Romance Novel Giveaways

Transference by Kiki Wellington 💕 Spotlight and EXCLUSIVE $10 Giveaway 💕(Erotica)

2026-09-01T00:07:00.000-04:00

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But when she develops erotic feelings for her therapist, will she enter into yet another inappropriate relationship?

After years of suffering the consequences of a sexual dalliance that she can’t seem to live down, Natalie begins therapy to better understand her behavior. But when she develops erotic feelings for her therapist, will she enter into yet another inappropriate relationship?

Warning: Transference (11,900 words) contains parking lot pick me ups, doctor-patient privileges, and a not-so-cunning linguist.

I was ready to give in to my deepest desires, even though I knew they were wrong. Destructive. Morally bankrupt.

Simon’s fingers slowly walked up my leg, making me tingle with every slow, determined step, until they reached their final destination on my crotch. He cradled my pussy in his hand, and even though it was covered up by jeans and panties, it was like he could still feel the heat bubbling up between my legs.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I said, watching him rub me through my clothes, setting my clit absolutely on fire with every second of his touch. “This is really not a good idea.”

Simon continued massaging my mound through my jeans with one hand, and with his other hand, he unbuttoned his pants, setting a rock hard erection free. “Are you sure about that? Because it sure feels like a good idea to me.”

“I’m sure this isn’t a good idea,” I said, but that didn’t stop me from reaching out and tightly wrapping my palm around his meat, getting a good feel of his inappropriate desires.

“Like I said, we’re just having fun.”

I abandoned what little sense of right and wrong and loyalty I had left, and maneuvered my way on top of his cock, feeling it poke me against my jeans. He reached down to unbutton my pants, slightly lifting me up and exposing my red panties. His eyes got wide. He looked like he could devour me right then.

“You look so sexy in red,” he said, practically drooling.

“Just shut up and let’s do this,” I snarled, disgusted with the both of us. I jumped up to take off my jeans, and maneuvered my way back on top of him. I moved my panties to the side, and slid my pelvis toward his, as if not stripping down naked tempered the amount of betrayal going on.

“Oh, baby, you should take it all off.”

“And you should shut up and fuck me.”

There was something about Patrick that ignited a fire in me. I knew it was wrong...unprofessional. You’re not supposed to fall in lust with a patient—especially when you’re doing marriage counseling. But I couldn’t resist him and when I found out he felt the same way about me…well, the rest, shall we say, was ecstasy.

From the Author:
ADULTS ONLY PLEASE. Countertransference is a 15,900 word story that contains sexually explicit material and adult language. This story is not appropriate for children and may be offensive to some readers.

Warning: Countertransference contains patient petting, self-love in a stall, and sick days gone wild.

Although I’ve been writing fiction since I was a teenager, I fell into writing erotica because, like many people in this space, I saw the surge of indie erotica after Fifty Shades of Grey was published. I thought I would give it a shot and the result was my first story, Supernatural Seductions.

The fact that my first toe dip into the erotica pool was a paranormal story is no coincidence: I have been both fascinated wholly and frightened witless by the otherworldly since I was dragged to see the original Amityville Horror in the movie theater as a child. Horror movies and novels became my primary go-to entertainment source for many years, and although they made for many sleepless nights, I couldn’t stay away from them.

I also can’t resist a strange story. Or a story with a twist. (I have The Twilight Zone and Alfred Hitchcock Presents to thank for that.) I know that some of my stories can be downright weird…and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Much like life, the path I take from Point A to Point B is not always a straight line and orgasms are often part of the journey my characters take, not always merely the destination.

I see myself as a literary flesh peddler—that is, like a talent scout, I get the characters together and let them perform. They present themselves to me, tell me who they are and what they want to do, and I give them the stage to do it on. Naked, of course. Some characters are bold and brazen and tell me exactly how they want to navigate the story, while others are more quiet and reserved, causing me to give them stricter direction in their scenes. In the end, I hope this all results in a fun and sexy story that turns you on as it takes turns you may not have expected—but leaves you satisfied on multiple levels nonetheless.

When I’m not writing my quirky erotica, I’m being quirky over on Medium, where I write erotic poetry, sex and relationship tips, flash fiction, and summaries of sex research. This is a great complement to my erotic stories because it allows me to explore sex and relationships in a different way—and hopefully help readers laugh, learn, think, get horny, and find information they can use in their own relationships and sex lives.

I love this strange little corner that I’ve created for myself and whether you read my fiction or my work on Medium, I hope you enjoy it too. I am tremendously thankful for each and every one of my readers because you are giving me your most valuable asset—your time. You could be doing anything in the world right now, but instead you’re spending this moment with me, and for that, I appreciate you.

With gratitude and mind-blowing orgasms,

Kiki Wellington

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Duke Du Jour by Petie McCarty 💕 Book Blast and $10 Giveaway 💕 (Time-Travel Romance)

2026-08-31T00:07:00.000-04:00

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She’s waiting in the past . . .

He belongs in the future.

She’s waiting in the past . . . He belongs in the future.

Jared Langley, present-day Duke of Reston, tumbles into an abandoned fountain on his ducal estate and is pelted back in time to the year 1816. There, Reston servants and local villagers think him a dead ringer for his namesake and rakehell ancestor—the seventh Duke of Reston, gone missing at the Battle of Waterloo. Unfortunately, Seven got mixed up with French spies out to assassinate the Duke of Wellington, and an unwary Jared ends up in their crosshairs.

Lady Ariana Hart has loved Jared Langley, the seventh Duke of Reston, since she was twelve years old, until the night the rogue broke her heart. Given up for dead, her rakish neighbor makes a miraculous return from Waterloo. Only Jared shows up a changed man and reignites all the feelings Ariana had long ago buried.

Jared is in a race against time.

His tasks?

Waylay the suspicions of his quirky servants and neighbors

Get to Wellington before the French spies do

Fix his fountain–before Seven shows up–so Jared has a way home

And definitely do not fall in love with the irresistible Lady Ariana . . .

Jared winced when the not-doctor swiped two fingers over the lump. “How long will my memory lapse?” he asked, for good measure.

“No more than a week or two,” Dr. Padwick proclaimed confidently.

Pompous ass. The quack had no idea. Small wonder anyone survived in this century.

A young boy, about twelve or thirteen years old, suddenly burst into the room. “She’s coming up the lane!” he exclaimed.

The present occupants all stared. The poor boy shifted from one foot to the other. “She’s coming,” he repeated and gave Curricle Man a pointed look that was obviously supposed to mean something.

Jared glanced at Curricle Man, and then he raised his brows at Heddy.

“That is Bullen,” she said.

Curricle Man gaped. “You didn’t know me?”

“Not your name until this moment, no.”

“Memory loss,” Padwick added peremptorily.

“Oh,” Bullen said, making the word into several phonetic syllables.

Jared suppressed yet another eye roll. He would make his head ache worse if he did not cease. “And who is coming?”

Bullen’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “Lady Ariana,” he wheezed, like someone was choking him.

Jared’s gaze shot to Heddy, and Bullen clapped a palm to his forehead.

“Lady Ariana Hart, the Earl of Wakefield’s daughter,” she said primly and added, “Yer playmate as a child though ye were a might older.”

Bullen groaned. “It is too late to run now. She’s probably pulled up to the steps already.”

Jared threw his legs over the side of the bed. “Surely, you did not expect me to run.”

Heddy leaned in and whispered, “I’m Heddy. Shirley’s the upstairs maid.”

Jared blinked at her, considered explaining his adverb use, and thought better of it.

“Remember, I told ye?” Heddy repeated slowly.

“Right. So, why would I run?”

Bullen and Heddy exchanged glances, and both gave a minuscule nod toward Padwick, who watched the exchange with interest.

Jared caught on. “If you are through, Dr. Padwick, you may go. I will send word if I further require your services,” he said dismissively.

The doctor gave one imperious sniff, snatched up his black bag of medicinal anomalies, and stalked for the door.

The moment the door shut behind him, Jared turned to Bullen. “Now, why would I not want to see Lady Ariana if she was my childhood playmate?”

Bullen swallowed hard and shot a worried glance at Heddy.

“Do not look at her. Answer me.”

“Well,” Bullen said slowly, keeping his eyes on the counterpane on Jared’s bed, “because of the way you had gotten to be those last couple of years before you left for the continent.”

Jared narrowed his gaze. “And how is that?”

Bullen swallowed hard a second time. “You know . . . dissolute.”

Jared stared in shock. Mostly because Bullen knew the word. Nineteenth-century servants were not all that well educated. He also felt insulted, though common sense told him no, since he wasn’t really the seventh Duke of Reston. He thought of the smirk on Seven’s face in Jared’s portrait gallery.

“Terribly dissolute?”

Bullen blinked. “Pretty much.”

“Ye’re a rake and a drunk,” Heddy added helpfully.

He glowered at her.

“Well, ye are. Gossip is ye’ve slept wi’ half the married ladies in London and all the widows. Not yer fault though. Ye’ve a face like an angel,” she offered indulgently, “so the ladies flock to ye.”

