Friday, September 26, 2014

First Fight Friday: Spell Touched by Aileen Harkwood


Goats solve their differences head-on. They don’t give the silent treatment or yell, they butt heads, and then it’s over.

Cowboy Marvin has learned humans resolve issues differently especially those romantically involved. His curiosity sparked, he has invited authors to stop by on Fridays and share the first fight out of their latest book.



Author & Fire Writer for 
Written Fireside
Aileen Harkwood

        
           is here for ...

First Fight Friday 

with a scene from 


Spell Touched
Breens Mist Witches Book 1


Everywhere Gisela Marton goes people she’s never seen before in the small town of Breens Mist, Oregon, wish her Happy Death Day. Is this a tasteless joke meant to terrify, or a genuine threat? 



With a seductive grin that makes her hope this isn’t her last day on Earth, Sean MacLenna confirms the worst. She is going to die. But Sean, one of Breens Mist’s warlocks, has vowed to make her final hours the most pleasurable possible. 


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“We need to talk.”

Sean leaned against the variety store’s brick façade. His eyes were the only blue sky to be had, the storm still raging, rain pouring in a curtain from the edge of the green awning under which he’d sought cover. Arms crossed over his broad chest, he carried that same self-restrained stillness with him as when they’d first met, a man who had all the time in the world to do whatever needed to be done; her exact opposite, if he was to be believed. 

His parka’s hood was down, fine droplets of moisture beading in his thick hair. She had an instant vision of him shaking it like some great mastiff spraying everything around him with water, but of course he wasn’t a dog. She wasn’t sure what he was—warlock, human, lunatic—but dog could safely be placed in the column of things he wasn’t.

With one knee bent and a booted sole propped against brick masonry, he shoved off the wall.

She stuffed the bag with her new pair of panties in her purse.

“For the record, I’m partial to the other ones,” he said.

Damn. Her face flushed. So he had seen them earlier.

“They’re torn,” she said.

“What a world of possibilities that opens up.”

He blocked her way. She pushed him aside.
“Back off, stalker,” she said.

He ignored her warning and easily kept stride with her toward her car, parked down the block.

“So I’m a stalker, now,” he said. “I guess that’s an upgrade from serial killer.”

“I don’t see how,” she said. “Both prey on–”

“Defenseless women. Yada-yada-yada.”

She came to a dead halt in the rain.

“Are you mocking me?” she asked.

“Clever of you to notice.”

“Really.”

“Really.”

“F you.”

“We may want to try that later,” he said, “but it’s doubtful we’ll have the time. With you dying in a few hours, that is.”

Ready to burst into tears, Gisela took off toward her car again, running.

He didn’t follow as she’d anticipated, and because he didn’t, she stopped and turned to face him.

“Why do you keep throwing that in my face? What is it you want from me?”

“Your attention,” he said.

“Well, you can’t have it.”

She splashed into the street, rushed to her car, and tore out into traffic. 


Copyright © Aileen Harkwood
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Spell Touched by Aileen Harkwood   

Would you dare to fall in love, 
if you knew you'd be dead by midnight...?

Gisela Marton doesn’t know what to make of the mysterious gift left on her doorstep on Halloween morning, with its strange card that reads,Happy Death Day, Gisela! Everywhere she goes people she’s never seen before in the small town of Breens Mist, Oregon, wish her the same. Is this a tasteless joke meant to terrify, or a genuine threat?

Maddeningly calm, with a seductive grin that makes her hope this isn’t her last day on Earth, Sean MacLenna appears out of nowhere at the restaurant where she works to confirm the worst. She is going to die. At midnight. What Gisela and most others in town don’t know is they share it with a hidden society of witches, one that has protected the community for two hundred years. Every spell of protection woven comes with a price, however. In Gisela’s case that price is to sacrifice her life for the good of the town, and Sean, one of Breens Mist’s warlocks, has vowed to make her final hours the most pleasurable possible.


