Always fun to find a new reason to celebrate.
December 1 is Eat A Red Apple Day
December 2 is National Fritters Day
December 3 is National Roof-Over-Your-Head Day
December 4 is Wear Brown Shoes Day
December 5 is National Sacher Torte Day
December 6 is Mitten Tree Day
December 7 is National Cotton Candy Day
December 8 is Take It In The Ear Day
December 9 is National Pastry Day
December 10 is Festival For The Souls Of Dead Whales
December 11 is National Noodle Ring Day
December 12 is National Ding-A-Ling Day
December 13 is Ice Cream and Violins Day
December 14 is National Bouillabaisse Day
December 15 is National Lemon Cupcake Day
December 16 is National Chocolate Covered Anything Day
December 17 is National Maple Syrup Day
December 18 is National Roast Suckling Pig Day
December 19 is Oatmeal Muffin Day
December 20 is Games Day
December 21 is Look At The Bright Side Day
December 22 is National Date-Nut Bread Day
December 23 is Roots Day
December 24 is National Egg Nog Day
December 25 is National Pumpkin Pie Day
December 26 is National Whiners Day
December 27 is National Fruitcake Day
December 28 is Card Playing Day
December 29 is Pepper Pot Day
December 30 is Festival Of Enormous Changes At The Last Minute
December 31 is Unlucky Day
Thursday, December 1, 2016
Monday, November 21, 2016
Jack Templar and the Last Battle by Jeff Gunhus
In the last book of the Jack Templar series, Jack and his friends race to stop Ren Lucre before he launches this Creach army against humankind. But the Lord of the Lesser Creach and the Lord of the Zombies hold the last two Jerusalem Stones Jack needs to have any chance of success. To make matters worse, the Oracle predicts that one of their group will die in the upcoming fight, and Jack discovers betrayal among those he trusts most.
Even so, Jack must find the courage to lead his friends into battle. Either they collect the Stones in time to defeat Ren Lucre or die trying. It’s "Do your duty, come what may" no matter the cost. The fate of the world hangs in the balance.
I remember back when I received a copy of the first book in this series to review, I was a little iffy about it...and then I read it. It was fantastic, it quickly drew me in to Jack's world and I thought that my son would love it. So I handed it to him and waited eagerly for him to read it so we could talk about about it. It took a long time because he did not read as fast then as he does now.
Since then we have eagerly read every book and I have recommended them to every kid I talk to about books. So seeing the series come to an end made me a little sad. Finally getting to read it though? That made me so very happy.
I enjoyed watching Jack and his friends grow through this series and I think that The Last Battle showed how far they had come very well. It was a great read that brought me to tears in several places. I will continue to recommend this series to anyone.
Author Jeff Gunhus
Jeff Gunhus is the USA TODAY bestselling author of thriller and horror novels for adults and the middle grade/YA series, The Templar Chronicles. The first book, Jack Templar Monster Hunter, was written in an effort to get his reluctant reader eleven-year-old son excited about reading. It worked and a new series was born. His books for adults have reached the Top 30 on Amazon, have been recognized as Foreword Reviews Book of the Year Finalists and reached the USA TODAY bestseller list.
After his experience with his son, he is passionate about helping parents reach young reluctant readers and is active in child literacy issues. As a father of five, he leads an active life in Maryland with his wife Nicole by trying to constantly keep up with their kids. In rare moments of quiet, he can be found in the back of the City Dock Cafe in Annapolis working on his next novel or on JeffGunhus.com.
Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use an Amazon.com Gift Code or Paypal Cash. Winning Entry will be verified prior to prize being awarded. No purchase necessary. You must be 18 or older to enter or have your parent enter for you. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter and announced here as well as emailed and will have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. This giveaway is in no way associated with Facebook, Twitter, Rafflecopter or any other entity unless otherwise specified. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. Giveaway was organized by Kathy from I Am A Reader and sponsored by the author. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED BY LAW.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Publisher: 4-D Publishing
Roberta Sedgewick is stuck in a house that is too empty without her beloved Burton—the rat died and left her with his dog and rooms that rattle. She convinces her three golfing buddies, all in their seventies, to sell their homes and buy adjoining condos. The widows intend to spend the rest of their days golfing, gambling at the casino, and having fun. Oh, the heaven of it. But then they all hire the same maid who uncovers long-hidden criminal secrets kept by each woman. Oh, the horror of it. The reputations of their deceased husbands, a banker, a minister, and a respected farmer, will be tarnished forever. Three of the widows could face jail time, and the fourth fears for her life. Whatever will they do with the conniving, blackmailing maid?
I catch my breath. This could be it. To make sure, I draw the newspaper almost to my nose and read the listing again. Right here in the real estate section of the Vista Harbor Chronicle is the answer. The date in the corner reads July 7, only four days ago. A happy dance springs within me, but I control the urge. No customer sitting at a high table in a bistro needs to witness a lady past her prime make a fool of herself. Instead, I jig my fists below the table in a silent yes, yes, yes. I’ve found the condos. Life at age seventy-two is about to change. I slide from the stool and head for the door, hoping no one notices the newspaper tucked under my left arm.
“Thank you, Mrs. Sedgewick,” the coffee gal calls after me. She saw the paper, and that’s her way of letting me know. Without looking back, I waggle my right hand above my shoulder and push open the door.
Outside, I dig through my Gucci for my phone. I love my hobo bag, but don’t like searching for whatever drops to the bottom. I need to figure that out. I also don’t like the dark face of the phone in the bright sunlight. Phone people need to figure that out.
I move under the umbrella of a red maple. In filtered light, I send a text to my three buddies. Meet me at the clubhouse. I have a surprise. I shuffle a little smart-step, unable to hide my joy. I’m still light on my feet even though my hair has turned soft white. I avoid coloring it but fight other signs of aging with a diet pill once in a while and wrinkle cream rubbed in nightly. Like most Pisces, I’m proud, a bit vain, and not afraid to admit it. I hop into my reliable Subaru.
A hand grabs the top part of the car door.
I gasp and brace against the seat.
A careworn woman stands there like a waif. “I did naught mean to startle you. I noticed you did a jig step before getting into your car and wondered if you are from Scotland. I’m so homesick for the heather.” She’s medium height, medium weight—medium all the way around. Her flyaway hair is sandy, and her sad eyes show more burnished gold than green. She removes her hand from the top of the door. “I’m sorry for intruding.”
“No need to be. I’m not from Scotland, but some distant relatives were. They mixed with my English ancestors, so I’m blessed with a good dose of Highland merriment and English good sense that battle each other. I hope you find your way back to the heather.” I close the car door. It thuds softly, not a hard slam to show dismay. So often anymore I’m prone to sharpness and a quick tongue, followed by guilt. Or else I rattle on about nothing and don’t worry about it.
The Scottish woman walks away, spine stiff, head high. An odd, lonely woman, but likable.
A sense of uncertainty chases around my shoulders. I banish it with a glance at my watch. There’s enough time to run by Jones Realty and arrange for a showing of the condos this afternoon. I tilt the rearview mirror and apply a boost of blush, lip gloss, and a dab of liquid concealer by my left eyelid—the dang droopy thing. There. All is repaired well enough to see Ned Jones, the realtor.
Before I swing into the late morning traffic on Harbor Drive, a white-knuckle thought smacks into my gray matter. The newspaper is only a few days old, but what if someone already bought one of the units? What a terrible thought. I press harder on the accelerator and zip through Vista Harbor, the alpine resort community I call home. It’s a small town compared to Aspen or Big Sky, but it’s more than big enough to accommodate tourists and newcomers. I don’t mind sharing the beauty of my valley, my mountains, and my lakes. Sure, there’s room for all, and yes, I claim ownership. This part of Montana belongs to me.
