Monday, May 6, 2019

Death on Clare Island by Martha Geaney #mystery



DEATH ON CLARE ISLAND by Martha Geaney, Mystery, 232 pp., $11.99 (paperback) $5.99 (Kindle)


Title: DEATH ON CLARE ISLAND (A Star O’Brien Mystery Book 1)
Author: Martha M. Geaney
Publisher: Turlough, Nolan Publishing
Pages: 232
Genre: Mystery


Star O’Brien is a haunting voice for the dead, the missing, and the lost.

Star O’Brien is a successful American information broker who can’t solve the mysteries of her own life. She comes to County Mayo, Ireland to settle her dead lover’s estate and look for her Irish mother who has been missing since Star was six years old. She is on the scene on Clare Island, when a body is discovered. It seems like a closed case involving the island’s dangerous cliffs and drug abuse. Star didn’t believe it when the police dismissed her mother’s disappearance as “abandonment” and she can’t believe the stories she is hearing about the dead young man.

Star must separate truth from fiction in the testimonies of those close to the victim including the head of an anti-drug foundation, a volatile ex-lover, a besotted young art student, and a restorer of the island’s ruins. Before long, Star’s investigation becomes the catalyst for a second murder, and she must work fast to avoid becoming the third victim. As she uncovers the truth about the murders, this fiercely independent, complex, female protagonist must also own up to her own past and a potential future with a charming new confidant.

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Just a fifteen-minute boat ride from Roonagh on the west coast of Ireland, the towering mountain of Clare Island guards the entrance to the mouth of Clew Bay from the Atlantic Ocean. Gráinne Mhaol’s castle sits on the rocky headland at the island’s harbor. Most visitors come to view the scenery and the bottle-nose dolphins swimming in the bay. Others come to explore the archeological history, including the Cistercian Abbey where the 16th-century pirate queen is buried.
Matthew Sumner liked the five-hour walk around the island best of all: the danger of ignoring “Beware of Cliff Edges” signs that warned of falling to the rocky inlet below, the steep climb up Knockmore mountain, the view of Inisturk and Inisbofin islands from the peak, the small lakes, the potato lazybeds, and the Abbey Church. Oh, he would recommend any of the walks around Clare Island if pressed for an opinion. The shorter walks made more sense at the end of a day working in the Abbey ruins. Most of the time he selected the quickest route to the island’s harbor and hotel, where he ate his evening meal, saving the full circuit of the island for weekends. But he wanted the solitude and shadows provided by Knockmore for tonight’s excursion. He required the unobstructed view of the Atlantic Ocean.
As he made his way toward the southern side of the island, he took short strides, conserving his body movements to deflect attention. Zipping up his light jacket, he watched for small boats nearing the island, or for someone approaching him from the harbor. He was ready to slip on his stocking cap, making it difficult at a moment’s notice for anyone to identify him.
Keeping this last point foremost, he felt for the cap in his pocket. Perhaps, he thought, he should put it on now, picturing his bleached blonde shaggy hair acting as a kind of beacon. It had been a cold, dull day, and it looked like a devil of an evening. The menacing dark sky to the east foretold the storm headed for the island. He could see the whitecaps rising angrily out of the sea as they bashed onto the beach. He scanned the bog and the coastline while his fingers continued touching the cap like a monk fingering his beads.
Intuition told him he’d soon find what he sought, so he resolved to brave the wind and impending storm. It was then he spotted a lone figure, head hunched below the shoulders. His first thoughts wavered between fear and hope that tonight’s excursion would prove profitable. The person lifted a hand in salutation. Feeling a little puzzled by this, Matthew wondered why the individual he pursued would be friendly. He looked beyond the anonymous shape to the dark ocean. When he didn’t see a boat, he immediately relaxed, thinking this was an islander out for an evening walk. In the few moments it took for the person to shorten the space between them, he heard his name whispered in the wind. 
“Matthew, what are you doing out in this nasty weather?”
The voice, dull and sleepy, floated in the air between them like the hypnotic sounds of the sea. Loose, black clothing draped the person’s frame, making it impossible for Matthew to discern whether it was a man or woman. His steps slowed. For in that moment, straining for a closer look, he understood too late that he had made a grave mistake. His final thoughts were of how much he wanted to live as the water choked off his breath. Then the darkness took him.







