Contessa jolted awake to a banging noise. She sat bolt upright, head whipping side to side in search of danger. Her thoughts cleared as the noise came again and she realized it was simply somebody knocking on her door, if rather insistently. Contessa pulled on her dressing gown before padding over to the door and cracking it open. When she peeked into the hall, her jaw dropped in shock, and she immediately threw it wide. Standing in the hallway was Mr. Woodrow, dressed in shirtsleeves and looking rather the worse for wear. His hair stood out at all angles, and he swayed slightly where he stood, holding on to the doorframe for support. Most shockingly, his shirt was splattered in something dark. In the dim light of the hallway, Contessa couldn’t be completely sure, but she thought it was blood. “What happened?” she gasped. She might know the answer, but she was more concerned with why he had chosen to show up at her bedroom door in this state. “Don’t worry, most of the blood isn’t mine,” he responded, trying to sound nonchalant even as he gritted his teeth. Before Contessa could respond, he swayed again where he stood. Contessa…

A Special Excerpt from LITTLE FOLLIES by Carolyn Korsmeyer   The two men were back again on Thursday. Klementyna Kamynska took notice because it was not common for tourists to visit the Radincki Museum more than once. Her curiosity mildly piqued, she diverted her slow trajectory in their direction. Their attention was focused with unlikely intensity at a case full of eighteenth-century tableware. Did they move rather too hastily away to look at the suits of armor lined up along the wall? Klementyna was aware that her approach sometimes prompted visitors to draw back from their scrutiny of some jewelry or hanging vestment or other piece of over-decorated fandango. It amused her to see the effect she wielded without saying a word. She glanced at the case the men had been looking in but saw nothing of special interest. Klementyna was bored, so with her measured pace she followed them. As she neared, did their voices drop? Possibly, but many people dislike having their every word magnified by the echoes of large rooms. As she passed by the two men, her eyes directed only at her toes, she caught a few words and thought they might have been speaking English….

Chapter 1 Science quantified the mystical, boiled it down to logic, data, and biological processes. But there was a kind of magic to new discoveries, and the discovery that murderous sirens lurked in ocean’s deep captivated the world and brought the New England fishing industry where they’d been found to its knees. Myth had become universal truth, and modern fishermen wanted no part of it. The sirens should have scared away Dawn Chaser’s crew, but stubbornness outweighed fear, and they did not flee the Gulf of Maine like most of their offshore competition. Idle chatter and laughter rang out across the decks as the crew prepared the nets, and Captain Killian Quinn listened to them from the pilothouse, their muffled voices drifting to where he stood at the helm. He couldn’t make out the words, but their cheer was unmistakable, and the corners of his mouth lifted. This could have been just another day at sea. Strong morale was good for crew retention, and these days, that’s what kept him in business. But more than that, his crew was like a family to him, more so than his own flesh and blood, and he liked hearing them in high spirits….

Azure doesn’t show. I toss my shoes and shirt onto the tufts of grass at the edge of the sand, and wade knee deep into the surf to cool the burn of being stood up. I splash water on my sweaty face. Did I make too much of my flirt with Azure? I dunk my head into the lagoon and shake the water off the three braids trailing down my back. I did feel a connection with Azure. Maybe not as strong as the pull toward the woman who yanked me out of the sea, but it was there. I’ve got to stop thinking about the night of the storm. Curse my bud, Juan Luna, and his philosophies about my rescuer being a soulmate, a heart’s fate. My hand rests over the tattoo of a full moon on the right side of my chest. The nondescript silhouette of my mythical heart’s fate, a dream girl, covers the left side, the heart side. A trail of stars rains down between the images. When a member of our artist’s commune turns eighteen, Juan Luna’s grandpa offers to gift them with a unique ink design. No one picks their tattoo. We trust the…

A WICKED GAME – Kate Bateman, teaser exclusive excerpt for Fresh Fiction.   The carriage gave a jolt, and Morgan caught her eye. “My business with Mister Crusoe might be done,” he said softly. “But there’s another matter between you and I that needs to be resolved. I seem to remember a certain bet we made, before I left for war.” He made sure to hold her stare. “Since I’m here, safe and well in London, I think it’s fair to say that you owe me three kisses.”       Harriet’s heart was pounding with a strange mixture of dread and relief. At last. She hadn’t stopped thinking about their foolish wager since the moment she’d heard Morgan was back in England. Or for any of the months before that, if she was being honest. The secret, scandalous part of her had fantasized that he’d come to her immediately on his return. That he’d be so desperate for her kisses that he’d gallop up to Bloomsbury on his fastest horse, hammer on her door or clamber in through her window, and claim his prize. That, of course, hadn’t happened. She didn’t live in a fairytale. Morgan had been back…