Ten blocks later, after having to slam on the brakes to avoid the rear end of a showoff car, I park next to a chalet-style house with a readerboard announcing homes or acreage for folks to buy. Big black letters read, New on the Market. Four Single-Story Condominiums in the Harbor Hill Area. Perfect. And no more stairs to climb.
I straighten my skinny jeans, smooth my top, and walk inside the office. A clock chimes the half hour . . . plenty of time before lunch.
Behind a glass counter, inlaid with prize listings and a Sold banner across each, a young man thumbs through a stack of listings and thoroughly ignores me. He must be the new assistant, and the talk of the town, like any new buck. No cure for small towns and gossip.
“Is Ned in?”
“No.” The young squirt doesn’t bother to look up and continues to scan a paper, nimble finger flying down the page.
I lean a little onto my right side and place my jewel-covered fingers on the counter, thrumming them on the most expensive listing. “Just tell your boss our mom called from the nursing home and wants more money.”
The kid makes eye contact. “You’re his sista?”
“No, but you should treat me like I am. Do I hear Boston in your accent?”
“Moving to a small town is an adjustment. Attitude counts.”
Satisfied I have his attention, I say, “I would like to see those newly listed condos at 2:00 this afternoon.”
“The ones out on Harbor Hill?”
I nod. “The ones with the same name as the golf course, ski mountain, and every other place that isn’t called Alpine or Vista. What’s the street number?”
“101. Ned is showing a unit now.” The kid tries not to smirk. He doesn’t make it. His brown-flecked eyes shine with mischief. They probably always do. He’s a young devil, I can tell, and figure he’s teasing me.
“Please inform him Roberta Sedgewick will be at the condos at 2:00 this afternoon. If he can’t make it, have him call me. He has the number.” Halfway out the door, I lean back inside. “Oh, by the way, I’m interested in buying all four and may be interested in listing four pieces of prime property. Like the kind you have there under glass on your counter. Tell him not to sell any of the units until we talk. Understood?”
I chuckle to myself as the door closes. I’m bad.
About the Author
Marie F. Martin is the author of an intense vow in MATERAL HARBOR, surprising twists of a family’s past in HARBORED SECRETS, a grizzly attack and lover’s spat in RATHAM CREEK. Together her three thriller, mystery, or suspense novels have over 250,000 Kindle downloads and 613 five star reviews.
She now adds DON’T MESS WITH MRS. SEDGEWICK to her list of books.
Marie lives in a fertile valley at the base of the Rocky Mountains. She enjoys a quiet life where laughter comes easy, love easier. She invites you to join in her rich, rural memories on her website where she has posted a memoir of her early childhood and raising her family of four children.
Sale Price - $1.99!
Severe weather patterns - storms, floods and strong winds - are sweeping across planet Earth. Against this backdrop, three high school students, known and tormented for their strange abilities, fight their own battles against school bullies. The discovery of a strange key by their leader Chris Reynolds plunges all three through a portal into a sister world, Cathora, in another dimension. In this world, their behaviours, that labelled them as misfits on Earth, turn out to be the seeds of extraordinary powers.
They soon meet Batarr, the Guardian of the portal. He tells them they are not normal children, but are part of a group of six entities called Mytar who are periodically seeded throughout the dimensions to fight planetary invasions across these portals. Cathora has been invaded by an alien army, led by a creature known only as Zelnoff whose next target is Earth. The Mytar alone have the power to stop him if the other Mytar on Earth can be found. There ensues many struggles and battles as Chris, Susie and Joe seek to evade Zelnoff’s forces long enough for their powers to develop so they can detect the remaining Mytar back on Earth.
As the first rays of sun filtered through the tree canopy, Batarr’s forces assembled on the planet’s surface. They had emerged from a narrow, moss-lined tunnel had been chiselled between two sandstone rock outcrops. Compared to the underground complex, the surface was a cold and windy place. A light dusting of frost clung to the ground and the wind whistled and tore at the gathering company. To ward off the cold, the Mytar had been fitted with garments that had been soaked in oil derived from the boiled skins of warm-blooded fish. This oil was renowned for its unique properties. In the cold weather it solidified, sealing in the body’s warmth, while in hot weather it softened, allowing the skin to breathe.
