Book Blitz of The Heartbeats of Aloha by Brooke Gilbert (#contests- Enter to win a Gift Box- two winners)

The Heartbeats of Aloha
Brooke Gilbert
(Under the Hawaiian Stars)
Publication date: July 1st 2025
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

𝙎𝙚𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙙𝙮, 𝙧𝙚𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙩𝙚. 𝘾𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧-𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧?

Reef has been in love with Luna since they were kids. As a secret romance novelist, he pours his unrequited feelings into his books, reliving their love on the page. But when Luna’s uncle proposes a fake relationship to thwart a stunt her PR wants to pull, Reef’s wildest dreams and worst fears are about to collide.

Luna never stopped loving Reef, even when she broke his heart to protect him. Music became her refuge, but fame brought unexpected complications. Now, fate has brought them back together, but the demons of their past threaten to consume them both.

As Reef and Luna navigate their rekindled feelings amidst a whirlwind of secrets, heartache, and desire, they’ll discover that sometimes reality is even more extraordinary than fiction. When their truths come to light, will their love survive, or will they wish they’d left the past buried in the sands of time?

The Heartbeats of Aloha is a poignant, swoon-worthy standalone in the International Soulmate series. Immerse yourself in:

• A heart-melting second chance romance
• The lush, tropical beauty of Hawaii
• A fake relationship that feels all too real
• Deep, nuanced portrayals of mental health and disability
• Unforgettable characters, including an adorable canine companion

If you love emotional journeys filled with tender moments, sizzling chemistry, and the healing power of love, then Brooke Gilbert’s moving story is a must-read.

Let the rhythm of the islands guide you to your next great romance. Grab The Heartbeats of Aloha today and lose yourself in Reef and Luna’s unforgettable love story!

Content note: This book contains discussions of anxiety, depression, and panic attacks.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

As soon as the doors closed, I turned to her. “Luna,” I breathed. I didn’t know what to do, but I was being drawn to her, the tether from earlier pulling at me even harder. I placed my hands on either side of her hips, grabbing the cold railing with everything I had, desperate to be close to her.

Then I leaned into her slightly. “He’s just an idiot who’s upset he lost the best thing he’s ever had. Nothing in the world could make me want to ‘return ’you. If you were mine, I’d do anything to keep you.”

Her eyes became even glossier as they drifted up to meet mine. “You don’t even know what it is.” She looked away. “I didn’t think I needed to tell you since this is all . . .”

“This is all what?” I asked her more pointedly. Her lips parted, but she said nothing. I could see the ghost of the word ‘fake ’on them. I gripped the railing tighter. “I never wanted any of this to be pretend. Not one second of it has been for me. Has it been for you?”

She shook her head methodically, as if knowing what she was unleashing, and my lips curved upward at her response. Especially when her body gravitated toward mine like she couldn’t stand to be apart.

I started to remove my glasses, knowing this was the first time my feelings and intentions would be on full display for her. The first time, nothing would be covered up under the guise of Louis ’plan.

“Luna, why did you write One More Hour? Was what you said on stage true?” I asked with urgency.

But her face said it all. I didn’t need the words her lips mouthed so sensually . . .“Yes . . . It was you I wanted. I’ve always wanted you. I still do.”

As I went to pull off my glasses, she stopped me, shaking her head emphatically. I felt like a dork, with the goofiest grin on display.

“What? You want me to keep them on? I was trying to look less like a nerd.” I laughed nervously as I leaned even closer to her, my hands clutching the railing beside her.

“Yes, they have to stay on. It’s required.” But she was only halfway teasing, and I loved it. “Do you know how many fantasies I’ve had about this?”

“No, why don’t you tell me?” I began coyly.

“Enough to have a bet with myself about how fast I can fog them up.” She smirked.

“Oh, I’m seeing the appeal now. Maybe this nerd thing can have some perks,” I mumbled. But all my cockiness left me as I became overwhelmed by her. Especially as she reached up for the collar of my dress shirt and tugged me toward her. The smell of the plumeria flower in her hair and the scent of Luna overcoming any hesitation. I wanted to bottle her scent along with this moment.

Our faces were only inches apart, warmth radiating between us. And I was ready to close any of the distance between us. Need taking over in a way I’d never known, when she breathed out, “Why didn’t you ever kiss me?”

“I couldn’t tell if you wanted me to.” A pain twisted at her cheeks with my words.

There was a hard tug on my shirt collar. A very clear sign of her want. And with that, all space and time vanished. It was just her lips on mine as I leaned into every part of her. Every part I knew intimately and loved . . . all of her. Allowing myself to taste her for the very first time.

I pulled back suddenly, and her eyes looked simultaneously confused and incredibly disappointed.

“Wait,” I interjected, and her face fell. I pushed off of the handrails and moved toward the elevator pad. Quickly, I pulled the emergency button, halting the elevator.

“Reef, you can’t do that.” Her eyes flashed with mixed amusement and sheer concern.

With a confidence I didn’t know I possessed, I strode back over to her. “Oh, but I think I already did.” I readjusted my glasses to look at her, the ones that were already fogged up. “Now, where were we?”

She laughed as my hands slid around the back of her thighs to pick her up, gently propping her against the elevator railing. Her legs seamlessly wrapped around me like they were always meant to be there.

