Tag Archives: #HolidayLoveStory

#Author Sadira Stone & Christmas Rekindled

It is nevah too early for a good Christmas story and today, fellow author Sadira Stone is visiting me and is giving us a peak at her addition to your holiday reading list, CHRISTMAS REKINDLED.

 

When two Scrooges unite to save a bar in trouble, a kiss under the mistletoe sparks the sexiest Christmas miracle ever.

 Blurb:

Bartender River Lundqvist has a damn good reason for hating Christmas. Bangers Tavern is the perfect place to lay low over the holidays—until Charlie walks in. His first encounter with the saucy server nine years ago was utter humiliation. Her reappearance stirs up powerful desires and hopes for a new start. But the timing is all wrong.

Back in Tacoma to care for her estranged dad over the holidays, freelance web designer Charlie Khoury braces herself for the suckiest Christmas ever. A temporary job at Bangers Tavern gives her a chance to escape Dad’s criticism and blow off some steam. But why does the hunky bartender seem to hate her?

A pretend girlfriend is just what River needs to keep his family off his back—until a kiss under the mistletoe flares hot enough to melt the North Pole. When greedy developers threaten Bangers Tavern, River and Charlie must team up to save it. Their sizzling chemistry feels like the real thing—but everyone knows rebound relationships don’t last.

Come to Bangers Tavern for an enemies-to-lovers tale of reconciliation, found family, holiday cocktails, and the sexiest Christmas miracle ever.

 Excerpt

Her low, throaty chuckle made him want to kiss her again. Though he pretty much wanted to kiss her anytime she was within range.

She laid her hand palm-up on the center console. “The thing is, I’m not looking for a relationship.”

Remembering a bit of Dawn’s wisdom, he nestled his hand into hers. “You never find a relationship when you’re looking for one.”

Her gaze softened, open and vulnerable. “Are you looking?”

Warning sirens blared inside his head. This was a question to answer very carefully. “If you’d asked me a month ago, I’d say, ‘No way.’ But then, I kissed this girl under the mistletoe, and…”

She closed her eyes, lifted his hand, and pressed it to her sternum. Beneath his palm, her heart thudded fast. His pulse sped to match hers. He held his breath.

“I like you, River.” Her whisper matched the brush of snowflakes against the windows.

“I like you too.”

She inhaled deeply, then met his gaze. “Enough to be my friend?”

He nodded, mesmerized.

“Because my life is a mess right now, and I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

Her coarse language stirred up a heady swirl of laughter, sympathy, and arousal. He scooted as near as the center console allowed and placed his lips close to her ear. “I’ll tell you a secret. Me neither.”

Fire flickered in her eyes’ inky depths. Her lips parted. A golden thread wound around his heart and tugged him toward her. His thumb stroked the delicate line of her jaw as he closed the distance.

Get your copy here:

Amazon:  Barnes & NobleApple Books:  Kobo:

Goodreads

Universal book link:

Bookbub link: 

A little about Sadira Stone…

Ever since her first kiss, Sadira’s been spinning steamy tales in her head. After leaving her teaching career in Germany, she finally tried her hand at writing one. Now she’s a happy citizen of Romancelandia, penning contemporary romance from her new home in Washington State, U.S.A. When not writing, which is seldom, she explores the Pacific Northwest with her charming husband, enjoys the local music scene, plays darts (pretty well), plays guitar (badly), and gobbles all the books. Visit Sadira at http://www.sadirastone.com.

I’d love to hear from you! Please visit me on all the socials.

Author Website   Facebook   Twitter Goodreads   Bookbub   Amazon Author Page   Pinterest   Instagram   Author Newsletter    

and just a little more…

I write steamy contemporary romance set in the U.S. Pacific Northwest. My Book Nirvana series centers around a quirky bookshop in Eugene, Oregon. Gelato Surprise is a steamy older woman/younger man beach romance novella. The Bangers Tavern Romance series is set in a neighborhood tavern in Tacoma, Washington, where I live—the town, not the tavern! Each story features a holiday celebration in Bangers Tavern: Christmas, St. Patrick’s Day, Cinco de Mayo, 4th of July, Halloween, etc. During this sad time when so many bars, restaurants, and other businesses are shut down, Bangers Tavern gives me the chance to virtually share the fun, camaraderie, and bar food I miss so much. And each volume includes tasty cocktail recipes I’ve personally tested and tweaked—a tough job, but I do it for my readers (wink).

