Reading, Reviewing, Guest Authors, Giveaways and more.
Kevin has worked in the IT industry since the 1970s. (Yes, there WERE computers around in the 70s!) He has worked and lived in England, Australia, New Zealand and Singapore and has travelled extensively around the world.
For years he wrote reports, technical books and papers in the IT industry, but all that time there was a novelist waiting to get out.
He’d always enjoyed crime, mystery and political thriller novels, as well as more general stories – and even some science fiction!
Authors he long admired include (in no particular order) Frederick Forsyth, John Le Carre, Ian Rankin, Colin Dexter, Henning Mankell, John Braine, Stan Barstow, Fred Hoyle, Frank Herbert, Stieg Larsson, George Orwell, Aldous Huxley.
For years he wanted to write his own novel but work, family, inertia, fear all got in the way. Finally, after massive encouragement from his wife, he started. The end result, after more than a year’s work, is his first (and hopefully not last) novel The Andersen Plan.
This interesting mix of political and crime thriller is set in England and Australia, where he lived for many years.
Connect with Kevin at these sites:
Writing and Reading:
Do you draw from personal experiences and/or current events?
A bit of both. This novel is mostly drawn from reflections of current events but all the locations are places I know well.
Do you start with the conclusion and plot in reverse or start from the beginning and see where the story line brings you?
I had a rough outline and started writing different bits, in rough chronological order, but sometimes I would go back. Parts of the plot and some of the characters changed several times in the process
Your routine when writing? Any idiosyncrasies?
Much of the early work on the book was written sitting in my car in a car park. I guess that’s a bit odd. I prefer my first draft to be scribbled in a notebook rather than typed. I type it up later and do a bit of tidying up in the process. I did the final version and editing on my laptop. I don’t have a set time of day or a specific place to write. When I’m on holiday somewhere warm I like to mix writing with lying in the sun and swimming.
Is writing your full time job? If not, may I ask what you do by day?
When I wrote the first draft I was working full time as a freelance IT project manager. When the job ended I took some time off to finish off the book and edit and publish it. Although I am looking out for more freelance work I am currently writing full time. If I can achieve any success with it I would love to become a full time writer.
Who are some of your favorite authors?
That’s quite a long list for different reasons. George Orwell and Aldous Huxley for their predictions of where society was heading; science fiction writers like Isaac Asimov, Fred Hoyle, Frank Herbert and Arthur C Clarke; crime fiction – Stieg Larson Ian Rankin, Colin Dexter, Henning Mankell; philosophy / economics – John Gray, Daniel Kahneman; political thrillers – Frederick Forsythe
What are you reading now?
“Thinking Fast and Slow” by Daniel Kahneman. It’s good but a bit heavy going. When I’ve finished I want to relax with the new Rebus novel.
Are you working on your next novel? Can you tell us a little about it?
I’m currently working on a sequel to The Andersen Plan, tentatively titled The Andersen Contract. It’s a totally new plot line but follows on from the first book and uses many of the characters. Like the first book it mixes politics with crime and ranges from London to South Australia.
Fun questions:
Your novel will be a movie. Who would you cast?
In my book the main “baddies” are Australian Brothers Greg and Tony Andersen. From the moment I wrote them I envisaged Javier Bardem playing both of them (if he can master a decent Australian accent), mainly because of his chilling character in “No country for old men”
Manuscript/Notes: hand written or keyboard?
Scribble in a notebook while I am creating, then type / edit on my laptop.
Favorite leisure activity/hobby?
In warm sunny weather I love walking, swimming, cycling, eating out. In cold weather I tend to hibernate, watch TV, read and play my guitar and bass. I also love art galleries. I would have liked to have been a painter but I don’t think I have the talent for it.
Favorite meal?
I like most things but particularly really tasty dishes such as chilli, curry and possibly my favourite is a good paella.
When a young British man goes missing in Australia, his fiancée forms an unlikely partnership with an ambitious newspaper reporter; the pair travel to the Outback to investigate.
It’s 2022 and Britain’s economy has been in steady decline for the last decade. As a result of the ongoing employment crisis, thousands of young Brits travel to Australia each year, in search of work. But Australia’s economy has taken a turn for the worse too, and the government has tightened its immigration laws to curb the flow of migrant workers.
