Saturday, April 30, 2016

The Gordonston Ladies - Dog Walking Club by @DuncanWhitehead #Mystery, #ASMSG


St Patrick’s Day is fast approaching, the largest and most popular event in Savannah, but for the members of Gordonston’s dog walking club their priority is recruiting a glamorous new member and defending their beloved park from encroachers and a rival dog walking club. 

Meanwhile, a hitman is headed to town with orders to kill. But just who is his target? 

For the last time we return to Gordonston, where secrets are finally revealed, lies and untruths exposed, and once again, as the plot thickens, the residents of Gordonston find themselves entangled in a web of deeply hidden agendas, deception, and vengeance. Forget what you thought you knew....nothing was ever what it seemed. 

Filled with twists and turns, the Gordonston Trilogy, a series of revenge, retribution and dog walking, that has gripped readers worldwide comes to a fitting end. Prepare for the ultimate sucker punch ending and a conclusion so shocking and unexpected, it will leave you breathless. 




From his vantage point on the roof of the Union Bank Building, he could see the parade turning onto Bay Street. The procession, led by four officers of the Savannah Police Department motorcycle division, who sped in front of the crawling parade, lights flashing and their sirens blaring, was the signal to the excited crowd that the parade was approaching. The long stream of floats, cars, marching bands and representatives of police, firefighting departments, military units, schools and colleges; many dressed in kilts of assorted tartans, led by bagpipers and drummers, was now only minutes away. He could sense the crowd’s anticipation and excitement, and he had never seen so much green in his entire life.

Both sides of the procession route were filled with revelers; many dressed in green hats, green jackets, green t-shirts, or a combination of all three. It was as if a sea of green had flooded the city streets. Everyone, it seemed, dressed in the color associated with the Irish and Ireland. He estimated that there must be over one hundred thousand people on this part of the parade route alone, and his estimation was probably low.

He had read that Savannah’s celebration was the second largest Saint Patrick’s Day gathering in the United States, something he had found to be odd considering that the city itself had no real Irish feel about it. From what he had seen and heard so far, the event reminded of him Mardi Gras in New Orleans, an excuse for a party, and, of course, a drink and a reason to get drunk. He had also read that the festivities lasted several days, with Irish themed celebrations and events dominating the historic city for a week. The parade itself would be shown live on local television channels. Many of the visitors and parade watchers would have arrived a few days before the actual procession, drinking, partying, and enjoying life and all things Irish well into the early hours.

Reaching into his duffel bag, he retrieved a pair of binoculars. Through them, he could now clearly see the procession approaching. The open-topped car, which he could see was a Mustang, carried the mayor and his wife. It would be the third car in line that would be heading the parade. The car following the mayor’s vehicle would be that of the city’s police chief. Again, that would be an opened topped vehicle, and the car behind his would carry the previous chief of police who had retired last year.

Apart from the officers on motorcycles, who now ensured that the road ahead was clear of encroaching spectators, the parade was led by the St. Patrick’s Day Grand Marshall. He would walk the route on foot, followed closely by the preceding year’s marshal.

He had accessed the roof of the unoccupied bank building three hours previously. As he had been told it would be, the door was unlocked and the building deserted. It was the perfect position; if his only reason to be in Savannah that day were to just watch the parade, he would have had the best seat in the house. No one had seen him enter the building and he was more than confident he could not be spotted from the streets below, or from any of the other buildings that lined the route along Bay Street.

Numerous food trucks and stalls had invaded Savannah to cater to the million or so people who would witness the parade. The smell of barbecued pork, deep-fried turkey legs, and other fast food filled the air, causing a rumbling in his stomach. However, he did not allow his hunger to distract him.

After placing the binoculars on the ground, he raised his rifle to his shoulder and lay prone on the building’s roof. He adjusted the telescopic sight of his weapon and scanned the crowd; he focused his sights on an attractive girl, dressed in shorts and a tight green tee shirt and wearing a collection of green beads around her neck. She was cheering and was obviously enjoying herself. His gaze lingered on her before he shifted the weapon and set his sights on the third vehicle, which was now within shooting range of his high-powered .308 sniper rifle, fitted with an ACC sound suppressor.

He could see that his target was smiling and waving at the excited crowds that lined both sides of the sidewalk. He did not feel any sadness, remorse, or pity for his victim. It was purely business and nothing personal.

