$50 Walmart Card & Lawhorn's Signature Seasonings Giveaway!

Please visit Ellen at Confessions of an Overworked Mom to take advantage of these great giveaway that's going on until February 24th.

$50 Walmart Card & Lawhorn's Signature Seasonings Giveaway!

Author Spotlight: Respect the Jux by Frank C. Matthews

In Jamaica, “Cat” learned the art of the “jux”: robbing people by studying their everyday movements. By the age of eight, Cat was shoplifting and purse-snatching. By ten, he had his first gun. At fifteen, he committed his first murder.

In New York City . . . he created The Order: a secret society of thieves who played by Cat’s rules. He taught his crew how to pull off the perfect jux. Made them swear on a bible and a bullet. Robbed dealers, pushers, thugs. And raked in millions. Then Cat was betrayed—by one of his own men.

In Miami . . . he set up a new operation. Bigger game, bigger stakes. The targets are prime—athletes, politicians, drug lords, celebrities—and the payoff is huge. But the party scene is as dangerous as the ladies are beautiful. Cat has to watch his back and remember the rules: Never trust a thief. Never get caught. And always . . .RESPECT THE JUX.


Read the reviews!

“It’s an unapologetic look into the dangerous minds of the modern criminal. It’s gritty, seductive, and horrifying, all at the same time,” exclaimed Gray, whose credits include box office hits Law Abiding Citizen, Friday, Set it Off, The Negotiator, and The Italian Job. Known for his all-star casts, Gray’s films feature seasoned thespians, including Ice Cube, Jada Pinkett Smith, Queen Latifah, Vivica A. Fox, Samuel L. Jackson, Edward Norton, and Mark Wahlberg, as well as Academy Award winners Charlize Theron, and Kevin Spacey. “Frank’s gripping writing style pulls you into the depths of this shadowy underworld, providing an addictive… yet frighteningly educational read.”

– Gary Gray, Film Director

Watch the trailer!



Prodigious and profound author Frank C. Matthews’ triumphant transformation from inmate to novelist has established him as a leading force in the world of urban literature. Armed with his mastery of the written word, Matthews has achieved feats that are only reserved for the most seasoned of writers, selling an unprecedented amount of books as a first-time author and self-publisher. When it comes to putting the urban voice – the human voice – on the page, Matthews has no peer. His unprecedented journey demonstrates that even when confronted with a web of trials and tribulations, creativity has the ability to flourish. As a New York City native, Matthews grew up with aspirations of one day becoming a household name as an NBA Superstar. His dream took a detour, but his resilience and determination allowed him to persevere.

The lure of the streets and its fast money took Matthews away from hoops and into another game – the drug trade – where he found instant success. But a deal gone bad eventually landed him behind bars. Once incarcerated, Matthews had few options of how to spend his seemingly unending time in what felt like a black hole drawing at all happiness. Taking advantage of the still and silent nights, Matthews spent hours plunged into two of the world’s most renowned, contemporary African-American storytellers, Iceberg Slim and Donald Goines.


The books empowered the now bright-eyed and enthusiastic Matthews and awakened a creative bug to tell the stories locked inside im. “Incarceration transformed me,” said Matthews. “I went from a young, frustrated, and confused boy to a mature, humble, and pensive man.” Much the way Malcolm X used the power of words to transform himself in prison, Matthews used the power of the pen to write his way to freedom, real freedom. While the calamities of his past may have blackened his vision they did not still his pen. He found his purpose. He would write his stories in notebooks, on torn-open envelopes, and anything he could get his hands on and would pass them around through the system. While some traded cigarettes, Matthews traded his highly demanded stories, which inmates clung to like emotional life rafts.


Matthews delved into the business of publishing, an industry he now planned to one day master. He found his style of writing to be unique, labeling it as “true fiction,” an alternate take on real events he had witnessed firsthand. He honed his craft and further developed a distinctive writing style that was uninhibited, dramatic yet cinematic as his readers traveled to adventurous sonic territory. He had a burning desire to share his rare experiences in the underworld of crime with anyone who would listen. Matthews’ drive and passion was reinvigorated. He would be relentless in his pursuit to share with the masses his tales of underworld crime, drama, brotherhood and love.


