Mid Week PIC Me Up

I'm not much of a coffee drinker...

I will take a bite of that bicep for breakfast. :-)

Character Quickie: Justin Harrison

20 quickie facts about Justin Harrison:

Birthday? August 27
Favorite color? Red - like the highlights in Paige’s hair.
Nickname? None that I’m aware of.
Birthmark or scars? A round scar at my left shoulder from a .38 and another on my left side from the surgeon.
Siblings? None
City of residence? San Diego, California
If you were a jelly bean flavor, what flavor would you be? Cinnamon
Occupation? Homicide Detective with the San Diego Police Department
Hobbies? Sex
Favorite song? You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC
Name one item in your refrigerator right now? Moldy Cheese
Your greatest fear? That I won’t be able to protect Paige.
Most treasured possession? 1969 Pontiac GTO ‘The Judge’
Special talent? When bad things happen, someone needs to help restore order, solve the puzzle and uncover the identity of the bad guy. I’m very good with puzzles.
Cat or dog? Dog
Pet peeve? I have no stomach for people who take advantage of others weaknesses or misfortune for their own gain.
Unforgettable moment? The first time Paige told me she loved me. Although I could have done without the Beretta pressed against her ribs at the time.
Spicy or not? Spicy
Favorite guilty pleasure? A frosted mug of beer and a cigarette (which I was forced to give up).
If you could ask your author one question, what would it be? Was the Beretta really necessary?

Justin Harrison is the hero of NOT WITHOUT RISK.

Amazon: http://amzn.to/VCdnYz

Amazon.ca: http://amzn.to/WUvTcX 

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/12I4rTr 

Nook: http://bit.ly/134DlkP

Cover Reveal: Bachelor's Special

Jill Adgate wants three things from life: a successful catering business, a family, and the love of an exceptional man. What she has is no job, a mounting pile of bills, and her outspoken best friend—who sets her up on a blind date with the man who inadvertently ruined Jill’s life.

Chet Castle is a businessman who has everything, except the ability to trust. Burned by a money-hungry fiancée, he refuses to get involved in any relationship that has a shelf life longer than a head of lettuce.

Intrigued by her ambition—and determined to get her in bed—Chet offers Jill the chance of a lifetime: work as his live-in chef and he’ll help her get her catering business off the ground. When sparks fly in the kitchen, Jill realizes what’s cooking is a recipe for disaster…

Available from Amazon / Barnes and Noble

Also, Christine is hosting a contest for a $10 Amazon Gift Card!
Enter HERE

Christine Warner is living her dream in Michigan along with her husband, three children, one laptop and a much loved assortment of furry friends.

Besides laughing and a good round of humor, she enjoys spending time with her family, cooking, reading, writing but no arithmitic. A confessed people watcher, she finds inspiration for her stories in everyday activities. She loves to read and write about strong heroes and determined, sometimes sassy, heroines.

A girl gone wild, at least where social media is concerned, she enjoys meeting other avid readers and writers on facebook, twitter and her website at christine-warner.com.

My blog/website: http://christine-warner.com/
Twitter under ChristinesWords: https://twitter.com/#!/ChristinesWords
My Facebook page…stop by and give it a LIKE to stay up to date with the latest: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Christine-Warner/143430882396013
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5763713.Christine_Warner
I love to hear from readers and other authors:)

Spotlight On... Regan Walker

Welcome, Regan, can you tell us a little about yourself? 

Well, I was raised in California and though I’ve lived in the east, I consider myself a creature of the West, its attitudes, food, health focus and its weather. My career was not as a writer, at least not the fun stuff like I write now. I began as most authors as an avid reader. In my case it was and is historical romance. I love a novel that takes me into the deep past, into a meaningful historical event (not the ones that use history as a “wallpaper” background). So when I began to write romance a few years ago, it was those kinds of stories that I was hoping to write. One of my readers said she always feels smarter after she had read one of my novels. I smiled at that because what she is referring to is that there is a lot of history and historical details in my books, even my two short stories.

Tell us about Against the Wind and where we can find it. 

