Close Love – another hot billionaire from Zoe Adams
Wednesday, May 25th, 2016

Close Love Banner

Close Love by Zoe Adams

Genre: Billionaire Romance, Western Romance

Release: December 8, 2015

Publisher: Limitless Publishing

Book Blitz: May 23, 2016

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Lady runs away until she meets Del. Together, they find out where loving her leads.

 

Buy now or read for free with Kindle Unlimited:

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Excerpt:

Del lifted his black cowboy hat. “Good evening, ma’am.”

She sputtered nervously, “What? Who says stuff like that anymore?”

“Del Ericson.” He put his hand out in greeting.

The woman took his hand and tilted her head. “I’m Lady, umm.”

“Lady Umm?” Del tried to figure her out. “Is Lady your real name or a title?”

“I don’t know.” She put her nose down and fumbled with the gas door. Lady’s tone of voice matched the distraught look in her eyes. Del thought he saw something deeper. She had a frozen smile attached to a poker face. Her expression got longer as she straightened to meet him.

“The gas station is closed, but you can still get gas. It accepts credit cards at night. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Del gave a reassuring smile and began to turn away.

“Oh no.” Lady’s composure went to panicky tears. “Oh no.” She repeated herself sickly. Lady stomped a high heeled shoe on the concrete and it made a weak click. “Oh no.” She lifted her face to his. “I lose again.”

Lady had a little temper. Del considered her a loss. Then those three little words melted any preconceived notion of being spoiled or rich. She had said she lost again. Those words drew Del’s interest back. “What did you lose?” he asked.

“Anonymity. I lose to technology.” She humpffed and a piece of brown hair floated above her cheek. When the wayward strand settled, it fell somewhere indifferently. “I just can’t ever run away from my family. They will see my credit card and follow my every move.”

She looked up at Del. Her eyes held a serious look of discomfort. But there was more to it than that, it was a hopeless look about belonging. She grimaced like she wasn’t sure if he was a better place for her to turn toward or not.

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Review Quotes:

5 stars: Sexy, steamy and action packed! This book is a best seller in the making. The guys are hott, the writers writing great, and the plot interesting! By Cutting Muse Book Blog – Laura and Makayla Redmon

4 Stars: Fashion, Farming, and a whole lotta love. What will Lady do?

Love steam and so much more. Lady wanting to be free from her family finds the happiness she wants with a man she never expected to meet. Del a farmer, just out to get gas, comes home with more than he bargained and found the one thing that would make him happy.

Running isn’t easy when you have others that want you and will do anything to have you. Enter billionaire Royce Blackwater. He promises her the world.

See exciting and filled with drama and passion this is the type of book you could curl up with and stay nice and toasty without the need of a fire.

Another hit for Zoe! – The Book Fairy Reviews

About the Author:

Zoe Adams currently resides in Hawaii. She was born to a big family in the center of North America. A family store gave a lot of human interaction and work experience from a very young age.

Her mother gave a love for books, paper, pens, and any other creative mediums. Her father instilled work ethic for making, repairing, or polishing things until they shine. There was a lot of competition in the large family and Zoe learned how to tell a good story with few words.

When not writing she manages vacation rentals in world renowned Lanikai Beach. She can be found on the beach or kayaking with her husband and partner of thirteen years. They have no children but are perfectly content to spoil a dog.

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OMG! It’s a new Nature of Desire by Joey Hill! Taste it here!
Tuesday, May 24th, 2016

Book IX of the Nature of Desire Series

(Can be read as standalone, but may wish to read Rough Canvas first to enhance experience.)

Release Date: May 31, 2016

Is he worth the heartbreak? At nearly forty, Julie isn’t so sure she’ll ever find a man who is, so she’s vowed that all her big 4-0 decisions will have zip to do with relationships. A successful theater manager, she agrees to travel to North Carolina and help a friend put her erotic performance theater on its feet. Julie has always been curious and drawn to the BDSM world, and now she can safely explore that world in the environment she knows best.

Desmond Hayes is the roofing contractor repairing their rundown theater building, but he’s also a rigger, well-known in the BDSM world for his rope artistry. He’s not just a top, though; he’s a Dom whose unexpected quirks mesh too well with Julie’s eccentric personality and awaken her submissive side.

From the time he was born, Des has been fighting the odds against him. Because of that, he’s kept his relationships inside the BDSM scene with clear boundaries. While Julie has almost given up on finding a person worth loving through better or worse—or pleasure and pain—Des never expected to receive that gift.

He’s not letting that treasure get away—no matter how much rope he has to use to bind her to him.

Chapter One Excerpt

@Copyright 2016 – All Rights Reserved

The radio beeped. “Julie, the roof contractor is here to discuss those leaks.”

“Great. I’m in front of the stage. Send him down, Harris.”

Putting her hands on her hips, Julie rocked back on her heels. It was coming together. The load-in for the first production was scheduled for next week, the arrival of rented sound and lighting equipment, the building of the scenery, the run-throughs with the cast, the tedious yet essential technical direction.

Today, the fire-retardant curtains had been delivered and installed, a particular thrill. They’d purchased a traveler curtain with a border and a simple fly system, the typical choice for a community theater with limited funds. Narrower curtains, the “legs,” shielded the wings of the stage. The acoustic panels for the walls surrounding the audience were also in place. Julie could already tell the difference in the sound, one of the biggest challenges in adapting a building to a theater purpose.

A whisper at a key moment in a BDSM session could change the whole mood and direction of a scene, so it was important that whisper be heard.

When Julie closed her eyes now, she could already see the set pieces. Lighting and sound set-ups, dialogue and visuals, were tools that could bridge the distance between audience and players. They’d balance powerful drama with touches of levity, and take the audience surfing on a wave of erotic discovery and emotional exploration.

Typical for amateur theater, the individuals Logan and Madison had auditioned were not, for the most part, experienced actors. However, they were confident and passionate about their skills in the BDSM world, and those core talents would drive this first offering.

Consent would be a montage of BDSM skits and skills, a tempting glimpse at what they’d be offering at Wonder.NOD-WTW-Cover-med

As Julie considered the dark blue color they’d chosen for the pleated velvet traveler, and how all the curtains made their playhouse look even more like a theater, she heard an exchange of voices, Harris’s and another man’s, the tone deep and even. It distracted her, because the unknown person had an excellent stage voice. Compelling and intriguing, especially when combined with the unexpected appearance of the man who possessed it.

She’d never met a professional roofer, but her assumption of what one of them would look like was set by the subcontractors she’d seen when driving by construction sites. Rangy, sun-darkened men in old clothes, with bill caps pulled down low over their stubbled faces. Cigarettes often dangled from their lips.

The man striding down the aisle toward her had the same body type, but there were key differences. He wore a long-sleeved T-shirt with a Celtic knot design printed on the front against a black background. The words “East Coast Riggers Hotlanta” curved along the edge of the design. The shirt was loose over jeans faded to a thin softness that hugged hips, groin and thighs. He was slim without seeming insubstantial. She noted he moved like a rock star, with a hint of a saunter that wasn’t cockiness exactly, but as if he was moving to music in his head. Heavy on the bass, with heart-accelerating drums and the occasional piercing strike of a guitar.

