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Sunday, September 18, 2016

Sunday Peek

The Sunday Peek is an opportunity to get a buzz going for your soon-to-be released or re-released novel.  

Post a tempting 300-word snippet from your most recent endeavor. Be sure to add your website/blog link, a release date if you have one, and one link to where your other books can be found. Example: Your Amazon Author's Page.

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Rita said...


A collection of eight twisted and tattered tales from the odd side that will give you giggles and shivers, tears and sighs.

A man recounts a mysterious story of growing up on the Florida coast after WWII.

A couple embark on a different life style journey.

An ultimate Deja vu tale.

A dying woman’s legacy of love and loyalty.

Three children alone on an island enveloped in fog.

A billionaire cuts his spoiled son off from technology.

A woman finds her father after 20 years of searching.

A totally tongue in cheek behind the scenes look at a salon.

Toni V.S. said...

Excerpt from Child of the Dark World published by Class Act Books:

Lisa stood before the newest stone in the ancient cemetery. Only his name and two dates were inscribed into the granite.

Drexl August von Dorff, April 8, 1984-April 22, 2014.

There was a plant growing next to the headstone. She recognized it as a wild vine growing on the island. Drex had described it to her. Cadena de amor, he’d called it. Chain of love…a parasite engulfing all other plants near it and choking them to death.

Love isn’t like that, she protested.

Isn’t it? he’d laughed.

He was right. Already it was climbing Drex’s marker and embracing it. It would crack the stone, break and destroy it, as his love had destroyed Aura and was trying to destroy her.


She was certain the village woman’s hands had been the ones digging the dirt, uprooting and transplanting cadena de amor to entwine its death-dealing vines in a green embrace around the cold gray stone. Aura…loved by Dan, seduced by Drex, bearing him two children. One lay in the island soil beside its father, the other…gone.
Where was Joshua now? Where was Aura?

I could’ve forgiven you, I could forgive you almost anything…killing Rob, what you did to me, but I can never forgive you for what you did to Robbie.

The von Dorff seed was stricken…cursed. The few children surviving were hopelessly marked. Drex had hoped for a normal child. One to go unnoticed through the world of men, paving the way for the terrible Old Gods to return. He’d partially gotten his wish. Robbie was more normal in body, human in appearance than any of them, but he’d never go into the world. Where his father’s wickedness had divided into two bodies, one human, one a misshapen monster…the only mark on Robbie was in his mind.

“Why did you have to do it?” she cried to the gray stone. “Why did you have to be so evil it poisoned my child?”

There would never be an answer. Drex was dead, the handsome body once loving her, had long since been desecrated by the things in the earth. All that remained was Robbie and the memory of that horrible choking love, reaching out to strangle her as the cadena de amor did his headstone.

And his soul…

A bird flew overhead. Lisa looked up and shivered, remembering how the whippoorwills shrieked when Drex died. Aura had said, “They have his soul now.”

Amazon link:

Toni V.S. said...

Excerpt from BARGAIN WITH LUCIFER from Class Act Books, written by Icy Snow Blackstone:

Dallas in February is like any other big Southern city in winter, wet, windy, and cold, but not as cold as Montreal, which Luc Deveraux was now glad to abandon for the relative warmth of the bustling Texas city. He’d only been in town one day, however, when he received the emergency call from his grandfather.

“Luc, mon petit-fils cher…” My dear grandson. He knew it was trouble the moment he heard those words.

Gran’pere never called him that unless he wanted something, and what he wanted this time was nothing short of disastrous. The old man had suffered another heart attack and with this sudden reminder of his mortality, wanted his errant grandson back home for an extended visit, along with his wife and child. Therein lay the problem, because Luc Deveraux had no wife and, as far as he knew—please le bon Dieu—no children either. Gran’pere thought he did, however, because Luc had told him so.

Oui, he’d lied. Lord, how he’d lied to the old man. It still astounded him Gran’pere believed him. He was shocked even more that he’d been able to carry the deception for so long. Even knowing one day he’d have to face up to the falsehoods he was telling, he hadn’t hesitated.

Not once since the day he learned of the stipulations in his father’s will and made the decision to dupe his grandfather into believing that, just as Papa wanted, his eldest son was now a settled family man, had he felt the least twinge of conscience. Nor had he allowed himself to consider the eventual consequences. With supreme confidence, he put off thinking about it, believing when the time came, a plausible excuse would present itself. After all, he always managed to tell the most incredible lies and come up smelling like a rose.


Not this time. Now, Fate was calling his bluff, and so far, an answer eluded him. No light bulb switched on above his head with a solution printed around it.
His usual self-assurance bolted in fright and Luc was in a panic…which was why, on this particular February morning, after an exhaustingly sleepless night, he found himself driving aimlessly through a section of town where he ordinarily wouldn’t think of being.

Amazon Buy Link:

Tony-Paul de Vissage said...

Snippet from DEATH IN THE BLOOD by Tony-Paul de Vissage, published by Class Act Books:

Some things happen by chance. Because of that one often has the ability to reject or accept. Other times, there’s no choice to be made. The night Kit Landless attempted to rob Honoria Neville was a momentous one, for it marked the ending of his life, as well as its beginning.

Forever afterward, when looking back through the corridor of centuries, he would call it the worse mistake he ever made, while ambiguously the best, since it lost him his soul while gaining him immortality. At the time however, he had no idea what was going to happen and so was unprepared when it did.

When it came right down to it, Kit really wasn’t given any leeway in the matter.

In the Year of Our Lord, 1794, Christopher Landless was a minority within a minority. He was a criminal, a robber, to be more precise, within the lower ranks of those of the lawbreaking trade. Twentieth century lawmen would have called him a mugger. The thieftakers of his own time labeled him a footpad, a highwayman who traveled on foot.

That was the way Kit carried out his transactions and the reason for his preference was simple. He didn’t trust horses, never had, never would. He didn't like anything able to move under its own power. When an object or creature was capable of self-movement, there was always a chance it could become unmanageable. So he preferred to use his own ability to take himself wherever he had to go.

He was very successful in his chosen profession, having had a price on his head for ten of his twenty-six years and an inevitable future as a gallows-bird longer than that. Presently, Kit was as close to his appointment with the scaffold at Newgate as he would ever be.

Being very particular about who he robbed, and where, was why he’d survived so long. If he hadn’t owed a large gambling debt to a certain gentleman who played cards in the backroom of the Bell and Coachman, a disreputable little tavern on the wrong side of the Bridge, he wouldn’t even have given the lone woman a second glance. As it was, pickings had been slim for a fortnight, and the gentleman was getting impatient for Kit to honor his markers. He’d begun threatening to send certain others who definitely were not gentlemen to take the owed amount out of his hide if he didn’t.

That was why he was reluctantly lurking in a darkened alley off a little side street at the edge of town, face hidden behind a kerchief, with the night mist clinging to his hair and its damp seeping into his bones. His cambric shirt and black broadcloth waistcoat were cold and clammy on his skin, moisture beading on his boots, and occasionally, he had to move about to stifle a shiver.

Amazon link:

Mona Karel said...

From A Question of Faith, A Stormhaven Love Story, coming out October 1...just twelve days!

His gaze was uncomfortably intense as he set down the coffee cup. “You’ve never lost it all for a man?”
She tugged on her wrist. “Couldn’t see the reason to lose it all for a man. Could see wanting to share your life with someone, could see building something better than either side of the equation from combining two lives. Could never see forcing the issue. If it was meant to be, then it happened.”
He slowly relaxed his hold, but didn’t let go. “If it didn’t happen easily, it wasn’t meant?”
“Not really. If it’s worth happening, it’s definitely worth working toward and putting a lot of effort into. But if two pieces of a puzzle aren’t meant to fit together, getting out a hammer to force the issue isn’t the answer.”
“What about trimming the edges so the pieces fit?”
“Forcing the fit? Nope, could never see that either. Woman meets a man, he’s perfect except maybe he doesn’t go to the opera or would rather watch football than go for a walk with her. He’s not perfect, he’s not Mr. Right, he’s Mr. Right Now, Mr. Almost Good Enough, Mr. I Can Fix This if I Try. If he’s the right man, he’ll want to make her happy and if going to the opera makes her happy, presto bingo, they go to the opera. Not every weekend, sometimes she goes by herself. Sometimes she watches football with him and sometimes she goes for a walk on her own. Because they are, or should be, two complete people who are better for being together, not two disparate beings who can’t function without being joined at the hip.”

Mona's Fun Place
Amazon Author Page

LindaRae said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
LindaRae said...

THE GOSSIP OF AN EARL by Linda Rae Sande

“I have no intention of leaving you alone tonight.”

Pulled from her reverie by the odd statement, Jane stared at Andrew. “Oh?” was all she could think to say.
Andrew allowed a chuckle. “I do hope I haven’t scandalized you, my sweeting.”

My sweeting.

Goodness, they had just become reacquainted after eighteen years, and he was already using an endearment only suitable for couples who were ...


Jane inhaled sharply. Is that what Andrew Burroughs intended? To make her his mistress? To offer carte blanche?
“Oh, Christ, I have scandalized you,” he said with a roll of his eyes. He straightened in the squabs and gave a quick shake of his head. “I apologize, my lady. It’s not my intention to take liberties, nor to ...”

“I am rather flattered, actually,” Jane interrupted with a shake of her head. “No one has ever called me ‘sweeting’. Not even my husband, but then I suppose you already knew that.” This last was said in a quieter voice, as if she realized her place in her husband’s life was well known to others.

How many women in the ton knew of her despair at being left alone for months at a time as her late husband spent all his time away from London? He was only ever at their mansion in Westminster when Parliament was in session, and even then, he spent most of the time when he wasn’t in the House of Lords at his club, Boodles.

“I did not,” Andrew said with a shake of his head. He sighed and was about to say something else when the coach suddenly halted.

Stephanie Queen said...

from BEACHCOMBER HEAT by Stephanie Queen

Dane watched Shana reach back with both hands and lift the heavy mane of hair off her neck, arching her breasts forward and exposing the glistening pale column of her throat. Her head was thrown back, supported by her long bare arms gleaming with a film of perspiration. He stared and held himself as still as a mountain—with an effort. He wished they were anywhere else on the planet...


darlene deluca said...

Working on Barefoot Days, the final book of my small-town women's fiction trilogy

“Stop,” Mary commanded. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. There’s nothing in the forecast, and I want to keep it that way.”
“Right, because you can totally control the weather.”
“Staying positive. Thinking good juju, you know? Feel free to join in.”

Claire reached for the cup of coffee. “Fine. I’ll play along.” She curled into a chair at the table, and glanced around. Somehow Mary managed to make her kitchen and great room modern and stylish but also warm and cozy. The woman had style, for sure. “What do you hear from Sara?”

Mary screwed up her face. “About as much as I’d hear if I tried whispering at a rock concert. I may have to rent a drone to keep up with that girl.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have a lot to tell yet.”
“Guess we’ll find out soon enough. She should be here around three o’clock.”
“Oh, good. I want to spend some time with her.”
Mary held up a finger. “Just remember, no baby talk. Annie doesn’t know. And you aren’t supposed to know, either, so try not to get my ass in trouble, will you?”
“I got it. Speaking of trouble, did you talk to Jane?”

Studying the liquid in her cup, Mary debated whether she wanted to get into this conversation. She’d promised to let it go.
“Mare?” The concern on Claire’s face welcomed a heart-to-heart.
“I did.” Mary blew out her breath. “It wasn’t her. But it’s obvious she’s hearing stuff that I’m not. People are getting ugly and hateful. And–” She broke off, swallowing hard. “And I think a lot of it is directed at me. I don’t get it. Tell me the truth, do people think I’m a rich bitch who wants to run everyone’s life?”

The Women of Whitfield
by Darlene Deluca