Monday, March 25, 2019

Becker Circle by Addison Brae



Blurb:

New starts mean new rules. Can she triumph through the challenges?

My boyfriend believed I was too gutless to leave. He was dead wrong. I graduated Harvard early and left his hot temper and everyone else behind for Dallas. Determined to make it on my own, I land a second job bartending at the neighborhood pub, smack in the middle of drama central, where almost every jerk in the neighborhood hits on me.
A week into the job, the neighborhood’s very popular drug dealer falls to his death a few feet from the table I’m serving. The cops say suicide, but the hot guitar player in the house band and I suspect foul play, and we intend to prove it. Digging deeper, we’re drawn closer to each other. Then we make a shocking discovery. We know the murderer.


Extract:

I peek back at my butt in these loose-fitting jeans and all I see is sad. Remembering what my new boss said about better tips if I wear something a little sexy, I button a plaid shirt halfway up to show a little. I fasten one more and brush through my wavy auburn hair. Why did my apartment come with a full-length mirror in the bathroom? I’m nothing like my curvy new next door neighbor in that dress.
Even though I had to borrow a can opener from her to eat lunch today, I’m prepared with every bartender’s necessity. A good bar blade. I dig out the one I used to open bottles during my forty-two days of bartending at the place on Harvard Square back in Boston before Connor made me quit and stick it in my back pocket so I don’t look like a total rookie. It’s one of the few utensils in my kitchen drawer.
With the pink fuzzy scarf Lauren gave me for Christmas tucked inside my jacket, I message her before I talk myself out of going. “First night. Wish me luck!” I glance at the collage photo frame of our college memories she gave me before I packed up and left.
Mixers, whisky brands, and vodka flavors run through my head down the six flights of stairs and on the short walk to the first shift of my new night job. My jacket shields me from the cold as I step through the circles of light shining on the dark red brick sidewalk. A couple jogs by totally into one another, and three guys who were probably high school stars toss a football near the fountain, yelling back for not throwing right.
What am I doing? Am I invisible? Everyone’s with someone like I was. Taking the CPA job in Dallas seemed like such a great idea. It’s where no one knows me. Away from Connor. Before he had a chance to break me.
Rule one of my new life—forget about what already happened. Period.
Just as I turn the corner toward the tree-lined park, someone rams into me from behind. I gulp a breath as he twists me to the ground, dragging me along by the arm. The strap to my purse connects me to a guy who looks barely old enough to drive until he yanks it away. The purse holding the cash I have to live on until I get paid, my ID, one credit card, and proof I took an exam today.
The purse Mom gave me for my eleventh birthday.
“Stop!” I struggle to untwist my legs and sprint toward the strap dragging behind him. “No!” The distance between us widens.
At the edge of the park, a well-dressed man jumps out of a shiny SUV and shoves the guy into the shrubs. He leans over as they exchange words. Then the man extends a hand to help the purse thief out of the bushes.
I stop running to observe. The guy bolts without looking back and I still haven’t remembered to breathe.
Then the man, who’s at least my dad’s age, walks toward me. With my purse.
“Are you okay?” He hands it to me.
“Thank you so much.” I nod and glance at the leaves caught in it and back at the man, not quite believing any part of what just happened and fighting back the anger that it happened to me. “But what the . . .?”
“I understand. He has some problems. He won’t bother you again.” He bows his head like a nineteenth century prince and heads back to his truck.
I shake off the soreness in my arm. Who was that guy and why would he rescue a purse for some stranger?
The George & Dragon Public House sign creaks in the breeze. Smokers corralled on the patio by the black iron fence huddle around heaters, an occasional laugh rising above the steady hum of music and conversation. I walk through the door luckily ten minutes early. The smell of bleach mixed with mesquite from the fire lingers covering every secret that’s happened here. Clanking bottles drown out the low music.
Steve’s bald head pops up from behind the bar, his ginger beard even thicker and longer than I remember. “There she is. We took bets whether you’d chicken out.”