A pair of Australian brothers, Greg and Tony Andersen, devise an illicit scam to take advantage of the situation: Greg Andersen, the elder brother, is based in the UK where he entices young jobseekers by promising to help them find work; the unsuspecting Brits are then sent on a plane, having apparently had all the appropriate paperwork taken care of, only to be met on the other side by Tony Andersen who beats them up, takes their money and leaves them stranded in the Outback. When the bloodthirsty Tony gets carried away and one of their victims ends up dead, the police start to take notice – DI Brian Chambers launches an investigation into the mystery of the growing number of missing and robbed Brits, in this bizarre new form of people smuggling.
Alan Warner is a young Englishman who is enticed by The Andersens’ scheme, and sets off to Australia in hope of starting a new life there. When he arrives in Australia all communication with him stops. Then his fiancée Carol sees a newspaper article about Brits going missing in Australia and fears that Alan might be headed towards the same fate. Not knowing where else to turn, she contacts the journalist who wrote the piece, John Foster. The pair, now almost certain that Alan is a victim of the same series of robberies being investigated by the police, decide to travel to Australia to find him. When they arrive in the small South Australian town of Mannum, they join forces with DI Brian Chambers who confirms that Alan is missing, but warns them not to interfere with his investigations. Carol is devastated but John is distracted by his wild affair with their Australian guide, Debbie.
Will The Andersen’s be caught and Alan Warner saved, or will Carol, John and Debbie’s reckless vigilantism undermine any chance of finding him alive? Is Alan dead or kidnapped – and why?
BOOK DETAILS:
Genre: Crime Thriller
Published by: CreateSpace (paperback) and KDP (ebook)
Publication Date: 1st August 2013
Pages: 206
ISBN: 978-1491235560PURCHASE LINKS:
After some thirty years writing everything from political encyclopedias to software manuals, I retired from corporate life to write fiction, travel, and play on the beach. Since that time, I’ve traveled extensively throughout the United States and the world. I live most of the year in Hollywood, Florida, with my two doggie best friends, Mattie and Jakey, where I own and manage a vacation rental business.
Connect with Liz at these sites:
Things are not always what they seem in Liz Stauffer’s fast paced book of murder, mystery, and intrigue. When the “breakfast club” ladies of idyllic Mount Penn see bruises on Clare Ballard’s pretty face, they suspect her hot-headed husband of abusing her, but the truth is much more complicated. When violence disrupts this Appalachian village’s lazy routine, the ladies, led by the irascible Lillie Mae Harris, jump feet first into danger as bodies appear, neighbors disappear, and Clare is arrested for murder. Follow Lillie Mae and the other “breakfast club” ladies, who, armed with casseroles and pastries, help the police uncover the deep secrets this town hides beneath its perfect facade.
“Clare’s dead!”
When she spoke the words, her voice was so low it was barely above a whisper. The sturdy woman with short, curly red hair dropped the handset back into its cradle and began to pace, the phone still ringing on the other end of the line.
Lillie Mae Harris stopped at the front window, taking no notice of the white buds that were just opening on the two Bradford pear trees in her front yard, or the spring flowers peeping through the freshly hoed soil in the close- by flower bed. Her thoughts were of Clare.
She had the best view in Mount Penn from this window. On a winter’s morning she could see for some thirty miles out over the valley with the big blue sky as the backdrop. The night view was even more amazing, offering a shower of dancing lights in the distance competing only with the brightest stars.
It was now early spring and the vista had already begun to shrink even though the trees were just beginning to bud. Once the trees were filled out with big green leaves the view would pull in even more until fall when the colors exploded and the view once again took one’s breath away. But today the scenery did nothing to still Lillie Mae’s pounding heart or quell her shaking hands. She couldn’t stop worrying about Clare. Rushing back to the phone, she scooped it up, and punched in a familiar number.
“Hello.” Alice Portman answered in her sweet Southern drawl, after just one ring. Her Jack Russell terrier, Alfred, barked in the background.
“Clare’s not answering her phone this morning,” Lillie Mae said. “I’m so worried about her, Alice. I’m not sure what to do.”
“Settle down, Lillie Mae,” Alice said, shushing Alfred. “Why are you more concerned today?”
“You were at the water meeting last night,” Lillie Mae said. “You saw how Roger was acting. Yelling and screaming like an idiot. When he’s gotten that riled up in the past, Clare’s been his punching bag.”
“Well, yes,” Alice agreed, deliberately slowing the pace of the conversation. “But, Roger was just being Roger last night, dear. Just showing off. I didn’t see anything unusual in his behavior. Certainly nothing to make you so worried this morning.”