 





MARTHA M. GEANEY is the author of the highly praised non-fiction, women’s leadership book, Bring Your Spirit to Work: One Woman at a Time. She is also the author of the Star O’Brien fiction series which is set in the west of Ireland, and the United States. Martha was born in New York City but lived in New Jersey beginning at the age of eight. In 2017, Martha and her partner, Bill, moved to Florida where she enjoys cooking, reading, swimming, and her Schipperke puppy, Turlough.
Before turning to indie writing, Martha was a teacher, management consultant, university professor, and the dean of a business college. It was her leadership experience as a management consultant and her research for her doctorate that prompted Martha to write a self-help book for women who aspire to leadership roles.

Martha’s passion for Ireland began when she made her first trip, at the age of four, to County Mayo, birthplace of her mother, and to County Cork, birthplace of her father. She returned to Ireland again at the age of sixteen to attend a boarding school in Castlebar, County Mayo, for two years. Since then, Martha has visited her cousins and friends in Ireland for more than thirty-five years. It is her love for the people, the country, and all its beauty that inspired her to create a mystery and suspense series, set in Ireland, about an amateur detective, Star O’Brien, who is an American.

She is currently working on her second Star O’Brien novel.

Website Address: https://martha-geaney.com/
Facebook Address: http://www.facebook.com/marthageaneyauthor




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Restless by Michelle Bellon @michellebellon #romance


RESTLESS by Michelle Bellon, Contemporary Romance, 204 pp., $4.99 (Kindle)


Title: Restless
Author: Michelle Bellon
Publisher: Booktrope Editions
Pages: 204
Genre:  Contemporary Romance


You grow up. You get married. You have a family. At least, that’s what Malea Winters believes she’s supposed to do. So why is it that every time she comes close to finding that happily ever after, she runs?

When she meets Garrett Taylor, she warns him that she’s not the marrying type because history has shown that long-term relationships are not her forte. She has a tendency to leave when things get too serious; the direct result of being raised by an emotionally detached mother and a stepdad with philandering ways. So she swore off men and surrounded herself with her best friends; three quirky, funny women who are facing challenges of their own.

But Garrett is everything she’s ever looked for; charming, successful, fun, and sexy. Despite her better judgment, his persistence pays off and she finds herself falling for him.
Learning how to love and be loved will be the hardest lesson she’s ever faced. The question is, will her relationships survive that lesson?

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As I walk down the aisle, avoiding eye contact with my husband-to-be, I remember the dream and feel the need to run.
I clutch the bountiful bouquet of flowers, red and white for our Christmastime wedding, and feel the sweat on my palms collect in the center. I want to rub them down the front of my dress.
But that would be unacceptable. My grandma has lovingly sewn every stitch, carefully placed every pearly bead, and worked every delicate piece of lace. It’s a work of labor and love.
Today, I am supposed to be a princess.
But as I look around at familiar faces, friends and family, watching me take this enormous step into life as a wife, as a life partner, I feel anything but princess-like.
I feel the lie. I feel the relentless pursuit of truth. Both follow me down the aisle, tapping on my shoulder and reminding me that I have no ability to live up to this responsibility.
I am quaking in my white heels. My knees are shaking. But still I march forward on the arm of the only male in my life I’ve ever thought of as a father. He isn’t really, but he’s the only man my mom brought home over the years to whom I formed any real emotional attachment before they’d split ways. Due to his philandering ways, he was out of our life more than he was in it. But when he was around, something inside of me recognized something inside of him, and I cared for him.
I swallow down my fear. It’s only nerves. It’s normal. This is the natural order of things: you grow up, you get married, you have a family. That’s how it’s done.
Then what?
I finally make eye contact with Garrett and search for…safety? Love? Answers?
Only my own fear reflects back. He can see the hesitation, the anxiety, the angst. He smiles cautiously. He’ll never admit what we both know.
Just before we reach the altar, I take one last look around. The gathering within the small church is there for only one purpose: to watch us get hitched.
I could run right now. This is my last chance. I could just turn around and make a run for it.







