Excerpt from GUINEA PIG by Greg Curtis

Guinea Pig 

By Greg Curtis

SYNOPSIS:   

Ten thousand dollars. 

It was a lot of money for a simple injection. It was a lot of money for a student. And the one thing that William Simons knew about the research trial was that it was safe. 

Of course he said yes. 

But that was before he discovered that Doctor Millen had a secret agenda. Before he discovered that what he'd been given wasn't the same as what the other subjects had been given. And it was before his body started to transform into something else. Something not human. 

It was also before a series of inexplicable natural disasters started to destroy Los Angeles. 

GREG SAYS:

I particularly liked it for its over the top description as it showed the clinic room, but also because it contrasts so completely with what happens in the room. Doctors in white coats, in white clinic rooms we sort of associate with professional medical care. They are in our thoughts places where only the highest possible standards of care exist. By contrast mad scientists live in abandoned castles and underground labs and concepts like professionalism and sterility go out the window. And I wanted very much to make my mad scientist the consumate professional so that it became almost impossible for the hero to understand what he had done when things started going wrong.

EXCERPT:

The clinic room was sterile in every sense of the word. While there was no chance of any bacteria having survived on the sparkling white tiles of the floor or the lustrous white laminate walls, there was also no chance of any human warmth surviving there either. It had no personality. No colour – literally. Nothing of any real interest. Even the air stank of antiseptic without the benefit of the usual fake floral bouquets found in hospitals.

But that was as it was meant to be Will supposed. And at least the chair was comfortable. A nice leather recliner that would have been more than welcome in his tawdry student flat. Except for the colour of course. It too was sterile white.

The only things that really stood out against the tyranny of white were the ring of machines surrounding him which had patches of colour here and there, the faces of Doctor Millen and his assistants, and the little flashes of colour on the various monitors as they displayed his vitals. It might have helped if the medical staff weren't all wearing white full length lab coats done up tight. But they were probably worn for reasons of sterility as well. Either that or to blend in with the walls.

But why the need for so much white? That was the thing he didn't understand. It was over the top and then some. Sure, it was a clinic and medical settings seemed to go for the white look.  But it wasn’t as if it was a surgery. He wasn't about to be cut open. It was a simple injection. It could be done in a field with a plastic needle and an iodine swab.

Still, when there was ten thousand dollars riding on the procedure he guessed he could live with a little white.

FIND OUT MORE:  

Greg on GOODREADS
Greg's author page on AMAZON

Excerpt from Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale By Tracy Falbe

Werelord Thal 

A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

By Tracy Falbe

Synopsis: 

Thal is wanted for Devil worship and shape shifting but still boldly walks the streets of 16th century Prague. Jesuits hunt him. Mercenaries fear him. Musicians sing his praise, and women are captivated by his alpha swagger.

Born of a witch and a sorcerer, Thal is burdened with his mother’s magical call for vengeance. His hunt for the men that killed her is complicated when the Magistrate’s stepdaughter Altea Kardas crosses his path. Horrified that her community is burning women to death, she can confide her doubt and fear only to Thal.

He desires her greatly but knows he will bring ruin upon her. Across Bohemia and beyond people who are different are labeled heretics in a restless world hobbled by tyrannical ignorance. The Renaissance has thrown the Holy Roman Empire into turmoil. Printed books are spreading radical ideas. Firearms are triggering a new age of warfare. And the human spirit is shaking off obedience.

Thal embodies the ancient magic of the pagan past. He challenges a world conquered by a spiritual system that denies the flesh and forgets the Earth. And he awakens within Altea recognition of these truths. She believes any risk is worth loving him until she becomes the bait in a trap set by Thal’s enemies.

 

Tracy says: 

In this scene Thal has been summoned by the noblewoman Lady Carmelita. He lives among her servants because he travels with three musicians she has hired. Her lover Valentino has already seen Thal transform into a werewolf and now Carmelita wants to see it happen. As part of a group of Protestant conspirators she is a very daring woman but nothing can prepare her for what Thal can show her. When writing the scene it came to me quickly. Throughout the novel I had fun with Valentino’s jealousy of Carmelita’s attraction to Thal, but Valentino is also obsessed with Thal and wants him as an ally.

