A WWII love at first sight romance with dual timelines, codebreaking war heroines, and prisoners of war.
People always asked Faye why Will called her Moxie.
It started with a dare at a dance in 1942 that ended in a kiss. Will loved that story.
But there’s more to the story than that. Much more . . .
Gretchen knows this story well. Her grandfather told it over and over while he was alive. But when Gretchen goes home to Jersey to be by her grandmother’s side one last time, Grandma Faye tells a different version of the story.
She knew the moment she saw him, they were meant to be together. Her girlfriends may have dared her to kiss him, but she would have anyway. Then the war got in the way. Faye thought she’d never see Will again. Until that night he took her breath away.
Will may have given Faye the name, but he’s the one with all the moxie.
Michelle Cornish is a recovering CPA with a passion for stories. Writing mostly romance and women’s fiction with strong female heroines, Michelle’s books often include nods to her former life as a CPA. When Michelle’s not writing, she’s hanging out with her two boys and husband in the beautiful Okanagan Valley, BC, Canada.
Someone once said that if you talk about the devil, he’s bound to appear.
Most would keep silent, hoping that they’d never be found by such a monster, but I prayed for his touch every night.
I knew the devil when I was a child and fell in love with him the first time he taught me that I wasn’t as damaged as I was led to believe that I was.
He cared for me, helped me learn how to smile, and see the world in a different way even though he didn’t realize that he had done so.
But they feared him; hated him.
So seventeen years ago, they ripped him away from me.
What they didn’t know was that he had already created a monster in his very image.
I thought I’d never see him again—I finally resigned myself to that. But then he came back, just like he promised he always would through that smile of his.
We’re together again.
And now, no one will be able to keep us apart ever again.
Yolanda Olson is a USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author. Born and raised in Bridgeport, CT where she currently resides, she usually spends her time watching her favorite channel, Investigation Discovery. Occasionally, she takes a break to write books and test the limits of her mind. Also an avid horror movie fan, she likes to incorporate dark elements into the majority of her books.
Real-estate mogul Carter Cross has spent his life toiling for another man’s legacy. Then, a phone call unlocks his true destiny as part of the country’s wealthiest oil dynasty. With his famously cool command, he’ll stop at nothing to seize the Cross family’s birthright.
When an infamous oil baron drops dead in a most scandalous fashion, tabloid reporter Nisha Donovan gets assigned to dig up dirt on the new J.P. Star Energy executive—the filthier, the better.
Neither of them counts on their undeniable attraction derailing their plans, but sometimes a star-crossed love can’t be denied. Can Carter and Nisha escape the snares of power to build a new legacy together?
Cross My Heart is book one in The Lone Star Crossed Saga and has a happily ever after. The family saga unfolds with soapy dramatic fun in each book, but there are no romance cliffhangers. Book one has a slow burn but heats up—way up—at the end, so grab a fan!
I hoped I wouldn’t miss him. The only downside to these loosey-goosey barbecues was not knowing who was going to be there and when. I got to Victoria and James’ early to position myself on a barstool in the huge, eat-in kitchen with a wide view of the backyard.
If he came in the front door, he’d have to pass through to get outside, and if he walked around and went directly into the yard via the side gate, I should be able to catch him.
Doing another visual sweep of the patio and pool area where other guests enjoyed the warmer weather, I lost track of the conversation with my host temporarily. Victoria snapped a finger over my head while holding a knife in the other hand. “Hello, Nisha?”
I smiled and turned my gaze back to her, and she continued chopping onions and tomatoes for guacamole.
“What? Oh, yeah. Maya’s doing okay. She’s still staying with me.”
“You’re going to keep her?”
“Hopefully.” I sighed. “All Maya has to do is get through the next three years.”
Of course, I knew nothing about how to raise a teenager except worrying every day we were crammed into my townhouse. And now Lisa was back. My spine stiffened until my neck hurt.
It would be okay. Maya knew what she wanted. And I’d handle the rest. I reached out to my lawyer. He agreed to help, but representation would cost a couple thousand dollars I didn’t have just to get started. I would figure it out.
Lord. Today wasn’t for worrying about Maya. Today was for meeting the guy at the heart of the story that would help me not have to worry.
That’s why I’d asked Victoria about one particular hot, successful guy on the guest list. I hadn’t wanted to get her involved, but I needed to make sure he was going to be here. Otherwise, I’d have to get much more creative.
“Well—oh, hey.” She lowered her voice. “Your hookup is here.”
“What’s up, Victoria? I brought beer.”
The back of my neck tingled at the masculine rumble behind me.
I knew before I swiveled around that he was handsome.
All the news clippings and online pics told me that. But they couldn’t warn me about the earthquaking timber of his voice that surely registered on the Richter scale. The vibration made my toes curl around the footrest of my barstool. The only shakes like that around here came from fracking. The tremors in my stomach told me he might be as dangerous as his new oil magnate employer.
I drew in a steadying breath and turned.
“Hi.” The wicked energy of his grin swayed toward me in time with samba-like way his hips moved when he walked.
Damn.
Focus, Nisha.
What I needed from him didn’t have anything to do with his hips. Or the sinewed ripple of his forearms as he reached past me to set a case of Mexican beer on the counter. He wore a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It was open. His dark, smooth chest rippled and narrowed to hard abs that cut arrows pointing down into the waistband of his long swim trunks.
He started to say something else, but Victoria interrupted.
“There’s a tub of ice outside for the drinks. Then, come back in, and I’ll let Nisha introduce herself.” Victoria took a break from chopping and wiped her hands on a dish towel.
The slash of his smile spread across his face again. My heart swelled and thumped to the beat that had played in my head as I watched him walk in.
“Or we could do that now before I head outside.” He extended a hand. “Carter Cross.”
Even his hands were sexy. Callused, but smooth at the same time. Strong, but elegant. His fingers wrapped around my hand, and I thought about having the grip sliding up my arm, over my shoulder, and down, down, down.
I was sweating like Victoria’s A/C wasn’t cranked to a chill for the party.
Straightening my spine lifted my chest in my magenta bikini, and his eyes flickered down and back up to my face. Normally, that would have irritated me, but instead, my stomach did another salsa dance.
Let go of his hand, creeper. I’d clung on a nanosecond too long, then dropped it. “Nisha Donovan.”
“How have we never met before?”
“Are you sure we haven’t?” I crinkled my brow as if maybe I remembered him from somewhere else and not the days of research I’d done.
“No. I have an expert eye for faces. Yours”—he paused and pointed at me—“I haven’t seen before.”
Kris Jayne is a devoted writer, reader, and traveler, crafting addictive contemporary romance novels with heat and heart. She spends her days blissfully sweating out the writing process in the Dallas area with her dogs, Otis the Shih Tzu, Rocco the Terrier, and Red the Foxy Mutt.
Her passion for writing is only matched by her passion for the adventures of travel. In 2008, she let a friend talk her into sleeping outside for the first time in her life when she climbed Mount Kilimanjaro.
P.S. If you’re buying her a gift, she has a penchant for single-malt Scotch and scarves.
