Book Blitz of The Book Penalties and Proposals by Anne Kemp (#contest- Win An Amazon Gift Card)

Penalties and Proposals
Anne Kemp
(Love on Thin Ice)
Publication date: October 17th 2024
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance, Sports

It only takes one bad apple to ruin the bunch. When life hands me reformed hockey star Noah Beaumont, AGAIN, am I supposed to make cider or is there a sweeter surprise in store?

Willa: I never wanted to see Noah Beaumont again. EVER. When I kicked him off my set after he showed up intoxicated, his PR team tried to blacklist me. I made it over that hurdle, made a name for myself, and I’m heading to Maple Falls to cover a charity ice hockey team that’s making headlines…only to find out I have to work with HIM.

But this Noah seems different. He’s reformed and seems to be determined to show me he’s changed. Can I trust him, or will he be the same disaster I remember?

Noah: I’ve spent years trying to make amends for my past mistakes, questioning if I still belong in the world of hockey or if it’s time to step back, be ‘normal’. But seeing Willa again brings everything into sharp focus. She’s the woman who’s haunted my thoughts since the day I met her.

Now, she’s here in Maple Falls, and I’m determined to prove I’m not the same man she remembers. I want her to see the real me, the man I’ve worked so hard to become. Can I convince her to give me a second chance?

Penalties and Proposals is part of the Love on Thin Ice sweet small town hockey romcom series. It’s a second chance enemies to lovers story with forced proximity in this small town romance with all the sizzle and chemistry, but none of the spice.

Content warning: This IS a lighthearted and fun romantic comedy, but there are subjects mentioned in this book like parents passing away and former substance abuse.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

“Is this the only table you have available?”

My eyes cannot be deceiving me. I’m standing in a restaurant with no one else in it, save another couple at the opposite end of the room. Surely the only table they have for me to sit at is not the one that happens to be directly beside Noah? Not to mention the fact the place is small enough I’d practically be sitting at his table anyway, the tables are that close to one another.

The young girl looks at me woefully. “I’m really sorry, but we’re full with reservations tonight.” Her tone is apologetic, and she’s young, so I’m not going to debate the situation … but still. The odds. I flex my hands, stretch my fingers, and take a deep breath, trying to fight back my irritation when I see a sliver of my tattoo under my sleeve.

Believe. Ha. I almost snort out loud. How about I believe I’m Harry Potter and I cast a quick spell to time travel to another restaurant in another town altogether?

“What about the bar?” I nod my head toward the old wooden bar where an older woman is busy making drinks and watching me through narrowed eyes. “Looks like there’s space there.”

“Our bartender isn’t on duty for another hour.” When I shoot her a questioning look, obviously confused by the woman pouring herself a soda from the beverage gun, the young girl stammers. “I’ve been asked to not have anyone sit there until his shift begins.”

So this fact leaves me to be seated by the blight that plagues me. Yes, I’m being ridiculously overdramatic, but the thought of chewing my dinner and having to stare at Noah, or work hard to look anywhere in this room besides at Noah, turns me off in the biggest way. Like a light switch after a big night out. I didn’t go to that party tonight because I wanted some time alone, time to myself to plan out the schedule I need to juggle in the days ahead.

“Fine,” I say with a sigh, pulling out my notebook and phone. When I look Noah’s way, he’s watching me, his expression frozen. I can’t read him, but he could be as weirded out that I’m about to be seated beside him as I am. I’ll save us both the trouble. I pick the chair where my back will be facing him and pull it out and settle in.

The hostess hands me the menu and asks for a drink order before she disappears from sight. I make a mental note to apologize to her. Poor thing. It’s not her fault she’s seated me next to the devil.

“Hi, Willa.” Of course his voice is like hot chocolate. The devil’s would be velvety and delicious. My instincts tell me to ignore him, but I’m here to work. I can hear my mom’s voice in the back of my mind telling me to play nice.

I pick up the menu and fake peruse it. Fake because of course I can’t think about anything else right now except that he’s right there.

“Hello, Noah. Fancy running into you at dinner.”

“A man’s gotta eat,” he responds.

“No doubt, but when I heard about the party happening in town tonight, I figured you’d be the first one signed up to be there.” I flip a page of the menu a little more aggressively than intended and manage to rip it a tiny bit. Must. Breathe.