Upon his rebirth in 2005, Matthews discovered that he could put his past behind him and emerge with a renewed sense of purpose and unwavering determination. The resilient author took his astounding gift of writing “true fiction,” coupled with his compulsion for words and decided to pursue his passion. Even after numerous failed attempts at landing a publishing deal, Matthews did what he learned to do best – create opportunities for himself. He knew that there was an untapped niche audience eager to hear his voice, and he was steadfast in his desire to supplant the current favorites in the urban lit arena.


Matthews self-published one of his first novels, Respect the Jux, and it caught fire, selling over 20,000 thousand copies. The book catapulted Matthews into the sphere typically reserved for seasoned literary greats while capturing the attention of everyone from rappers Jay-Z, Ghostface Killer, and 50 Cent (who rapped on Lloyd Banks’s single, “Hands up, if you want to party with crooks you have to learn to Respect the Jux!”) to literary powerhouses like bestselling author and publisher Karen Hunter.


The gripping tale borrows from Matthews’ recollection of urban legends through the saga of Cat, who journeyed from Jamaica to the United States as a teenager. After a stint in the military, Cat returned with newfound skills and a desire for his own version of the American Dream—by any means necessary.


Using his extensive military background in weapons and intelligence, Cat formed “The Order,” a band of thieves that specialized in pulling off juxes, which Matthews defines as emulating and acquiring another’s style, intellect, or swagger for personal advancement.


Captivating, intriguing, mesmerizing – all words that describe Frank Matthews’ uncanny ability to bring readers into the worlds that he creates. His first auspicious debut Respect the Jux, a dynamic tale of brotherhood, greed, and power, hits the shelves nationwide in September, the style made famous by Slim and Goines will be revived…with a 21st century twist!


Visit his website at http://www.frankmatthews.com/.

February Romance Novel Event: Big Girls Don't Cry Wolf by Kay Dee Royal

After the tragic loss of her twin sister, Brea works hard to prove herself worthy of her adoptive parent’s extra attention. She focuses on the success of the rustic resort her parents deeded to her.

Priorities change when sexy twin wolves in human form walk into Brea’s life.

A dangerous rogue abducts her, but whom, if anyone comes to her rescue?

WARNING: Sexual content 18 and over

Read an excerpt!

Brea watched Grey’s truck drive down the dirt path until she couldn’t see it through the trees. She shivered, instantly missing the warmth of Grey’s body next to hers. She looked one more time down the path in case Grey changed his mind about leaving her.

Did I misread Grey’s intentions? Gads, I threw myself at him. Maybe he isn’t into oversized women after all. I’m such an idiot!

Brea stepped through the door of her little stone cottage. She’d never questioned her size before, always fit her just fine. Not questioning it now either. Right now she needed cozy. As crappy as she felt over Grey’s quick departure, her head throbbed like the residual effects of a hangover, but it didn’t hinder her from throwing a few logs into the fireplace. Once a nice flame got going, she absorbed the comfort of its warmth. She lay back on her divan in front of the beautiful stone hearth.

Brea pulled her favorite blanket with images of howling wolves over her and laid her head on a matching throw pillow. Her whole room reflected her love of wolves, through pictures, statues, lamp shades, and her shelves full of books about them. She needed their comfort right now to take away Grey’s rejection of her.

Brea closed her eyes for a moment, fighting an overpowering sadness.

Exhaustion finally pulled her into sleep.

* * * *

A haunting wolf howl crept into Brea’s dream. It wouldn’t stop; it was so loud…until Brea snapped awake. She sat up in darkness, not even embers glowed inside the hearth, moonlight streamed in through her sliding glass door with enough light to help her maneuver through the room. She went to the glass door to draw the curtains closed, but instead she was drawn to what lay beyond her porch.

Brea opened the door, stepped out, and walked over to the railing of her ground-level deck. She saw the light of the moon cut a path across the calm lake water to the sandy shoreline fifty feet away. Chilled damp air settled over her bare arms.

