SETUP OF OUR SCENE:

Jessica Quinn has gone out for her morning run. She passes Mack Ellsbury’s recently purchased house while he’s in the process of moving in some belongings.

EXCERPT:

Trying not to think about the ache or what to do about Sharon, Jessie pushed on. Maybe she’d started running again too soon. Tomorrow, she’d head over to the gym for a swim before opening the store.

“Hey, Jessie,” a familiar voice called out as she approached the Kerry house. “How’s it going?”

Jessie stopped, grateful for the distraction as Sean O’Brien came down the front steps on his way back to the moving truck. “Hi, Sean. I was going to call you this afternoon. The bathroom vanity you ordered came in yesterday.”

Sean stopped in front of her. “Excellent. If we finish up here early enough, I’ll pick it up. Otherwise I’ll get it tomorrow.” Sean uncapped the water he’d grabbed on his way over and took a long swallow. “I want the downstairs bathroom finished before Mia comes back for Ma’s wedding.”

“She won’t make it back until then?” She’d become friends with Sean’s girlfriend that summer when Mia had stayed at The Victorian Rose. Earlier that month Mia had returned to California to finish the movie she was starring in.

Sean shook his head. “Doubt it, but I’m flying out to California next weekend.”

“Need a break already, O’Brien?” Mack emerged from the house, a backwards baseball cap covering his dark hair. “I guess that’s what happens when you get old.”

For a moment, Jessie spiraled back fourteen years and her tongue went from being a useful organ to a giant bowtie just like it had every time Mack had tutored her in geometry during study hall. A senior, and one of the most popular guys in school, Mack was the number one crush of most of the girls in her freshman class—including her. Not that he ever noticed any of them. Why would he when every cheerleader in North Salem and Danvers were constantly throwing themselves at him?

“Hi, Mack. Congratulations on the new house,” Jessie said once the knot in her tongue loosened.

Mack’s forehead creased and his eyes searched her face. “Jessie?”

Jessie let Mack’s surprise go over her head. After all, he hadn’t seen her in a while.

Sure, he visited his family frequently with his daughter, but he didn’t make a habit of stopping in at the hardware store. In fact, before today, the last time they’d seen each other had been six months ago when he’d come in for the security videos. Back then, she’d still had long hair and glasses. Not to mention, she’d been wearing her favorite oversized cranberry sweater and a long skirt, a fact she shouldn’t remember but did because, well, this was Mack so he wouldn’t have noticed the weight she lost.

“It’s nice to see you. Your parents must be happy you’re moving back.”

“Yeah. Grace, too. She already has plans to spend every weekend at my parents’ house. They haven’t agreed yet, but she’s well on her way to convincing them.”

“She does adore your mom,” Jessica answered, thinking of all the times she’d seen Mrs. Ellsbury with her granddaughter.

“You’ve met Grace?” Mack asked with surprise.

“This is North Salem remember? Your mom brings Grace to my grandmother’s every Sunday for quilting club if she has her. And your dad comes in the store with her.”

Another look of surprise passed over Mack’s features. “I didn’t know that, but it makes sense.”

“She even started her own quilt. Your niece did, too. Your mom brings her over on Sundays sometimes, too.”

Jessie waved at another of Mack’s friends as he came down the front steps. “Hi, Tony.”

“Hey, Jessie.” Tony Bates smiled as he walked toward them. “Unless you  ladies want to finish alone, get your asses in gear. I’ve got things to do this afternoon.”

“I gotta go anyway.” Jessica took a step backward. “Will I see any of you at the block party tonight?” Once a month, starting in late spring, their community threw a block party on the Town Common, shutting the whole area down to traffic.

“Not me. Too much work at the house, but have fun,” Sean answered. “I’ll see you later.” With that, he went back to the moving truck.

“I might pop in. If I do, I expect you to save me a dance,” Tony said.

Jessie rolled her eyes. She never took anything Tony said seriously, especially not lately. Ever since she’d lost the weight and ditched the glasses, he’d been saying things like that, but she knew better than to get into any kind of relationship with Tony. While he was a good guy, he didn’t understand the concept of monogamy. He went from one woman to the next much like the way people changed their underwear.

“Bates, get your ass over here and help me with this,” Sean called from the truck.

Unable to contain her smile, Jessie glanced at the ground. Whenever Tony flirted with her, Sean went into his protective guardian role. Thanks to her close relationship with his sister, Charlie, Sean treated her a like a baby sister.

“I might take Grace if she’s not too tired. I think she’d like it.” Mack waved at a car that passed by the house.

“She loves it,” Jessie answered, looking back up.

“My parents?”

“And your sister.”

“I should’ve known.” Mack readjusted his baseball cap, a habit he’d had for as long as she could remember. And she could probably remember every time he’d done it. Yeah, she’d had a big-time unrequited crush. Apparently, that hadn’t faded too much because he was still the hottest guy she’d ever seen.

END OF EXCERPT

Ah, who doesn’t wonder about the one who let you get away? If you’d like to snap up a copy of Mack and Jessie’s story you can find them at the following links.

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www.christinatetreault.com

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Thanks for much for visiting today, Christina!

SET UP OF THE SCENE

Magnus is a second generation Norman, a descendant of the first Vikings to settle in the Seine valley. Recently widowed, he is obliged to leave his grieving daughters to fight against Flemish incursions into Norman lands. In hotly disputed territory he comes across a wedding ceremony taking place outside a church. The bride, sister of the Flemish leader, swoons upon catching sight of the enemy troops. He jumps from his horse to save her from the mud.

EXCERPT

Magnus leapt from his horse and strode to the door of the abbey where an older woman—a servant he’d guess—struggled valiantly to keep her mistress from falling into the muck. He scooped up the mud-splattered maiden who’d swooned on first catching sight of them. His thoughts went back to the last time he’d held a woman in his arms, but he shook away the bitter memory. This one was still very much alive, as evidenced by the rapid rise and fall of her breasts.

