UPDATE: The winner is…Colleen C!
*~*~*

My love of historical fiction springs from the nexus of where imagination meets fact. Through her time-telescope book, Jubilee, poet author Margaret Walker hurls me back in time to the American Civil War as experienced by a slave family based on the life of her great-grandmother. James Michener does the same on the multicultural history of Colorado in Centennial. My erotic historicals don’t come anywhere near the scope of these sagas, yet in “The Patience of Unanswered Prayer” imagination meets fact as it does in Walker’s and Michener’s work.

As he brings my heroine Eleanor Taylor to safety, my hero Franklin Adams muses on family life that could have been his but for slavery. I created this life for him, i.e., the backstory of his ancestors in Africa from my research. The image above is from the New York Public Library’s Schomburg digital collection. It shows an African man feeding cattle. Michael Grauer, the McCasland Chair of Cowboy Culture and Curator of Cowboy Collections and Western Art at the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum, in Oklahoma City is quoted as saying “cowboy traditions originated in Africa, where cattle herders would rope cattle on foot, and the likes of the Maasai people drove them toward better lands for grazing.”

My research for this story also found that while Blacks enjoyed more respect and freedom driving cattle in the West, they rarely rose to trail boss or foreman. Yet reading about Bose Ikard, one of the most famous Black Texas frontiersmen and trail drivers, I learned this former slave, who worked on several of the Goodnight-Loving cattle drives, was so trustworthy Charles Goodnight often put him in charge of the cash collected at the end of the trail. Thus, I created Franklin, also a former slave, with an ancestral knowledge of the best way to handle cattle and equally trusted like Ikard. My imagination met these two facts and created one of those rare exceptions: a Black trail boss.

Other famous Black Westerners could have been models for Franklin as well. One was former slave Nat Love, also known as Deadwood Dick, who worked for large cattle spreads in Texas and Arizona. He recounts his life in his autobiography, The Life and Adventures of Nat Love. Another could have been Bill Pickett who is credited with creating bulldogging. While these facts did not meet imagination in my present story, I can easily see how they might in future ones.

So for a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, share in the comments some interesting piece of history that may have sparked your imagination.

“The Patience of Unanswered Prayer”
in Cowboys: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology

A feisty businesswoman about to become the next victim of Post-Civil War revenge receives rescue from an unexpected source

Excerpt from “The Patience of Unanswered Prayer”…

She prayed Flyte would ungag her quickly, prayed her gut was right that he wasn’t party to whatever Radcliffe had planned.

Flyte pulled down the gag.

“He’s going to kill me,” she rasped, her mouth free of the loathsome muzzle. “You have to stop him.”

“Kill you?” Flyte blenched. “He’s done this for your safety.”

“Taking me the long way round to Darlington City in the dead of night is for my safety?”

“A mob was waiting to lynch you.”

“You know that’s not true. Radcliffe trumped up these charges against me to put me at his mercy.”

“Gordon Daniels brought the charges against you.”

“At Radcliffe’s urging. Daniels is ex-Confederate and can’t cotton any Black—man or woman—doing better than Whites.”

“Why would the sheriff do that? He’s an ex-Yankee who hates confederates like Daniels.”

“Radcliffe hates me more. He wants revenge on me for rebuffing his attentions.”

“I can’t believe—” Flyte paused, then looked thoughtful. A frown filled his face. “Yet…”

His hesitation gave her hope. Her gut tensed, and her heart beat until her chest hurt.

“You know full well taking me from jail is either foolishness or mischief.”

The cock of a gun hammer turned them both in the same direction.

*~*~*

Buy link: Amazon – https://amzn.to/3iwUhkN
Michal Scott Amazon Author Page – https://amzn.to/2TSHzRn
Website: www.michalscott.webs.com

If you could have more than one hot boyfriend, why wouldn’t you?

This is a question Emilia finds herself confronting by the end of Rook’s Palace, but before that, she’s already had to go through a lot. Her adventure starts out with a house-sitting gig. The house is more of a fake castle, so that is weird, but she can roll with that. But then, a video game turns on by itself, and Emilia gets sucked into the game.

She knows there is a way to finish the virtual reality adventure: free a vampire prince from his tower prison. She also knows that to get there, she will have to, erm, lose some of the scant lace clothing the game provides her with. As Emilia advances in the game, she begins to understand that it is not really a game at all, but a prison designed to look like a magical palace.

The five monsters Emilia meets don’t just get under her very short skirt but also under her skin, and Emilia decides that she will free them all. It is easier said than done, because the creator of the game doesn’t want his prisoners to escape.

Rook’s Palace has plenty of action: the running kind, and the gasping and moaning kind. And of course, you won’t have to pick a favorite love interest—you get to have all the five monsters on offer.

Rook’s Palace (Her Five Monsters 1)

Release Date: Nov 12, 2021

Drawn into a video game, Emilia falls for five sexy monsters and wonders if the game is real after all.

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3FUGn5P
Kobo: https://bit.ly/3vmvHI2
Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/3aPPw0Y
Apple: https://apple.co/3G0cEZa
Changeling: https://bit.ly/3bv88nj

Emilia is excited to start a house-sitting job, even if the house is creepy and more than a little on the odd side — as odd as the owner’s requests. When she finds an unusual gaming console, she is drawn into a lusty video game in which she crosses paths with five inhuman creatures. She is drawn to them all, but when the five men keep telling her that the game is very much not what it seems, Emilia realizes she can no longer play along.

As the path she follows offers not just desire and intense experiences but also sadness, cruelty, and hurt around every bend, Emilia’s resolve firms: she will free the five men, who tell her they are already a family, already lovers. Whatever she has grown to feel for them, she cannot let them suffer if saving them is within her power.

With the rules of a game she doesn’t understand forcing her to play along, Emilia must find a way to get to the end of the game and get everyone out — whatever the cost. The freedom of her five monsters depends on her.