Against the Wind is the second in my Agents of the Crown trilogy, Regency historical romance novels that center on the Prince Regent’s demands on the three heroes. The idea came from my early love of mysteries and spy stories and my knowledge that all branches of government have their own agents. It wasn’t much of a stretch to conceive of the Prince Regent asking a few of his subjects to take on “special assignments.” Kings have been doing it for centuries. Hence my trilogy features heroes who have been asked by the Prince Regent to take on a unique task. First there was Racing With The Wind, and the British Lord who masqueraded as the Nighthawk, the thief of Napoleon’s secrets. Next is Against the Wind, the story of Sir Martin Powell, the agent for the Crown in France who has come home to England for one last assignment and meets his love in a bordello. The 3rd in the trilogy—Wind Raven--takes place on a schooner and in the Caribbean in 1817, and features a rakish sea captain and a pirate who plied the seas around Puerto Rico at the time. I’m writing it now.

You can find Against the Wind on Amazon (http://www.amazon.com/Against-Wind-Agents-Crown-ebook/dp/B00BXIJ6QM) and you can see the trailers for all three novels on my website, here: http://www.reganwalkerauthor.com/novels.html.

What is the hardest scene you had to write in this piece?

Probably it is the one where the heroine, Katherine, Lady Egerton (“Kit”) discovers Martin plotting with the villagers planning a rebellion and believes the man she loves, the man she has given herself to, is a traitor to the Crown. Getting that sense of betrayal right and the angst over what she should do was challenging.

Do you have a favorite character or one that you identify most with? 

That would be Lady Mary Campbell from Racing With The Wind, the bluestocking hoyden who has nothing but disdain for the “rules” of the haute ton. She doesn’t fit with the other debutantes but wants adventure and likes being among intelligent men. She finds her match in the Nighthawk. Both appear in Against the Wind as secondary characters.

Describe your writing in three words. 

Ooo, interesting and hard to capture in three words. How about “historical, adventures and love.”

How do you approach your writing, are you a plotter or a pantser? 

I envy the true plotters and desire to be one of them. But right now my writing is a bit of both really. When I begin, I have the idea for the story and a few characters and the title. Then scenes come to me. Usually the first chapters are pretty easy to write. I might know the ending, even the ending scene, but the middle is all pantster.

What’s next for you? 

When I finish the 3rd in the trilogy—Wind Raven—there’s the prequel to write—To Tame the Wind, the story of the parents of the brothers who are the heroes in books 2 and 3. It will be set in the late 18th century in England and France. The hero is Simon Powell, an English privateer and the heroine is Claire Donet, the only child of a French nobleman and a pirate. I have the idea for the story but have not begun to write that one yet. And finally, I have the idea for a Christmas reunion of the Agents of the Corwn—it will be set in Scotland. You can get a hint of it from my short story, The Holly And The Thistle. Both of my short stories feature some of the characters from the trilogy.

Where can we find you on the web? 

Author website: http://www.reganwalkerauthor.com/
Author’s Amazon page: http://www.amazon.com/Regan-Walker/e/B008OUWC5Y
Regan’s Romance Reviews blog: http://reganromancereview.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @RegansReview (https://twitter.com/RegansReview)
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/regan.walker.104
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6450403.Regan_Walker

Is there anything you would like to ask our readers? 

Oh, yes. For my readers I’d like to know what they hope to see in upcoming books. And for the rest of those who have not yet read one of my books, I’d like to know what it is that draws them to a historical romance.

A night in London’s most exclusive bordello. Agent of the Crown Sir Martin Powell would not normally indulge, but the end of his time spying against Napoleon deserves a victory celebration. Yet, such pleasure will not come cheap. The auburn-haired courtesan he calls “Kitten” is in truth Katherine, Lady Egerton, a dowager baroness and the daughter of an earl as elusive as she is alluring. She flees a fate worse than death. But Martin has known darkness, too, and he alone can touch her heart--as she has touched his. To the English Midlands they will steal, into the rising winds of revolution.

“Under cloak of darkness, love will find you. Fearing the dark, you will never find love.” —Unknown Chapter 1

London, April 1817

She is dead.

