Promotional & Review Tour: Beneath Southern Skies by Terra Little (#Giveaway)

Beneath Southern Skies

by Terra Little

About The Author: 

Terra Little is a native of Missouri, where she currently resides and works as a secondary English Literature teacher. She is a critically acclaimed contemporary, romantic, and women's fiction author, and also an avid reader. In 2009, "Where There's Smoke", Terra's sophomore literary effort, was named a Best Book by Library Journal. Prior to this honor, as well as in the aftermath of it, Terra's work has been recognized by numerous book clubs and book reviewers, including Kirkus Reviews, The San Francisco Book Review, Fresh Fiction and The Romantic Times.

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PUBLISHER: Harlequin Kimani Press

PUBLICATION DATE: April 1, 2013

GENRE: Romance

AMAZON 

BACK COVER BLURB:

A little Southern comfort goes a long way…

To the world she's Vanessa Valentino, the poison-penned gossip columnist and blogger, but back in Georgia, she's just Tressie Valentine. After digging up one scandalous secret too many, she's forced back home to the sleepy town she thought she'd left behind forever. And now she must face Nathaniel Woodberry, who became her sworn enemy when one of her stories hit too close to home. Yet for some reason, Tressie can't turn off her longing for the irresistible investigative journalist.

Nate can't believe Tressie's back to wreak havoc on the close-knit community they both grew up in, and he can't help holding a grudge against her past deeds. But soon the commitment-wary bachelor discovers that the Southern belle is still a compassionate, loving woman. Nate finds himself drawn to her and he can't stop thinking about seducing her with a healthy dose of down-home passion. But can he stop Tressie from making a mistake that could destroy their hometown—and their blossoming love?

Excerpt #1

The shower.

It was going full blast and she was singing along with the water’s spray. No, that wasn’t quite right. Actually she was singing—horribly—over and above the water’s spray.

The sound of her voice scraped across his nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard, spiking his irritation level into orbit. Without stopping to think about what he was doing, he barged into the steamy bathroom and snatched the shower curtain back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he bellowed.

She turned just as a blast of cool air slammed into her skin, and then visions of warriors rushing in for battle flashed before her eyes—big, strapping men with bulging muscles, bloodthirsty expressions on their faces, and mighty swords slicing through the air. She saw herself being impaled to death and then buried in a shallow grave deep in the woods, where no one would ever find her. She saw, as plain as day, the likelihood that no one would even bother to look for her because the sad fact was that she wasn’t the most popular person in the world and she had no real friends to speak of. Every questionable deed that she’d ever done played before her eyes like a movie. Her killer would go unpunished and her death would be in vain. The public would probably celebrate once her true identity was revealed. They would—

Oh God. She was going to die.

Partially blinded by soap bubbles and completely on the verge of hysteria, Tressie opened her mouth and did the only thing she could think to do under the circumstances. She screamed at the top of her lungs.

It seemed like an eternity, but it really took only a few seconds to wipe the soap bubbles from her eyes and focus. When she did, the first thing she saw through the steam was a pair of gorgeous hazel eyes staring into hers. Expanding her gaze to a wide-screen view, she took in a pair of perfectly shaped lips and a dimpled chin, thick eyebrows and smooth pecan-brown skin. Something in her brain eventually clicked and she recognized Nate Woodberry, but that didn’t stop her from continuing to scream like a banshee. The only difference was that this time the sounds she made were intelligible. “What the hell,” she shrieked frantically as she snatched the shower curtain from his grasp and wrapped it around her body, “are you doing in here?”

“I rang the bell. You didn’t answer.” He was the epitome of calm.

“So you just walk right on in and make yourself at home?” She slung her wet hair back and out of her face and shut off the water. “Idiot! Hand me a towel from over there, would you?” She snatched the towel he handed her and only released her death grip on the shower curtain long enough to make the trade. The fact that he had undoubtedly seen more of her naked body in the past thirty seconds than her doctor had in years burned her skin to a cherry-red crisp, especially since he hadn’t so much as given it a second glance in all that time. So much for cutting back on sweets and working out like a demon.