She glanced to the south tree line leading into miles of forest. Something shifted the shadows of the trees, maybe an animal hiding. She didn’t hear the rustle of dry leaves that usually accompanies animal movement in the forest.

A wolf howled a short distance from Brea. Its sound reverberated against the stone cottage wall behind her, sending a shiver from her skin into her bones. She knew wolves had been sighted a few miles away, but never at the resort. For as long as she’d lived in Northern Michigan, she’d never actually seen one. Now, she was about to have a very personal experience with one.

Brea had studied them enough to know not to move or she’d spook it. She heard it breathing and slowly turned to look. Wet, warm moisture carried on the slight breeze, settling on, around, and inside her.

The moon and all its light vanished behind an ominous cloud. Two glowing green orbs appeared to float in front of her. Somewhere in her consciousness she recognized the green eyes and the assailing breath.

A direct order, something she must do, jogged her memory, compelling her. She couldn’t look away. Her body became weightless, fluid and she wanted to follow. She moved forward, off the deck, following…following something that called her. She heard it and knew she must hurry.

Suddenly hands gripped her from behind, stopping her progress.

Another warm moist breath infiltrated her senses with the scent of pine, musk, and cloves. Her need to follow disintegrated like the ash of a spent campfire. Brea came awake in the middle of the forest. Strong arms wrapped around her waist.

“It’s alright, Brea. I think you were walking in your sleep.” Grey’s voice whispered through the layers of fog that began to break apart in her mind. “Brea, take a deep breath.”

Brea turned to face Grey.

“What…I’m…it’s night.” She couldn’t seem to grasp a total thought, other than being in the middle of the forest and in Grey’s arms. What was she doing here? What was he doing here?

Grey picked her up and carried her. She heard a wolf howl, so did Grey. He stopped and raised his face. Brea watched him sniff the air. She shrugged it off, her mind in no condition to make a judgment call of what he was doing, especially for something as strange as Grey sniffing the air.
The muscles in his arms tightened, squeezing her closer to him. He ran. How he could navigate through the trees in the darkness and carry her weight, Brea couldn’t fathom, but then her brain didn’t seem to be functioning with all lobes either. She closed her eyes and tucked her head into his shoulder, like a child in his arms, safe and loved.

Loved? Where did that come from?

Grey stepped onto Brea’s deck, walking through the open sliding glass door into her cottage.

“Gads, I left my door open?”

“Like I told you, I think you were walking in your sleep. Have you ever done that before?” Grey set Brea down on the divan and went back to the door to slide it closed. He switched on a small lamp in the corner and proceeded to re-build the fire in the hearth.

“I’ve never walked in my sleep that I’m aware of. I mean I’ve never woke up in the middle of the forest in the middle of the night. I guess I’m lucky you were there. Why were you there?”

Brea watched Grey’s sleek animal-like movements, stealthy, sure-footed, with muscles rippling. Again she saw him lift his head and sniff the air. His eyes glowed silver, reminding her of other glowing eyes and a shudder quaked down her body.

PURCHASE A COPY OF BIG GIRLS DON'T CRY WOLF FROM MUSEITUPPUBLISHING.COM!

Kay Dee Royal loves writing paranormal fantasy romance, maybe because she loves to read them. Wild, rugged heroes and strong, intelligent heroines, both with a few shadowy secrets, make it intriguing and fun. She resides in Southern Michigan.

You can visit her online at http://www.kaydeeroyal.blogspot.com/?zx=6e663bb33908015f.

Please check out the Muse It Hot Readers Yahoo Group - http://ca.groups.yahoo.com/group/MuseitHOT/  on 2/16 for Kay Dee Royal's contest. She will be giving away a free copy of her book, Big Girls Don't Cry Wolf. Also, check the reader site out for all the special contests running throughout the month of February.