“Contrary to past reports, I’m not the guy who goes to all the parties any longer.”

I want to turn around and face him, see the look on his face, but the stubborn part of me refuses. He’s the one who is engaging me; I can only imagine that eventually my lack of wanting to chat will catch on and he’ll focus on something else.

“So, you’re telling me a leopard can change his spots. That’s nice,” I manage to say, doubt dripping with each word. Holding my menu up in the air for him to see. “But, the jury’s still out as far as I’m concerned. If you’ll excuse me, I need to decide on my meal.”

There’s a pause before he answers. “Of course, sorry. I’ll leave you to it.”

A weight slides off my shoulders. Was it really that easy? I decide it has to be and go about choosing my meal, landing on the lasagna, then turning my attention to my notebook. This was to be a planning session for Noah’s photos amongst other work, and I intend to stay focused, even if he is right behind me and I can hear him breathing.

Author Bio:

Anne Kemp is a bestselling author of romantic comedies. She loves reading (and she does it ridiculously fast, too!), gluten-free baking (because everyone needs a hobby that makes them crazy), and finding time to binge-watch her favorite shows. She grew up in Maryland but made Los Angeles her home until she encountered her own real-life meet-cute at a friend's wedding where she ended up married to one of the groomsmen. For real.

Anne now lives on the Kapiti Coast in New Zealand, and even though she was married at Mt. Doom, no…she doesn’t have a Hobbit. However, she and her husband do have a terrier named George Clooney and when she’s not writing, she’s usually with them taking a long walk on the river by their home.

You can find Anne on her website - come say hi! She’d love to hear from you: www.annekemp.com

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / TikTok

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Book Blitz of #HotAndHandy by Lynne Hancock Pearson (#contest- win a $40 Amazon Gift Card)

#HotAndHandy
Lynne Hancock Pearson
Publication date: October 15th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Everyone in town loves the handsome handyman.
Everyone except his new neighbor.

Out of jail and desperate for work, Vincent scrapes by with odd jobs. He’s hired to help the gray-haired lady move in next door but stumbles when he finds nothing old or feeble about Hilary.

Rejected by her husband after her body rejected implants, the breast cancer survivor shuts out Vincent until a kitchen appliance crisis forces her to accept his help. Convinced that he could do better, she keeps the younger man at a distance, but he persists, building her confidence and coaxing her out of her colorless cocoon.

With the hot handyman by her side and in her bed, Hilary develops a community program bringing at-risk youth into the building trades. But not everyone wants to see the ex-con succeed. An old foe is determined to derail Vincent, and Hilary is caught in the chaos.

She’s ready to retreat. Ready to leave everything behind—including Vincent.
Can he convince her to stay?

#HotAndHandy is a small-town, reverse age-gap romance between two people starting over after being kicked to the curb by life and love.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

It was Friday, and Vincent hadn’t seen Hilary all week, even though they shared the same address. They’d texted, though, and agreed to happy hour on her deck, with him bringing the drinks and her providing the food. Taking the stairs two at a time, he smiled at his own eagerness. Last week was great. Her enthusiasm for setting up the training program was contagious. Tonight, they would work on a proposal to present to Iris and Ali, to get KBS on board. And hopefully, they’d do some more kissing. He stopped himself from thinking beyond that. After all Hilary had been through, he did not want to rush her. His cock argued otherwise; thus Vincent started and ended each day with a cold shower.

He shifted the six-pack of beer and bottle of wine in his arms to rap on the door. No one answered. Glancing over to the driveway, he confirmed Hilary’s car and bicycle were both there. Through the windows of the French doors, he saw her purse and car keys sitting on the counter so he tried the doorknob. Unlocked, he pushed the door open and called, “Hey, you okay?”

“Not really. Can you come back here?”

Dropping the booze on the table, he hustled to the bedroom, expecting more blood. The room was empty. “Hilary?”

Her voice came from the en suite bathroom. “In here.”

He peeked in to find her rooted to the floor, arms crossed over her chest, facing away from the door. Seeking her reflection in the mirror, he caught the disgusted look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“There was a huge-ass spider. It startled me, and I dropped my glass, which shattered on the floor. I can’t move because I’m afraid I’ll cut myself.”