Katherine, Lady Egerton, stared at the still form lying on the bed. Beloved sister, friend of the heart…Anne was gone. One minute she was struggling for breath, the next she lay silent and still. The only person in the world Kit loved more than life had left her.

They are all gone now. The sudden solitude tore at her heart.

Kit smiled sadly, gazing through eyes filled with tears at the frail body lying before her. The brown mouse. Anne’s name for herself. Delicate even as a child, she had not long survived her marriage to the cruel Earl of Rutledge. Kit knelt at her sister’s bedside, assailed by grief and guilt, and reached for Anne’s hand. Could she have done more to save her sister from the dread disease? Could she have done more to protect Anne from the heartless man who was her husband?

Pale in death, Anne was still beautiful. Kit had often sketched that heart-shaped face. Not a mouse, but a much-loved sister with a kind, unselfish heart.

Kit had seen the end coming in the last few months, months through which she’d faithfully cared for Anne. The coughs that wracked her sister’s slight frame had grown worse as Anne seemed to fade before Kit’s eyes. Kit knew she was losing her even as she willed that weak body to heal. The physician said he could do nothing; each time he left shaking his head and telling Kit to make “the poor girl” comfortable as best she could. Kit had tried to save Anne, doing the only thing she knew by giving her syrup of horehound and honey. But such a small measure was not enough. Then, too, her sister had seemed to welcome death.

Suddenly, the room grew cold. Kit felt his presence, a looming evil behind her. She took a deep breath and summoned her strength.

“Leave her and come to me.” Rutledge’s tone was harsh and demanding. Kit had no need to see him to know his face would be twisted in an odious scowl, his lips drawn taut. “It is time.”

“I must see to my sister.”

“You need do nothing. I have arranged for the burial. Come away now.”

Kit knew what he wanted, for she had seen the lust in his dark eyes. What at first had been sideways glances became leers and unwanted touches. Though she’d lived in his home since the death of her husband the baron, Kit had avoided the earl, rarely leaving her sister’s bedside. She had been thinking of a way to escape, but her exhaustion in caring for Anne these last days left those plans incomplete. With meager funds, her options were few.

When she failed to rise at the earl’s direction, his hand roughly gripped her shoulder. She stiffened at the pain of his fingers digging into her skin.

“I have waited long for you, Katherine, enduring that mockery of a marriage to your sister while all the while it was you I wanted, you I was promised. Now I shall have what is mine.”

“No!” She rose swiftly, stepping back as she turned to face him. Revulsion rose in her throat. What did he mean by those words? She never had been promised to him!

His smirk transfigured what many thought of as a handsome face. Hadn’t Anne at first been fooled by his aristocratic features and wavy brown hair? One had only to look closely to see his nature reflected in those thin lips and narrow eyes now focused on Kit. A deep furrow between his brows bore witness to his long having insisted upon having his way. When Kit sketched him, it had been as an attacking hawk.

“What will you do?” he asked smugly. “Where will you go, m’dear? You are alone and without funds. I am the one who has provided food and shelter for both you and your weak sister, though I wanted only you. You are mine, Katherine, and I will have you.”

Terror seized her. Cornered, her eyes darted about like an animal snared in a trap. His tall figure blocked the door to the corridor; the only way out led through his adjacent bedchamber. She fled toward it.

She hastened into the room as he stalked after her, knowing she had but seconds, and her eyes searched for a weapon, something to hold him at bay. At the side of the fireplace were tools, short bars of iron that could fend off a man. But could she reach them in time?

He lunged for her just as she ran toward the fireplace. His body collided with hers, and she fell upon the wooden floor with a thud. Pain shot through her hip. His body crashed down upon hers, forcing the air from her lungs. She gasped a breath just as his mouth crushed her lips, ruthlessly claiming dominance.

Tearing away, she pushed against his shoulders with all her might, but his greater strength held her pinned to the floor. His hand gripped one breast and squeezed. She winced at the pain, but that was quickly forgotten the moment a greater terror seized her: His aroused flesh pressed into her belly.

