For everyone who takes the risk of falling in love.

The Corruption of Mila 

J.F. Jenkins

Mila takes a hands off approach to dating. She's independent and picky and thinks she knows it all. When her best friend decides to set her up on a blind date with a guy who answers to the name of Jax, Mila decides to take a leap of faith. After all, with a name like Jax, how can he not be a dream boat? 

Like most blind dates, however, Jax doesn't meet the expectations that Mila created in her imagination. With how badly she's struck out in her past relationships, is that really such a bad thing?


Available on Amazon



Read the first Chapter...

RELEASE DAY: Kathy Bosman "His Halloween Kisses"

Blurb:

Ali’s never been so scared. She’s housesitting for a colleague on Halloween night, but the lights have gone out, and terrible noises and crashes send her imagination into overdrive. When her brother’s friend comes to her rescue, he kisses her in the dark three times. Once back in the light, Ali is embarrassed at allowing him to kiss her. Byron tries to ignore his strong attraction for Ali, especially seeing he’s not ready for a relationship. When Ali finds out why, she runs away, but life has other plans. What can bring them together? Fate, faith, or the memory of his Halloween kisses?

 

Author:

Kathy loves reading and writing even more. She homeschools her three kids, so in between unsuccessfully explaining the difference between subject and predicate or how to divide fractions, she enters an imaginary world of troubled and passionate characters whose stories take over the page. Kathy lives in Kwazulu Natal, South Africa, where the summers are hot, the winters cool, and bugs thrive. Her first published novel, Wedding Gown Girl, came out in 2012 with Astraea Press. She belongs to the Romance Writers of South Africa Group (ROSA) which has been her greatest support and inspiration the last few years.

 

 

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Excerpt:

Chapter One

Ali Micklejohn heaved a large two-seater couch in front of the door and sat down on the expansive three-seater to watch TV. Tonight was going to be a long night.

The wind blew in eerie echoes through the house she stayed in, knocking the loose window clasps like horror music with its squeaks, creaks, and sighs. The elements weren’t worth being scared of though. They were just sounds. No, this was South Africa, and even though she stayed in a fairly safe area, couldn’t someone be lurking in the shadows? Especially since she couldn’t lock the door. That was reason to be scared, she told herself, not all the strange creaking noises and “haunted” thoughts. The lock on the front door had given out on her this evening when she came home after struggling to turn the key for about an hour. The couch across the door provided her only way to feel a measure of safety.

Whines seared through the room; long, sad sounds that pierced into her gut. She shivered slightly and pulled her thin jacket closer to her chest.

Tonight was the 31st October. Halloween. And really, so what?

She’d never believed in Halloween, never celebrated it. Growing up in South Africa, Halloween had only taken off the last few years. Most of the older generation didn’t celebrate it at all. Some kids dressed up in outfits and went to parties. It hadn’t spread to the more serious generation yet.

Trick or treating wasn’t safe in a country where kids dare not walk the streets at night and knock on strangers’ doors. But decorations were all over the shops and even graced the school where Ali worked as a secretary. Spiders, witches’ hats, orange pumpkins, and zombie masks. Dark, sombre colours, which she actually liked in a perverse way. So, to a degree, she’d been immersed in the feeling of scariness, a feeling she normally found funny and wacky.

Not tonight for some reason.

She wasn’t the fearful type, never had been. Having survived being hijacked outside her parents’ gate, she’d learnt to appreciate every day, every moment, and she felt like a survivor. She was one.

The wooden front door creaked and groaned with the vicious spring winds. Why did spring always have to be so windy in Newcastle? She turned the TV up to drown out the sounds. She switched the channel to a comedy show and settled down with her large slab of hazelnut chocolate and a packet of crisps. Oh, the joys of living on her own for a change—she could have the whole bag to herself.

That’s why she’d decided to house-sit a few nights for a teacher at the school where she worked. And to get some time to think.

Besides, all her roommates were going out to a party with their boyfriends. Definitely not fun for the only single one left of the tight-knit group.

The TV made a fizz, and the light from its screen compressed into a small dot. All the lights in the house went out.

A power failure.

She sat frozen for a moment, unsure what to do next. This wasn’t her own home. Where did they keep candles and torches? At her place, she stored them in the kitchen drawer, and so did her parents in her childhood house. Wouldn’t that be the logical place? Blinking furiously, she hoped to find a light somewhere to guide her to the kitchen without bumping into something. Nothing. She couldn’t see a single thing. There was no moon tonight. Probably as overcast as it had been the whole miserable, rainy, windy afternoon. She spread out her hands in front of her and walked slowly, one awkward, terrifying step at a time.

In the darkness, the sounds were magnified. Wind whined like a strangled prisoner through every window, door crack, and ceiling board. Something tapped at one of the windows from the dining room. Tap…tap…tap. Probably just a branch from a nearby bush. It couldn’t be a ghost or a zombie, could it? Her quickened pulse didn’t believe any logical arguments tonight.