Bullen nodded. “You’re a looker, and you know it.” The man finally made eye contact and looked sad about his divulgence.

Bloody hell. I am an arrogant, lecherous drunk, and I have only just arrived.

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"5 Stars... Duke du Jour is just delightful reading, period! Filled with humor, some heartbreak, a lot of misunderstandings...this twisted tale of time will captivate readers from start to finish! Witness the nineteenth century come to life...this is one time travel read that no one could resist!..."
—Tome Tender Book Blog

"5+ Stars... Duke du Jour is Outlander meets Downton Abbey in lush Regency England...I was sad when it ended, and I wanted more!...you've got to read this book. I highly recommend it..."
--N. N. Light's Book Heaven

"5 Stars... I was charmed out of my boots!... so fast-paced, I wished it were longer..."
—Book Talk with Eileen

"...magical characters that are full of warmth...you won't want to put this story down until you turn that last page and then you simply may want more..."
—Romancing the Book/Robin

"4 Stars... I loved this book. I was hooked from the opening chapter and the author keeps you guessing...I have not read this author before, but she definitely got a new fan..."
—Wonderfully Weird Book Reviews

"5 Stars... This book has it all, action, romance, time travel, good guys, highwaymen, you name it, it's in there. I thoroughly enjoyed this story. I was sucked in right from the beginning and didn't want to stop..."
—Dreams and Screams Bookaholics

"5 Stars... Overall, I just flat out loved this book. Everything about it... I will definitely re-read this book again. Yes, it's that good..."
—Harlie's Books

"5 Stars... I'm very impressed... Fans of time travel and romance will definitely enjoy this book. I'm looking forward to the next book in the series..."
—Two Ends of the Pen

"5 Stars... I had a huge smile on my face pretty much throughout the book and I was really sad when I finished!... Duke du Jour was fabulous, and I am going to be very highly recommending it...I do hope you love it as much as I did!..."
—Am Kinda Busy Reading!!

"5 Stars... a very fun romp through the past!...The writing was really wonderful and it was fun read. I look forward to the next book in this series..."
—Let Me Tell You a Story

"5 Stars... Marvelous characters that will have you laughing and crying with them...danger, romance and intrigue, all add up to a book that you will love from the first to last page. Great fun, I can't wait for the next book in the series..."
—Petula Reads Romance

"4.5 Stars... This was a fun story...very clever...lots of fun characters..."
—Author Liza O'Connor

"4 Stars... a very sweet book with wonderful characters. It had humor, betrayals and love...a very worthwhile read especially for those who love time travel..."
—Paranormal Romance Guild

"4 Stars... McCarty enthralls us with this intriguing story line... Definitely worth the read..."
—Long and Short Reviews

"5 Stars... OMG, this book has just about everything a true lover of reading would want..."
—LaGina Book Reviews

"4 Stars... The writing was really wonderful and it was fun read. I look forward to the next book in this series...."
—A Chick Who Reads

"... entertaining Regency timeslip romance...the pages turn swiftly toward a sweet resolution...It's a fun read..."
—Historical Novel Society

Petie spent a large part of her career working at Walt Disney World—"The Most Magical Place on Earth"—where she enjoyed working in the land of fairy tales by day and creating her own romantic fairy tales by night, including her new series, The Cinderella Romances. She eventually said goodbye to her "day" job to write her stories full-time.

These days, Petie spends her time writing new tales for her Cinderella series, her new The Watchers series, sequels to her Regency time-travel series, Lords in Time, and more contemporary romance standalones, along with her two previous releases—Any Fin For Love and Ambush in the Everglades.

Petie shares her home on the Cumberland Plateau in Tennessee with her horticulturist husband and an opinionated Nanday conure named Sassy who makes a cameo appearance in Christmas Watch, Book 2 of The Watchers series.

Visit Petie at her website, www.petiemccarty.com, to get to know her, learn about her current projects, and discover her other published works.

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The Secret in the Sampler by Abigail B. Hartwell 💕 Guest Post, Newsletter Freebie, Book Tour and eBook Giveaway 💕(Cozy Mystery)

2026-08-29T00:07:00.000-04:00

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The person who killed to keep its secret hidden may already know Nora has begun to unravel the pattern...

What would you do if the family heirloom hidden in your aunt’s estate could expose a stolen inheritance—and make you the next person someone needs silenced?

Two years after losing her husband, Nora Bell returns to the quiet Ohio Amish-country town of Briar Creek to settle her late aunt’s estate. She expects dusty type drawers, unpaid bills, and enough sympathy casseroles to survive a minor siege. Reopening The Bell & Quill, Aunt Lenora’s old letterpress and stationery shop, is supposed to be a temporary project—not the beginning of an entirely new life.

Then Nora discovers an antique hand-stitched sampler concealed inside a cedar trunk.

Its mismatched initials, reversed border, and nearly invisible name suggest that the sampler is more than a family keepsake. It may be the only surviving record of a child erased from Briar Creek’s history—and an inheritance quietly stolen decades ago.

Before Nora can uncover what her aunt knew, a local estate appraiser is found dead. He had been asking questions about the sampler, searching for a missing auction ledger, and meeting privately with someone determined to keep an old land transfer from being examined too closely.

Now Nora is following a trail of altered records, old letters, disputed property, and carefully guarded family secrets. Her unexpected ally is Eli Yoder, a reserved Amish widower and auction clerk who knows Briar Creek’s family histories almost as well as he knows when people are refusing to tell the truth.

Eli’s dry humor and steady presence make him useful. The grief he recognizes in Nora makes him dangerous in an entirely different way.

As suspicion spreads through the Amish farms, antique shops, auction houses, and polished tourist businesses surrounding Briar Creek, Nora realizes the sampler does not simply reveal what happened in the past. It threatens someone’s money, reputation, and future.

And the person who killed to keep its secret hidden may already know Nora has begun to unravel the pattern.

Readers will discover:

A clever, emotionally grounded amateur sleuthwhose knowledge of printing, paper, handwriting, and design helps her notice what others overlook.
An atmospheric Amish-country settingfilled with rural roads, estate auctions, quilt work, family businesses, and small-town secrets.
A layered, low-gore cozy mystery involving an antique sampler, a hidden heir, altered records, and a disputed inheritance.
A clean, chaste slow-burn romance between two widowed people rebuilding their lives through trust rather than instant attraction.
Warm community characters and lightly witty dialogue without turning the mystery into slapstick.
A satisfying standalone investigation that opens the door to more secrets from The Bell & Quill.

The Secret in the Sampler is the first novel in The Plain Truth Mysteries, a gentle Amish-adjacent cozy mystery series about old objects, hidden histories, rural grudges, and the truths people leave behind on paper and cloth.

Perfect for fans of Amanda Flower’s Assaulted Caramel, Laura Bradford’s Hearse and Buggy, and Vannetta Chapman’s Falling to Pieces.

Why Nora and Eli’s Relationship Takes Its Time

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Readers sometimes ask why Nora Bell and Eli Yoder do not simply say what everyone in Briar Creek already suspects.

It is a fair question. It is also the kind of question Maeve Hartley would ask while pretending she was only refilling a coffee cup.

Nora and Eli’s relationship takes its time because neither of them comes to the page as a person looking for romance. Nora returns to Briar Creek carrying grief, uncertainty, and the practical burden of settling her late aunt’s estate. She has inherited The Bell & Quill, a letterpress and stationery shop full of old paper, private records, family secrets, and more dust than any reasonable widow should be expected to manage. She is not trying to begin again. At first, she is only trying to get through the next box, the next repair bill, the next memory that finds her before breakfast.

Eli Yoder is not waiting around for a charming outsider to change his life either. He is an Amish widower, a father, an auction clerk, and a man who has learned that duty can fill a day even when it does not heal the heart. His life is rooted in family, faith, work, and community expectations that are not decorations for the story. They matter. They shape what he can say, what he must consider, and what any attachment to Nora would cost.

That is why their connection begins in the least dramatic way possible: through work.

Auction records. Estate papers. Old letters. Misprinted cards. Ledger entries. A sampler with initials no one wants to explain. Nora sees what paper reveals. Eli understands what families have trained themselves not to say. Neither one is complete without the other’s knowledge, and that is where the trust begins.

Not with moonlight.

Not with declarations.

With two people standing over an old object and realizing the truth will require patience.

That kind of patience matters in this series. The Plain Truth Mysteries are not built around spectacle. They are built around the things people leave behind: recipes, hymnbooks, quilts, invitations, broadsides, maps, and the small printed pieces of a life that prove someone was here. Nora and Eli’s relationship belongs to that same world. It is made of small evidence.

He fixes something in the shop without making a performance of it.

She notices when he is protecting someone’s dignity, not just withholding information.

He sees her grief without trying to tidy it.

She refuses to treat his community like a quaint backdrop.