“Oh yeah, here.” The words tumbled out of me.

Luna only laughed harder and then raked her hands upward through my hair, pulling me in with more force this time. I met her heady passion with a strong desire of my own this time. But I was becoming increasingly aware that I had kind of cornered her. And what started out feeling sexy now felt like it could cause anxiety. And that’s the last thing I ever wanted. I spun us around, effectively swapping our positions, hoping to give her more space and control. I was absolutely fine with her cornering me.

Luna looked at me and her legs squeezed even tighter around me as her fingers dug deeper. Sending shockwaves through my scalp and back. I guess I’d made the right call. Especially when her lips melted over mine and then started roaming, making use of my neck in ways no one had ever properly done before. I had gotten everything wrong in my novels. No kiss I wrote could ever compare to this. I was going to need to make a few revisions.

“Miss!” the intercom burst forth from the elevator speaker. We looked at each other with wide eyes. “Miss, please disentangle yourself and step away from the gentleman.” I started laughing and Luna gave me a look that said it wasn’t funny. “We’re going to be overriding the elevator panel and resuming normal functions as soon as . . . you . . . huh hmm . . . Remove yourself.”

But Luna just stayed glued to me, like a scared monkey. Her face was a mixture of shock and embarrassment. “Ma’am,” the booming voice rang out, “Please don’t make me call security.”

“Yeah, stop mauling me, Luna. Geez.” Now she was laughing, too, as I helped her stand beside me. She seemed as off balance as I felt. Her knees even buckled at the point of contact with the floor. With a sly smile, I pointed to the other corner of the elevator. “You better go over there, just to be safe.”

She just shoved me lightly, like when we were kids, and the elevator started moving. The booming voice thanked us for our ‘cooperation, ’no matter how unenthusiastically we had complied with the request. And then Luna’s long, petite fingers found their way in between mine. A peaceful reverberation echoing throughout my body when she did. She was like that first cool breeze coming off the ocean at the end of the hottest day. She was my happy place. Everything that made our island special, she encompassed it all so well. The heartbeats of this place were the people. The heartbeats were her.

My eyes dared to glance over at her, and the intimacy of this moment changed me. I would never look at love the same way. She had just cracked something wide open inside of me. Right at the place that had been scarred so many years ago, and then forever placed herself inside it.

Author Bio:

Brooke Gilbert is a Tennessee native, a microbiology graduate of the University of Tennessee, and a border collie mom. She is, as you may have already guessed, a hopeless romantic and a lover of Jane Austen. When she isn’t writing, she works as a jewelry designer, an audiobook narrator, and a graphic designer. Her writing features characters with autoimmune disorders, something she deals with herself. She believes it is important for these types of characters to be seen in modern literature and started writing so she could see someone like herself in literature. She is considered a medical mystery and has several rare autoimmune disorders. These disorders caused her to withdraw from Physician Assistant School, but she is happy to be pursuing her dreams of designing, creating, and writing. She thanks God for leading her heart on this new path and recites “perhaps this is the moment for which you were created” in times of doubt (Esther 4:14).

She loves watching classic films (thrillers and romantic comedies, too), reading, playing the ukulele, painting, dancing, Pilates, and spending time with her dog, family, and friends. One of her favorite quotes is from Flashdance: “When you give up on your dreams, you die.” She believes that if you’re waiting to pursue your dreams, stop waiting and start doing. Your time is now. And may you never stop being a hopeless romantic. Contrary to popular belief, it’s a very good quality. She’s still looking for her Mr. Darcy. Visit brookegilbertauthor.com to connect and stay updated on her latest projects.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / TikTok

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Review of Echoes on the Wind (Maggie O'Shea series) by Helaine Mario (#contests- Enter to win An Amazon Gift Card)

 

 

I want to welcome Helaine Mario to Books R Us. Helaine is the author of the Maggie O'Shea Series. I had the opportunity to read book four in the series "Echoes On The Wind" A fantastic Novel. Check out my review below.

 

ECHOES ON THE WIND

by Helaine Mario

June 23 – August 1, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

THE MAGGIE O’SHEA SUSPENSE SERIES

 

TWO STRONG WOMEN, GENERATIONS APART, CONNECTED BY MUSIC…

In 1943 war-torn France, a young woman on the Night Train to Paris has a chance meeting with two very different men who will change her life, setting in motion a Dual Timeline story that will resonate like ripples on water for generations to come.

Many years later, classical pianist Maggie O’Shea is drawn to Brittany by a long-lost letter from her French grandmother and the stirring music of Chopin, whispering like echoes across the years. But as Maggie discovers the secrets of her past, her life spirals out of control, threatening her upcoming wedding and those she loves.

Set against the backdrop of World War II France, Maggie learns her grandmother’s story, chord by chord, through Chopin’s emotional Preludes. And, in one shocking moment, Maggie’s love story will take a heart-breaking turn that will change her life and echo into her future.