Excerpt from Rook’s Place…

Copyright ©2021 Alexa Piper

Another flash of silver washed over Emilia just as she was about to follow a hallway that curved to the left. The lightning dyed the way straight ahead in gray, and at the end of it, she saw a door. The door was closed, unlike all the other doors on the first floor, so Emilia decided to try it. After all, if Blakely wants the shutters of his game room closed, it makes sense he’d keep the door closed as well, she thought.

A few steps in and with her arms out in front of her, Emilia touched the door and felt for the knob. She turned. The door opened, its hinges soundless. The room she saw beyond was the game room indeed. Emilia searched for a light switch instinctively, even though light fell in through the windows, some of which had their shutters shifted open by the wind. Emilia could make out a billiard table, a card table, shelves with games, and a large television set. She stopped looking for a light switch when she saw that, because the TV gleamed faintly.

“What the…” Emilia walked toward the large screen. She was pretty sure that no one else was here besides her. “Mr. Blakely?” she said. Maybe he’d cancelled her services after all, although she would have expected him to send her an email at least. “Hello?” she said, louder.

Emilia looked around, and finally spotted the light panel, higher up than she’d tried. She hit the switch, and the light that filled the room left no shadows for anyone to hide within them. The TV, though, was definitely on.

“Maybe the thunderstorm got you to work?” Emilia said and walked toward it. As she did, she noticed blinking lights from the shelf underneath it. There were several gaming consoles there, new ones she was familiar with. But those weren’t the ones that blinked at her, no.

The console that had caught Emilia’s attention was an oval design, smooth silver. She touched the casing, and found that it was warm, polished metal rather than plastic, with a smaller oval display set in the middle. As soon as her fingers brushed against the console, the display lit up with words.

“Play me? Huh,” Emilia said. “You’re strange. How do I play you?” she asked. There was no controller anywhere that she could see. The other wireless ones were neatly lined up beneath their respective console, but this oddity…

The screen brightened, and the words play me blinked at Emilia.

“Right. I want to.” She turned to look around. On the table behind her, on the chairs, there was no controller in sight either, nor did her search reveal one behind the cushions. Shrugging, Emilia hit the screen on the console. She felt the slight give of a button. “Ah.”

The television set flickered to life, and a suitably eerie voice echoed to Emilia from hidden speakers.

“Welcome to the Rook’s Palace,” said a male narrator. On the screen, the camera was following a path through a thicket of trees. It wound toward a castle that rose like a waking dragon in the distance.

“Wow, this looks super HD,” Emilia said. She pulled one of the floor cushions stacked to the right of the TV toward her and sat down cross-legged.

“Brave traveler, you have chosen to walk the paths to the palace, but beware,” said the narrator. “These paths are full of the pleasures of the flesh, and none that walk them may escape the lust and desire of those who call the palace their home.

“Traveler, should you choose to continue, there is a mission you must carry out.” The screen washed out, the scene shifting from the outdoors to a room. It could have been a room right here in Blakely’s castle. As the camera did a slow turn, Emilia gasped a little as a tall, dark-haired figure came into view. At that exact moment, the man turned and looked at the camera, almost as if he’d heard Emilia’s gasp. His dark hair ran down his back, and he wore what was probably supposed to be some sort of stylized Victorian garb. The pants were tight enough to show off muscular legs, and the pressed white shirt with the silver buttons — half of which were undone — showed a broad chest and a narrow waist. The man, whose hair trailed down to the small of his back and half hid his face, looked straight at the camera. His eyes were the color of amethyst, and a wild emotion stirred in their depth for a second before the man shut it down.

“Lord Radovan, the vampire prince, has been hidden away in the palace’s highest tower. Traveler, if you dare, it is your mission to free Lord Radovan from his captivity.”

Emilia wanted to look at this strange vampire prince more. The video quality was good, uncannily so, everything looked real. It was almost like all she had to do was reach out her hand, and she’d be able to touch the amethyst-eyed vampire prince.

Emilia lifted her right hand, but before she could actually try reaching for the vampire, the camera moved. It went for a window and flew straight out, down toward a hedge maze.

“The palace grounds are full of riddles and challenges. Those who guard the path and the palace will not be assuaged by anything less than taking pleasure in your body, Traveler,” the narrator said. “They will demand you give yourself to them, and if they have no mouth or know not how to use it, they will take pleasure on you regardless, split you open and fill you with their need.”

Emilia felt like she should be taking notes for her chat room work. This was good enough to make warmth run down her spine, to make her shift a little on her floor cushion.

“Traveler, if you wish to proceed to the Rook’s Palace, you must consent now to have your body used. On the path to the Palace, your body will be your token. If you dare not, you may turn back, though you will never know what pleasures hide behind these walls. If you consent, your pleasure will end only once Lord Radovan is set free from his tower.”

The maze opened up to the path again, and the camera rushed back to the spot it had first been in, the one with trees to either side of it. Words wrote themselves across the screen.

“Traveler, do you consent?” it read. “Say yes, and proceed. Say no, and never return.”

Once more, Emilia looked for a controller. The button she’d pushed on the console had gone dark now. She looked back up at the screen…

About Alexa Piper

Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. Alexa loves writing stories that make her readers laugh and fall in love with the characters in them.

Connect with Alexa: https://linktr.ee/AlexaPiper

Who doesn’t love to romanticize the past, especially when we’re reading historical romance?  We forgot about flushing toilets, dental floss, shampoo and conditioner, and food we can buy at a store.  Well, Edie Whitecrow, my heroine from Born for This, book one in the Maizemerized series, is no different.  She’s so obsessed with her Ojibway ancestors.  So obsessed that her major in university is Indigenous studies.  Edie’s mother hoped she’d outgrow the obsession, but the older Edie becomes, the more she needs to feed her obsession.