“He was acting worse than usual,” Lillie Mae insisted, still pacing the living room floor. “And I’m sure he drank himself crazy when the meeting was finally over. That’s the real reason I’m worried, Alice. You know how he is when he drinks. What he does to Clare.”
“Roger playacts, you know, when it suits him, Lillie Mae,” Alice said, her voice still soft and cool. “He knows he’s going to make a lot of money hooking people up to the public water in a few short months, but he wants to come across as the good guy to his neighbors, not the money grubbing fool that he is. He’ll use every wile that he has to seduce the community. If the project fails, which it won’t this time, he looks like he’s the man who stopped it. If it passes, he wins big time.”
“You’re probably right, Alice,” Lillie Mae said, calming a bit. “I know Roger is shrewd. If he wasn’t always out there trying to make a deal, he wouldn’t be Roger, I guess.”
“So, stop overreacting, Lillie Mae. What’s brought all this on anyway?”
“I’ve been calling Clare’s house all morning and nobody answers the phone,” Lillie Mae said. “It’s stupid, I know, but I picture Clare lying on her kitchen floor, needing my help. Dead, even.”
A sigh escaped Alice’s lips. “You’re way over dramatizing this morning, Lillie Mae,” she said. “Roger’s not even home. He drove by me in that stupid yellow Hummer of his while Alfred and I were out on our early morning walk.”
“That’s good to hear,” Lillie Mae said. “Stop imagining the worst, Lillie Mae. Clare’s probably out, too. It’s such a warm spring day. Doesn’t she usually go grocery shopping on Wednesday mornings?”
“Maybe,” Lillie Mae conceded. “Or she could be in her garden, I guess.”
“She’ll call you back when she gets to it,” Alice said, a hint of impatience in her voice.
“I doubt if she does.” Lillie Mae’s voice broke. “She rarely calls me anymore. We’ve been such good friends for so many years and I miss her, Alice. I wish I knew what I did wrong.”
“Clare’s changing, Lillie Mae. She’s getting stronger. Give the girl some space.”
“I’ve noticed a change, too,” Lillie Mae said, “since Billy went off to university. She does have more confidence, I’ll give you that.”
“Have you written your article on the water meeting for the Antioch Gazette, yet?” Alice asked. “I thought it was due today.”
“Not yet,” Lillie Mae confessed. “I’ve been too worried about Clare.”
“Maybe being busy will take your mind off things that are not really any of your business,” Alice said.
“I guess you’re right,” Lillie Mae said. “Clare’s a big girl and can take care of herself.”
“I know that well,” Lillie Mae said, then suddenly turned serious again when her thoughts returned to Clare. “I’m walking down to Clare’s to check things out before I start on the article. I need to make certain she’s all right, or I won’t be able to concentrate on my work. Do you want to come along?”
“No, you go on, if it’ll make you feel better,” Alice said. “You can fill me in on the details at dinner this evening.”
BOOK DETAILS:
Genre: Mystery & Detective – Women Sleuths
Publisher: Sartoris Literary Group
Publication Date: June 28, 2013
Number of Pages: 244 pages
ISBN-10: 0989318605
ISBN-13: 978-0989318600PURCHASE LINKS:
YOUR JAVA SCRIPT MAY NEED TO BE UPDATED
IF YOU AR EXPERIENCING DIFFICULTY
USING THE RAFFLECOPTER ENTRY FORM
“I grew up in rural Derbyshire, but my adult life has been spent mostly in London, with long intervals in Norfolk and Deal, all inspiring places. I was educated mostly in convent schools; then studied English and went on to qualify as a solicitor, working for what is now the Crown Prosecution Service, thus learning a bit about murder at second hand. Years later, writing became the real vocation, although the law and its ramifications still haunt me and inform many of my novels.