Meet the author:

Addison Brae lives in Dallas, Texas on the edge of downtown. As a child, she was constantly in trouble for hiding under the bed to read when she was supposed to be napping. She has been writing since childhood starting with diaries, letters and short stories. She continues today with articles, video scripts and other content as an independent marketing consultant. When she’s not writing, Addison spends her time traveling the world, collecting interesting cocktail recipes and hosting parties. She’s still addicted to reading and has added jogging in her neighborhood park, sipping red wine, binge-watching TV series, vintage clothing and hanging out with her artistic other half and their neurotic cat Lucy.
• • •
• Find Addison Online •

Monday, March 18, 2019

The Black Door by Charlotte Howard

Today's Tirgearr Tuesday extract comes from The Black Door


TheBlackDoorbyCharlotteHoward500.jpg

ISBN: 9781311762207
ASIN: B00LP0EN70
Blurb:
Imogen Pearce is a single mum of four children and fast approaching 40, she works at Ryedale Incorporated where she has to battle a younger and smarter generation to get to where she wants to go. If that means taking on the account of Cherry and Sean Rubin’s adult shop, then she will. But what happens when Imogen discovers the private club that they run at the back? And what happens when she realizes she knows quite a few members?
Excerpt:
Men. All the bloody same.

My mind traced back to the day I had given up on one-sided monogamous relationships.
The children were at school or work, and the sun was beating down. It was a glorious day, and I had decided to go home for lunch, rather than spend it in a stuffy office.
I pulled up outside the house and a fleeting thought passed through my mind when I saw Connor’s car sitting in the driveway. My husband of eighteen years had had the same idea.
I crept into the house, hoping to surprise him. But, it turned out that his idea had involved a slutty bottle-blonde.
I wanted to blame the events that followed on a red mist descending over me. The truth is that in the time it took for my mind to register that some tart was riding my husband in what I later found out was known as reverse cowgirl, my mind had calculated the necessary response.
The skank lost a good handful of bleached hair, roots and all. I allowed her to gather her clothes and watched as she tugged her pants on whilst running out of the house. If nothing else, the neighbours got a good show.
Connor yelled at me. But his words were drowned out by the blood pumping in my ears. I marched back up the stairs and into his little study. Opening the window, I saw Miss Slut stood in the middle of the road, screeching obscenities at me. I looked at the Ferrari in our driveway and smiled.
I think his Xbox enjoyed its first and final flying lesson as it sailed out of the window. The fact that it landed in the bonnet of his prized mid-life crisis proved that Karma does exist.
Connor. Holly.
I made a mental note of the two names at the top of my imaginary hit list.
I blinked and I was back in the boardroom.

Charlotte Howard

Meet the author

Award-winning author, Charlotte lives in Somerset with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets and can always be found with a cup of tea in her hand. When she's not writing or running around after small people and animals, she loves to eat curry and watch action films.


Charlotte is a member of the Romantic Novelists Association.

• • •

• Find Charlotte Online •

Website
Facebook
Twitter
Blog

Find Charlotte's other Tirgearr titles: HERE.

Monday, March 11, 2019

Love Begins at 40 by Ann Burnett


Buy Links:

Blurb

Maisie McLelland spent ten years building up McLelland Events in Glasgow and has just bought a holiday home in the relaxing small seaside town of Largs on the west coast of Scotland. She immediately befriends her elderly neighbour, the widow of a local fisherman.
When Elizabeth is in need of rescue, Maisie steps in to help. Elizabeth’s grateful son, teacher and lifeboatman, James, takes Maisie to dinner to show his appreciation. Maisie’s not looking for a relationship, and neither is James, as he’s still reeling from the loss of his son. They’re both surprised at the instant connection.
Over time, Maisie and James become friends and their closeness continues pulling them toward each other until emotion leads to intimacy. She agrees to help with the organisation of a Vilking Festival he is planning in the town.
But as Maisie approaches her 40th birthday, tragedy strikes a double blow, and she’s forced to make some important decisions about what she really wants from life.