The appealing mounds of female flesh were big enough to fill his hand. A tingling tugged at the base of his spine, but then shame swamped him. He’d only recently buried his wife.

Judging by the presence of the priest and a young man in black who’d fled at their arrival, he’d wager the wedding had been underway. But where were the well-wishers?

He stared at the woman in his arms. Despite her disheveled appearance and pallor, heightened by the bright red of her nose, she was stunningly beautiful. Her tangled hair was the color of chestnuts. He willed her eyes to open, but she remained oblivious. A peculiar hope rose in his heart that he’d arrived in time to interrupt the wedding, but he quickly dismissed it. What did he care if Arnulf’s sister had wed a coward who’d run rather than defend his bride?

The priest scowled, though his anger seemed to be directed more at the woman in Magnus’s arms than at him. Something strange was going on.

“I am Magnus Kriger of Montdebryk,” he said to the cleric. “I am a Christian. You and your fellow priests have nothing to fear. We are Normans, part of an army sent to recapture Montreuil.”

The priest eyed him with scorn. “You claim to be Christian, yet you wear a pagan symbol around your neck.”

Magnus didn’t look down, but surmised his Thor’s hammer must have worked its way free from under his gambeson. He decided to ignore the priest’s comment.

The cleric shrugged. “What do you intend with the woman?”

He looked down at Arnulf’s sister. She felt right cradled against his chest, though she’d moaned softly a few times. He feared when she awoke and espied his father’s Viking helmet she’d think him a barbarian. Why it mattered he wasn’t sure.

“Take her for a moment,” he said, intending to remove his headgear, but the priest backed away, his palms held out as if warding off evil spirits. What ailed the man?

“I’ll take her,” his cousin, Bendik offered, coming to his side.

An surge of jealousy addled Magnus’s wits and he clutched the stricken woman more tightly.

Bendik chuckled. “I won’t harm her,” he said.

Magnus laughed at his foolishness and handed her over. He removed his helmet, thrust it into the priest’s hands, then retrieved his prize. It was lunacy and Bendik’s frown indicated he agreed. The town and abbey had to be secured, but the only thought on his mind was the desire to comfort a beautiful woman.

He thought of Katarina. “You and I would willingly kill anyone who might treat our sisters in such an abominable way,” he said to Bendik. “Does the Comte of Flandres care nothing for his sibling?”

***

Judith was warm for the first time in days. A man with a deep, soothing voice was carrying her. It rumbled from his chest—a solid chest, though it felt good to rest her weary head against it. She wanted to murmur her gratitude to the brave hero who had rescued her from a fate worse than death, but her throat was too dry. He must be one of Arnulf’s men.

She slowly opened one eye and looked up. She was in the arms of a fair-haired giant whose broad shoulders blotted out everything else around her. He was still speaking, but her head was stuffed with the wool of a newly shorn sheep and a drum pounded in her ears. She cleared her throat, but swallowing was difficult.

“Don’t be afraid,” Beatris said.

Judith opened the other eye and strained to see her maid. Where was the confounded woman? If there was no need for fear, that must mean—

Wait.

It wasn’t Theodoric carrying her. How unseemly to be in the arms of another man. The memory crashed in. Surely Arnulf hadn’t wed her to a freak of nature. “Husband,” she shrieked.

“He has fled,” the deep voice said with a strange accent. He must be a foreigner.

Foreigner? The only foreigners she’d seen recently—

Riders led by a massive barbarian.

Her heart raced. She looked up again at the stubbled chin of her hero. Her eyes fell on a silver pendant nestled in the folds of his gambeson. Dread seized her. It was a pagan symbol; the hammer of one of the Norse gods. Her savior was a Viking.

It didn’t make sense. Vikings didn’t save women. They carried them off, raped then slaughtered them. She flailed her arms and legs, desperate to escape. She had to warn Beatris. “Vikings!” she screamed.

END OF EXCERPT

You can find The Rover Betrayed at the following sites.

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Thanks, Anna, for visiting with me today!

This first meeting excerpt is between Ganius, a Celtic slave turned gladiator, and Aurelia, who is a Roman lady and his owner. Aurelia has gone out of her way to meet the “beast” at her brother’s ludus (school for gladiators.)

EXCERPT

Rome 100 CE

Ganius walked between two guards, his shackles grating on his nerves just like his meeting with his dominus. The idea of gaining freedom by winning, not from the crowd’s insistence but as payment from his dominus twisted in his mind. Winning in the arena was easy—he’d already accomplished that—but after becoming champion, would dominus truly free him? Or was it more dependent on whatever time dominus decided he didn’t need coin?

Most importantly, could he trust his dominus? The man was a Roman and he knew they were liars.

He stumbled over the stone step leading out of the courtyard to the training area, his mind too distracted, arguing over the conversation. The chains tangled and he barely kept from falling.

“Move it, slave.” The guard shoved him.

Ganius growled. With his arms and legs chained, he had no advantage and there were two of them. Patience—not one of his stronger suits but one he needed to use, badly. He walked, his hands clenched.

Before them was a fountain. A round, stone structure. The center held a statue of Aphrodite holding a basket of flowers and water cascaded out of the middle of it. The sound of the water falling gave a serene feel to the place and it struck him how out of place it seemed, to have the goddess of love at a gladiatorial school, where death and humiliation were taught.

Around the edge of the fountain stood the girl. That beautiful creature who watched him from afar. He hoped it was him, begged the gods it wasn’t only to find they laughed at his request by placing her here, fueling his hope she wanted him.

When the leading guard reached her, she said, “Stop. I need to speak with him.”

The guard didn’t move.

“Go on.” She waved him aside. When he walked over to the sidewall, she gestured the one behind Ganius to do the same.

Alone with her in a sense, Ganius eyed her warily. When she grinned, he steeled himself.

“You are Ganius?”

He inhaled deep, not sure what she wanted. But it suddenly hit him that he needed to lower his gaze. Frankly, he did it as he shifted. “Yes, Domina.”

She chortled. Her voice sounded sweet, alluring. It, along with her beauty, stirred his blood.

