Sunday, 10 December 2017

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow...




Just a quickie if you happen to be snowed in...

Blurb
Traveling from New York City to Houston to meet her future in-laws and announce her engagement, accident prone Bailey finds herself in a situation beyond her control. All flights are cancelled the night before Christmas Eve, leaving Bailey stranded at the airport with a cowboy from her past.
Against all odds, Sebastian manages to rescue Bailey from one disaster after another, but is it too late to rescue her from her future? Faced with a heartrending dilemma, does Bailey turn her back on the man who offers her a life of security, or does she run off to Maui with a cowboy?

Excerpt

Snorting out a laugh, despite herself, Bailey moved in closer so her nose almost touched his, the small breaths she managed to persuade into her lungs weren’t going to be enough to sustain her. Her eyelashes fluttered, her eyelids started to close. They flew open again as she felt him give a sharp tug at her hair.
It tumbled over her shoulders, wild and bouncy, sending pins flying in all directions as she slapped his hand away.
“You’ve ruined it. What am I going to do now? Keep your hands off.”
His smile was wide and lazy, making her heart hitch as he wrapped a curling tendril of her long blonde hair around his index finger and drew her face back down to his.
“I love your hair. Why would you do that to it when it’s just perfect as it is?” Reluctant pleasure at his admiration spread glowing warmth through her chest. His mouth hovered closer, then closer still, his breath fanned across her skin before he dipped in, touched his lips to hers and made her melt.
Terror gripped her as she realized what she was doing and with a strength born of desperation, she slapped her hand on the cowboy’s shoulder and sent him sprawling to the floor.
“Jesus Christ, Sebastian, what do you think you are doing?”
“Saving you from yourself.” He sat up, drew his knees up to his chest and draped his forearms over his knees. “You’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life and someone has to stop you.”
Taking a long, slow draught of air-conditioned oxygen, Bailey stared down at his all too familiar face and felt sheer panic engulf her at the thought of how much damage this man could do to her heart.
“I don’t need to be saved. There’s no mistake.”
“Well, where in hell’s name is he? It’s the day before Christmas Eve, it’s minus ten out there, a blizzard’s coming, and he left you alone. Why?”
“I had to work an extra two days to make sure everything was in order before I left for the week.” She begrudged the fact she actually felt obliged to explain anything to him and annoyance had her giving a sharp flick of her foot as she uncrossed her leg once more. The pointed toe of her smart patent heels jabbed neatly into his shin, and for once she felt totally unrepentant about her lack of spatial awareness as he yelped and drew his legs back rapidly.
Rolling his eyes, he moved to his knees.
“He’s the goddamned boss, Bailey. He left you to clear up while he went on ahead and started his vacation early.”
“His parents needed him to attend a function.”
“His fiancĂ©e probably needed him to help carry her luggage.”
“It’s okay, don’t fuss. The luggage is already booked on; I only have my purse with me.”
He glanced around, sighed heavily before waving his hand at the empty seating next to her.
“Where’s your coat?”
“Well, I put it in the top of my suitcase when I arrived, save carrying it.”
He rolled back to sit on his heels while he studied her. Bailey felt a warm heat spread
up her neck into her face. He was the only person she knew who could make her blush just by meeting her eyes.
As she tried to distract herself, she dug into her purse and pulled out a small, black rubber band. She scraped her unruly hair back from her face and held the rubber band in one hand while she pulled her hair through with the other. Wrapped around once, it was too loose, so she yanked it tight and pulled her hair through a second time. Too tight, her two middle fingers trapped between the elastic and her hair.
He continued to stare.
She glowered back, gave her fingers a desperate wriggle and wondered if he’d noticed. She saw the annoying twitch of amusement on his lips again.
“Your arms are going to start to ache if you don’t put them down.”
She wrenched at her hand, felt the tear of her acrylic nail as it parted company with her middle finger, just as the rubber band snapped, pinged off and her hair tumbled wildly around her face again. Red poker hot heat surged though her finger making her want to whimper and slide it into her mouth to ease the pain.
She stared down at her perfect French manicure, ruined by a missing acrylic on one hand and a broken one on the other. Her eyes rose to his slightly blurred face as he chuckled and rubbed his forehead.
“You did not get hit by my rubber band. Do not try to tell me you did.”
Sebastian simply removed his hand and let her see the little white wheal mark surrounded by red. She squinted and leaned forward to take a closer look as he picked the broken rubber band up from his lap and wiggled it at her. Blowing out a disgusted breath, she sat back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. It was probably the safest thing she could do today. She was having one of her minor destroy-the-world days. It would blow over, and tomorrow she would be back to normal. Almost. As normal as her life ever got.