Excerpt:

Thal waited for Carmelita to speak. She regarded him thoughtfully. His unique eyes could no longer be dismissed as a trick of birth. Some sorcery had altered them.

“I’ve been told something very extraordinary about you,” she said.

“People like talking about me,” Thal said with playful disinterest.

“Can you show me?” Carmelita said.

The request surprised him.

Valentino balked. “My Lady, you cannot imagine how it will effect you. The world will cease to be the same. Don’t be so hasty,” he said.

“I want to see,” she insisted.

Thal glanced around the room. “We should move the furniture,” he said.

Carmelita gasped. She had expected him to protest.  His quiet acceptance of her request frightened her with oncoming reality.

He tossed aside his cloak and revealed the beautiful wolf fur. He spread it on the table next to Carmelita and closed the drapes.

Valentino jumped up and locked the door and pushed back the chairs and embroidery frame. Carmelita ran her hand over the fur. Despite the empty eye slits and dried nose, she almost expected it to breathe.

Thal flipped over the fur so she could see the blood writing. Valentino leaned over it as well. A thin band of sunlight from a gap in the drapes fell across the skin, making the strange characters glisten as if wet and fresh again.

“I’m trusting you with my secret,” he said.

Carmelita gaped as Thal walked to the clear area and started taking off his clothes. Valentino took her hand and stood close. The scratches and bruises on Thal’s body were revealed when he disrobed. Carmelita leaned back when he approached the table. He had no concern for modesty and his physique filled her eyes with a perfection worthy of Italian sculptors. He grabbed his fur, took a few steps back, and held it around his hips.

“I’m no mad beast. I won’t hurt you,” he said.

She nodded nervously.

When he began to recite the words of the spell, the unknown language provoked all her superstitions. She covered her ears, afraid that each syllable spelled out her damnation. Her curiosity had brought her to this terrifying moment.

She came to her feet when the transformation started. Valentino held her back. Thal’s painful cries made her want to help him, but then his manhood was enveloped by wolfen monstrosity. When it was finished he rose onto his back feet.

The flopping and groaning during his shift had summoned a pair of servants. They were banging on the door, begging to know what was wrong with their mistress. Thal dropped to all fours. He approached Carmelita. His claws clicked on the wood floor until he reached the rug.

“Go away! I’m fine!” Carmelita finally responded to her servants’ pleas. Her voice was shrill, but she cared nothing of what her servants might assume she was doing locked away with two men.

Thal’s huge head reached to her chest even when he was on all fours. His wide nostrils sniffed her. She reached out with a shaking hand. His fur was reddish brown, much like his human hair, except that more streaks of silver and black were in his coat. His animal eyes gleamed with an intelligence perfected during the long ages of Creation.

Gently she ran her fingers up his snout and then along his fluffy cheek. He was equal amounts fearsome and beautiful. He was worthy of the Devil and God all at once.

About the Author: 

I've always written stories. When I was a kid I wrote stories and drew pictures for them and stapled them together to make books. My mother recently showed me one of these little books apparently based on my older brother's Dungeons & Dragons gaming.

When I was 14 I wrote a sci fi novel. When I was 15 I wrote a fantasy novel. I set them aside and never looked at them again. Then I grew up and had some adventures and became disillusioned about most everything except my dream of being a novelist. In 1997 at the age of 25 I started writing again. Now it's 2014 and I am working on my tenth novel. No publisher was ever interested in me. I stopped beating my head on that door in 2004. But rejection from people who would never care about my dream only emboldened me. I began self publishing my fantasy fiction in 2005. That was before being an indie author was cool. Despite relentless obscurity and general disrespect, I was always encouraged by a steady trickle of sales and the occasional kind comment from a reader.

To be honest, being a novelist is always a struggle. I get criticized in public and don't get called by any movie producers, but also every day someone somewhere buys my novels and that amazes me. I'm humbled by my readers. I will always do my best to craft stories worthy of them. I love the stories I write. I'm having a good dream.