“I’ve observed you at practice,” she said. “You’re very strong and move with the strength of the gods.”

Her accolades soothed his soul but his brain wasn’t trusting. He turned toward the fountain. It was cooler next to the falling water, taking the edge off the heat that still lingered. What he had a hard time discerning was whether the heat was borne from the day’s work or from her presence? He ignored the answer his body gave him.

She walked around the fountain, her fingers skimming the rim as she coyly looked at him. Damn, she was an innocent, taking liberties with her life being alone with him. But she couldn’t see the fire that burned inside him, the one that wanted to both kill her and to pull her into his arms.

“I’ve noticed you.” He wasn’t sure what she wanted.

She stopped and smiled. “You have?”

“How may I help you, Domina?” He emphasized her title. A shiver raced down his back. He heard stories. Some of his new “brothers” spoke of it, almost like it was a prize, this idea that Roman women paid to be with a winning gladiator. He couldn’t believe it.

If he won and moved to champion, it was possible it would happen to him. Another way to earn coin—and his freedom. Yet he hadn’t won as a gladiator, so why was she here tempting him? He squelched the urging in his blood to get her to pay for him. To want him.

“Oh, in more ways than you know,” she replied quietly.

He glanced at her. She was an innocent playing with fire. As she walked closer, her pale tunic shimmered in the torchlight. Her ivory skin with rosy cheeks reminded him of cream and strawberries. Those taste wonderful. He’d bet she did too. When she licked her lips, he thought he’d lose what little control he had and take her here, now.

The very idea made him tear his eyes from her. “I am only a slave, Domina.”

“Yes, you are.” She sounded seductive to his ears.

He was damned.

“I believe the gods put you here, to become our next champion.”

He frowned. “And what of Magos?”

She shrugged. “He may be, or you. Only the gods know.”

The air around him seemed to grow thick. He couldn’t breathe. She stood too close. With her lips curled in a lopsided, mischievous grin, his nerves caught on fire. He tensed, like an animal in the wild before being attacked, senses picking up on the scent of destruction. She took a step toward him, and her warm brown eyes swept down his body. He was doomed.

“I noticed your mark in the Colosseum.”

He blinked. “Domina?”

She pointed to his tattoo, her gaze glued to the spot. “The sun? A sign for the gods? Or perhaps from the gods?”

When her fingers touched the spot, flames exploded.

****

Aurelia pushed against his skin. It was as if he was breathing, hot and sweaty marble. Rock hard from the days drilling on the training field, his sculpted muscles showed prominently. She’d longed to touch him, to see how it felt to be so close to a man resembling the gods. Gladiators could attain the status of gods of the arena, and she knew he’d be one before too long. She was so close, his breath wafted across her arm that crossed before him as she reached forward. The indelible mark on his upper arm was magnificent. A circle with beams extending from it, like an angry sun. It rippled as the muscles twitched beneath her finger.

Exhilarated, she glanced at his face, looking for his reaction to the feel of her skin against his. Had he felt that sting flash through him as it had her? Like a lightning bolt, fully charged. Yet he held no reflection like that in his eyes. Instead, his gaze was straight forward, his expression void of showing anything, just like the bulk of the slaves. It would have irritated her had she not caught the flash in his amber-colored eyes before they turned darker and his jaw tensed.

Something deep inside her flipped. This beast roused sensations she couldn’t understand fully, hitting nerves hidden in her womb, as if the fire gods sent a jolt of heat from his arm, down through her hand and arm, to light an inferno inside. The man was dangerous. A slave, trained to fight in the arena, was a deadly animal but he didn’t scare her. Instead, he made her feel alive. She bit her bottom lip, the pain of her teeth into the flesh a reassuring gesture to gain focus.

To buy Love and Reckoning and feel more of this heat visit

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Thank you, Gina, for sharing an intriguing part of your story with us!

SETUP OF THE SCENE: Tristan, Marquis of Wrenworth, is a spy for the Empire, serving in Afghanistan; he’s returned home to claim the title & must marry, though he doesn’t want any of this; he’d rather return to the fight; Evelyn is returning to London Society at a ball, more so to help her friend claim a husband though she needs one. She’s afraid of men and the intimacy marriage will bring because she’d been ruined years before. Here they meet at the ball & he asks her to dance & she accepts.

EXCERPT

Tristan watched her small, white, leather-gloved hand come to rest on his. Even through the fabric, the stiff fingers cooled his warm palm. Interesting. She was an ice queen. He could hardly wait to learn whether her disposition was too. With lips curving into a grin, his fingers wrapped around hers.

“Enchante,” he murmured, the French churl flowed easily from his mouth. One of many languages he learned over the years. His specialty—an ability to pick up the common dialect of wherever he was. A gift he’d twisted for the sake of Her Majesty and the Empire…The darkness beckoned to him. Silently, he beat the demon back. Not here, not now!

An amazing feat, one he’d congratulate himself on later with drink in hand. He maintained his rakish grin and managed to avoid squashing her fingers while escorting her onto the dance floor.

Spinning her before him, he raised her hand and placed his other lightly on her back. She took her position, her other gloved hand attempting to raise to his shoulder. But her petite height and the confines of her gown with its off-shoulder neckline prevented her from reaching that high. Poor lady, he mused inwardly. Fashion could be such a devil. His grin grew.

The orchestra began playing a waltz. Tristan took a step to his left, guiding her with him. From the boning in her corset to the stays in her bodice, Evelyn’s clothing encased her upper body. She was shielded from the warmth of his hand, his arm and his chest. The fancy skirt, with all its material swept up in front and bustled and a horsehair crinoline underneath, also formed another barrier. For the love of God, dress the army this way and no harm would come to the soldiers. Tristan chuckled absently.

The lady frowned, an eyebrow raised. “Dancing with me makes you laugh?”

He glanced down and discovered her sapphire blue eyes sparkled. The Ice Queen’s question hinted at a sense of humor and warmth. It made him wonder whether she was warm in other ways as well. His cock twitched at this thought. Quickly he tried to recall the idea of her being an icicle before he embarrassed himself.

