We tried to include as many community authors as possible, but if you're one of our authors, and you have a book out in July that's not featured in the comments, go ahead and post your excerpt in the comments so we can hear about your book!
Pregnant with the Soldier's Son by Amy Ruttan
"Ingrid."
They'd used protection, but the condom, on her first time ever with a man, had broken.
Stupid Murphy and his freaking laws had been out to get her that night.
Now she was pregnant, alone and scared. Scared she couldn't give this baby all he or she needed. Terrified of not knowing what the future held.
"I thought it was Philomena?" There was a sarcastic edge to his voice.
"I lied."
"So I gathered," he said. Clint's gaze raked her body from head to toe, finally resting on her rounded belly.
Ingrid fought the urge to cover her belly but instead held her ground.
She was tired of being ashamed of her glaring mistake. She braced herself for a slew of questions.
"I'm not used to people lying to me."
Ingrid was stunned. That's what he was ticked about?
Lured by the Rich Rancher by Kathie DeNosky
With hair the color of pale gold silk and a complexion that appeared to have been kissed by the sun, she was without question the most gorgeous female he'd ever had the privilege to lay eyes on. But when her vibrant blue gaze met his and her coral lips curved upward into a soft smile, he damn near stopped dead in his tracks. It felt as if someone had punched him square in the gut.
Chance had no idea who she was, but he had every intention of remedying that little detail as soon as possible.
Felicity Sinclair felt as if something shifted in the universe when she looked up to find the best man staring at her as he and the matron of honor followed the newly married couple back down the aisle. He was--in a word--perfect!
200 Harley Street: The Tortured Hero by Amy Andrews
Ethan wasn't sure how long he sat there, idly twisting from side to side, his eyes shut, his tired muscles almost jelly now they'd been given permission to relax. He just knew it felt good to be non-weight-bearing.
Bliss. Ecstasy. Paradise.
But he "was" here for a reason--apart from the damn good whisky. He dragged his eyes open, knowing he couldn't put it off any longer. Finally acknowledging that was exactly what he "was" doing.
On Leo's desk there was a chart. The chart of a child with a terribly disfiguring condition that Ethan could help.
He could change little Ama's life.
He "would" change her life.
But Ama's case was complicated in more ways than one. Her condition was complex and would require multiple surgeries to correct.
But that wasn't the issue. Ethan thrived on complex.
It was the strings attached to the case that were the problem. Big, fat strings involving someone from his past and the unholy mess he'd made in his selfish, juvenile need to hurt his brother.
"Olivia Fairchild."
Olivia's charity Fair Go was sponsoring Ama and her mother and an interpreter to travel from sub-Sahara Africa to London and the Hunter Clinic, for surgery and rehabilitation.
And she would be here--tomorrow.
Olivia who'd loved him. And he'd thrown it in her face by using her to get back at Leo. Flaunting her in front of his brother, knowing how much Leo had fallen for her, taunting him with the woman he couldn't have.
HOT ON THE HUNT BY MELISSA CUTLER
He spit the gum into the sand, then shifted from his belly into an awkward hunching seated position. Then he did the most uncomfortable, distracting thing possible--he thought about Alicia. He thought about her the second to last time they were together, about her lying on her stomach and the path of water left by the ice cube he'd trailed along her spine--one of the many memories of her that hurt in a physical, permanent way.
He could still hear the hiss of protest she'd given when the ice cube had first touched her skin, followed by a giggle that had quickly turned into a purr. He'd loved the sounds she'd made in bed. Sweet, vulnerable, girlie sounds that were totally incongruous to the Alicia the rest of the world knew--the soldier, the computer genius, the femme fatale. His secret Alicia. His Phoenix.
At the next knife of pain to his heart, he steadied his gaze through the mounted scope. He thought about the wind and the rate of the incoming tide. He studied the buoy's pattern of movement, then set his finger on the trigger. Breathe in--Alicia's hair fanning over her smiling cheek. Breathe out--her hand finding his and holding tight. A squeeze of the trigger. The buoy bell gonged with the hit.
He loaded another round and repeated the process, twice as fast this time. "Gong." Maybe that was why he wasn't entirely sure, at first, that he'd heard the chirp of the alarm from his computer alert system. He stood and shook out his legs, then dusted the sand from his shirt.
