Philosophy

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Thursday, January 28, 2010

Author Page - Piper Denna

http://www.piperdenna.com/
http://piperpatter.blogspot.com/

Bio:

Romance is sexy. And often funny, and sometimes tangled up with suspense. Let’s face it: all sorts of things get mixed up with romance in real life.

Piper Denna’s stories are not cut-and-dried romance. She wants her characters to deal with issues female readers can relate to: independence and trust, empowerment, inhibitions, an unfaithful partner, motherhood. Sometimes her characters make mistakes and often her “bad guys” are not 100% bad. Mostly she wants to take the reader on an emotional journey to a happy ending (with a few enviable sexual encounters along the way!).

When she’s not writing, she edits, raises two “tweens” along with her husband, and has an evil day job.

She enjoys books (or movies) with a comedic twist and hopefully a love story, too.

Sexiest parts of a man in Piper’s opinion? The hands and eyes. Shoulders are nice too, and of course, great pecs are never amiss…


A Fireman for Christmas


Blurb:

One more Christmas lusting after her older brother’s best friend? Timi might lose her mind. Fed up with family holidays, she rents a cabin for one, planning a Christmas escape her drawings. But after numerous sketches turn out to be her rendition of Clay in the Hottest Firemen Calendar poster, she realizes location is just a technicality.

Fireman Clay can’t imagine spending Christmas without Timi around to ogle. Hearing she’s holed up in a lovers’ retreat, he can’t resist seeking her out. This year, he’s determined to start a fire and claim the gift he’s always wanted.

TRAILER COMING SOON

Excerpt:

The cabin was exactly what Timi Rogers wanted: small, cozy, and private. Two days and nights of peace and quiet at Green Mountain Lodge. No work, no responsibilities, no family holiday hassles.

She dropped her bags on the rustic couch, wandered into the bathroom, and flipped on the light switch. More plaid, and a moose motif. Comfy, like the tidy kitchenette and handmade quilt on the bed. The desk lamp would give just the right light, once she moved it to the table.

For once, she had uninterrupted time to sketch. Hopefully the scenery would inspire some new projects. Eager to get started, she headed to her small pile of belongings to get out her drawing stuff.

Solid rapping on the front door called for a detour. Probably somebody from the front desk. Had she left her credit card, or maybe forgotten to sign for the charges?

She yanked the stubborn door and all but lost her balance when it gave. And looked up into the scowling face of Clay Jones.

Great.

“You always open the door without looking to see who’s standing outside first?” Snow swirled in icy gusts past his big body and into her cabin.

Her knuckles were probably white from gripping the door so hard. Maybe she’d slam it shut in his face. If she thought for a second it would make him go away, she’d try it. “This resort has the lowest number of ax murderers per capita in the Midwest.”

He didn’t so much as crack a smile. The lower edge of his blond hairline peeked out from under his fleece hat. “Good one. What are you doing up here all alone on Christmas Eve? Going Scrooge this year?”

“Sure. Scrooge. That’s me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do.” Her fingers fluttered a farewell wave.

“Don’t think so.” He shoved his considerable parka’d bulk past her, ducking slightly under the jamb, and looked around. The cabin suddenly seemed crowded instead of cozy.

Whoa, he was even bigger than the last time she’d seen him. Was he going for a Mr. Universe title or what, pumping so much iron? Could just be the thick coat.

Well, he was in. She might as well shut the door on the blizzard raging outside. If she gave the right answers to his questions, he’d be on his way. With award-worthy effort, she held back a sigh. Hopefully he wasn’t there to try luring her back to holidays with the family. One more repeat of Christmases past, and she’d go bonkers.

“Things to do, huh? Like what?” He stood with his legs set, arms crossed over his chest, like a bouncer in front of some exclusive nightclub. “You’re obviously not up here with a boyfriend, like you told your Grammy Martha.”

“If I tell you I’ve hated Christmas with my family for the last five years, will I have to listen to a lecture about how they all love me and they’re just worried? Which one of them sent you, anyway?” Probably Eddy. Clay and her oldest brother had been tight as two slats on a beer barrel since Kindergarten. Leave it to Eddy to pawn off the dirty work and stick his only single friend with keeping tabs on Little Timi.