“I’m thinking you should give up day drinking,” he said, taking in the broken glass and Hilary’s bare feet.

“It was a glass of water.”

“Maybe buy plastic stuff. You and glass don’t seem to get along.” He grinned at her growl of annoyance.

From his examination of the floor, his eyes moved upward and widened. She wore bright pink panties and a matching camisole. Nothing else. He swallowed. With clothes, she was hot. Without, she was dynamite. Long firm legs, tight rounded ass, flat belly, and toned arms. She may not have tits, but Hilary was sexy as hell.

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to help me?” Bright red dots sat high on her cheekbones.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, umm…give me a second.” He pulled off his T-shirt and placed it on the floor at the base of Hilary’s bed. Then he leaned into the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel from the rack. “I’m going to wipe down the backs of your legs in case there are any pieces of glass on them.” Glass crunched beneath him, and he was thankful to be wearing shoes. He crouched, and carefully ran the towel down the backs of her thighs and calves. She tightened at his touch, and he heard a sharp intake of breath. He spoke gently as he would to a wild animal, “Your legs look fine. I’m going to pick you up and put you on the end of the bed. We’ll do the fronts of your legs, and then your feet.” He glanced up to catch her nod, then tossed the towel over his shoulder as he rose to stand next to her. A pulse beat rapidly in the hollow of her throat. He grinned at her reflection. “I promise not to drop you.” With one arm behind her knees and one arm around her shoulders, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. He placed her down so her feet were above his T-shirt on the floor, and knelt in front of her. Her slim foot was silky smooth, and he concentrated on looking at the skin of her legs and feet, trying not to inhale the provocative scent emanating from the juncture of her thighs. “I didn’t know you were afraid of spiders.”

She huffed and crossed her arms again. “I’m not afraid. It startled me. Did I not mention it was a huge-ass spider? It had to be the size of a dinner plate.”

“Really?” He sat back on his heels, trying not to smile. “And what happened to it?”

“I don’t know.” She waved an arm in dismissal. “It probably scuttled back down the drain, laughing at me. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me scream.”

He picked up his T-shirt and wrapped the towel in it, chuckling as he stood. “I didn’t see any glass, but I’m going to shake these out over the garbage can and put them on the washing machine. Then I’ll grab the vacuum cleaner. Don’t move until I get back. There might be bits of glass in the carpet by the door.” Looking up, he caught her gaze on his chest and abs…and lower. He slowly straightened, not bothering to conceal the proof of his arousal.

The red spots were back in her cheeks. “Fine. I’ll be here.”

Author Bio:

Lynne Hancock Pearson writes fun, flirty, feel-good fiction that simmers at low heat. Set in the Pacific Northwest, they are stories of people finding their way, even if it takes a while to get there.

She lives near Seattle with two and a half finicky felines and one long-suffering husband. She is a left-handed middle child who grew up in the Great White North and is a proud member of the Métis Nation of Canada.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram

 

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Guest Post by Kim Hess Author of The Sorta Good Wife: A Devotional of Proverbs 31:10-31(#Contest, Enter to win $25 Starbucks Gift Card)

 I want to welcome Kim Hess to Books R US. Kim is the author of The Sorta Good Wife. Kim is surfing the Blogosphere with I Read Book Tours. The author has written a guest post for my blog. Thanks for stopping by. Do not forget to enter the contest below.

 

 

Book Details:
Book Title: The Sorta Good Wife: A Devotional of Proverbs 31:10-31 by Kim Hess
Category:  Adult Non-Fiction (18+),  138 pages
Genre: Devotional, Christian Marriage, prayer
Publisher:  Blessings Press LLC
Release date:  July2024
Content Rating:  G: This is a Christian devotional.

 

Book Description:

With so many distortions of the essence of a woman, today more than ever, women need to ruthlessly examine their perceptions and reality of being a wife, and then align them with Truth so that they may become the best version of themselves as God had intended them to be.

In The “Sorta” Good Wife, Kim Hess explores how A Good Wife, as described in Proverbs 31:10-31, beautifully portrays the dignity of being a spouse as a wife. However, this expectation gets warped by trauma, sin, fears, and lies, and many women do not know how to embrace and enjoy this vocation. A woman must align herself to Truth and rely on His power, not her own. The Lord desires to be a part of every aspect of daily life and every season of her life, so that she may reach her full potential.

