Thursday, June 14, 2018

Teaser Reveal
Shameless King by Maya Hughes

Title: Shameless King
Author: Maya Hughes
Genre: New Adult Romance
Release Date: June 28, 2018

A deliciously steamy enemies with benefits romance.

Declan McAvoy. Voted Biggest Flirt. Highest goal scorer in Kings of Rittenhouse Prep history. 
Everyone’s impressed, well except one person…

After a blow out in high school, Makenna Halstead and I were happy to never have to cross paths again. Except life has a way of knocking you straight in the teeth with a puck when you least expect it. She hasn’t just returned to my life, she crashed into it like a wrecking ball...into my college kingdom, into my class, and smack dab into the seat next to mine. My new lab partner to be exact. 

For years we hated each other... I may be King on the ice, but she is the Ice Queen. She has no problem calling me out, doesn’t back down, and her piercing blue eyes have me picturing more than than just my arms wrapped around her. 

Now we’re stuck with each other and there’s no getting around that fact that we have to work together. My hockey career hangs in the balance. Problem? Oh, yeah.

I can’t deny it. I want her. More than I ever thought I could want a woman. I’ve got one semester–only four months–to convince her everything she thought about me was wrong. 

Will my queen let me prove to her I’m the King she can’t live without? 

Only one way to find out…


Maya Hughes is a Jersey girl, no not that kind! And she also thinks it’s super weird to talk about herself in third person :) I’m a romance writer who loves taking inspiration from everyday life, the music I listen to, and the people I know to create stories that sparkle and shine.
I’m the mom of three little ones, the wife to an amazing husband and also work full time. Some of my favorite things are cinnamon rolls, white wine, laughing until I can’t breathe and traveling with my family.



#ForeverSummerReading Sweepstakes

We are so happy to participate in the #ForeverSummerReading Sweepstakes.

Take a look at the Q&A with author Jenny Holiday, author of the Bridesmaids Behaving Badly series

Summer Q&A with Jenny Holiday

What is your dream vacation destination if money were no object?

Jenny: A really long stay in London where I can rent a place to function as a home base. Then a mix of urban stuff and shorter trips to other areas. But the key to my ideal vacation is that it’s long enough that I can get into the rhythm of the place and establish routines and not feel like I have to cram every day with as much as I can.

Aside from reading, what's your favorite beach activity?

Jenny: Playing in the waves.

Favorite author to read in the summer?

Jenny: Someone who writes light, romp-y historical romances, like Tessa Dare.

Favorite reading spot?

Jenny: When I was a kid it was up the willow tree in the backyard. Now it’s just my bed! I prefer to be horizontal when I read!

Where did you get your inspiration for your latest book?

Jenny: The inspiration came for the series as a whole. Its title—Bridesmaids Behaving Badly—sort of says it all. I wanted to gently poke fun at how all the tasks and expense and time that go into being a bridesmaid in the modern world.


It Takes Two, Book 2 in the Bridesmaids Behaving Badly series, by Jenny Holiday will be on sale June 26, 2018.

Click to buy: IT TAKES TWO

Jenny Holiday is a USA Today bestselling author who started writing at age nine when her awesome fourth-grade teacher gave her a notebook and told her to start writing some stories. She lives in London, Ontario, with her family. For more on Jenny and her books, please visit

Enter the #ForeverSummerReading Sweepstakes here:

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

The Kept Woman by Karin Slaughter

Title: The Kept Woman 
Series: Will Trent #8
Author: Karin Slaughter 

Husbands and wives. Mothers and daughters. The past and the future. 

Secrets bind them. And secrets can destroy them. 

The author of Pretty Girls returns with an electrifying, emotionally complex thriller that plunges its fascinating protagonist into the darkest depths of a mystery that just might destroy him. 

With the discovery of a murder at an abandoned construction site, Will Trent of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation is brought in on a case that becomes much more dangerous when the dead man is identified as an ex-cop.

Studying the body, Sara Linton—the GBI’s newest medical examiner and Will’s lover—realizes that the extensive blood loss didn't belong to the corpse. Sure enough, bloody footprints leading away from the scene indicate there is another victim—a woman—who has vanished . . . and who will die soon if she isn’t found.

Will is already compromised, because the site belongs to the city’s most popular citizen: a wealthy, powerful, and politically connected athlete protected by the world’s most expensive lawyers—a man who’s already gotten away with rape, despite Will’s exhaustive efforts to put him away.