They disagree, often quietly, about truth and privacy. Nora believes records matter because lies have damaged too many people. Eli knows that truth, handled carelessly, can wound the innocent along with the guilty. Neither is entirely wrong. Their relationship grows because they do not flatten each other into easy answers.

There is also the matter of their different worlds. Nora is Englisch, widowed, independent, and still learning Briar Creek’s deeper codes. Eli is Amish, widowed, responsible for daughters who are old enough to notice more than he wishes, and part of a community where private choices are rarely as private as outsiders imagine. A rushed romance would not feel tender. It would feel false.

So the story lets them move slowly.

A glance held a moment too long.

A ride offered for practical reasons that are not entirely practical.

A conversation that stops before it says too much.

A public act of loyalty that cannot be explained away as neighborliness, though several people may make heroic attempts.

For Nora and Eli, restraint is not a lack of feeling. It is the language feeling has learned to speak in their circumstances.

Their slow burn is not about delaying romance for the sake of delay. It is about respect: for grief, for faith, for family, for community, and for the truth that love after loss is not a replacement. It is a risk.

And in Briar Creek, where old paper has a habit of revealing what people meant to hide, some truths need time before they are ready to be spoken aloud.

Vernon turned back to her. “I understand there was a cedar trunk among the items.”

“There is a cedar trunk listed.”

“May I see it?”

“It’s on the platform.”

“I mean the contents.”

“The contents are under review.”

“By you?”

“Yes. That is what inheritance generally means.”

He smiled again, but this time it did not warm. “Of course. Your aunt had shown me certain pieces before she passed. I would hate for something valuable to be overlooked.”

Nora’s hand tightened around the coffee cup. “Which pieces?”

“A few linens. Some printed ephemera. A trunk lot.” His gaze flicked down toward her satchel. “Possibly a small stitched piece.”

Maeve’s eyes moved to Nora’s satchel, then away quickly.

Nora hoped Vernon did not catch it.

Naturally, he did.

“Do you have it with you?” he asked.

“Have what?”

“A sampler.”

The word made the damp air feel suddenly colder.

Nora kept her expression mild. She had learned from Aunt Lenora that the best way to annoy an intrusive person was not to look annoyed. It forced them to wonder whether they had failed.

“I don’t believe I mentioned a sampler,” she said.

“No, but Lenora did.”

“Did she?”

“Briefly.”

“When?”

“A few weeks ago.”

Maeve looked at him. “That is curious. Lenora did not mention it to me.”

“I cannot account for whom Lenora chose to trust.”

The sentence should have been harmless. It was not.

Nora set her coffee on the table. “What exactly did my aunt ask you?”

“Whether I had seen similar work. Whether certain motifs carried family significance. Whether there might be market interest if it proved connected to a known maker.”

“You remember all that from a brief mention?”

“I have an excellent memory for valuable things.”

“How comforting.”

His eyes gleamed. “May I see it?”

“No.”

Maeve’s eyebrows lifted. Vernon’s smile faltered by the width of a thread.

“No?” he repeated.

“No, thank you.”

“That is not quite the usual response to a professional appraisal.”

“I’m not having it appraised.”

“Then you may not know what you have.”

“I’ve found ignorance can be corrected more easily than regret.”

From behind Vernon, Eli approached, his hat in one hand, his expression unreadable. “Vernon.”

“Eli.” Vernon sounded amused. “I see Mrs. Bell has acquired counsel.”

“I was already standing nearby.”

“A convenient habit of yours.”

Nora looked from one man to the other. “Does everyone in this town speak in quilting patterns?”

Maeve answered at once. “Only when lying would be too obvious.”

Eli’s eyes flicked toward Nora, and for the first time that morning, she saw amusement break through his reserve. It was brief. It was also unfortunately attractive, in the way competence sometimes became when a person was tired and undercaffeinated.

Vernon noticed that too.

He noticed far too much.

“I am only offering assistance,” Vernon said. “A sampler can be difficult to place. Especially one with an old Keim border.”

Nora went still.

Eli did too.

Vernon’s smile remained, but it changed. He knew. He knew he had said too much.

Nora’s voice came out calm. “What did you say?”

“Keim border. A common regional term.”

“Common enough that you recognized it without seeing the sampler?”

He spread his hands. “Lenora described it.”

“No,” Nora said. “She didn’t.”

It was a guess. A bold one. An invitation for him to correct her.

He did not.

Eli’s gaze lowered for a moment, then returned to Vernon. “You have seen it.”

Vernon’s face tightened. “I have seen many samplers.”

“That one,” Eli said.

The quiet words did more than an accusation would have. Vernon’s gloved fingers flexed once.

Maeve stepped in lightly, which for Maeve meant with the tactical grace of a woman moving a knife behind a cake plate. “Mr. Pike, I believe Gideon is calling for you near the office. Something about a reserve price.”

Vernon looked at her. “Is he?”

“He will be once I tell him to.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Vernon laughed.

“You are formidable, Maeve.”

“Intermittently.”

He turned back to Nora. “Mrs. Bell, do be careful. Sentimental objects have a way of making people irrational.”

“I thought valuable things did that.”

His smile faded completely.

Then it returned, thinner and brighter. “Sometimes both.”

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Abigail B. Hartwell writes gentle Amish-adjacent cozy mysteries rooted in the small towns and wooded backroads of east-central Ohio. Though she is not Amish, she lives near Amish communities and draws inspiration from the region’s quiet rhythms, close-knit families, old stories, and rural traditions. She shares a modest home on five wooded acres with her long-haul truck driver husband. They have two grown daughters and three grandchildren. When she is not writing, Abigail enjoys church activities, family time, and the peaceful beauty of the Ohio countryside.

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A Pinch of Assault by Misty Simon 💕 New Release Tour and $15 Giveaway 💕 (Cozy Mystery)

2026-08-28T00:07:00.000-04:00

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Welcome to the Sunny Side Up Diner, where the pancakes are fluffy, the bacon is crisp, and murder should not be on the menu…

Welcome to the Sunny Side Up Diner, where the jukeboxes jive and the secrets thrive...

With things at her Sunny Side Up Diner sailing along smoothly for once, Jax Tapman has turned her attention to her personal life. It’s time to meet the boyfriend’s mother in person. And while Jax isn't totally certain she’s up to the challenge, she agrees to show Eliot’s mom around a local retirement home. It sounds innocent enough, and it shouldn’t be too difficult to sell the woman on the idea of moving to be closer to her son. But instead of making her case, when Jax enters the model apartment, she and her potential in-law find one dead body and a whole lot of secrets!

Suddenly it’s up to Jax to discover who the retirement home killer is—a task that only gets harder when someone from Eliot's past shows up and might know far more about the crime than she’s letting on.

The Sunny Side Up Diner is jumping with gossip, Jax and her best friend Dani are running interference, and Eliot’s mom is calling all the shots. But sorting out chaos and minimizing damage is something Jax has grown accustomed to, if she can only get a clue.

"This new series is off to a great start. Misty does an excellent job showing readers all the details of the small town, the diner, and a cast of entertaining characters."
~ Kings River Life Magazine

"Readers cannot help but fall in love with this first book!!! Simon has you laughing out loud... I, for one, look forward to more books in the series!!!!"

~ Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

“We’re looking for the model apartment,” I said. “If you could point us in the right direction?”

“Of course,” said a guy who came up from behind to join the others. He was wearing a hoodie also emblazoned with the company logo of a big, branchy oak tree with a smiling face. “Right behind you.”

I turned around, and sure enough, when I looked at the sign on the wall to my right, it had a big arrow and the very helpful words “Model Home” in a polished silver that must have cost a pretty penny. But for what they charged to live here, that was probably a drop in the bucket of the money they made on a monthly basis.

“Much appreciated.”

“No problem,” he said, saluting me, and then he caught up with the others.

“We have our direction now from the guy who must not realize it’s warm enough to not need a sweatshirt.”

“Not everyone is as hot as you are,” Eliot said with a chuckle.

“Ha!” I did appreciate that he thought I was hot, of course, but I was fighting a blush that he’d said it in front of his mom.

“Nicely done,” Dot said, patting her son’s arm.

“Let’s carry on.” I cleared my throat and prepared to make the idea of living here irresistible, or at least get mother and son to laugh while trying. “Here we have state-of-the-art facilities and comfort like no other place in the world. The programs and activities are top of line, too. You will only be bored here if you want, or actively make an effort to be bored, because we can schedule your every second before Wheel of Fortune comes on, if you so desire.”

Dot snickered, and even Eliot laughed at that.

“Please follow me to our version of paradise.”

I inserted the key into the lock and twisted, but I didn’t feel any resistance or hear the dead bolt click. I turned the doorknob anyway, thinking maybe the door was just that well-oiled.

Opening the door into the really beautiful suite of rooms, I was already half in love with the teal carpet and the rose-colored walls. The tan furniture they’d chosen to place in the living room was set off nicely with pastel throw pillows, light wood side tables, and a coffee table. The sliding glass door to the left let in ample sunlight without being blinding and bathed the whole area in a golden glow that warmed the room. The effect was truly lovely.