RELEASE DAY: Christina Lorenzen "A Husband for Danna"

 

Blurb:

Off and running! In her frenzied quest to escape from a groom her father has chosen for her, Danna Rashba ‘borrows’ a limousine parked on Main Street. The last thing on her mind is finding a groom from another wedding in the backseat. What are the chances that the bride and groom from two different weddings running from the altar on the same day? The last thing Danna wants is a hostage as she tries to escape from her nuptials.

The last thing Eric Harmon wants is to be saddled with yet another spoiled, needy woman. He’s furious about this wrench in his plans, he accuses Danna of stealing. He wants to send her home in a cab as soon as they get to the nearest town, but Danna refuses. Much to Eric’s frustration, one thing after another seems to keep them tied together.

Soon the generosity of a local shopkeeper and several people in town have them mistaken for newlyweds. Danna and Eric find themselves stepping into the role as husband and wife leading them to realize they just may be each other’s ‘match’. But will Danna be able to stand up to her rigid, old fashioned father and choose her own husband?

 

 

Author:

Christina Lorenzen started writing as a young teen, jotting stories in wire ring composition notebooks. Her first typewriter made it faster to get all those stories out of her head and down on paper. Her love of writing has sustained her through a myriad of jobs that included hairdresser, legal secretary, waitress and door to door saleswoman. Luckily for her, writing proved to be successful and a lot less walking than going door to door. A Husband for Danna is Christina’s first novel. She is busy working on her next. When she isn’t writing or reading, she can be found walking her dog, talking to her herd of cats and spending time with her family.

 

 

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Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

Panting from the short dash from the church to the curb, Danna looked around wild-eyed, spotting a limo at the curb. The fact that it wasn't her bridal party's limousine didn't matter. She ran around to the driver's side and flung open the door.

The sound of her wedding gown tearing broke the silence in the big empty car. Frustrated, she shoved away the seat belt and fumbled with the ignition key. Fighting the ostentatious bulk of her gown, she wiggled her bottom into the seat. She looked up to see a whirling funnel of pink rushing toward the limousine. In the eye of the storm, a snow-white gown accentuated one very red-faced bride.

A buzzing sound filled her ears. She looked down and saw a small black box, which she recognized as an intercom, between the seats. "Step on it!" a deep male voice boomed from the back seat.

With no time to berate herself for picking an occupied getaway car, she stepped on the gas and sped away from the curb, barely glancing at the side mirror. Drive now, think later. Slapping back the ringlets threatening to spill over her eyes, she checked her mirrors. She was fast approaching the only traffic light in Shady Bridge.

She tried to push the mess she had made from her mind. Goose bumps covered her bare arms despite the unusual October heat. Seeing the light turn yellow, she stepped down hard on the gas pedal and flew through the intersection, her head jerking back and forth. She felt like a balloon as the air sailed from her lips. Apparently her momentarily crazy driving had no effect on her male passenger.

The handful of stores were behind her now, their faded old brick fronts growing smaller in her rearview mirror. Now out of the heart of town, her shoulders began to relax. She took a deep breath as she had seen her mother do countless times during her morning meditation. Even as she relaxed her tense body, she couldn't help but think about what she had done. It was as if she had been someone else — not Danna Rashba, the sensible, practical daughter.

The mix of farmhouses and Victorian homes on the outskirts of town were fading now too. Chewing her lip, she veered onto the ramp that led to Highway Three. Her mind racing, she tried to calculate how many hours she would have to drive to get far enough away from Shady Bridge. Or at least far away enough from Nagpal Singh, her husband-to-be who by now would have found out his bride had run away.

Wriggling in her seat, fighting to flatten the outrageous bustle her sister had talked her into, she cursed herself in silence. Why hadn't she grabbed her t-shirt and jeans? Sighing, she shook her head. What was done was done. At least she had thought to grab the beaded satin clutch she had picked out for the "big day." The petite bag was about the only thing she had picked out on her own. All of the other details of her wedding had been planned for her, including her husband.

Danna kept an even weight on the accelerator as she tried to decide where to go. Of course she would have been able to focus better if not for the images of her very displeased father that flashed in her mind.

Boom! Boom! She had completely forgotten about the body attached to the male voice that had spoken earlier. A low whirring noise filled the quiet car as the privacy screen opened, disrupting her plotting and planning.

A large, tanned hand tapped the driver's seat as he cleared his throat. "I think I've escaped from that mess. Take me home to pick up my vehicle. I'll settle up with you then."

Danna watched him in the rearview mirror, his eyes never looked up from the gadget in his hand. Wriggling to the right, hoping to see the face that went with the gravelly voice, she took in a dark, handsome man pounding buttons on a cell phone.