Extract:

  ‘What on earth have I done?’ she exclaimed as she looked about the half-empty room. This was not what she had planned, what she had looked forward to, what she had imagined in the evenings when the TV programmes were boring and she was sitting at home in her flat in Glasgow.
  Where was the wee, whitewashed Highland cottage nestling into the glen, the purple heather-tinged mountains rising all around? Where was the burbling burn to supply fresh, clear water? The black-faced sheep munching close by? The sound of the distant bagpipes drifting through the quiet air? Her bolt hole, where she could escape when the pressures of her work in Glasgow became too much?
Maisie McLelland was 39, a successful businesswoman in Glasgow, with no ties and a bucket-list of what she wanted to achieve before she hit 40. Buying a second home, where she could go to relax away from the bustling city, was top priority. In fact, it was her only priority.
  But here she was in another flat – smaller even than her Glasgow one – empty apart from a load of flatpack furniture piled high in the bedroom, and a sofa and two chairs wrapped in plastic sheeting in the lounge. She’d gone ahead and bought the property, despite the fact that it in no way resembled her long-held dreams of a Highland cottage far away from everyone and surrounded by hills.
  Instead, this was an ordinary one-bedroom apartment, with magnolia-painted walls and a beige carpet throughout. The kitchen and bathroom were new, and white, and clean, and efficient. Nothing out of the ordinary; in fact, all very, very ordinary. Yet she’d known she had to buy it from the first moment she stepped out onto the balcony attached to the lounge.
  ‘Maisie McClelland,’ she had said to herself. ‘This is your idea of paradise. This is your dream.’
  It was the breathtaking view that had sold the flat to her. Two flights up, she looked west across the glittering waters of the Firth of Clyde to the islands of Great and Wee Cumbrae, with the Isle of Bute behind, and further down the coast, the bulk of the Isle of Arran. Scotland in miniature, the adverts called Arran, with its mountain range at one end, and progressing gently down to rolling green fields at the other. She made a mental note to visit it one day, along with the other islands across the bay.
  As she stood there, the sun was beginning its descent, and its rays bathed the islands in a golden light as they rose out of the sea. It was like no other view she had ever seen, and its beauty took her breath away.
  So, there and then, she’d bought it. And now she was moving in. Except that all the furniture still had to be assembled.
  Maisie wandered through to the bedroom and stared at the boxes, the packages, the pile of which would be her furniture and accessories, whenever she managed to put it all together. She’d got somewhat carried away on her visit to the large Swedish superstore in Glasgow where she’d bought it all, forgetting that most of it would have to be assembled.
  First, though, a coffee would sustain her. But where was the coffee machine she had purchased, with a supply of coffee capsules? She raked through various boxes and bags, unearthing a couple of prints she’d thought would brighten up the plain walls, a large glass vase, and a magazine rack. But no sign of the coffee machine. She remembered, too, that she didn’t have any fresh milk or sugar. It might be easier to head out and find a place to sit while she gathered her strength.
  Grabbing her coat, she marched out of the flat and pressed the button for the lift. And waited. And waited. Just then, the door of one of the other flats opened and a man came out, shouting ‘Cheerio!’   A large bear of a man, tall and muscular, with thick fair hair and an equally thick fair beard, and wearing a set of overalls. He was carrying a toolbox, and as Maisie spotted it, an idea struck her.
  She smiled broadly at him as he approached the lift that had just arrived.
  By the time they reached the ground floor, he had introduced himself as James Paterson and they had agreed he would come back the next day and, for a suitable payment, assemble all her furniture.


Meet the Author

Ann Burnett was born in Scotland where she now lives but has travelled extensively and lived in Canada and Australia.
She has published short stories, articles and children’s stories, as well as writing a novel, Loving Mother, as part of her Masters in Creative Writing. She is an experienced Creative Writing tutor and adjudicator for the Scottish Association of Writers.
Her short stories have been published in New Writing Scotland, Glasgow University Creative Writing anthologies, My Weekly, That’s Life (Australia), Woman's Weekly and the Weekly News. Her collection of short stories, Take a Leaf out of My Book, is available on Amazon.
Her memoir, illustrated with her father's photos, A Scottish Childhood, Growing up a Baby Boomer has just been published.
But perhaps she is best remembered for writing Postman Pat stories for a children's comic every week for five years. A labour of love indeed!
• • •
• Find Ann Online •
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Find Ann's other Tirgearr titles: HERE.