 







Michelle Bellon lives in the Pacific Northwest with her four children and boyfriend, Seth. She loves coffee and has an addiction to chapstick.
She works at a surgery center as a registered nurse and in her spare time writes novels. She writes in the genres of romance suspense, young adult, women’s fiction, and literary fiction. She has won four literary awards to include making finalist in the New Age category in the USA Book Awards for her latest release, The Fire Inside.  Her latest release is the contemporary romance, Restless.

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Monday, April 22, 2019

Fid's Crusade by David H. Reiss @DavidHRiess #scifi #fantasy


FID'S CRUSADE by David H. Reiss, Scifi/Fantasy, 232 pp., $14.99 (paperback) $4.99 (Kindle)


Title: FID’S CRUSADE
Author: David H. Reiss
Publisher: Atian Press
Pages: 365
Genre: Scifi/Contemporary Fantasy


Consumed by grief, rage, and self-loathing, a brilliant inventor rebuilt himself to take on a new identity: the powered-armor-wearing supervillain, Doctor Fid. For twenty violent years, Fid has continued his quest to punish heroes who he considers to be unworthy of their accolades, and the Doctor has left a long trail of blood and misery in his wake. After a personal tragedy, however, Doctor Fid investigates a crime and uncovers a conspiracy so terrible that even he is taken aback.
Haunted by painful memories and profound guilt, the veteran supervillain must risk everything to save the world that he once sought to terrorize. Every battle takes its toll…but the stakes are too high for retreat to be an option.

In the end, it may take a villain to save the entire Earth from those entrusted with the Earth’s protection.

Praise:

Fid’s Crusade by David H. Reiss is one of the most refreshing and lively takes on the superhero genre I’ve seen in years. His title character’s crusade is colorful, compelling, and takes wonderfully unexpected turns, and the novel delivers an impressive emotional punch (to go along with the super-powered ones). It stands easily alongside other character-driven superhero novels like Austin Grossman’s Soon I Will Be Invincible, Carrie Vaughn’s After the Golden Age, and Paul Tobin’s Prepare to Die!.” – Hugo award-winning author Tim Pratt

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“I’m fine,” I informed Starnyx as soon as he answered his highly-encrypted phone.
A swarm of medical automatons surrounded the gurney on which I was reclined, a humming and swirling dervish of blades, clamps, sponges and other surgical tools focused upon the stump of my shoulder. A surgical laser was carefully burning away flesh in a pattern that would increase the efficiency of repairs performed by the medical nanites once my right arm was reattached.
The blended smell of disinfectant and cooking meat had been disturbing at first, but I was beginning to get used to the odor.
“Okay…?” Eric yawned. “Where are you?”
“I’m back in Boston,” I winced; a more significant cocktail of painkillers was now coursing through my veins, but some discomfort remained. “I’m sorry, I forgot that you were asleep when I left.”
“Nah, it’s almost morning. I can wake up. What’s up?”
“I ran into some minor trouble on my way home,” I forced a chuckle. “It will probably make the news and I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Hold on, let me get to a computer.” I heard tired, uncoordinated movement over the connection.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Using my neural connection to the surgical control computer, I ordered one of the robots to add another dose of topical anesthetic. “Really, I’m fine.”
“So, what happened?” Eric must have reached his desk, because I could hear the clacking as he typed on his keyboard.
“I ran into the Brooklyn Knights.”
“I think I’ve heard of them. New guys, righ—” he paused mid-question and fell silent.
“Eric?”
“So, you’re fine then?” Nyx asked, patiently.
“Absolutely,” I affirmed.
“I only ask, because the first hit I get on recent news of Doctor Fid is shaky cel-phone footage of you with your arm cut off,” he explained. “And I’m pretty sure you had both arms earlier tonight.”
“Tis but a scratch?” I tried.
“Christ, Doc,” he sighed, “I’m not doing Monty Python bits with you. Let me get dressed, I can be up in Boston in a few hours.”
“Thank you,” I smiled gratefully. “But, really, don’t bother. I’ll have my arm re-attached by then.”
There was another long pause.
“How?” Starnyx sounded exasperated.
“Medical nanotechnology. I’ll have function back in eight hours.” Which was a good thing, since my civilian persona had a face-to-face meeting with the Governor of Connecticut this afternoon to discuss opening a new research facility in Middletown. “In twenty-four hours, I’ll be good as new.”
“You’re a scary man,” he chuckled, relieved. “Okay, I get it. You’re fine.”
“I am.”
“Keep out of trouble, Doc, I’m going to get back to bed. Stay in touch, yeah?”
“Of course.” It was an odd feeling, having someone who cared for Doctor Fid’s wellbeing.
He hung up, and I closed my eyes to think.







