A white van with the hood up came into view along with a group of Amish women standing beside it. Gabe pulled the horse and wagon to a stop beside them. Which one was going to concentrate her attention on him? He wished Jonah knew the answer. That way he’d know which sister to avoid. His mother’s cousin Waneta came rushing toward him with a cheerful smile. “Gabriel, it’s goot to see you again.” He got down from the wagon, determined not to give any of the women undue encouragement. “Nice to see you, too, Waneta. If your stepdaughters will get in the wagon, I’ll collect your things.” “Our driver, Bessie, will help. Let me introduce you to my family.” “There will be time for that when everyone is settled at the house,” he said and walked to the back of the van where Bessie, a gray-haired Englisch woman, was pull­ing out the luggage. He heard the rumble of a truck ap­proaching and then a horn blaring. He glanced in that direction and saw a woman walking into the roadway. Her gaze was fixed on something in the distance. Didn’t she hear the truck? She looked at the ground. The…

In this excerpt, Danny tries to convince Prescott to take a closer look at the town’s mid-century architecture. Danny Before we walk out of the shop, Prescott stops to put on a pair of leather gloves that are so tight each finger needs to wriggle in on its own until he uses the opposite hand to yank the taut creamy leather down on to his hand in one fell swoop. The leather scene has never really been my turn-on of choice but something about seeing his skin covered in the supple gloves make me think I should revisit that situation. “Well, shall we go?” he asks, holding the door open. “We shouldn’t keep the shop closed too long.” There’s still snow on the ground, but the sidewalks are clear enough for us to walk side by side. The air is cold and clear. We walk a few blocks past Bridge Street until we’re standing in front of the First Bank of Bucks. “Isn’t it wonderful?” I ask, admiring the gorgeous mid-century marvel. Four tall windows make up the facade. They are uninterrupted by adornment—pure open glass that reflects the snowy street. Between each massive window is a stone and cement…

She was a bleeding heart. She was going off the deep end. She was becoming a furry—not that there was anything wrong with that. She knew a few really nice furries. No, it was more like she was becoming one of those women who turned prison pen pal to guys like Bundy and Richard Ramirez. There were a dozen explanations going through Neha’s head when she left lockup and returned to the real world, but there was only one image. Joe Peluso, right before he kissed her. That brutish face, still a little bruised and cut. And his eyes. Looking too far. Seeing too much. She’d dealt with plenty of sexual overtures, but she’d never, ever had anyone look at her that way. Like she was the beginning, middle, and end. He wanted her. No, more than that, he craved her. She’d never been the subject of this kind of desire. The men she’d dated… She’d had to work them to arousal, convince them to do the same for her. Usually in exchange for a blow job. They’d never been turned on just by being near her. She’d never been out of her head just being around one of them….

He was handsome. Lucia had noticed that from the outset. It was difficult to tell beneath all of that grime and hair, but once she got a good look at his face, she could see just how handsome he was. And young; he wasn’t old at all. Well, relatively old. At ten or more years than her twenty and one. He was a man in his prime. But he was also living on the streets, and in addition to the smell of piss from the pot she’d slung at him, she thought she could smell ale. After the chaos of the sausages had died down and she realized he was injured, she still couldn’t explain what made her go back to see how badly he was hurt. Perhaps it was the fact that something in his eyes conveyed utter defeat. He was a man who had given up. Perhaps that was why she’d insisted he come back with her to Meadowbank. All she knew was that something in his eyes had pulled at her, something that captured her curiosity and natural empathy. Certainly, she’d seen her share of the destitute in Edinburgh. But what made this man different, she didn’t…

Chapter Two Excerpt: Rachel, Out of Office by Christina Hovland A romantic momedy! Single-mom Rachel needs a break from her family vacation. She struggles to keep up with work and balance the demands of family, all the while fending off pesky new feelings for her hunky former-brother-in-law. Which makes her wonder…is falling for him really that wrong? Or is anything possible when she’s out of office…? Rachel rummaged through her handbag to search for her sunglasses as they walked. Damn, she knew she’d dropped them in there before she left the house. “It’s not happening. If I need company, I’ll just adopt a puppy or something,” she continued. Coming up empty from the inside pocket, she turned her attention to the oversize beach bag, the one that had never seen a beach but was her own personal “bug out” bag where she kept all the things she might need for herself or her kids. “If you don’t want to be so obvious, just squeeze a couple of cantaloupes.” Her best friend Molly shrugged, clearly oblivious to Rachel’s search for eye protection and her extreme disinterest in the suggestion. “Are you equating cantaloupe to breasts, because men like breasts?” Rachel asked,…