Past and present converge in this haunting tale of loss and sacrifice, friendship and family, courage and survival – and the transcendent power of hope, music and l

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Suncoast Publishing
Publication Date: June 18, 2024
Number of Pages: 364
ISBN: 9781735184975 (ISBN10: 1735184977)
Series: A Maggie O'Shea Romantic Suspense, Book 4
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads 

 My Thoughts:

Sometimes, I must force myself to finish a book, but "Echoes on the Wind" was quite different. The romantic thriller was full of adventure, secrets, love, hardship, suspense, and a memorable cast of characters that added to the storyline and kept me engaged. I finished the book in one day because it was fast-paced, intriguing, and unpredictable. "Echoes on the Wind" is the fourth installment in the Maggie O'Shea series but can be enjoyed as a standalone novel.
The author skillfully included a dual timeline, which added to the story's charm by exploring the life of Maggie's grandmother, Clair Rousseau, who lived during World War II. Clair faced many challenges, which she overcame through her love of music. Maggie discovers some of Clair's music and Chopin's emotional Preludes, using them to learn about her grandmother's history.
An exciting twist in the plot is that Maggie is stalked by a villain from the past, Dane, who is determined to kill her. While several subplots enhance the novel, I don't want to spoil them for potential readers. 

So go out and purchase a copy of Echoes on the Wind to immerse yourself in Maggie O'Shea's world. You won't be disappointed! And while you are there, pick up the other three books in the series, The Lost Concerto, Dark Rhapsody, and Shadow Music.

Read an excerpt:

OVERTURE

“Like so many things that matter, it began with an accident.”
David Ignatius, 12/28/98

NOVEMBER, 1943. THE NIGHT TRAIN TO PARIS

Light and dark.

The bleak November landscape rushed past the train’s window. Black tree branches against the dark night sky, then a sudden flash of light. Then blackness again.

The blackout had claimed the streetlamps and cottage windows. Clair Rousseau stared out the rain-streaked glass, waiting for the next glimpse of light. A lone lantern. Car headlights tilted down, a sliver of gold beyond a cracked curtain. Sheet lightning over distant hills, a glimmer of light on water. But all she saw was the blurred, pale oval of her reflection staring back at her. Dark hair scraped back, framing huge eyes beneath winged brows, sharp cheekbones, the too-wide mouth.

No hint of the emotions flowing through her, except for the deep purple shadows beneath her eyes.

The dim, four-person compartment was cold, and she pulled her coat more tightly around her body. The seat beside her was still empty, thank God. Across from her, two German officers. One asleep, snoring loudly, his hands slack between thick gray-green uniformed knees. The other awake, a Gauloises cigarette clamped between thin lips, a jagged line of white scars marring his left cheek. The narrow fox-like face stared at her through thick round glasses and wreathes of curling blue smoke. His jacket was heavy with insignia, oak leaves, medals. Military Intelligence, she thought with a sudden chill. A high rank, SD or Abwehr. What was he thinking?

The watchful, unblinking eyes made her afraid. Like a snake’s eyes, waiting to strike. She looked away, forcing herself not to reach for her satchel, touch her identity papers for reassurance.

The carriage’s glassed door slid back and forth with an unnerving rattle as the train rocked around a bend. From the hallway came the sharp scent of burning coal, wafting back from the old steam engine several cars ahead. A cloud of steam billowed past the window like sudden fog.

She could feel the vibration beneath her, hear the rumble of the train’s wheels speeding along the tracks. The lonely call of a train whistle, echoing in the night. A quick flare of light, illuminating the rain like silver threads streaming down the window.

Light and dark. Light and dark.

Movement at the edge of her vision. A tall figure appeared in the hallway, beyond the door. Her chest tightened. Would she ever feel safe again?

A sharp crack of thunder, a sudden bright flash lighting her face.

“Mademoiselle Clair?”

Startled, her head came up. The stranger had stopped, was staring into the compartment. Across from her, the watchful German stiffened and slid pale eyes toward the voice.

Be careful.

There was something familiar about the gaunt face, the faint, questioning smile just visible above a thick woolen scarf. She stood quickly, stepping between the German and the carriage door to block the officer’s view.

“Oui,” she said softly, peering into the dim hallway. The man nodded and moved closer. Something about those gentle eyes, the arch of silver brows. Memory surged. Father Jean-Luc.

She flashed him a warning glance for silence and stepped into the train’s narrow corridor, closing the door firmly behind her. “Mon Père, is it really you?”

“Oui, ma petite, c’est moi.” The priest pulled the scarf down to offer a glimpse of his white Roman collar, then lost his smile as he gazed over her shoulder and saw the Germans. “But we cannot talk here. Come with me.”

He slipped a hand beneath her elbow and guided her to the end of the dark passageway, where an open exit door led across shifting metal plates to the train’s next car. She felt the sudden bite of night wind on her face, cold and wet with mist. Here the clatter of the train wheels was loud enough to hide their conversation.

They sheltered just inside the doorway, in the shadows, away from the rain. Outside, the countryside of France rushed by, then disappeared in a billow of black smoke. In the dim corridor, the planes of the priest’s face were lit by a tiny, flickering overhead bulb.

Light and dark. Light and dark.

The priest looked down at her, shook his head. “Little Clair Rousseau,” he murmured. “Now such a beautiful young woman. It’s been – what? – four years since we met? You were just thirteen, I think. Playing the piano in your parents’ apartment. Bach, yes? It was so beautiful, so stirring. I hope you are still playing?”