Under my own name, I write cozy mysteries and creepy short stories—think The Twilight Zone—but so far only one creepy short has been published. I’ll get to the rest of them eventually, but right now I’m having too much fun writing romance!

 

 

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A little Sexy #SundaySnippet 9.27.2020

Tomorrow I start my Goddess Fish Blog Tour for MISTLETOE, MOBSTERS, & MOZZARELLA, so I thought I’d whet your Holiday RomCom-reading appetite with a little sexy snippet from the book here, today. Enjoy. And consider preordering – the link is live in the above title!

After the third episode of a sitcom we’d both loved as kids, we decided to forgo a forth.

Tony shifted on the couch and stretched out next to me, slipping one arm behind my head the other palming my stomach.

“Wanna make out?” he asked, grinning, as his lips skimmed down my neck.

“How old are you, twelve?” I asked. But I have to admit I did nothing to discourage him from seducing me.

“When I was twelve I wanted to play with balls and bats. I wouldn’t have known what to do with a gorgeous woman in my arms.” He pulled my ear lobe between his lips and bit down.

“You learned pretty fast.” I might have gasped once or twice while saying it because the hand at my stomach inched up to cup a breast. He stopped under the edge of my bra the moment he touched the fabric.

He pulled up, leaving his hand in place, and asked, “What are you wearing under this? It doesn’t feel like regular bra material.”

“What’s regular bra material feel like?”

“You know. Cotton or something. What is this?” He tugged at the collar until my bra strap and cup were exposed. It was fascinating watching his face as he got a glimpse of my underwear.

“Holy shit.”

“Is that a good holy shit, or a bad one?” I was sure I knew the answer just by the way his eyes widened to the size of bocce balls and his mouth dropped open like his jaw came unhinged.

Instead of answering me right away he pulled up and dragged me with him. When we were sitting, facing one another, he gripped the hem of my sweater and looked me square in the eyes as he asked, “Can I take this off?”

The fact that he asked almost made me start crying. I mean, really, how sweet was that?

I debated whether or not to slip it off myself, but he had such a look of boyish expectation on his face, I knew half the fun for him was to do it himself, so I lifted my arms above my head.

I don’t think any item of clothing I’ve ever worn was discarded so quickly or as deftly as Margaret Rose’s gift.

“Holy shit,” Tony exclaimed again when I was sans sweater.

I repeated my previous question.

This time for an answer he skimmed the lace top edge, then slid down over the red cups, his thumbs teasing over my hardened nipples. The material covering my breasts was a red mesh and completely see through. My nipples peeped between the interwoven curlicues. A satin bra would have kept them secure and hidden behind the material.

Tony’s gaze zeroed in on those two little distended points and then he rubbed his thumbs over them again.

My back arched, jutting them forward, and I almost came on the spot when Tony licked his lips, shifted, and sucked one of them into his mouth.

“If this is what you’re wearing on top,” he said, moving to the other breast for equal time, “what have you got on under your jeans?”

I gasped and clutched his head between my hands as the tug of his lips shot straight down to my core. Between breaths I managed to say, “It’s a matching set.”

Tony shot back and stared hard at me again, hope now adding to the expectation in his eyes. I could detect a little lust mixed in as well.

“Can I see? Please?”

He truly did look like a little kid waiting to open his birthday presents, hoping and wishing he’d get exactly what he’d asked for.

“Well, since you ask so nicely.”

Intrigued? I hope so.

Hope to see you all on the tour when it starts tomorrow. Check back here then for the stops!

Until next time, peeps ~ peg

And you can follow me here: FOLLOW ME

 

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#SundaySnippet 9.20.2020

I never got around to doing  teaser Thursday this week, so today’s alliteration will do. Hee hee.

From my upcoming release of MISTLETOE, MOBSTERS, & MOZZARELLA. Meeting the guy 18 years later that you gave more than your heart to when you were 17 is awkward anywhere it happens. When it occurs right after you’ve found a murdered body? Well, it’s traumatic to say the very least.

I knew those eyes.

Intimately.

