Shadows of Damascus by Lilas Taha - Blog Tour

Today, please help me welcome author Lilas Taha with her contemporary novel, Shadows of Damascus, on her Name before the Masses tour through Goddessfish Productions! 


BLURB:

Bullet wounds, torture and oppression aren’t the only things that keep a man—or a woman—from being whole.

Debt. Honor. Pain. Solitude. These are things wounded war veteran Adam Wegener knows all about. Love—now, that he is not good at. Not when love equals a closed fist, burns, and suicide attempts. But Adam is one who keeps his word. He owes the man who saved his life in Iraq. And he doesn’t question the measure of the debt, even when it is in the form of an emotionally distant, beautiful woman.

Yasmeen agreed to become the wife of an American veteran so she could flee persecution in war-torn Syria. She counted on being in the United States for a short stay until she could return home. There was one thing she did not count on: wanting more.

Is it too late for Adam and Yasmeen?

~~~
EXCERPT:

PROLOGUE
YASMEEN

Damascus, Syria
Summer 2006

The seductive fragrance of Damascus roses drifted through the open window and flirted with fifteen-year-old Yasmeen’s olfactory senses. The potent flowers in her neighbor’s yard delivered the best awakening. She loved beginnings, especially early, mid-summer mornings like these. Stretching across the bed, her imagination raced with possibilities for the promising day.

Thursday. The day her older brother’s friends visited and stayed well into the evening. Yasmeen ticked off potential visitors in her head, dashing young university students who loved to talk politics with Fadi. Today, she would do her best to discover the name of the quietest member in the group, the thin one with round-rimmed glasses. On her nightstand, the sketch she worked on during the last visit waited for his name, and more details around the eyes.

Peeling off the covers, she tip-toed to the window. Lively noises matched her optimistic mood. Nightingales sang greetings. Clanging dishes and pots resonated from surrounding houses beyond high walls. Mothers called out for their daughters to get breakfast ready. Men’s deep voices describing fresh fruits and vegetables with tempting traditional phrases drifted above hidden alleys. One vendor claimed his cucumbers were small as baby fingers, and likened his ripe apples to a virgin bride’s cheeks. Another boasted his plum peaches shed their covers without enticement, and his shy eggplants hid well in a moonless night.

Yasmeen succumbed to the enlivening chaos spilling in from her bedroom window, her own special and personal opening to the world. Tilting her head back, she exposed her face and neck to the sun, allowing its invigorating rays to paint her cheeks.

Today, her mother told her she would be allowed to take a coffee tray into Fadi’s room once all his friends arrived. What would she wear? She should tell her best friend Zainab to stop by earlier than usual to go through her wardrobe. She could help her decide. Perhaps one of Fadi’s friends would notice her. More than one? Why not?

Draping her arms on the windowsill, she looked at the neighbor’s yard, counting the blooming roses, a ritual she performed each morning since the season started. In the north corner of the largest flowerbed, two violet buds grabbed her attention, their delicate petals about to unfold. Once they came to full bloom, their deep purple color would dominate the landscape.

A knock sounded at her door.

“I am awake.”

Her father walked in. “Good. We have work to do.” He held a hammer in one hand and a couple of boards in the other. “Move aside, Yasmeen.” He approached the window.

She stepped away and pointed at the boards. “What do you need those for?”

Her father closed the windowpanes, locked them, placed one board across the frame, and hammered it in place.

“What are you doing?”

“This window is not to be opened again, child.”

She could not believe her ears. “Why?”

“Neighbors moved out last night.” Her father nailed the second board in place. “Mukhabarat took over their house.”
~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Lilas Taha is a writer at heart, an electrical engineer by training, and an advocate for domestic abuse victims by choice. She was born in Kuwait to a Syrian mother and a Palestinian father, and immigrated to the U.S. as a result of the Gulf war in 1990. She earned a master’s degree in Human Factors Engineering from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. There, Lilas met her beloved husband and true friend, and moved with him to Sugar Land, Texas to establish a family. She is the proud mother of a daughter and a son. Instead of working in an industrial field, she applied herself to the field of social safety, working with victims of domestic violence.

Pursuing her true passion for creative writing, Lilas brings her professional interests, and her Middle Eastern background together in her debut fictional novel, Shadows of Damascus.

Twitter: Follow @LilasTaha https://twitter.com/LilasTaha
Facebook page for the book: https://www.facebook.com/Shadows.of.Damascus

BUY LINKS:

~~~

GIVEAWAY!!!