But the worst is yet to come. Evidence soon links Will’s troubled past to the case . . . and the consequences will tear through his life with the force of a tornado, wreaking havoc for Will and everyone around him, including his colleagues, family, friends—and even the suspects he pursues.

Relentlessly suspenseful and furiously paced, peopled with conflicted, fallible characters who leap from the page, The Kept Woman is a seamless blend of twisty police procedural and ingenious psychological thriller -- a searing, unforgettable novel of love, loss, and redemption. 

It is over.

What an incredible ride! My heart was thumping in my throat. 

It's so easy to hate Angie. In my opinion, there's nothing redeemable about her. Karin tries to humanize her but she fails big time. Angie is full of bad decisions and terrible actions. She enjoys hurting Will in a despicable manner. I certainly don't feel sorry for her. She had a crappy past but she had Will in her life. She CHOSE to push him aside over and over again. Now that Will is with Sara, she's jealous but she has nobody to blame but herself. Will was more than enough to fill her emptiness yet she didn't want him. The things she has done to Will and Sara and the way she thinks about Will makes her a monster. 

“Needy bitches like Sara want the white picket fence and the kids in the yard. How would that be, having a bunch of little monsters with your fucked-up genes inside of them? Loser retards like you who can’t read their own fucking names.”
Except for being retarded, he probably would’ve been a star student.

Ok, I got sidetracked by my complete distaste for this woman. She's a manipulator and a psychopath. 

Back to the story. 

The team is called to the scene of a crime. An ex-cop is found dead in a soon-to-be new nightclub by a very prominent basketball player, Marcus Rippy. A basketball player who recently was investigated by Will for rape. He got away with good lawyers and by paying the witnesses. Will knows he's guilty but he couldn't prove it since Marcus's wife gave him an alibi. 

The nightclub not only has one dead cop. The room is full of type B blood everywhere. Whoever is hurt, must be dying. It's up to the GBI to figure it all out. Hopefully, they are not too late.

If you read my earlier reviews, you know Sara is my favorite character. She's nice, patient and she understands Will. She supports him and she's the only women in his life who doesn't mistreat him. 

And who would have thought that Sara could be such a romantic? The things she typed to Tessa were all too cute.

When he holds me in his arms, all I can think is that I want this to last forever.

Faith won't let his partner down. She'll do anything to find out about the missing victim. She cares for Will and she knows he's not seeing clearly in this case.

Amanda Wagner, Will's boss, show us her most vulnerable side to date in The Kept Woman. She's concerned about Will and Faith. She gives them great advice. She doesn't want them to make her mistakes.

Don’t let this job turn you off men, Faith.

I picked you. Faith picked you. Sara picked you. Let that be enough. Let yourself accept that you’re worth it.

The Kept Woman was fantastic. The only problem is that I'm in a huge book hangover. I need another Will Trent book now.

I can't finish my review without talking about Will. A smart guy who doesn't think he deserves love in his life. A part of him is always terrified of being left alone or push away. His dyslexia making him think less of himself. Just one more reason to hate Angie. Sara is perfect for him and I know he knows it. 

 I understand that you need time, but you need to understand that I am never, ever going to let you go. Not ever.

Cliffhanger: No

5/5 Fangs

Vicious by L.J. Shen

Title: Vicious 
Series: Sinners of Saint #1
Author: L.J. Shen


They say love and hate are the same feelings experienced under different circumstances, and it’s true.The man who comes to me in my dreams also haunts me in my nightmares. He is a brilliant lawyer. A skilled criminal. A beautiful liar. A bully and a savior, a monster and a lover.

Ten years ago, he made me run away from the small town where we lived. Now, he came for me in New York, and he isn’t leaving until he takes me with him.


She is a starving artist. Pretty and evasive like cherry blossom. Ten years ago, she barged into my life unannounced and turned everything upside down. She paid the price.

Emilia LeBlanc is completely off-limits, my best friend’s ex-girlfriend. The woman who knows my darkest secret, and the daughter of the cheap Help we hired to take care of our estate. That should deter me from chasing her, but it doesn’t. So she hates me. Big fucking deal. She better get used to me.

I'm absolutely in the minority here. Vicious didn't work for me. The male character was nothing but a bully and a jerk. The heroine was a doormat.

"This was so on. I was going to fuck Dean’s ex-girlfriend, use her for my personal needs, and toss her away when I was done."