Clay turned red around the neck. “Uh. Who said anything about sending me? Maybe I just heard from a little bird that you were traipsing off for a romantic holiday with a fictional boyfriend. Maybe since you have a history of being…” He shrugged and scrubbed the back of his neck. “…you know…lonesome?”

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Author Page - Autumn Piper

http://www.autumnpiper.com/
http://piperpatter.blogspot.com/
Piper.Autumn@gmail.com

Bio:
I write contemporary romance and women's fiction/mom-lit. My stories often have a high heat index to match their American southwest settings. Known by my writing buddies as "Angst", I have a penchant for making my characters suffer. My stories may be tributes to the old saying, "No pain, no gain", but my Hero and Heroine always get the happily every after they so deserve.

I love sunny spring days, hot bread, the smell of the ocean, and that fluttery feeling I get inside at the first spark of a great romance story. In my "spare" time between being a wife, mom of two pre-teens, and writer, I like to read, take morning walks, make people laugh (this probably happens when I break into a jog!), garden, and conquer the beast that is Sudoku. Working as a substitute teacher keeps me on my toes and makes me hope to become a very successful writer!

For me, an excellent book has characters you can sympathize with or hate (sometimes both at once), a story you simply must see through to the end, and realistic dialogue. Give me those key elements, and I'll read any genre or time period, any author.

Lone Star Trouble

Blurb:

One hot cowboy plus one tough rancher-girl adds up to trouble!

Kiersten Day holds a grudge against all things Texan, especially cattle baron CJ Howell, with his hubcap-sized belt buckle and tacky white hat. He’s set his sights on her tiny Colorado ranch, and he’s a master of dirty tactics, slinging threats to make her sell out.

Caught in the fight of her life, Kiersten meets Cleve, a tall, handsome good guy. Too late, she finds out he’s Howell’s son. She might be pregnant, she doesn’t know who to trust, and danger is closing in. She’s head over heels -- and kicking herself!

Content warning, a hot cowboy, dirty tactics and lots of lone star trouble.



Excerpt:

This couldn’t be good. She never ran into other people up here. And after yesterday’s confrontation… Why hadn’t she strapped on her pistol before she left the cabin?

A sweaty buckskin gelding topped the hill, then halted.

Time for another confrontation.

The cowboy dismounted and made a thorough visual examination of her.
Freckles. The first thing he’d see would be her freckles, since she never bothered with makeup except for trips to town. Add to that her big messy ponytail, and it was amazing the guy was taking a second look. And a third? Well, he wasn’t exactly looking at her face, now was he? Warm from her hike up the hill, she’d unzipped her jacket, exposing the only curves on her body—her breasts. The tall stranger was all but ogling them.

Not in the least appreciative of his silent admiration, she tugged her jacket closed.

With a small cough, he cleared his throat. “Howdy, neighbor. I’m Cleve. You must be Miss Day.”

Another Texan, but clean shaven, with light skin, short dark hair and nearly black eyes. He wore a red flannel shirt with a blue t-shirt under, tucked cowboy-style into his Wranglers. Around his waist he sported a plain leather belt and everyday buckle, not a shiny gold-and-silver number like the guy she’d met yesterday. Brown boots, and the straw cowboy hat he’d removed when he introduced himself.

It was hard not to meet his wide, open smile with one of her own. Too hard, in fact. “Hi. Kiersten.” A tiny gold hoop hung from his left ear, odd on a cowboy, but nothing blame-worthy. And he was definitely fine to look at—if she’d been interested in looking at men anymore.

He took her hand in his and shook it with big, friendly strokes, settled his hat back atop his head and looked around. “Some view up here.”

She nodded. “See that peak over there, the darker one? It’s in Utah. My Grandpa said it’s about a hundred and fifty miles away.”

Cleve whistled behind her. “You walk up here?”

She grinned at how winded he was from riding horseback up the mountain. “I walked the fence line, checking for snow damage. I’ll be hanging it back up in the next few days.”

“What kinda fence is that?” The wire net lay flat and ran parallel to an army of steel posts marching straight as an arrow into the horizon.

Cattlemen marked the edge of their property with two or three simple strands of barbed wire, rather than the net fencing sheep ranchers used. “It’s a fence to keep my nuisance sheep in, and your fat cows out, since the law says I’m responsible for both.”

He rubbed his chin with the back of his fingers. “I meant, why’s it on the ground?”