You can find  Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale and all my novels at my web store Brave Luck Books and at: Amazon  or Barnes & Noble  or Kobo.  Follow her on Twitter @TracyFalbe

Excerpt from BETRAYED by Wodke Hawkinson

Betrayed 

by Wodke Hawkinson

SYNOPSIS:

Betrayed, a Novel by Wodke Hawkinson, Brook, a Denver socialite, seems to have a good life until she becomes the victim of a botched carjacking. In a matter of minutes, her life is forever altered. She is abducted, transported, and held for days by three brutal men in a remote mountain location. She escapes only to end up barefoot, nearly naked, and hopelessly lost in the Colorado wilderness at the beginning of a harsh winter. Lance, a man who has shunned society, lives like a recluse in a rustic cabin far removed from the modern world. He likes his solitary life. But his world is about to be turned upside down. Advisory: Contains sexual violence and strong language.

PJ and K say:

In our novel Betrayed, Brooklyn is abducted during a botched carjacking. She endures horrific abuse at the hands of her captors and her situation is desperate. In spite of the hopelessness of her predicament, she determines to somehow survive. She refuses to give up.

Parts of the novel were difficult for us to write, and are hard for some people to read. However, we didn’t want to gloss over a crime that is so horrendous it alters the victim’s life. We wanted to make the story as realistic as possible. Once Brook is free of her captors, the novel takes a turn and the scenes were much more enjoyable for us to write.

The following excerpt details one of Brook’s escape attempts.


EXCERPT:

Gina slammed Brook with her forearms, knocking her onto the mattress. Shivering, Brook grabbed the stained sheet and wrapped it around her nakedness, keeping her gaze glued to Gina all the while.

Gina’s eyes roved the room and fell on the torn garments scattered about the floor. Swooping down, she grabbed them and stormed out, bellowing, “Are you guys out of your mind? Do you know how expensive these clothes are? I would have loved….” Her voice trailed off as she moved away from the room.

Minutes later Brook heard the small ding of a microwave. The smell of food reached her, but did not stimulate her appetite. She listened to her captors through the thin walls as they talked around mouthfuls of what smelled to her like popcorn and pizza. No one offered her anything to drink or eat, which was fine with her. She didn’t think she would be able to keep anything down, even if someone shoved food in her mouth. But, the point was well taken that she would not be fed. Her life was to be forfeited. Once the initial rush of adrenaline drained away, Brook became aware of pain flaring in her feet. Her barefoot rush into the wilderness had left cuts and bruises on her soles. She rubbed them gently against the mattress. They were just more injuries to add to the list.

Darkness descended. Lightning flashed outside the window and thunder boomed, startling her. The lights in the room blinked off and then came back on. Brook pulled the blankets closer. Wiggling down between the mattress and the wall, she tried to become as small as possible. Following another loud crack of thunder, the lights went off and stayed off. Crazy patterns crawled around the room; dazzling brightness alternated with menacing shadows. Rain cascaded between the bus and the window. The storm sounded as if it were in the room with her, surrounding her, cursing her.

She wept. Her mind raced frantically away from thinking about what she had just endured. She pushed away even thoughts of Clark because the yearning for him hurt so much she could not bear it. Riding waves of pain, she let the tears flow until there were no more to tears to cry.

After a while the house grew quiet. Brook crept painfully to the door and pulled it open a crack, listening. Hearing nothing but the rain outside, she eased into the hallway and tiptoed towards the living room. Lightning illuminated the room for a long moment, and she could see Pete and Gina sleeping on the fold-out couch. Their bed filled the small room; she would have to go across it to reach the door.

Carefully, moving mere inches at a time, Brook stepped onto the mattress, swaying slightly to retain her balance. She had only taken two small steps when fingers wrapped around her ankle.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Pete’s voice came from the dark.

Brook yelped, jerked her leg free, and fell across the bed and onto the floor. Jumping to her feet she yanked the front door open and darted outside, only to be grabbed around the waist by Pete. “Noooo!” she screamed into the pouring rain.

FIND OUT MORE:

Wodke Hawkinson is the name under which K. Wodke and P.J. Hawkinson produce their co-authored works. They have co-written four novels, an alternate ending to Betrayed, three short story collections, and several short story singles.

Betrayed can be purchased here.   

