Category Archives: sunday snippet

#SundaySnippet 12.22.24

Next up in my 2025 publishing calendar is PERFECT MATCH, book 3 in the HEAVEN’S MATCHMAKER series.

Third-generation matchmaker, Olivia Joyner, enjoys a 99% success rate when it comes to helping people find their happily ever afters. But her newest client is proving to be part of the 0.1 percent.

All the women Olivia have matched geriatrician Hunter Reinhart with have been perfect on paper. None of them, though, have resulted in a second request for a date, and all the women say the same thing: Hunter, although handsome and successful, is just…dull. And boring. And too reserved.

Olivia can’t understand it, because to her? Hunter is none of those things. In fact, he’s the exact opposite of dull, boring, and reserved. He’s a man she would consider worthy of marrying herself – if she was in the market for a spouse.

Which she isn’t.

Olivia needs to figure out why she can’t find Hunter Reinhart the perfect match, and it just may require her to do something she’s never done before: go on a “date” with a client.

Purely for research and educational purposes, that is.

“So, tell me, Olivia, why matchmaking?”

Okay, not the question she would have led with, but he was making an effort.

She answered honestly. “Because I’m good at it. Always have been, even when I was in school. Plus, it’s the family business. I’m the third generation of Crally women to be a matchmaker.”

His eyes widened and he stopped cutting the roll in half to stare across at her. “Your grandmother is a matchmaker?”

“Mom, too. You didn’t know?”

“About your grandmother? No. She never mentioned it or even gave any indication she was in all the interactions we’ve had.”

“Well, in all fairness, the mantle was passed a while ago. First to my mom, and then from my mom to me.” She sighed. “It dies with me, too, because my daughter has no desire to take over for me.”

“You have a daughter.” Surprise lit his eyes. “I had no idea.”

She nodded. “Freya. She’s twenty-three and just got her Master’s Degree in physical therapy.”

“You have a twenty-three-year-old daughter. How is that possible?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re what? Thirty-two? Thirty-three, tops?”

She laughed. “Okay, I know I shouldn’t have to say this, but you should never ask a woman her age on a first date. Or ever! Whether it’s a real date or fake,” she added when he began to protest. “But thank you for the compliment, and for the record, I just turned forty a few months ago.”

“Impossible. That means you had her at,” he thought for a moment, “Seventeen?”

She nodded.

“You were a child, Olivia.”

Not the first time she’d heard this from someone who didn’t know her past. “A little more than a child, I think.”

“How?”

She cocked her head, her lips twisting into a grin. “The usual way.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean…” His face pulled into a confused mask. There was no judgment in his tone or his expression, just bewilderment.

She took pity on him. “My boyfriend and I had been together since third grade and had always planned to get married after college.” She shrugged. “Freya just upped the timeline a bit.”

“You were married at seventeen?”

“Sixteen, actually. And before you say I was a child again, my mother was married at seventeen, my grandmother at fifteen. Early marriages are another thing we’ve passed down through the generations in my family.” She rolled her eyes. “And Freya broke the mold on that one too, since she’s twenty-three and single.”

He sat back in his chair, the roll and his hunger forgotten, and simply stared at her.

“Why are you looking at me that way?”

“Because I have a million other questions and I’m trying to discern if I should ask them.”

She waved her hand in the air. “Go for it.”

“Did you finish school? Go to college?”

“Yes and yes. I graduated high school as did Jon,  my husband, and we both went to college in Concord. I majored in communications before you ask.”

“Where did you live?”

“With my parents.”

“They were…okay? With your…situation?”

“I told you, young marriages aren’t uncommon in my family. My grandparents and parents helped out, all of them thrilled to have a new baby to care for. My grandfather was the town pediatrician at the time and Freya couldn’t have had better care than from him and my grandmother and my parents. My grandparents said helping raise her made them feel young again.”

“I didn’t know your grandfather was a physician.”

She shrugged. “You didn’t grow up here, so why would you? He practiced for almost forty years and was still in practice when he…died.”

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically.

“You don’t need to be. He had a fabulous, fulfilling life, a thriving, rewarding practice, married his childhood sweetheart – see a pattern here?- and lived every day of his life with joy. That’s more than most people get in a fraction of their life.”

Again, the way he was staring at her, peering at her as though trying to see inside her head and body was a little disconcerting…but…alluring, as well.

“You are a surprise, Olivia Joyner,” he said as their waitress brought out their entrees.

Preorders are up here: PERFECT MATCH. Release date is 4.9.25! I can’t wait.

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#Sundaysnippet 10.22.2023

From the 11.1.2023 release of DON’T MESS WITH THE MISTLETOE

“Any updates on the baby?” she asked, moving to the stove, teakettle in hand.

He told her about the diagnosis and the treatment his niece would need while she filled the kettle and then placed it on the stove to heat. When she turned around to him, her face had gone quite pale and a soft curl of moisture shone in her eyes.

“You saved the baby’s life. You know that, right?”

What?”

“You got her to a place where they could diagnose her and put a plan together to get her better. If you hadn’t been available to fly her to Concord…” she let the rest of the sentence dangle and shook her head again.

“I can’t begin to imagine what your sister is going through.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. “Her hormones are gonna be going nuts to begin with and now her tiny baby needs heart surgery.”

A single tear snuck down each cheek and when she swiped at them his heart melted.

“I’m sorry for blubbering, but I keep thinking if this had been Blake I don’t know how I would have survived, how I would have handled it. Or what I would have done. I’m upset for your sister.  As a new mother, she must be terrified.”