If anyone saw a corn maze where it shouldn’t be, I think we’d all stop to check it out—especially if there is a live scarecrow beckoning us to him.  Mandaamin is the Corn Spirit of the Ojibway people, a powerful being who sacrificed himself long ago so the People could live and feed from the maize he offered.  It is he who tells Edie to enter the maze and her biggest dream will come true.

I think we all know what Edie’s biggest dream is:  to go back in time and witness her ancestors in their true environment.

I, along with three other author friends, kicked around the idea of a scarecrow and a corn maze that coincided with the spookiest night of the year—Halloween.  This is the inspiration for my latest release.  Being Ojibway, myself, and exclusively writing romance about Canada’s First People, I knew I could come up with something special that complemented my author brand.  Thus, Born for This was…born.

Today, is release day.  Yay.  And you can purchase Born for This at eXtasy Books.  While you’re there, take advantage of the sale happening until November 30, 2021.  You can purchase my backlist (excludes new releases and book bundles) at 40% off.

Born for This – Maizemerized, Book One

She’s always been obsessed with her ancestors, and now he’s offering her a chance to live with them…forever.

Second-year university student Edie Whitecrow gobbles up each course on Indigenous studies.  If only she could experience the lives of her Anishinaabe ancestors instead of reading about them.  On her way to a Halloween party decked out as a historical Ojibway maiden, she spies a corn maze in a spot known to be barren.

A scarecrow figure beckons Edie to enter with the enticing offer of making her biggest wish come true.  She jumps at the chance and finds herself in the past, face to face with the man who haunts her dreams—the handsome brave Thunder Bear.  He claims he’s spent twelve years waiting for Gitche Manidoo to send her to him.

Life in the eighteenth century isn’t what Edie romanticized about, though.  When her conscience is tested, she must choose between the modern-day or the world of her descendants—where the man she was created for resides.

Excerpt from Born for This…

One headlight, probably from a motorcycle, appeared behind her. The weather was unusually warm for the end of October, but driving a bike at this time of the year was rather brave.

Edie adjusted her rearview mirror to block out the light, although the driver used his low beam. She also slowed to let him safely pass. Maybe he was a partygoer, making his way to the Halloween bash. Or he could’ve crossed the international bridge in Rainy River, an American coming from Baudette. Or he could be a Canadian approaching from the town of Fort Frances.

The engine of the bike didn’t possess the distinct sound of a Harley Davidson, nor did the sporting and athletic roar resemble the high squeal of the Asian-made racing machines. Whatever he drove was loud enough to cut into her music.

He was by her side. She stole a quick peek out the side window at a helmeted silhouette of black.

He also turned his head.

Déjà vu was a hidden being lurking in the backseat, its claws settling on Edie’s shoulders. For a moment, her heart stood still. The haunting dream since she was but a child unfurled through her brain—a strong hand possessing long fingers stretching to reach hers, and a man’s black, narrow eyes staring through the mist.

Edie swatted the air, shooing away the crazy thought. The guy on the motorcycle was simply passing her on the highway. But his continuous attention opened up a discomforting twitch at the back of her neck.

With a tilt of his helmet, he whizzed past her. The bike slid from the left lane and into the right. He was moving so fast that his taillight quickly vanished into the night. The man had better slow down. In the fall, deer tended to pop up out of nowhere.

Edie sank further in her seat and tapped her nail on the steering wheel. He couldn’t be a partygoer. From what she’d spied, there’d been no costume draping his masculine silhouette. Or maybe he was the man hidden in the mist, stretching his hand to hers, giving her a glimpse of his long nose, thin lips, and razor-cutting cheekbones.

Get real. If Mom snuck into your thoughts, for the bazillionth time, she’d tell you to get out of your imagination and quit thinking about the old days.

She bounced her left foot in beat to the song. Maybe Mom was right. Edie’s obsession with their ancestors must stop. Fat chance of that happening because her BA major was Indigenous Studies. Plus, what was wrong about wishing for a life amongst her relations from long ago?

The corner of her eye caught the moonlight shining down on a…corn maze.

*~*~*

Want to read more?  Go ahead and purchase a copy at eXtasy Books.

About the Author

An Ojibway from Northwestern Ontario, Maggie resides in the country with her husband and their fur babies, two beautiful Alaskan Malamutes.  When she’s not writing, she can be found pulling weeds in the flower beds, mowing the huge lawn, walking the Mals deep in the bush, teeing up a ball at the golf course, fishing in the boat for walleye, or sitting on the deck at her sister’s house, making more wonderful memories with the people she loves most.

Links:  Web Site | Facebook Page | Twitter | Goodreads | BookBub | Linked In | Amazon Author Page | eXtasy Books Author Page | Newsletter Sign-Up

For readers who are familiar with my work, you know I don’t shy away from harder topics. If you’re looking for a sweet, fluffy romance, you aren’t going to find it here. What you’ll get are alpha men who go after what they want, women who are stronger than they give themselves credit for, and some darker topics like child abuse, assault, human trafficking, and murder. Not necessarily all in the same book.

What types of heroes do I write most often? Bikers who might have a hard exterior, but when it comes to those they love, or women and children in need, they’re complete softies on the inside. In the case of Samurai, you’ll find out why he’s got such a hard exterior, and it’s a rather difficult topic to cover. This book does come with a reader advisory, and for good reason. Samurai suffered trauma in his past that has shaped who he is today. In the previous books, you’ve not received so much as a hint as to what’s driving Samurai, so be prepared for a curveball with this one!

Readers first met Samurai in the earlier Devil’s Boneyard MC books, when he was a prospect known as Jin. Now he’s all grown up and battling demons who seem to be getting the best of him. Until sweet Grey comes along and is far more understanding than he could have ever hoped for.