Chris flexed his arms, twisted and crouched down into a squat. His clothes seemed to flex and mould themselves to fit the changing shape of his body. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and sniffed at the strange oily smell of the fabric.
“They’re made from the finest material in the land.” A deep, resonating voice jerked Chris out of his preoccupation with his clothes.
Chris looked up at a man over twice his size with dark, intense eyes buried above high cheek-bones and a long tapering jaw.
“I’m Altac, Leader of the Guard,” the man said.
Altac smiled, and Chris noticed a pink scar running from the side of his mouth to the corner of his jaw.
“I’m Chris,” he replied, feeling rather small and insignificant.
Altac brushed back some of the long curls of black hair that trailed down to his shoulder and bowed in what Chris assumed was this world’s version of a handshake.
“I believe you need no introduction,” he replied. “After all, aren’t you the reason we are embarking on this little errand?”
Chris smiled uncertainly, trying with his new found talents to catch something of Altac’s thoughts. He read admiration, mixed in with surprise at how young and small the Mytar were. Like so many of Batarr’s soldiers, Altac thought that the Mytar had volunteered to come and save Cathora from Zelnoff. Chris swallowed back some of his guilt, thankful that Altac hadn’t witnessed their behaviour when they first arrived.
Altac’s smile slid away. “I suggest yourself and your fellow Mytar travel in the centre of the company, where you will be best protected at all times,” he said, in a more solemn tone.
Chris nodded. Mingled with Altac’s admiration, he picked up the concern for their vulnerability.
By this time Susie and Joe had appeared. Chris noticed that both their eyes widened at the sight of this man. He wore what appeared to be a chest plate made of thick hide and metal, and a long dagger was strapped to his hip. Slung over his shoulder was the same weapon Chris had seen Zelnoff’s soldiers wearing in his vision. It looked a bit like a rifle, Chris thought, except it was shorter and bulkier. Altac greeted Susie and Joe with the same politeness he had shown Chris, bowing respectfully at each of them.
Joe circled Altac, paying particular attention to the weapon that hung by his side.
creature was gone.
Chris rolled onto his side. In front of him, the mountains towered into the clouds like a series of giant, white coated, metal spikes. The wind had dropped and the sun was beginning to break through the clouds. The warmth was magical. He crawled on his hands and knees higher up the beach, shivering uncontrollably in his wet clothes. Waves of exhaustion swept through him as he collapsed on his back. The rays of sun on his skin felt marvellous. He closed his eyes and thought he would sleep for just a moment.
About the Author
Robert Cole was born and grew up in Sydney, Australia. After achieving a Bachelor of Science (Honours) at the Australian National University he travelled extensively and returned to Sydney to complete a Doctor of Philosophy in Molecular Biology. Following a Post-Doctoral Fellowship at Sydney University, he worked in a number of biotech companies and has numerous scientific publications.
Robert has always had an interest in writing speculative fiction, particularly with themes related to social and political issues. Recently he has published an Apocalyptic novel called "Nuclear Midnight," that reached number one on Amazon UK. His other areas of interest lie in children and teenage fiction, generated while raising three children.
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
Date Published: August 2016
Grace, Sam and Dixie have known each other forever. But Grace has a secret. Pregnant and penniless after one drunken night with Sam, she gave up her baby for adoption without telling him. And condemned herself to twenty years of guilt.
When her daughter traces her, out of the blue, Grace longs to meet her. But she’s asking about her father and if Grace confesses to Sam after all these years, it will surely wreck his marriage to Dixie. How can their friendship survive such a betrayal? Yet does Grace have a choice?