“One thing you need to know about Sasha,” he said. “She’s nothing if not a fighter and survivor. I bet she’s gonna sign herself out of the hospital in the morning if they don’t discharge her and head right up to Concord to be with her baby. Hell, she’ll probably order me to fly her to save time.”

“And you will, without any thought not to, because she’s your sister. Your family.” Her sigh pulled at him.

She was right. He’d do anything for his sisters, for his parents. The very fact he’d given up a month of his life so his mom could take a well-earned rest was all the proof anyone needed.

They were silent as the teakettle whistled and she went about preparing her nightly brew.

“So,” he said as she took her fist sip, “Everything good around here while I was gone?”

“RayLynn and Winston kept things moving smoothly.”

“Good. Thank goodness for the old-timers. They’ve been around long enough to know what’s what. I know my mom trusts and relies on them. I do, too.”

She sipped her tea, the steam rising, drifting around, and touching her face. His fingers tingled because they wanted to do the same.

Good Lord. Jealous of a wisp of air that got to touch her.

“Julia—”

“Michael—”

Her blush charmed him.

“Sorry,” he said. “You first.”

She sipped her tea then placed the mug down on the table. “I, well. I just wanted you to know how much I…admire you. Your whole family. You’re always there for one another. My parents,” she lifted a shoulder and cast her eyes downward, “have always been a little distant with me, now more than ever since the Jeff incident. I’d love if I had a family like yours. I’d hoped to have one like that for Blake, but, well, life intervened and my husband got sick. Then I went off the deep end with Jeff.” Another head shake. “Your family is the kind I’ve always aspired to have.”

Michael rose from the table and slid his fork and plate into the sink, ran the water to rinse them, and then let them sit.

“You know we’re all adopted, right? Abra, Sasha, and me?”

She nodded. “Someone mentioned it. I can’t remember who. But I think it’s wonderful Amy and Andy wanted to share their home and their hearts.”

He leaned against the sink ledge and crossed his arms over his chest. “I told you to make a point.”

She lifted her gaze, the mug warming in her hands.

“You can have a biological family and hope it’s the dream family everyone wants. Most of the time, though, it isn’t. The perfect family is almost always a fantasy. Or you can make a family with the people you open your heart to, like you said. The people you choose to be your family. Amy chose us. And I thank whoever’s in charge,” he pointed upward, “every single day she did. I truthfully don’t think I’d be alive today if she hadn’t.”

Immediately he regretted saying it. For the second time, with her, he’d divulged a little bit of what he’d always kept hidden, what he’d always considered too much to share. Why did it feel so easy, though, to say things to her he’d never given breath to with any other woman?

“That’s…awful to even consider.”

He shrugged. “Like I said, the perfect family dream is just that. A dream.”

He pushed off the ledge and turned around to wash the dishes he’d had rinsing. Before he could turn the water on, Julia’s hand wound around his bicep.

His gaze flicked to it. Her fingers didn’t even meet halfway around the muscle. Had he noticed how small her hands were before now? How long and slender her fingers were, the nails naked and buffed to a natural shine? Heat, flaming heat, singed through his shirt at her touch. It was a wonder smoke wasn’t billowing up from his arm from where she gripped it.

A worry line dragged her brows together.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, staying still, fearful if he moved he’d give in to temptation and rub his thumb along that thin line to soothe it away.

“The time before you came to Amy?” A nervous flick of her tongue wet her lips.

Michael swallowed and tried to ignore how much the little move made parts of his anatomy twitch. “What about it?”

“Can you…will you…tell me about it?”

His breath hissed like a steam valve opening.

The line disappeared as her eyes opened wide, her gaze mating with his as she waited for him to speak.

“I don’t talk about that time.” His throat was raw and dry like sandpaper. “It’s too…” He dropped his gazed to the sink, fisted his hands on the ledge. “I don’t even remember all that much.”

An outright lie. If pressed, Michael could recall every minute he’d spent in that closet, every cigarette the mean mad had put out on his flesh, every slap he’d suffered across his face and back.

Disappointment shadowed her gaze. Julia dropped her hand from his arm and nodded.

Backing away from him she said in a shaky voice, “Of course. I understand. I’m…sorry. Never mind. Sorry.”

When she dropped her gaze to the floor, a bullet of regret tore through him. He pulled in another bracing breath before forgetting all about the dishes and turning around to face her.

“I was four when I came to Amy,” he said.

She lifted her head, zeroed in on his face.

“Five when she and Andy petitioned to adopt me.”

“So young,” she mumbled. “Barely more than a baby.”

Had he ever been young? Some days, when he thought about that time, he felt as if he’d been born old and jaded.

Intrigued? LOL. I certainly hope so!

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#sundaysnippet 9.24.2023

With 2 new releases this month ( Influence and A Pride of Brothers; Dylan) I had a choice today, lol.

Since Dylan just released on Monday, I’m choosing him.

“She’s a sweetie,” his soon-to-be-sister-in-law whispered in his ear. “But fragile. Take care with her.”

Dylan nodded again.

As soon as the door closed behind them, he turned back around to Harper. Her color was still off, and she looked like she hadn’t slept for a week. A defeated stance embraced her body in the stooped shoulders and chest-hugging head. He wanted to gather her up in his arms and love away all the horror she’d endured for the past day. Hell, the past thirty-plus years.