Violently she struggled, but to no avail. His wet lips slid down her throat to her heaving chest as his fingers gripped the top of her gown and yanked at the silk. Kit heard the fabric tear as he ripped her gown and the top of her chemise, and she felt the cool air on her naked breasts. Frantic, she mustered strength she did not know she had. Twisting in his grasp, she reached for the iron poker now a mere foot away.

His mouth latched onto her breast where he voraciously sucked a nipple. Lost in his lust, he did not see her grasp the length of iron, raise it above him and bring it crashing down on his head. Stunned by the blow, he raised up, his eyes glazed. Kit let the bar fall again, this time with greater force. Blood spattered her chest and face as his body went limp. He slumped atop her.

Kit’s heart pounded in her chest like a bird’s wing beating against a cage. Frantically she shoved his face from her breast and rolled his body to the floor.

Unsteady at first, her breath coming in pants, Kit rose and looked down at the crumpled form lying before her, every nerve on edge as she gazed into that evil face, now deathly pale. Blood oozed from a gash in the earl’s left temple. There was no sign of life, no movement.

I have killed him!

Fear choked off her breath as she wiped blood from her face with a sleeve, and with one last look toward her sister’s bedchamber she raced from the room. Footsteps sounded down the hall. Alarmed at the prospect of encountering one of the earl’s servants who would summon a constable, Kit knew she must find a place to hide, and there was nowhere to hide in the house. Quietly stealing into her bedchamber, she grabbed her cloak and reticule, stuffing inside it the one piece of her jewelry that could be sold to sustain her, and fled the dwelling.

Out on the street, she paused to draw her cloak tightly around her, desperate to cover her torn and bloody gown. Where could she go? Who would shelter her in the state she was in, given the deed she had done?

Only one name came to her.

Willow House.

As a child Regan Walker loved to write stories, particularly about adventure-loving girls, but by the time she got to college more serious pursuits took priority. One of her professors thought her suited to the profession of law, and Regan realized it would be better to be a hammer than a nail. Years of serving clients in private practice and several stints in high levels of government gave her a love of international travel and a feel for the demands of the “Crown” on its subjects. Hence her romance novels often involve a demanding Prince Regent who thinks of his subjects as his private talent pool.

Regan lives in San Diego with her golden retriever, Link, whom she says inspires her every day to relax and smell the roses.

Sneak Peek Sunday

NOT WITHOUT RISK:

The sign affixed to the door read Conroy Photography. Justin rapped his knuckles twice into the center of it. Behind him, the unusual quiet of the street unnerved him. The absence of everyday sounds—like traffic, barking dogs or children at play—tightened already-tense muscles. Made him wish he had strapped his Glock to his side before he‘d left his home. The thought disappeared the moment the door swung open.

Paige Conroy stood in the doorway, framed in the light from the room behind her. Gone was the woman he‘d met that morning, a woman who‘d exuded a surprising strength and professionalism. In her place stood a woman who unnerved him more.

Her hair hung down and fell in long, loose curls over her shoulder, nearly to her waist. The fingers of her left hand were tucked in the front pocket of a pair of faded jeans, worn white at the stress points and ripped at the knee. Old, comfortable jeans that fit her like a second skin, drawing his gaze down her long length of legs and to her bare feet. He took his time studying those feet, their red toenails and silver toe ring that he found ridiculously sexy. Enough time that when his gaze returned to her face, he found her frowning at him, her arms crossed before her.

“Sergeant Harrison, isn‘t it? Can I help you Sergeant Harrison?”

Her tone was ice cold, her stance forbidding. He‘d expected this, had been prepared for it even. But he had not been prepared to discover that beneath her outward appearance of strength, in a face washed clean of make-up, was a frailty that had been missing that morning. Dark shadows and small lines of fatigue ringed her eyes.

The urge to pull her to him and offer comfort surprised him. She was unusually tall for a woman. He stood six-foot-three and even with her feet bare, she nearly looked him in the eye. He liked his women shorter—blonde and petite. Paige Conroy was neither, but the thought of her in his arms, their bodies lining up perfectly, chest-to-chest, pelvis-to-pelvis, warmed his blood.

“Sergeant?”

“I need to talk to you.”