Samurai (Devil’s Boneyard MC)

 Author: Harley Wylde
Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Release Date: October 22, 2021
Genres/Themes: MC Romance, Romantic Suspense, Multicultural/Interracial

Grey — Desperate times call for desperate measures, otherwise, I’d have never signed a contract with Knox’s Pleasure Emporium. Selling myself for a few hours once is far better than my other option — letting my mother’s loan shark use me however he sees fit in order to recoup his money. I can’t even be angry with my mom since she’s no longer with us. She did what she’d thought was best at the time, but now I’m paying the price.

I didn’t count on a biker changing my life forever. Not only did we have a slight miscommunication that ended up leaving me with an eighteen-year commitment, but he’s my only hope of escaping my son’s father. Why do I keep getting tangled up with bad boys? It never ends well for me.

Samurai — I can admit my past has left me screwed up. I’d never thought I’d pay to be with a woman, but not just anyone can handle my needs. The little goddess I purchased isn’t anything like I expected. The way she gives into me so sweetly, and comes apart in my arms, makes it damn hard to forget her when our time is over. I didn’t realize I’d be seeing her again, under less than favorable circumstances.

She needs my protection. What do I do? Act like a bastard and call her names. Not my finest moment. Now I need to fix things before my cousin, Phantom, decides to step in and claim her for himself. I might have some issues to work through, but Grey is mine, and no one is taking her from me. Not Phantom, and not the man threatening Grey and Ryo. Because once I’m in, I’m all in.

WARNING: There are scenes with bad language, adult situations, violence, and talk of abuse that may bother some readers. No cheating. No cliffhanger. And a guaranteed happily-ever-after. Samurai is part of the Devil’s Boneyard MC series. While the series may best be enjoyed in order, each book can be read as a stand-alone.

Get it here 👇
Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2ZyYIEA
Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/3FihQqN
Amazon AU: https://amzn.to/3uQ8IF5
Amazon CA: https://amzn.to/3DcA9Mi
Apple Books: https://apple.co/2XXtFl6
B&N Nook: https://bit.ly/3zPcUps
Kobo: https://bit.ly/3uoISHX

☠ TRIGGER WARNING ☠

WHAT REVIEWERS ARE SAYING…

“Wow….I’m not sure I will be able to find the words to give this one justice… I can’t even express how much I love this story!” – Shelby, Goodreads

“This story will take you on a journey that will break you apart and then put you back together in a way that you don’t expect. Samurai and Grey embarked on a raw and emotional ride that started some healing that both of them deserved. This is a powerful, strong, meaningful and heartfelt story. I enjoyed every single second of this book.” – Drea, BookBub

“Another brilliant read from Harley Wylde. Samurai and Grey’s book is on point. I highly recommend this. You have to binge and read all her books. I have not come across a bad one.” – Alice, Goodreads

“Samurai took me completely by surprise, I couldn’t be happier that he did! These two are just perfect for each other, I fell in love with them both. All the stars for Grey and Samurai” – Leslee, Goodreads

“I absolutely loved Samurai and Grey. Their story was so emotional.” – Tanya, BookBub

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Harley Wylde

I didn’t want to be here. I had a feeling this would end badly, but I didn’t know what else to do. Ryo clutched my hand and I shifted from one foot to the other while the guy behind the gate looked me over. His gaze landed on Ryo and his eyes slightly widened as he took a step back.

“You said Samurai?” he asked. “Not Phantom?”

I didn’t know who Phantom was, or why this man would think I didn’t know who to ask for. Clearly I’d come here for a reason. Did women show up and get the men confused on a regular basis? I wasn’t sure how to take that.

“Samurai.” I took a step closer. “Please. It’s important.”

His gaze dropped to Ryo again. “I bet it is.”

I breathed a sigh of relief when he opened the gates and let us through. At least we’d made it this far. Samurai might very well tell me get to lost and never show my face here again. At least I’d get the chance to find out.

He pointed to a building not too far off. “He’s probably at the clubhouse. But um… you may not want to take the kid inside there. It’s not too wild at this time of day. Doesn’t mean people aren’t smoking, or that he wouldn’t see something he shouldn’t.”

Right. Because I was at a biker compound. Who knew what went on behind the gate, much less in the building he’d called a clubhouse. I doubted they were in there playing video games or watching movies.

“I can’t leave Ryo outside on his own,” I said.

The guy looked around and let out a shrill whistle. “Hey, Sam! Lady needs her kid watched for a minute.”

The other man jogged over. I noticed both wore the leather vest like Samurai had, but neither had a name on theirs. It only said Prospect. I had no idea what that meant, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“Sam, this is…” The guy rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Sorry. Didn’t catch your name.”

“I’m Grey and this is Ryo,” I said.

He nodded. “Right. Grey and Ryo. She’s here to see Samurai.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose as he stared at Ryo a moment. “All right. I can sit outside with him, or I can go in and get Samurai. Might be better to have him come outside.”

“Going inside doesn’t bother me,” I said. “But he said it wouldn’t be a good place for Ryo.”

Sam shook his head. “No, I have a feeling Samurai would kick my aa… uh, rear, if I let either of you into that building. You can sit in the shade. There’s a few chairs up on the porch.”

I led Ryo over to the building and claimed a chair while Sam went inside. I could hear laughter and music spill from the open doorway, as well as the sounds of women. My stomach soured when I pictured Samurai with them. It was stupid to come here. He wouldn’t want this baby, or me. Wouldn’t care about my problems or that my son was in danger.

I stood and lifted Ryo into my arms. “Come on, sweetheart. We shouldn’t have come here. We’ll go home and figure something else out.”

I walked down the steps and toward the gate, but the guy who’d let me in was shaking his head and pointing back at the clubhouse. “Nope. Sorry. I’m not letting you leave until you see Samurai.”

“Are you serious right now? It’s obvious I made a mistake coming here. Let me go before he comes out and…”

I heard heavy steps behind me and stopped mid-sentence. My nape prickled and I had a feeling the man in question was right behind me. Ryo’s head remained tucked against my chest, and I tightened my hold on him. If I’d had anyone to watch him, or felt safe leaving him behind, I wouldn’t have brought him with me.