Before he did, he had to make sure she’d freely receive it. The way she’d so easily walked away from him in the bedroom had been a hit to his ego, and he didn’t want a repeat of that feeling.

He wanted Harper. Had since the moment he’d bumped into her and she’d tossed him a pissed-off glare. And what the hell did that say about him, he wondered, that he found snarky and annoyed so alluring?

“Your younger brother is very…”

“Annoying? Obnoxious? A pain in the ass?”

He grew pleased when a small smile bloomed on her face at his joking, since that had been his intention.

“I was going to say knowledgeable about being poisoned. I don’t want to be nosy, but has he been?”

“No. Not like you were. Aiden had a brain tumor as a kid. Spent a great deal of time in the hospital having all sorts of meds shot into his system. He got pretty smart about how to ward off any side effects like dehydration, nausea. Vomiting.”

“Oh, dear Lord, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

He shrugged. His brother’s diagnosis had hit the family hard when it came. But his mother was a natural warrior and vowed nothing, not even a pesky tumor, was going to take one of her children away from her.

“He’s fine now. As soon as the tumor was removed and he got on a good medical regimen, he was basically cured. Every now and then, though, he’s hit with a killer migraine, especially if he doesn’t drink a good amount of water every day. So he’s being truthful when he says you should drink and flush your system. Bronte is his service dog, by the way. She can detect a migraine aura starting before Aiden can and allow him to treat it before it gets incapacitating.”

She nodded, said, “Wow,” and then took a large gulp of the water.

“I don’t know about you, but even though it’s almost one in the morning, I could eat something.” He turned away so she wouldn’t see him smile. “It’s been a long time since my last meal. You hungry?”

Intrigued?
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#SundaySnippet — INFLUENCE

Influence will be 1 week old tomorrow – I can’t believe she’s so old already, LOL!! In honor of her 1 week birthday, I figured a Sunday Snippet was in order. Here ya go:

The place Nick chose, The Good Pig was one I’d never been to before, situated on the west side of Columbus Avenue between 65th and 66th streets. I wondered at the reason for the odd name.

The moment I came into the place my focus was stolen from checking out the surroundings when I spotted Nick at the bar, his attention zeroed in on the front door. He stood, a drink sitting in front of him, an elbow leaning against the top of the bar, one hand in his trouser pockets.

He looked effortlessly elegant and supernova hot at the same time. Magazine model gorgeous looks combined with raw sexual heat.

What a combo.

I stumbled in my Paredos as I made my way to him.

And I never stumble. Not in six inch stilettoes, kitten heels, or flats.

This guy really got to me.

His smile started in one corner of his mouth and ambled toward the other, his lips parting to reveal his pleasure. His entire face smiled, causing tiny lines to fan across his temples and two twin crevices to pop up on his cheeks.

I couldn’t ever remember any man grinning at me the way he was, not even Lucky. My insides went into a free-fall like when you’re on the downslope of a rollercoaster, and I felt my clutch tremble in my hand.

He met me more than halfway, his hand extended.

“You look lovely,” he said as he slid that hand around my bare upper arm and bussed both my cheeks, European fashion.

My toes tingled in my Paredos.

“Thanks,” I mumbled as he removed his hand from my arm and slid it around to my back, stopping just above my waist as he guided me forward.

“I reserved a table in the back,” he said. “It can get loud in here at lunchtime, but the noise is buffered back there.”

He led me through the packed bar area through a connecting door and into a deceptively large dining room. A white shirted, bow-tied waiter met us and escorted us to a booth along the back wall. Once we’d slipped all the way in, he handed us menus and said he would be right back to take our drink orders.

“You were right,” I said, as I opened my menu simply for something to do with my shaking hands. “It’s much quieter back here.”

Nick ignored his menu, instead, leaning his elbows on the table and threading his fingers together. His gaze took a slow stroll over my face, the smile that sent tingles all the way down my spine focused on me.

“I’m really glad you said yes to lunch,” he told me. “I’ve been looking forward to this since last night.”

Those little tingles increased.

I smiled at him, unsure of what to say, another facet of my personality that isn’t usual. I never have trouble making small talk with anyone. Deportment lessons mixed with social graces were ground into me as a child.

Apparently, with this man, deportment went dormant.

Our waiter returned, took our drink orders – a diet soda for me, water for Nick – and then recited the specials of the day.

“What do you recommend?” I asked him.

His pleased smile told me most people never consulted him. My father and mother raised me to be respectful to everyone we interacted with be it a bus driver, garbage man, or the prince of a neighboring monarchy. I was the type who over-tipped, always said please and thank you, and tried to be gracious and courteous to everyone.

“You can’t beat our Caesar salad,” he said, pen poised above his order book. “Our chef does something to the dressing that makes it stand out in a crowd.”

“Sold. I love a good Caesar. I’ll have it with grilled salmon, please.”

He beamed at me, then took Nick’s order of a turkey club.

“You have that effect on men, you know,” he said once our waiter left us.

“What effect?” I wasn’t being coy. I really didn’t know what he meant.

“When you smile at them and give them your undivided attention they practically melt.”

Pleased and embarrassed, I shrugged. “My mother taught me it’s much easier and nicer to be polite to people than demanding and rude, which many in our position can be and are.”

He nodded. “My mother taught Charlie and me the same thing. You get more flies with a drop of honey, she always says.”

“She’s right.”

He nodded again, then unfolded his hands, slid one across to me and weaved his fingers with mine. The gesture shocked me. So much so, I didn’t pull back or give any indication I wasn’t fully on board with him touching me.