Giveaway:

2 $10 Gift Cards To Winners Choice of Amazon or Barnes and Noble

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3 Day Book Bash: The Black Song Inside by Carlyle Clark

The Black Song Inside

by Carlyle Clark

Author Bio:

Carlyle Clark was raised in Poway, a city just north of San Diego, but is now a proud Chicagolander working in the field of Corporate Security and writing crime fiction and fantasy. He has flailed ineffectually at performing the writers' requisite myriad of random jobs: pizza deliverer, curb address painter, sweatshop laborer, day laborer, night laborer, twilight laborer (of the fang-less variety), security guard, campus police, Gallup pollster, medical courier, vehicle procurer, and signature-for-petitions-getter.

He is a happily married man with two cats and a dog. He is also a martial arts enthusiast and a CrossFit endurer who enjoys fishing, sports, movies, TV series with continuing storylines, and of course, reading. Most inconsequentially, he holds the unrecognized distinction of being one of the few people in the world who have been paid to watch concrete dry in the dark. Tragically, that is a true statement.

Author Links:

http://carlyleclark.wordpress.com/

Title: The Black Song Inside

Genre: Mystery Thriller

Publisher: Make Luck Press

Release Date: November 14^th, 2012

Amazon

Synopsis:

Shortlisted for the 2012 Faulkner-Wisdom Award

Newly engaged private investigators Atticus Wynn and Rosemary Sanchez have seen the dark and violent side of life. Atticus's dry wit is born of a traumatic childhood that's left him emotionally scarred and estranged from his homicide detective sister. The medals Rosemary earned during her tour of duty in Iraq are little reward for returning home to San Diego missing a leg and tormented by PTSD and her continuing failure to save her younger brother from his own violent nature. Still, nothing they've been through has prepared them for an explosive murder investigation that tests the couple's trust as they struggle to solve a case where the best result leaves them in prison or dead.

Atticus's manipulative and gorgeous ex-girlfriend, Claire, bursts back into their lives wielding a secret about Rosemary's family that she exploits to force the couple into investigating the execution-style slaying of her lover. The case thrusts Atticus and Rosemary headlong into the world of human trafficking and drug smuggling as well as rendering them pawns in Tijuana Cartel captain Armando Villanueva's bloody bid to take over the Cartel. Villanueva Machiavellian scheme sends one of his minions, Rosemary's own gangsta brother, after Atticus, and as if that weren't bad enough, Villanueva dispatches "The Priest", a former child soldier for a Colombian rebel group who is now a messianic mercenary whose religious psychosis has launched him on a trajectory that can only end in mayhem.

The Black Song Inside is a vivid crime thriller rife with the murder and madness, melded with gallows humor and the heroism of two flawed protagonists who, in struggling to unravel a skein of human suffering, learn the nature of redemption and the ability to forgive others and themselves.

Excerpt:

Rosemary suppressed a sigh. As the only child of parents who had wanted a brood, her life had been spent as the wobbly point of an inverted pyramid, forever attempting to balance the burden of hopes and expectations meant to be spread over a half-dozen children. Instead, it was only she and her adopted brother Johnny, the mayhem magnet.

“The leg I have now isn’t agile,” Rosemary said, rapping it with her knuckles. “With this new one, I can step over things, walk backward, change directions quickly. I’m no longer stuck just going one way and having a change in direction be a major ordeal. I’ll be free.”

Rosemary maneuvered the X2 case for a better view, marveling at the complexity encompassed in its artistic form. “Come take a look at it.”

Mama stayed put, offering a wan smile. “It’s very fancy.”

Mama sniffed as she levered herself out of the armchair. She pivoted toward the window and pushed the silk drape aside. The waistband of her stretch pants dented her torso. From behind, her hair-sprayed bob seemed smooth and solid, as formidable a protection as the brass dome of a deep-sea diver, the hose stretching from the helmet up to a world of stability, sameness. “So much bad weather this summer.”

Rosemary felt the urge to knead her mother’s shoulders. “You could change, Mama.”

Her mother’s neck stiffened. Still looking away, she shook her head. “I happen to like who I am.”

Ah, and there it was, the roundabout implication that Rosemary was somehow betraying Mama by being with Atticus—the only thing that had set the pyramid to wobbling as much as her joining the Army Reserves. Hadn’t Mama’s fears been grimly vindicated when an IED exploded under the Humvee she was driving? Didn’t she have an “I told you so” moment when the explosion transformed the man who’d been next to her in the front seat, Specialist First-Class Yukio Morimitu, an always smiling human being with a new bride and a child on the way, into a spatter of blood and bone clumped in her hair, clogging her ears and nose, and filling her mouth with gobbets of flesh.