“Not at all, Miss Hurstine. Please accept my apologies. It was a momentary lapse of thought regarding the design of ladies’ clothing.” He twisted, bending her back for a split second over his arm and then back upright before him.

She gasped in surprise, stiff in his arms. He grimaced. So much for bed sport with her…Once again, another mental shake of his brains. A bride. An English bride to bed and produce a proper heir with, not another mistress. She appeared fragile, like a rose, but even with her floating in his arms, he sensed her backbone. There was a strength there, albeit well concealed. Strength to protect her from the rigor of the ton’s gossip and duplicity.

“You dance very well for a soldier,” her light feminine voice commented.

He blinked. She seemed to snarl the last word. His rose did not like the military. “But of course,” he began. “Officer’s learn well. We are gentlemen of the finest measure.”

Her blue eyes narrowed. “Of course, you would be an officer, considering your title. Please excuse me. I’m just not accustomed to…” her voice failed.

The tremor down her spine became noticeable under his touch. A look of fear flashed in her eyes and disappeared like smoke, a quick smile taking its place. It intrigued him because it was reminiscent of a mask, like the one he wore all the time. But what would a proper young English lady have to fear? Was she not here hunting for a husband? All smiles and charm, a promise of happiness in an angelic frame? The momentary anxiety that flashed in her eyes he’d seen before in the eyes of soldiers on the battlefield but not ladies at a ball.

“If I may ask, are you home for good?”

He laughed, spinning her to the outer edge of the floor. Ah, yes, the question of whether he’d sold his commission was to be expected. He wouldn’t lie—he needed a wife, and the money marriage would bring to him would help extend his career, but no reason to tell her that yet. “I’ve gained a title, hence I need a wife.”

As they danced, she moved like quicksilver in his hands, flexible despite the stiff stays. Floating. Like a feather in the air. His ice queen warmed him inside.

“Then, my lord, you should ask Lady Sarah for a dance,” she commented, averting her eyes from his as they turned.

“Really?”

“Yes, she is truly a perfect match for you,” Evelyn said. “Don’t you find her beautiful?”

Tristan frowned. His partner was beautiful, stunning, even if she appeared cooler than London in January. He looked to where she was staring. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the lady dancing with Harry. They appeared to be having a good time, laughing as they turned the floor. But then again, Harry never failed in getting others to laugh. No doubt he’d get Tris’ partner to as well…and that thought irked Tristan. He wanted to see her smile again. It was quite beautiful.

He glanced down at the woman in his arms as they made their final turn. “Yes, she is lovely.”

She gave him a pleased look and nodded her head. “By all means, you should ask her to dance, my lord.” And with that statement, as the music stopped, she stepped out of his arms and lifted her hand, waiting for his escort off the floor.

Quelling a glare at the twist of events, of being forced toward another, he returned her to the sides, bowed, thanking her for the dance and walked away befuddled and angry. Where was Northman and his brandy?

Where to find Great and Unfortunate Desires:

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Of course, I love historical romance. It’s my favorite genre to read. So, my selfie is with Judith McNaught’s A Kingdom of Dreams, a classic historical romance from 1989. I’m showing very little of myself because it’s a writing day and nobody wants to see me on a writing day….

Saturday is usually reserved for a first meeting excerpt, so I’m going to share a few paragraphs of Ms. McNaught’s story, and you’ll wonder how she ever brings these two people together for their happy ending.

EXCERPT

‘Tis said he eats the flesh of those he kills…. Young Thomas’s words came back to her while rage blended with the sound of Brenna’s scream and the calls for pity from the prisoners. The rope around her arms was suddenly jerked loose. Driven by the twin demons of fear and fury, Jenny surged clumsily to her feet, her arms flailing at the cloak, looking like an enraged ghost trying to fling off its shroud. And the moment it fell away, Jenny doubled up her fist and swung with all her might at the dark, demonic, shadowy giant before her, striking him on the jaw bone.

Brenna fainted.

“Monster!” Jenny shouted. “Barbarian!” and she swung again, but this time her fist was caught in a painful viselike grip and held high above her head. “Devil!” she cried, squirming, and she landed a mighty kick at his shin. “Spawn of Satan! Despoiler of innoc—!”

“What the—!” Royce Westmoreland roared, and reaching out, he caught his assailant at the waist and jerked her off her feet, holding her at arm’s length, high in the air. It was a mistake. Her booted foot struck out again, catching Royce squarely in the groin with an impact that nearly doubled him over.

END OF EXCERPT

Not a very promising beginning, but believe me, they do warm to one another. Lovely stuff.

Anyway, go revisit one of your favorite historical romances and join in the fun by posting your own selfie on whatever social media you like. You could share in on the event page or my Facebook page www.facebook.com/jillhugheyromance, or mention @jillhughey if you tweet it. Just remember to use the #FallBackInTime hashtag. And then check out other people’s posts to discover some new authors!

And set back your clock tomorrow….

Setup of the scene: Caelen and Brenna were married as children. After many years of him being fostered with Clan MacLean, he has returned home as his father lies dying. To appease Brenna’s father, Laird Grant, she has been sent for and is now on MacKenzie lands where she awaits the arrival of her husband.

EXCERPT

Brenna shut her chamber door. The smoke from the wall torches filled the turret stairs and stung her eyes. She waved away the cloud as she descended from the top floor. That chamber had been her own since she was seven, when the laird and lairdess first fostered her. Brenna loved the space, since Caelen once rested his head there. Being in the chamber was the closest she came to sharing a bed with her husband.

Learning her role as the future Lairdess of Clan MacKenzie, her life consisted of watching, waiting and being a help or a hindrance. Lately, she had been a help. Only that mattered to Brenna, especially after she intruded upon the Lairdess weeping in the garden. That was her place of refuge. Brenna had moved forward and then stepped back, leaving her to her sadness. What did one say when death hovered near? The truth was, Brenna wished she could make the laird survive. Brenna took pride in her healing skills and knowledge of herbs, but in this instance, those skills were meaningless, so she strived to lessen the Lairdess’ burden. This day, the duties had been split between her and Rowen.