“Did I mention,” he said, one corner of his lips lifting, “how glad I am you took me up on my offer of lunch.”

I laughed.  “Once or twice,” I said.

The smile broadened and I swear my ovaries popped to attention.

What. The. Actual. Hell??

The waiter returned with our drinks, and a huge smile for me.

Flattering? Sure. But I was still trying to come to grips with how my female organs were all moving to alert status simply from Nick holding my hand.

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#sundaySnippet New in #audiobooks #romcom #NYCsocialitesseries

So the little snippet from today’s selection is from my NEW YORK SOCIALITES series, IT’S A TRUST THING, which was just released on APPLE AUDIO!

Nell Newbery has trust issues.

It’s hard to trust when you’re the daughter of a fallen financial scion who bilked people out of billions. Nell’s done everything in her power to keep away from men who see her as their ticket to fortune and fame. All she wants to do is run her ultra-successful business, HELPFUL HUNKS, in peace. But it wouldn’t hurt to find a guy who doesn’t know a thing about her father’s felonious past; one she can give her heart to and trust it won’t come back to her battered, bruised, and broken.

Is Charlie Churchill that guy? On the surface he seems perfect, all polished manners and quiet mirth. Nell’s convinced he knows nothing about her, other than she likes superhero movies and views junk food as a food group.

Can she trust him to be what he appears to be? Or is he just pretending?

For Nell, trust is everything in life…and in love.

SNIPPET…

That old expression if you want something done, give it to a busy person describes my life to perfection.

I was already late for the two-hour lecture I’d agreed to give at Columbia Business School. And I say agreed with my tongue in my cheek.

When Dean Arnold Dietrichson, an old friend of my mother’s from her cotillion days, emailed and asked me to fill in for a professor who’d requested time off to visit a sick parent, I ignored the missive. And the two follow-ups he’d then sent. When he called me directly, I couldn’t come up with an excuse fast or truthful enough to squeak out of it. Public speaking is the last in a long laundry list of things I never want to do. Having my fingernails removed one by one without anesthesia and shaving my head supersede public speaking, so that tells you how much I didn’t want to do what I was about to do.

A scheduling issue had disrupted my afternoon and I found myself two men short for a moving job I’d booked weeks ago for an extremely influential client. It took me two and a half hours, seven pleading phone calls, the promise of an extra day off, plus time and half for the two guys who finally agreed to come in.  I toyed with the idea to add sexual favors to the asking price if no one agreed.

That would have been an empty promise, but desperate times…you know?

My business, Helpful Hunks, rents gorgeous twenty and thirty-something between-jobs male actors and models by the hour to do all the things you can’t—or don’t want to—do.

Are you a woman living on your own and need shelving put up but don’t know the business end of a hammer from a screwdriver? Call me. Are you relocating from one small New York apartment to another and don’t want to pay the exorbitant cost a commercial moving business charges to move the meager stuff you own? Check out my website. Need heavy furniture rearranged? Boxes brought in from storage? Someone to help relocate mom’s belongings from her home to her new assisted care facility? Send me an email.

The idea for the business came to me in college. I was my first client. At a spit above five foot, and with a mother residing in a psych facility and a father who was a guest of the state, I had no one to help me lug all my stuff into the dorm room I’d be living in for the next four years.

When a group of upperclassmen who were involved in a project offered to help me in order to gain service points for their frat house, I readily agreed. Flirty, fit, and hunky-hot, the guys got all my crap moved in one one-hundredth of the time it would have taken me on my own. While I watched them heft and heave my trunks, luggage, books, and bed linens, a little idea wormed its way into my entrepreneurial brain.

Despite my father’s mortifying public trial and his subsequent incarceration, Dennison Newbery’s business acumen-laced DNA flowed through me.

Before sophomore year began, I’d already hired a few classmates over the summer break to aid anyone who needed help moving into dorms and student housing. For a nominal fee, of course. My profits that year paid for the next two years of my education.

Business school, a business loan, and a solid marketing plan after I graduated, and here I was.

And you can listen to a selection here: AUDIO

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#Sundaysnippet THE HAUNTING OF WILTON JUNE, #pnr #romantichauntings #readromance

Hotshot movie director Wilton June is in pre-production for a new movie. The moment he sees Maison Toussaint he decides it’s the perfect setting for the film and wants to rent it. The one stumbling block? The owner isn’t sure she can let her ancestral home be used in a movie.

Botanist Jerica Toussaint needs cash – a lot of it – to keep her home up to code and her herbal healing business alive. June’s financial offer is oh-so-tempting, as is the director himself. But the house has a secret Jerica’s guarded her entire life. Can she, in good conscience, rent it to a man who may expose it?

Convincing Jerica to trust him with her home – and her secret – is no easy feat and after a time Will realizes he needs to convince her to trust him with one more thing: her heart.

SNIPPET…

“Thanks for setting this up,” Will told Genevieve the following morning when he arrived at her office.

Looking at him with skeptical eyes, she nodded and accepted his handshake.  A man who could have been her twin in the looks department stood to her right wearing a three thousand dollar suit and if Will wasn’t mistaken, the remnants of a rough day or two. Railroad track red lines crisscrossed in the whites of his eyes and the stubble on his jaw was at either an attempt to grow a beard, or he hadn’t had the compunction to shave for a while. Before Will could be introduced, the guy tugged a handkerchief from his pocket, muttered a choked, “Excuse me,” and then blew his nose twice.