The driver of the mayor’s car, probably a local government employee or an eager volunteer, remained focused on his task, ensuring that the car did not exceed ten miles per hour. He did not appear to be distracted by the crowd, which was a good thing. The last thing he needed was the driver, once the shot had been fired, to careen into the sidewalk and innocent bystanders. He had one target only, no one else needed to die today.

The target was now in perfect range. He could press the trigger at any time, confident that the bullet would enter his victim’s forehead, resulting in immediate death. He once again shifted the weapon, this time his sights trained on the mayor’s wife. She was attractive, there was no disputing it. Stunning even, and she seemed to be reveling in the attention she was receiving. Like her husband, she was smiling and waving to the crowd, as well as dispensing green beads from a bag placed in her lap. The crowd seemed desperate to catch the cheap plastic trinkets.

He moved his weapon again, this time his sights trained on the chief of police. He looked odd in his uniform, out of place. He appeared to be uncomfortable being in the spotlight, as if the whole parade was an enormous chore for him and if he could, he would be anywhere else than sitting in front of hundreds of thousands of cheering people. It also appeared that he was preoccupied and maybe even a little nervous.

Again, shifting the weapon, he took aim at the former police chief. He was sitting alone, as was the current chief, in his open topped car. It seemed that only the mayor had the privilege of having his wife accompany him in the parade. The former chief looked far more comfortable with the proceedings than his successor. He appeared how a police chief should look--confident, authoritative, and relaxed.

He took a deep breath and retrained the telescopic sight of the rifle onto the mayor. He could now hear the music of a marching band in the distance, probably a few places behind the politician and further back in the procession. He steadied himself and exhaled.

He had planned his escape earlier. By the time anyone realized what had happened, he would be long gone. Even if the police were able to work out where the kill shot had come from, he would already be half way to Miami.

What a crowd, he thought, an amazing sight, and this was just a small part of the parade route. Visitors just for the day, both locals and tourists who just happened to have planned their vacation on Savannah’s busiest day of the year. No matter, this would be one Saint Patrick’s Day none of them would forget.

Once again, he scanned the crowd with the telescopic lens of his rifle. He paused as he spotted a couple he estimated to be in their fifties; the man was dressed in a blue business suit, not the popular green that others wore, while the woman wore a blue, flowered-patterned dress. Moving the sights once more, he rested his view on an older looking woman on the opposite side of the street. She appeared to be alone, and unlike others in the crowd, did not seem to be enjoying the parade. It seemed that she was scowling at the procession as it passed by, seething with apparent anger. He couldn’t help but notice that her anger seemed to be directed at the mayor’s vehicle.

Scanning the crowd one last time through the sights of his weapon, he spotted a middle-aged couple holding hands. Both men were laughing and dressed entirely in green, including matching green trousers. They appeared to be enjoying the parade and it looked as though they were trying to get the attention of the police chief as he drove by. The chief, however, continued to seem uncomfortable with the proceedings and the attention he was receiving.

He rubbed his right eye, adjusted his baseball cap, and tucked the butt of the rifle into his shoulder. Maybe he would grab a turkey leg before he left the city, they smelled delicious. Finding his target, he took a deep breath before he gently pressed on the trigger… and fired.

Award Winning Writer, Duncan Whitehead, was born in England and is the author of the best-selling and award-winning GORDONSTON LADIES DOG WALKING CLUB Trilogy. The series, inspired by the quirky characters and eeriness in the real life Savannah neighborhood in which he once lived is a humorous mystery, which boasts an assortment of characters and plot twists.  

He has also written over 2,000 spoof and comedy news articles, under various aliases, for a variety of websites both in the US and the UK.  

He has written further novels; a comedy set in Manhattan, THE RELUCTANT JESUS, published in April 2014 and republished in July 2015 & three short stories.

Duncan is well known for his charity work, kindness to animals, children and old people; and, of course, his short-lived bullfighting career and his hideous hunchback.

In February 2045, he invented time travel and now spends much of his time in either the future (where he has won the lottery an astonishing 117 times) and the present day.


Social Links 

Other Books -  

The Reluctant Jesus

Murder At The Fourth

The Best Man

An Actor's Life

Home For The Weekend

You Say Tomato, I Say Tomato, She Says Murder

Thanks for sharing,


Friday, April 29, 2016

The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club - Unleashed by @DuncanWhitehead #ASMSG, #Mystery


The thrilling sequel to the bestselling and award winning novel, The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club.             

Four months after the disappearance of Tom Hudd from a leafy Savannah neighborhood, the members of an afternoon cocktail and dog walking club ponder his whereabouts; despite one of them knowing his true fate. Recently elected mayor Elliot Miller has new agendas, and just where is Doug Partridge? 