 One randomly chosen commenter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card.

Enter to win a $50 Amazon/BN Gift Card -- Rafflecopter giveaway


Why not follow the tour for more chances to win? Every Tuesday! Find dates here!



Author Jeff Gardiner introduces new novel, Igboland!

I'm delighted to welcome fellow Crooked Cat author, Jeff Gardiner, today! He is celebrating his recent release, Igboland, a tale of conflict and passion set in 1960s Nigeria.

So, be transported to another place in time, and enjoy!


Blurb:

A new life begins for her thousands of miles from home.



Lydia and Clem Davie arrive in an Igbo village in Nigeria in July 1967 just as civil war breaks out, but Lydia has trouble adjusting to life in West Africa: a place so unfamiliar and far away from everything she truly understands.

Initially, most of the locals are welcoming and friendly, until one or two begin a frightening campaign of anti-white protests.

Lydia’s life is changed irrevocably after she meets enigmatic Igbo doctor, Kwemto, and war victim, Grace. Through them Lydia learns about independence, passion and personal identity.

Conflict and romance create emotional highs and lows for Lydia, whose marriage and personal beliefs slowly begin to crumble.

Will this house in a Nigerian bush village ever seem like home?

~~~

Excerpt:

The following extract from IGBOLAND describes Lydia’s first morning in her new home in the Nigerian bush village, Ngkaluku. She’s struggling to come to terms with the very foreign environment and the culture shock, although her husband Clem is relishing his new role:



I vividly remember waking up after over ten hours of sleep, fighting my way out of the mosquito net and looking at the walls: whitewashed blocks of stone very badly plastered. The roof was merely a thin sheet of corrugated aluminium. This was our home, but I found it difficult not to be horrified as I looked around it for the first time. 
Dust thickly covered everything and in the corners lay broken chairs and torn soft furnishings. The spare bedroom ceiling had caved in, hanging down in spikes of twisted metal pointing to a puddle of rainwater pooling in the centre of a large brown-stained ring on the rough stone floor. A rusty bed leaned upright in the far corner on its end against the wall. A harsh numbness gripped my heart. 
The bathroom seemed a little better: small but containing a bath at least, and a chipped hand basin whose drainage consisted of a bicycle inner tube leading out through a hole to, presumably, a pit outside. I couldn’t see the toilet even though the pain in my bladder was becoming uncomfortable. There was no evidence of a shower or running water either. 
The next room looked like the main living room. It felt bare and hollow with its flaking plaster walls and very uneven floor with whole chunks missing which certainly needed re-cementing. The amount of dust surprised me, especially the way it piled in random clumps. However, after further inspection I saw the dust wriggle, writhing repulsively with mites, eggs, scorpions and alien crawling-things, which scuttled ghoulishly towards me. I stepped back wondering what the eggs belonged to.
‘Lizard eggs.’ 
Clem’s voice made my heart pound furiously. He took me in his arms and kissed the top of my head.
‘It took me a while to work it out. Probably geckos. Have you seen the giant millipedes? I saw one in my office - must be nearly six inches long. What a monster.’
‘Are scorpions dangerous? I think we’ve got some in there.’
‘Only if we disturb them.’
‘Well they’re disturbing me.’ I held him tighter, glad of the reassuring human and familiar contact.
‘Look we’ll start cleaning up soon.’  
I continued to hang on to Clem. 