Rosemary hobble-stepped to the window, leaned against the sill, and put her arm around Mama’s shoulders. Lightning flickered in the lining of steel gray clouds. “More rain coming,” Rosemary said. “Maybe you better go now.”

“I rearranged my day so I can take you to rehab. We could have lunch, relax, then go.” She studied Rosemary’s face a moment and squinted. “What? You don’t want me?”

Rosemary forced her expression to be neutral. “Of course I do, but you said you couldn’t go, so I asked Atticus.”

“So. You’d rather have him than your own mother.”

“Oh for God’s sake. I asked you to take me first. You said you were busy.”

“So Atticus can’t change his schedule?” The sky cast a greenish tinge on Mama’s face.

Here we go again, Rosemary thought. Countdown…three…two…one…

“Atticus, Atticus, always Atticus. I’m sick of hearing his name.”

“Blastoff.”

“What?” Mama blinked.

“Cape Fucking Canaveral.” Rosemary shuffled back to her bed.

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The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff by Lane Heymont

The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff

by Lane Heymont

About The Author:

Lane Heymont was born in Pennsylvania. He earned a BA in Liberal Arts with a focus on literature and history. He also holds a double minor in psychology and business. After college, he turned his focus back to writing. Lane has several short stories published, one of which was recommended for the 2012 Bram Stoker Award in short fiction.

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Genre: Historical, Fantasy, Slipstream
Publisher: Sunbury Press, Inc.

Release Date: December 23, 2012

Buy: Amazon

Book Description:

Jeb, a former slave, rescues his brother-in-law Crispus from the Ku Klux Klan, pulling him into a world of Creole Voodoo, hatred, time travel, and redemption. The two brothers-in-law set out to stop Verdiss and his Klan followers from using the Pharaoh's Staff, a magical artifact from ancient Egypt. Soon, Jeb and Crispus learn Verdiss’ diabolical plan and discover that he is working for an even more evil force. In the end Jeb and Crispus must stop the eradication of an entire people and each must find redemption for his own past sins.

Excerpt:

Allenville flashed in Jeb’s head. Bodies burning, people tortured and brutalized in the streets. Somehow he felt the same thoughts in Fallon. The way his slender hand tightened around his when he’d said the word. He imagined hatred blistering inside the boy. Maybe the need for a father blinded him. Thank the Lawd–that ain’t the case no more…I hope.

“Jeb. Fallon. This way. I found a mambo a few blocks away on Laurel Street.” Crispus’s voice broke through the crowd.

“Come on!” Fallon pulled Jeb through the throng of people. Crispus’s voice always sounded just beyond them, amidst the night madness of Baton Rouge. “Wait!”

“Where’d he go?” Jeb tugged on Fallon’s hand, pushing aside a doughy man.

“He took a right down Nacadian Road. Wait, Crispus!” The hideous ensemble of vendors, farriers, knackers, and other merchants crying out their goods seemed to drown out the boy’s call.

One moment, mayhem wracked the market, the next it fell silent. Fallon stopped, so Jeb did. He couldn’t move, the herd seemed to stop stampeding. Footfalls echoed in the street. The crowd spread. Then came the heavy clacks of soldier’s boots on the flagstones. A band of men, too many to tell. But Jeb knew them by the procession’s cadence–Confederate soldiers. Men clad in gray uniforms marching through Baton Rouge. No doubt, they’d be Klansmen too. Shouts of jubilation spread like wildfire among the townspeople.

“Kill them carpetbaggers!” came a woman’s elegant voice.

“Long live the general!”

“The South shall rise again!” shouted a boy.

Jeb felt the panic in Fallon’s hand, his heartbeat racing as he pulled him away. “What general? I know that cadence like I know my field.” Jeb focused on dodging whatever lay in his way, stumbling over garbage and bumping into people.

Fallon stammered over his words, “Not–not–nothing. Nathan Bedford Forrest?” He gasped, tightening his grip on Jeb.

