his powerful shoulders and the confident way he held himself beckoned to every feminine nerve in Angela's body.


Angela clutched her hands to her chest, willing her gaze to shift to something or someone who wouldn't shatter her senses and set her blood boiling. Helpless to control her wayward heart, she kept looking back at Devil. She noticed everything about him, the way he moved, the way his denim jeans clung to his legs and the way they molded to his backside. Devil laughed at something the bouncer from the saloon said, andwhen he smiled, one edge of his mouth tilted crookedly. Ange­la's heart swooned and fluttered, and she thought she might never breathe again.


Tuesday, April 20, 2021

#TellTaleTuesday #IfOnly


Title: If Only

Author: Christie L. Kraemer


Genre: Contemporary Romance

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 


Buy at: AmazonBarnes and Noble




Widow Barbara Langley, sporting a refreshed look, and her best friend, go to Tampa, Florida as she had promised. Along the way she encounters an old flame and new temptation.


BLURB: If Only


Widow Barbara Langley, and best friend, Rachel, journey to Tampa, Florida. Barbara left broken-hearted years earlier and returns with her newly surgicized body to mend her grieving spirit. Can she juggle an old love who reappears and the younger man who desires her or will she choose to return to the Northwest still single?





"You are the one my cards have foretold to me." She nodded at Rachel who stood behind Barbara, her mouth gaping.

"I beg your pardon?" Barbara moved back stepping on Rachel's toe.



The blonde women stopped before Barbara, tossing a fearful look in Rachel's direction, before reaching out and gently lifting Barbara's hand to her, palm up, and peered at the opened extremity. She took a bejeweled, ruby-tipped finger and traced the lifeline. Her dark brown eyes peered deeply into Barbara's.

"You have recently suffered a great personal loss."

Rachel harrumphed behind Barbara.

Ignoring Rachel, she continued, "You have come home seeking a glimpse of the past to answer questions of old. You will have to make a decision between two—brothers?—which will change your living arrangements as well as your life..."

Before she could continue, Rachel grabbed Barbara's elbow and propelled her toward the front door, muttering under her breath, "Any fool can see the white circle where your wedding ring used to be and, of course, you're seeking something. You came into this bloody shop. What a fraud."

The blonde turned and softly called to the retreating backs of the two friends, "By the way, Dylan says you are headed in the right direction, and he wants to thank you. Now he can rest."

Barbara's planted her feet to the floor. She whirled and, grasping her throat, whispered, "Dylan?"

The blonde approached warily, glancing at the furious face of Rachel looking over the head of her friend.

"Yes. He said you"—she pointed at Rachel—"would not believe me, but he was finding it difficult to get a message through to you. Barbara, he wanted very much for you to know the quest you have taken is the first step to setting him free. He knew he was your second choice."

Barbara gasped, tears welling in her eyes, "He never said a thing."

"He has told me to thank you for all the years of love you gave to him, and says he wants you to find your first love who also searches for answers."

Rachel growled behind Barbara, "Let's get the hell out of this place." She turned Barbara around and shoved her out the door. Glancing back, she spotted the blonde peeking from the door as they escaped to the car.

"Barbara, you're not going to believe that garbage, are you?" Furrows creased Rachel's brow.

"Well, normally, I would've laughed in her face as we walked out, but she did mention Dylan by name. I mean, how could she know the name of, of... well, you know." Barbara had stopped on the sidewalk and was looking up at her friend.

Pulling Barbara close to the building, she tenderly grasped her friend's hand in hers.


Barbara's eyes widened.

"Yeah, I know about your pet name. He told me once when I'd just read him the riot act about his drinking and how it would end your marriage if he didn't get himself together. I hate to dump ice water on your hope but... we were talking about Dylan in there, remember?"

Rachel watched her friend's shoulders droop and the hope flicker and die from her eyes.

"Yeah, I'd forgotten about that. Well, I guess mysterious messages from those who have passed over and voodoo are the tools of their trade. I'm just feeling a little guilty, I guess. I've actually felt happier here than the last two years in Oregon. Hearing his name like that brought back all the pain."

Rachel winced. "Girlfriend, we came here so you could release some of that pain and take a breather from being 'Dylan's poor widow,' remember?" She gathered her friend under her arm, and they moved toward the parking lot.