Monday, March 4, 2019

Violet Souls by Abbey MacMunn



Blurb:

While searching for clues to her past, single mother Bree Mills discovers a subculture of aliens with supernatural abilities living on Earth. And she’s one of them. Finding herself hurled into a world of possibilities, it’s made more alluring by Quinn Taylor, the 324-year-old, violet-eyed Evoxian from her childhood dreams.
Quinn knows his destiny is entwined with Bree’s. He’s fraught with frustration and desire, but before he can confess his love, he must wait for her to sense the Akui, a mysterious force tied with ancient Evoxian law.
At a Cotswolds country manor, passions awaken and ignite a love more magical than the once-Utopian planet, Evox. Then Fate delivers a cruel and heart-breaking blow when Bree is kidnapped by a malicious alien who wants her and her power. Will Quinn still love Bree when she’s faced with protecting her half-human daughter… whatever the cost?


Extract:

Brianna Mills grasped the curious pendant around her neck. Like before, when she’d first touched it, the violet jewel warmed, and her peripheral vision shrank back.
Her steps faltered. With somehow more focused vision, she watched the man coming towards her along the tree-lined track.
Jasper stopped rummaging in the undergrowth, sniffed the air, and wagged his tail. But despite her dog’s interest, she sensed something…odd.
It wasn’t just the disconcerting vision or the static electricity surrounding her. Or even the disappointment as she pondered over the outcome of her adoption meeting earlier. No, this was something else, something tangible. Electromagnetic energy rolled over her skin, made her scalp tingle. A strange, coppery scent circulated in the cool spring air.
Blood pulsated in her ears, muffling the sound of birds chirping in the trees. She came to a standstill, all five senses fizzing with an unseen force, her heartbeat pounding like tribal drums.
Still six metres ahead, the guy looked tall, well-built with broad shoulders, and casually dressed in a faded brown leather jacket and dark blue jeans, worn at the knees. Overlong blond hair rested on his shoulders, and messy waves fell either side of a tanned, ruggedly handsome face.
Drop. Dead. Bloody. Gorgeous.
A tiny spark ignited somewhere within and she forgot how to breathe.
Bree recognised him. But he wasn’t anyone she’d ever met before, not while she was awake. No, this was someone whom she used to dream of when she was a child.
It didn’t make sense. How could she have dreamt about him, what, fifteen or so years ago?
The spark became a small flame, breathing its warmth on parts of her that she’d forgotten existed. Her cheeks heated. She had so little experience with men. No wonder she’d fallen for the first guy to show her any interest and been naïve enough to get herself pregnant.
Jasper barked, which made her jump, and then raced towards the guy, wagging his tail and leaping around excitedly, greeting him like some long-lost friend.
“Jasper! Get back here. Right now.”
Trying to focus through the tunnel vision, she willed her feet to walk the remaining distance to retrieve her dog.
Get a grip, Bree, get a grip.
Keeping her head down, she wished she hadn’t tied her hair in a loose bun, so she could have hidden her embarrassment behind the long tresses.
“Sorry. Jasper doesn’t normally like strangers.” She gulped. Her words were breathless and pathetic, and she cursed under her breath. Is he a stranger, though? With shaky hands and distorted vision, she grabbed her Labrador and fumbled with the lead, desperate to get the damn thing to clip on to Jasper’s collar.
“Are you wearing blue contact lenses?” he asked in a deep, hypnotic, and strangely familiar voice.
Bree blinked rapidly and her vision returned to normal. “What…? No.” She wouldn’t look at him, preferring to give her attention to Jasper’s lead, now gripped so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
She could almost feel the guy’s stare burning the top of her head. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she backed away—until she noticed his dog.
Similar to a pure white Alsatian, but she’d never seen one as massive or as muscular. It stared at her too, with weird violet eyes.
Violet eyes like hers.

Meet the author:

Abbey MacMunn writes paranormal and fantasy romances. She lives in Hampshire, UK, with her husband and their four children.
When she’s not writing, she likes to watch films and TV shows – anything from rom-coms to superheroes to science fiction movies.
She is a proud member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association New Writers’ Scheme.

Find Abbey Online --

Website - http://abbeymacmunn.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AbbeyMacMunnAuthor1
Twitter - https://twitter.com/abbeymacmunn
Pinterest - https://www.pinterest.com/abbeymacmunn
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey