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Saturday 26 September 2020
Thursday 24 September 2020
Hessa's Fire - Available Now
Her eyes slowly opened into the masculine beauty of his. Dark green and not black as they’d appeared at a distance.
Monday 21 September 2020
First Meeting Between...
Jessica and Jason from Blood Of His Fathers
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Jess smiled as she remembered her son’s beaming, conspiring face the evening her mother came to collect him. The little traitor had gone without as much as a token struggle or backward glance.
“That’s better,” a masculine voice acknowledged.
Her startled gaze lifted to the tall man leaning with nonchalant ease near the exit doors. Everything about him—from his muscular physique encased in an expensively tailored dark suit to the confident curve of his lips and amber colored eyes glittering from beneath straight, dark brows—exuded power and position.
In years gone by Jess would’ve crumbled under the sheer intensity of his scrutiny, but time had taught her to control her emotions and hide her feelings well. She calmly released the breath she was holding and schooled her features into one of blatant disinterest. She tilted her chin and forced herself not to look away.
“What’s better?”
“Your smile,” he said. “Very pretty and all too fleeting.”
Jess lifted a finely shaped eyebrow with practiced indifference. “Really,” she said, unconvinced.
He chuckled. A soft, sexy sound that fluttered down her spine and nestled with incredible precision between her thighs. “Yes, really.”
❤
Saturday 19 September 2020
First Meeting Between...
Hessa and Rafiq from Hessa's Fire
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She bristled.
He had no right to be angry
with her.
Her knuckles were practically drained of blood with the death grip she’d
kept on the steering wheel, but she peeled her fingers from the steering wheel,
unfastened the seatbelt and climbed from the small, red car, slamming the
driver’s door shut behind her with a resounding thud. She stormed toward the
tall, broad-shouldered man, her ire rising with each step.
“Of all the idiotic, stupid stunts to pull—”
Their eyes connected and Hessa instantly regretted it. Nervous heat
flared in her chest and a long-forgotten desire surged to life between her
thighs. She took an involuntary step backward and reached for her engagement
ring with trembling fingers.
Matthew had only been dead six months.
She shouldn’t be aware of another man on such a cellular level or want
to bury her nose in his skin. Or notice how tightly his black riding breeches
hugged his lean, muscular thighs or how his white polo shirt outlined his broad
chest and taut, tapering waist.
The urge to turn and run overwhelmed her, but those dark, powerful orbs locked her into place with searing intensity. It was the last thing Hessa expected and the last thing she wanted.
❤
Monday 14 September 2020
Coming Soon - Fairytale Bride
Read an excerpt
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Chapter One
Madeleine Elliot's father's last,
and somewhat strange, request had brought her here, back to Harcles Hill Farm,
to the cramped, web-filled, dust-strewn garret high in the rafters. She had
searched the attic for hours until she'd found the tiny trinket he'd made her
promise to find, wrapped in an antique chemise.
She frowned and her breath deepened
as she studied the gold chain dangling between her fingers and pondered the
name that had so haunted her father in his final days. Did the gold chain
belong to the woman, Sarah, who had haunted his mind? And if it did, who was
Sarah and where on earth was she supposed to start looking for Sarah?
At first, Maddie had thought her
father had been confused, mistaking her mother's name with that of another,
then she had caught his eyes—his clear olive gaze. They had been sane and
lucid, without a hint of the disease that was invading his brain, torturing his
speech and contorting his thoughts. For a brief moment, she had glimpsed the
strong, vital man he had once been.
Faint molecules of ethereal scent
punctuated the heavy, dank odor of the attic filling her nostrils, touching her
senses with vague familiarity and teasing her brain with tidbits of impossible
memories—the soft lilt of music, the lively sliver of swishing skirts, the
sound of laughter amidst a maelstrom of shapeless faces. Happy times, although
Maddie had no idea how she could have known it.
"Well, it feels like
happy times," she murmured aloud in self-correction, then realized in
amazement she couldn't possibly have knowledge of that either. Still, somehow
her spirits were lifted by the thought and her heart overwhelmed by that
singular emotion.
Her fingers caressed the delicate
gold crowned heart swinging to and fro. It had been a while since she had been
happy...felt happy.
The shadows about her unexpectedly
softened to a gentle shade of blue and Maddie snapped her gaze left to the
bewitching aura of moonlight filtering through the attic's small casement
window.