“Sorry,” he said, swiping at his nose with the swatch of white. “Allergy season. Gavin Gordon.”

Will’s eyes ping-ponged between the realtor and this man.

As if hearing the unasked question, he said, “I’m her brother.” He hitched a finger toward Genevieve.

“He’s also my lawyer,” a new voice said from behind him.

One of the most beautiful women Will had ever seen stood in the doorway.

No, beautiful was too tame a word. Striking and exotic were much more appropriate.

Hair the color of a raven’s feathers at midnight – dark and sleek and shiny – fell to below her waist in a mass of curls he knew instinctively were natural. Eyes the color of tempered chocolate regarded him from across the room. The corners were tipped upward in a delicate line, her brows, the twin color to her hair, two perfect arched wings above her eyes. High cheekbones any number of actresses he knew would have killed for covered unlined skin, rosy from the Fall winds blowing about outside. The tiny indent under her lips, bifurcating her chin was the sexiest thing he’d seen on a woman in… forever.

The vision came into the room, nodded at the realtor, then moved to hug the lawyer. For an insane instant, Will grew jealous of the contact between the two of them.

“Thanks for coming down, Gav.”

“Anything for you, babe.”

“Let’s get started,” Genevieve said. Indicating a chair behind the round office table, she said, “Mr. June?”

When all of them were seated – Will on one side of the table and the three of them across from him like opposing counsel in a courtroom – he said to the homeowner, “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me. I understand you have a few questions?”

She nodded, tossed a quick glance at the lawyer, then leaned her elbows forward on the table and folded her hands together.

When she dragged in a breath heavy with nerves, Will had the sudden urge to reach across the table, squeeze her hand and offer some kind of comfort.

“I understand you want to film a movie in the house.”

He nodded.

“That’s an unusual request. Don’t you usually film in a studio or on a sound stage?”

“I could, but I’d have to construct a prop house. Your home is absolutely perfect for the storyline of the film and it’s already standing. It would be cheaper in the long run to use an already viable structure.”

“What about my house makes it absolutely perfect, to use your words? Ms. Gordon told me you looked at six other properties that are all similar to mine. Surely any one of them would suit your… needs.”

Will couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a grown woman blush. Her cheeks turned apple-red as she spoke and he’d be damned if it wasn’t the most alluring thing he’d ever seen on a woman.

“True, but when I saw your house it just spoke to me. Screamed to me, in fact,” he said, grinning.

“Sc-screamed?” Jerica swallowed and a fine tremor started in her folded hands. “What do you mean… screamed?”

Will grinned and leaned back in his chair. “The movie I’m set to make is a modern-day love story about two people who try to solve a one-hundred-year-old murder mystery that occurred in the house where the heroine lives. Your house is perfect for the time period, aside from being huge, which is another plus, because of the size of my film equipment. After I walked through it with Ms. Gordon yesterday and got the lay of the land and the room sizes, I’m more convinced than ever it’s the perfect house for my filming needs.”

Her shoulders dropped down from where they’d been hugging her ears. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why his explanation calmed her nerves, but the response encouraged him. Leaning forward, he told her, “I know it’s a huge intrusion to have people and gear in your home, but I can assure you, we’re all very professional. And my crew is only five people plus me. And the actors, or course. I have a very well-oiled machine of people I trust and who are tops in their fields. I promise nothing will get broken or damaged, and we won’t move a thing unless we ask first.”

She tossed a quick glance at the lawyer who caught the move and nodded.

“Should Miss Toussaint agree to your filming in the house – and that’s still a big if – we would ask you to sign a separate waiver stating you’ll take full responsibility for the costs of any damage.”

“Not a problem,” Will said.

“Now, about the use-of-location contract,” Gavin said, taking a stack of papers from a briefcase that materialized at his feet. “The fee mentioned seems a little low since the house will not only be inhabited by you as a resident but your film crew as well—”

“The crew stays off-site. I’ll be the only one actually living in the house at the time of filming.”

“Be that as it may, the recompense paid to Ms. Toussaint should be higher. After all, the film will be seen, potentially, by a large audience.”

“That’s always the hope.” Will grinned.

“People who may actually want to come and see where the movie was filmed. You can see where this may pose a problem with security for Ms. Toussaint. A higher fee would enable her to employ security if needed. This is, after all, her home. We want to ensure her safety.”

Will’s gaze raked over Jerica Toussaint’s face. “Of course. What price were you thinking.”

When he named an amount twenty-five percent higher than the offer, Will hid his surprise, then did a quick mental math shuffle. He could swing the payment increase if he cut the budget a bit somewhere else.

“Okay. Consider it done.”

Surprise galloped around the table, but it was Jerica Toussaint’s wide-eyed face Will settled on.

“Anything else?” he asked after noting the glances between lawyer and client.

Genevive spoke up for the first time. “The sixth-month rent clause is ironclad. If you decide to leave, for whatever reason, before the lease expires, you won’t be issued a refund.”

“Understood. And I’m prepared to write you a check for the full amount today, as soon as you agree to sign the lease,” he told Jerica.

When she took a corner of her mouth between her teeth, that sexy little dent in her chin winked at him. In a hot second, the lower half of his body went on high alert and he was thankful the desk hid him from the waist down.

Intrigued? If you are, here’s where the book is available: The Haunting of Wilton June

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#sundaySnippet THE SHERIFF & THE PSYCHIC #PNR #cowboys

So, I’m still hawking my online Holiday Book store ( shameless self promotion, lol!)
Today’s book is the 2022 first-book-in-the-Welcome to Renewal- series, THE SHERIFF & THE PSYCHIC. The title is kinda self explanatory about what the book is about, no? Hee hee. But just in case you aren’t sure, here’s the blurb before the snippet.