It was obvious I wasn’t alone in thinking so either, since Dot was already oohing and ahhing from the doorway. As she stepped in, I moved out of the way in case she wanted to make a beeline for the kitchen. The breakfast bar fronting the kitchen was big without being massive and separated it from the living room while keeping the floor plan open for entertaining.

I was hoping she’d love the space as she moved around the end of the bar, but when she stepped into the kitchen, she drew to an immediate halt and barked at us to call 9-1-1.

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Misty Simon always wanted to be a storyteller…preferably behind a Muppet. Animal was number one, followed closely by Sherlock Hemlock… Since that dream didn’t come true, she began writing stories to share her world with readers, one laugh at a time.

Touching people’s hearts and funny bones are two of her favorite things, and she hopes everyone at least snickers in the right places when reading her books. She lives with her husband in Central Pennsylvania where she is hard at work on her next novel or three. She loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at misty@mistysimon.com.

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The Filbert Steps by Lila Blake 💕 Behind the Scenes, Newsletter Freebie, New Release Tour and $25 Giveaway 💕 (Cozy Mystery)

2026-08-27T00:07:00.000-04:00

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Telegraph Hill has been keeping secrets for years...

A body on the steps. A neighborhood that saw nothing.

Vivian Salvatore came back to Telegraph Hill with a cat, a divorce settlement, and a book she cannot seem to write.

At fifty-two, newly single and trying to rebuild her life, she has settled into the rhythms of San Francisco’s most beautiful staircase: coffee at the corner café, morning walks on the Filbert Steps, old neighbors on three corners, and the comforting illusion that everyone knows everyone.

Then, on a bright October morning, Vivian finds one of the city’s most ambitious developers dead on the third landing.

The police are ready to call it a fall. But Vivian spent twenty-seven years reading teenagers’ faces for a living, and she knows when a story does not fit. A coat buttoned wrong. A cigarette ground out where it should not be. Storefronts quietly sold to a post-office box in Delaware. And a neighborhood full of people who had reason to want one man gone.

As Vivian begins asking questions, she discovers that Telegraph Hill has been keeping secrets for years — about money, loyalty, grief, and who really gets to call a place home.

The Filbert Steps introduces Vivian Salvatore, a sharp-eyed, warm-hearted sleuth who notices everything and forgives almost as much.

Perfect for readers who love older women sleuths, atmospheric San Francisco mysteries, neighborhood secrets, found community, and fair-play cozy mysteries with literary depth.

The Cozy-Mystery Village Hiding Inside San Francisco

By Lila Blake

When people picture a cozy-mystery setting, they often imagine a village small enough for everyone to know who takes tea at four, who closes the bakery on Mondays, and who has not spoken to the woman across the lane since 1987. San Francisco is not a village. It is a city of more than forty hills, dozens of neighborhoods, and enough reinvention to keep a historian busy for several lifetimes.

But walk a few blocks of North Beach in the early morning and the city narrows.

The same delivery driver is unloading bread. The same retired firefighter is folding the newspaper into thirds. A shopkeeper knows which customer wants the provolone sliced too thick and which one will argue about it. A barista begins pulling an espresso before the person at the door has taken off her coat. That repetition creates the intimacy a cozy mystery needs.

When I began writing The Filbert Steps, I did not want San Francisco to function as a glamorous backdrop that could be replaced with another photogenic city. I wanted the neighborhood to do real story work. Vivian Salvatore walks the same route almost every morning: from her apartment at the top of Telegraph Hill, down the wooden Filbert Steps, through the Grace Marchant Garden, and into North Beach for coffee. Along the way, she passes three corners occupied by families and businesses that have watched one another for decades.

That daily route gives Vivian something every amateur sleuth needs: a reliable picture of normal. She knows where Sal leaves the evidence of his first cigarette. She knows which shop opens before sunrise and which dog pauses at a doorway for exactly three seconds. She knows how people greet one another when nothing is wrong. Once that pattern exists, the smallest disruption matters.

The stairs also change the pace of the story. You cannot hurry down two hundred wooden steps while pretending you are not part of the place. You hold the rail. You notice whether the boards are wet. You hear the parrots before you see them. You look through the eucalyptus toward the Bay in pieces. The geography makes observation physical, which suits Vivian. She spent twenty-seven years as a teacher, reading rooms full of adolescents who were certain adults could not see through them. She notices posture, silence, and what has been put back almost, but not quite the way it was.

I used a mixture of real and fictional places. The Filbert Steps, the garden, Washington Square, Liguria Bakery, Saints Peter and Paul, and several locations connected to Dashiell Hammett are real. Coppa’s espresso bar and the Bay Cypress Grocery are invented. That balance let me honor the texture of North Beach without turning an actual business or family into a clue.

A neighborhood mystery also needs something worth protecting. In The Filbert Steps, the threat is not only that a man has died. It is that the people who remain may lose the places that hold their shared history. A deli is more than a counter if three generations have used it to feed the block. A café is more than a lease if it has become the room where people learn who is ill, who is lonely, and who needs someone to sit down without asking questions.

That does not mean the neighborhood should be frozen. Vivian knows places change; she has changed, too. She is fifty-two, divorced, living alone for the first time in decades, and trying to write a book she has avoided for sixteen months. The mystery forces her to ask a harder question than whether change is good or bad: who gets to decide what a place becomes, and whose memories count when the numbers change?

For me, that is where the coziness lives. It is not in pretending that danger, grief, or money cannot reach a beautiful street. It is in believing that attention is a form of care. People may fail one another, conceal things, and make terrible decisions. They may also bring soup, save a table, walk at an old dog’s pace, and show up when the neighborhood asks something of them.

North Beach gave me the scale of a village inside the movement of a city. The espresso is strong, the hills are unreasonable, and everyone knows everyone…which, in a mystery, is both the comfort and the problem.

The Filbert Steps is the first book in the Telegraph Hill Mysteries by Lila Blake. It releases August 31, 2026, from Sutro House Press. Learn more at lilablake.com.

Bradford Loeb had eight days to live, and I spent the first of them worrying about a dog.

I didn’t know about the eight days. Nobody did, including Bradford Loeb, who that morning was somewhere across the city wanting things. What I knew was that it was the first Tuesday of October, that the fog would burn off by ten, and that my friend Maria’s old greyhound had been slow getting up the day before. On Telegraph Hill, that was the news.

I was up at five. I fed Burgess, my fourteen-year-old tabby, made tea, and stood at the kitchen window while the first container ship of the morning carried its lights out toward the Gate. Then I sat down at my desk, in front of the wall of index cards, and did not write my book about Dashiell Hammett.

I’d become very good at not writing it. Sixteen months on chapter four, and the cards were organized beautifully. Yellow for the people he knew, green for the addresses, blue for his cases, pink for the women, white for the questions I couldn’t answer. That last stack was the only one that had grown all year. Hammett had lived a mile from my window once, a sick ex-detective writing at a kitchen table at night, and put this city down on paper as it works: who owns it, who collects, who pays. I’d loved him since I was twenty-two, when a man in a secondhand shop sold me The Maltese Falcon for fifty cents because the cover was gone. Loved him through twenty-seven years of teaching him to teenagers at University High, through twenty-three years of marriage. Now I had the time, my desk, my wall of cards, and most mornings I sat in front of all of it and didn’t write. I had stopped asking myself why.

My book wasn’t a secret. Four of us still met one evening a week, the writers’ group that had outlived the City College workshop where we’d found each other seven years ago. We called ourselves the Fog & Quill. Nobody else was going to name us. We were each writing the history of our own corner of the city. Lola had the WPA muralists the city forgot to sign, and she ran our Tuesdays as completely as she ran her own kitchen. River had the Summer of Love and had been there for it, which she would tell you inside a minute. Nora had the fog-end of the Sunset, the drowned amusements out at the beach, and the worst and truest tongue of the four of us. And I had Hammett, whom I was not writing. The group had stopped asking about the chapter. They meant it kindly, and lately I had started to dislike it.

My daughter could have told me why. My daughter had, in fact.

The phone rang at six-forty, which is nine-forty in Connecticut.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweet.”

My daughter Margot calls most mornings, between her shower and her first class, from a dorm room where the radiator bangs and the roommate sleeps through it. Ninety seconds, sometimes five minutes. She gives me the first piece of her day, every day, and I have never told her what it does for me. If I told her, she’d have to know, and then it would be a duty.

“Are you eating? Don’t say coffee.”

“Maria feeds me on Sundays.”

“It’s Tuesday.” She let it go. I could hear a door behind her, other people’s voices, the life she’d built at nineteen moving around her. “How’s chapter four?”

“Chapter four is fine.”

“Mom.”

“Margot.”

“You know what I think.”

I did know. She’d told me in August, the last night of her visit, sitting on my bed with her suitcase open. You don’t have a writing problem. You have a permission problem. Then she’d zipped the suitcase.

“Go to class, sweet.”