She rose from the dust-covered floor
and, slipping the delicate chain into the pocket of her sundress, moved to the
window. She gazed out onto the dark and cloudless night sky. All was deserted
save for the clear full moon that hung above her father's precious hillside
walled garden below. "A Blue Moon," she declared pensively.
The Blue Moon has a face, her father
had once told her, and at midnight it speaks to those lucky enough to hear its
voice.
Maddie had thought this merely the
ramblings of an old, sick man, for the intelligibility had long gone, but a
faraway look had crept into her father's old eyes as he fell once again
exhausted against the pillows.
"The garden is an enchanted
place under the Blue Moon," he had said. "You don't remember, Maddie,
but magic happens. Walk in the light of the Blue Moon, and you'll see. Midnight,
Maddie. Midnight," he'd said, his voice feeble with death. "Just
believe."
Maddie sighed. Right now, she wanted
to believe more than anything. She wanted to escape her life. She closed her
eyes and tried her hardest to remember.
As a child she had believed her
father's stories...Stories that had felt so tangible, so real. She opened her
eyes and gazed down into the garden. It was real. Everything.
She knew it. She could feel it, yet, why couldn't she remember it?
"Because I am no longer a
child," she murmured sadly. "Peter Pan didn't want to grow up for the
very reason I can't remember."
❤
Friday 11 September 2020
Would you judge a son by the sins of his father? Blood of His Fathers Book Two Out Now
Jessica McCormack feels she is being drawn deeper into something even more sinister, something she has no control over, but can she trust everything she has been told? Can she trust her husband, especially with Detective Inspector Drew Mahon forcing her to question her marriage to Jason McCormack?
“Jason McCormack loves no one,” Drew pressed. “He’s as cold and ruthless as his father and does nothing without a calculable reason.”
“You’re wrong.” Her voice was restrained as she spoke.
“No, I’m not,” Drew countered angrily. “Tom Addison worked for Alexander McCormack,” he practically shouted. “Do you think Jason wasn’t aware of that fact before he married you?”
She must have looked stunned, or faint or something because Drew’s face sobered with immediate contrition. She felt gutted, empty, and numb.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. He pushed his fingers through his hair. “That was incredibly stupid and insensitive of me. I shouldn’t have said—”
Jess shook off the placating hand on her arm. “What do you mean? Tom was working for Alexander McCormack?”
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Blood of His Fathers Book 2 - New Release Today
Would you judge the son by the sins of his father?
Read an excerpt
❤
Chapter One
Nassau, New Providence
Friday, March 11
Drew scrolled the name before his eyes. Bingo! Jessica McCormack didn’t want him involved in her life, that’d been evident from the terse note she’d left at the front desk of her hotel. But this case went far beyond what one woman wanted or didn’t want. His gut was telling him she was hiding something and, if she wouldn’t confide in him, then he’d just have to find out the truth for himself.
For the last two hours, he’d sat in the Research Room at the Nassau Public Records Office’s Department of Archives in the center of town, flipping through Estate Records and Deeds, Indentures, and Conveyances Records dating back to the eighteenth century, searching for—he didn’t know what. But his perseverance finally paid off.
Drew studied the old land chart, intrigued at what he saw. The old house at High Rock and the three hundred and sixty acres surrounding it had belonged to the McCormack family for generations.
“So, why would you trespass on McCormack land if you’re supposed to be running away from them, Jess?” he murmured. “What were you looking for?”
At this point, coincidence didn’t necessarily surprise him, but it was a coincidence he didn’t like. He leaned back in the chair, digesting the fact the fire now added to the mystery surrounding Jessica McCormack.
“I’m afraid we’ve not finished updating these particular records, Detective Inspector,” a voice said over his shoulder.
Drew swiveled the soft leather chair to face the curator, Mrs. Ferguson, who peered at him over the rim of her glasses.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” She asked.
“I don’t know,” Drew said. “Something feels…I feel like something’s missing.”
“Well, if you tell me what you think is missing, maybe I can help.”
His lip curled in a wry smile. “I don’t know that either.”
That wasn’t quite true, well, not anymore. It was a long shot, but somehow, he’d hoped to find Jess’ name among these papers—something, or someone, to connect her to that old house.
“You know, a lot of the old records on the old High Rock estate have been sealed for a great many years. We’re just getting around to cataloging them. You’re welcome to take a look. They might be of more help,” Mrs. Ferguson said.