Police Psychic Silvestra Coeltrain comes to Renewal, OK to visit with old friends and to heal. After a year in which she was tested physically, mentally, and psychically, all she wants to do is sleep, fish, and bask in the tranquility of the sleepy town.

Sheriff Caleb Blackbear doesn’t understand the feelings he’s quickly developing for Renewal’s newest visitor. She responds to his kisses with a passion that equals his own. But she’s an enigma, filled with secrets and evasions, and he’s a suspicious man.

When several of the local ranches begin losing cattle to a mysterious illness, it’s Silvestra who claims the animals are being methodically targeted and killed. As Cal’s investigation zeros in on who and what could be slaying the animals, the murder of a prominent rancher’s daughter – and Cal’s former lover – complicates things. With Silvestra’s life now in danger, Cal is determined to keep her safe at any cost.

But can he?

“Want to dance?” Rising, he put his hand out for hers.

To Silvestra, it didn’t sound like a question, more a command. Especially when he stood waiting for her.

As Cal led her to the dance floor, she noticed the questioning stares and whispers behind hands as they made their way out to the middle, joining the other couples ready for a night’s fun.

“I think I should warn you I’m not very good at this,” she confessed when he took her in his arms.

The corner of his full mouth twitched upward. “Just follow me. It’s easy after you go around a few times.”

Shy tried to concentrate on his explanations, the direction his feet were taking, but acknowledged with regret, that she had more difficulty than usual. Being in arms that were as strong as steel traps, but she knew could be as gentle and soft as a feather, made focusing a hard task. When they should have been watching his feet, her eyes were drawn to where their hands were joined. The small hairs peeking out from under the plaid cuff, the length of his fingers, straight and taut against hers, took her breath away.

Cal maneuvered around the floor, keeping time with the music, quietly instructing her what to do with each turn. Soon Shy found herself enjoying the dance – and more- enraptured by the man holding her.

Shy’s head whirled. Touching him, being touched, made her mad with longing. She imagined just what it would feel like to have those long, powerful fingers massaging her naked flesh.

Stop it. This can’t be and you know it, so just stop your fantasizing right this instant.

Regret competed with the longing, one emotion proving stronger than the other.

The beat of the music quickened, as did the dancer’s steps. Silvestra laughed as Cal swirled her around the floor. In one move, he effortlessly twirled her to the right with a flick of his wrist at her waist. She felt as if her flesh had been seared and branded.

Spinning back into his arms, Silvestra stopped short, her body slamming hard into Cal’s chest. Instinctively, her hands came up, bracing, on top of his shirt. She could feel his heart hammering, felt the shifting of his rib cage with each breath. She sensed the pulsing of her own blood when his hands came up to enclose her wrists. Head tilting, she found raven-colored eyes burning and bright with an urgent need equaling her own.  Insides quaking, she tried desperately to quell the passion surging within. But gazing into those dark mirrors, the small glimmers shifting within them, burning into hers, Silvestra had no will to silence them.

They stayed this way, rooted, each oblivious to the rest of the crowd surrounding them.

Time didn’t move.

Eventually, Cal took a deep breath, his gaze never turning from Silvestra’s face. “Not bad. I thought you said you didn’t dance well.”

Shy shook her head.

“I don’t,” she said, breathless. “You’re a remarkable teacher, Sheriff.”

Cal’s lips twitched again, a gesture she found herself coming to expect from him.  A hidden mirth, rarely shown, but one, Silvestra knew, he felt comfortable displaying to her.

“Want to go another round, or would you prefer to sit this one out?”

The desire to stay exactly where they were weighed heavily. When Shy glanced around and discovered they were the sole occupants of the dance floor, a deep flush flew up her cheeks.

“I think I’d like to have that lemonade now,” she said.

He nodded and silently led her back to the table, empty now, as Jake and Mabel made the rounds of their friends.

Intrigued? Lol. I hope so. You can order a print copy from my online website bookstore for a discount, here: TSATP or an ecopy for just #99cents everywhere digital media is offered online, here: SHERIFF

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#SundaySnippet CHRISTMAS & CANNOLIS #romcom #holidayromcom #holidayromance

So today, another snippet from one of the books available in my 2022 Holiday Book Store on this website.

CHRISTMAS & CANNOLIS is the third San Valentino book I wrote, and I know you’re not supposed to say this, but it’s my fave in the series for so many reasons!!!

With Christmas season in full swing, baker Regina San Valentino is up to her elbows in cake batter and cookie dough. Between running her own business, filling her bursting holiday order book, and managing her crazy Italian family, she’s got no time to relax, no room for more custom cake orders, and no desire to find love. A failed marriage and a personal tragedy have convinced her she’s better off alone. Then a handsome stranger enters her bakery begging for help. Regina can’t find it in her heart to refuse him.

Connor Gilhooly is in a bind. He needs a specialty cake for an upcoming fundraiser and puts himself—and his company’s reputation—in Regina’s capable hands. What he doesn’t plan on is falling for a woman with heartbreak in her eyes or dealing with a wise-guy father and a disapproving family.

Can Regina lay her past to rest and trust the man who’s awoken her heart?

Ten pairs of eyes glared at me from all corners of the table. Some were wide-eyed; some were narrowed. All of them were filled with varying levels of emotions ranging from shocked ( Ma) to suspicious (my brothers) to pleased (my sisters-in-law).

