When West Virginia wild-child Glory Allen gets caught in the middle of a kidnapping attempt, she has to decide if rescuing the sexy Luke Tanner is worth risking her life. Especially after the high and mighty casino magnate just accused her of cheating in his casino.Her decision to help, causes Luke to step into her hometown to develop a community that doesn’t need improvement—a community Glory’s gambling earnings were meant to save—and Glory can’t help but question her judgment, because the chemistry between them is about to explode, and it has nothing to do with the Vegas thugs hot on their trail.
Now Glory is stuck helping Luke figure out who set him up and what to do about their own burning attraction…before Glory’s hometown, and her life, are lost for good.
Genre: Contemporary Romantic Suspense
Publisher: Entangled Publishing – ignite imprint
Publication Date: October 28, 2013
Monday, October 28, 2013
Dr. Pepper Diva {Guest Post}
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Margo Hoornstra – Writing Inside & Out {Guest Post}
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
M.J. Schiller, Romance Author {Guest Post}
Thursday, October 31, 2013
WordWranglers {Author Interview}
Authors’ Cafe {Guest Post}
Friday, November 1, 2013
Snarky Mom Reads… {Guest Post}
Pretty Girls Read Books {Guest Post}
Monday, November 4, 2013
Loralee Lillibridge – Blogging Across the Back Fence {Guest Post}
What Readers Want {Guest Post}
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Buy the Book Tours {Featured Guest Post}
Romance Me {Guest Post}
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Nancy Jardine features {Author Interview}
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Talk Supe {Guest Post}
Friday, November 8, 2013
For Whom The Books Toll {Guest Post}
Bang. Another gunshot sounded, followed by the sound of a soaring symphony and a bubbling aria as opera suddenly poured out of the car’s speakers. She must have turned on the radio while scrabbling about. Great. Just great.
Bang. Another gunshot sounded, followed by the sound of a soaring symphony and a bubbling aria as opera suddenly poured out of the car’s speakers. She must have turned on the radio while scrabbling about. Great. Just great.
Her body tensed. One foot went down on the clutch; she slammed the car into gear, shifting smoothly from second to third. The man listened to opera? They shouldn’t be inhabiting the same zip code, let alone the same car. The Vanquish leaped forward, peeling into the alleyway as the sound of seventy-six trombones overrode the radio.
Crap. Either a high school band had chosen that moment to march down the next street over or Glory’s cell phone was going off. The ringtone meant her no-good, dirty, rotten cousin Benji was calling.
Everyone in town liked Benji. They liked his charming manners, his bright good looks, and the firework show he put on at Black Lake every Fourth of July.
Glory knew better. Benji just liked to blow stuff up.
And he was staying at her house. Well, to be technical, her trailer. Vintage 1970s with all original harvest-gold appliances. A nice place, but not built to withstand casual explosions. She could only hope her roof would be intact by the time she got back home.
She flicked a quick glance in the rearview mirror. Was that a black SUV she saw? “What’s the quickest way we can get to the main road?” she asked. “Heading east.”
“No such thing as east. Just Utah or Arizona.”
“Arizona,” she said a little too loud. Like she wasn’t quite sure. “We’re going to Arizona.”
“Wait—‘we’? There’s no ‘we’ here. I barely know you,” Luke said.
“Yeah, well, I’ve never depended on the kindness of strangers, either. But here we are.” She downshifted, slowing the car as she came to the end of the alleyway. Right or left?
“I gave you a car and you saved my life,” he said. “So I suppose we’re no longer strangers.”
“I don’t even know your last name. Seems pretty strange to me.”
“In that case, let me introduce myself. Properly. I’m Luke Morrison,” he said, his voice low, gravelly.
Left. Seemed a good enough gamble. She slowed, turned left onto a side street, and caught his soft smile out of the corner of her eye as she made the turn. Luke Morrison. It was a good name, strong and capable like the man. He’d given her something, trusting her with his name. She could give him the same courtesy in return.
She hit the gas and the car rocketed forward, throwing them both back against the seats, then said, “I’m Gloria Allen. People call me Glory. My father was a preacher. My mama ate MoonPies while she was pregnant. My sisters are crazy as hell. And while we’re driving around yapping, my cousin’s probably blowing my house to kingdom come.”
Leaving Las Vegas Blog Tour Stop Four: Out of Las Vegas
Leaving Las Vegas is a fast paced romantic suspense wit plenty of car chases and gun fights. It’s also a road trip book—sparks flying between Luke and Glory as they careen through America on their way to West Virginia—which means that for the fourth stop on my tour it’s time to hit the road.
I like to keep things neat and orderly—as long as that doesn’t involve doing my dishes—my books at home are all organized by subject matter and author. My cheese is always lined up on the shelf just so. I have notebooks full of story ideas and character sketches.
So far this tour has been a little bit of a disaster. My characters keep popping up where they’re least expected. The heat in the desert is close to a thousand degrees, and I had to give a couple of the Luke fan-girls a ride from the last stop. They’ve got t-shirts: ‘Team Luke’ and ‘Playboy Billionaires Do It Better.’
Time for the next stop. I park at the side of the road and get out, surveying the countryside. It’s beautiful this time of year, not that I can see much. The dirty little road off the freeway where Luke and Glory wake up together—after barely escaping rampaging gun thugs the night before—is crowded with waiting women. My audience.
“Do you think Luke’s going to be here?” One of the fan girls asks. “He’s so sexy. Brown hair, green eyes, great hands.”
“His hands!” Someone else coos.
Yep, his hands. When I’m writing a romance, I like to know my characters inside and out. I want my heroes to be sexy. Damn sexy, and for me that means hands.
Close your eyes.
No, never mind. Keep reading.
Think about a man’s hands. Are they nimble? Skillful? What do they say about him? What does he spend his days doing? Shuffling cards or working outside in the sun? What do they say about what he can do? In his day to day life? In bed?
Someone’s set up a little stage on the side of the road. I get up there and manage to give the talk I’ve been preparing all day. A lecture on the importance of minor details, whether it’s describing the tall desert grasses, the scent of exhaust off the freeway, or the calluses of a man’s hands as they run across a woman’s body.
This time there are no interruptions from my meddling characters. For a moment, I think I’ve managed to outdistance them. Then I notice a luxury RV pulled off the road half a mile down. The kind that only a rock star or billionaire casino magnate could afford. Damn. Time to keep moving.
What about you? When it comes to heroes, what are your favorite details?
Aleah Barley is an author of funny (she hopes) contemporary romances. After recently moving to Detroit, she discovered that the rumors are true: it is a post-apocalyptic wasteland full of abandoned buildings, zombies, and hipster coffee shops that don’t open before nine in the morning. It’s also a great place to live.Really.
Promise.
She spends her days working hard to make the world a better place and her nights writing about kick-ass women who live life to the fullest and the men who love them.
She’ll do anything for a box of chocolates. Or ice cream. Seriously. Try her.
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