Author Website                              http://dianesaxon.com
Author Blog                                   http://www.dianesaxon.com/blogspot.html
Author Facebook Page                  www.facebook.com/authordianesaxon
Author Twitter:                              @Diane_Saxon
Author Goodreads Profile             http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/19843221


#Where to Buy Flight of Her Life

Amazon.com                                     http://amzn.to/2cpAzIo               
Amazon.co.uk                                   http://amzn.to/2czOs10
                                                 
For more options go to                  http://www.dianesaxon.com/buythebooks.html





Saturday, 28 October 2017

Have You Got Your Halloween On?



Kilchoan, Mainland Scotland 1672

Swathes of wet hair clung and tangled around her face in a heavy curtain, enough to obscure her view as another spasm seized her. Pain far worse than she’d ever imagined wrenched through her, and clutched deep into her belly to tear at her insides.
Pride refused to allow her to cry out.
As she surfaced, she snatched another lungful of air. The frigid waters chilled her to the bone, sending a fresh rash of shudders through her between each painful contraction.
The villagers crowded closer, faces twisted with fear and rage. People she’d known all her life, people she loved. Women she’d tended in childbirth, and men whose wounds she’d healed.
The sentiment turned vicious as the sun dipped below the horizon and the moon rose in the darkened sky.
After a full day of her tied to the ducking stool, their disgust in her was palpable at not obtaining the confession they sought.
How could she confess to something that wasn’t true?
She’d never consorted with the devil.
Hysteria driven, they leaned in closer to scream their blood lust.
“Kill the witch, kill the witch.” The terror of the moment was overcome with something far more important.
Another stab of pain seized her body, forcing her to contort once again, but she pried open her eyes and met his frigid, slate-gray gaze across the wide expanse of water.
Tall and regal in his gentleman’s finery, there was no trace of the passionate lover she knew so well. His handsome features were carved into a cold mask.
He could say something. In silent entreaty, she begged him to intervene. He could save her.
He chose not to. Instead, he took hold of his pregnant wife’s hand and turned away to stare up at the night sky.
Her heart died long before her body.
Tears flowed unheeded down her cheeks to streak through the slime of mud coating her skin as she sucked deep breaths into her lungs, ready for the next duck of the stool into the stinking, fetid depths of the river. She knew it was all in vain.
Death was upon her.
Moya drew on her last ounce of strength and concentrated. Every muscle in her body contracted as she bore down to push, while her power waned. The ducking stool plunged once again, to submerge her into the icy depths and steal her breath away. The burn in her chest spread while she held the air in her lungs for as long as she could, but it was pointless. She closed her eyes and forced her muscles to relax. Her body floated a little above the stool. The ropes stretched in the cold and the wet. Moya raised her hips high, and her attention never wavered as she remained centered on this last, essential feat.
Little effort was required to weave the curse, for any witch knew a curse did not need to be spoken aloud. Instead, she focused the last of her energy to accomplish her final deed.
Eyes wide again, she stared up through the dark murkiness of the water, into the night sky, where blood smothered the full moon and spread its tendrils out to blur beneath the overpowering cast of light.
She recognized her death written in the blood. Death and rebirth. She took cold comfort in the knowledge her curse had worked.
Agony clenched her body. She drew her lips back from her teeth and expelled the final, desperate clutch of air she held in her lungs. In a wild, frenzied scream, distorted by the bubbles, the sound carried to the surface. Ice froze the blood in her veins to numb her mind and dull the pain as she expelled the bairn from her womb in a cloud of thick mucus and crimson blood. It bloomed through the dark waters while her child spewed into the evil world.
The heat of her own blood stroked a tender warmth over her frozen hands in farewell as Moya floated, lifeless, to the surface.
The full moon, obscured by a blood-soaked cloud, transformed the land into a desolation of deep shadows and dark craters while the scarlet waters around Moya turned inky black as it bubbled and steamed in the chill of the Scottish night.
With proof of the witch’s existence, their screams pierced the dark as the villagers fled to hide behind closed doors and deny the wrongdoing they’d taken part in that night.