“Regina.” Ma threw her napkin on the table and slammed her cutlery next to her plate. “What is your father talking about? What man spent the night at your apartment?”

“It’s not like it sounds, Ma. It was late and we were talking, and then we both just fell asleep—”


Holy Madonna.” She made the sign of the cross and closed her eyes, hands clasped together as her lips moved silently in prayer.


“Where?” ’Carlo asked.


“Where what?”


“Where did the two of you fall asleep? In your bed?”


Another finger cross from Ma. This time she kissed her fingertips afterward and threw a prayer up to the Lord.

“I don’t think you get to ask me that question, ’Carlo. I’m thirty-two years old, and you’re my brother, not my father.”

“What I am is suspicious,” he spat back. “How come we didn’t know you were seeing a guy? Why you keeping him a secret?”

“First of all, what I do in the privacy of my own home”—now Ma was rocking back and forth as she prayed—“or don’t do, is none of your business. Second, I’m not seeing anyone, so the fact that it’s a secret is null and void. Stop with the third degree, GianCarlo. Use it on your own kids, ’cause like I said, you’re not my father.”

“But I am,” Pop said, his tone hard and filled with anger, “so answer it. Where did Irish sleep last night?”

“Irish?” Petey exclaimed. “What the hell kinda name is that?”

“Language, Pietro,” Ma said, awaking from her spiritual coma to chastise her son.

There are so many things I simply adore about my family. The unshakeable connection and love we all have; the fact that we live close to one another; our shared faith and sense of tradition. But the one thing I do hate is the antiquated morality system they adhere to. Girls don’t have sex with men before marriage, plain and simple. Of course, since the one and only time I’d done just that, I’d wound up pregnant and forced to get married, my parents’ concerns made sense.

To them.

I was almost fifteen years older, much wiser, and a full-fledged adult now, but I was still treated like an ignorant bambina who had to be protected from wolves and scoundrels. If my father had his way, I’d be married right now to one of his goombahs, eight months pregnant with probably our seventh child, and in the kitchen making gravy.

So many times over the years, I’d wanted to smack him on the back of the head much the way he smacks us, and say, “Wake up! It’s twenty-first-century America, not eighteenth-century Sicily.” Wanting to do something and actually doing it, though, are very different beasts.

So.

I don’t get mad often, especially with my family, but I was tired, overworked, emotionally drained, and royally pissed off right now, so the anger bled through my usual calm.

I rose from my chair and threw my napkin down on the table like my mother had.

“You know what? I’m done. I’m done with you all treating me like a child. I’m not one of your underlings, Pop, who needs to be kept on a short lease and told what to do every minute of the day because you don’t have enough trust to let them act on their own. And”—I glared at my brothers— “I’m not five years old and unable to defend myself against bullies and bad guys. You don’t have to hold my hand so I can cross the street and not get hit by a car.” I grabbed my plate and walked to the kitchen. “I’m done with you all thinking I can’t make a wise and appropriate decision with my life,” I added over my shoulder. I placed the dish in the sink and called out, “I’m done with the checking up on me, the second-guessing me, and the way you all think you have a right to manage my life.”

I yanked my coat off the hall tree and yelled, “I’m a thirty-two-year-old grown-ass woman who owns and manages her own business and her own life. I don’t need protectors, handlers, or any of you telling me what to do, who to see, or how to conduct myself. I’ve been on my own a long time, and I think I’ve done a great job with myself, even if you all don’t.” I shrugged into my coat and wound my scarf around my neck. “If I want a man to spend the night or not, it’s none of your damn business. Deal with it.”

I may have screeched that last part.

I slammed the door behind me and sprinted down the stairs of the brownstone, my ungloved hand waving in the air for a passing cab.

As an exit line, I think it was a pretty good one.

So…what do you think? hahah. If you want to read the whole book, it’s available in my online store here, with all the other San Valentino Christmas romcoms: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/17Ve1YnqXBl034ujM-Ygq7Af2-03AApZwABtGygzMBIE/edit

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#Sundaysnippet A KISS UNDER THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS #holidayromance #holidaytbrlist

To celebrate the opening of my 2022 Holiday website book store, every Sunday I’m going to post snippets of the books available to purchase in the store.

Today is an oldie but a goodie. From my first SAN VALENTINO holiday book, A KISS UNDER THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS

With Christmas just a few weeks away, Gia San Valentino, the baby in her large, loud, and loving Italian family, yearns for a life and home of her own with a husband and bambini she can love and spoil. The single scene doesn’t interest her, and the men her well-meaning family introduce her to aren’t exactly the happily-ever-after kind.

Tim Santini believes he’s finally found the woman for him, but Gia will take some convincing she’s that girl. A misunderstanding has her thinking he’s something he’s not.

Can a kiss stolen under the Christmas lights persuade her to spend the rest of her life with him?

            He came toward me and I could see every ripple of muscle, every action and reaction of his gait, every blink of his eyes, as it happened. Detailed, distinct, delicious.

            The bright sun shone low due to the hour, but it haloed around his form, bathing him in light.

            He looked like an angel.

            A dressed-all-in-black angel, but an angel, nonetheless.

            “Need some help?” he asked when he was within a foot of me.

            I still hadn’t moved, my fingers cemented around the ladder rungs. I couldn’t feel them anymore. Merda, I couldn’t feel anything I was so numb from just looking at him.