When they weren’t filled with anger and pain, like they were right now, I knew how captivating they could be. The palest of blue and heavily lashed, they tilted up a tiny bit at the corners. Jealousy ramped through me. How unfair was it a man was gifted eyes like this when I’d been cursed with the most dull and boring brown color ever blended?

Light hair, a mix of natural honey and wheat husks, straight and clipped short covered his head. Shoulders spanning almost as wide as the doorframe were covered by a dark tan sports jacket, the pants a deeper hue of the same color palette.

“Donna,” Angelo said, his voice thick with fear, “why’d you attack Detective Roma?”

“I didn’t attack…wait? Detective?”

I tried to lick some moisture back into my lips but my salivary glands had gone dormant during the flight or fight response. I glanced at each of the men standing in front me, stopping last on the one Ange had referred to as a detective.

With one hand still cupping his jaw where my knee connected, the man pierced me with his gorgeous gaze and just like I had when I’d been seventeen and climbed into the back seat of his brand new Z8, I lost what little sanity I still had.

“Hey Donna,” Tony Roma said, shaking his head. “Long time and all. I see you’re still as sweet and mild mannered as ever.”

Intrigued? You can preorder it now or wait until 10.14.2020 to get it. Personally, I love me a pre-order.

hee hee.

Pre order here: MMM

Add it to your Goodreads WANT TO READ list here: MMM

Looking for me? Follow me, here – after you click on the link, just click on one of the icons.: FOLLOW  ME

 

 

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#TeaserThursday 9.3.2020

So since I had my cover reveal for MISTLETOE, MOBSTERS, & MOZZARELLA the other day, I figured today’s tease should be from that book so I can whet your Holiday book-reading appetite. 

Hee hee

Madonna San Valentino, as the oldest child and the only girl of the six kids, is the most responsible and least annoying one of the bunch. Her brothers are, for lack of a better phrase, all pains in the ass, each and every one, and are so wrapped up in their own worlds, they don’t have time for things going on right under their noses, as evidence by this little snippet.

To set the scene, Madonna has just arrived at her parent’s house for the weekly family dinner. All her sisters-in-law are in the kitchen helping Mama get ready for dinner, while her brothers are all lounging around in the den.

Most Italian’s have big family dinners on Sundays after attending morning mass. Since our store was open from nine until three on Sundays, my mother had designated Friday evenings for family gathering time.

In the beginning when she’d first issued the edict, my brothers, in their typical pain-in-the-ass way, had voiced their objections loudly and obnoxiously. Thankfully, their wives had all adopted the most effective communication techniques to get through to them, learned from my grandmother. Guilt, and a well placed head slap.

The guilt was easy. A few ‘we don’t know how long we’re gonna be blessed at having your parents around. They’re not young anymore-s,’ from my sisters-in-law, aimed with a head tick and pretty soon my brothers stopped grumbling and found their way to Mama’s table once a week.

When the grandkids started coming along, the table grew tighter to sit around and my brothers thought this was their get outta dinner free card.

Nope.

Daddy bought a bigger dining room table at his wife’s request and then used the old one for the growing horde of kids.

You don’t get between an Italian mama and her family.

The house I’d grown up in was warm and inviting when I came through the front door, three boxes filled with a half dozen éclairs each, in my arms. The mouthwatering aroma of mama’s pork loin wafted around me and drew me straight to the kitchen, my nose leading the way.

As usual on family dinner night, the kitchen was a cloud of estrogen. My four sisters-in-law, two heavily pregnant, were all at various spots doing whatever task Mama had given them to get dinner ready and on the table by the time my father walked through the door.

Maria Louisa, my brother Costa’s wife, sat at the kitchen table nursing her ten-month-old son, Donatello. While one hand cradled the baby at her breast, the other sliced fresh, homemade bread.

Lisa and Haley, the twin’s wives – and my ready-to-pop pregnant sisters-in-law– were each chored with salad making. Lisa cut vegetables while Haley mixed the from-scratch salad dressing my mother insisted on serving from her own grandmother’s handed-down recipe. None’a dat bottled crap on my table was Mama’s motto.

Margaret Rose, my brother Giacomo’s wife stood at the stove, stirring the tomato gravy for the pasta. Her twins, year old Rocco and Carlo were nowhere to be seen. I assumed they were in the living room with their father and the rest of my brothers and nephews.

“Why are there never any men in here doing dinner prep?” I asked, giving Mama’s cheek a kiss.