Tuesday, 24 October 2017

New Release = Along Came Dani



“Are you about to stand there all day dreaming of things that’ll never happen, or will you grab hold of the young deputy and shear the hair off him?” 
Heat swarmed up her neck into her face to burn her cheeks while the quiet snickers of her aunt’s patrons heated her ears. “But, I thought you…” 
“You thought wrong, sugar. I’m in the middle of curling Ms. Stewart.” 
It wouldn’t take her aunt long, and then she’d leave the woman’s perm to cook so she’d be free to cut Sean’s hair, but there was no point in arguing. It would only make her look stupid. Or scared. And she was neither. She raised her chin. She’d sorted the deputy out before; she could do it again. She tilted her head to one side, almost blew a bubble with her gum in childish rebellion, but knew the response she’d get from her aunt. 
Unable to turn and face him, she watched him through the mirror. “You want to take a seat?” 
In no apparent rush, Sean unfurled his long limbs from the low settee in the window where he’d sat to wait and rolled to his feet. Every inch of him exuded sex appeal. No longer a gangly youth, he’d shot up in recent times to fill out in all the right places, including his broad shoulders so like his gorgeous Uncle Sam’s. His slim hips were emphasized by the low sling of his gun belt, and as the platinum blondes pointed out, his ass was more than fine. She’d tried not to notice, but it proved difficult when the man was everywhere, and the platinum blondes in the salon drew her attention to him every time he walked by. Their undisguised flutter of eyelashes and fanning of faces elicited a small smile and a dip of his head as though he were shy. But Dani knew better. She’d seen the long parade of women he’d dated. Funny how men never got a reputation for that kind of thing, but if a young woman had sex a dozen times with someone she believed she loved and got pregnant, then she’d be labeled a slut all her life.
As he reached the chair, she swung it around so he could slide into the seat. 
“Aren’t you going to wash him first, Dani? What are you thinking of, girl?” 
Surprised at Jessie’s command, Dani whipped the chair around so he faced her. “You want your hair washed?” 
Most of the officers came in for a quick trim during their lunch break before they dashed back to work, but Sue always dealt with Sean. 
He gave a bashful dip of his head to accompany the casual shrug of those broad shoulders. Evidently, he was in no rush. “I don’t normally.” 
“Of course he wants his hair washed, child. Get him done.” Jessie’s voice slashed through the salon loud enough to make Sean’s mouth kick up in a lopsided grin. With less grace than dignity, Dani led him over to the bank of four washbasins and flicked her hand to indicate where he was supposed to sit as she rounded the back of the sink to stand behind him. She leaned over to wrap a towel around his neck, and the scent of warm cinnamon and spices rolled over her senses. She inhaled for the pure momentary pleasure of it. “Sit back, please.” 
It would have been polite to use his name, but it stuck on her tongue. She hadn’t spoken to him in years. It felt like she’d never spoken to anyone, her tongue rusty. She turned on the faucets, automatically tested the temperature, and when she turned back to him, he’d reclined with his face tilted to the ceiling, his gaze centered on her. The blunt cut she’d persuaded her aunt to give her swung in a neat curtain around her jawline but not enough to shield her face from his observation. It had always been a bit of fun to coax the woman to create the latest and hottest styles on her. Her Aunt Jessie was a minor miracle with a pair of scissors and was driven mad by three sons who wanted nothing more than a buzz-cut and a clientele who bordered on one foot in the grave. Her only daughter preferred the idea of piercings, tattoos, and thick black eyeliner when she could get away with it. 
Dani touched the side of her hand to Sean’s forehead to shield him from the spray of water and her from his intense gaze. Not quite the vibrant rust color of his Uncle Sam’s, his auburn highlights darkened as she soaked his hair. She chose one of the range of shampoos, pumped it into the palm of her hand, and then smoothed it over his head. The smell of almonds and coconut rose up against the heat of the water to mix with the masculine scent of the man. It drove her crazy. Five years and all she’d ever done was cast him furtive, longing looks. Now she had him at her mercy. Again. Just like she’d had him at her mercy five years previously when he’d been a shade shorter and a hell of a lot skinnier and she’d been almost full-term in her pregnancy. 
Dani glanced around at the older ladies. Their undisguised curiosity stilled all conversation in the room. Only the quiet strains of classical music stopped the silence from being total. Typical. On an ordinary day, the old dears couldn’t be persuaded to be quiet, but when she needed them to talk, to act normal so she could too, they decided to go all secretive on her. Even Aunt Jessie, oblivious to the atmosphere, slipped her hairdryer into its rack while she teased Abigail’s curls out with her fingers. 
With a gusty sigh, Dani turned her attention back to the gorgeous hunk under her control. She sank her fingers deep into his scalp to give him an Indian head massage. His wide shoulders loosened, and his body slipped down and relaxed deeper into the leather chair. Thrilled with the effect, Dani turned her hands and kneaded his muscular neck. His deep groan vibrated through the tips of her fingers as he closed his eyes and melted under her ministrations. “If I’d known you had such a talent, I’d have asked for you long ago.” 
Quiet snickers turned from amused to dirty in a flash as Emmy Lou James patted her hand against her heart and feigned a swoon, managing to roll her chair back two feet in the process. Dani dug in deeper and scrubbed above Sean’s ears in the hope it might cover the sound of the women’s laughter. He winked open one eye to let her know he’d heard and then closed it again. Another soft groan of ecstasy puffed from his firm lips to weaken her knees. 
Distracted, she picked up the faucet, trained it on Sean, and blasted a torrent of icy water straight over his head and down the back of his neck. With a yelp of pure horror, his eyes shot wide, and he flung himself forward to escape her. Dani’s hand jerked up, and the spray shot over his shoulders and gushed over his broad back, turning his shirt transparent as it stuck to his skin.