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked softly, kissing me on the forehead.
‘Okay,’ I mumbled, finally pulling away.
‘So you’ve had a look round then.’
I could only nod, as I felt dazed.
‘Well, we wanted a challenge.’ Clem sounded annoyingly chirpy.
‘And it seems we got one.’
‘You sound disappointed, Lydia.’ Clem put a hand on my shoulder. ‘I believe this is where God wants us.’
‘But my head is full of questions,’ I replied stubbornly. ‘For example where on earth is the toilet?’
‘Ah.’ Clem’s expression changed.
Clem beckoned me outside, which should have been my first clue. I found a pair of sandals. 
‘Once my office is ready we’ll be up and running.’ Clem sounded excited again and I hoped his enthusiasm might soon prove infectious. Clem’s role was much clearer than mine. He possessed a job-description and a duty. My only purpose was to be the Missionary’s wife and I had no idea what that entailed.
Already struck by the West African heat - I felt my dress stick to my skin with the suffocating humidity. We truly were in the tropics and I wondered if my husband resented wearing his black shirt, flannels and dog collar.
‘The loo?’ I reminded him, bobbing up and down in an unnecessary mime.
‘Oh.’ He suddenly looked crest-fallen. ‘It’s a tad basic.’
I recalled some slides of horrific sewage pits we’d been shown at training college but always imagined these only existed in slums or ghettoes where charity workers fed starving, skeletal children. Surely a missionary manse would cater for the westerner? 
He gingerly took my hand and walked me round to the back of the house. About a dozen steps away stood a wooden cubicle with a corrugated metal roof. The ghastly stench struck me immediately.
‘Come and have a look,’ Clem said gently, but at first I resisted. ‘It’s all part of the West African challenge.’ 
I allowed him to guide me towards the door, which he pulled open. Overpowered by noxious fumes – both natural and chemical – my first sight was not a pleasant one. In the dingy space I could make out a mass of flies darting in various directions. The ground around the hole in the middle of the floor was thick with weeds, hacked back slightly. Clem walked in confidently and kicked away something unidentifiable, then turned to face me.
‘I’ll get some weed killer and fix up something here to hold on to for when we um ... you know.’ It became his turn to perform an unnecessary mime. I began to feel queasy, but then felt another twinge from my aching bladder. 
‘I’ll give it a go then.’
‘That’s my girl,’ Clem said happily, stepping out and holding the door open for me. 
I wasn’t happy about closing the door but realised there must be limits to ‘going native’. Inside was smelly and grubby. I couldn’t get beyond the idea that touching anything in here would only lead to a bout of fevered sickness – or worse. Looking down to see where I should place my feet I saw something scamper through the dirt.
It was no good. The flies flicked against my face and tickled all areas of my bare skin. Insects flapped or hung menacingly in the corners amidst what seemed like sheets of wispy webs. To one side I could see a mass of white wriggling things on a thin ledge - maggots or larvae of some kind.
I couldn’t do it. I just knew deep in my soul I would not be able to go toilet here. Nothing could induce me to relax my muscles. The smell, the dirt, the skittering, swinging creepy-crawlies and my lack of courage conspired against me.
Firstly I gagged. My stomach turned over but it was quite empty. Then my throat burned as acid rose upwards, forcing me to blink and swallow rapidly. The nausea turned to tears of self-pity and even though I loathed myself for being so pathetic, I unlocked the door and ran out past Clem, into the house and back into bed.