I’m a novelist, short story writer for magazines and radio, sometime Radio 4 contributor, (Front Row, Quote Unquote, Night Waves,) and presenter of Tales from the Stave. When I’m not working (which is as often as possible), I can be found in the nearest junk/charity shop or auction, looking for the kind of paintings which enhance my life. Otherwise, with a bit of luck, I’m relaxing by the sea with a bottle of wine and a friend or two.”-Frances Fyfield
Connect with Ms. Fyfield at these sites:
Marianne Shearer is at the height of her career, a dauntingly successful barrister, respected by her peers and revered by her clients. So why has she killed herself? Her latest case had again resulted in an acquittal, although the outcome was principally due to the death of the prime witness after Marianne’s forceful cross-examination. Had this wholly professional and unemotional lawyer been struck by guilt or uncertainty, or is there some secret to be discovered in her blandly comfortable private life? Her tenacious colleague Peter Friel is determined to find out of that last trial held the reason for her taking her own life. The transcript holds intriguing clues, but it is another witness at the trial who holds the key to the truth.
The trial had gone wrong on her, with the right result, certainly, one achieved through exploitation of weakness, legal argument, bullying, manipulation and luck. The suicide of the prime witness could only be called a misfortune. A thoroughly professional hatchet job on her part, in other words. It was for the prosecution to prove their case and for her to destroy it; she had done the latter but the result would not cover her with glory simply because it would be seen as an outrageous piece of cruel luck, rather than advocacy.
She would not want to say goodbye. She would never want to see him again, but he was fresh out of jail and for the first time he was leaving the court via the front door and not via the prison van. The prison van, he had told her, was an exquisitely uncomfortable mode of transport, like traveling on the inside of a human time bomb complete with molded plastic seats and manacles.
BOOK DETAILS:
Genre: Crime Thriller
Published by: Witness Impulse
Publication Date: 11/26/2013
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 9780062301864PURCHASE LINKS:
If you’d like to join in on an upcoming tour just stop by our sites and sign up today!
DISCLAIMER
No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.
ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.
Marthe Jocelyn spent her childhood in Toronto reading books and putting on plays and circuses in her backyard. Marthe has a long string of jobs: theatre usher, cookie seller, waitress, photo stylist, even toy designer before she finally settled on writer.
Marthe lives in Ontario with her daughters Nell and Hannah but still goes back home to NYC each summer.
Connect with Marthe at these sites:
Readers of this blog are often mystery fans as well, so you may be wondering why a craft book written to inspire children would be featured in this space. Well, I’m here to offer up a different kind of mystery-making, the kind you stumble across when you’re walking down the street of any big city. Whose baby dropped the pacifier that lies in the gutter? How did someone lose a single high-heeled shoe and not notice? What do those scrawls on the side of the garage actually say? Why is that statue of Garibaldi wearing a woolly red hat?
Walking my kids to school through downtown Manhattan was a daily scavenger hunt. We saw dozens of strange and amusing things every week, eventually inspiring us to come up with our own contributions to the great urban gallery.
One daughter spent an afternoon tying coloured yarn to the black fence that bordered the playground. The other daughter painted faces on stones and left them on park benches for unsuspecting sitters. Both girls made elaborate chalk mazes on sidewalks and elegant structures out of feathers and sticks in the sandbox. They built little houses from jewelry boxes to hide in odd corners in the classroom, and often put surprise drawings inside menus in restaurants. Making the art was one phase. Hiding it was the next. And watching friends or strangers find it – seeing the whodunnit moment in action – that was the best last chapter.
The seeds of artistic mischief were planted, several years later to bear fruit as Sneaky Art: Crafty Projects to Hide in Plain Sight. The book is a how-to manual with instructions for 24 projects and inspiration for many more.
It comes with a disclaimer, of course, reminding young artists that sneaky art is NOT: mean, defacing, ugly, hurtful, messy, or permanent. Sneaky art is NOT graffiti or litter. Sneaky art is” funny, clever, thoughtful, temporary, subversive, playful, and surprising!
For young artists, tricksters, and crafters, here is a hip, friendly how-to manual for creating removable and shareable art projects from easily found materials. The sneaky part is in the installation! Each work of art is custom-created for display in public places — a tiny cork-bottomed boat in a public fountain, a plate of tiny paper cupcakes on your teacher’s desk, a penny left on the ground for a stranger, a funny message left on your mother’s bathroom mirror, and more. This utterly unique guide — part craft book, part art-philosophy — offers a stylish and sweet “made-you-look-twice” spirit of fun meant to put a smile on the faces of strangers and loved ones alike.