Author Spotlight: Outlander by Diana Gabaldon

Claire Randall is leading a double life. She has a husband in one century, and a lover in another…


In 1945, Claire Randall, a former combat nurse, is back from the war and reunited with her husband on a second honeymoon–when she innocently touches a boulder in one of the ancient stone circles that dot the British Isles. Suddenly she is a Sassenach—an “outlander”—in a Scotland torn by war and raiding border clans in the year of our Lord…1743.

Hurled back in time by forces she cannot understand, Claire’s destiny in soon inextricably intertwined with Clan MacKenzie and the forbidden Castle Leoch. She is catapulted without warning into the intrigues of lairds and spies that may threaten her life …and shatter her heart. For here, James Fraser, a gallant young Scots warrior, shows her a passion so fierce and a love so absolute that Claire becomes a woman torn between fidelity and desire…and between two vastly different men in two irreconcilable lives.

Read an excerpt!

Jamie made a fire in a sheltered spot, and sat down next to it. The rain had eased to a faint drizzle that misted the air and spangled my eyelashes with rainbows when I looked at the flames.

He sat staring into the fire for a long time. Finally he looked up at me, hands clasped around his knees.
"I said before that I'd not ask ye things ye had no wish to tell me. And I'd not ask ye now; but I must know, for your safety as well as mine." He paused, hesitating.
"Claire, if you've never been honest wi' me, be so now, for I must know the truth. Claire, are ye a witch?"

I gaped at him. "A witch? You—you can really ask that?" I thought he must be joking. He wasn't.

He took me by the shoulders and gripped me hard, staring into my eyes as though willing me to answer him.
"I must ask it, Claire! And you must tell me!"

"And if I were?" I asked through dry lips. "If you had thought I were a witch? Would you still have fought for me?"

"I would have gone to the stake with you!" he said violently. "And to hell beyond, if I must. But may the Lord Jesus have mercy on my soul and on yours, tell me the truth!"

The strain of it all caught up with me. I tore myself out of his grasp and ran across the clearing. Not far, only to the edge of the trees; I could not bear the exposure of the open space. I clutched a tree; put my arms around it and dug my fingers hard into the bark, pressed my face to it and shrieked with hysterical laughter.

Jamie's face, white and shocked, loomed up on the other side of the tree. With the dim realization that what I was doing must sound unnervingly like cackling, I made a terrific effort and stopped. Panting, I stared at him for a moment.

"Yes," I said, backing away, still heaving with gasps of unhinged laughter. "Yes, I am a witch! To you, I must be. I've never had smallpox, but I can walk through a room full of dying men and never catch it. I can nurse the sick and breathe their air and touch their bodies, and the sickness can't touch me. I can't catch cholera, either, or lockjaw, or the morbid sore throat. And you must think it's an enchantment, because you've never heard of vaccine, and there's no other way you can explain it."

"The things I know—" I stopped backing away and stood still, breathing heavily, trying to control myself. "I know about Jonathan Randall because I was told about him. I know when he was born and when he'll die, I know about what he's done and what he'll do, I know about Sandringham because ... because Frank told me. He knew about Randall because he ... he ... oh, God!" I felt as though I might be sick, and closed my eyes to shut out the spinning stars overhead.

"And Colum ... he thinks I'm a witch, because I know Hamish isn't his own son. I know ... he can't sire children. But he thought I knew who Hamish's father is ... I thought maybe it was you, but then I knew it couldn't be, and..." I was talking faster and faster, trying to keep the vertigo at bay with the sound of my own voice.

"Everything I've ever told you about myself was true," I said, nodding madly as though to reassure myself. "Everything. I haven't any people, I haven't any history, because I haven't happened yet.

"Do you know when I was born?" I asked, looking up. I knew my hair was wild and my eyes staring, and I didn't care. "On the twentieth of October, in the Year of Our Lord nineteen hundred and eighteen. Do you hear me?" I demanded, for he was blinking at me unmoving, as though paying no attention to a word I said. "I said nineteen eighteen! Nearly two hundred years from now! Do you hear?"

I was shouting now, and he nodded slowly.

"I hear," he said softly.