“Idioti.” She clucked her tongue as I went around the room bussing the girls. “I don’t want them in my kitchen. They make more work for me because they can’t follow simple directions. The girls know what to do without being told fifty times.”

I put the boxes of éclairs on top of the refrigerator next to the cookies and cheesecake. Dessert was a course never missed in this household.

“What can I do?”

“Go open the vino that’s on the table. Let it breathe for a bit.”

As far as chores went this one was easy. I think she gave it to me because she knew I’d been on my feet since five. Her views on working women vs. stay at home moms, which my sisters-in-law all were, was pretty funny. While managing and running a deli wasn’t easy, it was way less exhausting than chasing after toddlers all day long, or being at the beck and call of nursing babies every hour or two. Plus, keeping the house clean, the meals made, and everyone safe. And let’s not forget having to deal with my brothers. The girls should be getting combat pay for that alone.

From the dining room already set for dinner with nonna’s wedding china, the noise level coming from the adjoining room clued me in to where my brothers were. I snuck a peek into the den and sure enough, all five of them were sprawled around the room on various chairs and couches, bottles of beer in their hands and the television playing some dvr’d basketball game.

My brothers were all blessed with mama’s fair genetic makeup. Varying shades of brilliant blue eyes, light brown-to-blond hair, and olive complexions encompassed them all. When I’d been a kid I always wondered if I was adopted because I didn’t look anything like them. As I got older and studied science in school it made more sense to me why I took after my father.

My brothers varied in age from twenty-nine year old Costa, the closest in age to me, down to the twenty-eight year old twins Vincenzo and Vito, Giacomo at twenty-six, and then the baby of the family and the only boy not married, twenty-one-year-old Rafael.

I was twelve years old when Raffie came into the world and it’s safe to say I was more his mother than his sister at times. A deep depression gripped my mother after she delivered him and she spent most of the first year of his life in bed. Thankfully, nonna came to stay with us and ran the house so daddy could work, while I helped in whatever way I could. Most of the time it meant taking care of the baby when I got home from the deli and making sure the other boys didn’t kill themselves, or him, with their horseplay and rambunctiousness.

One look in the den and I felt like history was repeating itself because Giacomo’s twins were face down on the carpet, lying on top of one another, their limbs all twined together, grunting baby noises coming from deep down in their little bodies. Rocco, or maybe Carlo, was on top, unintentionally smothering his brother whose face he was sitting on, smashed flat into the carpet and making breathing impossible.

My brothers, engrossed in the game playing on television, were clueless to the potential disaster right in front of them.

I’d learned long ago yelling at them served no purpose. They were all masters at the art of ignoring me.

I made my way to the babies and, silently, lifted Rocco – or maybe Carlo – off his brother with one hand, the other flipping Carlo – or maybe Rocco – so he was supine. His little face was pale, his lips ringed with blue, but he took a huge breath, startled once, and then let out a bloodcurdling screech sounding remarkably like the wail his father had made back in his own baby days.

All five pair of male eyes turned to me at the sound. Not one of them moved from their comfy positions.

“Hey, Donna,” Giacomo said. “Everything okay?”

“Marvy,” I mumbled, hoisting a boy onto each hip, one of them silent, the other screaming like he was spewing out a lung or being dismembered. “I’m bringing the boys to their mother,” I said, wincing from the earsplitting shrieking. I wouldn’t be surprised if my left ear went deaf before the night ended.

Giacomo toasted me with his beer and said, “Thanks, sis,” his attention already focused back on the game.

In the kitchen I handed the screaming baby over to his mother and told her how I’d found her sons. It wasn’t my job any longer to discipline or try to guide my brothers. They had wives for that now. And from the look of abject fury on Margaret Rose’s face I knew Giacomo would be getting his comeuppance later on when they were home.

I didn’t feel an iota of pity for him.

With the fratricidal wannabe glued to my hip, I went back to the dining room and finally opened the wine bottle single handedly.

Intrigued? If so, you can preorder your ecopy here : mmm

The print copy will available in October.

Don’t forget to add it to your GOODREADS Want to read List

Until next time, peeps. Happy reading! ~ peg

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#LongandShortReviews #WednesdayBloggingChallenge 9.2.2020

Today’s theme is : TOPICS THAT MAKE ME STOP READING A BOOK

This one’s gonna be easy.