BUY Not Without Risk:

AMAZON / BARNES AND NOBLE / ARe

Check out the other Sneak Peak Sunday authors at:

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Book Giveaway for NOT WITHOUT RISK

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Not Without Risk

by Sarah Grimm

Giveaway ends May 03, 2013.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Welcome Vonnie Davis!!

Please help me welcome the lovely, talented Vonnie Davis. Vonnie is a dear friend of mine whom I met through our mutual publisher, and she's here to talk about her new release, RAIN IS A LOVE SONG.


Sarah, I’ve been looking forward to my visit on your blog for several weeks to talk about my romantic suspense trilogy. Each book starts in Paris, my favorite city in the universe. We’re going back for a few weeks in September and I cannot wait. I’ll be doing more research there and also in Berlin for a book I want to write. Or rather a book I really don’t care to write, but the characters simply won’t leave me alone.

Travel anywhere in today’s society carries its own set of risks—lost luggage, airplane malfunctions, pick-pockets, food poisoning and dangerous, devious people like terrorists. In this series, each book has its own romantic couple while the same band of terrorists wreaks their own brand of havoc. The terrorists are known by their macabre calling card—a handprint of the victim’s blood—The Red Hand.

I’d like to share a scene from book two of this series—RAIN IS A LOVE SONG. Today and tomorrow, this book will be a FREE download on Amazon.

Jean-Luc is an agent for the French counterterrorism unit. Gwen is an American visiting her sister in Paris. Jean-Luc works with the sister’s husband. Every visit Gwen makes to Paris, Jean-Luc asks her out. They argue, yet the attraction grows stronger.

This scene has them hurrying to the scene of a Metro bombing. Gwen is a trained crime scene photographer who’s just found out she’s been temporarily assigned to the counterterrorism unit.

Work under him, indeed. Typical bossy man. She’d help, but on her terms. After all, helping this annoying man would make Rhiannon safer. Her gaze slid to his muscled thighs under his black slacks, and her fingers started itching. The dark blue dress shirt only accented his dark features. He was one fine specimen, no matter how annoying. She glanced out the side window as his car sped along the Parisian streets. Hadn’t she promised herself she’d temper her attitude toward him? She exhaled a long, slow breath and forced herself to unwind.

A month. Thirty days of working with Jean-Luc. How could she stand it? Would she be able to keep her hands to herself? Could she fight the attraction? If she focused solely on business, she might stand half a chance.

“I saw on the television that the explosion was at the Metro stop near the Arc de Triomphe. The newscaster said four people were killed and many more injured.”

Jean-Luc’s jaw clenched. He snapped off the radio. “Yes, the reports are correct. Henri is at headquarters fielding the media’s many questions. He’s good with public relations. André and Bernard are on their way to the scene. First responders, of course, were there within minutes.”

“What kind of bomb did they use? How did they get it on the Metro?” Although there were security cameras mounted everywhere, there were no bag checkers. People were free to carry on whatever they liked. During her previous trips, there were mothers with strollers, dragging carry-ons instead of diaper bags. Shoppers had bags. Most young adults used backpacks.

Jean-Luc changed lanes again and turned onto a bridge, or pont as the French called them. “I’ll have more accurate news on the type of incendiary device once we get there and I see things for myself. Niko and I were part of the investigation team in London after the Metro explosion in oh-eight.”

“Is that when you both worked for Interpol?”

“Yes. You asked about the bombing site. The Metro stop for the Arc de Triomphe and Champs Elysées is the Charles-de-Gaulle Etoile sortie, or exit. It’s always very crowded. They chose their target well if they were aiming for maximum damage.” His phone rang and he took the call.

While he spoke in rapid-fire French, she loaded a new roll of film in her camera and taped her recorder under her top. She clipped the microphone to her neckline.

Jean-Luc approached the Arc de Triomphe and stopped at a barricade set up around the area. He buzzed his window down and extended his badge, ordering the policeman to grant him access. Once the barrier was moved aside, he zipped his car beside others parked in a haphazard fashion.

“Let’s go. Stick close by in case something else happens. We have to be prepared for anything, is that clear?”