Buy the Book:
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GUEST POST:

Who Prayed for Me?

By Kim Hess

I have a list of people of whom I pray for. The people on my list fluctuate as their intentions are asked and answered, but a few have remained on my list over the years for which I pray very specific prayers.

One specific person has remained on my list the past couple of years. She’s a teen, experiencing a very similar childhood as I had. Her father is battling brain cancer. He suffered from seizures, forced to change his employment status, considered extreme treatment options, and had to adjust to a new lifestyle. She has had to live through these changes as an adolescent.

I remember those traumatic years. It’s not easy to endure, especially as a teen.

Every so often, her name pops into my mind during the day, and I pray for her, her father, her mother, and her brothers. Sometimes, I text her mom with a quick prayer. The mom usually replies quickly, surprised with the timing of my prayer, which often coincides with a difficult situation in their lives. (Thanks, Holy Spirit!)

As I prayed one morning for this young lady, a thought popped into my mind: Who prayed for me during my childhood? Did the Holy Spirit prompt that person to pray for me during the day? What did that person pray for me?

I wish I could thank that person in person, because I firmly believe those prayers contributed to me returning to the Lord. I no longer hate God, like I did when I was a teenager. I want to tell that person that I appreciate the intercessory prayers, and I wonder whether specific prayers preceded blessings or breakthroughs. I hope that person knows that I praise God for him or her, because I believe that person was crucial to my spiritual life in ways that I perceive, but not fully understand.

Perhaps I will get to thank that person in Heaven.

Meet the Author:

 

Kim Hess is a quirky, inquisitive, and compassionate child of God. She rocks being a homeschool mom and teacher, but freely admits to learning more from her students than teaching them. Kim has raced enduro karts, soared on a flying trapeze, and passed the motorcycle license class, but now prefers to take adrenaline-free walks with her husband. Her favorite pastime is being a prayer minister who relentlessly asks, “Do you want prayer?” Connect with her at KimHessBooks.com

connect with the author:  website ~ facebook ~ instagram ~ goodreads

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SORTA GOOD WIFE Book Tour Giveaway

 

 

 

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Cover Reveal of The Book Grieving Graves by M.H.B (#Romance, #CONTEST- Enter to win A Ecopy of the Book)

Grieving Graves
M.H.B.
Publication date: October 17th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

One grave.
Two futures.
Almost three years of grief.
Four beating hearts healing from pain.
Five lives forever tied.

I never thought this would be my life.

And falling for my boss, Damon Dreygon, was never part of the plan.

I was meant to seek from him what my boyfriend, Harvey Stark, refused to give me—someone to kiss me, someone to touch me and maybe even someone to heal my wounds.

Instead in Damon, I found a mentor. I found an enigmatic dark prince. Most importantly, I found my voice coupled with my own strength.

This was never supposed to hurt Harvey.
Damon and I were never meant to be together.

With each choice, an entirely different future greets me, yet a few things remain the same: we’ve all known pain, we’re all in need of healing and we’ve all hurt each other in different ways.

All I wanted was for this melancholy to disappear so that I could find peace.

But peace is hard to reach when you’re too busy chasing secrets.

Secrets I wish would’ve stayed buried.
Secrets that meddle with my dreams.
Secrets I’ll be taking to the grave . . .

Goodreads / Amazon

Author Bio:

M . H . B . graduated law from a Canadian University. She loves spending time with her partner and her dog. She has a passion for animals and loves the simple things in life: chocolate, music, books, sunny days, and overall wellness. When she is not writing, her mind is in another world with a book in hand.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram

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BOOK BLAST OF THE BLUFF BY BONNIE TRAYMORE (#CONTEST- WIN A AMAZON GIFT CARD.)

 THE BLUFF

by Bonnie Traymore

October 15-18, 2024 Book Blast

Synopsis:

“What do you have to lose, Kate?” Ryan asked me, as we stood on the bluff looking out on Lake Michigan.

Turns out, almost everything.