~~~

About the author:

Jeff Gardiner is author of 'IGBOLAND', a tale of passion and conflict set in Nigeria during
the 1960s Biafran War; and of 'MYOPIA', a novel about bullying and prejudice. Both are published by Crooked Cat Publishing.
Jeff is also author of 'A Glimpse of the Numinous' - a collection of short stories (horror, humour, romance and slipstream)from Eibonvale Press. One review stated: "... his stories are genuinely fascinating, weird and original."
His third novel,'TREADING ON DREAMS', a contemporary romance, will appear in March 2014 from Tirgearr Publishing.
'The Age of Chaos: the Multiverse of Michael Moorcock' is a non-fiction work presently being revised and updated; it includes a lengthy introduction by Michael Moorcock himself, plus new chapters and interviews.
Many of his stories are available in anthologies and on websites.

Irish Pride Series by Kemberlee Shortland - Cover Reveal

Today, I'm delighted to welcome back a good friend and wonderful romance author, Kemberlee Shortland

Kemberlee celebrates the cover reveal of three books in her Irish Pride series. Check them out! Because they're gorgeous...

And she gives us a teaser for each book, too! So, sit back and enjoy!

~~~~~

RHYTHM OF MY HEART
Irish Pride series, book one
Kemberlee Shortland

BLURB

Artist Representative, Eilis Kennedy, gave up a singing career so that other women could have a fair chance at having their music heard. Having suffered rejection from callous men in the industry, she thought she would get away from ‘casting couch’ mentality. But when she finds herself in the office of Fergus Manley, all bets are off. Disgusted by his continual come-ons and lewd invitations, Eilis is looking for ‘the one’ who will take her career to the next level, getting out from under Fergus’s controlling thumb.

Aspiring blues guitarist, Kieran Vaughan, is looking for his big break. But after suffering near bankruptcy at the hands of an unscrupulous business partner, Kieran is left picking up the pieces. He’s unsure if the debts will ever be paid or if he’ll ever have a chance to do something with his music. At his whit’s end, he’s about ready to throw in the towel and find a full-time job with real hours.

When Eilis discovers Kieran playing in a seedy pub in Dublin’s Northside, she knows he’s the one rare talent she’s been searching for. With her know-how and his talent, Eilis will finally get everything she’s been waiting for. Neither of them count on the powerful attraction from first meeting. Eilis is so rocked by Keiran’s forthright words that it sends her running. Kieran risks being arrested as he chases Eilis across Ireland.

Seeing what’s happening between Eilis and Kieran, anger wells inside Fergus and he steps up his pursuit of Eilis. Refusing to let Kieran get in his way, Fergus vows to add Eilis’s notch to his bedpost, whatever it takes.

Will Kieran be able to protect her?


EXTRACT

Dublin's Northside looked far different by day than it did at night. Last night’s storm had been one of the season’s worst. Huge puddles hampered traffic, and trash had collected in the corners of doorways and blocked the gutters. The lingering breeze was still crisp and signaled the imminent winter. Wisps of dark clouds streaked the pale blue sky but remained reminiscent of last night’s tempest.

As the taxi drove through Dublin’s inner city, a blur of tacky euro shops, shoddy newsagents and off-licenses, all with shop fronts that had seen better days, flashed by.

Finglas wasn’t noted as one of Dublin’s prime locations. This was a large blue collar suburb in a rapidly expanding city. Lack in a pride of ownership was evident, as residents struggled to make ends meet, which gave the area a rough underbelly. The Little Man Pub was a perfect example of both.

Eilis wrapped her arms around her middle, instinctively protective. Was this the compromise she must face to get where she wanted?

When the taxi slowed at a junction, she pressed herself back in her seat. A group of out-of-work young men sipping something from a paper bag spun their heads and looked at her.

Just this once, just this once, she chanted to herself.

Just this one trip to find Kieran Vaughan and that would be it. She’d never have to come back to this place ever again. She could stay safely tucked away in her D2 house for the rest of her days. She’d worked hard for that house. She deserved it. She deserved it all the more now by putting herself through this.

Long ago, Eilis had vowed never to set foot in the Northside again. But if it took this one last visit to get what she needed, it would be worth it.

The taxi pulled around the corner and the now familiar entrance to The Little Man Pub came into view. Nicotine-stained curtains were pulled across windows, reflecting the unkempt street. The façade’s red and black paint was weather-faded to pink and gray. The ‘M’ on the sign hung askew and swung in the breeze, and the ‘P’ was missing altogether. Had she not been here last night she would have thought the place was shut.

She pulled some money from her purse to hand to the driver. “I’ll wait fer ye, luv,” he said, waving her money away. “Taxis can be hard to come by ‘round here.”

Eilis was suitably taken aback. “Thank you. I won’t be a moment.”