She shook her head. “You need hope to create music, Père.” She looked back toward her carriage compartment. The hallway was empty. “But I remember that day. The war was coming. You asked us to help you remove the stained-glass windows from Sainte-Chapelle. To save them from the bombing.”

“You were fearless, Clair. I remember watching you, swaying at the top of that impossibly high ladder. The morning light was coming through the stained glass, spilling over you like shimmering jewels. I’ll never forget it. I told myself, Clair means light, she is perfectly named.”

He leaned down. “And I can still see your sister, Elle – too young to help us, bien sûr – dancing around the altar.”

Her expression softened. “Elle loved to dance. It was the last happy day I can remember.” She lifted her eyes to his, took a breath. “Paris was another lifetime, Père.”

“You cannot lose hope,” he told her. “The glass pieces are in a safe place. Beauty and goodness cannot be destroyed. You will see the stained-glass windows back in Sainte-Chapelle when the war is over. I know it.”

She shook her head. “I wish I had your faith.”

“God has his plans. There is a reason we’ve met by chance on the night train to Paris.” Concern flashed in his eyes. “But you’ve been in Brittany? Dangerous times for a young woman to be traveling alone, Clair.”

She looked out at the black trees rushing past the doorway, and felt the blackness deep in her heart. “I am alone now, Père.”

“Mon Dieu. What happened?”

“My father knew that war was inevitable. Not long after we saved the glass my parents moved us from Paris to the coast near Saint-Malo to be safe. Such irony. They had no idea how dangerous Brittany would become. And then…”

She could not stop the sudden rush of tears that filled her eyes. “The Gestapo shot my father last year, in a retaliation roundup for an act of sabotage by the Resistance. He was with the Liberty Network, they had bombed a train track. He stepped forward, admitted it, hoping to save the others. But still they took thirty innocent people from our village, murdered them in the square.”

“Oh no, Clair.” The priest made a quick sign of the cross. “I am so sorry. And your mother, your sister?”

“I don’t know, Père. I was studying in Paris, I begged them to come stay with me. But Maman refused. When I returned last month to see them, the house was empty. They were just… gone. The neighbors said the Germans took them, in the night. The mayor was told they were being relocated to Poland.”

The priest paled. “Désolé. I will pray for their souls.”

Anger erupted, spilled out. “Prayers did not help my family! I have no time for prayer now. Or sorrow. Even avenging my father will have to wait. I need all my energy now to find my mother and my sister.”

He bent toward her. “I am afraid you are still too fearless for your own good. Tell me what you’re doing, little one.”

She turned once more to scan the dark hallway, then leaned closer. “I excelled in languages in my lycée studies these last years,” she whispered. “I am fluent in several languages, including German and English. I hope to find a new job, in the Hotel Majestic in Paris, where the German High Command is quartered. Then I will join the Resistance, find a way to get news of Maman and Elle. I must find them!”

He gazed down at her for a long moment, then put a hand on her shoulder.

“Perhaps I know of another way,” he murmured.

The sound of a door opening. Wavering shadows spilled into the train’s corridor. Then the red glow of a cigarette, a spiral of smoke. She froze as the German officer turned toward them.

“Find me at Èglise Saint-Gervais, in the Marais,” the priest whispered quickly. “I am with the Resistance there. You could work with me, we need someone like you to –”

A sudden terrifying screech of metal wheels. Clair felt herself thrown to the floor as the train braked, slammed to a shuddering stop. Stunned, Clair reached out, felt the still body of the priest beside her. “Mon Père…”

Shouts in German in the darkness, the clatter of heavy boots. When she raised her head she saw flashing blue lights against the night sky.

Light and dark. Light and dark.

PART 1

“An echo of the past…”
Victor Hugo

CHAPTER 1

THE PRESENT
PERFORMING ARTS CENTER, MARTHA’S VINEYARD

Light and dark.

The stage was shadowed, lit only by a handful of overhead lights. One of the lights began to flicker, a bright flash illuminating Maggie O’Shea’s face for a brief moment, then casting her into darkness.

Maggie sat at the Bechstein grand piano, marveling at the power, the responsive touch, the unique tone of the beautiful instrument. Prokofiev deserves no less, she thought.

The score propped above the keyboard was marked by penciled notations, heavy lines, arrows and slashes. Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 2 was the ultimate challenge for a pianist, but Maggie had chosen it because it was so emotional, so personal. So incredibly beautiful.

It has the most to say, she thought.

And, oh, she had so much she wanted to say. Always, since she’d been a young child whose bare feet did not yet reach the pedals, she had spoken through her music. Told the piano her secrets long before she told anyone else.

Her earliest memory was of being curled beneath the grand piano, listening to her mother play, surrounded – cradled – by music. Then later, sitting on the piano bench by her mother’s side. The smoothness of the keys beneath tiny fingers, the sound that seemed to magically flow from her shoulders to her fingertips. Seeing the colors, making the piano sing. Making the rest of the world disappear.

But this piece – face it, every piece lately – was giving her trouble. Something, some emotion, was just out of reach. Her mentor, the legendary pianist Gigi Donati, would say she was taking the easy way out by mastering technique but not the emotion. She could hear Gigi’s smoky, exasperated voice in the shadows. No, no, no! You are not growing, Maggie, your music is lifeless. Imagine you are kissing your lover goodbye for the last time. What do you feel? Now, again!