When I first moved from Manhattan to this small town six years ago, I worried about many things. I worried about finding a job. I worried that I’d be bored. I worried that my relationship with charming photographer Ryan Breslow was moving too fast. But I never worried about whether the ground beneath my feet would crumble—both literally and figuratively.

My marriage didn’t go as I’d imagined. A year ago, Ryan met his untimely death in a car accident that’s still under investigation. Isolated and alone, all I wanted was to sell my home and leave Crest Lake and its painful memories behind.

But with my home inching ever closer to the edge of the crumbling bluff, the property has become unmarketable. All of us on the lakefront have lost chunks of property, and tempers are at a boiling point about what to do next.

And now, on the evening of a contentious vote about how to fix this pressing issue, my nemesis on the shoreline committee has been murdered. I know how it looks, but it’s not what it seems. But I have to get my plan passed and cash out.

Because I do have secrets.

And they won’t stay buried forever.

Praise for THE BLUFF:

"With a slow-burn intensity that explodes into a jaw-dropping finale, this psychological thriller is both bingeworthy and delicious. Traymore is a master of layered tension, and she left me guessing until the last page."
~ Noelle W. Ihli, #1 bestselling author of Gray After Dark

"With its high-stakes plot and complex characters, the novel is a masterclass in building tension and intrigue."
~ NetGalley

"Gripping and full of surprises, The Bluff is a clever psychological suspense with layered characters and an atmospheric setting. Traymore masterfully ratchets up the tension little-by-little until the shocking, explosive end."
~ Tracey Devlyn, USA Today bestselling author

"This was a slow burn psychological suspense that heated up to a twisty, thrilling finale. A domestic thriller with a timely topic in the background. Great setting. Highly recommended."
~ NetGalley

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Thriller, Psychological Thriller
Published by: Self/ Pathways Publishing imprint
Publication Date: September 1, 2024
Number of Pages: 277
PRINT ISBN: 979-8218417543
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

PROLOGUE

Doug Mitchell takes in the shoreline of Lake Michigan, letting his Sundancer drift around in the currents. The sight of his house high atop the bluff reminds him of what’s at stake. The vote is tonight, and it’s sure to be a doozy of an evening. There’s a cool wind whipping up what little sand remains on the shrinking beach, and he can see the bare patch of earth where the southern stairs collapsed two years ago. But he feels safe and warm on the deck with the soon-to-be-setting sun still overhead, beaming down on him.

It’s not the same shoreline it was decades ago, but then the world is an ever-changing place. He knows this, although he doesn’t let on about it to most people. Right now, his mind is drifting to another place, and he feels a delightful stirring. He pictures the curve of her back. Her slender, graceful neck. The look on her face when he makes her moan. He takes another sip of his cocktail, closes his eyes, and sinks into it.

After a few minutes, a different kind of feeling washes over him. He’s dizzy. And tired. Way too tired. He’s barely had one drink. He opens his eyes, and the world appears blurry. He feels clumsy. Almost immobile. Shaking his head, he tries to snap out of it, but everything’s…

Fuzzy.

Confused.

Off.

He came out here alone, he thought, although he didn’t check the cabin before leaving the dock. A figure is standing on the deck now, too far away from him to make out who it is. It’s someone, though, and even with his mind dulled, he knows this isn’t good.

Seized with panic, he struggles to pull himself out of the quagmire. Finding a last burst of strength, he attempts to spring up and go on the offensive, but his legs are like rubber. His body rocks forward a bit, accomplishing nothing.

He sinks back into oblivion as the figure approaches.

You?

ONE

Kate

I arrive five minutes late, breathless from my run in from the parking lot. The proceedings haven’t started yet. I rush in, whip off my scarf and coat, and take a seat.

Just in time.

The stage is set for a contentious evening. Tonight, the town council will vote on the pressing issue of the failing bluff. I head up the shoreline committee, and I’ve been invited here this evening to present my plan, one of two the board will consider.

“Hi Kate,” the board member next to me says. “Glad you made it.”

She gives my shoulder a squeeze, confirming that I’ve got her vote.

“Of course,” I say. “Sorry I’m late.”