Grace glared at them. Sam didn’t bother to move his hands. If anything, he pulled the girl harder against him, a defiant glint in his eye. Grace had never seen Sam look like that. He looked hungry. And strangely sexy in his own dishevelled way.
The girl kissed him, her lips deliberate as she kept her eyes on Grace. Grace wanted to slap the smirk from her face but when Sam made no attempt to kiss her back, the girl shrugged and eventually slunk away.
“Why did you tell her you’d been dumped?”
Sam grabbed at the bottle precariously balanced on the fruit machine. “What would you call a dirty weekend with your ex?”
“That’s stupid,” Grace laughed. “Dixie went to his twenty-first party. Big deal. It’ll be your turn next year. Who will you invite from school?”
“That’s easy.” He combed his fingers through his untidy shock of black hair. “I was the school odd-bod, remember? There was only you.”
She remembered, even through the drunken haze of too much vodka and champagne. It had always been the two of them. Until Dixie. And then there were three.
“Here you are, like a mermaid in your sexy see-through top.”
His hand was on her arm, the heat of him, next to her breast, the nipple poking through the thin fabric of her top. It was suddenly hard to breathe.
“Dance with me?”
It was a slow number, barely recognisable over the raucous beat of the party. Sultry, though, throbbing through the wooden floor, up through the soles of her feet to thud against her heart.
“Our song,” he whispered against her hair.
Black Velvet, she recognised it now. Remembered Sam’s crush on Alannah Myles. Felt strangely thrilled that Sam had called it their song. They’d always had each other. And Sam was right here, kissing her for the first time, an intense meeting of lost souls. It had always been their destiny to be together.
Danny was strangely riveted. “What happened next?”
“I can’t blame Sam. I totally seduced him.”
“You’d be pretty hard to resist, twenty years ago. Not like now, with your puffy red face and mascara filling your wrinkles.”
“How can you make me laugh at a time like this?” She fished another tissue out of her bag. “I need to start buying waterproof mascara.”
“Here, let me.”
He licked the tissue and applied it to the streaks on her face. For once, she was too exhausted to care what she looked like as she snuggled into the warmth of his shoulder, staring at the gulls as they wheeled and whooped above the harbour.
“I’m guessing you got pregnant? What did he say?”
“He didn’t know. But now I have to tell him everything because his daughter wants to meet him.” Another tear escaped down her cheek. “Everybody’s going to hate me.”
They’d loved each other all through that one stolen night, right until the first glimmer of watery daylight. Even drunk on vodka and champagne, Grace had never felt more alive. Sam was her soul mate. How had she never known that before?
When she woke up, Sam had gone out. He stayed out for hours and when he came back, he turned on the TV without saying a word.
“I made chilli. Something to do, left here on my own.”
“I already ate, thanks. Hangover munchies, you know how it is?”
She sat on the arm of the sofa, sick with dread. “What’s wrong?”
“You know what’s wrong. Listen, I’m sorry. But please can we not talk about it again?”
Still, he didn’t look at her. He couldn’t be sorry. He must see they were meant to be together. She stroked his arm but he shrugged her off, leaning as far away from her as he could get.
“Look Grace, stuff happens. I’m not sure how I ended up in your bed but the sooner we can forget about it the better. When Dixie comes back, Christ! This would kill her. Don’t even think about telling her.”
“But last night you said she’d dumped you.”
“Well today, I know I was being a tit. I’ve spoken to her. She’ll be back tomorrow, as planned. We’re fine.”
“What about me? Should I just disappear? Everything hunky-dory because you and Dixie are fine?”
The sarcasm bounced off him. He’d reduced their connection to a drunken fumble. A mistake he didn’t want to pick over. Dixie returned to claim Sam’s bed as well as his heart and nobody noticed how distraught Grace was. She’d never been more lonely.
By Christmas she knew she was pregnant.