“Eat something. Oh, and your deli is famous. Somebody’s posting videos of the slicing, and my roommate follows the account, and she has no idea I’m North Beach royalty. Hi, Burgess!” The greeting was shouted across three thousand miles. Then she was gone.

My apartment was very quiet. Burgess looked at me from the windowsill. I went over, crouched all the way down, and put my forehead against his. I have never told anyone I do that. He held still until I was done. Then I took my coat and went out to walk two hundred wooden steps down to a cup of coffee.

The long way. Nobody was waiting for me, and it is the most beautiful walk in San Francisco.

The Filbert Steps is the first book in the Telegraph Hill Mysteries by Lila Blake. It releases August 31, 2026, from Sutro House Press. Learn more at lilablake.com.

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The woman who notices everything

At fifty-two, newly divorced and finally home, Vivian Salvatore has come back to Telegraph Hill with a cat named Burgess and a life that is at last her own. She spent twenty-seven years reading a roomful of teenagers for a living. Now she reads her neighborhood, and when a man turns up dead on the steps below her door, she is the only one who notices the small wrong things the police walk straight past.

Vivian Salvatore

"She came to the page late, and to murder later still."

Vivian spent twenty-seven years teaching literature to teenagers and twenty-three married to a man who never once asked what her book was about. Newly divorced at fifty-two, she lives at the top of the Filbert Steps with a cat named Burgess and a wall of index cards for the Dashiell Hammett biography she keeps not finishing. She notices what the first responders walk past: a coat buttoned wrong, a look that lasts a half-second too long, the habits honed over decades of reading a classroom. North Beach is her territory: the café regulars, the old delis, the long climb of the steps at dawn. She solves the way she does everything else, quietly and by paying attention.

Read her in The Telegraph Hill Mysteries.

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Lila Blake writes San Francisco neighborhood mysteries about foggy stairways, old houses, found family, and the secrets people keep when a place begins to change. Her Telegraph Hill Mysteries begin with The Filbert Steps, a literary cozy mystery featuring Vivian Salvatore, a fifty-two-year-old former teacher rebuilding her life after divorce. Lila is published by Sutro House Press, an independent fiction imprint based in San Francisco.

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The Healing Heart by Randa Knight 💕 Pre-Release Blitz and $10 Giveaway 💕 (Military Romance)

2026-08-26T06:04:11.717-04:00

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The Healing Heart is a second-chance, forced-proximity romance where he falls first and hardest, complete with a hilarious girl squad who keep it real, plenty of witty banter, and a protective, "touch-her-and-die" Alpha hero fighting to break his family's curse—one swoon-worthy, heated night at a time.

One tragedy changed everything.

Lizzy

One reckless night. One unforgettable taste of him.

The moment I broke my rules and gave in, I knew I was playing with fire. His smoldering cerulean eyes and the way he whispered my name? Irresistible. He didn’t want forever—but I needed more.

Now, he’s back, acting like the boyfriend dreams are made of. Sweet. Attentive. Protective. Maybe even ready to love me the way I crave.

But how do I trust a man who’s made walking away into an art form?

Is a second chance worth the burn?

Josh
I left her. Not because I didn’t want her—but because I wanted her too much.
Marriage. Kids. The white picket fantasy. I told myself I couldn’t be that man… because I’m my father’s son. And he broke my mother in ways I can never forget.
So I let Lizzy go.
But fate had other plans. Now I’m here, ready to fight for her, to protect what’s mine—with teeth, fists, and fury if I have to.
She says she doesn’t trust me.

But I’ll prove it—one kiss, one promise, one heated night at a time.

“Hey, did you have a good run?” Lizzy asks, looking me up and down like I’m a dessert she can’t wait to eat. I love that she can’t hide how much she still wants me.

Maybe this will be easier than I thought. “It was… therapeutic.” She nods, knowing running is how I clear my head. “I’m going to shower.” Smooth, dumbass. You have better game than this.

But Lizzy has always made me into a babbling idiot stumbling over my words. My therapist told me it’s because I actually give a shit about Lizzy and care what she thinks. Halfway down the hallway, I stop, remembering I decided to change things with Lizzy, beginning with a date. “Do you have plans tonight?”

She glares at me and snarks, “What, do you have a hot date and want the apartment to yourself?”

I shouldn’t mess with her like this, but she’s asking for it by thinking I would look at, let alone be with, anyone but her. “Weeellll, I’m not sure yet. It depends on her.”

“Such a fucking gentleman. I can stay with Dee. Actually, I probably should’ve moved out by now. I’ll do that while you’re on your hot date.” Anger oozes from her even though she’s trying to hide it, but I know her too well. After slapping her laptop closed, she heads to the guestroom, but I stop her when she’s within arm’s reach.

Fuck. I’m messing this up already.

“I didn’t ask if you had plans, so you’d leave. The last thing I want is for you to leave tonight… or any night. I was hoping you would be my hot date.” I brush my palm against her cheek and see her take a deep breath. I haven’t lost her yet. I whisper, “I’m going to shower and get ready for this smokin’ hot blonde who makes my heart race.”

“Makes your heart race? Too bad it’s not enough for you to make a long-term commitment to her.”

Wrapping my arms around her, I breathe in her light scent and say in a gravelly voice, “If I did, she’s the only one I would ever think about making any type of commitment to.”

“If. I can’t live in a world of ifs. I need—”

I interrupt her with my lips. At first, her lips are stiff, but in mere seconds, she melts into me. Thank God.

My body relaxes into the kiss. Her lips soften and mold to mine, followed by her arms gripping the bottom of my shirt, showing me she’s trying not to get lost in this kiss—lost in us. She changes the kiss from soft and languid to desperate and demanding as she slips her hand under my shirt, skimming her fingertips along my abs.

I break the kiss only so I can feast on her beautiful neck. I need to taste her—remind myself of everything about her. Those subtle sighs. Quiet moans. How she melts in my arms.

I should stop us. Change our old patterns of falling into sex. But damn, I can’t think straight when she touches me. I always cave to her.

After Lizzy pushes my shirt up, I whip it off and she immediately runs her hands up my chest, causing my dick to become a steel rod. My lips continue to attack her neck and suck on that little spot right below her earlobe. Working my way down to her cleavage, pulling her tank top down, she gives me access to her beautiful tits that I need to cherish and ravish. I wrap my mouth around her nipple to suck, kiss, and flick her desire from her.

“I hate you,” she moans, directing my head back to her mouth.

“I can tell you hate me so damn much.”

“I hate how sexy you look after a five-mile run.”

“Try thirteen miles today since I couldn’t get this gorgeous woman off my mind.” I groan and swirl my tongue around her nipple, causing her to give me a long moan.

Her fingers dig into my hair, further turning me on. I love it when she marks me with her nails, even when I used to get counseled and lectured for allowing my girl to damage government property. Instead of telling her to stop or at least mark me where my uniform covers, I rewarded her with more orgasms. I pray she does the same tonight.

Switching to the other side with the same fervor, I wrap her legs around my waist and grind myself to her warmth. I can feel how turned on she is through her tiny athletic shorts.

“I hate how sweet you are to Cristian.”

“Let’s not talk about our godson right now.” That kid has a knack for killing a boner. He’s been a cockblock a few times when we were babysitting him. My dick is trained for Cristian being a no-fly zone until he goes to sleep.

“We shouldn’t—”

I interrupt her with my lips, knowing she’s trying to talk herself out of being with me in any capacity. If we stop, she won’t go to dinner with me either. She’ll shut me out. I can’t do that again. I need this woman with every fiber of my being.

As I’m about to roll my hip into hers, she pushes my shorts down, releasing my hard cock. Her lust-filled eyes tell me what she wants from me, and no way am I going to deny her anything. I have her shorts off in a matter of seconds. I almost shoot my load when she wraps her hands around my dick, strokes me a few times, and rubs me along her wetness. Fucking teasing me. I smirk, pulling her right nipple into my mouth and doing a combination of flicking and sucking, which I know drives her wild.

“I hate that you know me so well.”

I thicken my accent, knowing how much it turns her on. “Back at ya, darlin’.”

She continues rubbing my dick up and down her slit, but when she moves me down, I slip into her completely, causing her nails to dig into my shoulders and down my arms. I didn’t realize her hands moved until I felt them. Yeah, that’s going to leave a mark.

“I hate—right there, sexy… God, yes—how you fuck me.”

“Obviously,” I say, kissing her neck. I can feel her tightening around me, and I pray I can hold out until she finishes. Jesus, she’s fucking heaven.

“I hate—”

“I hate how much you’re talking.”

“Then shut me up.” She flashes me a challenging look.

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One summer changed everything.

Dee

One night.

One decision.

Taking chances isn't a new concept to me, but I've never been one to take a chance on love. Michael changes all of that. No more party girl, no more one-night stands. I fall hard for the cerulean-eyed sex god who shows me what it's like to truly be cherished and loved.

Only, I'm not sure how long it can last.