Excerpt from BRATVA ANGEL by Sabine Barclay       “You are.” He growls. “F*ck. I can’t last any longer, baby girl.” “Good. I want to know you want me that much.” “I want you more than I should. You’re a drug, Heather. I’d sell my soul for another hit, another chance to be inside you.” “But drugs destroy. That’s not what I want.” “Fine. A multivitamin. I know I’m better when I’m with you.” I can’t help but laugh. My core contracts, and he thrusts hard before going still. He rests his forehead against mine. I cup his jaw. “I have never been called a multivitamin before. That might be one of the weirdest and most romantic things I’ve ever heard.” I sigh as we kiss once more. Part of it is from satisfaction and post-coital bliss. But part of it is regret because I can’t linger. “How late do you think your sister will be out?” “She and Mike’ll probably be back by ten. Danielle isn’t a night owl and never has been. Sleeping Beauty likes her rest. I can’t blame her since she’s home with Cadence all day. He’s exhausting.” I consider what Danielle and Mike would…

CHAPTER ONE BINDU The way a woman wears the color red tells you everything you need to know about how she sees herself. The first time I saw Bhanu, she was wearing a red bikini. From the journal of Oscar Seth   It wasn’t every day that someone left you a million dollars, without so much as a warning and no way to give it back, no matter how badly you wanted to. For years Bindu Desai had believed that life was a series of accidents waiting to happen, fragile beads strung together on threads of varying strengths. The only way to keep them from shattering was to stand utterly still and hold them as carefully as she possibly could. Then, twenty-six years ago, her husband had died, two days after Bindu’s thirty-ninth birthday, and she swore to take them off and Move! Dance! She didn’t care if the beads shattered. She was going to live. But everyone in her neighborhood in Mumbai knew her. Mrs. Bindu Desai, wife of Dr. Rajendra Desai, mother of Ashish Desai, who was studying engineering somewhere in America. Sure, her choice to keep wearing bright colors as a new widow was met with tolerant…

Bernie Sanders and I stood at the end of the dock. Although the air was cool, the sky was cloudless and the sun was out. A perfect autumn day in Vermont. Most of the boats usually docked here were out on the water. A steady stream of out-of-state cars were rolling through town now. Some were driving slower than the speed limit so they could take in the leaves, while others were driving slower looking for parking for the fall festival, Champ Days. Most, presumably, hadn’t heard about the dead man who’d floated to the surface less than sixteen hours ago. “Drowning pancakes in syrup is one thing,” Bernie said. “But a person drowning in syrup? How does that happen?” I was just a congressional intern. Was the senator—my boss—really asking me to chime in on this? Sure, we were in my hometown, but Bernie and I had both read the same autopsy report on Mr. Fletcher, the victim. The medical examiner had laid out the facts, but the facts didn’t give us all the answers. Mr. Fletcher didn’t have anything else in his digestive tract besides maple syrup. No pancakes. No waffles. Not even a spoonful of granola. “You…

(c) Lauren Elliott, Kensington Publishing Corp., 2022.  STEEPED IN SECRETS excerpt shared with permission from the publisher.   “Then see if this is more to your liking.” Julia yanked on the corner edge of the back curtain and revealed an ornate wrought-iron spiral staircase.   “Now that’s what I was waiting to see,” Liam said. “Access to the second floor.”   “Why?” Shay eyed him warily. “Are you hoping it’s filled with the bodies of her customers?”   “Now that would make a good tale to tell tonight in the pub, wouldn’t it?” With a flash of humor in his eyes, he shuffled past her toward the staircase. “Actually, I have a rooftop patio on my second floor, and at night I could hear her singing. When it was a quiet night in the pub, I would just sit for hours, listening to her Irish songs. She had quite the voice, sad but really good.” He stepped up onto the first metal stair. “Always wanted to see what she was working on up here till the wee hours of the morning.”   “What’s that?” Shay pointed to the wall behind Liam.   “What?” Julia looked to the spot Shay had…

From ASTRID PARKER DOESN’T FAIL published by arrangement with Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © 2022 by Ashley Herring Blake.   Astrid didn’t usually attend demo days. She hated the dust, the chaos, the crew tearing cabinets out of walls and wielding sledgehammers like Neanderthals. But the Everwood Inn wasn’t just any design project, and everything had to be documented for Innside America, including her overseeing parts of the demo—or at least pretending to. Plus, with her reputation already on shaky ground with the lead carpenter, Astrid knew she needed to be involved. Passionate. Maybe peeling off a segment of wallpaper or two might go a long way to repairing things with Jordan. All she had to do was be her usual collected self. Except when she pulled up to the front of the inn and spotted Jordan and Natasha standing on the porch, laughing, Astrid’s nerves quickly rebelled. With the giant dumpster situated in the front yard, coupled with the show’s crew mixing among the demo crew, things were getting real. “You’re here,” Jordan said when Astrid got out of her car and headed toward the porch, her work bag hooked onto her elbow. Astrid made sure…