About the Author
Sue Lilley lives in the north east of England, when she isn’t escaping somewhere else in her imagination. She loves a good story, especially feel-good escapism that makes you miss your stop and be late for work because you can’t put the book down. Her practical exterior hides the soul of a daydreamer and compulsive people watcher. She has been writing as a hobby for years, eavesdropping on people’s conversations on the Metro for inspiration.
She’s been married to Michael, an artist and fellow creative spirit, for more years than they’re brave enough to count. They have one grown-up daughter who’s far more sensible than either of them. ANOTHER SUMMER was Sue’s first published novel. Her latest, HIGH HOPES is also available on Amazon. Now she’s forced herself out of the closet, there will be other novels coming soon.
Monday, November 7, 2016
Date Published: October 2016
Rio Levant growing up had a normal loving family. But one fateful night his mother was killed and the life he knew was gone. His father committed an unforgivable act and Rio blames himself for the outcome. Now, a recovering alcoholic, Rio is still struggling to piece himself back together. Nothing and no one has been able to help him.
Growing up, Stacy Hammond was taught that the best way to survive was to latch onto a man and hope he never let you go. Stacy is determined not to follow in her mama's footsteps and is committed to making a life for herself without a man by her side. But a drunken one-night stand pushes Stacy towards a man who she never would have picked out for anything other than his hot body and his bad boy attitude. He seems like the wrong choice but she can't seem to get enough of him.
Rio and Stacy are going to find out that sometimes what you believe is completely and totally wrong.
"How old were you when you lost your virginity?"
I held back a chuckle. This game of war was starting to get serious. "Sixteen. How about you, Princess?"
She slapped a queen on top of my jack and pulled the pair towards her. "Fourteen."
Fourteen? That was the same age my sister had been when--
"Did you love her?"
"Uh…" She interrupted my thoughts and threw me for a loop with that question. What had we been talking about? Right, virginity. "No. I thought I did at the time. Did you love him?"
"I thought I did at the time but he broke my heart." She tossed a two in my direction and I scooped up the small win.
"What's his name? I'll kill him."
She smiled, her eyes twinkling softly as she met my gaze. "Garret Sothers. He's in Boyd County jail. Protected."
"For now," I said with a wink. We both set down a pair of aces and then proceeded to have a war.
"One, two, three. War!"
"Oh, come on!" she shouted as my other ace kicked her king's ass. I grinned as she settled herself back down and we proceeded to play. "Who broke your heart?"
I glanced up, her gaze was down on the cards. Thank God I didn't say that out loud.
"You don't know her last name?"
"I do. Spears. She broke my heart when she started dating that asshole Justin Timberlake."
The front door slammed shut as James and Elly came back inside effectively cutting off Stacy's laughter. I was a little disturbed that I'd forgotten that they had been out there. No doubt James was near frozen. I swallowed back my unease and stood up from the table as they both entered the kitchen. Stacy looked at me with big, worried eyes. I offered her a smile which seemed to ease her tension a bit. She turned her in her chair, her eyes on James.
"So," James said, looking down at his feet. He looked every bit like a little boy who'd just told his mother to go screw herself. "I overreacted a little bit and I'm sorry."
"I forgive you, of course. I'm sorry too, for being such a klutz and ruining your drums."
She nibbled on her lower lip for a moment before she stood up and extended her arms towards him. I felt jealousy burning in my gut as James arms wrapped around her and pulled her body close to his.
"Okay," he said, ending the hug as quickly as it had begun. He stepped back and glanced between all of us. "There is more good news on top of that apology. The roads have been plowed and we are all free to get out of each other's hair.
I felt the snap of disappointment at the news. Stacy was more fun than I thought she'd be sober and although the sexual tension between us was high we were still able to hold a conversation. Perhaps we could make a go of things once my sobriety was under control and steady. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to try.
I shoved my hands into my jean pockets and nodded. "Awesome. Let's all get showered and then we can go back to the bar.
"Dibs!" James practically pushed Elly out of the way as he ran towards the bathroom. I sighed heavily.