Barbara slowed her gait and turned to look up at her friend. "I know she has a very good act going, but I never told Dylan he was my second choice. Did you?"

Rachel shook her head and with her hand crossed her heart.

"Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

Rachel picked up the pace until they stood at the doors of the convertible.

"No. The woman is good at what she does—selling the occult. Everyone who goes into her shop is looking for something, or they wouldn't stop. The white spot and indentation on your finger, where your ring used to be, indicates you were in a long relationship, which has recently ended. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but, when you think no one is watching, you look incredibly sad. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out you might be looking for a new love. That part about two brothers, though; that was taking it just a little too far. You gotta give her this—she's a great actress."


Monday, April 19, 2021

#MysteryMonday #HighlandMagic


Highland Magic

Christine Young

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 3


Buy at Amazon



BLURB: Highland Magic


Throughout the Highlands she is known as Keely, the witch woman. She is a great healer-a woman whose dreams come true. Ian MacPherson is a man who puts honor, loyalty and duty above everything. Their lives are entwined when Ian is sent by the Scottish King to bring Keely to trial for witchcraft. He is attacked and left for dead, but Keely rescues him. When he wakes, he discovers he has no memory. As he remembers his lost past, Ian finds that his need to protect the woman who has saved his life eclipses his duty to his king and country. He is a man torn between honor and duty to his country and the woman he loves.



REVIEW: Highland Magic


4.0 out of 5 stars

February 24, 2013


H. Murphy "H"


I have enjoyed this series. Strong alpha highlanders....what more could a girl want. The heroin is strong but sometimes just doesn't think....but that makes for the drama. Off to the third book.



Excerpt: Highland Magic


Scotland, Summer 1513:


For a moment the man's gaze met hers, bored into her heart, questioned. Blood curdling war cries rode the wings of death through the timeless night. Claymores clashed. Dark eyes the color of midnight flashed a challenge. The holy man's opponents hesitated then lunged once more.


Moonbeams reflected light from the gold chain he wore around his neck. Brown robes fell from massive shoulders. Three more enemies appeared from the trees. The priest fell to the ground, wounded by the broadside of his enemy's weapon. Motionless, he lay on her flower-strewn meadow, blood staining the grass and wildflowers, marring the colorful, summer landscape.


Keely Gray woke, heart pounding a rapid staccato. She pressed against her throbbing temples with sweat-slick palms, hoping to ease the horrific pain that always accompanied the dreams. Death--the scent of blood, fear and treachery still hung heavy in the darkened hut. The prickling sensation radiating from her spine to encompass her body was too familiar.


She listened and heard nothing.


A dark void impaled her. The usual night sounds stilled. She heard no hoot of owl, no chirp of crickets, no croak of frogs, nor could she hear the mournful sighing of the wind through the branches of the old oak trees.


Silence emptied her heart as well as her soul, leaving only an ever-present loneliness.


Keely wanted nothing more than to cuddle into her bed and pull the covers over her head. Despite the unspeakable agony deep in the pit of her stomach, she rose from her pallet. Her limbs trembling, she slipped a shapeless tunic over her head and soft-soled shoes onto her feet. As she swept past the front door, she grabbed her woolen cloak.


Light from a full moon illuminated the path. She could see, but she could also be seen, the moonlight both a curse and a blessing. Approaching the meadow she'd watched in her dreams, she slowed her pace and waited. Her fingers wound tightly around the amber pendant she always wore, her only keepsake from her mother.


The sounds and scents hovering on the wind would tell her if danger still lurked. Caution guided her. A vigilance she'd learned long ago held her motionless.


 A familiar dragging sound reassured her she wasn't alone. "Whipple?" she whispered.


A self-appointed guardian angel appeared as if from nowhere then nodded, though there was a wary cast to his faded blue eyes. "Aye, lass, I'm here. I heard ye leave your hut. I would not leave ye alone to face whatever dangerous mission awaited."


Keely waited for Whipple to close the distance between them before she spoke. "I would argue with you about your appearance here at this great hour, but I ken it would do no good. You should not be here. Your heart--"


Whipple spat. "My heart is fine."


She determinedly stepped forward, approaching the meadow of her dream, knowing she wouldn't like what she found.


"Have it your way, then." Given a choice, Keely wouldn't have come to this meadow. But she had to know the truth--had she seen the future or something happening at that very moment?