Maggie sighed. She had been playing the first movement for an hour, with nary a lover in sight. Without Espressivo, as Gigi would demand. She would say, You don’t know the music yet. Take the time. Grow with the music. Illuminate its secrets. Make it yours.

The light high above the stage flickered again, slipping her out of the light into darkness.

Light and dark, thought Maggie. The story of my music. The story of my life.

She closed her eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, and began to play the next phrase of music.

Look into the heart of the music, whispered Gigi from behind her. Find its light. Find its soul.

A few more chords, and suddenly Maggie’s fingers stiffened, locked, slipped off the keys. Shaking her head, she gathered the sheet music and dropped it to the bench.

I just can’t, Gigi. I know what’s wrong, why I can’t play. I just don’t know how to fix it.

But deep down, she did know. What she needed was to feel. But once again, part of her was frozen.

You will not give up, she told herself. You have so much joy waiting for you. Raising her left hand to stretch tensed tendons, the engagement ring on her finger flashed emerald in the theater lights.

The flash of emerald green in a shadowed cabin. The memory washed over her and once again she was back in the moment. She saw Michael’s face, as craggy and strong as the mountains he loved, his granite eyes locked on hers.

What are you doing, Michael?

It’s called offering you a ring, Maggie. The color of your eyes, the color of the mountains. It’s been hidden in my sock drawer for months.

I know it’s a ring. I mean… What are you doing?

Jumping off a cliff, it seems. Don’t make me get down on one knee, darlin’. I’ll never get back up.

Silver eyes blazing like a torch. Marry me, Maggie.

I… You… Oh, Love.

I’ll take that as a yes, ma’am.

She smiled. Colonel Michael Jefferson Beckett. A man who had fallen in love with her when he didn’t want to, a man she hadn’t wanted to love back.

And yet.

It just was. Like music. And right this minute he was back in those beloved mountains of his, at his cabin in Virginia’s Blue Ridge. Working on a secret project, he’d told her, with Dov, the Russian teenager in his care.

She pictured the battered, rugged face she knew so well. The quirk of his mouth, the spiky silver brows, eyes like river stones locked on her. His stillness, as if he was carved from the mountains he loved. The way he listened…

Michael, standing behind her, wrapping her naked body in a woven blanket.

Michael, beneath her in the shadowed bedroom, whispering her name against her lips while her hair fell like dark rain around his face.

She breathed out in a long sigh. It had been an emotional several months but now, finally, she was letting go of the past. Moving on. Ready to marry again. To spend the rest of her life with the Colonel, Dov and their rescue Golden, Shiloh. She had never expected this gift, this second chance at love.

She shook her head, barely recognizing the woman she’d become. For so long she’d thought of herself as a city-girl. But the small cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains was becoming her center. Her home. She heard music differently in the quiet of the mountains. Listened better.

Suddenly wanting to hear Michael’s voice, she dialed his cell. Message.

“Hey you, it’s me,” she whispered. “Call me tonight, I’ll wait up. I have so much to tell you.”

If only…

If only she didn’t have to tell Michael the secret she’d been keeping from him these past few weeks. That once again, a vicious murderer was threatening all she held dear. Dane, with his scarred, wolf-like face and mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes. The one nightmare she could not put behind her.

Because now Dane was back in her life.

+ + +

Over 4,500 miles to the East, the man who called himself Dane could not sleep. Still hours before dawn, shadows lay sharp across the tiles of the villa’s bedroom, angling from the terrace doors. Dane sat in a cushioned chair, crutches propped beside him, staring out the glass at the black Aegean far below – waiting for the sun’s light to spill over the horizon and fill the dark water with gold.

A sudden shift of the moon, and he caught his breath at his reflection in the window. All the mirrors in the villa had been shattered years ago, by his own hand. As shattered as his life. Now, caught off guard, he stared at the disfigured face of the stranger wavering in the glass.

Without warning his mind flung him back several years. He had been standing in the Kennedy Center’s Grand Foyer, his French knife secure under his tuxedo jacket, when he had caught a glimpse of himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Tall and god-like, he’d had muscles that rippled beneath the silk, a strong carved face, flowing hair the color of wheat, streaked by the Provençal sun. A diamond in his left ear, mirrored aviator glasses that hid tiger-colored eyes. His stride had been long, fast and as powerful as the Jaguar he drove.

And then he had crossed paths with Magdalena O’Shea.

First, the badly burned hand, thanks to an encounter with Magdalena’s Colonel at a Provençal abbey. He held up his right hand, now encased in a tight black glove. Then the botched plastic surgery in Italy after being forced into hiding. The scarred, distorted face, the loss of an eye. And then, months later… He looked down at his withered legs. The fall. The sickening feeling of spinning into the void. The excruciating pain that followed. The months of unbearable physical therapy.

All because of one woman. Magdalena O’Shea.

He glanced at his Rolex. Early evening in the states. Firas should have arrived in Martha’s Vineyard by now. He smiled. Until the time came, Firas would be his legs.

The image in the glass wavered, dissolved, and Dane turned away. “For death remembered should be like a mirror,” he whispered. “Who tells us life's but breath, to trust it error.”