A tingling sensation creeps up my spine, and a feeling of dread squeezes my stomach like a vise. Perhaps it’s the weather. It’s early fall, but it may as well be the dead of winter. It’s bitter cold and gray, with intermittent downpours. The howling wind whipping off Lake Michigan has been keeping me up at night. It’s the same kind of weather we were having when my husband met his untimely death a year ago, which is likely stirring up some buried feelings. A widow at forty-one. Not the way I expected my life to go when I moved here six years ago.

“The meeting of the Crest Lake Township board of directors is now in session,” the president proclaims, banging his gavel with the countenance of a man desperate for power and relevance. Sam Bolger’s his name.

Sam takes role, and it’s lost on nobody that Doug Mitchell is absent. I fiddle with a strand of hair, twirling it between my fingers. It looks darker in this light, almost auburn. My eyes search the room, and hushed tones fill the silence as people whisper to each other.

Where the hell is Doug?

Are we really going to start without him?

I hope he’s okay.

His allies look concerned, naturally, but even his opponents seem troubled, although that could be an act. It would be unacceptable to show their glee, in the event they were feeling it. But I’m not feeling smug or excited or victorious. I’m feeling nervous. Doug is scheduled to present the opposing plan, and there’s no way he would miss this meeting.

Tempers have been flaring over the issue of what to do about the eroding bluff. The police had to be called during the last public hearing. And there have even been a few death threats, anonymous posts that most of us brushed off.

Silly, really. We’re all on the same team, trying to fight mother nature. Desperate to give ourselves the illusion of control. Struggling to keep our large, lakefront luxury homes from plummeting onto the shrinking shoreline that hugs the massive body of water eighty feet below the fragile bluff.

On some level, we all know that whatever we do will only be a stop-gap in the big picture of geological time, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s what’s making people so angry. Humanity’s stubborn insistence that we can bend the planet to our will. Because it’s obvious that we can’t, and perhaps it’s easier to blame each other than to face the realization that humans are at the mercy of forces we don’t really understand and can no longer control.

The president seems to be stalling, fumbling with his computer as he tries to pull up the agenda and project it onto the TV screen. The board member to my right shares a theory with me. Perhaps Doug’s pulling a stunt for dramatic effect, she whispers in my ear. Maybe the president’s in on it—he’s on Doug’s side—and Doug will come bursting in at the last minute, waving some new study in his hands. But after a few moments, it’s clear to everyone that’s not going to happen.

Sam tables the vote for the time being and moves on to other issues. The board gets to work. There are a handful of mundane items on the agenda aside from the one that matters to me. What to do about the shoreline. I wait patiently as the board members work through other business, waiting for Doug’s arrival. He’s a board member and I’m not, and I’m surprised that they didn’t ask me to sit outside.

I wonder what will happen if he doesn’t show. Will they postpone the vote, or will it go my way by default, with my proposal the only option? Item after item is addressed, and I can feel my pulse starting to race as they tick them off.

Parcel tax proposal.

New library budget.

Changes to the vacation rental rules.

My stomach is in knots. Because if the vote goes my way, it will be a Pyrrhic victory, inflicting massive economic consequences on my lake front neighbors. Doug’s plan to simply shore up the bluff at the toe, the spot where the waves hit and wear it down, is the simple one. The less expensive one. But it’s got the environmental groups up in arms. They’ve grown increasingly vocal over the last few years.

The environmentalists want to force the removal of all existing seawalls, like the one Doug Mitchell installed in front of his home, and ban all such structures. Let nature take its course. Force lakefront owners to move back their homes or demolish them if they are in danger of falling off the bluff. But none of them are on the shoreline committee, and none are on the board. And they’ll be upset whichever way it goes tonight.

My plan is a compromise of sorts. But if I win, there will be consequences. Expensive ones that will dramatically reduce some people’s property values and limit beach access for everyone. And lots of visceral anger, much of it directed at me, especially from my wealthy lakefront neighbors who will absorb most of the cost. Several million dollars, split between ten of us. Sweat beads form at my temples as the minutes tick along to the rhythm of the cheap wall clock mounted above my seat.

Why do they keep it so hot in here?

The council meets at the town center, a small, institutional structure that used to serve as a middle school. The chairs are small and uncomfortable. I sit up and twist from side to side, trying to stop my lower back from cramping up. After an hour or so, there’s nothing left on the agenda but the bluff, and I’m wondering if they’ll postpone my presentation and the vote.