Several rope bracelets were knotted on his right wrist. The tattoo on his forearm, visible because he had the shirt sleeves pushed up, was Marilyn Monroe, restrained in a complicated design of rope that made the most of her voluptuous figure. On the opposite arm was Betty Grable in a different pose, but also an erotic arch, legs tied ankle to thigh, thighs spread and arms behind her, head falling back and full lips parted. Betty wore a dark green dress and Marilyn a gold one, both clinging to curves that were fully articulated.

“The ladies tend to be distracting. A friend was practicing her craft on me Friday night. They’re temporaries. They should wash off when I’m in the mood to give them a good scrubbing, but I haven’t had the heart to do that yet.”

When her gaze slid up to his face, she changed her mind about rock star. He was more like the guy in charge of all the roadies. She could see him in the shadows, absorbing the vibe, his sharp eyes, extensive experience and fully tuned intuition pulling in every detail. He was the guy who elevated the show from merely good to fully awesome.

Desmond_low_res_teaser@0,5xHe had dark brown long hair, loose around his tanned face. The natural curl in it made it thick and touchable. While a woman would despair of that thickness in the Southern humidity, Julie expected he tied it back with insouciant care and let it be a contained chaos of waves.

His face wasn’t classically handsome, nor pretty, but it was charismatic, interesting. He had a scar on his chin, it and his jaw layered by a couple days of dark stubble. A good jaw, strong, not weak. Great cheekbones enhanced it.

When she reached his eyes, she wasn’t sorry to have saved them for last, because she might have been caught there and missed all the rest. The irises were like the bands of a Grand Canyon wall. Shades of brown, gold and rust with a dark ring around the irises. The longer she looked, the more earth colors she saw, shifting with the light as he moved to stand before her.

“Your eyes detract from the ladies,” she said practically. “If someone looks at your face first.”

“Yet you didn’t.”

“You were coming down the aisle. I started with what I saw first.” She considered his work shoes. “You need new laces.” She counted three knottings where the strands had broken.

 “These still work.” His deep set eyes lifted from the laces. As he traveled to her face, she realized he was giving her as studied an appraisal as she had given him.

That was unexpected. An auditioning performer was used to her scrutiny, but when she unconsciously did it to a lay person, usually they became uncomfortable. They’d snap her out of the habit by shifting, or launching into purposed discussion. He did neither. He simply kept looking at her.

Well, she wished him joy in his perusal. The building in which they were standing had at different times been church, private school, homeless shelter and haven for victims of domestic violence. Madison had done a great job renovating the main areas before Julie arrived, sending Julie pictures of the layouts for her step-by-step input. But yesterday Julie had decided two small rooms that had been administrative offices for the school would be perfect as conference rooms for read-throughs, meetings with investors or between production staff.

However, since the rooms hadn’t yet been cleaned out or prepped, she’d been up since four, painting, sanding and hauling trash. She probably smelled like a teenage boys’ basketball team after practice, and looked like she’d been dipped in a glaze of sweat and rolled through dust, cobwebs and God knew what else. Contain your lust or take me now, honey.

Her hair was scraped into a ponytail. She too had naturally curly, thick hair, which turned into a rat’s nest without the aid of more hair products than she had time or patience to pursue.

“Are you scared of spiders?” He asked it in a conversational tone, but she noticed his glance had stilled on her shoulder. It reminded her of how her old cat, Meteor, would look when she saw a cockroach scuttling across the ceiling.

She would not look. She would not. “No. As long as it’s no bigger than a pencil tip, legs and all. If there’s something bigger on me, you’re about to see me freak out.” Okay, she was going to look.

He lifted a hand, drawing her attention, and caught her in his extraordinary gaze again. “Don’t freak,” he said in that same casual voice. “And don’t look away from my face. Even if I’m not looking at you.”

“Why?”

“Why not? It’s a pretty face, isn’t it? Prince Charming material, right?” He stepped closer. “I’m going to let him crawl onto my hand so the two of you can part friends.”

“You have an extraordinary voice.” It was like Heath Ledger’s, she realized. That oddly deep voice coming from a slim body that radiated strength and charisma.

He nodded. “So I’ve been told. I’d ask forgiveness for this, but my purpose is entirely appropriate, I promise.” He pressed the side of his hand against the top of her breast. She was wearing a baggy, soft T-shirt with the logo Small Town Theater, NYC curved over the pocket, along with the suddenly rather disconcerting motto: “Take a bite out of my Apple.”

“This is the most elaborate excuse a guy has ever used to touch my boobs,” she informed him. His eyes were concentrated on his task, his firm lips curved in a far too appealing way. The faint resulting smile was controlled enough to give them a sexy intensity. “If there’s not really a spider on me,” she added, “you better pull a big one out of your ass, or I’m going to sock you in the nuts with a broom handle.”

He stepped back then, showing her a dark brown spider the harrowing size of a silver dollar running over his fingers as he turned them to coordinate with the creature’s alarmed movement. “It’s just a wolf spider. Hand me that cup on the stage, love. Unless it still has coffee in it.”

It didn’t. She’d left it there after she’d finished her morning dose of caffeine. “Just put him on the ground and stomp him.”

“Uh, no. I did say I wanted you two to part as friends.”

 “I’ll feel very friendly about him if he’s dead.” But she handed him the cup, with a PTSD shudder. Bug control was the next place she was calling. She envisioned the audience entranced, silent, absorbed in a dramatic scene on stage…right before the man in row three leaped up shrieking like a girl and flailing, inciting a panic as he tore off his pants to deal with the spider crawling up his leg. He’d of course be a reviewer for the most-read local entertainment blog.

It was ludicrous for her to be squeamish, since she often encountered bugs even in the cleanest old theaters. But to her way of thinking, spiders were a whole different classification from the rest of the bug world.

The roofer dumped the spider in the cup, putting the lid over it, the small sip spout too small for escape. Maybe. “I’ll put him back out when I go.” He extended his other hand. “So I’m Desmond Hayes, your roof guy. Logan said you might want me for some other small jobs as well, since I’m also licensed for electric and plumbing.”

A godsend, though she wasn’t surprised. Anyone Logan sent her way was reliable and skilled.

Thinking about how she could use this guy professionally was being derailed by other ways she wanted to use him, though. Which, nice voice and provocative tattoos aside, was puzzling. He’d simply rested the side of his hand against her chest, providing the spider a ledge. From the warm tingling in her skin, the sensation of heat, it was obvious she’d been without the touch of a lover for too damn long.

“I’m also a rigger,” Desmond said. “A rope guy? I don’t perform, but I mentor other riggers. Logan thought you might want my expertise for tips on staging a rigging scene, since he said you’ll have a couple in your upcoming performance.”

She shoved herself back into her theater role. “It’s a shame you don’t perform. With your voice, you’d do well on stage.” His lean, intriguing body would be easy on the eyes as well, but she didn’t add that.