 






While growing up, David H. Reiss was that weird kid with his nose in a book and his head in the clouds. He was the table-top role-playing game geek, the comic-book nerd, the story-teller and dreamer.

Fortunately, he hasn’t changed much.

David is a software engineer by trade and a long-time sci-fi and fantasy devotee by passion, and he lives in Silicon Valley with his partner of twenty-six years. Until recently, he also shared his life with a disturbingly spoiled cat named Freya.
(Farewell, little huntress. You were loved. You are missed.)

David’s first book, Fid’s Crusade, has just recently been published; this was his first novel-length project, but it certainly won’t be his last—he’s having far too much fun!

Website Link: https://www.davidhreiss.com
Twitter Link: https://twitter.com/davidhreiss
Facebook Link: https://www.facebook.com/davidhreiss



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Monday, April 15, 2019

Moments That Made America by Geoff Armstrong #history


MOMENTS THAT MADE AMERICA by Geoff Armstrong, American History, 254 pp., $18.95 (paperback) $9.99 (Kindle)


Title: MOMENTS THAT MADE AMERICA: FROM THE ICE AGE TO THE ALAMO
Author: Geoff Armstrong
Publisher: History Publishing Company
Pages: 254
Genre: American History


From its geological birth during the breakup of the Pangaea supercontinent millions of years ago, through the nation-shaping key events that led to its political independence from the British superpower, and other crucial, sometimes miraculous events that worked to create the nation, Moments That Made America: From the Ice Age to the Alamo explores those defining moments, both tragic and inspirational that profoundly shaped the nation and its people – crucial turning points that worked inexorably to mold and make America. These pivotal “tipping” events formed America’s geographical, sociological, political and historical landscape. Part 1 culminates with the discovery of gold in California and the role it played in fulfilling America’s dream of Manifest Destiny.

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Excerpt from Chapter Three: The Road to Revolution

            On the 19th of June, with twelve hundred men and officers, the British army began its march. Braddock’s forces moved slowly, building roads as they advanced. By the 8th of July, Braddock had arrived within 12 miles of Fort Duquesne. Typical of British thinking concerning military action in North America, Braddock failed to send out scouts or set up advance guards. In splendid European-style formation, their bright scarlet uniforms glowing in the summer sunshine, Braddock and his men moved against the French Fort. Washington had spent time in the region and knew it well. He understood the style of fighting they would have to face and recognizing the danger, he tried to persuade Braddock to set up proper security, but Braddock, suffering from what turned out to be terminal arrogance, ignored Washington’s experience and advice.
            At about noon they crossed the Monongahela River. The road on which they now marched led through a valley and along two concealed ravines covered with trees and deep grass. What Braddock didn’t know, thanks to his haughty refusal to employ scouts, was that the ravines concealed 600 Native American warriors and 250 French soldiers all armed and waiting.
            As soon as the British reached the ravines, the woods in front of them erupted with musket fire as the French and their Native American allies unloaded their weapons into the British. Stunned by the unexpected attack, the leading British troops were hurled backward into their advancing rear units, throwing Braddock’s regulars into hopeless confusion. Disorganized and gripped with fear, hammered by volley after volley of musket fire from directly ahead and then from their flanks, the British struggled to fight back as their legendary discipline began to falter.
            The first discharge of musket fire had targeted the officers and many had already fallen. Several times the British rallied and at one point succeeded in killing the French commander. That seemed to act as a signal to the Indians. They threw themselves at the British.
Now panic-stricken and disorientated, ignoring the commands of the few remaining officers, the British regulars huddled together in small groups, firing ineffectively into the surrounding trees and bushes. Protected by the ravines and trees, the French and Indians continued to target the officers.
            The only troops who retained any hint of common sense were the Virginians. As soon as they realized whom they were fighting, they ignored Braddock and used the colonial fighting tactics they had learned from the Native Americans.
            Washington’s conduct during the battle was exemplary. He refused to huddle in terror, as so many of his fellow officers did, vainly hoping to escape the death that flourished all around them. At six-foot-four and on horseback, he was the most conspicuous officer and the most conspicuous target in the entire British expedition. Witnesses describe him as riding from battered group to battered group, rallying his Virginians and attempting to rally the British regulars into following the example of the Virginians. Four musket balls tore through his coat and two horses were shot out from under him. Inexplicably, nothing touched him.
             Finally, Braddock was shot through the lung and carried from the field. He later died of his wound.
            Washington, though he was relatively far down in the chain of command, displayed the leadership for which, he would someday become famous. He was able to enforce enough discipline to form a rear guard and allow what was left of the British expedition to retreat.
            British losses were appalling with more than 900 dead and wounded. According to most records, only one mounted officer survived the engagement that would become known as the “Battle of the Monongahela”, but should have been called the “Monongahela Massacre”. That officer was George Washington.
            He should have died that day. Just one more unknown, low ranking colonial officer, one more casualty in a poorly executed British offensive, his name lost in the mists of history. How Washington managed to survive is beyond explanation and it was only the first of such miraculous escapes. Had he lost his life, the America we know would not exist, or if it did somehow come into being, it would certainly be profoundly different. His survival in the face of almost impossible odds also gives substantial evidence to many, that both Washington and the nation that would someday become America, were under the protection and guidance of Divine Providence.
            Washington himself recognized that his survival that day was highly improbable. A few days later, in a letter to his brother John, Washington himself wrote about this. "By the all-powerful dispensations of Providence, I have been protected beyond all human probability or expectation; for I had four bullets through my coat, and two horses shot under me, yet escaped unhurt, although death was leveling my companions on every side of me!”