Somehow Jeb overcame his instincts, keeping his head bowed. Not daring to look up in fear that monster of a man would see him. Though blind, Jeb saw Forrest clad in the gray Confederate officer’s uniform, adorned with medals. He’d seen photos of him. Tall, in his fifties, a receding hairline and a curly mane of black hair. A well-kept goatee tinged gray like his uniform.

I can end it all. Fight through the crowd. A single shot to the head. To hell with being blind, I can do it. For a moment Jeb meant it, caressing his pistol. It’d be easy. Instead, he listened to the Ku Klux Klan founder, savior of the white race, and ender of Reconstruction, parade along the street. Celebrated by a throng of who knew how many people. They were closer now, close enough for Jeb to count them. Four guards following him. Plus Forrest, that’s five. Six shot pistol. Just enough for one miss. He gripped his pistol. It didn’t matter that the crowd loved Forrest, even cheered him on. Six rounds is enough. Jeb edged his pistol free from its holster.

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Covert Dreams by Michael Meyers

Covert Dreams

by Michael Meyer

Author bio:

I have resided in and have visited many places in the world, all of which have contributed in some way to my own published writing. I have literally traveled throughout the world, on numerous occasions. I have lived in Finland, Germany, Thailand, the U.S. Virgin Islands, and Saudi Arabia, where COVERT DREAMS is set. I gained the wanderlust to see the world, to experience other cultures, at an early age, and this desire has never left me. If anything, it has only gained in intensity as I have aged. I try to travel internationally at least once a year. In the interim, I spend lots of time traveling around both my home state of California and other nearby states.

I spent my early years in the small town of Lone Pine, California, the home of almost every western movie, in addition to a wide variety of other genres, made in the 30’s, 40’s, 50’s, and 60’s. In fact, Hollywood still films parts of big-time movies there today. My dad, the town’s lifeguard at the time, personally knew John Wayne, Lloyd Bridges, and Lee Marvin, all of whom came to the town’s pool, the Memorial Plunge, at times to cool off after a hectic day of working in the sun. I was even an extra in a movie filmed there in 1957, MONOLITH MONSTERS, a B-cult favorite even today. I was ten years old at the time. Even though I resided in a small town hours from the big city, I was exposed to the excitement of action and heroes at a formative age, and, thus, my interest in writing novels of suspense such as COVERT DREAMS was born.

As a recent retiree from a forty-year career as a professor of writing, I now live in Southern California wine country with my wife, Kitty, and our two other cats.

Author Links:

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Genre: Suspense/thriller/mystery

COVERT DREAMS trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b9drU4-um_U

BOOK PURCHASE LINK: Amazon

Blurb:

Imagine waking up remembering intimate details about a country in which you have never traveled and fluently speaking a language that you have never spoken. B.J. is living the ideal life. He has a great wife, a wonderful job. And yet he is experiencing life-like vivid dreams of Munich, a city he has never visited.

Stan Halsey is a professor in Saudi Arabia, who sends for his wife to join him. She arrives, and, in the blink of an eye, she vanishes, leaving no trace of ever being alive in either the United States or in Saudi Arabia.

COVERT DREAMS is a fast-paced international suspense thriller that moves from Munich to the burning sands of Saudi Arabia. What is real, and who is responsible for the terrifying nightmare?

Excerpt:

The Munich all around her was bustling with activity. She could hear it from all directions. Munich was a wonderful city, a fun-loving place, the live and let live ebullience of the city emanating from its every nook and cranny. She had had a lovely stay here. All of it had been so adventurous, so new, so unlike life back home in Arizona. She could vividly recall the first time she had ventured into a Munich beer garden, where the liter mugs had been so huge that she had had to lift hers with both hands, and the giggles, from him, until he too had had to use both hands.

The fumbling noises he had been making came to an abrupt halt. He began stroking her cheek again. Gus looked so happy, so young, so full of life. It was so hard to imagine that he could be so heavily involved in all this horror.

Gus smiled at her once more. His eyes were soft, so gentle, so caring, so loving.

Maybe this was some kind of huge mistake. Maybe he wasn't going to kill her after all. Maybe everything would turn out happily ever after. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

But then suddenly she saw it clearly. It was no fairy tale. There would be no maybe. This was real, as real as the mixture of sadness and fear that now flooded her brain.

And then she died, with her eyes wide open, challenging, piercing his to the end.

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