An old man's death bed memories recall his ultimate revenge, while Savannah Detective Jeff Morgan has been assigned to two missing person's cases and a years old murder that he believes already solved.   Once again, though, a killer lurks and even more secrets unfold, as does an ever expanding web of deceit and lies. Who will die and who will live to see out the conclusion to a story of revenge, twists and murder? 

As before, the plot thickens, and the residents of Gordonston, all with deep hidden agendas, resume their plotting and desire for revenge and retribution; twists and turns lead the reader once again to a conclusion, and another sucker punch ending that will leave them breathless.




His body was much heavier than she had anticipated. It had taken her twenty minutes to remove the sheet-wrapped corpse from the trunk of her car and drag it from the street, through the gate that led to the rear of her house and then along the path leading to her back yard. She wiped her brow as trickles of sweat began to pour from her forehead.

She checked the time once more on her watch; it was 4 am. It appeared that no one had seen her, but she had remained vigilant, checking for the twitching of curtains, passing vehicles and any early morning dog walkers or returning late night revelers – she was satisfied that her nocturnal activities were not being watched. The last thing she needed was a curious neighbor or passerby witnessing her dragging a sheet-wrapped body from the rear of her new SUV. She paused for breath, sweat now pouring from her brow, which she again wiped away, leaving a trail of dirt across her forehead, dirt from the hole she had dug the previous evening in her back yard. A hole that had taken her hours to dig and a hole that was soon to become a grave.

It had taken her over three hours to dig the grave, again while ensuring she was not seen, and she had had to destroy many of the plants and flowers it had taken her years to grow, but it was a necessary consequence of burying a body, and there was simply nowhere else viable for such an endeavor. She sighed as she stared at the pile of disrupted flowers and plants. Her butterfly weeds and the hibiscus they’d planted when they had first moved into their home had been totally destroyed.

She smiled to herself. He had hated gardening. Detested it. She had lost count of the times they had argued and fought over her flower garden and plants. He had wanted to grow vegetables, to save money for one thing, but she saw no beauty in onions and potatoes. She had allowed him to plant a tomato bush, which remained intact and undamaged by the digging. Wherever he was, he would probably be laughing that her gardening labor of love had had to make way for a grave. Ironic, she thought, replacing the living for the dead.

Eventually, after what had seemed an eternity, she stood over the hole; it looked deep enough; four feet deep had been her aim. Though she wasn’t an expert, she estimated that her digging had been sufficient. She stood about five feet and four inches tall, so she guessed if she stood in the grave then she could estimate the depth. The last thing she needed were wild animals digging up the body; the thought of a neighborhood dog, or even cat, running around with bones in their mouths sent shivers down her spine. She jumped into the hole and her head peered over the top. Yes, she was confident it was deep enough.

The corpse, which was securely wrapped in the bed sheet, lay at her feet. For a minute she just stared at it. She had expected to feel more than she did, more grief, more sorrow, but the truth was that she felt relieved more than anything. She was glad it was eventually over. The hard part was done, mentally and emotionally anyway; the physical hardships, compared to what she had done earlier that day, were easy. She bent over, and placed a hand on the body. Despite her indifferent feelings of grief, a solitary tear fell from her eye. Intermingled with her sweat and the soil on her face, it formed a dark stain on the once pristine clean white sheet.

She looked backwards, towards her home. It was dark and silent, and the building’s sole occupant had been sleeping for hours. She thought about praying but dismissed the idea as pointless and hypocritical. She wasn’t even religious, and he certainly hadn’t been. There was, though, one more thing she had to do. She entered the shed that sat to the right of the destroyed plant bed and the freshly dug grave, and retrieved the bag of lime salts that had sat there for weeks. She understood that these lime salts would assist with the decomposition of the corpse and help mask any smell produced as a result of the decomposition. He had told her that.

“I guess I will miss you,” she whispered. “I know she will miss you,” she added. She placed her hand on the sheet, one final gesture of affection, though even that seemed forced and contrived. Would she really miss him? She wasn’t even sure. One thing was sure, her life would be easier without him.

With all the strength she could muster she rolled the body into the hole and watched as it tumbled into its final resting place. She sighed and took a deep breath. It was done. She lifted the half full bag of lime salts and scattered the contents into the grave, covering the sheeted corpse. Glancing to her left she picked up the same shovel she had used earlier that evening to dig the grave and began filling in the hole; shoveling the earth back to where it had come from. It was far easier, she thought, filling a grave than digging one, something else he had been right about. She paused for a moment. How many times had he done this? How many graves had he dug? How many families grieved and mourned for loved ones, with no knowledge where their bodies lay?