Wodke Hawkinson Website: http://wodke-hawkinson.com/ 

Reader & Fellow Indie Authors site: http://findagoodbooktoread.com/ 

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Wodke-Hawkinson/e/B00572KLX2/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1   

On Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wodke.hawkinson

Twitter ID: @WodkeHawkinson

Excerpt from The Rustler's Daughter by M.E. Franco

The Rustler's Daughter

By M.E. Franco

SYNOPSIS:

When Hannah Miller’s mother dies unexpectedly, she is forced to go live with her father, who she thought was dead. Hannah has high hopes that her father will be happy to finally meet her, but Roy Miller quickly puts Hannah in her place. She is a burden, just another mouth to feed, and an ugly reminder of the wife who left him.

Her father's act of desperation puts Hannah at the mercy of his enemies, the neighboring Scott family. Despite the bad blood between their families, Hannah is immediately attracted to Jackson Scott, but he has his own secrets and feels Hannah would be better off with someone else. When someone else does offer Hannah a way out of her predicament, will Jackson be able put aside his past and fight for the woman he loves?


MICHELLE SAYS:

Taking a break from my paranormal series, I set out to do something completely different. I grew up watching tons of western shows and movies and reading bags full of Harlequin romance books my grandfather used to buy me at the "swap meet", so I thought it might be fun to try my hand at writing one. My grandmother used to tell me stories of our family, and how they left Oklahoma to farm in California. I chose Folsom, California around the early 1890's as my setting. California during and after the Gold Rush was a dangerous place to be. It was a harsh environment to make a living for men, let alone women. When I wrote this story, I wanted the woman to be strong, but I also had to take into consideration that it was a different time, and women didn't have the choices they have now. Many women had to depend on men to survive, and so it was really challenging for me to write a strong woman character under those circumstances. It goes against my nature, but that was the reality of the time.

    In The Rustler's Daughter, Hannah is sent to live with her father and brother after her mother dies. Her father is a bitter man and his desperation sets forth a series of events that leaves Hannah alone on her family's ranch without help or money. Hannah is attracted to one of the men on the neighboring ranch, but he hasn't seemed interested in her. When a rich, older man in town offers her a way out of her predicament, she's forced to consider marrying a man she doesn't love to save her family's ranch.

EXCERPT:

"You seem to be a smart girl. I'm sure you're not as ignorant of your situation as you appear. Surely you understand that you cannot continue on as you are, without help."

            There it was. Out in the open. Her face burned with embarrassment. She looked away and didn't respond.

            "I want to help. As a friend of your father's, I feel responsible for you now that he's gone." Mr. Harding hooked his finger under Hannah's chin, turning her face up to his.

            "State your business, Mr. Harding." Hannah wasn't fooled by his false words. She remembered how her father had looked at him. They were not friends.

            Mr. Harding laughed out loud. "Well, you are a smart girl indeed." He laughed again. "Straight to business then. I like that. Here's what I propose, Miss Miller. You need money and someone to help you run the farm, and I'd like to do that for you."

            "What do you want in return?"

            "You," he said softly.

            "Pardon?" Hannah didn't like where this conversation was going.

            "It's simple really. I need a wife, and you need a husband. It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement."

            Not the romantic proposal she had always dreamed of, but many marriages were based on convenience rather than love. He was just being practical.

            "Thank you for your offer, Mr. Harding, but I'm not entirely alone. The Scotts have been helping me."
            Mr. Harding's eyebrows rose. "The Scott brothers? So, one of them has offered to marry you then?"

            "Well...no," she stammered while Jackson's handsome face burned in her thoughts.

            "I'm sure I don't have to tell you how that looks, Miss Miller. You alone on that ranch with three young men visiting, and no one there to chaperone," he sneered.

            Hannah was shaken by his cruel words. He was right. She hadn't thought about how her situation might look to others. She had enough problems holding her head up in town after being branded the rustler's daughter. She didn't need her reputation coming into question as well.

            "I'm well aware of my situation," Hannah hissed.

            Mr. Harding immediately backed off. "I'm sorry. I've offended you again. That was not my intention. You don't have to give me an answer now. Just say you'll consider it. I'm sure you'll realize that it really is the best answer." He smiled broadly, taking her hand and placing a kiss on it, before tipping his hat.

FIND OUT MORE:

Get The Rustler's Daughter on Amazon or  Nook.  