The computer chimed again. Sometimes it was easy to forget that life in the real world had gone on without him. He went weeks now without tuning in to world news or checking his email accounts. A long time ago, he stopped caring about war or what his old friends were up to. But guarding himself, resisting complacency, meant keeping tabs on the two people who'd destroyed him. The email alert meant that Logan McCaffrey, his one friend left in the Department of Homeland Security's Immigration and Customs Enforcement--better known as ICE--was contacting him with news about either Alicia or Rory.
Maybe Rory had been moved to a new wing of the prison. Or Alicia had decided to rejoin ICE. Most likely, the news was something benign, but still beneficial for John to be aware of. Someday, he planned to reenter the world and it'd be good to know exactly where his enemies were and what they were up to.
He propped his rifle against the wall just inside the cabin door, then unloaded the spare ammo from his pocket to the shelf next to it. From the fridge, he grabbed a bottle of cola, then crossed the wooden floorboards to the communication console he'd set up on the far side of the room. An email window had popped up.
John dipped his head to read it without sitting.
Rory escaped at 0700 hours. Alicia is missing.
MATCHED TO A BILLIONAIRE BY KAT CANTRELL
"It's not my job to be your stand-in wife." Mrs. Gordon firmed her mouth, which meant she had a lot more to say but didn't know how to do so tactfully. In the eight years she'd been keeping him sane, he'd seen that look a lot.
With a half laugh, Leo said, "Of course not. That's not part of your job description."
Except it had the ring of uncomfortable truth. When his hair grew too long, Mrs. Gordon scheduled a haircut. His mother's birthday--Mrs. Gordon picked out the gift. The wine-and-dine request had been a bit of a blurred line, but based on the set of Mrs. Gordon's mouth, he'd pretty well turned the line into a trapezoid.
Mrs. Gordon shut down her computer for the night. "Well, it should be part of someone's job description."
"What, like a party planner?" Maybe he should hire a professional in some capacity, which wouldn't cover all his social obligations. But it was better than nothing.
"Like a girlfriend. Or someone who might actually still be around in six weeks. Hire a wife," she said with a nod. "You need a good woman to take care of you outside of the office. Ask "her" to glance at your gas gauge. She can schmooze Garrett and make sure your life is running smoothly. Keep you warm at night."
Her eyebrows waggled but Leo barely noticed.
"Hire a wife."
Could you even do such a thing? It seemed too perfect a solution.
A Doctor for Keeps by Lynne Marshall
Determined not to wake up Grandma Gerda, she tramped through the overgrown grass and shrubbery along the side of the house, searching for the mark.
Success! A brightly patterned rock nestled against the wooden gate stood out under the moonlight like fluorescent paint under black light. As she'd been told, she searched along the bottom for the small stick-on box holding the house key, hoping there weren't any nighttime creepy crawlers around. Just as she retrieved the box and opened it, the assaulting aroma of night-blooming jasmine tickled her nose. Sneezing with gusto, she dropped the key and got on her hands and knees to search for it, grateful there was a full moon.
A few seconds later, with key in hand, she emerged out of the thick overgrowth between two houses, heading for the huge wraparound porch belonging to her maternal grandmother. But not before tripping on a brick along the walkway. She lurched forward, swatting at the night for nonexistent support and letting fly a few choice words.
A bright light blinded her just as she stopped teetering and regained her balance.
"Who's there?" A distinctly deep and masculine voice came from the vicinity of the light.
She shielded her eyes with her forearms. "I'm Mrs. Rask's granddaughter. Who're you?"
The light lowered, allowing Desi to see a huge shadow, making her wish she'd kept up those kickboxing classesjust in case.
"I'm Kent, Gerda's next-door neighbor." The man stepped closer, studying her, as though he didn't believe her story. "I've never heard about a granddaughter."
Why would she expect otherwise? Wasn't she supposed to be the secret granddaughter? Especially since a Scandinavian stronghold like Heartlandia along the Columbia River in Oregon probably wasn't used to people like her.
WILD IRIS RIDGE BY RAEANNE THAYNE
She hurried and unlatched the window to let some of the smoke out. Just as she turned around, she heard an ominous crackling and a loud, angry roar from overhead.
Her stomach turned over. She had heard that sound once before, in one of the upstairs bedrooms one memorable wintry January day when she was seventeen. This was more than a problem with a poorly drawing flue. This was a chimney fire.