 






Geoff Armstrong began his teaching career in 1965 after receiving a teaching diploma from McGill University’s Macdonald College. He earned a Bachelor of Arts degree from Montreal’s Concordia University in 1967 where his major field of study was history. Armstrong credits writers such as Bruce Catton, and Thomas B. Costain, as well as the encouragement of his father who had little formal education, but a deep love of reading and of history, as the inspiration for his own life-long interest.

Throughout a 25-year teaching career he taught history at several grade levels and learned quickly that to reach the hearts of his students, history had to be made immediately and deeply relevant and accessible: that some event that took place centuries before those students were born had a direct and profound influence on every aspect their lives. He also learned that talking down or writing down to his students was a recipe for defeat. It is this awareness, shaped by a quarter century of teaching and countless questions by thousands of intelligent young people that has informed and shaped his writing.


You can visit his website at www.MomentsThatMadeAmerica.com.






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Monday, April 1, 2019

A Lady's Virtue by A.S. Fenichel @asfenichel #Regency #Romance #VBT


A LADY'S VIRTUE by A.S. Fenichel, Regency Romance, 225 pp., $15.95 (paperback) $4.99 (Kindle)


Title: A LADY’S VIRTUE
Author: A.S. Fenichel
Publisher: Lyrical Press/Kensington Books
Pages: 225
Genre: Regency Romance


Can a broken engagement ignite the spark of true love?

Sylvia Dowder had almost made it to the altar when her fiancé unexpectedly became a viscount, and dropped her like a stale crumpet to make a more “suitable” match. Though Sylvia’s heart has been crushed, her spirit has not. She puts her wits and social savvy to use as a secret gossip columnist—and as the Everton Domestic Society’s party planner to the ton. Luckily, she’s not in danger of ever falling for an aristocrat again…

Especially not one like Anthony Braighton, Earl of Grafton. Raised in America, Anthony sees no reason to marry when he can enjoy all the perks of being an eligible earl. Determined to convince his family he doesn’t need a wife, he hires Sylvia to act as hostess and decorator for upcoming parties. Yet Sylvia is as adept at captivating his interest as she is at beautifying his home. And despite this Everton lady’s aversion to titled men, some attractions can’t be denied—and love rarely does go where it’s told . . .