“I did it a couple times.” He shrugged and hooked a thumb in his jeans pocket, drawing her eye to the undulating Marilyn and the corded forearm she was draped over. “Then someone wanted me to do a suspension under a waterfall. Using blue rope and a bunch of fancy lights. I did it, but it was bullshit and took away from the main point, so I decided that was the end of my stage career. I have a sandwich for lunch. Want to share? I assume it’s past your lunchtime, too.”

She was able to roll with most topic changes, but that one was abrupt. “We can talk about your roof while we eat,” he added.

When she hesitated, he gave her a bland look. “I’ll even share my carrot sticks.”

“Carrot sticks?” She snorted. “Did your Mom make your lunch?”

“I like carrots. Don’t mock a man’s food choices, woman.”

She grinned. She was hungry, and she really didn’t want to waste the time to seek out lunch. “What kind of sandwich?”

Moving to the edge of the stage, he pulled a small pack off his shoulder and set it down. “I have a PB&J with homemade blackberry jelly, a chicken salad, a grilled cheese and one hummus wrap.”

“Just a little light lunch then,” she said dryly. “Or do you usually pack to share?” She swept her gaze over his slim form, head to toe. “If you tell me that’s your normal lunch, I’m going to break you in half like the pretzel stick you are.”

“You can try, love.” He curled his hand around hers and drew her over to the stage, the gesture so smooth and relaxed there was none of the discomfort she should have felt at having a stranger touch her with such familiarity. Though she did experience an unsettling flutter in her stomach as he set his hands to her waist and boosted her onto the stage.

Her mouth dropped open at the sensation of being weightless, as if he’d picked up a helium balloon. His eyes glinted, registering her reaction, and that little flutter expanded into something else as he lingered between her knees, bracing his hands on the stage on either side of her hips. He was decently tall, so despite the height of the stage, his face was still in her line of sight without a significant dip of her chin.

“I’m way stronger than I look,” he said. “Now, which of those sandwiches do you want? Or, since they’re quartered, you can pick and choose.”

He moved to boost himself on the stage next to her. If he’d lingered between her knees, she would have had to decide if it was in the realm of inappropriate, but instead she was left with a nice little surge of adrenaline that came with harmless flirting.  Though harmless might be the wrong word, since Des was obviously very accomplished at it and comfortable with making a woman feel womanly.

Not in a sleazy way, either. The pushy male vibe that said “I want to have sex with you right now,” was easy enough to shove away or ignore. No, his danger was he coaxed that reaction from the female recipient of his charms. She could picture having him right here, right now, on the stage. Or him having her.

She was back to being baffled with herself. Yeah, she might be sex-deprived, but he was skinny and…well, a roofer. One who seemed to think what they were doing here was bullshit. Well, she’d get to the bottom of that idiocy, and his answer would break this hormone-induced spell he was spinning over her.

“Why do you have the attitude about erotic performance art?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to come off that way.” His flash of chagrin showed he was sincere. “I don’t mind people watching what I do, like in a club or dungeon, but the focus has to be on the connection between me and my sub. I want her to be lost in things, caught up in the power of the restraint, my control of her. Knowing she’s safe and yet subject to my desires in all ways. You put too many props into it, fireworks and crap, you lose that music.”

His gaze slid to hers. And held.

In the BDSM world, there were differences between a top and a Dom. She’d assumed, incorrectly, he was only a top. A top might enjoy taking the upper hand during BDSM play, and get into the mechanics of it, like the rope work. It didn’t mean he was a Dominant, a nature and distinction hard to describe but felt by those who reacted to it. Like her.

The way he held eye contact told her he’d detected the involuntary tells of her body language, the response to his words. That confirmed he was a Dom, as did the shift in his body language, the tone of his voice and the laser look from his eyes.

It flummoxed and intrigued her, because up until recently, her primary experience with a Dom, and therefore her mental picture of one, was Marcus. A nun who’d been in a convent since the age of six and didn’t know what sex was, let alone BDSM, would still recognize Marcus as a Master. His Dom-ness was that out front.

Desmond Hayes, on the other hand… As crazy as it sounded, it was as if he’d sent her an exclusive message. A message delivered to a place inside she’d only recently opened up to find what secrets she’d been keeping from herself, too busy dealing with the regular pitfalls of her unoriginally tragic love life.

Or maybe that was why that door had remained closed. To keep the treasures hidden in those chambers from being spoiled by her other failures. It was best that something special never be taken out and used, if the alternative was it becoming the same ruined, stinking mess as the rest.

Wow. She needed a rope to pull her out of that pig wallow of self-pity. Fortunately, she was sitting next to a rigger. She hid a smile as she tuned back in to the feast he’d been laying out before her.

The sandwiches, all quartered, sat on neatly unwrapped squares of waxed paper. A generous tub of carrot sticks was open next to them with a squat jar of peanut butter. He was loosening the tops on two bottles of water and placing one by her.

“Hummus, chicken salad, PB&J and grilled cheese.” He pointed to each. “Help yourself.” Pulling a small palm-sized device like a stopwatch out of the pack, he fitted it with a slim needle and did a quick stick of his finger, glancing at the screen. Appearing satisfied with the number, he detached the sticker, put it in a container and tucked those things back into the pack.

She had Type II diabetic friends who checked their blood sugar in such a matter-of-fact way before meals.  Seeing him do it was another surprise, since most of her friends who were Type II had weight problems and an aversion to strenuous exercise, but she expected every condition had exceptions.

The efficient, swift way he did it and put it away again without comment told her it was routine enough that he barely thought about doing it in front of a stranger. But his lack of comment also suggested he wasn’t inviting questions. Fair enough. A ten minute acquaintance hardly opened the door to personal health inquiries, so she sat on her natural curiosity. For now.

As she picked up a square of the chicken salad sandwich, she noticed he went for the PB&J first. Biting into her sandwich, she was surprised at the taste and freshness. “This is excellent. What deli did you get this from? I’m still new in town. I’ll have to stock up.”

“I made it. I make most my food from scratch. Ingredients come from the farmers’ market near me.” He bit into a carrot stick and gestured at her with the other half, his heels drumming lightly against the stage front as he shifted. “If you’re not into cooking, there are ladies who bring home cooked meals for sale. You can stock up and reheat them. They have the market once a week during the seasonal months. I’ll take you to it sometime if you like and introduce you to the folks who bring the best stuff.”

“Oh. Well…hmm.”

“We won’t call it a date. Just being neighborly, since you said you’re new in town.” He winked. “If we end up getting naked after, that’ll be because of my irresistible charisma. Like dinner and sex, only we’ll do farmers’ market and sex.”

She laughed and he grinned. He leaned in and touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb, taking off a bit of the chicken salad. She reached self-consciously for her napkin, but noticed he put the tiny piece of salad to his lips, licking it away, which made her mouth tingle as if he’d done it to hers. Suddenly she remembered that weeks-ago fantasy of rubbing chocolate off her lover’s lips, only to have him grasp her wrist and taste it from her fingertips himself.

“I’d love to see you in my rope and nothing else,” he said thoughtfully. “Have you done any scening in the local group yet? Or did you have a regular Dom or hangout in New York? Logan said you’d come from there. What’s your situation?”