"We're not going to be getting any hot water, are we?" Stacy asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
I shook my head. "No. Probably not."
Elly shrugged innocently. "I already had one. I'm gonna go watch some TV. Wanna join?"
I looked between the two girls who were staring at each other. Stacy shrugged her shoulders. "Sure." And then they both looked at me.
"Uh, yeah, sure."
About the Author
Marie Cole lives in GA and spends her days writing romance books, dreaming of new book covers and waiting for her two girls to get home from school.
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Romantic Suspense, Women’s Suspense
Date Published: 09/20/2016
Her life was a lie. He has nothing left but a company on the brink of bankruptcy.
Charlie Gomez fantasizes about a better life. Raised as an illegal immigrant by a single mother, she’s faced a lifetime of pain and struggle. On her mother’s deathbed, she learns that everything she’d ever believed was a lie. An unexpected windfall allows her to seek answers about the past while building herself a future. But trouble is brewing with her antagonistic sexy new boss.
Jaxon Roberts was a street orphan who survived and thrived thanks to the kindness of a wealthy benefactor. But when his adopted father passes away, he’s left with a major surprise: his father left a biological heir, and she’s the key to his company’s survival.
As tension and rivalry give way to love, dark shadows of the past put their future -- and their lives -- in grave danger. When Charlie disappears, Jaxon is faced with a choice…walk away and preserve the world he knows, or fight for a future with the one woman who can truly teach him what family is all about.
Jaxon’s brain shorted out when Charlie strutted across the dance floor using a wicked looking whip as a necklace. A heavy breath sawed from his lungs when she hooked one leg around a metal pipe that ran from the floor to the ceiling and exhibited extreme flexibility by arching over backward.
She glided away from the pole and faced the crowd. The seductive smile on her face held a hint of mischievousness and a lot of naughty. He dropped into an empty chair before he embarrassed himself by falling to his knees.
Her day-to-day clothes managed to cover up an excellent figure. In what Charlie was now wearing, or not wearing, she was magnificent. She didn’t have the large breasts of a typical stripper, but they were proportioned for her body. Enough to overflow a man’s hands. Everything male in him wanted to jump on the stage and wrap his jacket around her exposed body parts.
Tony stood beside him with his mouth dropped open. Jaxon’s breath became coarser, faster as he ground his back teeth together. He couldn’t do anything about the rest of the losers in the bar, but he could make his friend quit gawking.
“Beat it. I’ll wait here and take Charlie home.” Jaxon’s voice left no room for an argument.
He held up one hand to stop him. Nothing he said would help at this point. “Don’t.”
Three minutes passed like an eternity. Her movements were slow and sexy as the strobe lights glistened on her ebony hair. Each gyration sent it swirling around her bare shoulders in the gentlest of caresses. His eyes took in the sleek heels she wore and traveled what seemed like miles up shapely legs. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he used one hand to wipe it away. His face flamed when he realized her erotic dance had gotten him hard just like every other pathetic loser in the place.
The spectacular performance was marred by a single misstep at the end when he expected her to fall face first into the audience. Who knew what she would do next? He moved closer to the raised area in case he needed to catch her. The song ended, and she headed backstage to loud clapping and whistling.
“Bring the big girl back,” an inebriated patron yelled and waved a fistful of dollars.
Jaxon clenched his fists and wondered if anyone would even notice him dropping dead from a burst blood vessel. Reaching the limit of his control, he swore to the heavens above, he would climb the stage and carry her out if she tried to do another number.
An hour later, he leaned against his truck and waited for her to appear. She walked out the back door and the bouncer said something to make her laugh. He knew the second she spotted him because her stride slowed to the shuffle of a naughty child.
About the Author
Bess George lives in Texas with her hubby and kids. Even though Bess crunches numbers for a living, she’s managed to work in some unusual places over the years. The oil business, a gun range, and a golf course are a few jobs where she met all types of characters. She loves to hear stories about people finding the unexpected hero inside each of us.