Michael

I knew the moment I met Dee that she was trouble. But when she unexpectedly opens up to me the night we meet, I realize she's the only person who could change how I think about relationships, how I feel, and how I look at life. She's a fiery, spontaneous woman who challenges me at every turn. I should let her go. But I don't think I want to.

But right now my career won’t allow me to be the kind of man she deserves.

And Dee doesn’t trust herself or my love for her.

If I’m going to keep her, I have to let her walk away, as much as it pains me to my core.

Yes, it sounds crazy and it might just backfire, but if my plan pays off, we’ll both stop running and finally realize how much we need each other, how our hearts were made for each other.

One look is all it takes to change everything.

Cat

I've been the black sheep of the family my entire life, so I'm looking forward to this fresh start. My job and new friends are great and I’m finding happiness. Then I met Brax--the gorgeous soldier with huge muscles, but he’s also sweet, caring, and loves art. Oh, and he’s completely off-limits, thanks to my overprotective brother who’s Brax’s first sergeant. Will he chase Brax away like he’s done my entire life?

Brax

To protect and serve: it's all I've ever wanted to do. Being a model soldier has been my life's dream. But then I met Cat, the little pixie artist who stole my heart. Now, all I want to do is be with her, but there's just one problem--her brother is my first sergeant. Now I'll have to choose between being the perfect soldier for my unit… or being her perfect partner.

One moment changed their lives.

Ivy

I've harbored a secret crush on Grant ever since that freckle-faced kid first set foot in our yard when I was just six years old. I knew he was special. Grant has always had this uncanny ability to understand me on a soul-deep level, yet I've kept my feelings hidden, knowing he's not just my brother's best friend but also my rock. He's the one who keeps me steady, soothing me when the chaos of life threatens to overwhelm me. Grant is my true north. Until we cross that line.

As the line blurs between friendship and something more, I'm left grappling with a daunting question: Is he worth the gamble of disrupting the delicate balance of our friendship and the stability we've carefully built together?

Grant

I'd do anything for Ivy Rose, but even I have my limits. I've tried everything to show her how I feel. Helping her raise her son? Done. Starting a friends-with-benefits arrangement? Maybe not my best idea. Admitting I want to spend my life with her? Definitely, the scariest thing I've ever done. Then the unthinkable happens, turning our world upside down. I'm hurt, and angry, and that's when I need her the most.

Can I put my anger aside and forgive her, or will we be stuck in silence forever? Our friendship might be on the line, but my heart tells me Ivy is worth the risk.

One costume is all it takes to change everything.

Joel

My dream girl unexpectedly falls into my life, but with only one weekend together, she’s left me craving more. When she reappears, warnings from my friends urge me to stay away, but I can’t. I keep finding reasons to see her. Talk to her. Be near her.

Can I convince her to give our connection a chance?

Sami

I never imagined encountering my Comic Con fling among my sister’s social circle, only to have him play the role of a stranger. Despite his charming demeanor, Joel doesn’t fit my usual type of nerdy guys. But as I discover more about him, I question whether there’s more beneath his confident exterior.

Can he show me that opposites attract in the most unexpected ways?

Will they give in to their feelings and give their romance a chance, or will they let their differences and their friends keep them apart?

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Randa Knight was born and raised in a small town on the Ohio/Indiana border. Her love of reading began when her grandmother curled up together with a new book every weekend. She studied Literature with a Creative Writing minor at Indiana University (Go Hoosiers!) where she fell in love with writing. The idea for the Boys of Bragg series began during a creative writing course and has evolved over the years.

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The Champagne Crush by Caroline O’ Connell 💕 Guest Post, AudioBook Blitz, Behind the Scenes, Newsletter Freebie and $35 Gift Card Prize Pack Giveaway 💕 (Contemporary Romance)

2026-08-24T06:24:49.937-04:00

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Will she and Chris overcome the challenges of the past and present to secure their future—and find love in the process?

For fans of The Paradise Problem, a slow-burn romance about a socialite in over her head in a high-stakes job promoting a new sparkling wine with a difficult boss who wants to see her fail—despite the electric sparks flying between them.

Catherine Reynolds has enjoyed a life of luxury, but her diplomat parents have cut her off financially, leaving her flat broke. She is determined to turn things around and gain her independence—so, when an old family friend offers her a lifeline as a PR consultant for his sparkling wine company, she jumps at the chance. But working with Chris McDermott, the company’s sexy, stubborn president, is anything but easy.

A purist at heart, Chris clashes with Catherine’s glitzy marketing flair; still, the chemistry between them is undeniable. As they travel from New York to Napa, Paris, and the Champagne region of France, their partnership blossoms amid high-stakes industry rivalries and a launch that could make or break them.

When sabotage threatens to shatter their dreams, Catherine must dig deep to prove her worth. With the dazzling unveiling of their new sparkling wine in Bordeaux in jeopardy, will she and Chris overcome the challenges of the past and present to secure their future—and find love in the process?

Perfect for fans of Emily in Paris—with the sophistication of the wine world and a slow-burn, opposites-attract love story. A glitzy PR expert and a traditional wine president clash on a high-stakes global launch—where rivalry, reinvention, and romance collide.

AUDIOBOOK PRODUCTION DETAILS:

Format: Unabridged Audiobook
Performance: Single Narration by acclaimed British stage actress Karen Gundersen
Audio Features: Fully voiced character accents and deep emotional range
Primary Tropes: Workplace Romance, Opposites Attract, Slow-Burn
Audiobook Vibe: High-tension with a romantic, high-heat fade-to-black intimacy level (the intense build-up is on the page, but the camera pulls away before explicit details)

The Beginning

My writing career started with travel guidebooks to Paris. After magical trips there, I vowed to capture the essence of the French culture and share it with others. My first trip with a vivacious girlfriend lasted for five weeks; we “winged it” and were lucky enough to attend intimate dinner parties, dance the night away at discos, stroll the gardens at Versailles, and enjoy lots of shopping.

That inspired a longer stay—in a teeny tiny apartment adjacent Palais Royal (with my cat Buttercup). I made lifelong friends and studied the language, while learning these romantic phrases uttered to me in jest:

Je me jette à vos pieds. I throw myself at your feet.

Je te bois des yeux. I drink you with my eyes.

Tu me fais craquer. You shatter me.

My first book, Every Woman’s Guide to ROMANCE IN PARIS (Square One Publishing), was born.

Inspiration

While living in Paris, I was introduced to the glamorous world of French Champagne, and it changed my life. A friend took me on a day trip to Épernay, where we had a gourmet lunch at Royal Champagne and took a tour of Moët & Chandon’s amazing cellars. Back in Paris, we were invited to black-tie dinner parties catered by Michelin star chefs (like Guy Savoy and Michel Rostang). Similar to my travel guides, I wanted to “bottle” the experience and share it with readers in story form.

Writing Craft

To learn how to write fiction I turned to John Truby who teaches Story Structure (through classes, books, and software) and has as a specific class on the elements of a Love Story. I created character bios, gave them backstories and flaws, and plotted out the scenes. For all this, I used Word docs but later switched to the Plottr program which was much easier to navigate and keep track of all the moving parts. It even has a timeline of the story, with scene boxes under each chapter heading.

I write longhand on a lined pad at my dining table (as I’m doing for this post). Normally one of my fab felines is lounging nearby. Then I type each chapter into the computer, print it out, and write my changes on the pages.

The Champagne Crush took years to complete: lots of research, many revisions, editorial feedback, and the final polish. I’m hoping the second book in the Les Femmes Series, set in Tuscany, will sail along more quickly. Stay tuned.

[Photo of my cat, Belle-Peony, on my writing desk in an Italian farmhouse.]

Note: To stay in touch, you can sign up for my newsletter at www.CarolineOC.com. Merci.

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Caroline O'Connell is the author of numerous travel guides, including Affordable Paris Hotels. The Champagne Crush is the first novel in the Les Femmes Series. In conjunction with the launch of the audiobook version, the ebook is discounted to $1.99 (from $9.99) on all platforms. Her website is

https://carolinestraveltips.com/.

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His Beautiful Game by Peyton Lux 💕 99¢ Sale Blitz and eBook Giveaway 💕 (Soccer Romance )

2026-08-24T05:57:55.012-04:00

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Then his injury truth explodes, and protecting him could cost me everything.

My childhood crush is my injured captain… and I’m the physio secretly keeping him on the pitch.

Rafe Calder is everything I learned not to want: flashy, reckless, adored, and far too beautiful. He is also hurt, lying about it, and somehow mine to fix.

I catch the limp no one else sees, then make the dumbest deal of my life. Private rehab, locked rooms, my hands on him daily, and one rule I keep pretending still matters.

At first, he pushes because he hates being handled. Then he listens when pain scares him, lets me see the lonely man under the captain’s armband, and looks ready to break when Donovan Reid makes me smile.

Somewhere between treatment lights, late-night checkups, and one reckless after-hours mistake that turns into more, I fall. Not for the fantasy I used to worship, but for the man who finally stops performing.

Then his injury truth explodes, and protecting him could cost me everything.