She swallowed hard, got out of the taxi then entered the pub.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark room. The few men sitting around the bar turned their gazes in her direction. Understandably. A well-groomed businesswoman in the pub was surely a novelty. These men were long since retired, or long since employed. Their stubbled faces meant they hadn’t shaved in several days, or possibly weeks. The dim light hid the worst of their unkempt appearances, but nothing could disguise their unwashed clothes. A pong in the room wafted into her nostrils, causing her stomach to lurch again.

Shoulders back, she strode to the bar.

The same man from last night stood behind the counter. He was short and pudgy with missing front teeth. His disheveled appearance made him look like one of his patrons. Had he not been behind the counter she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

His striped brown and white shirt had frayed cuffs and was open to mid-chest, showing a sweat-stained t-shirt underneath. His brown trousers had seen much better days and were held together not with a button or belt, but with a bit of twine looping between his belt loops, his round belly spilling over. The only thing holding up the trousers was his equally round bum. It seemed to push the waistband up in the back as his belly pushed it down in the front. The sight would have been funny if her stomach hadn’t been flip-flopping.

Her voice cracked when she first spoke, but it picked up strength in her determination to make something of this horrid trek. “A-are you the proprietor?”

A broad gap-toothed grin creased the man’s face and, loud enough for his patrons to hear, he said, “I’ll be who ever ye want me to be, luv.”

His friends burst into laughter. Eilis felt the flush rise in her cheeks. Not because she was embarrassed, but from frustration. She just wanted to get this meeting over with and she wasn’t in the mood to spar.

She stood her ground. “I’m looking for the man who played guitar here last night. Kieran Vaughan. We have business. Will you please tell me where I can find him?” She looked the man in the eye, much as she could, considering she stood a good half-foot taller than him, even without her heels.

“No, miss, I doubt you have any business with himself. ‘Speshly a fine lass such as yerself. Now, if ye were to come home with a real man like meself, well . . .” He left the rest unsaid, the insinuation hanging in the air.

Her gaze never wavered as she stared the little man in the eye.

“Sir,” she smiled sweetly, honey dripping from her words. She leaned over the bar just enough to give him a glimpse of the swell of her breast through the opening of her blouse. “I doubt you have anything I would be interested in. Besides, you don’t really want me to find out why this place is called The Little Man, do you?”

This earned the publican long oohs and sniggers from the patrons, who were now on the edges of their seats waiting to hear the disagreeable little man's response.

Obviously taken aback by such a brazen retort, the man stood gaping and red-faced at her for a moment before he got his wits about him. He winked at the men around the bar. “Oy does like me birds feisty!” That only encouraged more laughter.

Eilis could have enjoyed the banter if only the man wasn’t so repulsive. All she wanted to do was meet Kieran Vaughan and get out of Finglas as quickly as possible.

When the laughing stopped, Eilis’s gaze never wavered as she said, “Well?”

“Well what, loov?” he asked, wiping the tears from his eyes with a dirty bar towel.

“Are you going to tell me where to find Kieran Vaughan?” He was trying her patience, but she did her best to keep the frustration out of her voice.

Then she sensed someone step up behind her and straightened instantly. Somehow she knew it was Kieran. The feral scent of him permeated her senses and quickened her pulse. Butterflies replaced the strange ache in her stomach that had been there just moments before.

She slowly turned and looked up at the most handsome man she’d ever seen in her life. She found herself instantly speechless.

She'd seen him on stage the night before and knew he was handsome. But this close up . . . Never before had she seen such blue eyes. As she gazed into them, they changed from the light steel blue to the color of storm clouds heavily ringed with gunmetal. That he had dark brows and thick lashes only made his gaze seem more intense.

“Ye’ve found him, loov,” said the little man, taunting her. “Now what are ye goin’ ta do with him?”

The hammering of her heart and the pulsing blood in her temples blocked out the noise in the room as she looked into Kieran Vaughan’s eyes. To her dismay, her knees actually quivered.

Something in the pit of her belly ached. No, something else. It was like warm melting honey running through her marrow. In that moment she longed to touch him, to brush the unruly wave of his dark hair away from his face, to feel his lips against the pads of her fingers, to . . .

When he spoke she almost didn’t hear him.

“Like the man said, now that you’ve found me, what are you going to do with me?” His eyes sparkled with unabashed mischief.

“Anything you want me to.”