***

Excerpt from Echoes on the Wind by Helaine Mario. Copyright 2020 by Helaine Mario. Reproduced with permission from Helaine Mario. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Best-selling author Helaine Mario grew up in NYC and is a graduate of Boston University. Now living in Arlington, VA, this mother of two, grandmother of five, and passionate advocate for women's and children's issues came to writing later in life. Her first novel, The Lost Concerto, won the Benjamin Franklin Award Silver Medal. Echoes on the Wind is her fifth novel and the fourth in her Maggie O'Shea Classical Music Suspense Series. Royalties from her books go to children's music and reading programs. Helaine recently lost her husband, Ron, after 57 years together. Her new book echoes with loss, grief, and, ultimately, the healing power of love.

Catch Up With Helaine Mario:

HelaineMario.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @helainemario
Instagram - @helainemario.author
Facebook - @helaine.mario

 

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Cover reveal of Disillusioned by Briana Sugalski

Disillusioned
Brianna Sugalski
(A Lay of Ruinous Reign, #2)
Publication date: Summer 2025
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance

Settling into her throne and preparing for her coronation day proves no easy task, but Lilac Trécesson intends to uphold her end of Kestrel’s bargain. When the faerie king is absent at her Accords meeting, a ghoulish visitor arrives in his stead, demanding they intercept an ancient traveling merchant and deliver Kestrel the arcane chest they carry.

Despite Adelaide’s unexpected camaraderie and the all-powerful warlock at their side, the quest ends in tragedy. Garin finds himself torn between sanctity and sacrifice, forced to make an impossible choice. When Lilac makes it for him, they must navigate the Sanguine magic that tethers them as that France has encroached her eastern duchy spreads like wildfire.

Garin’s restraint is further tested when Lilac is propositioned by an emperor who offers not only the protection of his name, but to fortify her kingdom against France’s annexation. The threat of the queen’s overthrow infuriates him, yet nothing devastates Garin as much as the thought of losing Lilac to the emperor who would inevitably fall victim to his wrath if he dared lay a finger on her.

He can’t help himself. The queen made sure of it.

His beloved.
His Lilith.
His thrall.

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Author Bio:

Brianna Sugalski is a Filipino American Romantic Dark Fantasy author with a soft spot for spite-driven, pastry-loving FMCs, regrettably obsessive and bloodthirsty love interests, and well-fought-for Happily Ever After Alls.

Brianna is also a developmental editor specializing in #OwnVoices Fiction and Sci-fi/ Fantasy, with a special interest in the Folkloric, Adventure, and Sword & Sorcery Fantasy sub genres (books closed until Jan 2026). In all facets of craft, she prefers exploring the ominous—disenchanting, if you will—undertones of history, romance, and the arcane.

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Book Blitz of Keeping the Countess by Lille Moore (#contests- Enter to win a $25 Amazon Gift Card.)

Keeping the Countess
Lille Moore
Publication date: June 24th 2025
Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance

In this first installation of the DAMSELS IN DISGUISE series, a passionate clergyman on a mission to steal an earl’s secrets finds himself captivated by a cunning and courageous countess.

Charismatic curate Jonah Sinclair survived the deadly streets of south London with two well-trained fists and divine intervention. He will let nothing—not his vocation, nor his yearning to find love—stop him from pursuing the criminals who killed his father. When he learns the notorious Earl of Rochford could hold the key to retribution for his family, he seizes on the chance to become tutor to the earl’s young ward. But the only trace of Rochford he discovers at the mysterious Ravenglass Hall is his abandoned countess, a woman whose fierce strength stirs a forbidden temptation.

Faith Trenton, Countess of Rochford, is on the brink of ruin. Betrayed and abandoned by her husband, she disguises herself as a man to defend her estate from an embezzling steward. Jonah’s arrival threatens her carefully constructed masquerade, and despite the irresistible spark between them, she must send him packing, or risk having him expose the dangerous secrets she keeps hidden. But when a succession of attacks threatens everything that Faith has fought to protect, she’s forced to place her trust in Jonah, and pray he won’t unravel the truth, or her heart.

Helping Faith could sabotage Jonah’s mission. Loving her might cost him everything.

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EXCERPT:

Jonah marched out of the tavern, his vexation blinding him to any semblance of the direction where he headed. It did not take long to realize he was absolutely stranded, alone in a country wilderness.

In the disorienting shadows of the soaking evening, a seed of regret at his impulsivity sprouted. As he contemplated swallowing his pride and turning back to the tavern, a preternatural cry sounded on the moor.

The ground shook, heralding a beast rising out of the fog.

Jonah wouldn’t have dared called the creature a horse; that was far too earthly a comparison. It sped toward him as if it had escaped straight from the ninth circle of hell.

Unholy thoughts clouded his brain. Unholier curses tumbled from his lips. He was pleased to discover the passage of time and years of service in Her Majesty’s Church had not scrubbed them from his memory.

The shriek of the wind rose over the roar of approaching hooves. This was the exact reason Jonah avoided Gothic novels like vermin; he preferred interacting with the supernatural in the controlled boundaries of the King James Bible.

Through the sheets of rain, he spotted a slight figure mounted on top of the enormous steed. Was the rider attempting to bring the monster under control? Or did he urge it on, hoping he might flatten a weary traveler to the ground?

