Join me on a (virtual) trip to some of the most romantic locations around the world and find your next favorite romance book at the same time.

Welcome Pamela S. Thibodeaux

Award-winning author, Pamela S. Thibodeaux is the Co-Founder and a lifetime member of Bayou Writers Group in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Multi-published in romantic fiction as well as creative non-fiction, her writing has been tagged as, “Inspirational with an Edge!” ™ and reviewed as “steamier and grittier than the typical Christian novel without decreasing the message.”

BLURB:

A visionary is someone who sees into the future Taylor Forrestier sees into the past but only as it pertains to her work. Hailed by her peers as “a visionary with an instinct for beauty and an eye for the unique” Taylor is undoubtedly a brilliant architect and gifted designer. But she and twin brother Trevor, share more than a successful business. The two share a childhood wrought with lies and deceit and the kind of abuse that’s disturbingly prevalent in today’s society. Can the love of God and the awesome healing power of His grace and mercy free the twins from their past and open their hearts to the good plan and the future He has for their lives?

Available at Amazon Hardcover http://amzn.to/n8as1b  

Paperback http://amzn.to/1uROE2o

Kindle http://amzn.to/1s23QYv

Print @Create Space: http://bit.ly/1lNvyWD  

B&N Print: http://bit.ly/1oGbV6S  

Nook http://bit.ly/1Qjo3AJ

Smashwords http://bit.ly/167J9So

Deeper Shopping http://bit.ly/19lw1Kc

EXCERPT:

“Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“I’m not through yet,” he mumbled, then slid off the couch and swung her up in his arms.

Fear snuck in, darkening her eyes. She stiffened and opened her mouth to protest. He brushed his lips over hers and silenced her objections.

“I just want to hold you,” he whispered and laid his forehead against hers. “That’s all. I promise,” he added, unable to camouflage the need in his voice.

***

He’d offered her another step to relinquish her fear and trust him. Triumph lit his expressive eyes when she wrapped her arm around his neck, smiled, and whispered, “Okay,” then snuggled her face against his shoulder and let him carry her to the bedroom.

With exquisite tenderness, he laid her on the bed, crawled up beside her, and took her in his arms. Taylor felt the strength of his need in the heat and tensed against the hardness of his body. He eased his grip and propped up on one elbow beside her. His eyes pleaded for grace when he stroked the hair off her face and said in a soft, husky voice, “Please don’t be afraid of me; please trust me. I will never force or even persuade you to give more than you’re ready to.”

They gazed at each other for a long, tender moment. She cupped his cheek in her hand, brushed her thumb over his mouth, then curled her fingers in his hair and urged his head down to fasten her lips to his. A low moan escaped his throat, yet he held himself taut.

Taylor ran her hand over his shoulder and back in a soft caress then wrapped her arms around his waist. “Hold me, Alex, I trust you.”

The emotions reflected in his tone caressed her heart when he thanked her in that beautiful velvety-rough voice. He rolled onto his back, pulled the covers over her, and held her while she slept.

#RomanticTravel

Most folks find traveling exciting and romantic, but sometimes great fall romantic travel can be found right at home.

Home for me is in Southwest Louisiana, just 43 miles from the Texas state line.

I don’t know about you but few things are as romantic as sunrise or sunset on the lake, or a seafood feast.

If you don’t find anything in SW LA that’s romantic in your opinion, you can always travel East…Lafayette, Baton Rouge, New Orleans where you’ll find horse drawn carriage rides, riverboat tours, night life and fine, Cajun/French cuisine.

But, no matter what you decide, or where you go, romance is in the heart.

Thanks Pamela! I love that tagline, Inspirational with an Edge. Follow Pamela on Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter, her website and blog.

 

Join me on a (virtual) trip to some of the most romantic locations around the world and find your next favorite romance book at the same time.

Today I’m welcoming author Diana Rubino

A self-confessed history nut, her favorite eras being Medieval and Renaissance England, and all American history. She’s written several novels set in England and the U.S., two time travel romances, a vampire romance, and an urban fantasy, FAKIN’ IT which received a Top Pick award from Romantic Times. She’s a longtime member of Romance Writers of America and the Richard III Society. In her spare time, she bicycles, golfs, plays piano and devours books of any genre.