Buy Links 

Amazon http://amzn.to/2x7oagv 
Amazon.uk http://amzn.to/2zg1qNR

Sunday, 22 October 2017

As Halloween Approaches - Have You Got Your Witch?




Kilchoan, Mainland Scotland 1672

Swathes of wet hair clung and tangled around her face in a heavy curtain, enough to obscure her view as another spasm seized her. Pain far worse than she’d ever imagined wrenched through her, and clutched deep into her belly to tear at her insides. Pride refused to allow her to cry out. As she surfaced, she snatched another lungful of air. The frigid waters chilled her to the bone, sending a fresh rash of shudders through her between each painful contraction.

The villagers crowded closer, faces twisted with fear and rage. People she’d known all her life, people she loved. Women she’d tended in childbirth, and men whose wounds she’d healed. The sentiment turned vicious as the sun dipped below the horizon and the moon rose in the darkened sky. After a full day of her tied to the ducking stool, their disgust in her was palpable at not obtaining the confession they sought. How could she confess to something that wasn’t true?

She’d never consorted with the devil.

Hysteria driven, they leaned in closer to scream their blood lust. “Kill the witch, kill the witch.”
The terror of the moment was overcome with something far more important. Another stab of pain seized her body, forcing her to contort once again, but she pried open her eyes and met his frigid, slate-gray gaze across the wide expanse of water.

Tall and regal in his gentleman’s finery, there was no trace of the passionate lover she knew so well.

His handsome features were carved into a cold mask.

He could say something. In silent entreaty, she begged him to intervene.

He could save her.

He chose not to.

Instead, he took hold of his pregnant wife’s hand and turned away to stare up at the night sky. Her heart died long before her body. Tears flowed unheeded down her cheeks to streak through the slime of mud coating her skin as she sucked deep breaths into her lungs, ready for the next duck of the stool into the stinking, fetid depths of the river. She knew it was all in vain. Death was upon her.

Moya drew on her last ounce of strength and concentrated. Every muscle in her body contracted as she bore down to push, while her power waned. The ducking stool plunged once again, to submerge her into the icy depths and steal her breath away. The burn in her chest spread while she held the air in her lungs for as long as she could, but it was pointless. She closed her eyes and forced her muscles to relax. Her body floated a little above the stool. The ropes stretched in the cold and the wet. Moya raised her hips high, and her attention never wavered as she remained centered on this last, essential feat.