She’d blanched at the forwardness of the first statement, but as he continued, she put it together. “Oh no. I’m just a theater manager. I’m just… I don’t… I mean, I’m flattered, but I haven’t…” She stopped and shot him a narrow look. “You’re laughing at me.”

“No. I’m pleased with you. You’re flustered. Which heightens my interest in ways you can’t even imagine.”  He’d drawn up one knee and had his work shoe propped on the edge of the stage, balancing that way with his elbow on his knee as he chewed his sandwich and studied her. Thanks to the short sleeves of the T-shirt, she noticed he had well-developed biceps.

She should be holding her own better in this conversation, using amusement and her tart tongue to put him in his place. Except he didn’t seem to be joking, just considering his own reaction to her. He acted like someone who spent a good amount of time in his own head, which she supposed he probably did as a roofer. However, he didn’t seem introverted, quite comfortable in the company of a stranger.

“I don’t pigeon hole people to get them to fit my fantasies,” he said. “But I’m getting the vibe that you are interested in all of this. Personally. Yet you haven’t explored it a whole lot, have you?”

No, she hadn’t. Having Marcus and Thomas show her around the scene in New York hadn’t appealed to her. Ironic, since one long ago significant event with them had been the trigger to her dormant interests, but she’d felt self-conscious pursuing it further in their company. She’d done a lot of online looking, though. Followed by and integrated with some serious fantasizing, which she’d assumed ever since would be like most of her relationships: better as vibrator material than reality.

After the initial meetings with the cast members, Julie had done more specific Internet research on what she’d learned from them. Suspension, fire, liquid nitrogen, whips, knives, rope. Role play—everything from interrogation and Victorian drawing room scenes, to puppy and pony play. It kicked off her own personal and professional imaginings, though she kept the former firmly channeled into the latter.

“Logan’s great at mentoring people who are curious,” Desmond suggested. “If it’s easier for you to take those first steps by calling it work, he’d do it under the guise of supporting what you’re doing here.”

“Don’t do that.” Her tone sharpened. “Passive aggressive jabs annoy me.”

The genuine surprise in his face reassured and shamed her at once. “Easy, New York,” he said. “It wasn’t a judgment. Plenty of people interested in this like to approach it in a more detached way at first. It’s a smart way of playing it safe, keeping it a little arm’s length. Only an idiot jumps into the deep end without being able to swim. Or even knowing if they’re going to like swimming.”

“Yeah. True. Sorry. Weird trigger.”

He picked up the tub and offered her some carrot sticks, taking a handful himself. “Let me guess. You had a boyfriend who liked to do that patronizing, ‘I’m only telling you this for your own good, even though it suits my purpose to emotionally manipulate you the way I want you to be’ thing. In the meantime, he made you feel like what wasn’t working for your relationship was all your fault.”

His wry humor made it difficult to hold onto offense at being so accurately read. She cocked her head, more sure of her footing, especially when he smiled at her. He had one of those smiles that went deep into his eyes and made a woman feel special. Danger, Will Robinson.

“So are you the reformed asshole who did the manipulating, or the recipient of the female version of it?” she asked. “Is that how you recognize the signs?”

“If I tell you that, I’ll ruin the fog of sexual mystery that clings to me.”

“I think you’re safe. It’s the carrot sticks that are keeping me enthralled.” She smiled and his own broadened.

At a buzz, she looked for her phone, but he’d already shifted onto one hip and reached behind him to withdraw his own.

“Hold on, my butt’s vibrating.” He glanced at the message and grimaced. “Well, shit. Gotta get back to another job.” He slid off the stage to face her. “I did go up on the roof before I came in. I can do you a decent patch job that will buy you another year until you get the theater up and earning some income. After that, Madison’ll want to do the full replacement it needed five years ago.”

He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “You’ve had leaks in here during the recent rains, haven’t you?”

“Yes. And two or three in the back rooms.”

He nodded, unsurprised. “You’ll want that patch job before we have any hard summer showers. I can do it next week, as long as weather cooperates. Sound good?”

He fished out a card and handed it over, his fingers brushing hers. His hands were callused, knuckles chapped and nails painfully short, cuticles predictably ragged. A working man’s hands, the skin brown as oak bark. She found herself wanting to hold onto one of them, turn it over and explore his fingers, the lines on his palms. He smelled like male sweat and cinnamon gum, since he’d taken out a piece and was chewing it. He offered her a piece, which she took for later.

“The patch job will cost about a thousand,” he added. “Logan’s done some work for me, so I can cut Madison a discount and drop that amount off the full price when it’s time to do the replacement. I’m going to tell her all that, but I figure she’ll be asking you what you think.”

Madison would be pleased to get the break. A stage and auditorium had already been part of the building, a big selling point when Madison was considering her options. The private school had built it for student performances. But it had no backstage, so a wall had to be removed and the classrooms behind the auditorium renovated to become the backstage area. Other rooms had been converted into a dressing area and storage. The auditorium had stepped seating in a crescent around the stage, and they expanded that, knocking out additional walls so it could now seat a highly optimistic four hundred. Until the theater provided itself with ticket sales, further major expenses were out of the question.

Des had packed up the remaining sandwiches as he spoke, though he left one block of wax paper holding the remaining square of the chicken salad sandwich and two squares of PB&J, as well as three carrot sticks. “You kept looking at the PB&J,” he said with a wink, “so I figured you might want those two for dessert.”

The PB&J was what she’d really wanted to eat, but had thought she might look childish for liking it.

“Finish the chicken salad and carrots before dessert,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Be a good girl.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and he tsked. Shouldering his pack, he offered his hand. “It’ll be a pleasure working with you, Miss Ramirez.”

“Julie is fine.”

“Yes, she is. In every way.” His exaggerated ogle had her stifling a laugh, unsuccessfully.

“You’re a terrible flirt.”

“Actually, I’m very good at it. Your eyes are dancing, you’re smiling and you look less tired and stressed now.” His smile morphed into something else. “Seriously, don’t hesitate to give me a call about the rigging. I’m sure Logan will have recommended good people for your cast members, but there are a lot of good guys out there who dabble in rope, and don’t get enough training before taking it to more advanced levels. It’s important to me that people do what I do safely.”

Now his expression was as uncompromising as a police officer, which gave her all sorts of distracting fantasies. He was a fascinating mix. She’d taken his hand, and he was still holding it in a firm grip. As she met his penetrating look, she let the warmth that his hand spread through her take her a step away from sanity. “I’ve researched some of it online,” she said with forced casualness, “but I don’t have a real grasp of what it’s like. From the inside, so to speak. Would you be willing to show me what you do? Using me as a subject, I mean?”

She was astounded she’d said such a thing. Maybe it was being immersed in this environment that had propelled her to a tentative readiness to dip her toe into a submissive experience. Or maybe it was Des. He was the first Dom she’d met, in person or online, who’d made her feel she could take that step.

Yes, she’d met him only a few moments ago, so it should be ludicrous, but she didn’t feel that way toward the other performers, with whom she’d been working for several weeks now. It wasn’t that they gave her the creeps. Far from it. They’d been recommended by Logan and Madison, and, as Des had said, their choices emitted nothing but good vibes. A couple weren’t as experienced as the others, but they still had the right stuff for what they needed in this production.