Also check:

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/MEFrancoAuthor

Blog: http://www.mefrancoauthor.blogspot.com/

Website: http://mefranco.com/

And follow on Twitter @MEFranco1

Excerpt from Tell Anna She’s Safe, by Brenda Missen

Tell Anna She’s Safe 
By Brenda Missen

SYNOPSIS:

Driving home alongside West Quebec’s Gatineau River one April afternoon, Ellen McGinn spots a parked car that looks like it might belong to her friend, Lucy Stockman. Arriving home, Ellen receives a phone call from Lucy’s common-law partner: Lucy has disappeared. Led by a series of disturbing visions, Ellen embarks on a nerve-wracking search that soon becomes a determined quest for the truth beyond the stereotypical appearances of her friend’s risky relationship with an ex-convict. Terrified for her own life and getting in over her head with a compelling police detective, Ellen reaches a deeper than bargained for understanding of Lucy’s dark journey—and her own.

Tell Anna She’s Safe was inspired by and based on the life of Louise Ellis, an Ottawa freelance writer who disappeared in 1995. The author, Brenda Missen, was a friend and colleague of Louise, and was the person who found Louise’s car when she first went missing.

BRENDA SAYS:

This excerpt is part of a longer scene that shifts back and forth between Lucy’s visit to Tim at a medium-security prison and her arrival back home to her current boyfriend, Curtis, in Ottawa. I had received permission from Corrections Canada to visit Warkworth Institution so that my description of Lucy’s visits there would be authentic. I had never visited a prison before and the whole experience was so etched in my brain I think it fuelled and sharpened the writing, especially when I had to write it from the perspective of a woman so filled with fears and anxieties. This first visit to Tim (after many letters and phone calls) is a pivotal moment for Lucy, when she makes the decision to truly leave behind her familiar world and pursue a relationship with this man whom she had met after he had given testimony in an important Supreme Court case. I got the idea to shift back and forth between the prison visit and her own home, using word association to provide a link between the two settings. I think the quick alternating of scenes, and the contrasts between them, gets across the shift as it is happening inside her—and shows how it is, for her, a positive shift. It was a very satisfying scene to write. The word associations and contrasts/similarities in emotions that provide the links between the two settings came very naturally, and it’s a technique I’m now using on a much larger scale in my current memoir.

EXCERPT:

As she stood, dazed and exhausted, the screen door swung open. She had to step out of the way.

            There was a man in the doorway. He looked puzzled. “Why are you just

standing out there?”

            She didn’t respond.

            “Hello?” said Curtis. “Earth to Lucy. Come in. Come in,” he repeated, stepping aside and opening the door wider. “Did they lobotomize you while you were in jail?”

            She stepped in through the door. She handed over her purse. If body searches had been legal, he would have found it was her heart, not her frontal lobe, that was gone. She was amazed at how detached she felt from him. And not amazed at all.

            They sat down at the kitchen table. Curtis poured her a glass of wine. She was too tired to appreciate the gesture. She was too tired to drink it.

She was overcome by the wearying sensation of having driven not just hundreds, but seemingly thousands, of kilometres. What was she doing here? Who was this man? He sat before her, shoulders slightly slumped, avoiding her eyes. Where were the presence and confidence he had exuded in the courtroom? Where was the familiarity she had felt in meeting him there and in their letters and phone conversations? She was sitting before a prison inmate who, when he had lived in her world, had committed countless acts of fraud—and one act of manslaughter. What was she doing?

            She was starting to feel dizzy. The smoke seemed to have filled not just her lungs but her entire insides. It was choking her. She was going to faint. She just needed to signal to one of the guards. She could get up and walk out without saying a word. They could pretend she had never come. She could go back to her safe, familiar world and he could stay here, in his. In her mind, she was already summoning the guard, mentally raising her arm as if he were a waiter.

            Tim cleared his throat. “Your drive here,” he began.

            Her horror magnified. In her mind she was tugging furiously on the guard’s sleeve, to get her out of there before Tim spoke. She was terrified he was going to say something mundane about the drive, the weather. That he wouldn’t be who she thought he was. That she’d made a massive mistake. Her head began to spin. Nausea overwhelmed her. She was going to throw up.