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Late again, Sylvia Dowder ran down the stairs at the Everton Domestic Society as if her skirts were on fire. It was impossible to read her handwritten pages while moving at such a pace, but she needed to send her article to the Weekly Whisper’s editor before the day was out. She’d been late last month and nearly lost her post at the newspaper.
At the bottom of the stairs, she noted her failure to sign the article. Quill in hand, she dripped ink on her brown skirt, leaned on the banister and scribbled Mable Tattler at the bottom. She would ask Gray to have  a footman carry it to Free Market Square. Jumping down the last step brought her up against a wall that toppled her to the floor.
Stunned, she lay still with her papers strewn around her and the light from the transom windows blocked by whatever had felled her.
A masculine, ungloved hand reached toward her. “I’m terribly sorry, miss. Entirely my fault. Are you hurt?” His accent was strange, American perhaps. Having no gloves on, she was hesitant to touch him, but there was no help for it. She couldn’t remain on her back like a turtle. The warmth of his skin traveled up her arm, and her cheeks heated. His fingers were strong and rough. This was no gentleman’s hand. She stood as he eased her to her feet. “Not at all,” she said. “I was distracted.”
He towered over her. At her full height of barely over five feet, she craned her neck and was frozen by the most stunning pair of golden eyes, olive skin and full lips. She blinked to focus on the whole rather than the parts. “Anthony Braighton?”
He bowed over her hand, which he still held firmly in his. “Lady Serena or Sylvia? I’m afraid I don’t know.”


The mention of her twin’s name brought reality crashing back on Sylvia. She pulled her hand back and made a curtsy. “A common mistake, sir. I am Sylvia Dowder. My sister is still living at home.”
Cocking his head, he gawked at her. “And you are now living here at Everton House, Miss Dowder?”
“I have joined the Society.” While he seemed only curious, it still rubbed her wrong, and she forced herself not to defend her decisions. Anthony Braighton was just a rich gentleman from America. His opinion didn’t mean anything.
“Because of Lord March?” The problem with Americans was they said exactly what they thought rather than keeping a conversation polite. Sylvia bit down on the inside of her cheek. The last thing she wanted was to recount the demise of her engagement to Hunter Gautier, the current Viscount of March. She had been so close to the altar before disaster struck. No. She wouldn’t think about that anymore. “My reasons are not your concern, Mr. Braighton. If you’ll excuse me, I have to see the butler.” His eyes were wide. “Have I been rude, Miss Dowder? I assure you,
it was not my intention. I only meant to convey that March’s treatment of you was abominable and no one blames you.”
Despite his effort to make things better, his mention of what everyone in London knew of her life and failure only exacerbated her mortification. Still, she could see he was sincere, if mistaken. “There is no harm, Mr. Braighton. I am uninjured.”
“I am pleased to hear that. It seems I have a bad habit of offending the English with regularity.” His smile created the most charming dimple in his left cheek, and his eyes sparkled with mischief.
If she were honest, she did not mind looking at Anthony Braighton.
Best not to be too honest. “I am made of tougher stuff than most.” “Indeed.” That dimple deepened, and he raised an eyebrow. Looking at
the pages in her hand, he said, “I’m keeping you from something. Forgive me. I was on my way to see Lady Jane Everton.”
Curiosity over what troubles might bring a rich young man to the Everton Domestic Society warred with her need to have her article delivered to her editor before her deadline passed. Her training as a lady won the battle. She gestured toward the hallway, which led behind the stairs. “Lady Jane’s office is the first door on the right.”
“Thank you, Miss Dowder. Very nice to see you again.” “And you, Mr. Braighton. If you will excuse me.”
He bowed, and she rushed from the foyer to find Gray, the Evertons’ aging butler.






 





A.S. Fenichel gave up a successful career in New York City to follow her husband to Texas and pursue her lifelong dream of being a professional writer. She’s never looked back.

A.S. adores writing stories filled with love, passion, desire, magic and maybe a little mayhem tossed in for good measure. Books have always been her perfect escape and she still relishes diving into one and staying up all night to finish a good story.

Multi-published in historical, paranormal, erotic and contemporary romance, A.S. is the author of The Forever Brides series, the Everton Domestic Society series, and more. With several books currently contracted, A.S. will be bringing you her brand of edgy romance for years to come.

Originally from New York, she grew up in New Jersey, and now lives in the Southern Missouri with her real-life hero, her wonderful husband. When not reading or writing she enjoys cooking, travel, history, puttering in her garden and spoiling her fussy cat. 

Website Link: http://asfenichel.com
Twitter Link: https://twitter.com/asfenichel
Facebook Link: https://www.facebook.com/A.S.Fenichel




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