Beginning and end of story, she felt like she could trust Des. His personality complemented hers, and she could double check things with Logan and back out if she was wrong. But she was already pretty certain Des was a pro at what he did. She was used to being around performers, and knew the real deal when she met them. He exuded a quiet confidence in his abilities. The overabundance of honest charm also didn’t hurt.

Since he wasn’t going to be in the production, there was no real conflict of interest. It also didn’t have to be personal. A lot of people did the Dom/sub stuff as friends or BDSM club arrangements, sans the minefields that came with a relationship. That was a big thumbs-up for her. Exploring it from that safe paradigm would make it all the more fun for her. Right?

As he’d pointed out, such explorations would increase her understanding for the productions. Despite her defensiveness, he was correct. Keeping it professionally motivated would allow her to explore her personal interests in a safe way.

Though admittedly, his reaction to her request made those professional walls seem a little thin. His hand held hers with more than a hint of the strength he’d warned her about. It was evidence of a man’s interest and desire, and she was far from immune to it.

When he stepped closer, his abdomen brushed her kneecaps where she sat on the stage. She had to fight a ridiculously powerful compulsion to spread her knees and invite him closer. He gave her another of those sweeping glances that made her aware of every curve she had.

“Use you as my subject to teach you about rigging?” He repeated her question. “I’d say that’s a meeting I won’t miss.”

She covered her unsettled response with a sniff. “You really are a flirt.”

“No, I’m not.” He braced his free hand on the stage, the heel of his palm brushing the outside of her thigh. Betty’s lush body, her helpless tied state, the pleasure in her eyes and parted lips, were distracting for more empathetic reasons now.

Though his jaw and mouth were relaxed, friendly and non-intimidating, that impression vanished when she met his eyes. “I just know what I like when I see it,” he said. “I already like you. Not only because you’re willing to let me tie you up, though I admit that just vaulted you from Miss America to Miss Universe.”

She snorted. “They’re far under my weight class.”

His smile disappeared, and he stepped closer, somehow parting her knees and standing between them. Or had they simply given way before his obvious intent? Rough palms curved over her thighs. She’d been a New Yorker for most her life. People did not get up in her face like this. She’d shove them back in a heartbeat, tell them to piss off, demand what the fuck or…something.

Maybe it was because she was sitting on the stage, and she had always experienced a shift there, as if she’d stepped into a world where the dramatic and unexpected were more acceptable. She inhabited a world of quirky people who could be infected with that same virus when they were close to a stage. Things that would seem over the top and out of place outside the theater were just the standard within it.

Or maybe there was an entirely different reason he’d caught her off guard.

Her pulse thudded against her throat as his gaze held hers. If she’d doubted the Dom thing before, she didn’t now. His captivating voice was a low croon, close to a growl, a thrumming note that her body answered with a hard quiver, coming from those chambers  that were suddenly wide open to him.

“Sometimes women get self-conscious about the way their bodies look when they’re tied up,” he said in a deceptively conversational way. “Like when I tie an ankle to a thigh, and they think the thigh looks too spread out, or the flesh of their stomach is squeezed between two wraps.”

His hands slid along her thighs, back toward her knees, a short, intimate stroke. “The things I could do with these thighs,” he murmured. He lifted his gaze to hers, and she discovered his eyes could look like a new penny caught in the rain. “When we first meet one another, we’re shells. The shell might be pretty, but what I learn about you when I bind you will take me to what’s deep beneath that. I suspect your eyes will look like heated molasses when you’re aroused.”

His gaze slid down. “Your nice breasts would become a pillow, where I’d rest my head and listen to your heartbeat, because when I tie you up, your submissive nature will rise. You’ll want to give me that gift, lie still to serve my needs and desires, because I think your instinct is toward care and compassion, serving a Master’s needs beyond his cock or orgasm.”

His gaze slid back up. “When I uncover that instinct, that’s when the shell completely vanishes and I’ll know just how beautiful you are.”

“You don’t really see someone until you see their soul,” she said, surprised she could even form words, let alone try to sound like she was reacting to his words as if he were giving her an instructional lecture, not a personal mandate.

“Exactly. That matters way more than what I see in a two-dimensional way. It’s the best way for you to get to know me better, too.” He eased back, though his hand whispered along her knee, a hint of how he could touch her. Maybe would touch her. “Like just now. When I was talking about tying you in rope, and things were all quiet and intense, were you seeing the skinny guy with questionable taste in second hand clothes, or did you feel the touch of a broad-shouldered god hung like a moose?”

She burst out laughing, as she was sure he’d intended, for his eyes sparkled with humor. The laughter brought a rush of warmth, that sense of ease again, which had a peculiar reaction with things that weren’t at ease at all, but on full, anticipatory alert around him. “Maybe something in between. Damn, you’re good.”

“I’m good because I’m honest.” She saw that flash of sincerity, the hint of dead seriousness, the gleam in his eyes that said he would do all of that and more to her if she opened the door. What’s more, he’d proven he could do it in less than a blink. The realization stole her smile and her breath at once, leaving her reeling.

“You have my contact info,” he said, shouldering his pack again. “Ball’s in your court, Julie. But I’ll be ready to hold onto it when you send it back. All right?”

The look he had upon her now expected—maybe demanded—an answer.

Though an innate part of him, Marcus’s Dom qualities always had a deliberate, calculated quality to them that was overwhelming. In contrast, this seemed second nature to Desmond Hayes, something he wasn’t conscious he was doing. Remarkably, it made him even more potent to her.

“All right,” she said. Was her voice breathless?

As he nodded and turned away, she had a feeling he’d registered it. The same way she’d recognized the answering heat in his eyes.

Good Lord, who was this guy?


It’s Twisted Truths and Leveled Lies
Monday, May 23rd, 2016

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SK Ebook1Twisted Truths & Leveled Lies

by S.K. Lessner

My life was a fairytale.

He was my everything.

All my dreams had come true.

But what do you do when you find out

that he isn’t who you thought he was…

that lives might be lost…

and every truth you believed in,

is twisted and leveled into a lie?

Completely satisfied with her single life, Mel is blindsided when she meets an extremely sexy, accomplished, and irresistible doctor. But unbeknownst to her, there are those who’ve waited and planned for this moment. When all the truths twist and reveal the lies, it’s up to her to save the lives of those she cares most about. Alone again, she’s forced to seek help elsewhere. Frantically trying to eliminate the threat, she finds that help in the least likely of places: a tall, tattooed, and pierced stranger.

*Warning* This book contains material suitable for ages 18+.

Book Trailer:

Except:

“So, will you come?”

I really had no idea why she was asking. My sister’s not the type who takes no for an answer anyhow. I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to avoid telling her what I really thought about her Friday night dinners.

“Ugh, don’t make me beg,” she continued. “You know it’s not the same if you’re not there.”

As much as I loved spending time with her every day, I despised the thought of more time on Friday evening playing cards, eating, and listening to her play matchmaker.

“Okay, fine, but you are not playing Cupid this time!” I started to give her the evil eye as I finished my warning, but I could see the guilty look in her eyes before she had a chance to respond. “Oh, no. No, Joan. Don’t do this to me again!”