"Yes, you hear!" I blazed. "And you think I'm raving mad. Don't you? Admit it! That's what you think. You have to think so, there isn't any other way you can explain me to yourself. You can't believe me, you can't dare to. Oh, Jamie..." I felt my face start to crumple. All this time spent hiding the truth, realizing that I could never tell anyone, and now I realized that I could tell Jamie, my beloved husband, the man I trusted beyond all others, and he wouldn't—he couldn't believe me either.

"It was the rocks—the fairy hill. The standing stones. Merlin's stones. That's where I came through." I was gasping, half-sobbing, becoming less coherent by the second. "Once upon a time, but it's really two hundred years. It's always two hundred years, in the stories. ... But in the stories, the people always get back. I couldn't get back." I turned away, staggering, grasping for support. I sank down on a rock, shoulders slumped, and put my head in my hands. There was a long silence in the wood. It went on long enough for the small night birds to recover their courage and start their noises once again, calling to each other with a thin, high zeek! as they hawked for the last insects of the summer.

I looked up at last, thinking that perhaps he had simply risen and left me, overcome by my revelations. He was still there, though, still sitting, hands braced on his knees, head bowed as though in thought.

The hairs on his arms shone stiff as copper wires in the firelight, though, and I realized that they stood erect, like the bristles on a dog. He was afraid of me.

"Jamie," I said, feeling my heart break with absolute loneliness. "Oh, Jamie."

I sat down and curled myself into a ball, trying to roll myself around the core of my pain. Nothing mattered any longer, and I sobbed my heart out.

His hands on my shoulders raised me, enough to see his face. Through the haze of tears, I saw the look he wore in battle, of struggle that had passed the point of strain and become calm certainty.

"I believe you," he said firmly. "I dinna understand it a bit—not yet—but I believe you. Claire, I believe you! Listen to me! There's the truth between us, you and I, and whatever ye tell me, I shall believe it." He gave me a gentle shake.

"It doesna matter what it is. You've told me. That's enough for now. Be still, mo duinne. Lay your head and rest. You'll tell me the rest of it later. And I'll believe you."

I was still sobbing, unable to grasp what he was telling me. I struggled, trying to pull away, but he gathered me up and held me tightly against himself, pushing my head into the folds of his plaid, and repeating over and over again, "I believe you."

At last, from sheer exhaustion, I grew calm enough to look up and say, "But you can't believe me."
He smiled down at me. His mouth trembled slightly, but he smiled.

"Ye'll no tell me what I canna do, Sassenach." He paused a moment. ... A long time later, he spoke.

"All right. Tell me now."

I told him. Told him everything, haltingly but coherently. I felt numb from exhaustion, but content, like a rabbit that has outrun a fox, and found temporary shelter under a log. It isn't sanctuary, but at least it is respite. And I told him about Frank.
"Frank," he said softly. "Then he isna dead, after all."

"He isn't born." I felt another small wave of hysteria break against my ribs, but managed to keep myself under control. "Neither am I."

He stroked and patted me back into silence, making his small murmuring Gaelic sounds.

"When I took ye from Randall at Fort William," he said suddenly, "you were trying to get back. Back to the stones. And ... Frank. That's why ye left the grove."
"Yes."

"And I beat you for it." His voice was soft with regret.

"You couldn't know. I couldn't tell you." I was beginning to feel very drowsy indeed.

"No, I dinna suppose ye could." He pulled the plaid closer around me, tucking it gently around my shoulders. "Do ye sleep now, mo duinne. No one shall harm ye; I'm here."

I burrowed into the warm curve of his shoulder, letting my tired mind fall through the layers of oblivion. I forced myself to the surface long enough to ask, "Do you really believe me, Jamie?"
He sighed, and smiled ruefully down at me.

"Aye, I believe ye, Sassenach. But it would ha' been a good deal easier if you'd only been a witch."

Excerpted from Outlander by Diana Gabaldon Copyright © 1991 by Diana Gabaldon. Excerpted by permission of Dell, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Read the reviews!

“Absorbing and heartwarming…lavishly evokes the land and lore of Scotland.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Stunning!”