BLURBS for THE NEW YORK SAGA

Poverty, Prejudice and Murder Won’t Stand in the Way of True Love

The New York Saga spans three generations of the McGlory family, starting in 1894 amidst the poverty and crime on New York’s Lower East Side, through the wild, boozy years of Prohibition, and ending in 1963 as the country mourned President Kennedy’s assassination.

In Book One, FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET, it’s 1894 on New York’s Lower East Side. Irish cop Tom McGlory and Italian immigrant Vita Caputo fall in love despite their different upbringings. While Tom works undercover to help Ted Roosevelt purge police corruption, Vita’s father arranges a marriage between her and a man she despises. When Tom’s cousin is murdered, Vita’s father and brother languish in jail, charged with the crime. Can Vita and Tom’s love survive poverty, hatred, and corruption?

In Book Two, BOOTLEG BROADWAY, it’s 1932. Prohibition rages, the Depression ravages, and Billy McGlory comes of age whether he wants to or not. Musical and adventurous, Billy dreams of having his own ritzy supper club and big band. On the eve of his marriage to the pregnant Prudence, the shifty “businessman” Rosario Ingovito offers him all that and more: fame, fortune, his own Broadway musical. Can anything go wrong for Billy? Only when he gets in way over his head does he stop to wonder how his business partner really makes his millions, but by then it’s far too late…

THE END OF CAMELOT begins on the day Camelot truly ended—November 22, 1963. The assassination of a president devastates America. But a phone call brings even more tragic news to Vikki Ward—her TV reporter husband was found dead in his Dallas hotel room that morning.

Finding his notes, Vikki realizes her husband was embroiled in the plot to kill JFK—but his mission was to prevent it. When the Dallas police rule his death accidental, Vikki sets out to find out who was behind the murders of JFK and her husband.

Vikki falls in love with Aldobrandi Po, the bodyguard her godfather hired to protect her. But he’s engaged to be married, and she’s still mourning her husband. Can they find happiness in the wake of all this tragedy?

Available for purchase from Amazon.

EXCERPT from FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET:

As Vita gathered her soap and towel, Madame Branchard tapped on her door. “You have a gentleman caller, Vita. A policeman.”

“Tom?” His name lingered on her lips as she repeated it. She dropped her things and crossed the room.

“No, hon. Another policeman. Theodore something.”

No. There can’t be anything wrong. “Thanks,” she whispered, descending the steps, gripping the banister to support her wobbly legs. Stay calm! she warned herself. But of course it was no use; staying calm just wasn’t her nature.

“Theodore something” stood before the closed parlor door. He’s a policeman? Tall and hefty, a bold pink shirt peeking out of a buttoned waistcoat and fitted jacket, he looked way out of place against the dainty patterned wallpaper.

He removed his hat. “Miss Caputo.” He strained to keep his voice soft as he held out a piece of paper. “I’m police commissioner Theodore Roosevelt.”

“Yes?” Her voice shook.

“I have a summons for you.” He held it out to her. But she stood rooted to that spot.

He stepped closer and she took it from him, unfolding it with icy fingers. Why would she be served with a summons? Was someone arresting her now for something she didn’t do?

A shot of anger tore through her at this system, at everything she wanted to change. She flipped it open and saw the word SUMMONS in fancy script at the top. Her eyes widened with each sentence as she read. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”

I hereby order Miss Vita Caputo to enter into holy matrimony with Mr. Thomas McGlory immediately following service of this summons.

EXCERPT from BOOTLEG BROADWAY:

(my favorite passage, which made my aunt cringe)

Pru had kept closemouthed all day about what she was giving him for his birthday. He badgered and hounded her, but she wouldn’t give in.

As Ma began divvying up the rum cake, the doorbell rang, and Da came back with a long box. “This thing’s heavy. What’s in here, Pru? Billy’s tombstone?”

Billy cut the ribbon with the cake knife and slid the lid off. Wads of tissue paper filled the box. As he removed the last layer of covering and revealed what was inside, they all gasped—a sculpture of a naked man, in all his masculine glory—and fully aroused. He had one hand on his hip and one foot upon a pedestal on which was inscribed in bold letters, “BILLY.”

“Oh, crap.” His face turned red hot.