What was the "jerk"'s nickname for the "doormat"? "help" as in hired help. He bullied her from the moment he met her. His first time laying eyes on her, he's not only rude to her but he also threatens to kill her. 

“Wrong fucking place and wrong fucking time. Next time I find you anywhere inside my house, bring a body bag because you won’t be leaving alive.” 

Barron ‘Vicious’ Spencer is the king of the high school. He and his three best friends are the popular rich boys everyone wants to hang out with and all the girls want to have sex with. Baron lives in a mansion. His father and stepmother are always absent, leaving Barron with all the free time to party and have sex. Then, his family hires Emilia LeBlanc's parents to do the housekeeping and the outside maintenance. Emilia's parents are in a dire financial situation because Emilia's sister has cystic fibrosis. 

Emilia joins the same high school as Vicious and the rest you can guess. Time after time, Vicious is nasty to her. He makes fun of her, he calls her "help", he's rude. What does Emilia do? Have a big crush on him of course. 

Fast forward a decade later, Emilia is living with her sister but has no money for rent or food. The medications are all expensive and constantly draining Emilia's bank account. Barron reappears in her life and dangles money in front of her eyes. Emilia can resist and a new cycle of bullying commences. 

I know this is supposed to be a hate to love and a second chance romance which usually they are one of my favorites but in this case, it fell completely flat for me.  

In my eyes, there were no redeeming qualities in Vicious. He was a narcissist jerk. 

2/5 Fangs

Breathless by Celeste Bradley and Susan Donovan

St. Martin's Griffin
Pub date: 06/12/2018
ISBN: 9781250008060
384 Pages

In Breathless, bestselling authors Celeste Bradley and Susan Donovan will sweep you away—across continents and centuries, combining the best of all worlds in one unforgettable romantic saga.

She was “the Swan.” London’s premiere courtesan. Men want to be with her. Women loathe her success and yet admire her beauty, her riches, her independence. But when the jealous wife of her lover moves to have the Swan banished from her home on the high seas, she winds up crashed against Spain’s rocky coast with no shoes, no clothes—and no name. Taken in by a tortured, sensuous man known as The Artist, the Swan comes to know the woman she wants to be—her artist’s siren.

When Art Professor Brenna Anderson is in danger of losing her post at Harvard, the rule-following, prim professor is at a loss of how to salvage the shreds of her life. But when a new painting in the mysterious Siren collection is discovered in a dusty old house in France, Brenna does the unthinkable—hops on a plane to uncover the identity of the beautiful, enigmatic woman who is the subject of the paintings.

There’s just one hitch—the frustrating, irritating, bold and beautiful art hunter Fitch Wilder is also looking for the Siren. He’s been a thorn in Brenna’s professional side for years, but when their individual quests lead them to team up despite being enemies, a whole new sumptuous world of art and culture opens up for the two of them. And with it, they enter a realm of passion and love…

Buy Links:

Chapter One


Door hinges groaned with age and disuse as Fitch Wilder got his first peek of history.
“Un capsule temporal…” his employer had whispered those words only moments
before, as they’d climbed the narrow stairs of the vintage Paris apartment building and
waited for the flat’s door to be unlocked. Yet even as Fitch’s eyes adjusted to the
murky light, he could tell these rooms were more than a time capsule—he was about
to step into a fine art wormhole.

“Oh, mon Dieu!” Jean-Louis Rasmussen gestured madly, pointing as if Fitch couldn’t
see the eerie sight for himself—a richly appointed tomb, still as death, undisturbed for
seventy-five years.

Until right at that instant.

The indirect light of the hallway began to illuminate the details. Fitch saw heavy
velvet drapes and Persian carpets, a gilt bronze writing desk, ornately carved tables
covered in figurines, clocks, and blown glass. Paintings in gilded frames were stacked
six-deep against Louis XV chairs. Sculptures hid in shadowy corners. Vases lined the
fireplace mantel like soldiers from mismatched armies. It looked as if someone had
planned a seriously badass rummage sale and then decided against it.
Perhaps not so far from the truth.

As he had recently learned, a young woman inherited this apartment from her
grandmother on June 11, 1940. Talk about rotten timing. The very next day, Paris
braced itself for the Nazi invasion, and the young mademoiselle locked down her
grandmother’s residence in the 9th arrondissement and fled to the south of France,
never to return. Through the following decades, the woman’s solicitor paid the taxes
and insurance on the apartment until his client passed away just weeks ago at the age
of ninety-three. In her will, the never-married woman carried out the wishes of her
long-gone grandmother and bequeathed the apartment’s contents to a variety of
foundations, universities, and museums.