Although she had the urge to throw him some attitude, she also knew now wasn’t the time. People had died. Others were injured and horrified. She’d do what she could to help. “Tell me what you want done, and I’ll do it.” She opened the door and got out, slinging her bag over her shoulder and hanging her cameras around her neck.

Jean-Luc grabbed a bag from his trunk and, taking her hand, started jogging toward the cordoned-off Metro entrance.” I want you to take pictures of anything you see, no matter how insignificant. You’ve got good instincts, so use them. A word of warning. We don’t know if there are more bombs planted somewhere, although first respondents have searched the area.”

“Gotcha.”

“I’m serious. I want Rhiannon to grow up with a mother. Understand?” They reached the concrete steps leading down to the Metro. “I’m not hearing what I want to hear.” He squeezed her hand in silent command for her response.

“You’ll have my cooperation. I promise. I’ll be careful.”

The doors at the bottom of the steps gaped open. One hung askew where it had been blown off several of its hinges—or yanked off as frightened passengers stampeded from the interior. Officers stopped them both and then flagged them onward as soon as they saw Jean-Luc’s badge.

A bank of turnstiles blocked their entry. He placed a hand on the post of one and jumped over the turnstile. Turning, he grabbed Gwen around the waist and lifted her over. They hurried toward the interior.

The normally pristine white tiles on the walls lining the many corridors were streaked with soot. Jean-Luc kept his hand on the small of her back as he hurried her through the maze of corridors. The escalator to the lower level wasn’t moving. Piles of debris carpeted the lower steps as they ran down them. She started taking pictures.

Her companion halted for a second, surveyed the scene ahead of them and cursed. On a tile next to the entrance to a loading area was a bloody handprint. She snapped several shots of it from different angles, hoping the multiple views of the handprint might give a clue as to the height of the person who left it. If the terrorist were short, then the heel of the handprint would be heavier in concentration of blood than the fingers. She panned the area, her shutter whirring as she shot pictures of everything in rapid succession.

Jean-Luc wrapped his hand around her wrist. “Let’s move on.”

They ran down the final set of steps, illuminated only by emergency lighting, and turned.

She wasn’t prepared.

Her eyes couldn’t take it all in at once. “Dear God,” she breathed.

Skeletons of white and green passenger cars sat on end, jackknifed against each other. Windows were blown out. Mangled steel polluted the loading area. Rubble of rail cars and body parts littered both sides of the tracks. Pools of blood streamed toward cracks in the concrete. Many of the gold and orange tiles on the walls of the station were blown off. Gaping holes marred the arched ceiling that was once white. Fluorescent light fixtures dangled. She shuddered and swallowed bile. I had no idea it would be so ghastly.

Huge emergency floodlights were powered by snakes of coiled cords. Firemen tugged on fire hoses, spraying down the wreckage. Shadows, moving and immobile, were everywhere. Her eyes darted from silhouette to silhouette and her skin crawled. She’d have nightmares about this. I don’t want to be here.

In the eerie silence, a controlled kind of pandemonium ensued. Medical personnel treated those less seriously injured. Gwen assumed those severely hurt had already been evacuated. Other passengers, not yet released, huddled, hugged and cried in hysteria. A few waded through the debris in silent shock, their eyes wide and vacant. Smoke blanketed the dim area. An unholy stench hung heavy in the air. She reached in her shoulder bag for a tissue to cover her nose. Her stomach lurched. I’m going to be sick.

Jean-Luc’s arm wrapped around her waist and turned her against his solid chest. “Are you okay?” His narrowed eyes surveyed the scene around them while his arm pressed her to him. He was fracturing himself for her benefit. Part of him was the comforting male; another was the expertly trained agent—no doubt observing, evaluating and developing his investigation tactics.

“Have you ever seen anything so terrible?”

He kissed her hair, almost in an absent-minded gesture. “Yes, in London.” His hand rubbed up and down her back. “Take a deep breath, sweetheart. We have work to do.”

Learn more about Vonnie and her writing at her website:

http://www.vonniedavis.com

Don't forget to pick up your FREE copy of RAIN IS A LOVE SONG!