~~~~~

A PIECE OF MY HEART
Irish Pride series, book two
Kemberlee Shortland
http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Shortland_Kemberlee/a-piece-of-my-heart.htm
http://www.kemberlee.com

BLURB

Mick and Kate thought they were falling in love. Kate hadn't been just the girl next door. She'd been Mick's life, and he hers. When an unforeseen force draws them apart they're left with wounds that refuse to heal. Now, ten years on, Mick's father's will should have been straightforward, except his addendum was like ice water in Mick's face.

It's essential that Mick and Kate work together to save his family's farm. Mick doesn't count on his new manager being accused of murder, and Kate doesn't expect a dangerously seductive woman from Dublin to claim Mick is the father of her child.

Kate thought she was falling in love with Mick all over again; however this newest revelation is too much for her. She is determined to finally say goodbye to her childhood sweetheart forever, but Mick has other plans for Kate's future. And none of them involve goodbye.


EXTRACT

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Mick.” She opened one eye to look at him.

He stood just inside the solicitor’s office door. He’d expected Kate at the funeral service yesterday, but he couldn’t see any reason for her to be here today.

He scowled in her direction, then strode to reception. The clerk behind the desk turned a harried glance his way, continuing to sort folders beside her computer. “Can I help you?” she asked, not bothering to stop what she was doing.

“Michael Spillane to see Tighe Lynch,” he grumbled.

Finally looking up, the clerk said, “He’s expecting you. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

As the clerk reached for the intercom, he turned back to Kate. If this hadn’t been his father’s solicitor’s office and if today hadn’t been the reading of his father’s will, he would have appreciated the sight of her in her smart dark blue suit, white blouse with the Irish lace trim, and matching blue pumps. She sat calmly, her head against the wall behind her, eyes closed. She bent her shapely legs under her and crossed them at the ankle, her hands folded in her lap.

Her emerald eyes hid beneath lids edged with thick dark lashes. He knew the exact shade of them since he’d looked into them so often in the past. They were eyes no man could forget.

Her normally unruly black hair was pulled back in a twist and away from her heart shaped face.

When they were kids he used to love it when she left her hair down. The tight curls of it bounced over her shoulders like springs when she ran. He’d seen her like that once last year when he’d been home for a couple days during Christmas.

They’d been invited to join the Conneelys, but he’d convinced his father not to go. He couldn’t bear being in the same room with her for so long, but she’d delivered food and he’d suffered anyway.

He recalled how he’d stiffened just watching her walk across the farmyard. As he did now. He mentally shook himself. This wasn’t the time or place to get an erection. The business at hand was the will and what she was doing here now. Not the fact that just looking at her could make him stiff.

Clearing his throat, he repeated, “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”

Her eyes fluttered open. The look she gave him made his heart skip a beat. His groin tightened again watching her tongue smooth its way over her lips. She had no idea just how erotic that simple act was. She was about to speak when a door opened behind him. Both of them spun to face Tighe Lynch.

“Mickleen,” Tighe exclaimed, using the common endearment and thrusting his hand into his. “Welcome home, lad. I just wish it were under different circumstances. I can’t tell you how much Donal will be missed.”

Mick could only tip his head at the man’s kindness. Words were still too hard to come by.

Tighe grasped Kate by her shoulders as she stood to greet him and kissed her on both cheeks. “Kate. Lovely as ever. Won’t you both step into my office?”

Not one to stand on ceremony, Mick strode through the door ahead of Kate and Tighe and went right into the solicitor’s office. He knew where it was. Was it really only a little more than two years ago he’d been here to discuss his mother’s will?

His scowl deepened when Kate walked through the office door ahead of Tighe. He got the perfect look at her shapely bum as she was forced to step between him and the desk to the seat beside him. He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs and pulling his coat around him to hide his erection. He kept his mind on wondering why she was at the reading of his father’s will to keep his libido under control.

Surely, she’d earned a regular wage for the time she spent cleaning his father’s house and cooking his meals. She was hired help and would have been paid accordingly. So there should be no reason why she should be here today. Unless there was something the solicitor knew and wasn’t telling them. Yet.

“I thought this was just a formality, Tighe. Why is she here?” He couldn’t even use her name. Just the feel of it in his mouth would leave him tongue-tied.

Tighe stopped him with an upheld hand. “If you’ll both bear with me, I will explain.” The solicitor turned to a folder on his desk and opened it, extracting two documents. Holding one before him, he said, “This is your father’s will, Michael. It’s all very straight forward. In it, the farm, the stock, the land—almost everything is left to you.”

“Almost?”

“We’ll get to that, lad,” Tighe said.

Tighe looked at Kate and held up the second document.

“This is the addendum to the will.”

“Addendum?” she asked.

“An addendum means that instead of making up a whole new will, Dad just changed it.” Mick, not looking at her, directed his statement to the solicitor and waited for the shoe to drop.

Leave it to his father to make this more difficult on him than it already was. Wasn’t it bad enough he couldn’t get rid of the tremendous feeling of guilt for not spending more time with him? He never wanted to believe—or admit—his father was that sick. Sure, Kate called him regularly with updates. He heard everything she’d said, but why the hell hadn’t he listened to her!

“Changed the will?” she asked. “Is that right, Mr. Lynch?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Tighe replied. “It means he added something into the original will.”