“Seven feet of snow on a hillside tends to make a mess of a fence, come spring. Used to come up here and find this part of the fence crumpled up way down there.” She pointed at a stand of aspens about twenty feet down the hill. “Might find several steel posts bent over flat. One of the other old-timers came up with the idea of unhooking the wire from the posts in the fall. Keeps the snow from leaning on it for months on end, and the elk from getting tangled in it.”

“Pretty good idea, then.”

“You’ll find I’m not stupid, in spite of what your boss might think.”

“Ah…Boss?” He scratched the back of his hair, tipping the front of his hat a little.

“Yeah. Charles. The world’s last remaining male chauvinist pig. Boss Hogg, in a Cadillac truck instead of his trademark white convertible. Give him my regards.”

Her middle fingers raised in another rebellious salute.

His eyebrows lifted. “Doesn’t sound like he put his best foot forward.”

“Just let him know that next time, his foot better have a bullet-proof boot on, cause I’ll be comin out with my twelve-gauge. And let him know I thought over his offer.”

Cleve’s eyes lit. “And?”

“You’re probably shy about giving your boss the bird, even though it’s a message, so just tell him, ‘Not everybody can be bought, Jackass, and there are a million five reasons why,’ okay?”

His eyes widened. “Ah. Wasn’t too persuasive, then?”

“Definitely not a people person, that Chaz. I thought his lawyers were bad. You must be his new, what, manager? Ranch foreman?”

Big fingers rubbed over his chin. “Somethin like that.”

Why was the guy so confused? Maybe the thin air was starving his brain of oxygen. Seemed nice enough. Too bad he’d gotten hooked up with such a peckerwood. “Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Cleve. Good luck with Boss. Is there a Mrs. Hogg, I mean Howell?”

He grinned. “Not yet.”

“I’d say his chances keep getting thinner as his waist gets thicker, and women get more crazy ideas in their heads about equal opportunities, all that Women’s Lip nonsense.” The mere thought of Chaz’s asinine ideals had sent her hands to her hips again. Damn. “I need to get back and do something domestic around the house now.”

With a wave over her shoulder, she started back down the hill.

“Wait!” Cleve followed down the hill on his side of the fence. “You want some help when you put up this part-time fence?”

Work with the cattlemen? She’d be damned if she’d ever take help from Chaz, but Cleve seemed friendly. And cute. Shaking off cute, she shrugged. “Sure.”

“Wanta do it tomorrow? Same time?”

“I’ve, um, got a…date.” And why did she say that? Why should she want him to think she had a date? “How ’bout Sunday.”

“Sunday it is,” he answered with a smile.

Damn fine smile he had. George Strait fine.

As she walked away, she called back, “Don’t forget your gloves!”

“Hey, wait!”

Criminy. She stopped again.

“You startin at the top, or bottom?”

“Top. If we get to the bottom, I’ll feed you lunch.”

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Kimberly Killion Book Trailer

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Author Page - Kimberly Killion

Author: Kimberly Killion
Book: HIGHLAND DRAGON
Website: http://kimberlykillion.com/


Back cover copy:
Scotland 1502. Akira Neish has been raised as a peasant, her belly often empty and her family subject to the cruel whims of her clan's laird. To the clan’s children, the horned shaped birthmark she bears means she is a witch. But she is neither peasant nor witch—and now the man who knows the truth has returned to claim her for his own.

Calin MacLeod has kept Akira's secrets and to avenge his father, the sensual young laird must marry her. He is more than a match for the fiery nature of the woman he adores. Yet the passion they share—and truths that can no longer remain hidden—could rip all of Scotland apart...



Excerpt:

HIGHLAND DRAGON by Kimberly Killion

Prologue - Scotland 1484

Hidden behind a false panel, ten-year-old Calin MacLeod covered his ears with sweaty palms. The screams echoing throughout Brycen Castle were loud enough to loosen his teeth.
Lena Kinnon cried for mercy with every gut-wrenching contraction, but didn’t receive the slightest morsel of compassion from the many men present. Her position held no dignity, sprawled atop the council table like a sacrificial lamb. The wool of her soiled sark draped between her raised knees and provided her little privacy. No one wiped her brow or offered soothing words of comfort.

A woman was supposed to suffer during childbirth to pay for the sins of Eve. Even at his young age, Calin knew the laws of the church. He also knew Lena had already suffered more than any woman in Clan Kinnon. The bruises speckling her pale skin were evidence of the constant torture she endured at the hands of her ruthless husband.