BOOK DETAILS:
Genre: Crafts & Hobbies
Age Range: 8 – 12 years
Grade Level: 3 – 7
Hardcover: 64 pages
Publisher: Candlewick; Spi edition
Publication Date: March 26, 2013
ISBN-10: 0763656488
ISBN-13: 978-0763656485PURCHASE LINKS:
YOUR JAVA SCRIPT MAY NEED TO BE UPDATED
IF YOU AR EXPERIENCING DIFFICULTY
USING THE RAFFLECOPTER ENTRY FORM
Warrior Grim Mackintosh understands why his friend Archibald MacNab has decreed there be no trace of Christmas in his castle. After a devastating attack destroyed everything-and everyone-in Archie’s life, he prefers to stew in his own misery until the holiday passes. But Duncreag has seen enough tragedy. Grim decides to throw a grand Yuletide feast, one that the bards will sing about for years to come, one that will remind his laird how beloved he is. He can’t do it alone, though. Grim needs an accomplice . . .
There’s nothing Breena O’Doherty won’t do for Archie, so she’s thrilled to help Grim with his plan. Yet she has a Christmas wish all her own-to win Grim’s heart-and this might be her only chance to make it come true. As Breena and Grim work together to bring the joy of the season to the cold, gloomy castle and to the heart of the cantankerous chieftain, an undeniable passion ignites between them. But when a shocking secret about Breena’s past comes to light, threatening everything she holds dear, will it ruin Christmas in Duncreag forevermore?
Sue-Ellen Welfonder is a Scotophile whose burning wish to make frequent trips to the land of her dreams led her to a twenty-year career with the airlines.
Now a full-time writer, she’s quick to admit that she much prefers wielding a pen to pushing tea and coffee. She makes annual visits to Scotland, insisting they are a necessity, as each trip gives her inspiration for new books. Proud of her own Hebridean ancestry, she belongs to two clan societies: the MacFie Clan Society and the Clan MacAlpine Society. In addition to Scotland, her greatest passions are medieval history, the paranormal, and dogs. She never watches television, loves haggis, and writes at a 450-year-old desk that once stood in a Bavarian castle.
Sue-Ellen is married and currently resides with her husband and Jack Russell terrier in Florida.
Several of the younger garrison lads had tried to court her, wooing her with pretty words, gifts of woven cloth, and once—or so he’d heard—an armful of loveliest heather. Talk among the men was that she pretended not to hear the compliments, passed on the cloth to young mothers who needed it more, and placed the heather on graves of Duncreag’s fallen.
A few more persistent lads claimed she’d declined their attentions by saying her heart belonged to another.
And that she’d gazed wistfully into the distance when telling them so.
The lads said she looked toward Ireland.
Grim was sure she did. He was also certain the young man who held her affection ached for her as well.
It was a notion that pierced him to the core.
No saint, he swore beneath his breath, his blood heating all the same. Passion raged, fierce and demanding as he held her fast, claiming her lips with a bold roughness he just couldn’t help.
She was in his arms now.
And she tasted sweeter than the nectar of the gods.
When she lifted up on her toes and parted her lips to flick the tip of her tongue against his own, his agony was complete. Never before had a woman returned his kiss with such ardor. He believed most lasses feared him, big and rough-hewn as he was, without courtly manners. Breena was an angel beyond compare, a prize so rare he was stunned to have her in his arms, so soft and pliant.
He didn’t want to desire her.
Someday her Irish lover—if he’d survived the raid on her village—would ride up to Duncreag’s gates to claim her, taking her back across the sea. Grim certainly would if she were his. And he doubted Donegal men were any less possessive. He shouldn’t lay a finger on her.
Yet she set him aflame.
Knowing he was leaping into an abyss he could never escape, he nipped the lush curve of her lower lip and then deepened the kiss, letting his tongue glide into the soft velvet-warmth of her mouth. She kissed him back, her own tongue tangling with his, tantalizing and intimate, making him forget every reason he shouldn’t be touching her.
He pulled her closer, not caring. He shut his mind to the hurtful truth. That every time he thought she’d glanced his way, she quickly looked elsewhere. Indeed, she didn’t pay heed to any of the men at Duncreag. Not even bonnie younger lads so much more appealing than him.
Grim bit back a growl, not wanting to think of her yearning for an Inishowen lad in Donegal. Perhaps imagining such a lad now held her. Yet she was soft and warm in his arms. Her lips so yielding, her glossy tresses a spill of cool silk across his cheek, the dance of her tongue bewitching him. She even made a little mewing sound, responding eagerly as she returned the kiss.
What man could resist such temptation?
He surely couldn’t.