“When was this?” Mick asked.

“If you’ll allow me, I’ll read what Donal has bequeathed. If you have any questions we can go from there. Right?”

Both Mick and Kate nodded agreement. Tighe read the will as it stood and then the addendum. Mick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That bastard!” he muttered. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the wide glares both Kate and Tighe gave him at the curse.

“Mr. Lynch.” Kate’s voice came on a whisper. “What does this mean? I don’t understand it.” Her eyes were big as she clutched the arms of her chair now, knuckles as white as her face. Gone was the cool Kate he’d seen in the waiting room. In a matter of minutes she’d gone from radiant to ashen. He was sure he wasn’t looking too good right about now either.

“Yes, can you explain it in plain English?” he asked. Why do will readings always have to be so damn dramatic?

“In plain English, your father left everything to you, Michael. However, the addendum states if you try to sell the farm, I have instructions to give everything to Kate.


~~~~~

SHAPE OF MY HEART
Irish Pride series, book three
Kemberlee Shortland
http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Shortland_Kemberlee/shape-of-my-heart.htm
http://www.kemberlee.com

BLURB

Gráinne has moved back to Dublin to get her life straightened out. She dreams of college and a better life. She’s working for her brother, Kieran, in his newly reopened pub, The Blues Tavern, but the money isn’t enough to support herself and pay tuition. Moonlighting at The Klub! as an exotic dancer seems to be her answer fast money.

John ‘JD’ Desmond is a detective working undercover in the Blues Tavern. The Klub!, owned by Jimmy Malloy, is being used as a drug front, headed by the notorious Taylor Wade. JD had intended to get Gráinne to snitch for him, but when he falls in love with her, things get complicated.

When Gráinne witnesses Jimmy’s murder, she and JD are forced to go on the run until Wade can be apprehended. Wade lives up to his nickname, The Hunter, and JD and Gráinne quickly find themselves at the end of a gun and running for their lives.


EXTRACT

Over the next couple hours JD tread lightly around Gráinne and peace settled between them. He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to her again with the evening prep, but as he looked at his watch he knew her shift ended soon.

He’d tried almost every tactic he could think of to get her to reveal more about herself and he was getting anxious at her continued aloofness. He didn’t want to have to resort to seducing her. While the idea of getting her into bed was appealing, he just preferred to do it under other circumstances. He fancied her like hell, but he couldn’t let his libido get in the way of his job. She was his best hope at getting the information he desperately needed. So he’d have to resort to another tactic if he was going to get her to talk. Blackmail was one he was loath to use, but at this stage in the game, he had little choice.

There was a lull in the pub now that the afternoon crowds were gone and the evening prep had been done. If he was going to confront her, he had to do it now.

Gráinne stood at the end of the bar flipping through a magazine. The twinkling Christmas lights over the back bar shone on her dark hair. As she moved, the highlights reflected like electric current through the strands curling around her face. His heart thumped a little harder looking at her.

He reminded himself he wasn’t here to bartend. He was here to gather information. His future depended on it. He couldn’t afford another wasted day so it was now or never.

His pounding heart made it suddenly hard to breathe. He hated having to do this to her.

“Gráinne, can we talk?”

“Talk?” She put her magazine aside. “About what?”

“I think you know.” He locked gazes with her. He could tell she was nervous by the way she started fidgeting.

Then she turned away, refusing to look at him for longer than a millisecond. “My love life is none of your concern,” she told him, reminding him unnecessarily of their previous discussion.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then I don’t know what you mean.” She spun on her heel, intent on leaving the bar area.

He grasped her arm. To his surprise, she didn’t struggle. But something odd happened as he loosened his grasp. He felt something powerful pass between them. His fingers tingled as he touched her. It radiated up his arm and shot through his body.

For the second time today, he felt himself stiffen, and wished that circumstances were different, that she was naked beneath him and gazing up at him with eyes he knew would undo him.

She glanced over her shoulder, but not directly at him. “Let me go.” Her barely audible words shook him back to the moment. It wasn’t a command, but he couldn’t help noticing her words were tinged with pleading.

“Will you stay to talk with me? I think this is important.” His own voice was softer now. When she relaxed he reluctantly released his hold. She kept her gaze averted, her arms folded protectively in front of her, refusing to look at him. He knew she was waiting for something, anything, to draw her away.

Reaching under the bar, he extracted the black plastic sack he’d brought in with him today. He knew the item inside would shatter any peace he hoped to make with her.

He looked at the sack for a moment, thinking about what could never be between them. There was a job to be done and it didn’t include getting emotionally involved. He hoped the more he reminded himself of this fact he’d eventually come to believe it.

Sighing, he extracted a black velvet bra and held it up for her inspection. She only cast it a side-glance.

“I take it you know where I got this.”

“Anne Summers?”

“No.”

“Well then, I have no idea.”

He saw her swallow hard then move over to the taps to pour herself a cola. She swallowed deeply from the glass.

“I think you do. Let’s not . . . dance . . . around the subject, Gráinne. We both know where I got this, and I’d lay odds at Paddy Powers your brother doesn’t know what you’ve been up to.”

His heart ached as he forced himself to goad her.

The look she shot him would have incinerated the average man, but he wasn’t average. He was a man with a mission, and Gráinne was the only one who could help him.

“By that look, I’d say I’ve hit the nail on the head.”

“So, what of it.”


“Why haven’t you told Kieran?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

“I somehow doubt he’d understand why I’m . . . moonlighting.”

JD chuckled lightly. “Moonlighting? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Just stop. What do you want from me? Not that it’s any of your business what I do on my own time.”

“I need your help.”

A single brow arched over her eye. “With what? Wait, let me guess,” she seethed, throwing her hands on her hips. “You want a private show. Or you want me to entertain some friends. And you’re going to use this,” she fingered the bra he still held in his hand, “as a bribe to get me to do it for free.”

“Not quite. While I wouldn’t mind a private show, it’s not entertainment I’m looking for.”

“What’s this?” Kieran suddenly appeared behind the bar, startling them both. JD saw Gráinne’s face go pale, and thought she would faint then and there.