“Before I come out and what?” Samurai asked. I’d recognize his voice anywhere.

Slowly, I turned to face him. He rocked back on his heels, his gaze going to Ryo. “Sorry to disappoint, but no fucking way that kid is mine. Your math is off by a few years.”

“I never said he was yours.” I backed up a step. “I needed help, but I shouldn’t have come here. He won’t open the gate and let me leave.”

Samurai’s gaze went over my shoulder and I saw him scanning the road. I knew what he’d see. Nothing. I didn’t have a car or any other transportation. I had to walk everywhere and coming way out here hadn’t been easy on either me or Ryo. Thankfully the weather had cooled a little, so I at least didn’t have my clothes and hair plastered to me from sweat. Could have been worse.

“You walked here carrying him?” he asked.

“Yes, and if you’ll tell him to let me go, then I’ll walk right back home. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Why did you?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

I shifted Ryo in my arms and felt my dress pull tight over my stomach. I tried to hide the small bump before he noticed and seemed to have managed since he didn’t say anything. Or maybe he didn’t care. This version of Samurai was very different from the one at the Pleasure Emporium. The man who’d made me cry out his name, who’d melted my bones with multiple orgasms, wasn’t the one eying me now.

“Some people in town have talked about the good things your club does. Toy drives and helping homeless women. I’d hoped you might know of a way to solve my problem, but it was wrong to even ask.”

“You sure the kid isn’t Phantom’s?” the guy at the gate asked.

Samurai’s eyes narrowed as he studied Ryo. The look he slid my way held a hint of hostility. I didn’t know why they kept bringing up Phantom.

“I’ve never met anyone named Phantom,” I said. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“He’s my older cousin, and your son resembles him,” Samurai said.

I didn’t want to do this out in the open, or where Ryo could hear, so I chose my words carefully. “Do you remember my first reaction to you, and why I said it happened?”

His chin went up and he cursed softly. “The guy who hurt you. The one you said was Japanese, like me.”

I ran my hand over Ryo’s hair. “He saw me last week, with Ryo. He knows, and he… he said he’s coming for us. I survived him once. Even if I could live through it again, I won’t let him get his hands on Ryo. My baby is a good boy. He’s sweet and innocent. If Itachi gets his hands on him…”

“Itachi Suzuki?” Sam asked. “That’s who you’re running from?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Harley Wylde is the International Bestselling Author of the Dixie Reapers MC, Devil’s Boneyard MC, and Hades Abyss MC series.

When Harley’s writing, her motto is the hotter the better — off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place. She doesn’t shy away from the dangers and nastiness in the world, bringing those realities to the pages of her books, but always gives her characters a happily-ever-after and makes sure the bad guys get what they deserve.

The times Harley isn’t writing, she’s thinking up naughty things to do to her husband, drinking copious amounts of Starbucks, and reading. She loves to read and devours a book a day, sometimes more. She’s also fond of TV shows and movies from the 1980’s, as well as paranormal shows from the 1990’s to today, even though she’d much rather be reading or writing.

You can find out more about Harley or enter her monthly giveaway on her website. Be sure to join her newsletter while you’re there to learn more about discounts, signing events, and other goodies!

Find Harley Online:  Website | Facebook | Instagram | TikTok | Twitter

FREE for 24 hours only, Oct 14-15! Full-length novel.
Get your copy now!

Romance stories usually focus on fairly young characters. A younger woman can be somewhat inexperienced in sex, so it’s believable that the man she meets has a few things to teach her. He, on the other hand, is vulnerable in hidden ways to her joie de vivre and innocence, and so the standard trope unfolds.

But what if the characters aren’t young?

I admit that when I first considered that idea for this book, I immediately dismissed it. Yet the idea kept coming back, and I ended up compromising between a twenty-something female and a woman so deep into her fifties that readers (sadly) might find her romantic possibilities somewhat unbelievable.

It’s not that many readers aren’t over fifty. It’s just that romance novels are supposed to take us to a fantasy world where men are so powerful their shoulders fill a doorway and women are so lovely they utterly captivate the man at first glance. There must be room for magic.

In this story set thirty years into the future, the magic has been left hanging too long, a love affair put on hold while the hero turns his attention to a family emergency. Taken for granted a little too long, the heroine tries to cut her losses and forget him.

Denial

Martin Bernard has spent his life becoming one of the world’s wealthiest and most powerful men. But that’s not helping him now that his criminal son-in-law Ned Argenta has gone rogue, putting Martin’s empire on the block in order for Martin to ensure his daughter Marie’s safety. Weeks, months fly by as Martin tries to control this nightmare, leaving his lover Mohana in the sidelines. He just wants to get control of things and then he’ll make it up to her.

Mohana James isn’t waiting any longer. At her friend Giselle’s urging, she visits the Paris House of Rae to find some pleasure. The pleasure partner there doesn’t disappoint, but the entire experience stirs up her grief about Martin. Is he ever going to call? Should she forget him? If she does hear from him, is she going to slap him and walk away? She’s pretty sure that’s all he deserves. But her heart is breaking and she’s not sure she can forget him.

Get your copy now!

Excerpt from Denial…

November 3, 2063

Street café, Paris

“It’s what I have to do,” Mohana said, stabbing her omelet. “I have to.”

“Yes,” Giselle said. “I totally agree. I’m excited for you.” She dumped another spoonful of sugar into her tea and stirred. “But you don’t have to do it all at once, do you?”

Blinking against the bright hazy sky, Mo leaned back to watch people strolling past their table. Parsley sat patiently by her chair, his attention riveted on the regular appearance of other dogs. This sidewalk café had been a favorite since, well… She wasn’t going to think about the passage of time. It hurt too much. A slight breeze ruffled the tablecloth and sent tiny ripples across the surface of her tea. Traffic was light for a Saturday morning.