Shy Lady Esme has a secret: the youngest sister of the Duke of Trent privately pens erotic stories! Her latest is the steamy story of two travelers who find themselves stranded in an inn when an unexpected snowstorm blankets the English countryside. Lady Amelia Witherspoon simply must get home to her beloved family on Christmas Eve. So when a terrible storm threatens to leave her snowbound, she refuses to admit defeat-even if that means sharing a carriage with Evan Cameron, the lastman she ever hoped to see . . .
Evan can’t fathom why his oldest friend is as icy to him as the winter wind. All he does know is that Amelia is still the loveliest, most tempting woman he’s ever laid eyes on. Their only option is to take refuge together at a nearby inn, sharing the one remaining room. Evan promises to be a gentleman . . . but it’s a promise neither of them wants him to keep.
As a child, Jennifer Haymore traveled the South Pacific with her family on their homebuilt sailboat. The months spent on the sometimes quiet, sometimes raging seas sparked her love of adventure and grand romance. Since then, she’s earned degrees in computer science and education and held various jobs ranging from bookselling to teaching inner-city children to acting, but she’s never stopped writing.
You can find Jennifer in Southern California trying to talk her husband into yet another trip to England, helping her three children with homework while brainstorming a new five-minute dinner menu, or crouched in a corner of the local bookstore writing her next novel.
Back in the carriage, where she was hiding from the weather while Evan secured their rooms at the inn, Amelia sighed. Though she’d tried to be polite with him for the past hour, she’d been stewing in inner turmoil the whole time.
He was insanely handsome. More handsome than she remembered, and she’d already remembered him as the handsomest boy she’d ever known. His proximity did all sorts of wicked things to her body, made her skin feel sensitive and achy, and an intense erotic need furled between her legs. Everything about him called to her on a most carnal level, from the way he spoke to her to the hardness of his body to the rugged planes of his face, and her desire had grown ever stronger as the miles had rolled beneath the wheels of the carriage.
But her body didn’t know what her mind did—he was also the cruelest boy she’d ever known. He’d pretended to admire her, but in reality he’d scorned her behind her back. After she’d discovered that, she’d struggled for years with her self-confidence. Even now, after years of people admiring her beauty publicly, she sometimes still looked in the mirror and saw the pudgy, unattractive girl that Evan Cameron had seen for so many years.
She’d resolved herself to spending another few hours with him in his carriage, then escaping to Cheltham House, hopefully not having to see him again before she returned to London next month. But now they were stranded in Postcombe, and politeness would dictate he dine with her and ensure her comfort at the inn, then break his fast with her in the morning before the additional two-hour—or longer, with snow on the road—drive to her father’s house. Which meant more interaction with him than she thought she could bear.
She took a deep breath. She would bear it. First of all, she had no choice. Secondly, she was no simpering maiden. Not anymore.
It was what it was. Neither of them could control the weather. She would endure this with as good a nature as she could muster.
Evan slipped into the carriage beside her, his frown even deeper than it had been before. He wrestled with the wind over the door, finally gaining control and slamming it shut, before turning to her and saying in a low voice, “They haven’t any rooms.”
Her eyes went wide. “What? Why not?”
“The Duke of Dunsberg and his entourage were on their way to Oxford, and they were caught in the storm as well. They’ve taken all the available rooms.”
“Oh no.”
“The innkeeper did offer us lodgings, however…” Evan continued hesitantly. He took a breath. “It’s not a room so much as a closet. But they’ve an extra bed they can put in there for us.”
“Ah,” she said quietly.
Finally, he met her gaze. “I fear this is our only option. I will sleep on the floor, of course. I would not…er…take advantage of the situation in any way. I give you my word.”
Could this day get any worse? Amelia stifled a groan. She wasn’t worried about Evan not being a gentleman; she was far, far more worried about herself not being a lady. Lord knew what a fool she’d made of herself in his proximity in the past. And the way her body was responding to him…she felt like a giant magnet inexorably drawn to his compelling force. Her skin was prickly and hot, aching all over. And something told her that only his touch could soothe that kind of pain.
There’s nothing in the world Army Sergeant Vic Carponti loves more than his wife and his country. Smart-mouthed and easy tempered, he takes everything as a joke . . . except his promise to come home to his wife, Nicole, for Christmas. As he prepares to leave for his latest deployment into Iraq, Vic will do everything he can to shield his beautiful, supportive wife from the realities of war . . . and from his own darkest fears.