RAPE trope. I recently found out that this still a THING in some books that claim to be romances. Back in the day, I tried to read a Rosemary Rogers historical I’d heard everyone talking about, but I couldn’t get past the supposed hero taking the heroine’s virginity under a forced situation.  She didn’t consent and was traumatized thereafter. Since then, I make sure I never buy a book with that trope or anything resembling rape.

DECEITFUL heroine. I won’t name the book I started recently that was claimed “unputdownable” by the NYT, but from the first 3 pages, the heroine’s intent was so abhorrent to me that I closed it and put the book in the donate pile. Everything about this heroine was a lie – her name, her background, the fact she didn’t love the man she married, her career, the way she was ruining someone close to her. It was just too deceitful for me.

WAR. I have to admit, I don’t read books where a war -any war – is the main subject/topic.

CHILD ABUSE. I don’t even think I need to explain why I won’t read a book with this as the topic, do I?

TELL-ALLs. Books with a tell-all topic are usually one sided, skewered to and by the author, and only one interpretation of events. I hate these kind of books, no matter if the author is a present day politician, a celebrity, or a public figure of some other renown.

Let’s see what some of the other authors in this challenge have to say about this topic: L&SR

Did you know I’ve got a new Holiday 2020 RomCom releasing on 10.14.2020? It’s called MISTLETOE, MOBSTERS, &MOZZARELLA and is up for preorder now, here: MMM

Finding a body in the freezer of the family deli isn’t the way Madonna San Valentino planned to start her day.

Adding insult to injury, the investigating detective is the one guy she’s never been able to forget. After seven minutes of heaven in the back seat of his car when they were teenagers, Tony Roma skipped town without so much as a thanks for the memory.

Just when Madonna thinks the present situation can’t get any worse, Tony is ordered to go undercover at the deli to ferret out a killer. Forced to work together, she vows to keep their relationship cool and professional. But with the sexy, longing looks he tosses her at every turn, Madonna’s resolve is weakening.

With Christmas drawing closer and Tony’s investigation taking an unexpected turn, Madonna is at her wit’s end. Can she really be falling for him again? And will he wind up leaving her broken hearted and alone like the last time?

Until next week, kids  ~Peg

Oh, and looking for me? I’m here: FOLLOW ME

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It’s my turn over on the #RomanceGems….

 

It may be August, but I’ve got my sights set on a colder month….come find out what it’s all about, today, on the Romance Gems blog

And you can find me, here:   Follow me……

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#tuesdayTeaser 8.4.2020 – WIP

In order to be a real tease(r) I figured I give you a taste of the Christmas book I’m releasing independently this year. It’s in final edits and I don’t have a cover yet, but I finally decided on a title after putting up a poll on my facebook page : MISTLETOE, MOBSTERS, & MOZZARELLA. Just from that you can surmise it’s a RomCom!

Here’s the burb, then the little tease from between the pages:

Finding a body in the freezer of the family deli isn’t the way Madonna San Valentino planned to start her day.

Adding insult to injury, the investigating detective is the one guy she’s never been able to forget. After seven minutes of heaven in the back seat of his car when they were teenagers, Tony Roma skipped town without so much as a thanks for the memory.

Just when Madonna thinks the present situation can’t get any worse, Tony is ordered to go undercover at the deli to ferret out a killer. Forced to work together, she vows to keep their relationship cool and professional. But with the sexy, longing looks he tosses her at every turn, Madonna’s resolve is weakening.

With Christmas drawing closer and Tony’s investigation taking an unexpected turn, Madonna is at her wit’s end. Can she really be falling for him again? And will he wind up leaving her broken hearted and alone like the last time?

Advice for surviving in a big Italian family: Family comes first, last, and always. No excuses.

I sent up a prayer to St. John the Silent in the hope it would keep my father from divulging what Tony had informed us about Chico. I should have saved myself the trouble because with no thought to the promise he’d given the good detective, my father vomited everything up to my uncles.

Christ on the cross, what a mess,” Joey said, rubbing his fingers over his eyebrows.

“I heard’a this piece’a work, Archetti,” Sonny said after sipping his espresso. “Low-level drug scum. Got shanked. Good riddance.”

I was cut short from adding something when my mother blasted into the room.

And that’s not an exaggeration.