"It's dead! I don't even have the charger." He seemed oblivious to her as he tossed the phone to the floor. Obviously he had no idea who was driving him.

 

RELEASE DAY: J.J. Nite "Beginnings of the Heart"

 

Blurb:

When sixteen year-old Morgan finds herself unexpectedly pregnant, she’s not sure what her life will be like. With her boyfriend Cole, they try to navigate this new road that fate has set them on. Neither knows what to expect or how life will change.

Their family’s reactions to the news of their pregnancy are polar opposites. Cole’s parents are supportive while Morgan’s are much less making an already difficult situation even more so.

When tragedy strikes this new, small family, can everyone pull together or will it forever drive a wedge between them all?

 

 

Author:

J. J. Nite lives in North Alabama with her husband, 3 kids, a dog, turtle, and 5 goldfish.  She writes young adult sweet romance for Astraea Press and loves reading as much as possible. J.J.'s also found that if she doesn't write something everyday, her mood is that of a bear waking from hibernation. Don't worry though, the children have learned to let Mommy write a little before ap-proaching.

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

I grew up in what could possibly be the smallest town on earth. As with most small towns, people always knew what everyone else was doing. This never really bothered me much because I never did anything to hold the gossips’ interest for longer than one minute.

Cole and I had been dating for almost a year, but until the summer when he got his license, we rarely saw each other outside of school. I lived in town, and he lived about ten miles outside of town. Not really a distance anyone wants to walk and neither of us could get a ride very often. So when he was finally able to drive, we had our first real date. My parents, especially my mom, were not overly enthused about it. They were civil to him, but they weren’t sure about me dating quite yet.

“No teenage daughter of mine is going to get into a car with a sixteen- year-old boy. All he’s going to do is want to show off for you, and I’d like you to get back home in one piece.” Mom said.

Fortunately for me, my father came up with a compromise. We would be allowed to go out, but we had to be back before dark. And if anyone saw him drive recklessly, then I wouldn’t be allowed to go again. My dad was more willing than my mom to give a little trust. I’m also fairly certain he wanted to see how much he could give us before we really got into trouble.

Cole and I weren’t thrilled with the arrangement, but we were still excited to get out just the two of us. No one walking through the room every ten minutes to check on us or sitting out on the porch eavesdropping. It would be nice to just talk without someone listening in.

We decided to go to Riverside, which was about fifteen miles away. It was the only town near us with a movie theater and Cole was going to take me out to lunch and a movie.

Cole came to get me around eleven o’clock. He pulled up in front of the house in the black pickup truck his dad gave him when he got a new one. I couldn’t tell, but I think he had washed it for our date. This made the smile I already had on my face even bigger.

He took my breath away when he got out of the truck. No matter how many times I saw him, the air flew from my lungs and my stomach contracted in nervousness. He had on a blue T-shirt, making his eyes stand out even more than usual, blue jeans that hugged his legs, and tennis shoes. This was his standard way of dressing, but today for some reason I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

It didn’t matter I had taken at least an hour to get dressed so I would look just right. I had finally decided on a blue jean mini-skirt and a yellow T-shirt with flip flops. My sister said the color made me look like I had more of a tan, as I was perpetually pale.

I started off of the porch to meet him halfway down the walk, my eyes never leaving his face, when I heard the screen door groan open behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw my mother standing there.

“Remember what we said, home before dark.” She was staring at Cole with a disapproving look in her eyes.

I nodded my head with my bottom lip clenched between my teeth, trying very hard not to say anything.

“We’ll be home on time, Mrs. Taylor. I’ll take good care of her.” Cole said.

I heard my mom mumble something under her breath. Neither Cole nor I understood her though. We weren’t listening.

As he took my hand and we turned toward the truck, I saw my sister in the window and I waved at her. I think her smile was as big as mine.

The drive to Riverside was more than pleasant. We talked about everything and nothing of consequence all at the same time.

 

RELEASE DAY: "Heart on a String" by Susan Soares

  

Blurb:
Marissa tells lies.
To herself, about the fact that her brother abandoned her.
To her grandmother, when she says “everything’s fine.”
To the world when she pretends her mother is at home or working late. When she doesn’t tell them her mother is dead.

She doesn’t even question the wisdom of living in a world built on lies anymore—until she meets Brandon. Unlike Marissa, Brandon faces his grief head-on. As their relationship sweetens, Marissa realizes the value of letting someone in and not letting her grief destroy her. But when her past filled with denial catches up with her, Marissa is forced to tell Brandon her darkest secrets, or risk losing him.

The only thing harder than lying about her life? Facing it.

 

About the Author:

Susan Soares lives in a small town in Massachusetts where she balances writing fiction with raising her three daughters. When she’s not writing she can be found reading, experimenting with photography and planning her next Disney World trip.