In the morning she would plant more flowers and maybe even vegetables; to cover the grave and to help disguise the unevenness of her disturbed garden. In a few weeks no one would ever even guess her flowerbed had been disrupted and hidden below it, a dead body. Not that she had many visitors anyway, and those she did have she doubted paid much attention to her gardening efforts. He certainly hadn’t.

So it was done. He was gone. Their lives would be so different now and she knew that she would miss him, and the truth was, sadly, that she would be the only one to miss him, and maybe even the only person to notice he was no longer around. Briefly, that thought filled her with fleeting sadness, not for him, but for her, but, as time would pass, he would become just a memory, and then she would move on. Kids were like that. They had no real concept of death, not at her age at least, there were more important things to think about, such as toys and games.

Thirty minutes later the hole was covered and filled. It had been a long and tiring night; in fact the whole day had been tiring. She was exhausted. She could not recall the last time she had felt so tired, so drained. She yearned for her bed, the bed she no longer shared, and the sleep she so desperately needed.

Suddenly she heard a sound behind her. She turned her head quickly and instinctively dropped the shovel. It was the sliding door opening, the sliding door leading from the den to her back yard.

“Honey, get back to bed. You shouldn’t be wandering around,” said Veronica Partridge as she abandoned her task, though sufficiently completed in any case.

“Mommy, I was having a bad dream,” explained Katie Partridge turning back to enter the house as her mother followed behind her.

“Well, mommy is here now, so we can forget all about bad dreams. Where is bunny?”

Katie raised her left hand and produced a small stuffed rabbit. “Here he is, mommy, I have him,” she replied.

“Well,” said Veronica Partridge, as she collected her daughter in her arms, not caring about the dirt and sweat that covered her body, “that’s all that matters.”

Katie Partridge giggled and lifted her stuffed toy into the air, showing her mother that bunny was indeed safe in her custody, then her face took a more serious look. “Mommy, I have a question,” she said.

“Sure, honey, what is it?” replied Veronica Partridge as she slid the back door shut, taking one last glance at the recently dug grave.

“Where’s Daddy?” 





Award Winning Writer, Duncan Whitehead, was born in England and is the author of the best-selling and award-winning GORDONSTON LADIES DOG WALKING CLUB Trilogy. The series, inspired by the quirky characters and eeriness in the real life Savannah neighborhood in which he once lived is a humorous mystery, which boasts an assortment of characters and plot twists.  

He has also written over 2,000 spoof and comedy news articles, under various aliases, for a variety of websites both in the US and the UK.  

He has written further novels; a comedy set in Manhattan, THE RELUCTANT JESUS, published in April 2014 and republished in July 2015 & three short stories.

Duncan is well known for his charity work, kindness to animals, children and old people; and, of course, his short-lived bullfighting career and his hideous hunchback.

In February 2045, he invented time travel and now spends much of his time in either the future (where he has won the lottery an astonishing 117 times) and the present day.


Social Links






The Reluctant Jesus

Murder At The Fourth

The Best Man

An Actor's Life

Home For The Weekend

You Say Tomato, I Say Tomato, She Says Murder

Thanks for sharing can't wait to share the last book tomorrow,


Thursday, April 28, 2016

The Gordonston Ladies - Dog Walking Club by @DuncanWhitehead #ASMSG #Mystery


Little is what it seems to be in a leafy Savannah neighborhood as members of an afternoon cocktail and dog walking club mourn a neighbor’s death. Jealousies surface when friends vie for the widower running for mayor. An old woman with an infamous uncle plots to avenge a wrong. Memories haunt a once successful children’s writer. And a model has won the trip of a lifetime.

But a killer lurks and secrets unfold, as does a web of deceit. Is anyone really who he or she seems to be? A mysterious South American, a young Italian count, and a charitable nephew add suspicion and intrigue, as do an enigmatic organization linked to organized crime, a handsome firefighter, and three widows with hidden agendas. What’s a retired accountant’s secret, and why did a former showgirl really have plastic surgery?


The plot thickens, the Georgia temperature rises, and someone is destined for an early unmarked grave. The truth contorts to a climax that leaves readers breathless.