~~~~~

About the author:

Kemberlee is a native Northern Californian who was raised in a community known as Steinbeck Country, home to author John Steinbeck, as well as Jack London, Robert Louis Stevenson, and others. With so much literary influence around her, it's not hard to see why Kemberlee fell in love with the printed word.
Sarah's Secret, Kemberlee's first novel, was the result of years of short story writing. It was completed, though unpublished, in 1989, and several other novels following as she learned the craft of writing and developing her voice.
Kemberlee began her professional writing career as a reviewer in 1995, publishing reviews with Compuserve Romance Reviews then What I'm Reading. She was a co-founder and charter member of RIO (Reviewers International Organization), chaired the RIO Award of Excellence awards, headed up the RIO newsletter and served two terms as RIO President. And she's published travel articles since 1998.
It was in 1997 while employed by Clint Eastwood that Kemberlee couldn't pass up the opportunity to spend six month in Ireland. While in Ireland, she met a man who eventually became her husband. Upon permanently relocating to Ireland, Kemberlee established an Irish travel consultancy and built a reputation as one of Ireland's foremost Irish travel experts.
Living in Ireland has allowed Kemberlee to study the country's torrid past and unique culture first hand, and has even picked up a cúpla focal . . . a few Irish words.
Because of her knowledge of Ireland, Kemberlee has had the privilege of working as researcher and editor with some of the romance industry's top authors who have set their stories in Ireland.

In 2005, Kemberlee was invited to submit her short stories to Highland Press for the No Law Against Love charity anthology which was released in 2006. Those stories included Tutti-Frutti Blues (2006 RIO Award of Excellence Honorary Mention) and Dude Looks Like A Lady, both set in Kemberlee's hometown of Carmel-by-the-Sea, California.
Following on the heels of NLAL, Kemberlee's love of Ireland has inspired a number of Irish set stories, including the short stories Moondance (2006 PEARL nominee) and The Power of Love.
In 2009, Kemberlee was invited again by Highland Press to, this time to submit a novel-length book. A Piece of My Heart was published in 2010, earning her the Coffee Time Romance Award. Constant Craving is the short story sequel to A Piece of My Heart, published with Tirgearr Publishing August 2010. Both of these stories are part of the Irish Pride series, all of which are set in Ireland. Rhythm of My Heart and Shape of My Heart complete the Irish Pride series.

Kemberlee's current work in progress is The Diary.