In that previous fire when she was living here, that had been a case of an old bird's nest falling and igniting. This could be another one or perhaps creosote buildup had ignited.
Whatever the reason, this was a nightmare. Chimney fires burned hot and fierce and could burn through the masonry, the walls. Everything. In addition, flying debris could ignite the roof and take down the entire hundred-twenty-year-old historic mansion.
She couldn't burn down Iris House. She had nothing else left.
Though she knew it was risky, in one last desperate effort, she aimed the fire extinguisher up the chimney, adrenaline shooting through her as fast and fierce as those flames, until the chemical ran out then she scooped up her purse and raced for the door with her phone in hand, already dialing 911.
Apparently, someone beat her to it. She ran out onto the porch just as a couple of guys in full uniforms were running out of a fire truck parked behind her car, lights flashing. Another engine was just pulling up behind it.
Somebody must have seen the smoke pouring out the window and called it in. Yay for nosy neighbors.
"Is there anybody else inside?" one of the firefighters asked her.
"No. Just me. It's a chimney fire, centered in the den. Go to the end of the hall, last door on the right."
"Thanks."
"Oh, am I so glad to see you guys," she called to the third firefighter she encountered as she headed down the steps of the porch.
This one wasn't in turnout gear, only a coat and helmet that shielded his features in the smoke and the gloomy night. She had only an impression of height and impressive bulk before he spoke in a voice as hard and terrifying as the fire.
"You won't be so glad to see us when we have you arrested for trespassing, arson and criminal mischief."
Lucy screwed her eyes shut as recognition flooded through her.
Oh, joy.
She should have known. Brendan Caine. He was probably the reason she hadn't wanted to call the fire department in the first place. Her subconscious probably had been gearing up for this encounter since she saw that first puff of smoke.
WEDDING AT CARDWELL RANCH BY B.J. DANIELS
Allie's was one of the older cabins. Because it was small and not in great shape, Nick had gotten a good deal on it. Being in construction, he'd promised to enlarge it and fix all the things wrong with it. That hadn't happened.
After Drew left, Allie didn't hurry inside the cabin. It was a nice summer night, the stars overhead glittering brightly and a cool breeze coming up from the river.
She had begun to hate the cabin--and her fear of what might be waiting for her inside it. Nick had been such a force of nature to deal with that his presence seemed to have soaked into the walls. Sometimes she swore she could hear his voice. Often she found items of his clothing lying around the house as if he was still there--even though she'd boxed up his things and taken them to the local charity shop months ago.
Just the thought of what might be waiting for her inside the cabin this time made her shudder as she opened the door and stepped in, Nat at her side.
The Vampire's Wolf by Jenna Kernan
He signaled for him to hold and glanced back to the intruders, gaping, as this was the first time he'd seen the Night Stalkers. The sight sent a shiver down his spine. There were two males and they were hideous, pale and rodentlike, just as he'd been told, with purple-skinned and misshapen heads that looked as if they'd been crushed. Their eyes were milky, and their noses, if you could call them that, were slitted as if they belonged to reptiles. And then he fixed on the woman, struggling against their grasp and making every effort to wrench herself free.
She did not seem of the same species. They'd said the females were lovely, and he was curious to see for himself.
She was tall and lithe, dressed modestly in a pair of faded blue jeans that sat low on her curvy hips. Her struggles showed him both the pink mobile phone that did not entirely fit in her back pocket and also the scrap of white lace undergarment that peeked from above her jeans. Her white T-shirt fit her like a second skin and had hiked over her flat stomach, showing a wide-open stretch of perfect skin and the dark indent of her navel. How long had she been a bloodsucker, and why was she fighting them?
The beams of sunlight chased across the yard, illuminating her to reveal that her hair was coppery red, shoulder length, and with ringlets that wound tight, curly as a corkscrew. They bounced as she tossed her head. He wanted to see her face, which was now covered by her hair.
Now what the hell did he do? He hadn't counted on killing a woman.
Not a woman, he reminded himself. A dangerous assassin. The female vamps killed by drawing energy. At least that's what the intel from the Israelis said. The Israelis had captured one but couldn't turn her, so they'd put her down.
She's not human. A killer. "A beauty," whispered his mind.
He shook his head. This wasn't possible. Her allure didn't work on him. That was what he'd been told. But he still found he didn't have the stomach to kill her. She'd be the capture, he decided. The colonel's prize.
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