Winner of the 2013 Reader's Favorite International Book Award and Gold Medalist
"A real page turner that is perfect for anyone who enjoys a story filled with secrets, mystery and devious characters. Even though I loved the ending I can only hope that Mr. Whitehead will continue this story with a sequel; after all there are three more jobs to be completed! On a scale of one to five I would give this book a six because it is just that good!" —Readers Favorite

"Doggone it, whodunnit? Readers of The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club will just have to read to the end of the novel to find out. The thriller was written by Duncan Whitehead, who seems to have more in common with Ian Fleming than his idol, Agatha Christie. —The Savannah Morning News




Award Winning Writer, Duncan Whitehead, was born in England and is the author of the best-selling and award-winning GORDONSTON LADIES DOG WALKING CLUB Trilogy. The series, inspired by the quirky characters and eeriness in the real life Savannah neighborhood in which he once lived is a humorous mystery, which boasts an assortment of characters and plot twists.  

He has also written over 2,000 spoof and comedy news articles, under various aliases, for a variety of websites both in the US and the UK.  

He has written further novels; a comedy set in Manhattan, THE RELUCTANT JESUS, published in April 2014 and republished in July 2015 & three short stories.

Duncan is well known for his charity work, kindness to animals, children and old people; and, of course, his short-lived bullfighting career and his hideous hunchback.

In February 2045, he invented time travel and now spends much of his time in either the future (where he has won the lottery an astonishing 117 times) and the present day.


Social Links






The Reluctant Jesus

Murder At The Fourth

The Best Man

An Actor's Life

Home For The Weekend

You Say Tomato, I Say Tomato, She Says Murder

Thanks Duncan for sharing your series with us. Stay tune for the next book in the series tomorrow.



Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Giving Love Another Chance - Youthful Temptations by @authortinagayle #ASMSG

Single again, Linda Clayton is ready to let loose and have some fun. Jilted at a party, she met a younger man, Vaughn Reagan. He has an active imagination and allures her into his life by tempting her with seductive games.
Vaughn is thrilled to find a woman who doesn’t want children. He offers Linda a job so he can spend his days with her. Now, if he could only convince her to forget their age difference and enjoy the nights in his arms.


“But did you meet anyone?” His father drilled the question at him like a staff sergeant. Ex-military, his voice struck the right chord to demand answers.

“Yes, but I’m . . .” he started, but his father interrupted.

“Then tell us all about her.”

“No.” Vaughn sprang from the couch and marched to the fireplace. Anger rumbled in his stomach, and a sour taste hit the back of his throat. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the blue flame rising from the blackened wood.

Every time he met someone new, his father pushed and prodded until he wormed every detail about his relationship out into the open. To shake his dad off his back, he usually complied. But not this time. His attraction to Linda was special.

Why? The question raced through his head.

He shook his head and refused the temptation to use their encounter as a temporary diversion to soothe his father’s doubts about his sexuality.

“And why not? Is she married or something?” his dad inquired.

Vaughn clenched his hands into fists. His dad hated being in the dark about any subject related to his children.

“Wait, Big John, Vaughn will tell us when he’s ready.” His mother’s voice offered a token of peace in a discussion that could quickly erupt.

“Well, I’m ready now. So spill the beans, boy. I want to know who this girl is.”

Vaughn whipped around to glare at his father. The concern marking his father’s brow eased, and a grin spread across his face. A strong emotion punched Vaughn in the chest. His dad might be a pain in the ass, but he’d been there in every major event in Vaughn’s life. At the hospital, while he’d been fighting his bout with cancer, his dad pestered all the doctors with his demands for a cure. Now, the same determination called for Vaughn to find a wife and settle.

A prior conversation sparked in Vaughn’s memory. “Are you sure it’s a woman?”

“What?” his mom squealed.

His father shook his head. “Good try, but we’ve already had that talk.”

“When did you . . .” His mother stood and tugged her hand free of her husband’s. “I can’t believe you’d ask him such a thing.”

Vaughn recognized the trouble he’d laid at his father’s door. His mom could impale a man with her wrath. “It was a while ago, Mom.”

“And I had to ask.” His dad hammered a few more nails in his coffin.

“Why?” Her hands flew in the air and finally landed on her hips. The high-pitched tone of her voice echoed off the high ceiling. “I can’t believe you, Big John. The boy has a right to a private life. But no, you have to meddle where you don’t belong.”

“Come on, April. He might be a tough guy, but he’s also my son. I want to know what’s happening in his life.”

“No, you don’t. You’re trying to run his life.”

“But he should settle down and find a good woman like I have.” He leaned forward and grabbed his wife’s wrist. “It’ll give him a passion for living.”