            “Your drive here,” repeated Tim, “means a lot to me.”

            The words entered her head like a peacekeeping troupe and made it stop spinning. The nausea vanished. Her vision cleared. It was Tim. Thank God he was still not looking at her, had not seen her face; it was shyness, not social backwardness. It was respect. It was nothing she’d ever experienced before.

            “I’m kind of overwhelmed by you sitting here in front of me.” Tim gave a small, embarrassed laugh and then he met her eyes.

            The guard she had summoned in her mind stood waiting. She handed him all her doubts, all her skepticism, all her fears—shitloads of fear. And then she sent him away.

            “If I seem a bit stupid, and like I got nothing to say, it’s—well….”

            There was a long pause.

            “Do you mind,” he said at last, “if I just sit here and look at you for awhile?”

He was looking at her. She was supposed to be talking, spilling out the experience. She didn’t want to share this. She didn’t want it exposed to his cynical paintbrush, his layering of ridicule and mockery. Thinly disguised jealousy.

            She met Curtis’s eyes. And for the first time she saw the pain in them.

  

FIND OUT MORE:

For more about Brenda, check out her website  

Find Tell Anna She’s Safe on Amazon   and get updates on Goodreads 

Excerpt from INFAMOUS By Irene Preston

INFAMOUS 

By Irene Preston

SYNOPSIS:

Being Jessica Sinclair meant never having to apologize for bad behavior.

Everyone knows Jessica Sinclair.  She’s that girl on the cover of all the tabloids. As a Hollywood insider, Jessica has spent her life partying with A-list celebrities, shopping on Rodeo Drive, and living through scandal after scandal.  She’s certainly not cut out for playing Mom in the suburbs.  But when her estranged husband offers her a second chance at the ‘All American’ lifestyle she can’t pass up a shot at real happiness.  Back in suburbia, Jessica spends her nights in sexy role-play hoping Morgan will overlook her deficiencies as a homemaker.  She spends her days attending  P.T.A. meetings, burning cookies, and asking herself "What would June Cleaver do?"  More to the point, what will Morgan do when she winds up back in the tabloids--with his teenage daughter right next to her?

FROM IRENE:

I call this my “Paris Hilton weds soccer dad story.”  I had a blast with this couple, but when writing about a married couple, it’s sometimes a challenge to keep the tension up. I loved writing this scene because it’s a great example of the way Jessica sabotages her relationships.  Her reconciliation with Morgan is going well until Morgan puts his foot in his mouth with an insensitive remark about a gift he’s bought her.  Instead of letting him know he’s hurt her, she reverts back to her standard coping mechanism. 

EXCERPT:

             “It’s amazing. I love it. What’s the occasion, though?”

            “No occasion, it just occurred to me that when a man has a beautiful wife he should buy her beautiful things.”

            Morgan wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he lifted out the bracelet and fastened it around her wrist. His thumb lingered, stroking her pulse next to the diamonds.

            “If you want a reason, though, let’s just say that you’ve been exceeding my expectations in the monogamy department. I know you said I wouldn’t be bored, but I didn’t expect you to take the job so seriously.”

            She lowered her lashes so he couldn’t see the hurt in her eyes. He couldn’t mean that the way it sounded. It was the kind of thing a man said to his mistress, not his wife. She wondered if he had bought the bracelet with her in mind at all, or if he had just had the jeweler send over something in the appropriate price range for a spoiled trophy wife. The beautiful bracelet felt like a manacle around her wrist.

            All her happiness in the evening vanished. Was that how Morgan saw her? A beautiful possession? Something he could buy for his enjoyment and convenience? When they first met, she hadn’t thought so. She had thought he loved her as much as she loved him. It was only later that she realized he had never said the words.

            Her insecurities about moving back into his life crashed down on her. She still wasn’t satisfied with his reasons for wanting her back. Was it pride? She knew he didn’t like to fail. A divorce might have seemed like a very personal failure to him. Or maybe she really was just a pretty convenience. Why bother with a nanny and a mistress when you could get both in one package deal?

            “What would I have to do to earn a matching necklace?” She thought she had hidden the little barb of sarcasm under her trademark throaty purr, but apparently she was a little off stride tonight. Morgan’s eyes narrowed and he gave her a sharp look. Then he smiled and ran his thumb up her palm, sending little shivers through her.

            “I’m sure you’ll think of something if you’re motivated.”  

            She wanted to snatch her hand away from him, but years of playing the bad girl in public kept her calm and smiling. She wasn’t the daughter of an Oscar-winning actress for nothing. If Morgan wanted a whore, she would oblige him.

            She relaxed, letting herself lean toward him over the table. She uncrossed her legs, wiggling suggestively as she repositioned herself. Sighing, she ran a calculating tongue over her lips and then caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she peered up at him though her lashes. As expected, Morgan’s eyes were riveted to her mouth.

            “Got any suggestions?” she asked.

            “Jessica—” Morgan’s tone was an amused warning, but his eyes had darkened with desire.

            Under the table, Jessica toed off one black pump. The pumps matched the almost-demure black dress. They were almost boring, almost conservative, the type of black peep-toe pumps any woman might keep as a staple in her closet . . . unless you counted the four-and-a-half inch stiletto heel and the trademark Louboutin red sole that turned them into something else altogether.

            She eased her foot out of the designer leather and slid it along the floor until she made contact with the sole of Morgan’s sensible black oxford. Very slowly, maintaining continuous eye contact, she began sliding her foot up his calf. Morgan’s eyes widened and Jessica smiled at him as her foot continued its upward journey.

            “Jessica. . . .” His voice was a low growl.

            She blinked artlessly.

            “Morgan?”

            He opened his mouth, but just then her foot finished its climb and made its way over the edge of the chair and into his lap. There was an unmistakable bulge in his trousers. She stroked delicately.

            He jumped and a hand clamped over her foot. Trapped, she wiggled her toes against him, pressing down until she felt him press back involuntarily. His mouth was a grim line, but his pupils had dilated until there was only a thin band of brown around the edges.

            “Cut that out,” he said.

            Jessica gave another wiggle with her toes. His hand tightened around her foot.

            “Are you sure, Morgan?” she said. “I want to make sure to give good value.”

            Teach him to be careful what he wished for. The tablecloth wasn’t long enough to hide what she was doing. Anyone who happened to glance this way was going to get an eyeful. She smiled. If there was one thing Jessica Sinclair was known for, it was living right down to everyone’s worst expectations.

FIND OUT MORE:

Infamous will be available in US Barnes and Noble and other local booksellers on February 18, 2014

You can purchase online immediately:

Amazon: http://www.bit.ly/get_infamous

Barnes and Noble: http://www.bit.ly/LXuXjY

ITunes: http://www.bit.ly/PtGmnl

KOBO: http://www.bit.ly/kobo_in

Sony: http://www.bit.ly/sony_in

Web: http://www.irenepreston.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorIrenePreston

Twitter: @irenepreston

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/IrenePreston

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/irenepins

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/irenepreston

Excerpt from: Winter Arrives (White Cairns ski school, Episode 1) by Roz Marshall

Winter Arrives 

(White Cairns ski school, Episode 1)  

By Roz Marshall

Synopsis

When her ski instructor husband is delayed from returning to Scotland, it falls to Jude Winters - creative graphic artist, mother and home-maker – to get the season started for ailing White Cairns Ski School. It's a challenge that's way out of her comfort zone. How can she turn things around and keep the wolf from their door until he gets back?

"Winter Arrives" is the 1^st novella from the 'White Cairns Ski School' series about the dramas and romances in a Scottish snowsports school. 

Roz says:

“Winter Arrives” was, illogically, the second book I wrote for the ‘White Cairns ski school’ series.

Episode 2, “Fear of Falling”, started life as a one-hour TV drama script; and ended up as a prose novella when I realised how hard it was for a debut scriptwriter to get a series commissioned, and how much easier it is to self-publish a series of eBooks.

Like a TV drama series, each episode has its own story arc, but there are also threads from the wider story and foreshadowing for future books. So my challenge in writing Episode 1 was to introduce all the characters in a plausible way which would lead into the (already written) second book, whilst making it a real ‘story’ in its own right, with a beginning, middle and end.

This extract shows some of the would-be instructors arriving in the ski resort for their interviews with the ski school.