Susan recently received her master’s degree in Creative Writing and English from Southern New Hampshire University, and will be pursuing teaching soon. You can follow her on twitter: @susansoares1 and on YouTube: shewritesbooks, and on Facebook: Author Susan Soares.

 

 

Now available on

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Excerpt:

Chapter One

 

I held my breath as I ran past the cemetery. Stupid, I know. Regardless, it’s one of those idiotic things that stick with you from your childhood. Like fragments of your being that imprint themselves on your chemical makeup. It was my older brother, Marc, who had told me that once when we were in the backseat of Mom’s old hatchback and were driving past the Sacred Path Cemetery.

Marc poked me in my side. “Quick, hold your breath,” he said before taking in a puff of air and holding it in.

“What? Why?” I looked around from side to side.

He didn’t answer me. Instead he just kept motioning with his hands, pointing out the window, putting his hands around his neck like he was choking or something. Finally, when we turned left onto Harper Street he let out a big exhale.

“Oh man, now you’re toast.” He pointed at me and laughed. That maniacal laugh only older brothers know how to do. I was seven at the time, and Marc was ten. “You probably have a ghost inside you now.” He grinned like a devious villain.

“A ghost?” I said.

“You didn’t hold your breath while we drove past the cemetery. Again I state — you’re toast.” He began drumming on his lap with his hands.

I didn’t comprehend what he was telling me, but I knew I didn’t like it. Tears started forming in my eyes, and I knew I had to rely on my failsafe. “Mooommm,” I cried out, and immediately I felt Marc’s sweaty hand over my mouth.

“Yes, Marissa?” Mom’s sweet voice carried from the front of the car to the backseat.

“She’s fine, Mom. I got it.” Marc’s tone was of the dutiful son. He unclamped his hand from my face. “Listen,” he began, talking kind of slow. “You’ve got to remember this. I’m going to give you a life lesson here. Are you ready?”

His green eyes were sparkling, and I nodded my head in agreement.

“Okay.” He crouched down a bit so he was eye-level with me. “You must always, and I mean always, hold your breath when you drive past a cemetery. And if you’re walking past one, you must run — run and hold your breath until you’re clear. Otherwise, the spirits of the undead could invade your body. And you don’t want that to happen. Do you?” I almost couldn’t tell if the last part was a question or a statement.

“But I didn’t hold my breath back there, and all the times before. What if one’s in me right now?” I began pawing at my body.

Marc threw his head back and laughed. “Nah, you’re fine. Just be careful. Now that you know you have to do it, always do it. Understand?”

Again I shook my head. Marc gave me a thumbs-up, and I begged Mom to take Chester Street instead of Maple because I knew there was a big cemetery on Maple. Luckily she agreed.

So now, here I was ten years later, holding my breath as I ran past Sacred Path Cemetery. While I ran, my new sneakers — the ones I had to work double shifts on Saturdays for three weeks to get — started rubbing the back of my left heel, and I knew I’d have a blister the size of a quarter later on. It’s hard to keep your pace when you’re holding your breath. Luckily Sacred Path Cemetery isn’t that big. Just big enough. It’s just big enough. That’s what my grandmother said anyway. I was almost halfway through when I heard the clicking of the tips of my shoelace on the ground. My thoughts concentrated on what those tip things were called, anything to get my mind off the cemetery. Aglets, I remembered! My aglets were hitting the pavement, and I knew if I didn’t stop and retie that lace, then I would land flat on my face. Grace has never been a character trait of mine. My mother, yes, but not me. Marissa No-Grace McDonald should have been my legal name. How my mother came up with Scranton for my middle name I’ll never know.

The last thing I wanted to happen was to fall face first in front of the cemetery. Complete body invasion for sure then. I couldn’t hold my breath that long. So I did what I had to do. I stopped, turned my face the opposite direction of the cemetery, and took one big breath in and held it. Next, I bent down and furiously retied that lace. Why is it that whenever you try doing something in a rush it never comes out right? Somehow I tied my finger into the knot. Then, I couldn’t get the loops to line up right. Just as I was finally conquering the over-under shoelace tying technique that Marc had taught me when I was five, I heard muffled sounds coming from inside the cemetery. I searched for the source of the sounds. As I looked near the line of big oak trees that lined the right-hand side of the cemetery, I saw the profiles of a family. What I assumed was a family, anyway. There was a woman, about my mom’s age, a guy about my age, and a younger boy, maybe six or seven. The little boy was holding a metallic balloon, which was red and in the shape of a heart. Bright sun caught the corner of it, creating a glare that momentarily impaired my vision. When my eyes refocused, I was suddenly aware of my body and extremely aware of the fact that I was watching this family’s private moment, in the cemetery, in this cemetery. My heart beat frantically, and I became aware that my forehead was covered in perspiration. I stood up, held my breath again, and ran the next half a block without stopping, my aglets clicking against the pavement all the way.