—Los Angeles Daily News

“It is a large canvas that Gabaldon paints, filled with strong passions and derring-do. Strong willed and sensual, Claire is an engaging modern heroine plopped down in a simpler, more primitive time…. Great fun …marvelous and fantastic adventures, romance, sex …perfect escape reading!”

—San Francisco Chronicle

PURCHASE OUTLANDER BY DIANA GABALDON BY CLICKING HERE! ALSO AVAILABLE IN A KINDLE EDITION WITH BONUS CONTENT!

Diana Gabaldon is the author of the award-winning, #1 NYT-bestselling OUTLANDER novels, described by Salon magazine as “the smartest historical sci-fi adventure-romance story ever written by a science Ph.D. with a background in scripting “Scrooge McDuck” comics.”


The adventure began in 1991 with the classic OUTLANDER (“historical fiction with a Moebius twist”), has continued through six more New York Times-bestselling novels–DRAGONFLY IN AMBER, VOYAGER, DRUMS OF AUTUMN, THE FIERY CROSS, A BREATH OF SNOW AND ASHES, and AN ECHO IN THE BONE, with nineteen million copies in print worldwide.


The series is published in 26 countries and 23 languages, and includes a nonfiction (well, relatively) companion volume, THE OUTLANDISH COMPANION, which provides details on the settings, background, characters, research, and writing of the novels. Gabaldon (it’s pronounced “GAA-bull-dohn”—rhymes with “stone”) has also written several books in a sub-series featuring Lord John Grey (a major minor character from the main series): LORD JOHN AND THE PRIVATE MATTER, LORD JOHN AND THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE BLADE, and LORD JOHN AND THE HAND OF DEVILS. Another Lord John book, LORD JOHN AND THE SCOTTISH PRISONER, will probably be published in 2011).


Returning to her comic-book roots, she has also written a graphic novel titled THE EXILE (set within the OUTLANDER universe and featuring the main characters from OUTLANDER), but told from the viewpoint of Jamie Fraser and his godfather, Murtagh. The graphic novel is illustrated by Hoang Nguyen, published by Del-Rey.


Gabaldon is presently working on the third Lord John novel (LORD JOHN AND THE SCOTTISH PRISONER), and the eighth book in the OUTLANDER series. In addition, she is working on a contemporary mystery series, set in Phoenix, and has written Highly Scholarly Introductions (with masses of footnotes) to recent Modern Library editions of Sir Walter Scott’s IVANHOE and Thomas Paine’s COMMON SENSE.


Dr. Gabaldon holds three degrees in science: Zoology, Marine Biology, and Quantitative Behavioral Ecology, (plus an honorary degree as Doctor of Humane Letters, which entitles her to be “Diana Gabaldon, Ph.D., D.H.L.” She supposes this is better than “Diana Gabaldon, Phd.X,”) and spent a dozen years as a university professor with an expertise in scientific computation before beginning to write fiction. She has written scientific articles and textbooks, worked as a contributing editor on the MacMillan ENCYCLOPEDIA OF COMPUTERS, founded the scientific-computation journal SCIENCE SOFTWARE QUARTERLY, and has written numerous comic-book scripts for Walt Disney. None of this has anything whatever to do with her novels, but there it is.


She and her husband, Douglas Watkins, have three adult children and live mostly in Scottsdale, Arizona.


You can visit Diana online at www.DianaGabaldon.com.

Winners of a Free Bar of Happy Goats Soap!

Our congratulations go out to:

Tayet

Farrah

and noteasytobegreen, all winners of a free bar of Happy Goats Soap.

I'll be contacting the winners in the morning. They will have 72 hours to respond with mailing information. If I don't hear from them within that time frame, I will select a new winner/winners.

Thanks to all who participated.