Worst of all, loving him might end his career.

Tropes: Childhood crush, star player x physiotherapist, secret injury, forced proximity, forbidden workplace romance, jealousy triangle

Spice level: High / explicit

I watch every second of that embrace. Her face when he lifts her off the ground, her laughter, the ease of it. Nothing between Tess and me has ever been easy.

He was a good player. I said that myself. But tonight he saved the game in my place, and thirty thousand people cheered him while I stood there feeling like a man who had started the match and somehow still lost it. Then I see him holding Tess, my Tess, and she’s smiling up at him like she doesn’t know exactly what that does to me.

I find her in the hallway outside the locker room. She doesn’t slow when I fall into step beside her, but I catch the way she worries at her lip.

“Great game,” she says.

“Is that what you said to Reid when he had his hands all over you?”

Her head jerks toward me. “I thanked him for the hug, yes.”

I stop her with a hand around her wrist. “I saw the way he looked at you.”

“He was thanking me. I cleared him to play on a calf knock.”

My throat tightens. “I saw the way you looked at him.”

Her expression hardens. “And what about you? What about the pictures of you with that woman? So it’s fine for you to do whatever you were doing, but I can’t accept a thank-you hug from a player I treated?”

“That was weeks ago,” I snap. “Before you and I—”

“I saw you at Halo.” Her voice goes cold. “The night after I came to your house.”

I stare at her. “I was with the lads. We go for beers all the time.”

“From where I was standing, you had a woman on your arm. Then you went off with her afterward. And you’ve got the gall to stand here and act jealous over three seconds in a football stadium?”

“Why were you watching me at Halo?” I demand.

“I was out with Donovan and Layla,” she says sharply. “I wasn’t stalking you.”

The room seems to tilt. “You were out with him?”

“With him and Layla. As friends.”

That lands like a punch. She steps closer and jabs a finger into my chest, and I let her. “Besides, you have no claim over me. You said mine into a mirror after a quick fuck in the gym and then showed up in the press with some other woman. And you know what? You’re right. We’re nothing, officially, so don’t stand here making me feel guilty for doing my job.”

“Don’t say nothing,” I say.

“What are we then?”

The anger in her face cracks for a second, and there’s fear underneath it. “I’ve been lying to my employer about you. I’ve filed false assessments. I’ve let you into places that were supposed to be professional, and you—”

“I haven’t touched anyone else,” I say. “Not since you.”

That stops her.

“The photos were nothing,” I tell her. “What you saw at Halo was nothing.”

Tears gather at the corners of her eyes. “You told me—”

“And I meant it.”

I cup her cheek. “You’re mine, Tess.”

She shudders when I kiss her. She lets me pull her against the wall, lets me kiss her hard enough to make the hallway disappear. But then she presses a hand to my chest and pushes back, just enough to stop me.

I break away, breathing hard. “I haven’t wanted anyone else. Not once.”

Her jaw tightens. “You’re injured, Rafe. Publicly now. I have to file a real assessment this week, and whatever this is, I can’t let it affect that report.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“It already does,” she says quietly. “Every decision I make about your hip, your minutes, whether you play the Founders’ Cup or Donovan does—it’s all compromised because I have feelings. About both of you. And I can’t fix that, so I need you to give me some room.”

Room. For him, too.

I take a step back. Then another.

“Okay,” I say.

Her face flickers. “Rafe—”

“I heard you.” I keep backing away. “Do your job, Montgomery.”

She turns and walks off, leaving me standing in the corridor with the feeling that I’ve just done the right thing, and somehow lost anyway.

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I fake-date a scandal-prone soccer star, practice one kiss, and accidentally make the tabloids honest.

Jalen Maddox is gorgeous, reckless, sponsor bait, and exactly the kind of man my manager says can save my image. I am supposed to smile, touch his arm, kiss him for cameras, and remember none of it is real.

Then our chemistry rehearsal gets too close. One staged almost-kiss goes viral, one match-day embrace feels possessive, and one jealous gala night ends with us forgetting the contract exists.

He shows me the man behind the headlines over late-night food and no cameras. He sees the exhaustion under my polish, and somehow that is worse than wanting him.

By the time I realize I have fallen for him, the breakup date is already waiting. Then someone leaks proof that this whole romance started fake.

And the worst part is, the only lie left may be pretending I can survive losing him.

Tropes: Fake dating, celebrity girlfriend, sports star x celebrity, scandal romance, public image romance, staged kisses become real, jealousy in public, forbidden attraction.

Spice level: 5/5, explicit.

💕 To be released September 15 💕

Trading boardrooms for bedrooms (of the fictional kind!), Peyton Lux is now fully dedicated to writing steamy workplace romance that leaves readers utterly satisfied.

Her former life in marketing taught her how to craft compelling narratives – a skill she now devotes entirely to her steamy workplace romance novels.

Peyton lives and breathes romance, infusing her stories with undeniable heat and fiercely earned happily-ever-afters.

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Requite of the Fates by Venus Campbell 💕 New Release Tour and $20 Giveaway 💕(Time-Travel Romance)

2026-08-18T00:07:00.000-04:00

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Controlled by aliens, Nathaniel Wayne can’t resist his attraction to Marlene Broadie.

Perfect for fans of The Song of Achilles and A Touch of Darkness, this interracial time-travel romance is a Greek mythology retelling of the Theseus and the Minotaur that follows war photojournalist, Marly Broadie, surviving on grit and grief as she encounters Emissary Nate Wayne, under the control of aliens.

Set in near future New York city, and Los Angelos and 1500's BCE Crete, Nate's body, as Emissary for Earth, can be piloted by the Entity, aliens threatening humanity. Any resistance initiates humanity's annihilation. Marly's photography of the Emissary will ensure her mother's life-saving treatment. Instead, Marly provokes the Entity's interest and Nate's. Alien time-travel tech flings them back to ancient Minoan Crete. Stuck in the past, their desire for each other grows. Every reclaimed memory brings them closer to returning to the present and the Entity who can possess Nate's body. However, the future without them means human extinction. They will escape the past as their love is required to ensure humanity's future.

From award winning author, Venus Campbell, Requite of the Fates is a multicultural mytho-sci time-travel romance for readers ready to adventure into the mythical past.

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Nate had never known true agony. He was lucky. She wanted to hold it against him, his “everything will turn out all right” point of view, but she needed a bit of that. She looked up from her hands in her lap and met his gaze. Yes, a bit of fantasy in her life would do her good.

Smiling, she quipped, “You promised food.”

“Did I? Well, I think Stacy should be out in a minute with dinner. I usually get a pot pie. Chicken is one of her specialties.”

Marly nodded. Her stomach growled as she adjusted her bottom in the seat. “I could eat anything at this point.”

“You were rude, Mr. Wayne,” a woman’s voice interrupted from behind her. “And I just wanted you to know that it reflects badly on you to be sleeping with a woman like her.”

Marly turned to stare up at the tall blond who had accosted them in the front hall earlier. It took Marly a minute to absorb what she’d heard, then her face heated.

She didn’t think. She just stood, fury boiling to the surface. She took one step in the woman’s direction and would have let out a nasty response if Nate’s hand on her shoulder hadn’t restrained her. Staring at him, she opened her mouth to speak, but he wasn’t looking at her. He angled in front of her and squeezed her arm reassuringly in one controlled movement, then advanced on the blond with angry intent.

Nate’s voice rang out powerfully in the dining room’s sudden silence. “You better get smart. A mouth like that will get you permanently barred from a career in Hollywood. You’ll certainly never work on a film with me. And just so you know, I wouldn’t sleep with you to save the great white race. Let’s go, Marly.”

He curved around the woman, making sure no part of him touched her, and headed out of the dining room with Marly right behind him. At the double-door hall entrance, a stalwart Stacy sent Nate a questioning look. He stopped, his nostrils flaring, and bit out his words.

“I believe that woman is having difficulty finding her way out.”

Stacy nodded. “I’ll make sure she gets there.” She handed him a key. “I’ll have your dinner brought up.”

Nodding a quick thanks, his expression impenetrable, Nate turned and pulled Marly up dark-carpeted stairs. They made their way silently down a wide hall, the maroon-colored wallpaper casting a forbidding slant to their mutual silence. She couldn’t figure out what was going on. He seemed angry with her, yet he’d defended her. Maybe he regretted his outburst, but she didn’t. Now she understood why every sane person wanted to be with or be Nathaniel Wayne.

They stopped at a door and Nate slipped the key into the lock, turned it with a click, and pushed, then retreated to let Marly enter first. She marched into the room, and after he’d followed and turned to address her, she slammed the door shut and grabbed his sweat coat, her mouth crashing against his as she pulled him down desperately.

He held back a second before grabbing her ass. Yes. Perfect hands.

Then his chest, arms, and nether regions pressed against her, his hard body inching her backward until she was against the wall and he adjusted his grasp on her buttocks. He held her against his erection.