Spell Touched 
Available on 

Other titles by Aileen include:

A paranormal Christmas romance novella... 
Still grieving the loss of her fiancé and best friend in a car accident on Christmas Eve at Sapphire Ridge, 
Niki Lusk returns to the popular Lake Tahoe ski resort one year later...



"Dark and captivating, with a story and characters that get under your skin... 
 Dangerous Dreams is the start to what is sure to become one of my favorite series." 
-Tattooed Book Review

Want to know more about Aileen?
Check out her Fire Writer Friday interview.


About Aileen: 

I grew up haunting used bookstores for old copies of Jane Austen novels and Ian Fleming's James Bond. I dreamed of Mr. Darcy, but secretly wished he lived in modern times and had just a bit of Bond's bad boy thugishness. Anytime I found a romance with psychics, witches, shifters or other paranormal heroes and heroines, I consumed it like the best chocolate.

Now that I'm a writer, I strive to blend these influences together into tightly-wound suspense stories or fun and quirky romps, where romance can bloom equally well in the middle of a gun battle or a quiet country lane.




Follow Aileen Harkwood online

GOODREADS ~ FACEBOOK ~ TWITTER ~ BLOG ~ AMAZON  


Thanks for sharing Aileen!

Friday, September 19, 2014

First Fight Friday: Stable Mates by Zara Stoneley


Goats solve their differences head-on. They don’t give the silent treatment or yell, they butt heads, and then it’s over.

Cowboy Marvin has learned humans resolve issues differently especially those romantically involved. His curiosity sparked, he has invited authors to stop by on Fridays and share the first fight out of their latest book.



A fellow Harper Impulse author and a 
Fire Writer for Written Fireside
Zara Stoneley

        
           is here for ...




First Fight Friday 

with a scene from 


Stable Mates


Flirting and fun seem the perfect antidote for Lottie's battered heart, and where better to find them than back in tranquil Tippermere, home of sexy eventer Rory Steel, the smiling Irish eyes of hunky farrier Mick O'Neal, and mysterious newcomer, model Tom Strachan?


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Lottie made a dash for the safety of the kitchen and Rory, only to find a battlefield. The small kitchen table was normally piled high with entry forms, schedules, directions, vets bills and every other conceivable bit of information that an eventer might ever need. Today they’d been scattered in all directions. She teased one out of the corner of a terrier’s mouth and then gave it back to the dog when she realised it was only a phone bill. A second terrier lay forlornly in her small basket, sheets of paper still slowly floating down, her chin on her paws and her eyes darting anxiously between her master and the arm-flailing Pip.

‘I pay you to send in the f***ing entries on time.’

‘You don’t bloody pay me, and even if you did, what am I supposed to be? A bloody mind reader?’

‘I do pay you.’

‘Not to be your bloody cleaner, housemaid or secretary. I,’ she waved her arms towards the still open door, ‘work out there, you moron. You said you wanted a bloody groom, not a nanny.’

Rory, who was sat on one of the chairs at the kitchen table, dumped his muddy boots on the chair opposite and crossed his arms rebelliously. Which Lottie was sure was because he just knew his attitude would wind Pip up even more.

‘What are you two arguing about now?’ She pulled out a spare chair and sank back onto it, a dog landing on her lap for reassurance almost before her bum was settled on the seat. 

When Lottie had suggested Pip come and work for Rory, it had never occurred to her how the sparks might fly. Lottie and Rory thought along the same lines, they were both slightly disorganised, both more interested in play than work and neither of them took much seriously, apart from, of course, horses. Pip was different. Pip took everything seriously and ran her life with military precision when she was on duty. And when she was at the yard, it was business not pleasure. And Rory drove her round the bend. Neither of them would give an inch, one because of his male pride, the other because she was never, ever wrong and wasn’t prepared to pretend she was. The fact that she was quite happy to throw things if it got her point across made life interesting. She’d only been here a matter of months, but already Rory had found out that if he was wrong he was damned well going to be told. Repeatedly. Until he admitted it. The only problem was, Rory was never, in his eyes, wrong.