That was where Fitch came in. One of his occasional employers, the private Musee de
Michel-Blanc, was among the beneficiaries, and he’d been hired to advise them
during acquisition. In addition to tracing the provenance and rightful ownership of
each work, Fitch would also oversee laboratory testing to verify age and authorship.
He was the museum’s insurance policy against the worst offense within the world of
art: display of a forgery or a stolen work.

“Allez! What are you waiting for?” Jean-Louis jabbed his bony fingers into Fitch’s
side, nudging him onward.

Pressing a firm hand on the curator’s shoulder, Fitch turned his attention to the
attorney who had unlocked the door. “May we proceed,monsieur?”

The lawyer gestured listlessly, as if opening a crypt was just another day at the
office.“Apres vous.”

Jean-Louis shoved past Fitch and into the apartment. “We are the first!”
Fitch stepped inside, resting the heel of his cowboy boot on the decades-dusted
parquet floor. He wanted to savor the moment, since this was the kind of once-in-a-
lifetime treasure hunt every art investigator dreamed of. More than that, he wanted to
honor it. Fitch knew he was about to take a breath of history itself.

And he wondered … whose lungs last pulled oxygen from the air of these rooms?
Whose fingertips had last brushed across these chairs or drew closed the draperies?
He’d been told that the solicitors had never entered the apartment, as requested in the
will, and it was unknown whether the granddaughter ever had a chance to examine her
inheritance before she escaped the city. All things considered, Fitch knew it was
possible that the grandmother—a woman born during Napoleon III’s reign—had been
the last human being to walk these floors.


Fitch drew in the stale air, and blew it out.

With an excited outburst of French, Jean-Louis flung open the drapes. And just like
that, a beam of morning light split the dim room, illuminating every corner. Millions
of dust particles twirled in the sudden air current.

In his agitated state, the curator stumbled, then gasped in horror. Fitch tried not to
laugh, but the sight of Jean-Louis cowering under a seven-foot-tall taxidermied ostrich
wasn’t an everyday occurrence.

Fitch tossed his employer a pair of white cotton gloves, then shoved his own hands
into an identical set. “Let’s keep moving. We don’t have much time.”

A random lottery had given the Michel-Blanc first access to the apartment. Like each
of the sixteen beneficiaries, they were allotted four hours to locate the items
bequeathed to them, conclusively match each item to the inventory within the
grandmother’s original 1940 will, crate the works, and exit the premises.

Fitch knew why Jean-Louis was so twitchy. Among the items earmarked for the little
museum was a signed Rembrandt in black and red chalk, dated 1631, and given the
decidedly generic title of “Mother and Child.” From the moment Fitch arrived at
baggage claim at de Gaulle yesterday, Jean-Louis had spoken of little else, going on
about how the drawing would be a major coup for the small museum. He was right, of
course, but only if he found it to be authentic, and Fitch knew signed-and-dated
Rembrandts from that period were exceedingly rare. He told his employer to keep the
celebratory champagne corked until he’d finished with the X-rays.

Though Fitch was looking forward to examining the Rembrandt, he was more
intrigued by the less conspicuous items on the list, and, though he’d kept the thought
to himself, he had a hunch one of the institutions might walk away from this Paris flat
with an explosive find. Fate had smiled on this private collection. The closed-up
apartment had served as a kind of a safe house during the Third Reich’s invasion of
Paris, allowing the artworks to slip beneath the notice of Nazi raiders determined to
plunder the city’s cultural treasures.

Only God knew what could be in this place.

Fitch set up his camera and reminded Jean-Louis not to move anything until he had
documented its location.

“Oui, Oui!” Jean-Louis headed into the dining room. He threw open those drapes as
well, flooding the area with sunlight and exposing an even larger jumble of tapestries,
oil paintings, figurines, and what looked like a carved frieze from the Middle Ages.
Jean-Louis sent his hands fluttering over his head. “Do you have your copy of the

Fitch nodded, snatching it from his jacket pocket and holding it up for his employer’s

Within the first hour, Fitch found three of their items: a Faberge egg dated 1902, a still
life of lilacs in crystal signed with Manet’s telltale scrawl, and a Guangzhou period
vase much like one he’d seen auctioned off for a quarter-million dollars the year prior.
As Fitch was matching the vase to the solicitor’s inventory, his employer began
screaming in French that he’d found the Rembrandt. He could barely compose himself
enough to hand the drawing to the solicitor for verification.