EXCERPT from THE END OF CAMELOT:

Billy came down the stairs for a nightcap and glanced into the living room. He noticed the glow in the fireplace, Vikki’s eyeglasses and the anisette bottle on the table. The couch faced the other way, but nobody was sitting on it. “Where’d they go?” Then he realized they hadn’t gone anywhere—and they were on the couch, but not sitting. Before he got out of their way, he placed a long-playing record on the phonograph. Jackie Gleason’s “For Lovers Only.”

#RomanticTravel according to Diana

I believe the most romantic spot on earth is Venice, Italy. When you get off the train, walk through the station, and open the doors, it’s like stepping into a fairy tale. The streets are all canals, and ornate ancient bridges span the canals, including the famous Bridge of Sighs, where prisoners gazed upon the city for the last time on their way to be locked up. On our last trip to Venice, I planned the trip to coincide with the full moon. When darkness fell, my husband and I had dinner and walked around. No moon yet. We stopped at a café and had gelato and cappuccino. No moon yet. We crossed a bridge and strolled some more. Still no moon. Finally, at 11:30, it rose, glowing and sending shimmering moonbeams over the canals. So I hadn’t figured what time that full moon was supposed to appear!

All about Venice:

http://www.gonomad.com/65389-venice-visions-beloved-citys-architecture

 

Join me on a (virtual) trip to some of the most romantic locations around the world and find your next favorite romance book at the same time.

Today I’m welcoming author Keta Diablo

Keta’s latest release is Comes An Outlaw, a western romance where cowboys and ghosts take center stage. But don’t worry…there’s plenty of romance for the love-bugs too.

BLURB: 

When a tragic accident claims her husband’s life, Jesse Santos must find a way to keep the ranch, the only home her 12-year-old son has ever known. The ranch hands have abandoned her, a gang of cutthroat ranchers want her land and an ancient Yaqui Indian insists a spirit has taken up residence in the house.

After a fifteen-year absence, her husband’s brother, Coy, returns to his childhood home. He doesn’t plan on staying, and he certainly doesn’t intend to settle down with a widow and her son…no matter how pretty she is.

He’s an outlaw, after all, and made a decision to put an end to his gun-slinging days long ago. Will his conscience let him walk away from family, or will his heart overrule his head?

Praise for COMES AN OUTLAW

“I loved all the components of this story. The Indian lore was probably my favorite though.”

“The storyline is brilliant. This novella has many twists and turns. A page turner.”

“Diablo has created a set of compelling characters. Jesse captures the essence of the time, when women had very few options, and even fewer good ones.”

EXCERPT:

Arizona 1885

Dawn caressed the homespun curtains in the cramped bedroom, rousing Jesse from a restless night’s sleep. A delicate breeze rustled through the two-inch gap between window and sill, doing little to motivate the damp, heavy air in the room.

She tossed back the blue and white quilt, slid from bed and crossed the room to the pitcher and bowl on the bureau.

Gonna be another scorcher today, Jezebel. Might want to tie your hair back.

For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and willed the voice in the room to leave. He wasn’t there, not in a real sense. Like every other day since his death, he invaded her thoughts, spoke in her head. She opened her eyes and fought the overwhelming urge to turn around, prove once and for all ghosts didn’t exist.

“Are you set on driving me crazy, Cain? Don’t I have enough to deal with without you tormenting me? Besides, I don’t like it when you call me Jezebel, and you darn well know it.”

That’s why no one calls you Jezebel except me.

She spun around and glared at the rocking chair under the window. “Ah, another one of your tricks to make me think I’m losing my mind—call me something no one else does.”

Yes, I’m in the rocker, the one my mother always sat in beside the hearth. You remember after she died, we brought it into our bedroom?

“Stop…you must stop.” Her hands went to her temples. “If you were real I would see you sitting there.”

If only I could show myself. You have no idea how hard it is to project my voice. Takes so much energy. I’m working on it though, have high hopes I’ll get better at this spirit realm thing.

“I don’t want you to get better at it; I want you to stop speaking to me entirely.”

We talked about this, agreed that if something happened to one of us, we’d do our best to come back, watch over the other one.

She paced a small area at the end of the bed. “I only agreed because I thought it would never happen, could never happen. I wanted to please you, knew how much you loved your line of work, believed in it.”