As a career army wife, Nicole Carponti knows just what to expect from her husband’s tour of duty: loneliness, relentless worry, and a seemingly endless countdown until the moment Vic walks through the door again. But when the unthinkable happens, Nicole and Vic’s bond is tested like never before and changes everything they believe to be true about the power of love and the simple beauty of being home for the holidays.
USA Today bestselling author Jessica Scott is a career army officer; mother of two daughters, three cats and three dogs; wife to a career NCO and wrangler of all things stuffed and fluffy. She is a terrible cook and even worse housekeeper, but she’s a pretty good shot with her assigned weapon and someone liked some of the stuff she wrote. Somehow, her children are pretty well-adjusted and her husband still loves her, despite burned water and a messy house.
She’s written for the New York Times At War Blog, PBS Point of View: Regarding War Blog, and Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America. She deployed to Iraq in 2009 as part of Operation Iraqi Freedom/New Dawn and has served as a company commander at Fort Hood, Texas.
She’s pursuing a PhD in Sociology in her spare time and most recently, she’s been featured as one of Esquire Magazine‘s Americans of the Year for 2012.
“You’re not serious.”
Carponti turned around, his shoulders covered in flecks of red hair. “What?”
Nicole grinned as she leaned against the door. “Garrison is going to kill you.”
“Garrison is going to love my new hair cut. It looks just like his.”
Nicole arched one blond eyebrow. “Except for the bright red fuzzy patch in the center of your head.”
Carponti shrugged and rubbed his hands over his freshly shorn scalp. “I can’t wait to see what the sergeant major says.”
“Isn’t he going to be mad?”
Carponti brushed the hair off his neck. “We’re going to war. My hair isn’t on the list of things he’s going to worry about.”
Nicole looked down at the pile of hair on the floor and sighed. “Then why do it?”
Carponti smirked. “Because it’ll get a rise out of him and I live to make his blood pressure go up.”
She laughed. “You need a hobby. Other than blowing things up.”
He sidled across the room and hooked his thumb into the waist of her jeans and tugged her close until their hips met. “I have a hobby. Keeping you well satisfied.”
She sniffed but her lips curled at the edges. “You’re going to be derelict in your duties for a while.”
“But I’ll be home soon enough and then I’ll make up for it.”
“I think I’m going to need a deployment boyfriend.”
He grinned wickedly. “Did you already get one?” He backed her up against the wall, his body hard against hers. God but she loved this man. “Can I see it?”
A slow flush crept over her face and she tried to look away. He threaded his fingers with hers and lifted her arms over her head. Her back arched with the movement.
“Please?” he whispered against her lips. “That would be an awesome memory to take with me downrange. Just think of me, alone in the middle of the desert. One visual of you with your deployment boyfriend and it could make a lonely night go by so much faster.”
Nicole giggled until the laugh overwhelmed her and she was gasping for air. He released her hands and she threaded them around his neck. She buried her face against his throat and laughed.
“There’s something really wrong with you,” she said when she could breathe again. “I’ll send you a video.”
He brightened instantly. “Really?”
“Yes. And dirty letters.”
“Promise?” He nibbled along the edge of her jaw, guiding her slowly backward toward their bed, stacked high with his two duffle bags and all the crap he still hadn’t packed.
But he didn’t care.
“I promise. And you’re going to be late.” Her voice caught in her throat.
“Screw it,” he whispered. “This is the last chance to make love to my beautiful wife before I have to go traipsing across the desert like Lawrence of Arabia.” He nibbled at her earlobe while his hand slipped down her belly to the moist head between her thighs. “Tell you what. You send me a picture of yours and I’ll send you a picture of mine. Maybe I can get him a little horse and saddle and send you a picture. Maybe a Barbie camel. I can put him in a little man dress.”
She laughed and Carponti’s heart swelled in his chest at the sound of it.
“I’m going to hold you to that.” She traced her fingers over his scalp, her body soft and warm against his erection. “I want a picture of him in a man dress in exchange for a video of the deployment boyfriend.”
Her legs bumped into the back of the bed and he followed her down. Tangled between the duffle bags and his uniforms, he made love to her one last time before he got on a plane and headed to war.
YOUR JAVA SCRIPT MAY NEED TO BE UPDATED
IF YOU AR EXPERIENCING DIFFICULTY
USING THE RAFFLECOPTER ENTRY FORM
No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.