Melody woke shivering, with darkness pressing in all around her. And for a moment she forgot exactly where she was before reality sank in. Fuck. She blinked, but the blackness was relentless and all encompassing. And so thick she could all but touch it. Was this some kind of a joke? Nighttime had nowhere near this intensity of absolute darkness. Even under heavy cloud cover there was a hint of stars outside, a moon. Some kind of light source. How long had she been asleep? It felt like ten hours, but she guessed it had been closer to an hour or two at most. Not counting the time she’d spent trying out her supposed invisibility gift. All she’d managed was more of the same tingling sensation, and the growing suspicion the doctors had somehow bungled her DNA results. A sharp clink alerted her to the fact she was no longer alone. But she didn’t panic, her muscles relaxed on recognizing the sound of claws digging into rock. “Damon,” she called out. “Don’t move,” he bit out. “Dangerous.” “No shit,” she said softly, pushing away Damon’s wet vest that had pillowed her head. She rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms and…

from Anne-Lise Briard RUE DES MORILLONS, PARIS, APRIL 25TH, 2016 Dear Madam or Sir, I am sending you this package very late, please forgive me. After discovering it in room 128, someone else would have immediately handed it over to the reception of the Beau Rivage Hotel; nevertheless, if you were to ask those who know me, they’d tell you just how lazy I can be in my daily life. So don’t take this postponement to mean that I don’t like your book. Not at all. I will even admit to you: I read it. I had just opened the nightstand to the right of the double bed, which as it happens was quite comfortable, when I was delighted to find the distraction you provided me. You see, I had forgotten to bring a novel to keep me company this weekend on the shore of the Iroise Sea . . . Since I can’t fall asleep without first reading a few pages, I become very annoying when I’m deprived of the pleasure. Thanks to you, my husband didn’t have to deal with my rotten mood. Anyway, it was on page 156 that I found—between two chapters—the address to where I’m…

“It’s been a long time, Melody.” He was giving her that look. The one that used to have her tearing her clothes off in seconds. “Don’t call me that and don’t look at me that way.” She took a step closer to him only because she needed to get control of this situation. It was imperative that she prove she could handle being in this space with him at this moment. “You made me lose him. You, of all people, know that time is money.” “What’s the bounty?” His calm demeanor still infuriated her. They’d just killed seven vampires and who knows how many more downstairs and he was standing there talking like they’d just met up by chance on the street. She had no idea why he was here, nor did she care. He obviously had his job and she had hers. More impor­tantly, at this moment, she had to get a grip, to still that incessant churning in the pit of her stomach that hadn’t stopped since the last time she’d seen him. “I knew my target was here and then you barged in and I lost him.” “How much, Mel? What’s the price for you to bring…

Melanie’s heart quickened when the first tower of the Mackinac Bridge came into view. This would be her seventh time over the bridge, a significant number. Seven days of the week. Seven notes in the diatonic scale. Seven letters in the Roman numeral system. The seven in the Tarot deck was the card of the chariot—the symbol of overcoming conflict and moving forward in a positive direction. Lucky number seven. She’d need luck on this trip if she hoped to move forward in a positive direction with Olivia. She hit her sister’s upper arm with the back of her hand. “There’s the bridge!” To her surprise, Olivia smiled. A good sign. Maybe it would all work out. It had to. Because they couldn’t go on as they had for the past ten years. Something had to change. Only time together would do it. Time with no distractions. Time in the forest. Time for Melanie to explain herself. She had seven days to make it work. Seven days was enough. Her seven-day spiritual detox program was her most popular offering on Meditations with Melanie. And nothing needed detoxing like her relationship with her sister. “I know a bailiff who refuses to…

Bran’s mood fluctuated between concern for Jessie and what she had suffered, and fury that he was helpless to do anything about it. Lowlife Ray Cummings was in prison, exactly where he belonged.  He was being punished–not enough as far as Bran was concerned–but punished nonetheless. And now, knowing the extent of what she had been through put Jessie even further out of his reach.  She didn’t need more heartache and having sex with him was exactly where that would lead.  She wasn’t a one-night hook-up kind of girl and he wasn’t a relationship kind of guy. Jessie deserved a man who was gentle and caring, a guy who would help her deal with the trauma she had suffered.  Bran was a rough-and-tumble lover.  He demanded a lot from a woman, and the women he took to bed liked it exactly that way. He sighed as he lay on the lumpy sofa in the living room staring up at the ceiling.  If only he could get the look on Jessie’s face out of his head, the heat in her big green eyes when she’d told him she was thinking about having sex with him. Sweet Jesus.  He ached with every…