A knock at the door startles us.

Police, a voice calls out.

The door opens, and a young officer enters tentatively, crouching his way into the room. It’s a tight community, and he’s likely a bit intimidated. We’re a powerful bunch. If he ran into one of us around town, I imagine he’d be deferential. But this isn’t a coffee shop or a grocery store, and this isn’t a social call.

After a moment, he straightens up, and his face registers the requisite look of authority. “Doug Michell’s been reported missing,” he says. “He went out on his boat earlier today and never returned. The Coast Guard is conducting a search.”

My stomach sinks, and gasps echo around the room. We all sit with the shocking news for a few moments as the officer bites his lower lip.

He continues. “We’re going to need to interview all of you. Detective Whittaker is on his way. Please stay seated and be patient.”

And with that, the vote is delayed.

***

Travis Whittaker leans back in his chair, eyeing me. I can see tension lines in the detective’s forehead. He seems to have aged since I last saw him, although his thick, dark head of hair reveals few strands of gray. It’s his eyes. They look heavy and full, like the weight of the world sits behind them.

He’s been working his way through the group, and I’m second-to-last. It would have been better to get it over with. Waiting around only increased the tension. Nobody really knew what to say to each other, so there was nothing but awkward silence filling the space between us as we stood in the hallway waiting for our turns to go in and be interviewed.

“So, Ms. Breslow. You arrived five minutes late,” he says.

“I just said that,” I reply, immediately regretting my sharp tone.

The detective’s nostrils flare, ever so slightly. He’s an attractive man for his age—early fifties or so—with a neatly trimmed beard and dark, haunting eyes. Right now, though, he looks menacing.

“Yes. I was about five minutes late,” I say, in a softer tone. My throat feels as if it’s about to close.

He narrows his eyes on me and I look away. I catch myself absent-mindedly stroking my neck and stop myself, placing my hands on the table top.

This feels all too familiar.

“And why were you late?”

“The rain,” I offer. “It got heavy when I was driving down Lakeside.” I tap my fingers on the table top as I search for something to add. “I had to drive more slowly.”

He nods and jots something down on his notepad. Almost everyone at the meeting had to drive down that road in the rain. It’s not a very good excuse, but it’s all I can give him.

“Did Doug Mitchell give you any indication that he was planning to miss the meeting tonight?” he asks.

“No, not at all,” I say. “We were all shocked when he didn’t show up tonight.”

“Have you heard from him today?” he asks.

I shake my head no.

“When’s the last time you had any contact with him?” he asks.

I look off to the side, struggling to keep myself focused and calm. I turn back to him. “In person?” I ask.

“In general,” Whittaker replies.

“We’ve been on the same email and text chain over the last week or so. Exchanging information, in anticipation of the vote.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I swallow. He’s already seen our text stream, I assume. “Yesterday. Around seven in the evening.”

“Was that an email or a text?”

“It was a text.”

“And what did it say?”

I pull up my phone, hold it in my palm, and let him read the exchange. His eyes rest on my last line to Doug Mitchell.

If you do that, I’ll bury you.

It would have been less stressful for me if Whittaker’s face had registered some kind of surprise. Instead, he closes his notepad and puts his pen down. I struggle to keep a neutral look on my face. Then he informs me that I can leave and asks me to send in the next board member.

I start for the door but then turn back to him. “In paperwork,” I offer. “I meant I’d bury him in paperwork.” Then I turn away again and continue to the door.

“Don’t leave town,” he calls out. “We’re sure to have more questions as the investigation develops.”

I nod and keep walking.

***

As my car winds up the dark, curvy road to my lakefront home, I struggle to steady my shaking hands. This night already had me on edge, and I can feel my pulse racing as I reach the bend in the road, near the top. The part where the drop-off is the steepest. They replaced the guardrail with another one that looks exactly the same.

What was the point of that?

Sometimes I can ignore it and drive right past. On sunny days, when the sky is bright and the birds chirp and all is well in the universe. It looks so different in the daylight. But tonight is foggy and foreboding, and I drive slowly. So slowly, I’d probably get a ticket if an officer was behind me. I don’t look to my right though, because then I have to picture it, and imagine the look of terror on his face as he plunged through the rail and over the side.

