Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Saved by H.L. Anderson - New Release


Theresa Kent is a wife, mom, and hardworking nurse living in rural Colorado. Life is good until her increasingly despondent, unemployed husband suddenly snaps—his vicious attack leaves Theresa fighting for her life as she tries to escape the insane version of the man she loves.

Ryan Tucker appears to have it all, except he’s been merely existing, not living, for the last three years. His emotions get a much needed jump start when he rescues Theresa from the torment her life has become in just a matter of days. Ryan feels an instant and fierce desire to protect this stranger that fell into his life.

Hanging over their heads is the knowledge that Theresa’s husband is still out there, hunting for her.

Can two broken souls be repaired, or will the demons of the past and present come between the repressed love that grows between them?

Excerpt:
Theresa sat forward, the seatbelt tugging at her collarbone. She smiled as she stared at the crooked, brown, furry trunks that split into thick branches—a melon-sized clump of green reaching for the sky atop each branch. “I’ve killed a cactus before. More than one, actually.”

“Ah. Did the cactus do something to deserve an early demise? Or, are you just a silent psychopathic killer of cacti?”

She cringed a little at his choice of words, but hid it with a small chuckle. “Neither. I’m just really bad at keeping plants alive. My thumb is not only decisively not green—it’s necrotic. I have necrotic thumb syndrome when it comes to plants.”

“Hmm. I see. So, how, exactly, do you go about killing a cactus?”

“Well, there are several ways actually. Too much water. Not enough sunlight. And, surprisingly, not enough water. Apparently, you can’t just ignore one and hope it sucks up enough moisture from the air to survive.”

“Okay. Necrotic thumb noted. There will be no gifts of living plants from me in your future. How do you fare with the plastic versions?”

She snorted at the fake seriousness in his voice. Turning to him, she wrinkled her brow to match his tone. “I can’t guarantee the safety of even synthetic greenery in the care of my black and decaying thumb.”

Mouth twitching, he narrowed his eyes and placed a finger alongside his jaw, nodding. “I see. This is more serious than I thought. Dead flowers and chocolate will have to suffice, I suppose.”

She laughed, then turned serious, laying her hand on his arm where it rested between them. “Or, we could just say that saving my life and taking care of me when you really didn’t have to is enough of a gift to last an entire lifetime and then some.”

About the Author:
Holli Anderson has a Bachelor’s Degree in Nursing—which has nothing to do with writing, except maybe by adding some pretty descriptive injury and vomit scenes to her books. She discovered her joy of writing during a very trying period in her life when escaping into make-believe saved her. She enjoys reading any book she gets her hands on, but has a particular love for anything fantasy.

Along with her husband, Steve, and their four sons, she lives in Grantsville, Utah—the same small town in which she grew up.

Instagram: anderson.holli

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

The Christmas Wedding Swap by Allyson Charles - $25 Gift Card Giveaway


BLURB:
SOMETIMES YOU GET WHAT YOU NEED . . .

Allison Stuart has always been the odd-woman-out of her family. She wears her jeans a little too tight, colors her hair a little too blonde, and instead of going into medicine and law like her sisters, she runs a diner. She’s also the only single sibling left. And while she won’t change her style, and her meatloaf is to die for, thank you very much, she wouldn’t mind her share of wedded bliss. So she makes an early New Year’s resolution: No more meaningless flings.

Drop-dead sexy Luke Hamilton is everything Allison has sworn off. His only serious relationship has been with his five-star restaurant, Le Cygne Noir, in Chicago. When he’s threatened by a lawsuit, Luke decides to hide out in Pineville, Michigan, until the statute of limitations runs out. The small town is filled with Christmas charm, but he can’t imagine living there. Heating things up with the hottie who owns the local diner would make his exile bearable—if he can convince her to give up her ridiculous resolution . . .

Excerpt:
“Is this restaurant a step down for you?” Allison asked sweetly. She twirled the tip of the cleaver in a circle. “Is my kitchen not up to your usual standards?”

Luke appeared to have more balls than brains. He stood firm. “A kitchen can always be improved. Yours is no exception.”

He was giving her an ulcer. Allison’s stomach grumbled in complaint, and she knew just how it felt. There were some things that just weren’t done, and criticizing your boss’s kitchen was one of them. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to piss off a woman holding an eight-inch blade?”

“That’s a solid piece of advice,” Delilah said in agreement.

Luke threw his hands in the air. “Fine. I think you’re making a mistake, but it’s your restaurant.”

“I’m glad you remember that,” Allison said.

Luke’s lips twitched, and he rocked back onto his heels. “I’d heard your nickname was the Tyrant, but I couldn’t see it till now.”

Allison spluttered.

“I mean it as a compliment,” Luke said. “You don’t let anyone push you around. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

Luke traced a finger along the slick metal surface of the counter, his eyes hot, and Allison felt it as though his finger danced along her spine. She could see in his expression that he meant it. He did find her take-charge attitude a turn-on. And damn if that didn’t make her go a little weak in the knees. Still, she couldn’t let that claim go unchallenged.

“My name is n—”

“No?” Delilah jumped in.

Luke chuckled.

Allison’s jaw grew stiff. If she could incinerate people with the heat of her glare, her restaurant would be down two cooks. They’d be nothing but little piles of dust. “Not no. And not Tyrant. My employees love me.”

Peals of laughter rang through the kitchen.

Allison wagged the knife in the air. “Delilah, that advice about being nice to the woman holding a knife? It goes for you, too.” Spinning, she hammered the cleaver into her cutting board, the blade plunging a quarter inch into the wood. She stepped back, and the cleaver stood upright, quivering in its new slot. With a pointed look at her cooks, she stormed to her office.

The hoots of amusement behind her back rather diminished the effect of her exit.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Allyson Charles lives in Northern California. She’s the author of the "Pineville Romance" series, small-town, contemporary romances published by Lyrical Press. A former attorney, she happily ditched those suits and now works in her pajamas writing about men’s briefs instead of legal briefs. When she’s not writing, she’s probably engaged in one of her favorite hobbies: napping, eating, or martial arts (That last one almost makes up for the first two, right?). One of Allyson’s greatest disappointments is living in a state that doesn’t have any Cracker Barrels in it.

Sign up for Allyson’s newsletter at www.allysoncharles.com/newsletter. You can find her at www.allysoncharles.com, on Twitter @1allysoncharles, and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/AuthorAllysonCharles.

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