“It is the real thing,oui?” Jean-Louis looked up at Fitch with a pleading expression.
Since the poor man was overwrought, Fitch didn’t mention that he’d already asked
that question six times in as many minutes.

“Like I said, no red flags are jumping out at me. Everything looks right—the correct
chalk pigment for the date, the appropriate type of laid paper, and an authentic-
looking mark—but I won’t be sure until I’ve done research and run some tests. If I
could’ve phoned in this job from Santa Fe, I would have. You know that, right?”

The curator nodded, wiping tears from his eyes. He patted Fitch on the arm. “Bien sur.
You are the best and I will be patient.”

Once the crating process had begun and Jean-Louis was overseeing a team of museum
workers, Fitch wandered off to continue his search. According to the list, four items
had yet to be located—a series of original French political cartoons from 1899
through 1901, a female nude oil on canvas of unknown age and origin, a Japanese
kimono that allegedly belonged to an 18 th Century geisha, and a 1929 signed and
inscribed first edition of Hemingway’sFarewell To Arms.

Ole Granny was probably one hell of an interesting dinner guest.

Fitch wandered into a breakfast nook off the vintage kitchen and winced at what he
saw—a jumble of unframed canvases leaned against a window seat, a particularly
unkind way to store paintings. Luckily, the apartment had been nearly airtight all
these years, and the drapes had been drawn, which cut down on light damage,
moisture, and dust accumulation, though Fitch knew unframed canvases were
vulnerable to warp in the best of environments. He lowered himself to one knee for a
closer look.

Carefully, Fitch slipped a gloved finger between two canvases, separating them. He
began to divide each canvas from its neighbor, one after the next, making quick
mental evaluations of each work. There were watery French country fields, seascapes,
and studies of Paris street life through various decades. Though they were important
and worth further study, Fitch was on the clock, and so far there had been no sign of
any cartoons, kimonos, or mysterious female nudes.

The very last canvas was larger than all the others, perhaps forty-by-forty inches. It
was draped with an old embroidered bed sheet, and when he gently pulled at the linen
he found the painting was faced away. Its back was covered by a layer of coarse
muslin, frayed and tearing along the tacked-down edges. Fitch leaned closer,
frowning, his brain suddenly humming with alarm. One touch of the muslin and his
heart skipped a beat.

Okay—this was nuts. He had only seen the back. He had to be fucking crazy to be
thinking what he was thinking.

He set all the other canvases off to the side, stood to open the window’s shutters, and
returned to the floor, where he balanced on both knees. With the benefit of better
light, Fitch confirmed that his sanity was intact—there were, in fact, similarities. Was
it unlikely? Hell, yes. Was it impossible? Not in his line of work.

First, he took a few photos to document exactly where the canvas had been found and
in what position. Then, with a gloved finger, he pushed back a corner of the ragged
muslin and turned on the flashlight app from his phone. Peering underneath, he saw
how the canvas was supported by strainers of ancient olivewood and held together
mortise and tenon joints—an exact match to the others.

“Holy God,” he whispered to no one. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

His hands trembled slightly as he turned the canvas to face him. It was upside down.
He set it upright. The shock of what he saw sent him back on his heels, his breath
coming fast. In the bottom right corner was the familiar mark of an “L” and “A” done
in a bold cursive hand.

Fitch grabbed the list and double-checked the wording … “female nude oil on canvas
of unknown age and origin.” Of course it had been unknown back in 1940! The Siren
Series hadn’t been assembled as a collection of five paintings until after the war and
even then … well, hell, that was all that had ever been “known” about anything. Even
today, the artist, muse, setting, and date were a mystery.

He shoved the printed list back into his pocket and tried to get his brain and his breath
to slow down.

Fitch heard himself laugh out loud.

He couldn’t deny it. Everything was there. This painting had the lively brushstroke,
familiar play of light and shadow and the golden touch of sunshine on the model’s
warm skin. Fitch recognized the boudoir, too, with its wide windowsill framing the
sea, the rugged stone walls and the unvarnished oak of the simple bureau.

But it was the subject he knew best of all—her tumble of sun-streaked blond hair, her
smoldering, powder-blue eyes, the sleek curve of her shoulder. And there was the
fantail birthmark on the side of her right breast, exactly where it should be. That
mermaid-shaped mark had inspired the only name by which this outrageously sensual
muse had ever been known.