Nonetheless, Jezebel, it happened. I’m here and I mean to look out for you. I didn’t want to leave you so soon but we must deal with what is now.

Stopping her harried pace, she looked to the chair again. “You don’t think I’m doing my best to deal with what is now? And stop calling me that!”

You’ll always be my precious Jezebel.

She heard a contented sigh filter through the still air.

My Jezebel with the tangle of long, copper hair, eyes the color of Robin’s eggs and the lovely bowed mouth. I recall the first time I saw you. Slop bucket hanging off your tiny arm, you walked from the back room of Two Bits, skirted the bar and dropped to your knees to scrub the floor. Do you remember?

She hung her head. “How could I forget the day you saved me from a life of…well, destitution, offered me safety, security?” Looking up again, she fanned an arm over the room. “Offered me a home.”

And I want to make sure you keep that home, our home, Grange’s home.

“That’s why you’re here?”

For the most part. I always said this is a unforgiving land. People aren’t careful it’ll swallow them whole and—

“Kill them.”

Yes, and I aim to do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t take you and Grange.

“I don’t think I can do this, dark forces are at work, conspiring against your son and me. Lord knows I’ve tried, Cain, but how can a woman and a boy fight against the harsh elements, the day-to-day struggles without a man? Hard enough when you were here, but now, most days I think the land is going to win. Every morning I walk out onto that porch and think I’m walking into the fires of Hell. There’s more…someone’s been cutting the fence lines, scattering the cattle. Takes us days to get them back again.”

Not someone, Jezebel. Search your heart; you know who’s behind it.

She walked back to the bureau, opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of leather trousers. After pulling the nightshirt over her head, she grabbed Cain’s flannel shirt from a hook, slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled the trousers over her hips. “I know who the varmints are, all right. Domingo and Benito. Am I right?”

The Torres brothers.

“Yeah, and the low-bellied snakes they ride with, Mutton-Chop Walsh and Digger Newly.” She blew an exasperated breath and looked over her shoulder to the window. “How do you expect me to stand up to that, Cain? I can’t do it, I tell you. Let them have the land because it ain’t worth dying for, or God forbid, losing Grange over.”

You can’t give up the land, love. Been in my family for generations. Ma and Pa will be turning over in their—

“I don’t care. I’m not sacrificing my son, our son, for a piece of scorched earth in the middle of nowhere.”

You’re talking foolish now. You love the land as much as I do, I mean did. You’re tired, worn out; I get that, but….

“But what?”

I never thought I’d hear you say you want to give up the land, give up on life.

“It’s different now that you’re gone. You might as well face it, I’m leaving, Cain. And you should leave too, find that white light you always talked about and forget about this place.”

Help is coming, Jezebel.

“Yeah, and so are monsoon winds, dried up creek beds and taxes. Or did you forget taxes are due…again?”

I’m asking you to hang on for a little while, that’s all.

“You expect me to believe a knight on a big white horse will be riding in soon to save us?”

He rides a Piebald.

“What?”

I said he rides a Piebald with black and white spots, sixteen hands tall.

“Who…who rides a spotted horse and how do you know he’s coming here?”

I’m fading, Jezebel. Used up everything I got this morning.

“No you don’t! You can’t waltz in here, drop your innuendoes and disappear like a snuffed out candle.”

Trust me. Hang on…please hang on.

“Cain, wait…don’t go! You can’t leave like this!”

Hang on, Jezebel…hang on….

#RomanticTravel

Autumn is a great time to plan a fall get-a-way. You won’t find lovelier places to visit than the Midwest. Before trees shed their leaves in preparation for winter, they often put on a brilliant display of color…deep burgundy, buttercup yellow and sunburst orange.

Many small towns hold fall festivals and Halloween galas meant to attract not only local residents but adventure-seeking tourists.

Here’s hoping you take time to schedule a short vacation this fall and enjoy the same beauty depicted in this image from the state of Wisconsin.

Thanks for stopping by Keta. You can find out more about Keta’s books by visiting her Amazon author page http://www.amazon.com/Keta-Diablo/e/B002BODURI/  Or by visiting her blog, Keta’s Keep, http://ketaskeep.blogspot.com  Follow her on Twitter: http://twitter.com/ketadiablo

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