A shrill cry sounded from the rider. Was it a warning? An apology? A prayer?

“MOVE OUT OF THE BLEEDING WAY, YOU DAFT FOOL!”

With a screeching whinny, the beast reared up before him, a black wall of menacing horseflesh. As lightning flashed around them, Jonah braced his arms over his head and curled himself into a protective crouch, precisely as the hell-beast tossed its rider from the saddle.

A moment of raw stillness followed.

The rain relented, revealing where the rider lay motionless on the path.

Jonah staggered across the short distance toward the body. With a deep breath and a short prayer, he kneeled down to examine the fallen man.

The crash of two thick skulls meeting each other upended his balance. He slipped on the drenched ground, falling on top of the rider, who protested wildly by snarling in a manner more feral than a quayside cat. The body entwined with his was as scrappy and slim as one. He had to be a young lad.

“Get off of me!”

“I’m trying!” Jonah protested as they tussled in the mud. Muck worked its way beneath the collar he’d starched himself, to make a good impression for the toffs who’d forgotten him. The potential embarrassment he’d face if he ever arrived at his destination burned energy into his limbs.

An instinct he thought he’d long retired kicked in and he rolled, quickly pinning the rider’s shoulders by pressing his own weight into the lad’s chest.

And therein, he discovered a very distinct set of curves that most decidedly did not belong to a young man.

The body beneath him hissed.

Jonah scrambled away and staggered to his feet. With his last remaining ounce of sense, he extended his hand to the rider.

The woman he’d just groped in the darkness.

Author Bio:

Lille Moore writes romance with a twist on time-honored tropes and tales. Her first career in public diplomacy and strategic communications took her across five continents and six of the Seven Seas and spurred a lifelong love affair with uncovering new worlds through storytelling. She lives with her spouse in Texas

 

 

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Book Blitz of the Audiobook The 21-Day Boyfriend by A.S. Kelly (#contests- Enter to win A $25 Amazon Gift Card)

The 21-Day Boyfriend
A.S. Kelly
Publication date: May 21 2025 (Audiobook)
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance

Eric O’Shea needs to make a decision. The annual event his family forces him to attend is just around the corner, and he doesn’t have a date.

Eric never needs help when it comes to finding men. But this time is different – his ex and his new boyfriend will be there, and Eric can’t just bring along one of his usual flings.

His only hope seems to be him: the best friend of his best friend, who he never wanted to meet.

Sean Quinn is a calm, collected, and cultured man; someone who would rather stay at home and read a book than waste his time chasing a date with no future.

Sean isn’t in a rush to find the perfect man, and he certainly doesn’t intend to go out with Eric: his best friend’s other best friend, who he’s avoided meeting for years.

But Sean has a flaw: he can’t say no to anyone, especially not when it comes to his friend Jake, who has a habit of worming his way into other people’s lives.

But it’s just one date, after all: pure fiction. It’s a shame, then, that when Eric needs Sean for another favour, he can’t turn his back. It’s a shame that just when Sean is beginning to understand that Eric isn’t what he seems, he can’t seem to stop before he gets hurt.

Twenty-one days: that’s the agreement.
Twenty-one days of grazing hands, furtive glances, and unexpected kisses.
Twenty-one days where anything goes; except falling in love.

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AUDIO TEASER:

Author Bio:

A. S. Kelly writes Rom-Com, Romantic Fiction and Family Saga.
Avid reader, hopeless romantic, lover of yoga, knitting and home baking.
She was born in Italy but lives in Ireland with her husband, two children and a cat named Oscar.

 

 

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Spotlight of Burying Ben - Book 1 of the Dot Meyerhoff Mystery Series (#contest- Enter to Win A Bookshop Gift Card)

BURYING BEN

by Ellen Kirschman

June 23-29, 2025 Book Blast

Synopsis:

The Dot Meyerhoff Mystery Series

 

As her police department’s newest hire, police psychologist Dot Meyerhoff has much to prove. No one on the force sees any reason to have a shrink on staff. When a rookie cop commits suicide, everyone blames Dot—even Dot herself. How had she missed the signs that he was at the end of his rope?

With her reputation on the line, Dot searches for answers. What she discovers is the dark underbelly of a police force that has no patience for a woman who asks too many questions. Determined to get to the truth behind the young officer’s tragic death, Dot risks losing both her job and her life. . .

Burying Ben is on Sale, June 23-29! Click Here and Start Reading the Series Today!