Grace Liliana Chicollini San Valentino is a force of nature. There’s really no other way to describe her.

At five foot eight, she towers above all her siblings, leading some in the family to ponder if nonna had done the nasty with the milkman when nonno was off fighting the Fascists. She’d been born and blessed with the northern Italian DNA of fair hair, blue eyes, and light skin, unlike my father’s Sicilian genes, which were dark, dark, and darker. I’d always considered it a crime against nature my brothers all took after my mother while I got the lion’s share of Daddy’s genetic makeup.

At sixty, my mother appeared ten years younger in any light. Nary a line warped her skin, due to the religious rubbing of extra virgin olive oil she applied to her face and neck nightly. When I’d been a little girl and plagued with night terrors, the familiar smell of my mother’s skin while she hugged me, soothed away the fears. It’s probably the reason to this day pizza or pasta dripping in oil still calms my soul.

What it does to my ass is another story entirely.

My mother has miraculously kept the figure she’d been gifted with when she sailed through her teen years, even after birthing six kids. Breasts like a screen siren’s, a tiny waist, and hips built for pregnancy, my mother’s silhouette is a classic hourglass and she still dresses in ways that accentuate her assets. The movie star bombshells of Hollywood’s heyday have nothing on my mama for natural sexiness.

As a teen, being her daughter hadn’t been easy. My brother’s friends all fell in pubescent lust with mama. Standing next to her I paled in the female comparison department and looked more like another of her sons than her darling daughter.

But she had a heart of gold and when she loved you it was for life. That military expression I’ve got your six could have been devised for mama because no matter what stupid things my brothers had done, any trouble they’d gotten into, and even through my turbulent and emotional teen years, she’d always had our backs.

“Louie. Louie,” she shouted as she blew like a sirocco into the room. “I just heard from Frankie about a dead guy at the store. Mi amore! Your heart. Are you okay? You ain’t hurt are ya?”

She flung her fur coat off and it landed on the floor in a heap behind her. Wrapping her arms around my father, who’d stood the moment her worried voice boomed through the back door, she cried, “Are you okay?” She ran her hands over his head, down his shoulders, to his chest, her gaze raking along with her movements, making sure all his parts were intact and he wasn’t spouting arterial blood.

My father, ever calm and controlled, took her hands with his and brought them both to his lips. After he kissed each one he continued to hold them as he told her, “I’m fine, Gracie. I’m okay. It was Donna who found Chico, not me. And he was already dead.”

My mother whipped her head in my direction. With her forehead a mass of furrows and her eyes pinched at the corners, she pulled a hand from my father’s grip and grabbed my arm. “You okay, bambina?”

I squeezed her hand and nodded. Then, without any warning, an unusual need to fall into her arms and cry overcame me. When a sob escaped me full-force, she pulled out of my father’s hold, clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth, grabbed me, and hauled me against her chest, my nose crushing into her well-supported cleavage.

Her arms were like steel traps and she kept me glued to her body while she rubbed my back and cooed in Italian. A quick whiff of her knock-off L’air du temps combined with a hint of garlic and I closed my eyes as the tears fell.

I’m not gonna lie: as a thirty-four year old, grown-ass woman, nothing made me feel better when I was off-kilter than when my mama held me in her arms. I’m not one iota ashamed or embarrassed to admit it.

As I cleaved to her she asked my father, “You’re sure you’re okay?” He told her he was, then, “Why don’t you take Donna into the kitchen, mi amore? Get her something hot to drink. It’s been a long morning for her.”

My mother nodded then slipped an arm up and around my shoulders. “Come on, bambina. Let the boys talk.”

I allowed her to propel me into the kitchen she’d had remodeled the year before.

“Sit.” She pointed to one of the breakfast bar chairs.

I grabbed a paper napkin from the holder on the marble topped counter, did as she commanded and sat, then swiped at my wet eyes.

This is mama’s domain. Daddy may run a successful deli and is an amazing cook in his own right, but Mama rules the kitchen in our house. When nonna was alive she could be very stingy with any kind of praise, but she always complimented my mother on her cooking skills, honed—of course—at nonna’s knee.

Moving with the finesse of one who knows where every single item is to be found in her world, Mama filled the teakettle then put it on the ceramic-topped stove to boil. She didn’t even look when she reached into one of the cupboards and pulled down two porcelain cups with one hand, the other disappearing into one of the pottery containers on the counter that held the teabags.