‘He’s lost his entry for next weekend.’ Pip glanced at her briefly, then fixed an accusing glare back on Rory.

‘I’ve lost?’ He ran his hand through his curls, eyes wide with the injustice of it all.

‘You’ve lost. You did not ask me to send that entry in, Rory Steel, and we both know it.’

‘It’s not the one in the wagon is it? For Rio?’ Lottie tried to sound casual and hide the note of guilt in her voice. 

She distinctly remembered Rory picking up his post on the way out last weekend, and reading it in the cab as they took Flash to the dressage. And when he’d left it on the seat, she’d glanced briefly then stuffed it all in the glove compartment to stop the terriers chewing it to shreds. Then forgotten all about it. Until now. She kept her gaze fixed on the terrier and rubbed the silky ear between thumb and finger.

‘You are kidding?’ Pip had reached the hands-on-hips stage.

The terrier yelped as she rubbed a bit too hard. Rory frowned. ‘Oh, yeah I remember now. I did enter, that was the confirmation.’ He grinned. ‘Brilliant. Glad we got that sorted.’

‘Sorted? You call that sorted? You bastard, I just knew it was nothing to do with me.’ Pip was almost stamping her foot.

‘So,’ Lottie coughed to get their attention as they were back to a stand-off, ‘who is that guy on the yard?’

‘Oh, shit, I was supposed to be helping him, he said he’d sort Kis for me.’

Rory laughed as Pip shot out of the kitchen. ‘Come here gorgeous, I need some TLC after that battering.’

‘It’s your own fault.’ Lottie stood up, tipping the terrier onto the floor, and moved over to sit on his knee, shivering as his fingers rubbed exactly the right spot between her shoulder blades. ‘You know she’s not going to take it lying down if you blame her for things that aren’t her fault.’

‘Will you take it lying down?’

Copyright © Zara Stoneley 

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Stable Mates by Zara Stoneley   

Secrets and scandals, love and lust 
when the ‘Cheshire Set’ are up against 
the ‘Footballer’s Wives’ 
the only common ground is carnal…


Flirting and fun seem the perfect antidote for Lottie's battered heart, and where better to find them than back in tranquil Tippermere, home of sexy eventer Rory Steel, the smiling Irish eyes of hunky farrier Mick O'Neal, and mysterious newcomer, model Tom Strachan?


But when landowner Marcus James drops dead unexpectedly, and the threat of his waggish wife Amanda selling the heart of the village out from under them looms large, things look like they're about to heat up in and out of the saddle.

With tensions running high, and the champagne flowing as freely as the adrenalin, is it any wonder that love catches more than one of them unawares?


Stable Mates 
is available on 
Amazon ~ iTunes ~ Kobo ~ Sainsbury's ~ Nook ~ Foyles 
 Waterstones ~ Google Play ~ Blackwells


Other titles by Zara include:


Summer of Surrender


Love is a Four Letter Word


Want to know more about Zara?
Check out her Fire Writer Friday interview.


About Zara: 

Bestselling author Zara Stoneley lives in deepest Cheshire surrounded by horses, dogs, cats and amazing countryside. When she’s not visiting wine bars, artisan markets or admiring the scenery in her sexy high heels or green wellies, she can be found in flip flops on the beach in Barcelona, or more likely sampling the tapas!

Zara writes hot romance and bonkbusters. Her latest novel, ‘Stable Mates’, is a fun romp through the Cheshire countryside and combines some of her greatest loves – horses, dogs, hot men and strong women (and not forgetting champagne and fast cars)!

She writes for Harper Collins and Accent Press.




Follow Zara Stoneley online



Thanks for sharing Zara!