The sliver of space between the wooden planks where Calin hid was no wider than the trunk of a sapling, but provided a view of his da, Laird MacLeod, who stood against a stone pilaster opposite Laird Kinnon. Da’s dark hair had grayed at the temples over the recent months, and his face sagged in weariness, but his rigid stance displayed his contained rage. With his eyes narrowed, Da stroked the golden bull’s head engraved into the signet ring he wore and glared at his enemy.

Two pairs of MacLeod warriors flanked each side of his da, while four Kinnon warriors surrounded Laird Baen Kinnon. All were unarmed as was previously agreed upon by both lairds.
“Ye keep screamin’, wife. It’ll cleanse your black English soul.” Laird Kinnon paced the council chamber, a sneer twisting his pitted face.

Calin hated the chieftain of his neighboring clan as much as his da did. Laird Kinnon was a cold-hearted demon. Anyone who would beat his lady wife during her childbearing time walked upon this earth with the devil’s black blood flowing through his veins.
“Ye bear me another bitch and it will be your last.”

“Please, Baen, have ye no mercy? Send for the midwife, please.” Lena gripped the sides of her belly and arched her back.

Laird Kinnon slapped her across the face with an open palm. Sweat sprayed over the tabletop. “Still your tongue, wife, or I’ll cut it out.” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the many warriors present. “There be plenty o’ eager hands awaitin’ to catch my male bairn as soon as ye free him from your spoiled womb.”

Calin bit his tongue to avoid cursing the man as venomously as his da always did. Calin had lived his whole life without a mam to kiss his cheek or offer him praise. Over the past few months, Lena had been like a mother to him. She was kind and gentle and Laird Kinnon should burn in the deepest pit of hell for the way he abused his lady wife. Calin didn’t have to be an aged warrior to know this was wrong. Lena’s child was nothing more to Laird Kinnon than a binding contract.

A contract that affected Calin’s future. Which was precisely why he’d disobeyed his da’s direct order not to follow him to the Kinnon keep when word of Lena’s lying-in arrived. If Lena bore a daughter, the babe would become his betrothed.

Calin and his friend, Kendrick Neish of Clan Kinnon, had discovered the secluded compartment just two months past after stumbling into the pitch-black caverns beneath the castle. Since then, they had become privy to every council meeting between their clans. They knew of war and how the English wanted to reign over Scotland. Both had heard the gruesome tales of entire villages being slaughtered. Neither he, nor Kendrick wanted their clans to suffer such a fate. Calin knew they were supposed to be enemies, but they wanted the same thing—an alliance.

For five hours, Calin had hugged his twisted limbs in the narrow space while Lena labored in the corner. His arse tingled, and his toes had gone numb hours before inside his leather brogues. The dank odor of moldy floor rushes drifted into his hiding place. A prayer floated into his ear.

“Fàilte dhut a Mhoire, tha thu lan de na gràsan…” In the Gaelic tongue, Father Harrald prayed to the Blessed Mother while he paced the edge of the chamber. The granite beads of his rosary clattered with his every movement. The young priest had been summoned to perform the baptism or to administer Last Rites in the event this child didn’t survive—as Lena’s previous three babes had not.

Lena pushed and Calin sucked in air.

He exhaled when she did. Her whole body convulsed, his shivered. Wet ropes of black hair clung to her face and neck. Propped on her elbows, her head fell back. Her mouth opened, and she screamed in agony.

One of the warriors caught the babe just as it slid from Lena’s body.
Calin held his breath awaiting the outcome.

“A lass, Laird Kinnon,” the old man announced grimly while he held the babe by the ankles and slapped her rump. He then laid her atop Lena’s quivering abdomen.

Lena pulled the crying child to her breast and stroked her newborn skin. Relief washed over her face and tears spilled over her cheeks when she smiled at Da. All would be well now.

“Seal off the hall and bring me the other child.” The cord still attached his infant daughter to his wife when Laird Kinnon commanded his seneschal. His dark eyes blazed with contempt as he stared directly at Da. “Ye will ne’er hold claim to my land. Nor will ye e’er touch my wife again.”

“I have ne’er wanted your land.” Da stepped closer to Lena.

“But ye dinnae deny touching my wife.”

Da glanced at Lena.