His tongue caressed the inside of her mouth. She tasted mint on his breath. Tilting his head, he raised one hand to frame her face, the callouses on his fingers brushing sensuously on her cheeks. He pulled in her breath, lapping at her tongue, then slanted away to suckle her lips as his blue irises bored into her eyes. A question twinkled there and Marly nodded. This time, yes.

She couldn’t think as she watched him. Her eyes closed in shuddering bliss as his lips touched her neck and he ran his hands down her body again to pull her against him. Want was all she could think. She ached with want.

Then he was pulling away and the contrasting cool to his warmth returned thoughts to her head. Should they be doing this? She stared at him as he stepped back, breathing hard.

His hands, shaking, reached out to straighten her rumpled shirt, then held her face a moment. “I’ve been in enough movies to know that making love to you right now would ruin any chance I have at persuading you into a relationship with me.” He took another deep breath as if to steady himself. “May I draw you a bath?” His question was so innocent, so concerned. Marly’s heart thumped.

He didn’t wait for her to answer. Taking her hand, he walked her to the bathroom and flicked on the light switch. Lavender. Marly’s eyes lit in the violet-and-white-tiled room as the scent of lavender floated into her nostrils. Bath and hand towels in a matching white-and-violet scheme lay folded on the white marble countertop. A white ceramic clawfoot bathtub dominated the room; its classic silver knobs caught Marly’s glance. A pair of complementing knobs shone from the sink. Stacy must have paid for the best interior decorator money could buy.

Nate left her to bend by the tub and turn on the water. After a minute of fiddling, he seemed to have the temperature where he wanted it. Marly was drawn to the water’s relaxing tinkle. Fatigue pushed forth again, as her tense muscles unwound from her earlier confrontation with Nate’s less-than-adoring public and, well, her life. She had to fight to keep her eyelids open as the steam from the tub wrapped itself around her.

Nate appeared before her and lowered her slicker off her shoulders. Then he pulled her shirt gently up and off her body and reached around to unhook her bra. No flicker of desire lit his gaze. Only concern. Her shirt and coat flung across the crook of his elbow, he smiled and rubbed her arms then bent to help her pull off her jeans.

Marly blinked to combat her fatigue. With her clothes in hand, he walked to the door and looked back. She could barely discern his words.

“I’ll be right outside, okay?”

Nodding, she let her gaze slide to the hot bath before her. The door clicked shut. Pulling off her bra and underwear, Marly climbed into the warm water and sank until she was covered up to her neck. The lapping of the water at her chin drew her lids lower until she couldn’t resist sleep anymore. Nathaniel Wayne, desire and concern in his eyes, was the last image in her head. Her last thought: she was falling in love with him.

Venus Campbell is the Principal of the Book of Venus publishing and the Winner of the Kroger Award for Excellence in Creative Writing. She has finaled in various writing contests such as the Central Ohio Ignite the Flame and the New England Chapter- RWA First Kiss. Campbell is a member of the Romance Writers of America (RWA) and the Authors Guild. Campbell has written professionally since 2006 and has completed five single title manuscripts. To Desire the Stars is her second publication. Campbell focuses on interweaving paranormal elements into romance stories, creating unique worlds which challenge people’s perceptions of self and preconceived notions of human love and relationships.

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Mummy’s Locket by Nan S. Russell 💕 Behind the Scenes, Book Tour and Signed Book Giveaway 💕 (Cozy Mystery)

2026-08-17T00:07:00.000-04:00

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The truth doesn’t stay buried forever.

The truth doesn’t stay buried forever.

After losing everything, Mallory Grayson retreats to a quiet town, hoping a vintage shop and a fresh start will help her rebuild her life. But when the mummified body of her long-missing great-grandmother is discovered, Mallory is pulled into a mystery.

Clues hidden in heirlooms, a secret room, and a past lover’s return offer answers … if she’s willing to risk everything to uncover them. In a story steeped in secrets and history, her courage may be the only thing that can break the curse.

The past and present collide in MUMMY’S LOCKET, the first book in the Mallory Grayson Mysteries series by Nan S. Russell.

Being a Writer

by Nan S. Russell

In May of this year, Mummy’s Locket arrived in my mailbox, just like it arrived online and in brick-and-mortar booksellers across this country and others. Its black cover, with large copper-colored lettering, is highlighted with an open locket and white roses. Clues, of course, in this traditional mystery peppered with cozy elements.

The feeling of its arrival doesn’t match the emotional exuberance I felt signing a three-book contract for a series of Mallory Grayson Mysteries. You see, while this is my sixth book, it’s my first novel, and self-reflections are emerging as I struggle to experience and understand its birth. Not about the writing of it, but about the writer.

For a decade, I wrote non-fiction books and at the time was convinced it was much harder than writing fiction. I was wrong. Fast forward six years that involved learning how to write fiction, then trying my hand at my favorite genre, mystery. During that time, I came to realize that writing a novel is hard. At least for me. Much harder than I expected, but way more fun!

It’s taken a few decades for me to understand that I am a writer. I’m not a writer because I write books, or articles or blogs, but because writing is how I “take-in” and process my world. As if housed in my DNA, writing helps me discover what I think or feel or dream. It helps me make sense of what happens or doesn’t happen. And as an almost off-the-chart introvert, writing enables me to express my thoughts and ideas.

But it’s more than that. Just like my musician father shared his soul through his music, writing gives voice to mine. Being a writer isn’t what I do, it’s who I am. That difference is more than words. I didn’t choose writing as my profession. Rather, it chose me as my expression.

Each of us processes and orients in our own way with our respective talents and gifts. Some people are runners, gardeners, singers, painters, dancers, crafters, organizers, teachers, inventors, designers, problem-solvers, caregivers, storytellers, nurturers. These may or may not be their profession, but it is how they experience their life’s zest and add their voice to their world. I add mine through writing.

However, being a writer is different from being an author. At least for me. Not because of being published, but because of being public. All my life I’ve been a writer. However, having people read my work and react is never easy. There is a raw vulnerability that comes with sharing. Still, I am eager to know if my words touched your heart, the story drew you in, a character was relatable, or you were entertained, solved the mystery, or closed the book with thoughts that stayed around, or you wanted to think about.

I realize that while I’m a writer alone, I’m an author because of others. I found my voice with their help. From my eighth-grade teacher who planted possibility seeds of what I could do, to my mother who painstakingly corrected my sloppy spelling and grammar as a child; from bosses who gave me opportunities to develop my skills, to friends and family who believed in my dreams; from readers who encouraged my attempts, to my husband who picked me up after many rejections and setbacks, and to publishers who said yes to my work.

I’m an author because people like you helped me become one. In the words of Althea Gibson, “No matter what accomplishments you make, somebody helps you.” Thank you for helping me share my words during this “Great Escapes Book Tour.”

Writing a book is step one. Getting it published is step two. Having people read it is step three. It is the last step that, more often than not, determines how many books a writer writes. So, thank you for reading this post and getting to know me a little. If you like solving mysteries, I hope you’ll give Mummy’s Locket a read.

Where do my ideas come from? For me story ideas and character attributes are everywhere. So, I collect snippets, writing down something I find interesting, have experienced, or observed. It was a vacation trip to Ireland with family that sparked the idea for Mummy’s Locket. After viewing an exhibit of ancient bog bodies while visiting the National Museum of Ireland in Dublin, the idea gnawed at me, ultimately evolving into a story where the past and present collide.

There is nothing more rewarding in my writing endeavors than hearing from readers. Not everyone will like my work of course. But, if you do, I’d love to hear from you through a posted review, a social media mention, or a message on my website (www.nanrussell.com). If you want to stay in touch so you know when the second book in the series, One Deadly Postcard, is released, you can sign up for my occasional newsletter or follow me on various social media platforms.

As I say good-bye for now, let me leave you with a favorite quote of mine from Stephen King: “Books are uniquely portable magic.” Or according to Baby Yoda (a.k.a. Grogu): “Read. This is the way.”

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With both a bachelor’s and master’s in psychology, Nan S. Russell was fired from her first professional job. Taking a minimum wage position to pay the rent, sixteen promotions later, she decided to end a successful corporate career as a Vice President of a multibillion-dollar East Coast company, to pursue a life dream to live and write from the Rocky Mountains, first in northwestern Montana and now along the Front Range of Colorado. With a desire to help others live their dreams, too, she turned her real-world experience into writing award winning non-fiction career and business books and articles, and became a speaker and consultant on leadership, trust, and culture development. But she always knew she wanted to write fiction, too. That point arrived during the pandemic pause which provided the catalyst for rethinking her writing and its purpose, sparking the decision to move towards fiction with more time to study the craft, take online classes, hone skills and work on her first novel. Now, she is living her second dream: Writing mysteries. Mummy’s Locket is her debut novel and the first in her Mallory Grayson series. More at www.nanrussell.com.

💕 Anyone, regardless of location, who signs up for the author’s occasional newsletter during the tour dates, can arrange to have the author be a book club guest via Zoom to discuss and answer questions about Mummy’s Locket and/or the writing process! 💕

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