Drew rose to his feet with an appreciative nod. “Thank you.”
He followed Mrs. Ferguson to a locked door at the far end of the room. She opened it and led him down a narrow passageway and another set of downward spiraling steps.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Ferguson said, arriving at and pushing open a door in the drafty basement. She veered left and disappeared down a far aisle.
A cold mustiness hung in the air and Drew shivered. No one would guess the temperature outside was close to eighty degrees.
He waited by the door, listening to Mrs. Ferguson’s slowing footsteps. After a minute, the steps sounded again in his direction.
“Everything you need to know about the Thomas family,” Mrs. Ferguson said, handing over a medium-sized cardboard box.
“Thomas?” Drew queried. “I thought the McCormacks owned the land at High Rock.”
“They did,” Mrs. Ferguson answered. “Up until 1724. That same year the McCormack’s other plantation in Maryland was burned to the ground in a slave revolt. George McCormack owned both plantations in Maryland and on High Rock at the time. He committed, what was in those days, a cardinal sin. He fell in love with a slave that had come to High Rock from another plantation. A woman named Cordelia Thomas, and he willed the property at High Rock to the son born to her, Ben. It’s all in there,” she said, indicating the box. “Just not in the computer, yet. If you need any further help, I suggest you see Zip.”
Drew raised an eyebrow. “Zip?”
“Zip has fished these waters for the past sixty years,” Mrs. Ferguson said. “If anyone knows more about the High Rock plantation than what’s in that box, he does.”
She glanced at her watch. “You’ll find him down at St. Georges Wharf around lunchtime mending his nets before he heads out to sea. Just tell him I sent you. He’ll talk to you. But if you would tidy up before you go, I would appreciate it.”
Drew nodded his gratitude to Mrs. Ferguson for her help, and the curator left him alone, closing the door softly behind her. He opened the box and pulled out an old newspaper tucked in one corner, noting the publication and the date: The North Star, 1866.
He spied an article written by Frederick Thomas and sat down to read it.
An hour later, Drew was ready to give Mrs. Ferguson’s suggestion a try. Experience had taught him the value of conversation. Even seemingly incoherent ramblings could hold answers to otherwise inexplicable situations. He stood and replaced the documents in the box. At the moment, nothing was making any sense, and he’d already spent far too much time indoors. He had to stretch his legs, get some air and think, somehow join the dots, although he couldn’t help but feel he was still missing something—a huge part of some elaborate puzzle.
He didn’t like the sea—he never had—and as he neared the wharf and breathed in the nauseous taste of raw eggs and bloody, metallic smell of fresh fish, he was reminded of exactly why. He surveyed the scene before him and tried to control his rising nausea.
Colorful, shabby boats laden with the morning’s catch bobbed alongside the wharf: Fish of every variety of size and color, and conch, their smooth, pink coral shells, glistening in the intense sunlight.
Tourists milled around with a mixture of curiosity and awe, watching the fishermen gut and fillet their morning catch with breathtaking swiftness and expert efficiency. Large sea birds vied for the portions of discarded innards thrown their way.
Drew swallowed deeply and moved toward the blue fishing boat moored at the other end of the wharf where, he’d been told, he would find Zip. An old man sat with his back to him, mending a net.
“Zip?” He said.
The man answered without turning around. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m Detective Inspector Drew Mahon. Mrs. Ferguson at the Public Records Office said you could probably help me. I’m—”
“You’re English,” the old man stated. He kept his back to Drew.
“Yes, and I would like your help.”
“About what?”
“The Thomas plantation at High Rock. Mrs. Ferg—”
The old man turned and leveled worldly eyes and a seasoned face on Drew. He pointed a dark, crooked finger at the length of rope secured about an iron palisade.
“Get the rope, will you? If you want to talk, come aboard.”
He disappeared into the boat’s wheelhouse, and the engine started. “Are you coming?” He called out.
The vessel bobbed on the lapping tide, and even as his stomach started to regret the decision before he’d even made it, Drew took a deep breath and jumped aboard the Sea Conch. The old man chuckled softly, handed him a cup of some strange brew, and maneuvered the vessel out toward the open water.
❤
Wednesday 9 September 2020
Tuesday 8 September 2020
Saturday 5 September 2020
Friday 4 September 2020
Thursday 3 September 2020
Wednesday 2 September 2020
Tuesday 1 September 2020
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