A dozen broad-shouldered men materialized from the darkened recesses of Brycen Castle. Their weapons flickered beneath golden wall torches. A raw-boned nursemaid, escorted by another warrior, entered the chamber, her fear evident in sunken wide eyes. In her arms, she held another babe swaddled in stripped wool, its fists swatted the air. With trembling hands, she placed the babe in the crook of Laird Kinnon’s arm.

Confused, Calin studied the exchange. Laird Kinnon had agreed to unite their clans if Lena bore a daughter.

Laird Kinnon turned to his warriors. “Send their miserable souls to the devil. All of them.” His tone was devoid of mercy. Of compassion. Of any emotion except contempt.

He stepped out of the keep onto the stone rampart. “I have a son!” he shouted.

The villagers of Dalkirth roared their approval while the words echoed in Calin’s ears.

Nay! ’Tis a lie! He gawked in horror as the shadowed knights charged his clansmen. Da’s devoted seneschal used a flaming pitch-pine torch to defend the attack. His efforts were futile. With one swing of a halberd, a Kinnon warrior beheaded him. Another fiend slashed one of the MacLeod warriors from gullet to navel. Fists clutched enemy plaid as he fell to his knees.

Calin’s heart tripped. His hands flattened against the panel. His nose pressed into the crack. Oh saints, help them!

The saints could no more help his kinsmen than the bits of wood they used as shield and sword.

The Kinnon warriors buried the steel of their weapons into the MacLeod’s flesh, spreading pools of dark blood over their crossbarred plaids. Slaughtered before his eyes were his Da’s most loyal kinsmen. Calin’s stomach convulsed and saliva grew thick in his mouth. He wanted to run and hide his eyes from the nightmare.

Standing amid the four fallen men, Da was trapped. His hand slid to the empty scabbard at his hip. There was no weapon. No claymore to defend himself against this preplanned attack. Six Kinnons surrounded Da. His father turned to Lena.

Calin froze. Unshed tears scalded his eyes. Run, Da! he screamed in his head, but instead, his da fell upon Lena. He brushed the tears from her cheeks then pressed his lips to hers.

A single warrior cast a shadow over his da like a demon cloaked in black mist. Leather-clad hands gripped the hilt of a battle-axe and raised the lethal weapon over his head. In one thrust, he buried the steel between Da’s shoulders.

Lena screamed as his body slid off her and crumpled to the floor.

Calin choked on the knot in his throat as the bloody massacre branded an image in his mind. His pulse pounded in his neck, making his cries hard to swallow. Terrified they would find him, he splayed his violently shaking fingers over his eyes, all the while chastising himself for cowardice. His world went black, along with his mind, his heart, his soul.

The dying groans of suffering drummed through his ears, but the scream slicing through the air brought sight back to his eyes.

Lena.

Shame flooded Calin as he watched the same warrior unsheathe a black dirk from his stocking. He held Lena’s chin while he slashed the sharp sgian dubh across her throat. With her infant daughter nuzzling at her breast, Lena’s head fell to the side, giving Calin one last look into crystal-blue eyes before the terror in her face vanished along with her spirit.

The warrior’s leathered hand hovered over the nape of the babe. His other hand held the weapon that would end her short life. The coppery taste of blood pooled on Calin’s tongue from where he bit the inside of his cheek.

Father Harrald dropped to his knees at the warrior’s feet. “Save your soul and cease. Please, cease. I beg of ye. The others had been baptized. She must be baptized.”

The Kinnon warrior hoisted the priest up by the hood of his habit and pointed his dirk at one of the other warriors. “Confess.” The clansmen gave their confessions one by one, binding Father Harrald to clerical secrecy. After the last warrior reconciled his sins, he shoved the priest toward Lena. “Ye may proceed with the rites. Someone will return to collect the babe.”

The men vanished into the shadows from whence they came.

The violent turn of events had Calin near to retching. He gripped his churning gut with clenched fingers and stared at the babe still nestled atop her dead mother’s bosom—daughter to the demon who murdered his father, but also his betrothed. He didn’t know whether to hate her or protect her. He had nary a doubt her brief life would tragically end in much the same way as Lena’s first three daughters.

The fire’s reflection flickered off the blade Father Harrald used to sever the cord binding the babe to her mother. The priest washed the remnants of birth from her skin and laid her in a pile of linens next to Lena. His voice quavered with the administration of blessed sacraments. “An tAthair, An Mac, An Spiorad Naomh.” Signing the cross over the babe, he blew breath upon her, and baptized her with holy oils.