Rowen would see to the household, the meals, the cleaning of it, and other duties. Whereas Brenna was to assist the clan and handle any issues the clanfolk faced this day. So being a crumpled mess of shattered bones at the bottom of the stairs was not part of her plan. As a child, she had sped up and down the stairs without a care that she might fall. Yet, when she returned here a sennight ago, she had fallen up the stairs and landed on her face, three steps up from the one she just tripped on.

She reached the last step and halted. The smoke must have conjured images. Caelen stood at the end of the corridor. She blinked, believing the vision would vanish into nothingness. The arched doorway framed his muscular form, which was draped in MacLean plaid. His head hung down. His long locks draped around his face and blocked him from her view. Light flickered over his Viking blond hair. She blinked a few times, waiting for him to notice her standing here. She must have moved because his head flew up. When she had lived on Grant lands, Brenna caught—stalked—a young couple sneaking to the back of the kitchens. She watched the maid nibble on the kitchen’s boy ear.

Brenna should have been ashamed. Should have. “Caelen.”

He faced her. A smile spread across her face and her cheeks hurt from it. She wanted to throw herself in his arms. Instead, she buried the urge. She even squeezed out a couple of tears.

Her feet skipped over the floor as she raced to him. She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tightly. She lacked the strength to hold him as she wished. Caelen was all hard muscle. He smelled of the outdoors—greenery, and of the fresh wind that whirled about him and caught in the weave of his plaid, along with a manly scent that was his own. She stroked her cheek against his plaid. The scratchy wool caused her skin to tingle.

She ran her hands over his thick arms. He had come for her. She linked her fingers with his. She leaned her head to the side to look at the shut chamber door. Last night had been a difficult one. The healers and servants had been going in and out through the night. Their muffled voices reached her chamber along with the groans of pains coming from the laird—aye, the laird would be leaving this earth soon. Her smile dimmed along with the heady delight within her. “You have finally returned.”

Caelen arched a brow, revealing his blue eyes. She loved his pure, blue hue that shined bright with shards of white, unlike her plain, brown ones. He pulled his hand away. She tucked her empty hand within the pleats of her dress. This was not the reunion she had imagined since she learned he was returning home. Caelen was supposed to grab her in his arms and swing her about. After holding her close for a drawn-out moment, he was supposed to slide her down his body, and then kiss her. After he ravished her mouth, he was to stare deep into her eyes. He might have even whispered tenders words. Instead, he stood there, his arms at his side. The man didn’t even reach out to her.

“You look well, Brenna.” His gaze slid over her, lingering at her hips. She felt the heat of his inspection. He no longer looked at her as a little lass.

“You haven’t cleaned up from your journey.” His plaid was wrinkled and the pleats were flat. She brushed at a smear of dirt marring his leine. It was just a reason to touch him.

“Seeing my father was more important.” He peeked over his shoulder. “I should have been here earlier.”

She licked her lips. “Has the laird fallen asleep?”

“Nay, he…he started coughing.” He shook his head. The ends of his blond hair fanned out. The pale tips caught the amber light of the torches. His strong brow was more pronounced from the lowering of his brows.

“Last night was hard for him, but your arrival shall make him feel better. When I sit with him, he always speaks of you.”

When he hung his head, she wished she could take back her words.

“You sit with him often?” He pushed back his hair.

“Aye. Sometimes, we discuss you, and other times he tells me stories or curses the healers. It depends upon how he feels.”

His broad shoulders that seemed to be able to bear all of Scotland and England upon them, straightened. “I am here so I can see to the running of everything. You shall assist me.”

She rose to the tips of her toes. “Of course. I am your wife.”

END OF EXCERPT

Seems like Brenna may have a job of getting Caelen to warm up to her. I’ve always enjoyed stories that involve long-separated spouses though I’m don’t think I’ve ever read one in which they’d married as children.

I’m sure you want to read more, just like I do. You can find Claiming the Highlander at the following retailers.

Amazon       Barnes and Noble     Smashwords     Publisher

If you want to know more about Mageela Troche, she can be found online at a variety of places.

Website     Facebook   Twitter     Blog    Pinterest

We welcome your comments or questions. Thank you for visiting today, Mageela!

SETUP OF THE SCENE

Lily is a college freshman giving swimming lessons to kids when she sees a very handsome guy watching in the stands. She’s so unsettled by his good looks and his focus on her that she even lets one of her students, Andy, slip underwater for a second.

EXCERPT

“There he is,” Andy said, pointing down the hall.

My mind was barely processing the “he” instead of “she” when it went into free fall as I watched the guy in the Bribury polo move down the hall toward us, his eyes on Andy.

And then they turned to me.

He was even more gorgeous up close, and as he moved closer still, I felt that hitch again—like I’d gone underwater without first holding my breath.

“That’s my brother, Lucas. He’s picking me up today, because my mom…” Andy was saying. I got the vitals: Lucas—brother. Andy might have said more, but by then the guy—Lucas—had reached us.

“You looked great out there, A. Really comfortable in the water. How’d it feel?”

Andy’s little chest puffed up. “Good. Better.”

Better? Had there been a problem before? Sheesh, some instructor I was.

“That’s good. That’s really good. See, I told you it would get better.”

Andy was nodding, his fair hair wet and shaggy, droplets falling onto the back of his sweatshirt. Freddy never did help the boys with stuff like their hair in the locker room.

“Did you see me go under?” Andy asked, pride in his voice. Like it wasn’t me who’d let him slip out of my hands.

“I did. Very brave. Way to conquer, my man,” Lucas said. He wasn’t looking at Andy now, but at me. With a look that said he knew exactly how Andy’s fear had been conquered.

“Yeah, you were right, Lucas. Nothin’ I couldn’t handle.” The words were spoken in such a way that I knew that was how they’d been sold to Andy.

“This is Lily. My teacher.”