Little effort was required to weave the curse, for any witch knew a curse did not need to be spoken aloud. Instead, she focused the last of her energy to accomplish her final deed. Eyes wide again, she stared up through the dark murkiness of the water, into the night sky, where blood smothered the full moon and spread its tendrils out to blur beneath the overpowering cast of light. She recognized her death written in the blood.

Death and rebirth.

She took cold comfort in the knowledge her curse had worked. Agony clenched her body. She drew her lips back from her teeth and expelled the final, desperate clutch of air she held in her lungs. In a wild, frenzied scream, distorted by the bubbles, the sound carried to the surface. Ice froze the blood in her veins to numb her mind and dull the pain as she expelled the bairn from her womb in a cloud of thick mucus and crimson blood. It bloomed through the dark waters while her child spewed into the evil world. The heat of her own blood stroked a tender warmth over her frozen hands in farewell as Moya floated, lifeless, to the surface.

The full moon, obscured by a blood-soaked cloud, transformed the land into a desolation of deep shadows and dark craters while the scarlet waters around Moya turned inky black as it bubbled and steamed in the chill of the Scottish night. With proof of the witch’s existence, their screams pierced the dark as the villagers fled to hide behind closed doors and deny the wrongdoing they’d taken part in that night.


Buy Links




Wednesday, 18 October 2017

Cover reveal!! - FOREVER THE STORM, Taken Series Book 3 by M.S. Kaye







A part of me saw her as a delicate beauty that needed protecting. But she wasn't a flower that gets torn apart in a storm; she was the storm.
Before it’s over, someone will die.
Attacks are coming from all sides: arrests, sabotage, picketing, even being framed for murder. Who is the invisible force behind it all?
And what secrets has Joe Bishop been keeping about both Adriane’s and Alec’s pasts?
Available November 4th.
Preorder:

Tuesday, 10 October 2017

Release Day - Along Came Dani




Amazon.com http://amzn.to/2x7oagv
Amazon.uk http://amzn.to/2xXHsc6

Deserted by her boyfriend, labelled a tramp, and thrown out of her family home, 16-year-old, pregnant, Dani Westin leaves behind a life she would rather forget.
In a small town, where relationships are close and gossip rife, Dani tries to find a place for her and her daughter, despite the early influences of her own upbringing, and the cruelty of her mother.
With help from Aunt Jessie, and Hairway to Heaven, Dani works hard, keeps quiet, and flies under the radar, ever conscious of the town’s disapproval. Until the day she soaks the local Deputy Sheriff to the skin, grabs herself a whole load of unwanted attention, and appreciates what a real man is made of.
After his first encounter with the defensive sixteen-year-old, Dani, Deputy Sheriff Sean Swann has kept his distance from the luscious hair stylist. Not afraid of the trauma she might inflict on his person, he’s more concerned by the damage she may do to his heart.
For years he’s waited, but when he considers the time is right, Sean makes his move, undeterred by the disasters that come his way. Patient, but determined, Sean realizes Dani needs to leave behind her past for them to have a future.


Tuesday, 11 July 2017

RELEASE DAY - AFTERNOON TEA & PIMMS




We had such a fabulous afternoon on Saturday with a group of absolutely gorgeous ladies who arrived for afternoon tea and Pimms to celebrate the release of Under the Full Blooded Moon. We put up a couple of gazebos and the sun graced us with its presence, so much so that we all sat around in a state of gentle tranquillity and enjoyed each other's company.

We had sandwiches with the crusts cut off and plenty of little cakes, the recipes for which I will be posting over the next few days.

It's release day today, if you'd like to get your copy, please follow the links:

Blurb

Since he lost his father and his childhood at the age of ten to a witch’s curse, cynical journalist Stuart Caldwell has searched the world in his quest to find the key to his family’s centuries-old curse.
What he finds when he lands on the Scottish island of Breggar is far from what he expects. Instead of a battle to the death with the cruel enchantress he believes resides there, Stuart finds he’s the one in the firing line, and the target is his heart.