Friday, September 12, 2014

First Fight Friday: Summer at Castle Stone by Lynn Marie Hulsman


Goats solve their differences head-on. They don’t give the silent treatment or yell, they butt heads, and then it’s over.

Cowboy Marvin has learned humans resolve issues differently especially those romantically involved. His curiosity sparked, he has invited authors to stop by on Fridays and share the first fight out of their latest book.



A fellow Harper Impulse author and a 
Fire Writer for Written Fireside
Lynn Marie Hulsman 

        
           is here for ...




First Fight Friday 

with a scene from 


Summer at Castle Stone
*Shortlisted Best E-Book - Festival of Romantic Fiction

Shayla Sheridan decides to take on a tricky assignment across the pond - ghost-writing a book of recipes by the notoriously reclusive and attractive head chef of Castle Stone, 
Tom O’Grady.

The only problem? 


He has no idea that she’s writing it.


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“Can I have a word, Mary?” I heard a firm rich voice behind me say. Infused with authority, the question was more of a statement. I knew without looking it was Tom O’Grady. My breathing sped up.

“Of course, Chef,” she said, rising from her chair.

“No, keep your seat. I just wanted to let you know Callum won’t be continuing in the kitchen. I’ll send him in shortly so you can let him go.” I resisted the urge to crane my neck around to get a look at Tom O’Grady.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll take care of it. Chef, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to meet Sheila Doyle.” I swallowed hard, preparing myself to tell him the truth about who I was, and make one last-ditch effort to convince him to let me write his book. If only I had a pitch; I needed some hook to convince him why. I stood up, turned around and extended my hand.

“Oh,” I breathed. I’m pretty tall, for a woman, but Tom O’Grady is easily a head taller. He sported a blinding white chef’s coat that buttoned diagonally up the shoulder, accentuating the broadness of his chest. Instead of the traditional tall, white chef’s hat, his unruly dirty-blonde curls were tied back in a black bandana-style head wrap. ‘Ninja angel,’ I thought. ‘Karate pirate.’ These phrases sat on my tongue, and I didn’t dare speak, lest they pop out. He grasped my hand firmly, and shook it.

Before I could explain who I was, Mary stepped in with, “This is Sheila Doyle, she’s training on kitchen duty.”

“How soon can I have you?” he asked. I examined his strong jaw. His hair was dirty blonde, but the beginnings of his beard were red-gold.

“What?”

“Mary!” A young boy with a skinny neck protruding from his work polo, and an unfortunately pimply complexion poked his head around the office door. “The Qatari Princess and her ladies just arrived, and The Earl’s sitting in the lounge in his dressing gown watching videos! I haven’t read the protocol sheet but I’m fairly certain that won’t do.”

“If you’ll excuse me for just a quick second,” Mary said, rushing out the door.

“I asked how soon I can have you.” I searched his face. As I waited for him to elaborate, my heart flopped around my ribcage. “It’s only that I just let go of that useless what’s-his-name, and I could use a body. Have you experience?” he wiped his hands on the kitchen towel he carried.

“Not…uh, some.” I didn’t know how to answer. My breathing had grown shallower. I couldn’t get enough air through my nose. My lips parted involuntarily, and I was embarrassed to hear myself panting. “I wish I had more.”

He narrowed his sleepy eyes, and his full mouth pulled up at the corner. Little crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. Still, he seemed irritated. “You’re from America, I take it.” 

He looked past my face, and deep into my eyes. My leg was going numb from being wedged against my chair in the tight space. I could smell him from where I was standing, a combination of heady musk and sharp, tart apple. If I took a step forward, I’d be chest-to-chest with him.

“Yes.” I sensed I shouldn’t elaborate.

“You’re not going to tell me you’re from New York City?”

“I’m not.” He stood still, waiting. I’m not going to tell you, anyway. Might as well add this to the growing list of lies. “I’m from Rhinebeck, New York State. Way upstate. Nowhere near the city. The city!” I shuddered. “No. Not this girl.”