“Come on, this one’s different. I swear.”

“Forget it! I’m not going.”

I knew I was being loud as we walked, but she deserved it. Obviously, my kind requests to end this game had gone unnoticed. Besides, after a couple more blocks we’d be out of the business district and surrounded by homes and little driveways. Nobody would notice us then.

“I told you last time, I wasn’t going over there again if all you want to do is play Cupid with your endless supply of men. Where do they come from anyhow? Oh, don’t answer that. Why can’t I just be single? Why do you think I have to have a man to be happy?”

I could feel the heat rolling off my body and it had nothing to do with the ninety-degree weather outside. My ever increasing anger over this repeating pattern my sister and I had every few weeks was growing unbearable.

We continued walking home, but in silence. We only live two miles from our family florist shop in the suburbs of Chicago, but sometimes the walk seemed more like ten. This was one of those days.

It must have been the twentieth time this year that she’d tried to set me up with someone. She, on the other hand, was married, had two kids, and saw my “situation” as a fault. I was perfectly happy being single. I was in no hurry to find “Mr. Right.” And I definitely didn’t want to go on any more blind dates!

“I’m sorry, Mel. You’re right. I’ll tell Paul to tell him we need to cancel because the kids are sick.”

I could hear the defeat in her voice, and for a moment, I was thrilled. Ecstatic even. But then I glanced sideways and saw her shoulders slumped down, her head hanging low, and a damn tear rolling down her cheek!

Once again, I put my desires aside, and thought of my sister and her overly-large heart that continually tried to find a fairy tale ending for my life.

“You involved Paul too? Why? Oh, don’t answer that either.” I paused, trying to gather the strength to give in to her plans. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly and prepared to do something I knew I’d regret. Again.

“I’ll do this one more time. This Friday and then never again!”

Before I finished my demands, she was walking with a bounce in her step and her cheeks looked like they were about to burst from her big smile. I shook my head as I watched her, wondering if she’d been taken acting classes and learned to cry on command to get her way. Her persuasive skills definitely seemed to be improving.

“You have to promise me that this is the end of it. No more after this weekend. I know you mean well, Joan, but I can’t do it.”

Maybe I should make her sign a contract. I highly doubted this would be the last time. Hopefully, it would at least give me a few months before she came up with some scheme like the last time when she “coincidentally” ran her grocery cart into a single man. The same man who just so happened to be “lost” in the store. It was all too convenient that I was with her on that excursion. The guilty look was written all over her face that day too. Yes, a contract sounded like a good idea after all.

“Okay, okay, I promise.” She held her pinky up to shake mine like we’d done since we were little girls.

Grudgingly, I put mine out and connected with her finger. It’s a good thing her pinkies hadn’t turned purple and fallen off yet for all the promises she’d broken.

“But just so you know, Mel, this one’s different. He’s breathtakingly handsome, kind, and…”

At that point I went on autopilot and tuned her out. “Breathtakingly?” Is that actually a word? Maybe that’s like the last three when she described them as, “horribly hot,” “sensually sexy,” or my favorite, “cutestibly cuddly.” If she wasn’t my sister then I wouldn’t care how harsh my words were, or how cruel I was when I turned her down. She may be three years older than me, but for as long as I could remember, I’ve been the one taking care of her. Thank goodness for her husband, Paul, who came along five years ago. He was an angel to step in and take over protecting and guiding her. For the most part. Some things a sister would always be needed for.

“Did you hear me?” she called out from behind me.

Of course, I’d no idea that she’d asked anything and didn’t notice she’d stopped until I was about ten steps ahead of her.

“Mel! Hello?”

Coming to a stop, I turned to see her with her hands on her hips, foot tapping against the sidewalk.

“Yeah, of course I was listening. Sure.” I quickly replied.

“Really? Then you don’t mind going skinny dipping after dinner?”

“You did not ask me that, Joan. Did you?”

“I knew you weren’t listening!” She sighed in defeat and jogged the few steps to catch up. “Oh, never mind. Just bring something for dessert, okay?”

“No problem. Do you want whipped cream? Or maybe I should bring extra beer in bottles so we can play spin the bottle?” I knew I was being a bit sarcastic, but she got what she wanted, so I wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Funny. Maybe you could make mom’s cherry cheesecake. It’s been so long since either of us has made that, and it’ll go good with dinner.”

“Fine. Cherry cheesecake. Anything else? You know, I have an awesome little piece of lingerie that makes me look just like a naughty little school girl.” I wiggled my eyebrows and shook my butt suggestively.

“Mel, seriously, this one’s different. I promise.” Oh, yes, promises. If only I had her pinky on this one too!

“Okay, Joan, cheesecake. Anything else for real?”

“Nope, just that, and your beautiful smile.”

I looked at her, ready to respond with another snappy reply, but she’d already started to sing and skip ahead of me. If I didn’t know differently, I’d truly believe that I was the older sister and she the younger, wild child. I silently wondered what mom would think if she were still alive? Then again, she’d probably be just as bad and have every available bachelor within fifty miles prescreened, and on a stand-by list.

By the time we reached my house, my shirt was soaking wet with sweat, my feet were aching, and I had a splitting headache from the heat and disagreement. Yet, somehow the happiness radiating from my sister made it all worth it. Yes, I may hate the things she puts me through, but to see her smile like that puts everything into perspective.

Until Paul came along, she rarely smiled. Our parents died in a car accident seven years ago and Joan was the one driving the car. She completely shut off. She didn’t speak for almost a year and practically stopped eating. I took her to endless therapy sessions, worked with different medications to try to find one to help her, and spent countless nights sitting and holding her when the nightmares would keep her awake. So, if spending another Friday evening in the company of a different man made her happy, then that’s exactly what I’d do.

Coming to a stop in front of my driveway, she waited for me to catch up. Her long brown hair was still perfectly styled and she didn’t have a drop of sweat on her anywhere. I was the lucky one who inherited the sweaty-pig gene.

“Hurry up already, it’s hot out here!” She yelled.

“You think? I look like I ran through the last three sprinklers we passed!”

As I walked up to her, she held her arms out for a hug.

“I’m off tomorrow, but I still have to stop in to do payroll.” I had to remind her; otherwise she’d be calling me at seven in the morning wondering where I was. Never mind the schedule on the wall next to the phone, she never read it. “I’m gonna go get a shower and go to bed early tonight. I’m exhausted.”

“Okay, see ya tomorrow.” Once again her huge grin returned as she began walking backward. “And don’t worry, Mel, you’ll see. This one’s worth it!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…Love you, sis. ‘Night.”

Shaking my head, I walked up the steps to the front door, laughing as I unlock it. Crazy, annoying, lying sister, but I loved her!

Teaser 3

About the Author:

A native of the Chicago area, I’ve traveled the world and had the opportunity to work in refugee camps, medical camps, and in community assistant groups. Although I could write many nonfiction stories about these places, I much prefer fiction and the creativity that comes with it. I currently live in Indiana, among the cows and flat lands filled with row after row of corn. There are many words that could describe me: mom, wife, sister, the ‘crazy aunt,’ the first to jump into any adventure (while pulling you by the arm and insisting you join me), or even the quiet one that feels for others on a level that few understand. But what you really need to know is why I write.

For me, writing is more than just a window into my head…it’s the chance to share things I’ve seen, I’ve dreamt, and things I long for with fellow readers. It’s nothing short of magical to bring that to life for others to experience it with me!

I tend to write more in the romantic genre, but also adventure into paranormal, thrillers, and Sci-fi. Regardless of what it is, there’s always some humor involved. Life is too serious, books and stories allow us an escape. Bringing a smile or laughter to someone’s day is one of the best things I can do in life. Creating the world for them to feel that happiness while they explore and adventure it with me, that is simply an honor and a joy!

I’m currently working on a Sci-Fi, young adult book that is challenging my ability to pull the many ideas and pictures from my mind and put them into words so the reader can fully see, feel, and even smell what it’s like to venture into another dimension and fight for your way back home. Tentative publication date is December 8, 2016. In the meantime, please enjoy my first book, Twisted Truths & Leveled Lies, in the romantic/suspense genre. It’s an intense book that will keep you flipping page after page, while falling in love with the characters!

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Rich Love – the latest in The Billionaire Club Series
Sunday, May 22nd, 2016

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Rich Love by Zoe Adams

Genre: Billionaire Romance, Western Romance

Release: October, 2014

Publisher: Limitless Publishing

Book Blitz: May 17, 2016

Rich Love Ebook

Rich Love is book one in “The Billionaires Series”. All three books have recurring characters but can be read in any order.

The fresh prairie wind brings someone new to the ranch.

Royce and Susanna both know how to enjoy life. Together they indulge in Rich Love.

Buy now or read for free with Kindle Unlimited:

Amazon USAmazon UK

Excerpt:

Susanna felt a nervousness that needed soothing. She had felt their itchy eyes upon her for the last ten minutes. It was a lot for her to bear and entertain people in the middle of a long work day. She smiled at them and carefully shut the door of her truck. Royce had stepped around the car and was walking toward her. They met in the middle of the road and faced each other.

Once they were together, they both stood very straight and almost leaned into each other, in a full posture and full attention sort of way.

“I wanted to thank you properly.” Royce’s voice was smooth on the wind.

Susanna smiled politely and said, “You’re welcome, but there is no need to thank me. It happened days ago, and I’m pretty busy.”

“’ Pretty’ would be damn correct.” Royce smoothed his lapel like he wanted to touch something and had just remembered his jacket at the last minute. “If you are always this pretty when you’re busy, then you might be heading into pretty big trouble with me.”

Susanna’s breath hitched with his bluntness. Here it was already, his expectations and complete comfort in being a lady’s man. Susanna readjusted herself to a more stand-off pose. “I wouldn’t think that.” Susanna kept her face calm and honest. “You don’t look like the farming or ranching type.”

Royce looked at her for a serious moment, before releasing a short laugh. “Neither do you. Even right now, after working in a field, you look like you should be out shopping, or enjoying the good life.”

He looked down at her dress in apparent appreciation. She knew he was right to tell her she was overdressed for yard work. Her dress was a Sunday dress. It was worn because of comfort, even if it was over-stylish. Susanna had gotten used to being different, but it was a new experience to share her work clothes with a man. The eyes that met Susanna’s were full of questions. Royce looked full of information and testosterone. Susanna thwarted him with her brain.

“Well,” she said and looked over his shoulder toward his friends in the road, “it looks like you’re an expert on the good life.”

Royce nodded with a jerk of his head. In her mind it was not the high compliment that Royce was receiving. For the second time, Susanna got the impression that Royce demanded a lot from the people around him, and extra care and planning for him was part of a package deal.

His friends were setting up chairs and a table in her private gravel road. Royce stepped aside and put his arm out for Susanna. She had no choice but to walk to the table and be entertained by a guest. It was an unusual feeling for her to be surprised by people’s actions, and it made her extra aware. She stepped lightly on the road and looked at Royce.

He was smiling widely and ready to introduce her to his friends. “This is my driver, George. You may remember him from the other night.” Royce held his hand out to the guy closest.

He smiled at Susanna when he held out his plain hand. “It’s nice to meet a woman with lots of diesel and horsepower.”

That was probably the best compliment he could have given her, and she smiled back widely.

Royce interrupted, “Hey, no stealing my girl.”

Susanna stiffened at the ownership he had already put on her. She looked at Royce quietly, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was already pointing at the other two people who were putting a few things on the table.

The introductions were made, and Susanna knew the ball was in her court. She felt like the outsider, and the reverse of facts was heavy on her mind. She liked to entertain people in her home, not in a field, and she looked around hesitantly.

“Come on,” Royce said, holding out his hand to the table. “Let’s sit down and talk.”

Susanna sat down in the nearest chair. Royce walked around to the other side of the table. Instead of sitting across from her, he picked up the chair and moved it right beside her. He sat down and eyed her heavily.

“Do you always pack a gun?” he asked.

“All of the time when I’m at home. The prairie has a lot of snakes, wolves, coyotes, groundhogs.” Susanna shrugged for emphasis. “There are other things.”

“That’s very smart of you,” Royce said, nodding.

“I’m a safety girl,” Susanna said and clamped her jaw.

“That’s a very desirable trait in a woman.”

“You’re not from here, are you?” Susanna questioned.

“No, I was born in France.” Royce’s voice became more distant.

“Where do you live?”

“I have houses all over the place.” Royce grinned and then slipped into a cowboy drawl. “I even have a house in that there yonder city.” Hearing that voice come from a sophisticated man caught Susanna off-guard, and she giggled.

The sound of Susanna laughing wiped the joke off of his face. He looked at her very seriously, and a little in shock. She stopped laughing and looked at him. When she sat back, she let her whole body completely relax. She lowered her eyes to his hands and tried to picture what he used them for. Susanna couldn’t imagine him working. She raised her eyes back up to his face. Royce seemed to be reading her mind, and he blurted out, “I’m a scientist.”

Susanna was in constant shock around him. She wondered if every day with him was a daze.

Royce moved his hand over to her knee and continued, “Actually, I am more like a mineralogist. I study rocks, gems, dirt, and gold.” He picked up her boot and slipped her foot out of it. “There are a lot of things I like, and once I like them, I study them.”

Adams, Zoe (2014-10-21). Rich Love (The Billionaires Club Book 1) (pp. 46-47). Limitless Publishing LLC. Kindle Edition.

About the Author:

Zoe Adams currently resides in Hawaii. She was born to a big family in the center of North America. A family store gave a lot of human interaction and work experience from a very young age.

Her mother gave a love for books, paper, pens, and any other creative mediums. Her father instilled work ethic for making, repairing, or polishing things until they shine. There was a lot of competition in the large family and Zoe learned how to tell a good story with few words.

When not writing she manages vacation rentals in world renowned Lanikai Beach. She can be found on the beach or kayaking with her husband and partner of thirteen years. They have no children but are perfectly content to spoil a dog.