I sat, silent, watching her move with efficiency from one task to the other, and marveled as I’d done my entire life at what a dichotomy she was. While she had the body of a pampered goddess and could cook like one of the world’s finest Italian chefs, she wasn’t – what my Uncle Sonny often remarked – the sharpest tool in the drawer. I’d always thought this was mean, but in reality, it was God’s truth. My mother wasn’t a member of Mensa – not even close—and on any given day she was known to pop out with things that made most of us cringe or she’d ask a question a bit too intrusive for the person being asked. She had a habit of saying exactly what came to the front of her mind at any given moment with no regard to filtering it. This was one of the reasons my father never let her work in the deli. She couldn’t be trusted around the customers to self-censor. But, despite this one flaw, he adored her, as did I.

She reached into the cabinet under the sink and grabbed the bottle of brandy she kept there for emergencies. When my nonna had been alive, the bottle had gotten a great deal of use, especially after one of her visits. Mama poured way more than a shot-glass full into my teacup after adding the boiling water. She let it steep for less than a minute then handed it to me.

“Drink this. And then tell me everything ‘cause I know your daddy won’t. He’ll gloss over details thinking he’s protecting me.” She waved a hand in the air with a dismissive flick.

Intrigued? More to come when I have a cover, but I’m thinking an October release. I’ll let ya know.

Until next time, peeps ~ Peg

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it’s my turn on the #RomanceGems…

Christmas may be over but I’m still in the mood for a good Holiday Romantic Comedy to watch. Come join me today on the Romance Gems to discover what my favs are: ROMANCE GEMS

And don’t forget to leave a comments and enter our rafflecopter for a chance at a prize in our monthly drawing. 

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#SundaySnippet 11.17.19

Well, you had to know I was going top up a little sumthin’ sumthin’ from my current book sale, didn’t you? Hee hee.

A KISS UNDER THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS is on sale right now for 99cents at Amazon // iBooks // Nook. It’s a great little story to gift to the romance book lover on your Holiday list – or for yourself if you’re looking for a fun RomCom with a message to escape with for a few hours.

This scene is when Gia meets the guy who she believes is her new parish Priest.

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.

Intrigued? Hee hee. I am and I wrote it!!! Buy links are above if you are.

Enjoy the rest of your Sunday.

Until next time ~Peg

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Another day…another #Booksale

The holiday season is fast approaching and that means loved ones are going to try and come up with great gifts for the romance readers on their Santa List.

Look no further peeps!!! For the entire month of November I will be having book sales on a select few of my ebook titles. First up, HOPE’S DREAM ( Deerbourne Inn # 2) starting on 11.1.19 ( tomorrow!!) This is one of my all time favorite stories and book covers.

*** this title is available in E-copy only and is 98 pages long.
What if everything you’ve ever dreamed about was given to you but you had to sacrifice your heart to obtain it?

Hope Kildaire gave up her dream of becoming a nurse practitioner when a car accident killed her father and left her mother an invalid. Working two jobs and caring for her mother leaves the twenty-seven-year-old with no time for fun or relationships. When a law firm representing her paternal grandparents sends her several letters, Hope ignores them. She despises the family who disowned her father and wants nothing to do with them.

Lawyer Tyler Coleman’s job is simply to obtain Hope’s signature on a legal document. Getting it is harder than planned, though, when an unexpected attraction blossoms between them. If Ty is honest with Hope about why he’s in Willow Springs, he’ll fulfill his assignment but may risk hurting her.

The opportunity to have everything she’s ever desired is at Hope’s fingertips. Will her dream come true at the expense of Tyler’s love?

Readers who like the following stories will like HOPE’S DREAM: Sweet romance, Small town romance, Independent woman, family, moving on, grief and loss, New England, Deerbourne Inn series, Contemporary romance
HOPE’S DREAM is the second book in the DEERBOURNE INN SERIES from Wild Rose Press
This 99cent sale price is available at Amazon   Nook and iBooks only, starting on 11.1.19 ( And I just checked and Amazon has it on sale RIGHT NOW!!!)
Happy Reading ( and gift giving!)
Until next time ~ Peg

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Filed under Deerbourne Inn, WIld Rose Press AUthor