Calin crawled from his hiding place, wiping the wetness from his cheeks. He raked the patch of brown hair falling loosely over his brow, while stepping over the blood and carnage. Unable to tear his gaze from his da’s body, he let the sickly sweet stench of death fill his nostrils and revive his spirit with the promise of vengeance. The metallic acid thickened in his throat, but he swallowed his fear. His grief. His newfound hate. He had but one purpose now—avenge his father’s death. And to do so, he needed the babe.

Father Harrald flinched. “Young Calin, ye must not be here.”

Ignoring the priest, Calin knelt at Da’s side. He brushed a lock of graying hair from his da’s damp brow and willed him to stand, but his skin paled as a pool of blood welled beneath him. Calin bent to his ear. “Blood of my blood. I’ll not fail ye, Da. I vow it.”

Father Harrald’s hand rested on Calin’s shoulder. “They’ll murder ye, just as sure as they will the babe. Ye must go.”

“Father Harrald, ye will see that Da and these men are returned to MacLeod soil. Get word to Uncle Kerk. Tell him I am weel, and I’ll be home soon.” Calin wished his voice didn’t falter. He needed to be a man, a warrior. He swallowed hard then pulled the signet ring from Da’s limp hand and set the engraved crest against a glowing ember in the hearth.

Calin couldn’t meet the priest’s eyes. “An eye for an eye. She’s the key to the alliance, and she belongs to me.” He spoke with defiance as he handled the squirming babe. He carried her to the hearth and set her atop a wooden basin. Using a strip of heavy wool to retrieve the signet ring from a hot coal, he rolled her onto her side and branded her bottom with the MacLeod crest. She let out a shrill scream, followed by shuddering sobs. He wrapped the babe in linens, then secured her in Lena’s stripped arisaid, fastening the wool with her family brooch. He held her close and attempted to coo her into submission. One day he would tell her about her mam and how kind Lena had been to him.

So many questions stirred in Calin’s troubled mind, but one in particular needed answering. “I know ye heard Da’s confession last week. I also know ye are bound by the seal o’ the confessional, so I’ll understand if ye cannae answer my question.”

“What’s your question, my son?” Father Harrald scanned the entrance to the chamber.
“Da loved Lena Kinnon.” Calin paused with his gaze fixed on the newborn bundle. “Is this babe of my own blood?”

“Nay. Lena was swollen with her fourth child before she ever met your da. Rest assured, your young bride is not your sister. Now ye must go, quickly.”

Retrieving a torch from a wall bracket, Calin reentered the nook. The babe whimpered against his chest. A tiny hand swatted his chin. She was warm and smelled of innocence. He glanced over his shoulder at Da’s body, his eyes lowered. He should have done something. At least tried to stop them. He was weak, spineless. A coward.

Calin’s eyes found Father Harrald, his skin gray with worry. “What will ye tell them when they return for the babe?”

“I’ll tell them a warrior took her. ’Twill not be a lie.”

Friday, January 1, 2010

Under A Shifter's Moon by Kari Thomas

Blurb:

He was fated for another,but created to love her …

Decreed by Elders, alpha Jaguar Shifters Lyon Savage and his brother must decide Pride rule in a way not seen for centuries. Under a Shifter’s Moon, a mating can take place with a chosen human to produce a child, and the father of that child will become the one Alpha. Now Lyon must choose the love of his Truemate—or accept the decree to save his Pride and secure his future.


Strong and selfless, Kitlene is a rare woman whose blood, like her niece’s, carries something of the Shifter within its DNA. Willing to sacrifice herself for the sake of family, she offers herself to the Alpha Cat whose very presence pulls at her soul—and whose love brings with it a deadly complication.

Review:

Emotional from start to finish. A tough heroine. And alpha male to die for; one who cherished his woman without cruelty.

This fast paced, exciting story will keep you turning page after page. Once I started, I couldn't put it down. (Ms. Thomas owes me night of sleep.)

Danger lurks around every corner and Lyon is in for the fight of his life. The only way I could have been happier with the ending was to have a sequel with some of the secondary characters.

The book did have some editing problems that took me out of the story, which is why I can't give it the highest marks.

I give this story 5 hearts. Reviewed by

Jasmine