Book Spotlight: The Inheritance by Pamela S. Thibodeaux

The Inheritance is about the chance we all long for…the chance to start over. Widowed at age thirty-nine and suffering from empty nest syndrome, Rebecca Sinclair is overshadowed by grief and loneliness.  Her husband has been deceased for a year, her oldest child has moved to New York in pursuit of an acting career and her youngest child is attending college in France. Having spent over half of her life as a wife and mother, she has no idea what God has in store for her now.  Will an unexpected inheritance in the wine country of New York bring meaning and purpose to her life and give her the courage to love again?  US Postal worker Raymond Jacobey has been in love with the little widow since he first set eyes on her.  A wanderer searching for the ever-illusive soul mate, Ray has never stayed in one place too long. Raised by self-centered, high-power executives, he’s longed for the idyllic life of residing in a cozy house in a small town with the love of his life. Will he gain the heart of the lovely widow or will he lose her to the wine country of New York?  

Read an excerpt!

Rebecca let him lead her up the snow-covered bank until they stood in a clearing looking out to where heaven and earth met in a glorious profusion of rock and sky. Clouds surrounded mountain peaks like halos. A rainbow shimmered in the sky, brilliant colors against a backdrop of aqua so breathtaking they were literally gasping for air.

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed. Ray slid his arms around her waist, and she leaned against his chest. He rested his chin on her head, and they stood in silence gazing at the raw beauty of creation until the damp chill permeated their clothes.

Running his hands down her arms in a warming caress, Ray took Rebecca’s hands in his then turned her to face him. She could see his heart in his eyes as he quoted Scripture. “The earth declares the glory of the Lord, the heavens proclaim His handiwork. That might not be an exact quote, but close enough. It is beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Rebecca’s heart fluttered at the charming, boyish grin he bestowed on her. She knew he’d spoken more than mere words; he’d spoken his heart. Tears filled her eyes and clogged her throat when she thought about what the future might hold. Standing on the threshold of that great unknown, she had never been more acutely aware of anything than she was of this moment, this man.

He was looking at her intently. His thumbs caressed the back of her hands, chasing the chill from her blood. Lethargic warmth stole over her. As though in a fog she watched him lift her hands to his mouth and press his lips to her palm in a caress so tender it sent shivers down her spine.

She lowered her gaze, and he lifted her chin with his finger and waited until she looked at him again. “I want to kiss you, Becca, here in the midst of Paradise,” he whispered, his lips covering hers with devastating tenderness.

Rebecca heard his primitive grunt of satisfaction when he let go of her hands and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. An answering purr escaped her as tiny pinpoints of pleasure bathed her senses with light and color. Never in her life had she felt so alive, so consumed with sensations.

Whether a moment or an eternity, she had no idea how long they stood there, his mouth in sweet possession of hers. All she knew was that when the kiss was over she was plastered against his hard body, her breathing was sharp almost painful and her fists were clenched in his thick, sandy-colored hair. Appalled at her wanton response and the needy way in which she clung, Rebecca flung away with a startled cry of distress, and began to run.

Read the reviews!

"I wholeheartedly recommend this book to anyone! The book does not 'sermonize' to the reader; it does, however, present the simple plan of salvation to anyone who is interested."

--The Romance Studio

"This story was filled with the complete gamete of emotions."

--JoAnn Carter, author of Daniella and Smuggler of the Heart

"This is a refreshing, honest read about life, love and forgiveness that leaves me eager for more from Ms. Thibodeaux!"

--Marianne T. Evans

PURCHASE A COPY OF THE INHERITANCE AT WHITEROSEPUBLISHING.COM IN PAPERBACK OR AN E-BOOK EDITION. ALSO AVAILABLE FOR KINDLE!

The Inheritance
© 2007
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press/White Rose Publishing
ISBN# 1-60154-055-8

Find out more about Pamela S Thibodeaux & her books by visiting her website: http://pamelathibodeaux.com  or blog: http://pamswildrosepressblog.blogspot.com.  Follow her on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/pamelasthibodeaux  & Twitter http://twitter.com/psthib.  "Inspirational with an Edge!" ™

Coming Soon: Shortcomings by Ginger Simpson!