“More the country type, then.” He draped his kitchen towel over his shoulder, and crossed his arms. He stood there like he had all the time in the world.

“You could say that.” 

I wouldn’t, of course, I shifted uncomfortably. My leg was now fully numb. I tried to shuffle sideways from between the desk and chair, dragging it along with me like it was made of wood. Putting weight on it was a mistake. I pitched forward. With lighting reflexes, he caught me by the wrists.

“Easy,” he commanded. 

That voice. It was deep and smooth enough to lull me, but even with that one word, I caught a whiff of condescension that brought me to my senses. Sorry, farmer-man. You’re not better than I am. Let’s see who can write a book, and who goes to bed at night smelling of bacon fat. I could feel the Manhattan sass in me rising up. New Yorkers didn’t have a reputation as aggressive for no reason. I inhaled slowly. Baring my teeth wouldn’t get me what I needed.

“Don’t you have to get back to the restaurant?” I pushed myself back as far against the desk as I could, trying to leave an inch of daylight between us.

He stayed exactly where he was. “I don’t have to do a thing that I don’t want to do.” I could tell by the way he said it that it was true and it flattened me. He didn’t want to do this book, and he especially didn’t want to do it with me. “A few years back, I learned that the key to happiness is pleasing myself.”

“Well, that’s just unrealistic for most of us,” I huffed. Smug, selfish bastard. “Some people have to pay their dues, and suffer, and work really hard.” I thought back to my awful assistant job at HPC.

“I never claimed not to work hard.”

I felt pinned to the wall. “Well, not everyone just gets to do exactly what they want when they want.” My skin was hot and prickly. No one handed me a book deal. Manna wasn’t dropping out of heaven and into my lap. “Sometimes you have to toe the line.”

“Mark my words, Sheila. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. I learned that the hard way.”

He stared at me, and I stared right back.

“Apologies, all. Just had to suggest to The Earl that he might be more comfortable up in his rooms until he was ready to dress for dinner.” Mary let out a heavy sigh, and plopped down into her chair.

“Mary, you never said new girl was American.”

“That she is, Chef,” Mary enthused. “But never mind! She’s excellent references and she’ll fit right in. If it’s all the same to you, she’ll start in the morning. She’s only just stepped in the door, and we’ve paperwork to sort. Could I possibly pull one of the bar staff to help you in the kitchen, just for today?”

“Fair enough,” he said to Mary, still looking at me. “You didn’t say, have you been in Ireland before?”

“Never.”

“London?” He didn’t look away from my face.

“For a week, a long time ago.”

“I had a restaurant there,” he said, searching. “Maybe that’s it.”

“Maybe that’s what?”

He crossed his arms. “People here call me Chef, you know. And what I was saying was, I can’t shake the feeling I know you.”

“Well, you don’t.”

His face darkened.

I knew I sounded rude, but the stakes had been raised. He couldn’t find out who I was. In the last two minutes, getting this book done had become the most important thing in the world, and I could tell from the way he was acting that he would never cooperate.

“Thank you for stopping in, Chef,” Mary cut in quickly, rising from her chair and literally pushing Tom O’Grady to the office door. “We’ll see to Sheila, teach her the rules, make sure she’s sorted.”

“As long as I can have her for breakfast,” he said, walking out.

Once his footsteps faded, Mary turned to me and said, “He must like you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The last girl who talked to him like that was made redundant before she unpacked her bag.”

Copyright © Lynn Marie Hulsman

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Summer at Castle Stone by Lynn Marie Hulsman 

Lose your heart in Ireland…

Shayla Sheridan’s a New York native born into big city luxury, but she’s never really fitted in with the “it” crowd. Desperate to make it as a writer and to finally step out from her famous father’s shadow, Shayla decides to take on a tricky assignment across the pond…

Swapping skyscrapers and heels for wellies and the heart of the Irish countryside, Shayla must go about ghost-writing a book of recipes by the notoriously reclusive and attractive head chef of Castle Stone, Tom O’Grady.