She’d worn a new dress today, one she’d bought only recently in one of Giselle’s on-demand shopping trips. It had almost been a dare to herself, selecting something in a soft cotton print with a low V-neck in a fitted bodice over a flowing calf-length skirt. The wind teased her cleavage, an insanely erotic sensation that left her uneasy. But whereas before she would have been reminded of Martin with such a sensation, now she also thought of Henri and the possibility that she might again darken the door at the House of Rae to see what other scrumptious men might be on order.

“I’m not doing it all at once,” she said, savoring the flavor of the mild cheese, garlic-sautéed chard, and green onions inside their comfortable warm envelope of tender egg. “I made a list. Disentangling myself from Martin means I have to stop accepting his money. I don’t think he even knows he’s still sending it.”

“Why stop?” Giselle said. “Take it, save it if you don’t want to spend it. He owes you.”

“Yes, well, I need to stand on my own two feet. And that means earning a living.” She ripped a chunk off the flakey croissant and popped it in her mouth, relishing its delicate texture. “If I can get this position at the national library, it will make me very happy to go to work every day. Can you imagine?”

Giselle brandished her butter knife. “I can’t think of a job better suited for you, but…”

Parsley whined, his tail whipping side to side. A shadow loomed over the table, and the two women looked up. Mo’s breath caught in her chest. She literally could not breathe.

“Martin!” she gasped.

“I thought that was you,” he said, his gaze roaming down her cleavage before returning to her face. “And Parsley, too. What a good boy!” He leaned down to pat the dog’s head before standing to devote his full attention to Mo. Deep laugh wrinkles creased in his cheeks as he smiled. “It’s wonderful to see you. How have you been?”

Of all the… Mo bit back outraged profanities and tried to calm her racing pulse. He looked so damn fine. Despite the months, years of tears and torment, she instantly wanted him.

“Lovely, and you?” she managed.

He laughed, that same warm baritone that had rumbled in his chest so many times before. “I’m in the middle of a crisis, but what else is new, right? Look, I really don’t have time to talk right now, but I saw you and couldn’t stop myself from saying hello. I promise to be in touch soon. We’ll get caught up.”

Giselle looked at her and lifted an eyebrow. Damn it, he was tan and healthy looking, as well built as she remembered, broad shoulders straining the seams of his tailored light blue sports shirt, sculpted biceps emerging from the short sleeves. The sinews of his forearms rippled underneath the soft furring of hair, reminding her of the times he lifted her to sit astride him.

So much for the idea that he hadn’t been in touch because he was sick or injured in some way. She bit back the litany of cutting remarks hovering on the tip of her tongue. Most men his age had developed a paunch, but Martin’s belly remained flat inside the waistband of his slacks. She ripped her gaze away before her eyes dropped further. But she knew.

She could always feel the force of his virility from across a crowded room.

A bit more gray than she remembered peppered his hair and beard, but the same chiseled features – strong jawline and square chin under that neatly trimmed beard, sensuous mouth and those eyes – made her pulse race madly in her neck. She could taste him, smell him, feel the heat of his skin under her palms as if no time had passed, as if she wasn’t three years older, still hopelessly in love.

“No rush,” she said, straightening in the chair and smoothing her napkin against her lap. “I know how busy you must be.”

He seemed startled by her remark, opened his mouth then closed it. She lifted her teacup, proud that her hand didn’t shake, and sipped calmly as if he were a mere acquaintance.

“Well, I – uh, soon, I promise.”

“Yes, of course,” she said. She broke eye contact and waited for him to move. Moments clicked past, each instant a torment of unsaid words and mounting fury. Then his shadow moved away. Parsley stretched and lay down, head resting disconsolately on his front paws.

“Christ,” Giselle said. “That was intense.”

“Damn it.”

“I thought you handled it perfectly.”

“Good. I was dying inside.”

“And screaming, too, right?”

Mo nodded, waiting for her heart to stop pounding against her ribs. “Why does he have to look so damn good? It’s not fair.”

“Well, you’re looking pretty great yourself this morning,” Giselle said with a huge smile. “I thought he was going to eat you up.”

“Really?”

“Couldn’t you see it? Hell, I shouldn’t tell you.”

“Tell me.”

Giselle leaned forward and lowered her voice. “All the signs – his face flushed, his nostrils flared. His er, um, was pressing his pants, like full on. Dear me, what a specimen. Didn’t you see? Honestly, I think he fought not to touch you, and that’s just a sign of how desirable you are. It’s no wonder Henri outdid himself. There are plenty of men out there who will want you, Mo. You don’t have to waste your life on Martin Bernard.”

Belatedly, Mohana wished Giselle had kept that bit about Martin’s arousal to herself.

Still later, Mo studied herself in her bathroom mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes seemed overly bright. Her pulse still hadn’t calmed and she felt alternatively hot and cold. How could she still react this way after all he’d done? Or, actually, not done. She couldn’t get him out of her mind, how his body had inclined toward her, how tiny lines crinkled at the corners of his intense green eyes. So charming, so damn handsome.

She’d never been able to define it, what he had, what seemed to be at the heart of Martin Bernard more than any man she’d ever met. Maleness. Potency. Energy radiated from him like a kind of gravity, pulling her in, wrapping her in his strength. For years, she had fallen deeper and deeper into that force, enchanted in the joy of their love.

Yet, somehow, she had failed. She’d agonized over it, night after night, month after month after he’d disappeared from her life. He had said she was beautiful, but what if he wanted someone younger, prettier? He had said he loved her, but that must have been a lie. He had said he wanted to marry her, spend the rest of his life with her. She’d even indulged in fantasies of their future together, maybe a child…

She gripped the sink. In the long days and nights of waiting, she had deluded herself, thinking he might be ill or disabled somehow, too proud to let her know. Alternately, she imagined he’d been trapped in some foreign country in one of his far-flung business deals. But here he was, walking the streets of Paris looking like a million dollars, full of himself.

And dismissive. He’d call soon. Ha!

BONUS! Reprieve

BONUS:  Nab another book in the House of Rae series also FREE at the same time!

Reprieve, Book II, is the first part of Martin’s story about his daughter Marie.

House of Rae franchisee Marie Argenta is on the run after her estranged husband Ned inflicts unimaginable tortures. Leaving her Paris House to hide out in the U.S., she ends up at the San Francisco House to serve as temporary manager. The very first day, her gaze lands on the most arrogant man she has ever seen, Adrian Velasquez. He’s also the most compelling devastatingly attractive, over-the-top pleasure partner the universe could ever conjure, which makes her think twice about the rules forbidding employee relationships.

Adrian knows what he likes and this new House manager Marie ranks above and beyond anything he’s ever imagined. Too bad his life is already crammed too full of family troubles, work overload, and finishing his law degree to even consider stretching the rules with this irritating woman. But a touch here, a kiss there, might be too delicious to refuse and she’s, well, she wants him. He knows it.

What Marie and Adrian are soon to discover is that Ned knows where Marie has fled and plans to take her back no matter what.

Get your copy here!

Mediums are the main attraction in one of my favorite places, Cassadaga, Florida. If you want to communicate with a loved one who has passed away, this is the go-to town.

As you walk along the quiet streets, many of the homes are Victorian with wide porches and colorful gingerbread trim. Others are more like cottages or bungalows. The atmosphere is peaceful and serene, and you see signs outside the homes advertising psychic readings

A fascinating bookstore offers the schedule for the month including tours, healing and massage services, orb photo opportunities, educational sessions, and so much more.  This is the perfect place to begin learning about Spiritualism and the history of the town.

A historic hotel dominates the smaller businesses and residences. Its 1920’s style luxury immediately brings about a sense of a slower, simpler pace of life. It’s supposed to be haunted, but the ghosts are friendly!

Even if you don’t see a ghost during your stay, you can get a tarot card reading, experience a reiki healing session while reclining in a crystal bed, or have your aura photographed.

I could go on and on about this charming location, which is only about 20 miles from Daytona Beach, but truly in a different world.

My recently released novel, Witch Trial Legacy is set in Cassadaga and surrounding areas and is the first in a collection where romance collides with supernatural suspense.

The Cassadaga Collection: Witch Trial Legacy

If you are a fan of Tricia O’Malley or Kay Hooper, you’ll love The Cassadaga Collection: Witch Trial Legacy.

 Get your copy here!

Sybilla Sanborn must break a centuries-old curse before everything she cares about goes up in smoke.

Sybilla is a nurse gifted with the ability to heal with her touch but cursed with visions of future tragedies she cannot prevent because no one heeds her warnings. With help from the mediums of the spiritualist town of Cassadaga, Florida, she learns she is descended from both the first person executed for witchcraft in this country and the man who accused her.

Conn Ahern is an Iraq war vet dealing with pain and PTSD while working as a paramedic and struggling to save the ranch his grandmother founded. He’s an atheist who wants nothing to do with the people of the town.

When Conn and Sybilla meet, sparks fly, but not always in a good way, and their relationship fans the flames of jealousy and revenge in someone who doesn’t want them to work things out.

During a séance, her ancestor’s spirit reveals how Sybilla can rid herself of the curse and save Conn, but the price may be too high.

Here’s an excerpt that shows Sybilla meeting with a medium and experiencing a past life regression where she views what happened to her ancestor:

This time she didn’t even make it up the sidewalk before the door opened. “Did you glimpse me from the window again?”

“Nah, this time it was my psychic power.” Mr. Bennett said it deadpan.

Not sure if he was joking, she nodded and followed him inside.

Today he sported a blue and yellow Hawaiian shirt over tan pants and sandals. He carried a tray with a pitcher of ice water and two glasses into the living room and set it on the coffee table. “Okay, you’re familiar with the drill by now.” He gestured toward the recliner.

She sat there, and he settled in the other one. “The initial routine will be the same as the previous sessions. First, a short prayer, then I’ll put you in a state of deep relaxation. When you’re completely open, I’ll guide you to younger times in your life. Eventually, we’ll return to previous lives or those of your ancestors. The process is a little like hypnosis, except I won’t be giving you suggestions or commands. Instead, I’ll guide you to remember past incarnations. Time is not a concept of the other side, so during a session, we could move backward or forward from the present. Who you were, and who you are, and who you will be are all the same. Only our mortal minds need to sort events into before and after. So, whatever happens to you, go with it. All right?”

She touched her butterfly necklace. “What if I get scared or find out something terrible? What do I do?”

“Trust me. If you tense up or I think you’re becoming frightened, I’ll bring you to the here and now. Remember, none of what you see or hear is happening in this lifetime, but the past and can’t harm you. Are you ready?”

“Let’s do it.” She leaned back, closed her eyes, and listened as Mr. Bennett said the invocation and guided her through relaxing by contracting and releasing the muscle groups in sequence from her feet up to her neck and face. An odd floating sensation went through her as if she hovered a few inches above the chair.

His calm, soft voice surrounded her. “Now, I want you to remember a time when you were young and happy. Tell me about it.”

“My birthday when I was five. I had on my princess gown with a tiara in my hair. Mommy looked so beautiful in her white slacks and lacy top, like a queen. The cake was white with white icing and gold candles. Everything at the party was white and gold. So lovely.” Sybilla sighed. The day had been one of her best, before the visions and the fear.

“All right. Imagine yourself as a toddler.” He paused. “Now as a baby.” For a moment he remained silent again. “Now, go further, all the way to the womb.”

Imagining myself in utero is silly. No one can remember before they were born. Black nothingness, although warm and safe.

“Let your mind drift to before this existence, to when you manifested as someone else, someone with a different name and a different body, a man or a woman, adult or child. Do you remember?”

Something happened.

*~*~*

She viewed the world from a different perspective as if she were shorter. Her chubby body was that of a child. Young, maybe six or eight. She stood in a cell beside a woman who wore an ankle-length, black skirt with a white apron, and a dark, long-sleeved blouse. The woman wept and sobbed into a handkerchief.

Mother. She clung to the woman. “Don’t cry. I love you. What’s wrong?”

Rough hands gripped her shoulders from behind and plucked her from the woman’s arms. “Mistress, say goodbye to your daughter.” A male voice, cold and harsh.

The woman clutched her and hugged her hard.

The man with the cruel grip dragged her away.

She wailed. “No, let me go. I want my mother.”

The man lugged her out as she kicked and screamed, and her mother shouted, “Damn you, Matthias North. You bear false witness against me. Though I am no witch, I condemn you and your line forever. No one will ever again believe you or anyone descended from you for the rest of time.”

“A witch you are, proved by the curse that falls from your foul mouth, evil one.” The man spat on the floor.

When he reached the outer door of the jail, he handed the struggling child to a woman. “Take her and find a family to care for her until she is grown. The witch hangs tomorrow.”

About the Author

Katherine Eddinger Smits is a direct descendant of Susannah Martin, one of the victims tried and executed for witchcraft in Salem, Massachusetts in 1692. With a master’s degree and over 20 years of clinical social work experience, Katherine addresses real-life issues of self-acceptance, body image, relationship dynamics, fears, and phobias through stories of fantasy and romance which include mages, mermaids, and magical creatures. Mystery, suspense, and a little sex add spice to her books.

Other books by Katherine Eddinger Smits:
Water Dreams, Love’s Siren Song, Book I
Water Desires, Love’s Siren Song, Book II
The Sea Witch and the Mage, Sirens Series 1
Siren Descending, Sirens Series 2

Social Links:
Sign up for my newsletter and I’ll send you an exclusive short story. I email newsletters once or twice a month and always include contests. https://katherineeddingersmits.weebly.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KatherineSmits.author
Word Siren Blog: https://katherinesmits.wordpress.com/
(Group Blog) Pen Dames: https://pendames.blogspot.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/katherinesmits

UPDATE: The winner is…flchen1!
*~*~*

When I was growing up Westerns were a staple on television.  I probably watched every one produced, either in real-time or syndicated reruns. Gunsmoke, Rawhide, The Rifleman, Have Gun Will Travel, Bat Masterson, Death Valley Days, Branded, Bonanza, Wanted Dead or Alive, High Chaparral, The Guns of Will Sonnett, Maverick. There was even a Northwestern, Here Come the Brides, that I enjoyed. I also remember Alias Smith and Jones, a comedic western. I was so steeped in westerns that in junior high school I got a grade of A++ on a pioneer journal assignment. However, while I can name all the shows I watched, one particular episode sticks with me: an episode of High Chaparral that featured Buffalo Soldiers.

To be honest. if a show — no matter what kind — had a black actor or actress on it I watched it. So no surprise I watched High Chaparral regularly on which Frank Silvera, a Jamaican-American, played the Mexican paterfamilias, Don Sebastian Montoya. It’s no wonder then that even after all these years I can still see the half-page ad description in the old TV Guide on their Buffalo Soldiers episode. I must have stared at the drawing of Black cowboys on horseback forever because the picture is still embedded in my memory. I never learned about Buffalo Soldiers in school. I always had the Schomburg Library to go to find information that was verifiable and books on the history of Blacks and the West by authors like Tom Willard and William Lorenz Katz. Today I’m thankful to the Internet that I can learn directly from the websites of Black history museums like the Black American West Museum & Heritage Center in Denver Colorado.

It’s because of an episode of Bonanza I learned the Chinese used thumbprints as means of identification. The episode on Bonanza that dealt with Little Jo’s birth opened my eyes to racism against Native Americans. I wonder if the children in school today are learning about the role the 9^th and 10^th Cavalry played in the history of the West. Do they know the Chinese invented gunpowder, the compass, and pulp papermaking? Are they learning about the Trail of Tears? I would hope so. I would hope they are being taught by enlightened school systems that uplift the contributions of all cultures to the history of this country.

I don’t watch much TV these days, so I hope what little seeds planted by the stories told on it now grow into trees of truth and not misinformation. In my own small way, I hope the romances I write might do a little planting of their own. So how about you? For a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift card, share in the comments any pieces of history you learned from unexpected sources.

Coming Tomorrow! “The Patience of Unanswered Prayer” from Cowboys

A feisty businesswoman about to become the next victim of Post-Civil War revenge receives rescue from an unexpected source

Excerpt from “The Patience of Unanswered Prayer”…

Something sinister wafted in the still night air from the edge of Franklin Adams’s property. The low growl from the wolf by his side signaled the animal had detected it, too.

“Too quiet, eh, Zeb?”

The wolf tensed as if in agreement.

Franklin sucked in a lungful of warm Oklahoma summer air and scanned the sky. Too quiet like that night a week ago when eight sheet-shrouded night riders thought they’d scare him off his land. No jigaboo had money for a spread like this they’d shouted. None should be allowed to have one outside of the Black townships anyway. Calls to tar and feather and ride his nappy-headed ass out on a rail followed.

Steel from Franklin’s Winchester and the attack of Zeb’s wolf pack had put the fear of God into those shivering cowards. All fled screaming into the night, bruised, bloodied, and bullet-ridden. Surely, they hadn’t come back for a second try? Although many a drunk might grow brave and stupid and forgetful, if they let enough time pass and consumed enough whiskey.

A breeze troubled the leaves of the oak in the front yard. Birdwings fluttered anxious sounds into the air.

Yep. Someone was out there.

Buy link: Amazon – https://amzn.to/3iwUhkN
Michal Scott Amazon Author Page – https://amzn.to/2TSHzRn
Website: www.michalscott.webs.com