Whipple didn't reply. On his clubfoot, he followed her, his trailing leg sliding behind him with a soft swish. The hard thud of his crooked oak cane followed at a slightly skewed interval.


Together they crested the hill. Below her, she saw her dream. A priest lay on the ground, his head twisted at an odd angle. For a moment her heart stopped. She bit down on her lower lip while she studied the man.

Sunday, April 18, 2021

#RomanceSunday #LegacyReborn


Title: Legacy Under Fire

Author: Genie Gabriel


Genre: Romantic Suspense


Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 1


Buy at Amazon:  

Buy at Barnes & Noble:  


BLURB: Legacy Under Fire


After being trapped in an arson fire that destroyed her clinic and her memory, a doctor struggles to regain her courage as well as solve the mystery of why someone would want to kill her. A different kind of heat fills her life when she falls in love with the firefighter who rescued her, but can he protect her from the man determined to snuff out her life? 



EXCERPT: Legacy Under Fire


As Shiloh stood watching the dancers, butterflies swooped in her belly like the rainbow of satin gowns swirling across the dance floor. 


"Would you like to dance?"


Shiloh gazed at Jeremiah, her handsome escort. No smudges on his face from smoke and ashes. No sturdy turnouts with its fabric rough against her cheek. 


Handsome. Serious. Sexy. 


Though he barely touched her fingers, the heat shimmered between them. 


Shiloh's breath caught in her throat. Tonight was different. He wasn't a hero doing his job. He was a man whose gaze looked into her soul.


And found what? 


Did he see the holes where her memory had been? Did he sense her fear and wonder at her doubts? 


"I-I can't."


A frown settled briefly on his brow. 


"I've never learned any dance steps--I just to sway to the music." Shiloh shrugged ruefully. 


"I can teach you."


Shiloh's mouth went dry. She struggled to swallow as the fantasy of Jer teaching her more than dance steps raised goosebumps across her skin.


"It's easy." Jeremiah turned his hand over so her palm rested against his. "Just a few simple steps in a box pattern."


His other hand moved to her hip, and he quietly counted the steps as they moved to the music. "One, two, three. One, two, three."


Mesmerized by the movement of his lips, Shiloh simply followed his lead. Until he turned and she stumbled against his feet. She jerked upright, flushed, and stammered out an apology. "I guess all my skill is in my hands--or used to be..."


"You can stand on my feet if you want to until you get the hang of it. Marly used to when she was a kid and Tallie was trying to 'give us some culture', as she said."


"That sounds nice." Wistfulness wove between Shiloh's words.


"Trampled feet or culture?" A dimple appeared in Jeremiah's left cheek when he smiled. 


Why had she not noticed that before? "Having lots of siblings must have been nice."


"Intrusive sometimes."


"Better than being alone."


"Were you lonely as a child?" Jeremiah continued dancing with Shiloh as they talked.


"I knew my parents loved me and were doing important work. But I missed being around kids my own age."


"Yeah, you missed out on bruises and elbows in the ribs during basketball games."


They laughed together.


"I didn't realize how lucky I was," Jer said. "Until lately."


"Much has happened lately," Shiloh agreed.


Jer swung her under his arm and she concentrated on keeping her feet moving so she didn't stumble. For the rest of the song, Shiloh focused on dancing rather than talking. As the dance ended, a cautious pride bloomed in Shiloh's chest.


"You're a fast learner."


Jer was staring at her. With something different in his eyes Shiloh hadn't noticed before. Speculation. Desire perhaps.


The orchestra began playing again and she melted into his arms. In this beautiful old house, time seemed to have receded to a gentler era when gentlemen and ladies put on their best manners with their fine clothes for a special night on the town. 


Shiloh let her eyes drift closed, wondering what making love would be like with Jeremiah. She fancied it would be much like dancing with him. A slow, tantalizing journey unlike any other she had taken. 


Is this what she had missed in younger years by focusing on her studies? Or was this magic reserved for a special someone? Someone she hadn't met until Jeremiah. 


When she opened her eyes, Jer was gazing at her. A slight smile on his lips and banked fire in his eyes. He wanted her. Yet made no move to put his desires into action. Truly a gentleman. A hero.


The man she had fallen in love with.