The only problem? He has no idea that she’s writing it.

REVIEWS

“Witty, funny, thought-provoking & utterly addictive!” – Irish bestselling novelist and author of BEYOND GRACE'S RAINBOW - Carmel Harrington 

Summer at Castle Stone is a romantic comedy that is impossible not to like. The concept seems a bit far fetched but the story and characters, along with the lovingly described location, makes this a great read. Not just for summer, in fact, I would suggest reading while wrapped up in a nice warm throw, fire lit and a great big mug of tea near by. Oh, and maybe a slice of home-made apple tart might help!" - Blogger Margaret Bonass Madden, writing.ie/BleachHouse Library


" Plenty therefore to keep the reader turning the pages and wondering what will happen next. Lynn Marie Hulsman, on the other hand, demonstrates that assumptions about the country are not necessarily well-founded (go Grainne!) and, while she does use ‘Irishisms’ in her dialogue, she is also aware of the word order of Irish English so she doesn’t have to over-use particular words to differentiate between her Irish and American characters." - Leah, GirlsLoveToRead


Summer at Castle Stone 

is available on 
Amazon ~ iTunes Kobo Sainsbury's Nook

And

Her debut novel 

Thornton Hall




is available on Amazon

Want to know more about Lynn Marie?
Check out her Fire Writer Friday and 
Fire Writer Friday Follow Up interviews.


About Lynn Marie: 

Lynn Marie Hulsman believes that the best things in life are food, comedy, and romance. Lynn Marie's most recent novel, Summer at Castle Stone, has been shortlisted for "Best E-Book" from The Festival of Romantic Fiction in England. Her debut novel, Christmas at Thornton Hall is acclaimed by critics and audiences alike. Last summer, she was invited to sit on a panel on global publishing at The Romance Writers of America festival in San Antonio, Texas. She is also the co-writer of the cookbooks Make Your Own Soda, published by Clarkson-Potter and The Irish Pantry, published by Running Press. She is the sole author of The Bourbon Dessert Cookbook, which has enjoyed excellent reviews in Garden & Gun Magazine and The Wall Street Journal. As a comic, she has performed at Austin’s Big Stinkin’ Comedy Festival and appeared at New York City’s Caroline’s Comedy Club, Stand-Up New York, and Don't Tell Mama. She co-owns and is the artistic director of the improv group ComedySportz New York. Her very favorite thing to do on the planet is to read books, with writing them coming in at a close second. Her mission is to bring back Chick Lit. She lives with her family in New York City, where she writes for a living. 



Lynn Marie is represented by Stephany Evans of FinePrint Literary.


Follow Lynn Marie Hulsman online


Thanks for sharing Lynn Marie!

Friday, September 5, 2014

First Fight Friday: High Heels & Bicycle Wheels by Jane Linfoot


Goats solve their differences head-on. They don’t give the silent treatment or yell, they butt heads, and then it’s over.

Cowboy Marvin has learned humans resolve issues differently especially those romantically involved. His curiosity sparked, he has invited authors to stop by on Fridays and share the first fight out of their latest book.



Fellow Harper Impulse 
author and a Fire Writer for the
Written Fireside story Of The Storm 


Jane Linfoot 
    
        
        
           is here for ...




First Fight Friday 

with a scene from 


High Heels & Bicycle Wheels 

Meet Bryony: She's a fun-loving, very single TV production assistant whose idea of sport is the Jimmy Choo sales scrum


Meet Jackson: Cycling's bad boy superstar. Injured and out of racing this summer, without his training he's looking for another distraction.


Jackson and Bryony are having lunch

two hours into the first day of their trip together

A trip that neither of them wants to be on and 

their power struggles have already begun.