Extract

Jude twisted her lip. "I just hope today works, and some good people turn up. We've only got a couple of days left to get the list to Forbes."

"She'll be right," Mike said again, but anything else he might have added got lost as the door flew open and a denim-clad bundle of energy bounced into the room. Small, ginger-haired and distinctive, rather than tall, dark and handsome, he looked like the boy next door who'd been shrunk in the wash.

"Morning, campers!" He looked round at the almost-empty room. "I'm never first here?"

Jude went over to greet him. She held out a hand, "Hi, I'm Jude, the, erm, ski school owner."

He shook her hand enthusiastically. "Hi, I'm Callum. Callum Johnstone."

-::-

The main ski resort was a few miles away from White Cairns village. Built in the 1960s, around an existing village, it was a jumble of flat-roofed concrete monstrosities, quaint alpine-pastiche wood-clad lodges, and typical Scottish stone-built houses.

On the high street, a Premier bus pulled away from the bus stop, leaving two passengers on the pavement. The first quickly strode away, ponytail swinging above the rucksack on her back, Doc Martens tapping a rhythm that counterpointed the ski bag as it banged against her leg.

The second passenger looked rather forlorn as she stood amongst her bags, gazing round at the shops and cafes.

Tourists milled aimlessly on the pavements, cameras dangling round their necks like medals on Olympic athletes. Mostly they looked like they had just come off a bus trip to 'see Scotland in a day', although a few were obviously there for sporting activities and were dressed appropriately in sensible walking boots, fleeces and Gore-tex. The only local in evidence was a rather dishevelled, stringy old lady with grey hair and a decades-old ski jacket who was pushing a bicycle across the street, plastic supermarket bags swinging on the handlebars.

Debbie hoped that the rest of the skiers round here were a bit more modern, and perhaps more masculine as well. Sniffing, she unzipped a pocket in her sports bag, and pulled out a rather crumpled bit of paper. She studied it, then looked up and down the street. She frowned, turned the diagram through ninety degrees, looked left, and spotted the upper floors of the Regal Hotel. Stuffing the paper into the pocket of her hoodie, she took a deep breath and picked up her bags.

-::-

In the hotel car park, a beat-up Fiesta was sitting with its engine running, its windows starting to steam up. Inside, two sets of lips were welded together in a farewell clinch.

After some long minutes, they broke apart and the passenger reached behind him for the door handle. He slid out of the door, lips last, then flipped the seat forward and pulled a snowboard bag off the back seat and onto the pavement. He leaned back in for another kiss. "Last night was awesome!"

She pouted back up at him, saying, "Anytime, cowboy!" Then something across the car park caught her attention, and he noticed her pupils widen.

He turned his head to see what she was looking at, and his eyes narrowed. Another snowboarder was swaggering across the car park. He looked like a surfer dude – baggy cargo pants, a Fat Face sweatshirt, Converse sneakers and Oakleys perched on sun-bleached hair.

Marty stood up, pulled his sunglasses off his curly hair and onto his nose, then smacked the roof of her car and waved her off, saying, "I'll give you a call." He wouldn't.

The other snowboarder approached, sizing him up. From the look on his face, he obviously thought his labels were more impressive than Marty's jeans and fleece.

"Hi bro, I'm Colin. You here for the job?"

"Yup." Marty hoisted his snowboard bag onto his shoulder.

"What d'you ride?" asked Colin.

"A Deacon XT."

Colin sniffed. "I had one of those last season. Got rid of it." Marty just looked at him. "I got an Oppera Maxride from the rep. Wants me to test it for them. It's totally rad."

Marty shrugged. "I heard they were pretty sluggish. But okay if you don't ride too fast."

He turned his back and headed for the hotel entrance. They might be fellow snowboarders, but it was obvious they weren't going to be friends.

About the author

Roz lives in Scotland with her husband and the obligatory dog and cat. She has been writing since childhood, including screenwriting, songwriting, web pages and even sentiments for greeting cards!

The White Cairns novellas are written from experiences Roz had whilst working as a ski instructor in various Scottish ski resorts - they do say you should 'write what you know'… 

For more info on Roz Marshall, check out her books on AMAZON, get her NEWSLETTER, follow her updates on FACEBOOK or read her BLOG.