“You don’t know that. Not everyone is guaranteed happiness simply because they’re married.” She tugged on her hand and took a few steps backwards.

His dad grinned, rose quickly, and caught her in a bear hug. “They would be if they married a woman as lovely as you.”

“John,” his mom yelped, her feet dangling in the air, before his dad dove for a kiss.

Vaughn laughed. His father could always soothe his mom’s ruffled feathers. He wondered if he’d ever find the special bond they shared with someone. A strand of auburn hair on his sleeve caught his attention, and a picture of Linda flashed through his head.

Could she be the one?

His father glanced at him and released his tight hold on his mom. “So, son, why don’t you tell your busybody mother about your new girlfriend?”

Now on Sale find ebook at:


Youthful Temptations is about a couple finding love and overcoming stereotypes. We see that we all have baggage, it’s a part of us, and those that love us don’t mind the load we carry. Awesome story, I really enjoyed Youthful Temptations.

Reviewed by Raine at Joyfully Reviewed.

Hope you enjoy,

Tina Gayle

Friday, April 15, 2016

Old Folk Song from My Past #folksongs

Lord Thomas and Fair Ellender

Growing up, I was graced with a family that carried down a love of music. My grandmother and her daughters would sing different songs to us whenever the family got together.

One of the ones that always seem to be sung was what we always referred to as Fair Ellender.

Talk about a heartbreak of a song, this sad ballad had love, betrayal and death.

All in a short story form, which was sung to all that was present.

My favorite line was - "And he threw against the wall."

In the version I found on YouTube - he kicks it against the wall.

I chose this one, because it was closest to the song I remember with all the graphic details. Remember I was a child when I listened to the singing of this song.

Take a listen to Lord Thomas and Fair Ellendar and step back in time to an age where men married for money and the lady on the side met death.

I have to say it was fun to hear this song. It reminded me of good times and my mother. Strange how your mind can go back in time.

Have a great day,


Wednesday, April 13, 2016

#MFRWauthor Tweet Fest - Joining the Fun with Executive Wive's Club series

Once a month Marketing for Romance Authors promote each other on twitter.

It's a great way for the author to help friends and get the word out about the group.

This month, I want to share excerpts from my Executive Wives' Club Series

 photo TG-EWC-CFOsAffair-300x450_zpse2db5936.jpg

CFO's Affair - 3rd book in the Executive Wives' Club series 
 (strong women fiction elements) 


“I'm fine. I merely had a strange encounter after I left work.” Sylvia strolled to the sofa across from Marianne and sank onto the plush cushion. The large windows lining the opposite wall behind the other couch offered an appealing view of a bright harvest moon. The empty cornfield, which sat behind Brie's house, displayed row after row of shredded corn stalks. The depressing sight foretold of the snow that would fall continuously in a couple of months.

“Why don't you tell us about it?” Jen, the willowy, young, brunette of the group, laid a hand on Sylvia's thigh, and perched on the edge of the sofa near her. “Did Vince do something to upset you?”

“I warned you he was a Casanova.” Brie dropped into her favorite recliner, her lion slippers bobbing on her feet.

“No, he has no interest in me. After the first day, I haven't seen much of him. He probably only walked me into the building because Knox didn't want me to bolt.” Sylvia recalled the man's handsome profile and the alluring scent of his cologne. He could walk down the hallway ahead of her and she'd find herself tempted to follow.

Shoving thoughts of him aside, she focused on a theory she’d devised during dinner and gripped Jen's hand. “I think I might be able to find out who Bob was having an affair with.”

She looked into Jen’s concern face. She’d been the first to learn of Bob's request for a divorce. He dropped the bomb hours before leaving on a company business trip to Seattle, the ill-fated trip where none of the executive team had come back alive.

“Please, Sylvia, let it go.” Marianne leaned forward and held out her hands in a pleading gesture. “Bob is dead and you're only hurting yourself by worrying about this.”

“I can't. I've tried.” Sylvia closed her eyes and released Jen's hand. “I have to know why he decided to leave me.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Jen shifted closer. Her warmth reminded Sylvia that she didn’t have to go through this heartache alone. The other three ladies in the room had lost their husbands too. Even though Jen and Brie had both remarried, they knew the pain of losing a spouse. They simply didn't comprehend how much it hurt to have one ask for a divorce right before that loss.

“No. I think Wyoming Tetterman might help me learn who he was seeing.” Sylvia couldn’t fathom any other reason for Wyoming's refusal to talk. Did she know something she didn't want to share?