Praise for Burying Ben:

"A deftly crafted novel of compelling complexity," this first book in the mystery series featuring cop therapist Dr. Dot Meyerhoff is "absorbing".
~ Midwest Book Review

"Riveting, compelling and authentic! Ellen Kirschman’s been-there done-that experience makes this a real standout."
~ Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today-bestselling author of The House Guest

"Psychological thriller writing at its finest."
~ D.P. Lyle, award-winning author of the Jake Longly series

"Highly satisfying . . . Perceptively treats complex racial, feminist, personal, and political issues while providing intimate knowledge of cops’ shop procedure."
~ Publishers Weekly

"Gutsy and emotionally anchored in real life."
~ Hallie Ephron, New York Times–bestselling author of Careful What You Wish For

"Ellen Kirschman is one to watch."
~ Bookreporter.com

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Psychological Suspense, Domestic Suspense, Amateur Sleuth, Woman Sleuth, Police Procedural
Published by: Open Road Media
Publication Date: April 23, 2024
Number of Pages: 280
ISBN: 9781504094160 (ISBN10: 1504094166)
Series: The Dot Meyerhoff Mystery Series, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Open Road

The Rest of The Dot Meyerhoff Mystery Series

The Right Wrong Thing, #2

The Fifth Reflection, #3

The Answer to His Prayers, #4

Call Me Carmela, #5

Read an excerpt:

From Chapter 1

It is a day of firsts. My first day on the job and my first dead body. Chief Baxter wants me to see it. His whole face is concentrated with the effort to make his point, as though he were explaining blood spatter analysis or the biomechanics of tasers. He is wearing gold cufflinks shaped like barbells. Short and barrel chested, he looks like a well-dressed fireplug. I can imagine him as a street cop, pugnacious and badge heavy.

“Don’t sit around your office and wait for cops to come to you. That’s why I’m giving you a car and a scanner. Get out in the field.”

He speaks in short staccato bursts as though he is transmitting over the radio, dropping any unessential words. A slight spray of saliva leaves shiny droplets on his desktop. He walks around the desk and stands close to me. I smell his pine-scented aftershave and mouthwash.

“This is why I have credibility. I make it my business to suit up and get out on the street once a month. I stay in shape. And I always carry.” He opens his jacket and shows me his shoulder holster. He is wearing “a custom fitted dress shirt that shows off the inverted triangle made by his broad shoulders and narrow waist. “Street cops are the lifeblood of this organization. The street is where I started. I’ve never forgotten that and I don’t want anyone else to.”

He leans against the edge of his desk, his arms folded over his chest. “I have a rookie on scene at a suicide. Ben Gomez. He’s been having trouble. Talk to his field training officer. See what you can do to help him. I’ve met the kid. Not my best hire, but I think he’s salvageable.” He lifts his index finger. “I’m putting a lot of faith in you, Dot. I’ve had a lot of trouble in my organization since I took over as chief. Some days I feel like Typhoid Mary. I’ve got four officers on stress leave and three on admin leave under investigation. No telling when any of them will come back to work. I have a small organization—seventy-five officers. I can’t afford to lose this rookie, too. It’s bad for morale plus my overtime budget is off the charts.”

He extends his hand to me. “It’s one thing to study us and write books about us. It’s another thing to hit the streets with us. You come highly recommended by Mark Edison. That says a lot. Most men don’t have much good to say about their former wives.”

He laughs a little too loudly. I wonder if he has an ex and, if he does, what she was like.

“So, welcome aboard. I know this is a tall order, but Dr. Edison said you’re the one for the job. Don’t disappoint me or him. Now, get in your car and get out in the field.” He opens the door to his office and shows me out.

As the new department psychologist, I am in no position to protest or to tell him that I’m scared to death because I’ve never seen a dead body before. Not even my father’s. What if I embarrass myself, faint or, God forbid, get sick to my stomach? I wonder how he expects me to suit up. Maybe I should put wheels on my “couch and tow it behind my car?

The radio traffic on my scanner crackles briskly, drowning out my thumping heart. Listening to it is a guilty pleasure, like eavesdropping. This is the best of two possible worlds, close to the action but at a safe remove– the unobserved observer listening to the breathlessness of the chase, the escalating octaves that betray fear, the barked commands, the unnatural calm of the dispatcher, and the final “Code 4” signaling that the short reign of terror has given way to hours of report writing and investigation.

I drive under a cool green canopy of old oaks. Light filters through the leaves dappling the street. Fifty years ago this old northern California neighborhood was considered the ultimate in affordable, architect-designed family houses. Now the current selling prices are beyond my reach and the reach of any Kenilworth cop, firefighter or schoolteacher. Neighbors are congregating in small worried clusters on the sidewalk in front of a uniquely shabby one story home. They watch as I park my car. I take ten slow deep breaths and step to the sidewalk. Spindly trees flank the walk that leads to the front door. The grass on either side of the cracked concrete path is brown and freckled with splotches of hard, dry dirt. The front door is open. I grit my teeth and walk in.

***

Excerpt from Burying Ben by Ellen Kirschman. Copyright 2013 & 2024 by Ellen Kirschman. Reproduced with permission from Ellen Kirschman. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Ellen Kirschman, Ph.D. is a police psychologist. and clinician at the First Responders Support Network. She is a member of the International Association of Chiefs of Police, The American Psychological Association, Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and the Public Safety Writers Association. She is the recipient of the California Psychological Association’s award for distinguished contribution to psychology as well as the American Psychological Association’s award for outstanding contribution to the practice of police and public safety psychology. Ellen brings her expertise and decades-long experience to both fiction and non-fiction. She is the author of three non-fiction books and a five-book mystery series featuring police psychologist Dot Meyerhoff.

Catch Up With Ellen Kirschman:

EllenKirschman.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @EllenKirschman
Instagram - @ellen.kirschman.copdoc
Facebook - @ellen.kirschman

 

 

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This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Ellen Kirschman. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

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