            But I could hear. My blood, as it river-rafted crazily through my temples; my heart drumming like a heavy metal band in my chest.

            And his voice. Mio Dio, his voice.

            When I was six I had a terrible chest cold. Wheezing, choking on phlegm, unable to cough anything up. The doctor told mama to keep me warm and hydrated and the cold would ride itself out in time. Nonna Constanza, ancient even when I was a kid, scoffed and prescribed her own old-world remedy. She sat me in her lap, cooing to me with her singsong voice and held a tiny shot glass up to my lips coaxing, “Tu bevi, Gia bambina. Tu Bevi.”

            Drink, Gia baby. Drink.

            She tilted the glass back into my mouth and I did. I drank every drop.

            I don’t remember much after. Daddy told me later I slipped into a mini-coma for about sixty-two hours, bombed out of my head from the anisette nonna had dosed me with.

            But this is what I do remember. The amber-colored liquor slipped down the inside of my mouth to the back of my throat and onward into my belly, tasting of melted marshmallows and warming each place it touched like a million little hits of heat popping everywhere inside me. When it reached my tummy it settled and dug in, filling my senses with the sweet flavor of mama’s Sunday morning caramel rolls and sugar.

            That’s what his voice sounded like: warm and sweet, thick, delicious, and soothing.

            My entire body relaxed when I heard it. My paralysis flew and my frozen-in-place digits melted.

            He’d held my stare the entire time, never wavering, never becoming distracted by something else. He looked straight at me; just me. Like a missile dead-eye-aimed for a target.

            “Here,” he said, moving in closer, so close I could make out the actual color of his eyes now. I’d thought they were dark and from far away and they were. But seeing them now, face-to-face, I spotted little flecks of yellow and slivery shards of gold mixed into the center and surrounded by a ring of deep, rich, mink.

            If his voice was warm and soothing, his eyes were hot enough to singe, and mama mia, I wanted to be burned.

Honestly – I love this book and this family sosos much!

To order the book directly from my bookstore, click this link: WEBSITE BOOKSTORE

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#SundaySnippet Return to Dickens! SASHA’S SECRET SANTA #holidayromance #cominghome

I’m getting very excited! SASHA’S SECRET SANTA ( A Dickens Holiday Romance: Dorrit’s Diner) releases into the book reading world in a little over one week! Here’s the last snippet to whet your book-reading appetite!!! Enjoy.

The diner was, blissfully, empty for the moment after a mad breakfast rush so Sasha slid across the booth from her sister and let out a sigh.

“Busy morning?” Abra asked peering over the edge of her mug.

“Aren’t they all?”

“For you, maybe. I’m just sitting around the house all day hoping not to explode.”

Sasha’s gaze drifted to Abra’s belly. If it were possible it was larger than the week before. “You sure there’s only one baby cooking in there?”

“Unless he or she is hiding right behind the other, yeah. One baby on ultrasound. I swear it’s gonna come out knowing how to walk.” She glanced around. “Where’s mom?”

“Took the day off to go shopping with dad. I almost couldn’t believe it when she told me yesterday she was actually going to be away from the diner during daylight hours for an entire day.”

“Dollar bet she’s back here before three, unable to take a full day off.”

“I’m taking that bet.”

Abra put her cup down and cleared her throat.

“Here it comes,” Sasha said.

“What?”

“The reason you’re here, in the middle of the morning, when I know for a fact your deadline is tomorrow and you haven’t finished the book yet.” When her sister lifted her brows, Sasha said, “Colton was in yesterday for lunch.”

“That man.” Abra’s eye rolls were legendary within the family and Sasha was always impressed they didn’t give her sister a major headache when she executed them. “When I met him he never spoke more than three words if one would suffice. With the advent of this pregnancy he’s become Chatty Charlie.”

“Okay, so out with it. What’s up?”

Another eye roll. “I should have asked this before but my life is such a crazy reality show right now and yours isn’t exactly calm, either.”

“Truth.”

“But, well, Colt and I realized last night that with the baby due any second now, we need to get some things done beforehand. So, on my list today is asking you something I should have asked a few months ago, but…well.”

“I wasn’t in exactly the best head space a few months ago.”

Abra’s reluctant nod agreed. “But now you are and I need to know, will you be the peanut’s godmother?”

Tears formed and a smile she couldn’t contain broke free over Sasha’s face. “You know the answer without me uttering a word. Of course I will. I’m honored to.”

Nodding, Abra said, “There’s more. Colt’s the one who brought this up and it makes sense. He and his first wife discussed it when she was alive concerning their boys and now with this one due,” she ran a hand over her stomach, “we need to get it settled, legally.”

“Abs, what are you asking me?”

“We want to make you guardian of the baby should anything happen to us.”

Oh, my heavens. Really?”

“You’re the most logical and best choice for so many reasons my head spins thinking about them. So, yes, really, we want you.”

She stretched a hand across the table and Sasha met it, halfway. “Nothing’s going to happen to Colt or I, God willing,” she knocked on the table with her free hand, “but if it does, we’d feel better knowing you’d be the one to look after our child.”

Pleased and honored were good words but they didn’t come close to what Sasha truly felt. Her throat now choked with emotion, she could only squeeze her sister’s hand and nod.

Abra smiled. “Good. That’s two things off my list for today.” Her theatrical sigh pulled a grin from Sasha. “Only ten thousand more to do.”

“Let’s start with getting you and baby some lunch. Be right back.”

Intrigued? I hope so! Heehee

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