“Why?” Brie rose, shuffled over to Sylvia, and squatted down in front of her. “Did she tell you Bob had a lover?”

“No, but for some reason she doesn't want to talk to me either.” Sylvia stared into Brie's sweet face, gained a little perspective on how this might affect her friends and glanced up at Marianne. “I could be wrong, but why else would she feel the need to avoid me?” 

Marianne shook her head and shifted forward. “Honey, you're setting yourself up to get hurt. What happens when you find out the name of the person Bob slept with? Are you planning to confront them? Because they won’t have any sympathy for you. In their eyes you got it all.”

“Ouch, that's brutal. However, she's right Sylvia. I still have people look at me as if I kill Eric so I could get the insurance money from the wreck.” Brie grabbed Sylvia's hand and held it between both of hers.

“I know; I get those looks too.”

“Then imagine how much worse it'll be if they find out he wanted to divorce.” Marianne rose and stepped behind Brie. “Please let it go. If working at Mama Turner's is causing the problem, tell Knox to take a flying leap off a high bridge.”

Purchase ebook at:

Purchase ebook at:

 photo TG-EWC-ITEBaby-432x648_zps0d74c8a5.jpg

IT's Exec's Baby - 2nd Book in Executives' Wives' Club series (strong women fiction elements)  

With the warmth of the sun beating down on her head and the sound of her children’s laughter ringing in her ears, Brie spread her arms and spun in a circle.

She raised her voice and called to her kids as she walked to the railing of the upper deck. “You better find a good hiding place because ready or not here I come.”

With Isabella down for a nap, Brie drew in a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air and the freedom from being stuck inside the house. The kids had convinced her to play with them outside. She loved the easy game of hide-and-go-seek. Glancing over the rail, she scanned the backyard, searching for Ethan’s and Allison’s young forms.

A giggle sounded from below the deck.

Brie stepped down a few stairs to search the patio below. Still unable to catch a glimpse of her children, she continued down the staircase, listening for sounds that might give her a clue to their whereabouts.

Not seeing either one of them, she hugged the back wall and silently slipped to the corner of the house that had concrete steps, which led to the front yard.

Determined to catch one of her kids heading for home-base, Brie refrained from peeking around the corner. The squeak of a tennis shoe alerted her to someone’s arrival.

Ready to grab them the minute they rounded the corner, Brie stayed out of sight. A shadow fell across the patio, and Allison’s young form raced past.

Jumping out to grab her, Brie touched her daughter’s shoulder.

Allison’s wail of surprise vibrated off the bottom of the deck and pierced through Brie’s brain. Undeterred by the noise, she caught her daughter’s arm and spun her around.

“I got you.”

“No,” Allison screamed again.

Footsteps thundered across the deck above. “Brie, Allison, where are you?”

The concern in Jason’s voice threw Brie. He hadn’t stopped by since their date. What was he doing here now?

Allison groaned and wrapped her hands around Brie’s waist. “Ethan must have led him through the house.”

“Mom, where are you?” Ethan’s short legs appeared at the top of the stairs leading down to the patio. He leaned over the banister, a wide smile on his face. “Coach just stopped by.”

Allison whirled around and pointed a finger at her brother. “And you cheated. You’re not supposed to go through the house.”

“But...” Ethan walked down a few steps. A pair of jean-covered legs appeared and Jason stepped into view.

“That was my fault. I thought it would be the quickest way out here.” Jason added, taking the blame off her son.

Brie raked her gaze over his lean form encased in a blue t-shirt and faded jeans. The wind had tossed his dark hair in disarray. He appeared as if he had all the time in the world.

“But you’re not even playing the game with us.” Allison shuffled backwards, grumbling to her mother, “I shouldn't have to be it because they’re not playing fair.”

Brie laid her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and offered her a conspirator’s wink. With the excitement of seeing him again singing through her blood, she forced herself to remain calm. “You’re right. I say we make Jason it.”

“Hey, I didn't even know we were playing hide-and-seek,” Jason argued and lightly tapped Ethan’s arm with his fist. “You didn’t tell me, sport.”

“Tough, that’s the cost of showing up late.” Brie sidestepped her daughter, but before she could take more than a few steps her daughter caught her hand.

Read First Chapter of "IT's Exec's Baby"
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 photo TG-EWC-MEWidow-432x648_zps2e99d362.jpg

Marketing Exec's Widow 1st Book in Executives' Wives' Club series (strong women fiction elements)  

Friday night, sitting at a booth in a nice, romantic restaurant, Jen silently wished she could enjoy the subdued atmosphere, and order a rib eye steak. Instead, her hands shook and her stomach churned with doubt. The survival skills she’d learned after becoming a real estate agent demanded a calm, composed front, but she couldn’t pull it off.