Our shortcomings don't define who we are, unless we let them. Cindy Johnson needs to learn that. Born with one leg shorter than the other, she has no self-esteem because of the cruel comments and cold stares she receives from her classmates.  When Cory Neil, the football quarterback asks her to Homecoming, she's quite sure he's asked her on a dare and refuses.  It takes more than just her mother's assurances that Cindy's beautiful before she realizes she may have made a mistake in turning him down.

Read an excerpt!

Cindy paused outside the door to her Math class and took a deep breath. So far, she’d avoided an encounter with Cory or Sally, and now she’d have to face them both. Surely Sally would make sure Cindy heard all about the dance and her fabulous date. She’d never cut class before, but the thought crossed her mind. Instead, she pushed through her anxiety and limped inside.

Head down, she made her way to her desk beneath the burning weight of everyone‘s stares. She slid into her seat, wishing she could turn invisible, but knowing she eventually had to face the music.
“Welcome back, Miss Johnson,” the teacher called out. “We’re happy you’ve made such a rapid recovery. We only just learned on Friday about your accident.”

Cindy plastered a smile on her face. “Thank you, Mr. Hansen. It’s good to be back.” Had she really said that? She dared a glance at Sally and curled her lip at the pep captain’s conceited smirk. With Cory behind her, seeing his reaction was impossible. She dared not make an obvious turn in her seat.
Mr. Hansen fished through papers on his desk then looked up. “See me after class about your missed homework. I have the assignments listed for you.” He picked up a textbook from his desk. “If everyone will turn to page one hundred fifty, we’ll get started.”

She retrieved her book from her backpack and flipped to the correct section. Following the droning voice of the instructor, she felt a tickling sensation along her side. Lifting her arm, she found Cory had tucked a note there. Before removing it, she glanced up at the teacher. Sweet relief, his back was turned to the class as he focused on the blackboard. She hid the missive in the open pages of her book and read. “I missed you while you were gone, and I’m glad you weren’t badly hurt. Did you get my card?”

With her jaw tensed over that blasted non-emotion revealing card, she took pencil in hand and jotted her response on the back of his note: Yes, I got your card and I thank you for thinking of me, especially on a weekend when I know you must have been very busy.

She stared at the last remark and grimaced. Was it too catty? No, he deserved it. She quickly folded the paper in half, and while eyeing Mr. Hansen, did a half-swivel in her seat and pushed the note across Cory’s desk. She straightened, faced forward and enjoyed feeling rather vindicated. She dipped her chin and tuned into the teacher’s voice as he explained the formula on the board.

“Misterrrr Neal.” At the teacher’s voice, her gaze popped up. “Would you care to share with the class what you’re reading? I assume from your latest test grade, it isn’t your lesson!”

She could only imagine the horrified look on Cory’s face at the moment, and she cringed, awaiting his response. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sally’s smug smile.

“I’d prefer not to share, sir.” His voice sounded steady and in control, quite unlike her nerves.

“Then please pass the note in your hand forward and I’ll be happy to read it aloud.” Mr. Hansen’s gaze bored past her.

Cindy’s stomach roiled. If Cory got into trouble he could lose his place on the football team, and the season wasn’t over yet. Cindy slid from beneath her desk and stood. “Mr. Hansen.” Her voice trembled in rhythm to her knees. “It’s my fault. Cory sent me a get well card and I passed a thank you note to him. I apologize for disrupting the class.”

Mr. Hansen’s dark brow furrowed as he eyed her. “Well, Miss Johnson, because you’ve already suffered a great deal recently, I’ll let this pass, but…” His gaze scanned the entire class. “I will not tolerate any further note passing by anyone.”

SHORTCOMINGS BY GINGER SIMPSON IS COMING MARCH 1ST FROM MUSEITUP PUBLISHING!

Ginger Simpson retired from the University of California in 2003 in order to devote more time to her writing. She’s multi-published with several small houses and has decided to bloom where she’s planted rather than seeking a contract with a bigger house. Her grandson, Spencer, is autistic, and has been the biggest inspiration in her life. Watching him develop and improve has shone her that with perseverance, most hurdles aren’t all that tall.


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