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Review Quotes:

Rich Love from Zoe Adams was a great 4 star read. Romance, Hot alpha billionaire, Strong country girl. He looked like a man who was used to having women swoon over him. Rich Love was a very enjoyable read. If you like to read a great romance this is a book for you. Thank you Zoe Adams, I look forward to reading more from this great author.

This is my first book by this author, and I really enjoyed it. Susanna is a young widow, and lives a quiet life. She first meets Royce when he hits a deer on his motorcycle. He’s rich, and not her type at all. Royce feels an instant connection with her, and decides he has to make her his. She keeps him at arms length, and he does his best to show her that he’s willing to get his hands dirty by helping her on the ranch. Will Royce be able to get her to give him a chance?

Rich Love is a sweet read. The character development is very good, with a well written story line that flows well. I couldn’t turn the pages quickly enough. There is a bit of a twist added in, and overall a fun and consistent read. I can’t wait to read more by Zoe Adams.

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No Reason to Hide needs your vote on Kindle Scout
Saturday, May 21st, 2016

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No Reason to Hide by P.H. Turner needs your votes on Kindle Scout.

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No Reason to Hide by P.H. Turner

Series: The Nation Book Three

No reason to hide…he’s already here.

Navajo cop Jessica Akee finds a body sprawled in the weeds on the Reservation. What at first looks like just another gang killing is a far more disturbing murder. On loan from the Phoenix PD, top cop Charlie Stone partners with Jessica to find the killer. Her gangbanger brother is a suspect and dabbles in dark rituals, refusing to turn from the razor’s edge between good and evil. Soon all that is human of him is stripped away. Can Charlie save Jessica before evil claims her?

Would you like to see No Reason to Hide published? Cast your vote here.

 

Would you be interested in writing a paragraph or two about why you wrote the book, or why readers should vote for you, etc?

In the era of free love and nickel beer, I was ‘the good girl.’ From a family whose finances were wrecked by the sudden illness of my father, my Mom took the reins and went to work. Watching her taught me to value security more than dreams. Every penny counted and was counted twice.

I wrote stories as a girl and laboriously printed them in spiral notebooks, but I put aside my childhood dreams and took a job teaching high school English in a tough inner city school to put my husband through graduate school— until a fight interrupted a lesson on subjunctive mood and verb tense. Two students fought out of the classroom and into the hallway while the rest cheered them on. One picked up the other and threw him over the staircase where he landed with a wet thump.

I quit at the end of the year, went back to school, and studied broadcast journalism, spending more than three decades producing news shows, telling other people’s stories, and running educational television stations for universities, and teaching. A bout with cancer, a divorce or two, and the conclusion of raising two wonderful children refined my focus, and I returned to my first love, writing.

Romantic mysteries are complex puzzles solved by complicated, conflicted characters who have interesting relationships, and I love reading them. The Nation series is set on the Navajo Nation, and the setting is always a character– – the dry mountains, and the sweeping deserts, occasionally pounded by rains that turn the dry washes into rivers of mud and debris.

In No Reason to Hide, a female Navajo cop struggles to save her younger brother from an Indian gang, and the evil which stalks him for revenge.

Excerpt:

My younger brother’s grin was triumphant. “Don’t play yourself or me for stupid. I’m a Cobra.”

“Where were you last night?”

“Oh, so now you’re not my loving caretaker. You’re a cop.” He jacked his pants up to his waist. Buttoning and zipping with only one good hand was hard for him.

“Don’t you ever talk to me like that. Knowing where you were last night is caring for you. Answer me.”

He barked, “I was home. Mom was there. She can vouch for me. She’s working days.”

If Mom was working day shifts, she could back him up—if he was telling the truth. If he wasn’t, well, I didn’t want to think about it. “I’ll ask Mom.”

“Yeah”—he sneered—”you do that. Check up on the little bro.”

“Stop acting like a jackass. You have a family who loves you, and you have opportunities if you don’t screw them all up. Here, throw your shirt around your shoulders. I’m taking you home, and then I’m going back to work.”

“Is Mom going to be at home?” He sounded like a little boy, and his eyes were rounded with fear.

“Mom will be home after work. Would you like me to pick you up a burger? You can eat before you go to bed. I’ll call and check on you until Mom gets home.”

“Yeah, I’m hungry.”

Still not a thank you, but less mouthy. He needed help getting up on the running board and into my police unit. I drove through Burger King and then on to Mom’s house. She lived on the Nation in a weather-beaten single-wide where the three of us had grown up. I vividly remembered the day the front door banged shut behind my Dad. What I hadn’t known was his back was the last I would ever see of him.

Also Available by P.H. Turner:

WinterkillWinterkill

A Web of Murder, Mayhem, and Lust

A beautiful reporter and a charming rancher are caught in a web of mayhem, murder. . .and lust.

Reporter Sawyer Cahill returns home to Cheyenne, Wyoming to report for the local television station. But leaving behind the coverage of San Antonio’s gangland murders only lands her in the middle of a wave of ritualistic animal mutilations. Harassed and threatened, Sawyer plunges into her investigation.

Former attorney turned rancher, Jake Spooner is torn between his desire for Sawyer and his need to keep her safe. Jake’s mission is to bring the killer down before he strikes again.

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Death & DesireDeath & Desire: The Nation Book One

ANCIENT RITUALS. UP-TO-THE-MINUTE DECEPTION.

Reporter Taylor McWhorter knows something is going on at the newly reopened uranium mine in the backcountry on the Navajo reservation. The Native workers are fired. Rumors of bad Native American spirits and shapeshifters mingle with the stink of leach pit mining. And Taylor’s sources keep turning up dead…

Until she meets Captain Trace Yazzie, head of the tribal police force and plenty to reckon with on his own. The chemistry between them is enough to incinerate Taylor’s rule about mixing business and pleasure. But with a murderer on the loose, priceless Navajo artifacts turning up in the wrong places, and Trace’s suggestion that spirits disturbed from looted burial sites might be part of the problem, Taylor can’t afford to lose her head to lust. This might be the story of the year. But unless she keeps her wits about her, it could be the last one Taylor ever tells.

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Desert HeatDesert Heat: The Nation Book Two

Navajo Witchery. Human Treachery.

Social worker Jordan Bia finds a child who escaped her captors and a life in the sex trade, but four other girls from her small Mexican village were not so lucky. Smugglers hide their human cargo in the hoodoos of a remote canyon on the reservation—a place the Navajo shun, fearful of the witches who practice their black rituals and feast on the dark energy of evil. Mysterious rites, omens of death, and bodies litter the canyon.

When she meets Navajo police officer Sam Tohee, sparks fly fueled by the danger of hunting men who buy and sell little girls. Techno savvy Jordan plots to trap the smugglers and free the rest of the children, but unless she and Sam can find the power to defeat the witches she may not live long enough to save the girls.

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About the Author:

I call Austin, Texas home now after working on the East and West coasts, the Rocky Mountains, and an island in the Gulf of Mexico. I’ve come full circle to live and work close to the farm my family settled in the 1850’s.

Truth is stranger than fiction, and years in the news business provided lots of peculiar characters and stories to write about. My books are set in my favorite places, the desert canyons and high mountains of the American West.

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