The Siren.

But Fitch had never seen her like this. No one had.

She was pregnant. The Siren leaned back on her hands at the edge of an unmade bed,
as if the painter had caught her in the process of pushing herself to stand after a long
and luxurious rest. Her full breasts and slightly rounded belly were gilded by the sun.
Her lean legs stretched out before her as she gazed directly into the soul of the artist.
Any shred of doubt Fitch might have been harboring was gone. The Siren’s bold eye
contact with the painter—and the intense sexual connection it revealed—was what set
these paintings apart from nearly everything else in the art world. That heated
connection was the trademark of this unknown painter’s work. And of his muse.
Fitch didn’t call for Jean-Louis right away, and instead allowed himself a few
moments of quiet study. This painting was as technically brilliant as the other five, to
be sure. The colors were as luminous and rich. The wash of light and hint of
movement were the same. And yet … this painting wasmore than the others. The sum
of all its elements had created something tangibly alive. It was as if the woman’s gaze
had burned through the artist himself, onto the canvas, and through time to reach

The Siren wasn’t daring him, exactly. It was more of an invitation.
I have a story to tell. Are you prepared to listen?

The sound of approaching footsteps jolted Fitch from his trance.

“Whereare you? We need to—” The curator stopped behind him. “Qu’este-ce? No! It
cannot be! Is this—?”

“Without question, my friend.”

“But…” He leaned over Fitch’s shoulder and pointed at the canvas. “She is with child
here. This is … this has never been seen before!”

Fitch nodded.

His instincts had always told him there were more than just the five paintings—and
he’d been right. So if this canvas had been hiding for seventy years in an abandoned
Paris apartment, how many more were hidden away and forgotten? And where on
earth could they be?

“We’ve just found the sixth in the Siren Series.” Fitch turned and smiled up at his
employer. “And it is now the property of the Michel-Blanc. That is, unless or until…”
“Mon Dieu!” Jean-Louis slapped a hand over his mouth. His eyes flashed in
comprehension as he did the math in his head. Like everyone else in the art world, he
knew this single oil painting could be worth more than several small Rembrandts,
simply because of one man’s obsession. Billionaire London art collector H. Winston
Guilford was unabashedly fixated with the Siren, and had spent the last twenty years
acquiring all five paintings in the series. He would surely offer an obscene amount of
money to get his hands on the sixth.

From the twinkle in his employer’s eye, Fitch suspected the Michel-Blanc would be
only too happy to enable Guilford’s addiction.

Fitch popped to his feet, the thrill of the chase already rushing through his veins, a
plan already forming in his mind. He would run tests on this painting while it was still
the property of the Michel-Blanc. And if he got extremely lucky, he would find
something he could use as leverage with Guilford, something that might convince that
crusty old bastard to let him take the rest of the series into the lab—and perhaps even
to public display.

And after that…? As always, he would wait and see where the hunt took him.
Fitch carried the painting to the solicitor, making a mental note to cancel his return
flight to the States. It could be a while before his boots once again roamed the blue-
skied streets of Santa Fe.

Copyright © 2018 by Celeste Bradley and Susan Donovan in Breathless and reprinted with permission from St. Martin’s Griffin.

CELESTE BRADLEY is the New York Times bestselling author of the Runaway Brides, Heiress Brides, Liar’s Club, and Royal Four series. Her novel Fallen was nominated for a RITA in 2002. “When you are overendowed with imagination and underendowed with punctuality, become a writer.” Years of dreaming on the job paid off when Celeste Bradley quit the mainstream in 1999 and started writing historical romance. “Handsome heroes beat out cranky customers every time!” Bradley lives in New Mexico with her family, her desert garden and so many pets the house sometimes feels like an ark.

SUSAN DONOVAN’s novels have won accolades for being witty, sexy, and entertaining. A former newspaper reporter with journalism degrees from Northwestern University, Susan is a New York Times and USA Today bestseller whose novels have been translated into dozens of languages. Susan is a two-time RITA Award finalist, and her novel Take a Chance on Me was named Best Contemporary Romance of 2003 by RT Book Reviews Magazine. She lives in New Mexico with her family and assorted dogs.

Celeste Bradley:
Twitter: @CelesteBradley_

Susan Donovan:
Twitter: @SDonovanAuthor
Facebook: @SusanDonovanFanPage