Hell, who was she fooling?

After ten years without a date, what made her believe she could do this again? She stared at the menu. Could she even swallow a bite of beef? And if not, what should she order?

She lifted her gaze to the drop-dead gorgeous man on the other side of the table. Hagan Cheney, a Greek god incarnated, had strawberry blond hair glowing like gold around his head. Wide shoulders and strong arms were encased in a hunter-green cashmere sweater. Apollo himself wouldn’t look any better.

Why in heaven’s name did he ask her on a date?

And why did she care?

She had no plans other than a casual dinner for two.

He glanced up and a pretty-boy grin crossed his lips. The twinkle in his hazel eyes softened the square line of his jaw. “So have you decided what you want?”

Heat simmered low in her belly. Oh, yeah, answering that question the wrong way could get her into a world of trouble.

Tempted by wicked ideas, Jen blinked and stared at the menu. She’d do better if he didn’t know the wild directions of her brainwaves. “I’m not sure I can eat. I haven’t been this nervous since my first date with Craig.”

Ah, shit, I wasn’t supposed to mention him. Fire burned her cheeks and her gaze popped onto Hagan’s befuddled expression.

“Craig?” Hagan lowered his menu.

“My...uh...husband. He died several months ago.” Jen’s grip tightened on the plastic folder and her heart raced into overdrive. Great, just what she needed to say to start the evening off on the right note. Mention your dead husband and kill the mood.

“Want to call the evening a bust?” she blurted out, angry at herself for failing so miserably at the dating game.

Hagan leaned forward and folded his hands above his menu. “No. I already knew.”

“What? How?” She clenched her hands together under the table. He said he moved here from Texas, having arrived a few months ago to set up his practice and to be near his dad. How could he have found out? Did someone tell him? But who?

“My dad told me. He read about your husband’s accident in the paper.”

“God, you must think I’m awful.”

“Not even in the ballpark as to what I think about you. Because I know you would never have said yes to a night out with me if you’d been happy in your marriage.”

His words hit her like a fist to the face and her head snapped backward, striking the wooden partition between the booths. Wow, how could he have guessed the truth when so many people who knew her hadn’t?

She closed her eyes and searched for an answer. For so long, she’d kept her emotions bottled inside, not allowing anyone to see the loneliness or heartache her unhappy marriage had caused. What now? Lie, or admit the truth?

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Monday, April 11, 2016

Black Dragon by @AnitaPhilmar - A Box Set to Spice Up the Night #MFRWauthor

Spotlight for the box set "Black Dragon"

Get all three for one low price.

Here's the blurb for each

Black Dragon’s Blood
Amanda Spencer has spent years searching for clues to her first husband's murder. Now, she is close, too close to let William VanHorn get in the way. He wants to claim her as his wife, but she doesn’t have time to satisfy the man's needs. She wants answers not sex.
Set on fire by Amanda, William won’t let the lady escape. If she wants answers, he'll get them. As head of the Dragon Center, he has connections and nothing will stop him from capturing her heart.

Black Dragon’s Moon
Dragon Center agent, Dee Butterfield, finally has the job she's always longed for. On her first assignment, her job is to protect sculptor, Scott VanHorn. His rich dragon blood tempts her into an affair that could not only jeopardize her career but possibly her life.
Determined to find out who killed his best friend, Scott poses as a struggling artist to help the Dragon Center investigate a corrupt art dealer. He has ulterior motives for requesting Dee as his protector, getting her in his bed not the least of them. However, Scott soon realizes his mistake.
When the mission becomes more dangerous than either of them anticipate, Scott's black dragon blood stirs to protect Dee while hers calls for retribution.

Black Dragon’s Heart
Devoted chemist, Sarah VanHorn, lives for her research but fantasizes about loving Jake Ramsey. Her two worlds collide when the dragon center agent arrives to rescue her from the company suspected of producing chemicals dangerous to those with dragon blood.
Sarah's not the only one with fantasies. Jake wants Sarah as his mate and he's waited years to claim her. Now, under his protective custody—not to mention the influence of Syndetic's sexual stimulant scenting the air—he can't resist the fiery temptation to finally make her his.
But when tragedy strikes and their dreams are threatened, will Sarah sacrifice her career, Jake, and possibly her life to discover the answers? And will Jake let her?

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Thanks Anita for sharing,