Kids are out (or soon will be) of school, the weather is warming up, and the pool and beach are calling our names. Time to don the sundresses or cut-off shorts, flip-flops and sunglasses and slap on some sunscreen. Because…
It’s SUMMER TIME!!!
And what better way to celebrate than with a Summer Giveaway?!
Where you can win this:
You can also discover new-to-you indie authors who are all offering certain titles on Amazon Kindle for only 99c!
See this one on the gorgeous banner above? If you’re new here, that would be mine. And it’s not really 99c – it’s FREE! So if you haven’t read it yet, no excuses – go download it now (and if you read and review, you get extra points in the giveaway).
New Adult Paranormal Romance ** Mature Content ** Recommended for ages 16+ due to sexual situations and language
Alexis Ames has a life full of promise…but not all promises can be kept.
When Alexis Ames is attacked by creatures that can’t be real, she decides it’s time she learns who she really is, with or without the help of her mother, who guards their family’s secrets closely. After meeting the inhumanly attractive, multi-talented Tristan Knight, however, Alexis retreats behind her façade of normalcy…until she discovers he’s not exactly normal either. Then their secrets begin to unravel.
Their union brings hope and promise to her family’s secret society, the Angels’ army, and to the future of mankind. But it also incites a dangerous pursuit by the enemy – Satan’s minions and Tristan’s creators. After all, Alexis and Tristan are a match made in Heaven and in Hell.
1st Place – 2010 Royal Palm Literary Award – Fantasy (Published) by Florida Writers Association
Excerpt from Promise:
“Penny for your thoughts?” Tristan asked, breaking the silence as we crossed the boardwalk accessing the beach.
“Hmph. They’re worth more than that,” I teased.
He chuckled. “Okay, a Benji for your thoughts?”
He pulled a one-hundred-dollar bill from his pocket. I raised my eyebrows and he put it away, laughing. “You’re right. Yourthoughts are priceless.”
We walked to the edge of the water, kicked off our shoes, and then turned and meandered along the wet sand. It gave me a chance to edit my thoughts before sharing them.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I finally said, “but . . . I was just thinking that we’ve been hanging out for a couple months now, and I hardly know anything about you.”
“Ah. What do you want to know?” He peered down at me from the corner of his eye, seemingly hesitant—like I felt when someone asked about me.
“Um, well, where are you from?” That was an easy one, especially in Florida. Hardly anyone was from here.
He was silent for a moment, as if it was difficult to answer, and then said cryptically, “Lots of places . . . nowhere in particular.”
I could relate to that. It could be my own answer.
“So . . . you moved around a lot?”
He shrugged. “You could put it that way.”
“What do your parents do?”
“They don’t do anything. They died a long time ago.”
“Oh.” Oops. I didn’t know I was headed into heavy stuff. “I’m sorry.”
He looked down at me and smiled gently. “You didn’t know. I hardly remember them anyway. It was a long time ago. I was raised by . . . distant relatives, I guess you could say.”
“Did they bring you here?”
“Oh, no, I came here alone.” There was that steely undertone again. “I’ve been on my own for quite a while.”
More silence as I thought for a minute. I remembered what he’d told Mom . . . he’d never gone back and he never will. How awful it must be to lose his parents and then to have to live with what must have been dreadful relatives, people like Lenny. My theory must have been true. I decided to leave that subject alone.
“So where were these ‘lots of places’ you grew up?”
“Pretty much everywhere, but mostly Europe.”
“Really?” That one surprised me. “But you don’t have any kind of accent.”
“I’ve been in the U.S. for a few years and I adapt easily and pick up the local accent quickly.” He changed his tone and spoke with a perfect English cadence, “Would you rahther I hahd an ahccent?” Then he switched to French, rolling the R’s, “Or, pear’aps Francais eez better, ma lykita?”
I laughed. Although I couldn’t understand it all, the French accent was especially delightful with his lovely voice.
“Do you speak other languages, then?”
“Wow,” I breathed with awe. I tried to imagine growing up in Europe, living as transient a life as we had, but in places such as London, Rome and Paris. I probably glamorized it, but it seemed much more exciting than my life.
“If you came here by yourself, what brought you here?”
He didn’t answer at first and kicked at a wave. Then he shrugged and said, “Just needed a change.”
“Oh.” That was a non-answer.
He looked down at me. “Actually, I want to be honest with you. I came here for a job . . . or an assignment is more like it . . . and stayed because I like the people.”
“Oh, okay.” I hadn’t realized he had a job. I started wondering what he did besides a couple college classes. He had mentioned once he had lots of other things going on in his life, but he never talked about anything.
“But if I told you any more, I’d have to kill you.” His tone was serious and I looked up in surprise. He laughed.
“Oh, I see. CIA or FBI?” I played along, remembering the old secret-agent movies Mom liked to watch. “Oh, wait, probably Scotland Yard. Or maybe the KGB?” I widened my eyes in mock horror.
He laughed again. “You’re way off.”
“I’ll figure it out,” I promised lightheartedly.
He frowned and his tone darkened. “Yes, I’m sure you will. Some day.”
The frown quickly disappeared, as if he hadn’t realized it was there until I said that. He peered down at me as we walked a few steps in silence. “I don’t know yet.”
Honesty and seriousness filled his tone . . . and a bit of sadness. I sighed in frustration. He raised more questions than he answered.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
I wanted to tell him how annoyingly cryptic he was. But I didn’t. Because he could always turn that back at me.
“We better turn around,” he said.
I looked behind us and saw we had walked much farther than I realized. We played in the water on the way back, kicking it up at each other and running away from the splashes, then he took my hand and pulled me to dry sand, where we sat to watch the sunset. We gazed in silence, both in the same position—knees pulled up, arms wrapped around our legs. I rested my chin on my knees.
God displayed His divine artistic ability, painting the sky with brushstrokes of dark violet, lavender, magenta and soft pink against a light blue canvas, with a bright splash of gold at the horizon reflecting on the water. Waves gently lapped at the sand and seagulls cawed at each other. I inhaled deeply, trying to pull it all into my body and embed it in my memory as one of those perfect moments to be cherished forever. The brackishness of salt water and the sweet-tanginess of Tristan’s scent nearly intoxicated me.
I turned and Tristan cocked his head to look at me, his beautiful eyes sparkling, immediately calming me. In fact, I’d never felt so content. His conversation with my mom seemed vague and nonsensical now. He was right. She needed to let go. Because I wanted to be nowhere else than right here with him.
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