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‘You almost sound like you have every detail of the trip worked out already?’ Jackson raised one eyebrow in query. That would be with no consultation with him at all. Regardless of the wow factor, he couldn’t let this pass without comment. ‘Slightly ridiculous seeing I’m the one calling the shots here.’

Bryony put down the linen napkin she was shaking out and eyeballed him.

‘Er excuse me?’ For a split second her mouth fell open, and he basked in the luxury of shocked silence. Then she kicked into overdrive. ‘As production manager here, any shots to be called are technically mine.’

‘Hang on.’ He wasn’t letting her get away with that. ‘I thought you were a mere production assistant?’

‘Which translates to manager in the absence of a superior team member.’ Her elbows arrived on the table now, her chin resting on neatly woven fingers. ‘Whereas you’re simply a featured celebrity, which may count for gazillions in terms of fans, but when it comes to organisational decisions out in TV production land, it counts for zilch.’

One uninterrupted view of those perfect teeth of hers as she posted him another inscrutable beam, putting him instantly in mind of how easily his tongue slipped past those teeth back in Scarborough, dammit. He wasn’t fighting with his usual unerring full-strength concentration here. His mind was on the job, just the wrong job, and if he didn’t watch out it was going to cost him dearly. Still she could be bullshitting here, and two could play at that game.

‘Featured celebrity with a possible executive producer’s interest.’ He watched through narrowed eyes as her expression slid.

‘You’re coming in as a backer?’ Her mouth and eyes popped to perfect O’s.

Result. She’d swallowed it.

‘Possibly.’ Backtracking now on every front except the power one and not exactly lying either. Financial involvement had been mentioned, in passing. ‘But I already have the final say on input and content, so I’m guessing those shots are mine to call after all.’

Race won. Mentally he let go of the handlebars, punched the air with a fist, and he was whooshing across the finish line ahead of her when he noticed she was still smiling. Benignly.

‘That’s what the backers always like to think.’ Was that the tiniest hint of a mocking wink she was sending him? A full-blown satisfied gloat more likely. ‘In practice everyone knows it’s all in the hands of the production assistants. Has to be. We’re the ones who do all the work. Talking of which, I’d better go and shake up that waiter and his menus.’


Copyright © Jane Linfoot

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High Heels & Bicycle Wheels by Jane Linfoot  

Meet Bryony: She's a fun-loving, very single TV production assistant whose idea of sport is the Jimmy Choo sales scrum

Meet Jackson: Cycling's bad boy superstar. Injured and out of racing this summer, without his training he's looking for another distraction.

Bryony's facing a triple whammy – her last single friend just named the day, her mother's offering to have her eggs frozen, and the guy she's loved from afar, forever, just got hitched. So she's more than happy to accept the offer of a totally out of character but seriously steamy one night of no-strings fun. Especially when the guy in question is so attractive he even looks good in Lycra!

Jackson's on the look out for a new career but if the opportunity to work on TV means a fortnight with the most uptight woman in the world, he'd rather not bother. He never goes in for seconds – and who in their right mind would head off in a camper van with a woman who irons her knickers?

Add in a tandem (yes, a tandem) and fast forward to double trouble for a summer neither of them will ever forget!



High Heels & Bicycle Wheels 
is available on Amazon ~ Amazon UK Harper Impulse
POD paperback available September 27th

Like Jane's style?
Check out
First Fight Friday: The Right Side of Mr. Wrong



About Jane: 

I write fun, flirty fiction, with feisty heroines and a bit of an edge.

I live in a mountain kingdom in Derbyshire, England, where my family and pets are kind enough to ignore the domestic chaos – happily, we’re in walking distance of a supermarket. For me, writing romance is cool because I get to wear pretty shoes instead of wellies. I love hearts, flowers, happy endings, all things vintage, most things french. 

When I’m not on facebook, and can’t find an excuse for shopping, I’ll be walking, or gardening. On days when I want to be really scared, I ride a tandem.



Follow Jane Linfoot online


Thanks for sharing Jane!

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