I held my hand out, but Lucas had just put his hand-shaking hand on Andy’s shoulder. He just nodded in my direction. “Lily,” he said slowly. “Thanks for taking such good care of my guy.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

Andy was puffing up again—obviously loving that he was Lucas’s “guy.” But I barely noticed; my brain had gone semi-dead when Lucas said my name. His voice was smooth and deep. And dark. So, so dark.

In high school, I snuck into the school pool really late at night, had the place to myself. I did that from time to time, just to get away. I never swam, though—I was too much of a goodie-goodie to break that much of a rule. Plus the whole safety thing stopped me. But one night, after a particularly galling scene of listening to my father berate some poor flunky on the phone, I did go in.

I dove from the high board in just my bra and panties. No lights were on, and when the water swallowed me up I was cocooned in deep, wet darkness. It was disorienting, scary, and exhilarating all at the same time.

That’s what it felt like when Lucas said my name.

“I’m supposed to get some information from you?” he asked me. “Like how he’s doing? Stuff to work on?”

There was a tiny bit of vulnerability in his voice, which was in contrast to the sheer physical confidence he seemed to exude.

His eyes—brown, a deep, lovely shade of brown—darted between Andy and myself, and I realized he was uncertain.

“Yes,” I said, summoning all my father’s bullshitting skills. “Andy is indeed becoming more comfortable in the water, and that is leading to increased confidence in his abilities. I think that our next session will show even more improvement.”

Lucas was nodding, but his eyes—so expressive, those brown pools, when the rest of his face was impassive—sparked with skepticism.

Yeah, people always knew when my father was bullshitting them, too.

“In the meantime,” I pushed on (sadly, my father’s daughter), “you could work with Andy on his floating. Easy to do in the tub. A few minutes on his back, then a few on his front, with his face to the side to breathe.”

“We don’t have a bathtub,” Andy said.

I saw Lucas clench the hand that wasn’t resting on Andy’s shoulder.

“We’ll figure something out, buddy,” Lucas said. Andy looked up—way up; Lucas had to be six-three—and grinned at his older brother. That grin said Andy truly believed that Lucas was capable of creating a bathtub where none existed.

Hell, maybe he was.

“We need to get going, buddy,” Lucas said, turning Andy toward the exit. They started walking away. After a couple of feet, Andy turned and said with his lopsided smile, “Thanks, Lily, see you next time.” He waved his little hand, his sweatshirt too large for him, the sleeve almost swallowing him up.

“You bet, Andy,” I said. My hand was still raised in a wave when Lucas turned around. His gaze was intense again. My hand froze where it was—midair, mid-wave.

“Thank you,” Lucas said so softly I wasn’t sure if he’d actually spoken the words or mouthed them. “Lily,” he added.

That word I heard. All the way through my body.

END OF EXCERPT

Oh yeah, she is definitely hoping to see more of Lucas and so are you. You can find In Too Deep at the following vendors.

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To keep in touch with Mara, visit her website at www.marajacobs.com and her Facebook Page at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mara-Jacobs-Author/141802575897824.

Mara and I welcome your questions and comments. Stop by next week for another first meeting excerpt on First Sight Saturday.

• She was married this year.
• She is a teacher, though she’s never chaperoned a trip with an billionaire ex-boyfriend.
• Her grandma survived breast cancer back in a year when only nineteen people did, and she’s still alive today. With other family members also the victims of cancer, you can see the roots of Victoria’s hero’s backstory of cancer. Plus, it’s breast cancer awareness month. Take it seriously!

SETUP OF THE SCENE

EXCERPT

Payback time. Standing in his mother’s kitchen, Sean Collins smiled as he hung up the phone.

He hovered at the phone for a moment, then charged along the carpeted hallway to his bedroom. In a flash, he changed from his T-shirt and jeans into his black pin stripe king-of-the-business-world suit complete with black tie and shiny black shoes.

Finished dressing, Sean jittered at the door and listened to his son talking nonstop to his mother upstairs. His skin tingled and he closed his eyes. At least moving to his parents’ country estate where he had grown up on Cape Cod had been good for everyone.

Breakfast could wait. He grabbed the keys on the counter downstairs, and he called upstairs, “I’m leaving. I won’t be gone long.”

Last year, the school principal had fired him with bogus charges. Sean had sworn on every holy book that he’d been fired because his doctors had discovered cancer in a routine physical exam.

The sickness sucked. But he’d survived. And now he used his vast wealth to get what he wanted. No teacher should be treated so callously. He had taken the job at the time to prove to himself he had more choices than being the chief financial officer of his father’s corporation.

He set his jaw and walked outside to his car, where the smell of freshly cut grass hit his senses.

The moment he stepped outside and headed toward the garage, Sean stared at the vast forested area on the property for a moment and pressed his lips together. Trees made sense. Women never had. His luck with women had been bad from the start. His first girlfriend, Gigi Dumont, had left him for parts unknown, and then later his wife, now his ex, Jennifer, had also left. She’d played with a whole set of loose scruples. But Jennifer hadn’t hurt him, not like Gigi had. Sean rolled his shoulders. Why did everything in his life always seem to go back to Gigi leaving?

He fished out his keys from his pocket. And now Gigi had moved back into the house next door.

Sean opened the garage door. A quick click of a button and the gate lifted.

Last night he hadn’t slept. Today his shoulders were straight. This moment had nothing to do with women and everything to do with justice. His fingers traced the shiny finish of his brother Gerard’s Aston Martin. Without blinking, he opted to borrow the car. He’d be early and outshine everyone else. Gerard had offered to loan it to him specifically for today. Sean licked his lips and turned the key, igniting the engine, and took off.

A daydream flashed in his eyes. Principal Murray’s jaw dropped to the ground in shock the second Sean stepped inside the office with the papers.

Sean clutched the wheel. He intended to twist the knife even further. People like Mr. Murray gave businessmen around the world the reputation of cold, heartless automatons, especially when he claimed the firing had been over “job performance.” Every one of Sean’s students had passed the state assessments.

Now, Sean ran the finances for his parents, his father’s company, and his brothers. The support of his family to get him through cancer treatments had been phenomenal, but what if he hadn’t had that support? What if he’d had no money to pay for treatments? He’d be dead because the principal had fired him due to the insurance increases. Well, now Sean had a better solution.

He sped down the country road for the half-hour trip. During his horrible marriage to Jennifer, he’d worked as a teacher, and his students had achieved both academic and social successes. Jennifer had been the nightmare that drove Sean away from Collins Industries, Collins Enterprises, Collins Investments, and Collins Mutual, to list a few of his father’s multiple companies. Post divorce and cancer, Sean had made the decision to offer employees packages in cases of sickness. Anyone who worked for him would now receive a payoff equal to the job performance done over the years as part of a settlement. Money paid hospital bills.

Sean’s stomach clenched as he gazed at the sign for the Barnstable Charter High School parking lot. Sean parked Gerard’s fancy lawyer wheels that screamed “out to impress” right next to the about-to-be-sacked principal’s BMW sedan. The Aston Martin made the perfect goodbye gesture. Murray had been outclassed.

Sean leaned forward in his seat, refusing to feel guilty. He waited for the school bell to ring and watched students bounding outside.

Unlike most people, his family had money, and normally he wouldn’t like flaunting wealth. His Jeep Wrangler suited him just fine, but today he needed to look like the elite businessman he was. He stepped out a minute later, and in a fast walk, he strode down the halls. Sean winked the second he saw the school guard’s shocked face.

“You had cancer?” asked the older African American lady who coached the wrestling team.

“Yes, I did. I’m better now,” Sean said, smiling.

He inclined his head and passed the security desk then Sean turned right toward the principal’s office.

In his briefcase he carried the school board’s ruling and the proof of sale of the school to Collins Enterprises. Barnstable was a private school that followed school board law. The sale to his company had been finalized, but Sean had insisted on telling Murray in person. The minutes of the meeting would be posted at one that day. Victory waited for him, and justice tasted better than homemade chocolate chip cookies.

In the office, the overqualified secretary, Mattie, dropped her pencil on the floor. Sean made eye contact with her and the older woman smiled back. Then he picked up the pencil in stride, and handed it back to her. She opened her mouth to speak, and he shook his head, placing his finger over his lips to silently request her silence.

She smiled her response and swiveled her chair back to her computer.

He had seen Mattie in action and understood the older woman had known how to treat people more than anyone else in the office.

Outside the principal’s door, Sean straightened his tie into perfect alignment. His heart rate sped up and his entire body became alert then he heard her voice.

Gigi, or should he say, Giovanna Dumont. Her quiet, sweet voice unmanned him, making his palms sweat. Why would she be here? And how could she still steal his breath away?

END OF EXCERPT

You can find Chaperoning Paris on Amazon.

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Victoria and I both welcome your questions and comments. Stop back each Saturday for a fresh new excerpt from a guest author!

SETUP OF THE SCENE

This scene is from Cupid’s Mistake, which is book two in the series bundle. Allison and Ben are members of a dating service, Cupid’s Cavalry, and are on their first date, although they’ve unknowingly seen each other once before, at Allison’s recent New Year’s Eve party.

EXCERPT

The woman came in like a whirlwind, rustling the thick green leaves of multiple potted and hanging plants near the front door of the restaurant. Chattering to the maître d’ and unwinding a long, bright scarf from around her neck with one hand, she texted speedily with the other, hardly looking at the screen.

That hair. Wild copper curls cascaded almost to her waist, shot through with strands of pure gold. He knew her instantly, even before she turned around.

Tall, slim, impossibly sexy in painted-on black jeans and high-heeled boots, she hustled toward his table, her head now bent over the cell phone in her hand, a slight frown marring her perfect complexion. She caught the edge of her full bottom lip between brilliantly white teeth, and he cursed the unwelcome bump in his pulse.

It was Sally’s neighbor from New Year’s Eve. The Princess.

Great.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Allison navigated the tables without looking up from her phone, sacrificing her usual flair for making an entrance in the interest of closing out her business for the day. She hated running behind.

“I’m so sorry I’m late—” double-damned Orange County traffic “—just give me one moment.”

Depositing her coat, scarf, and handbag on the chair next to the one she dropped herself into, and finishing up a strongly-worded text to the baker bitch, Allison tossed the phone into her bag, turned emphatically off. She didn’t want even a silent vibration interrupting what promised to be a pleasant lunch with a handsome man.

“Whew!” she said, giving her hair a quick fluff. “There.”

Turning on her most brilliant smile, she finally looked up. And found herself skewered by a pair of the most intensely green eyes she’d ever seen. Her breath stopped mid-inhale. The only thought in her head was, “Well, damn it, I’m not ready for you,” even as her heart sighed, “There you are,” as though the man sitting across from her was the critical missing piece in the puzzle of her life.

Which was just ridiculous. There was nothing missing from her life. Nothing. But. . .

Oh, boy.

The man had half-risen out of his seat, as though he’d intended to pull her chair out for her but hadn’t gotten the chance. Wow, he was huge. Had she read that in his profile? She dated a lot of tall men—she preferred them, since she was so tall herself—and it was hard to gauge his full height behind the table, but he might be one of the tallest she’d been out with in a while. Every inch of him radiated a dangerous sort of sophistication. He wasn’t Wall Street by any stretch, but he could probably chew up a suit or three for breakfast, then play a round of golf with the fourth.

A little snap of sexual heat sizzled across her pulse points. She resisted licking her lips.

He sat again, those incredible eyes narrowed and glued to hers. He didn’t look remotely happy to see her. Men were always happy to see her.

How odd.

“Miss. . . Kelly?” the man said, and she shivered. His voice rolled through her mind, rough and deep. The rumble slid inside her bloodstream like molten lava, igniting tiny flames atop every nerve ending it touched.

Licking her suddenly dry lips, Allison nodded, her field of vision widening slowly to take in the rest of him. And oh, what a vision. A weathered face of granite-hewn features carved by a master sculptor, a strong neck, and militarily-erect posture. Deep-set, boldly green eyes, and even deeper grooves alongside his wide, unsmiling mouth. Surely those grooves meant dimples, if he’d only smile. A hard, square chin, those lips. . . And a body designed for the spectacle of the Colosseum.

“Miss Kelly?”

Oh, my.

“A-Allison, please,” she stammered, willing her voice to work. “And you’re Benjamin.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Ben,” he said, the firm line of his mouth kicking up at the corner in a slight smile. “Ben Turner.”

Wow.

Overheated, she grabbed the glass of water at her place setting and sipped when she wanted to gulp it straight down and grab his, as well.

The man was enormous, all broad shoulders and bulging biceps outlined beneath his close-fitting black sweater. His chiseled features and deeply tanned skin spoke of many hours spent outdoors. Was he in construction? His name floated alone in the emptied space between her ears, the only concrete bit of information she could grasp.

No, military! He was ex-military. And he liked to swim. That explained the shoulders.

Sharp cheekbones jutted high and smooth, paler than the upper half of his face, though they looked slightly sunburned. His hair was gorgeous. Silky and full, perfectly cut, it waved back from his face like a glossy pelt of many colors—chocolate, russet, bronze, gold, deep red. An urge to run her fingers through it swept across her skin, making her fingers tingle.

“H-how do you do?” she managed.

What the hell was wrong with her? She was the seductress, the man-magnet, the woman who snagged her selections from a never-ending parade of available men. They flocked to her. She graced them with her presence—or not—on her whim. Yet here she was, stammering like a schoolgirl, dangerously close to a blush, her wits scattered about her like a deck of cards flung into the air.

He’s just a man, Allison!

Testing herself, Allison held her hand across the table to shake, watching as his strong fingers engulfed hers in his massive paw. Hard calluses brushed the softness of her palm, so pale against his sun-darkened skin. The tingles turned to tremors, and she gasped. She couldn’t help it. Sensations swamped her. Her scalp felt ablaze, and trails of heat shot straight to her toes.

And elsewhere.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said, but that indefinable something still lurked in his eyes, making her doubt the sincerity of his words.

END OF EXCERPT

Uh oh. He thinks he doesn’t like her and she doesn’t remember meeting him? Or does she have an evil twin? You know you want to find out more, and Chantilly has this book available almost any place you could hope for, so follow your favorite link.

Purchase links:

Amazon US        Amazon UK         B&N

AllRomance        Smashwords       Apple

Kobo          Google Play       The Book Depository (print books)

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Announce-only newsletter: http://chantillywhite.com/contact.html#newsletter

Chantilly and I welcome your comments and questions. Come back each Saturday for a new first meeting post.

SETUP

After being kidnapped while on assignment in Afghanistan and forced on sabbatical, war correspondent Beckett Reid follows his friend into a Paris apartment for a party. The noise is too much for Beckett, so he climbs up to the roof where he meets Everly, an American heiress with demons of her own.

EXCERPT

“You want to get out of here?” I’m not sure why I bother. She doesn’t trust me enough to even share her name.

Her shoulders shake in a small shiver and her feet stop swinging. She breaks our staring match to gaze back out over the city.

Around us, life continues. Things move forward. But the two of us are suspended, waiting.

“I wonder what it would be like to fly,” she whispers. She doesn’t say any more, doesn’t answer me. She just throws out a question like that and lets it sink into the darkness between us with its uncomfortable heaviness. Her hands grip the ledge and she bends forward, her weight resting on her thin arms. She looks as if she might push off and test her question, like she believes for a minute she has wings.

“What would your last thought be if you fell?” She nods toward the street below, suggesting a fall from this building—a fatal fall.

Her face is a mask of peacefulness, but I know the truth. I’ve spent too many years reading people. Too many years deflecting other’s opinions of me and my circumstances. The boy with the sad story.

“There wouldn’t be time,” I say. “It would be over before it even began.”

“It wouldn’t have just begun.” She faces me, the corner of her mouth tipped up in a smug smile. Her fingers run through her hair, tussling it until I smell her perfume—pears and vanilla. “Sure, I’ll go for a walk.”

I don’t want to leave with her anymore but I don’t think I should leave her alone either. Her question still rings in my mind and the damnedest thing is that I can’t think of an answer.

I pull out my phone to text Ollie that I’m bailing when she grabs it away.

“What are you doing?

My hand flexes as I push down my temper. “Texting a friend.”

As I soon as I explain, she shakes her head, a dry laugh pushing over her lips. “Of course.” She waves me off, then hands it back to me. “Sorry.”

Obviously she’s a bit skittish. And untrusting. I should head out without her, but I can’t when she looks at me again. There’s too much about her I don’t know. She spins around, crouching on her haunches, nothing behind her except a yawning distance between this building and the next. And the street far below.

I wait, stuffing my hands into my pockets, fighting back the urge to hand her down from the ledge. She’s not the type to want help. I’m not the type to offer. Usually.

But when she swings her legs out to step down, her knees graze the brick. The knobby curve of one beads with blood, her skin scraped raw.

She’s quiet, staring at her knee as if she can will it from bleeding. I’m not sure why I do it or why I care, but I step forward and lift up the edge of my T-shirt and press it against her knee, soaking up the blood. She keeps her head tucked down and her hands at her side as I inch closer. My free hand settles by her hip, her hair brushes against my arm.

“What’s your name, pet?” My words are barely a whisper.

Her fingers hover above my hands on her knee. I keep my eyes anchored there as she slowly entwines them with mine. That spark people talk about when two people touch—apparently it’s not a heap of shite because it happens and I don’t know what to do when it does. I don’t know anything. Why I’m here with her. Why we’re not kissing. My name.

“Everly.”

Buy Links: (Everly After is available for pre-order and will be released on October 21.)

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Rebecca and I look forward to your questions and comments. Come back every week for a new first meeting excerpt from a fresh author on First Sight Saturday.