Excerpt


A wave of tiredness swept over him as he rounded the corner of the house and came to a standstill.
She was there. The lush grass under her naked feet, the brilliant sparkle of sunshine on the water behind her almost blinded him, while the white-streaked sky framed her dark beauty. Her wild locks churned in the wind as she fought the sheet she attempted to put on the line until she could pin it down with wooden pegs.
Unable to tear his eyes from her willowy form, he waited while his heart thundered and his pulse raced.
The brightness of the day just served to make her stand out against her background as she bent to retrieve a pillowcase. Her struggle far less than before, she bent once more, flicked out the last pillowcase and punched the pegs onto it to tether it to the line.
Fascinated, Stuart crossed his arms over his chest and squinted against the glare of the sun reflecting off the water. Pleasure rippled through him at the simplicity of her actions, the fluidity of her moves. Somewhere in his hesitant thought process, he recognized the surge of passion which had his blood thundering through his veins. The swift rush of it filled his ears until he could hear nothing. He couldn’t attribute it to jetlag, but to the undeniable beauty of the woman who drew him to her with her quick, efficient moves.
As the wind whipped her long hair over her shoulder and she turned in his direction, she froze at the sight of him. Her green gaze glowed from a face as pale as porcelain.
Storm clouds rolled in thick and furious behind her to blot out the brightness of the day. The wind lashed at her long, dull brown dress and made a vicious grab at her hair. Stuart’s stomach lurched in confusion and his vision tunneled to narrow in on the apparition before him. Water churned thick and fetid, rising over her ankles to drag at the material of her dress.
Her gaze entranced him while she reached out a ponderous hand, ragged nails blackened with dirt clawed the air in an entreaty. Emerald eyes pleaded with him as they swamped with tears. Her full lips quivered while she begged without words for his help and wrenched at a little part of his consciousness like a memory dredged from deep within.
Dizzy, he raised a hand to his forehead and blinked, convinced he’d lost his mind. He sucked in a deep breath and fought the confusion, pushing back on the darkness.
“Stuart?”
The picture flashed negative in his mind's eye followed by a blaze of vibrant green grass, bright sparkles on the white spume of the sea, and a clear azure sky.
Tempted to shake himself, he ducked his head to stare at his feet as a wave of nausea struck him. It had to be jetlag. There was no other explanation. While he hauled in another lifesaving breath, powerless to stop her move toward him, he swayed on his feet. Perhaps all he needed was to rest in a darkened room, rid himself of the powerful vision still vivid in his mind.
“Stuart? Are you all right?”
Not yet ready for her, he raised his head, his pulse raced fast and erratic.
He wanted to ask her how she’d done it, but the look of genuine concern made him falter.
Whatever she’d done to him, it had left his mind in a pure fog and evaporated his ability to speak. He raked his gaze over her with narrowed eyes and felt the ground solidify beneath his feet again. “I’m fine.” His voice thick and rusty, he gave a small cough to clear his throat.
“Are you sure? You’ve gone very pale.” She reached out one elegant hand, clean nails clipped square, and touched her cool fingers to his cheek. He may look pale to her, but fiery heat rushed to his face, to scorch his skin so only the gentle graze of her touch could cool it.
With no thought to his intent, he pressed his hand against hers to hold it against the blaze of his skin. Her fingers gave an almost imperceptible spasm, but instead of removing them, she brought her other hand up to cradle his face.
Lost in the misty depths of her sea green contemplation, Stuart took one of her dainty hands in his and placed a kiss in her palm.
She curled her fingers inward and tucked the kiss inside, warming his heart with the simple action.
Time slowed down so when he dipped his head, he knew without a doubt in his mind he was about to kiss her sweet, lush mouth, which curved in secret invitation.
So secret, it appeared Ruth had no idea of his intention as she dropped her light hold on him and stepped back.
“I think you should sit down before you fall.” She gave a flick of her fingers in an airy wave at the picnic table and bench, but her accent had thickened through the husky tones of her voice. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
She was gone. In the blink of an eye, she disappeared. Bereft he gazed after her.




Buy Links



Where to Find Diane Saxon

About the Author
After working for years in a demanding job, on-call and travelling great distances, Diane gave it all up when her husband said, “follow that dream”.
Having been hidden all too long, her characters have burst forth demanding plot lines of their own and she’s found the more she lets them, the more they’re inclined to run wild.