What was he thinking?

Or was he not thinking at all?

Did he scream?

Or was there no time?

A chill runs up my spine as I turn carefully around the bend and breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes, I get a sensation that he’s in the car with me, and I can almost feel his breath on my neck. And now Doug’s missing, and I have no idea what to do next or what this means for me and my shoreline plan. All I know is I have to sell my house get out of this town, before I lose my mind.

Or worse.

***

Excerpt from The Bluff by Bonnie Traymore. Copyright 2024 by Bonnie Traymore. Reproduced with permission from Bonnie Traymore. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Bonnie Traymore is the Amazon International Bestselling author of six domestic/psychological thrillers. Her "popcorn thrillers" feature strong but relatable female protagonists who peel back the layers of suburban American life and give readers a peek inside. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time. She's an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.

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Book Blitz of Ice Ice Maybe by Rich Amooi (#contest- Win An Amazon Gift Card)

Ice Ice Maybe
Rich Amooi
Publication date: September 24th 2024
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

 

“I want you to date my daughter.”

Those seven words hit Nolan Reid like a puck to the head.

Once destined for NHL stardom, a skiing accident left Nolan driving the Zamboni for the San Diego Sea Lions. But his humble life of maintaining the ice is about to get complicated.

The billionaire owner’s insane plan? Nolan fake-dates his daughter Zena to ignite her ex’s jealousy. The twist? Said ex is the team’s star player, and his green-eyed monster apparently fuels goals.

Suddenly, Nolan’s navigating a minefield of pretend kisses, all-too-real feelings, and death glares from a human sequoia oozing enough testosterone to give him secondhand chest hair.

With sparks flying, the playoffs looming, and her ex itching to use him as a toothpick, Nolan is playing a high-stakes game of Jealousy Jenga that could crumble any moment.

But for a shot at love with Zena? He might just risk it all.

Ice Ice Maybe is closed door, fake-dating, opposites attract, forced proximity, hockey romance with humor, heart, and loads of romantic comedy fun. No third-act breakup.

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Author Bio:

Rich Amooi is a Taleflick Discovery Winner, Readers' Favorite Gold Medal Recipient, Holt Medallion Finalist, and the bestselling author of 24 romantic comedies. A former radio personality and wedding DJ, Rich now writes romantic comedies full-time in San Diego, California, and is happily married to a Spanish Princess. He believes in silliness, infinite possibilities, donuts, gratitude, laughter, and happily ever after.

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Book Blitz of Barristers and Bones by J.L. Brannick (#contest- Win an Amazon Gift Card.)

Barristers & Bones

 J. L. Brannick
(Las Vegas House of Spades, #1)
Publication date: October 15th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Dark Comedy, Dark Romance, Romantic Suspense

A hot, morally gray mentor out for revenge. A sprawling funeral home. Torture, mayhem, and a Las Vegas wedding she can’t remember.

Luna needs to complete an internship to graduate, but staying alive suddenly takes priority when she’s paired with the cold, starkly handsome attorney from hell. Roman Fowler is an infamous partner at the most notorious law firm in Las Vegas, and he’s harboring deadly secrets and searching for retribution. And when he forces her hand, their chemistry explodes.

But she’s not a helpless, scared child anymore. The House of Spades–her adopted family–is a powerful, violent, oddly close-knit clan that has a hands-on, DIY approach to taking care of “life’s little problems.” They’re still deciding if Roman is a problem when Luna’s dark past threatens.

Can they fight the danger and menace together? Or will the monsters win again?

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EXCERPT:

He smirked and walked over, wrapping his arms around me. “Why do I feel there’s no right answer here?”

My lips quirked. “Because you’re smart, but you never listen.”
He bent down and sniffed my neck. “I do listen to you, especially when you’re

making those sexy little whimpers while I’m–”
I put my hand over his mouth. “If you start with the dirty talk, we’ll never make it

to Ezra’s house for dinner.”

Author Bio:

J. L. Brannick lives in the desert with her family and fur babies. She works as an attorney, and detoxes by taking long hikes and exploring old Western ghost towns while plotting her novels. She graduated from law school in Las Vegas, Nevada where she quickly realized that truth can be stranger than fiction.

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