Art dealer Sasha Montgomery is both nervous and thrilled to be invited to the Caldorian Earth Base for her best friend’s wedding to an alien warrior. One, she’s never seen an alien up close, and two, she made a promise to be there, no matter how much the idea of being surrounded by hundreds of huge alien warriors frightens her.
She thinks she’s got it all under control, until Dagan, the groom’s best friend, crashes the wedding. He’s smoking hot—way too hot to be an alien—and determined to seduce her.
Sasha gives in to passion with unexpected consequences. Ancient power rises in response to their new-found bond, and the once innocent Sasha discovers that Dagan has been keeping secrets. He’s not just another warrior, he’s a king, and the power rising between them hasn’t been seen in a millennium.
Sasha must learn to control the force clawing its way through her body…or destroy them all.
Sasha turned back toward Dagan but couldn’t meet his eyes as he stepped in so close she could feel the heat emanating from his body. Her feet stubbornly refused her silent command to move back and she nervously smoothed her hair. Why doesn’t he say something? Or move back?
Dagan did neither, and Sasha shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. Is he waiting for me to do it? Her throat constricted, and all she could manage to get out was a mousy squeak. With agonizing slowness, she forced herself to raise her eyes one inch at a time. Huge black boots that came up to mid-calf. He’s standing way too close. She inhaled his ruggedly masculine scent. And, of course he smells amazing. Sasha closed her eyes and breathed him in a second time. A cool minty breath whispered across her cheek and she opened her eyes. Was it her imagination or had he moved even closer? Was he trying to crowd her? Sasha’s breathing grew shallow and choppy. She took a small step back, but he not only followed her, he took one of her dainty hands in his, dwarfing it completely. Her nipples tingled as his thumb stroked unhurriedly back across and in between each knuckle. Her breath hitched and she took another step back. He followed. She tugged her hand, and he squeezed gently but refused to release it. Why didn’t he take the hint and let go, she wondered? He’d just arrived from Caldor? He must not know how much humans like their personal space because he was very much in hers, and the proximity was sending her into meltdown.
“Dagan,” she whispered as she raised her free hand, trembling and unsure, to signal him to stop and move back, but he was already so close her fingertips brushed up against his rock-hard abs. She gasped as she felt his muscles contract at the contact. She squeezed her eyes shut as a bolt of pleasure zinged down her spine, all the way to her core. She jerked her tingling fingers away and took another step back in retreat. She was going to die; she just knew it.
He’s just so big and intimidating up close. Even shirtless, he looks ready for battle. Or sex. Sasha blushed nervously. She hadn’t said that out loud, had she?
Sasha worked her gaze up another notch. His shoulders were mouth-wateringly broad and well-defined, and his dark blue markings were fascinating up close, the artist in her nearly transfixed by the hint of sparkling opalescent fire inside the dark whorls. Sasha stared until he gently cleared his throat. The sound drew her eyes reluctantly upward just in time to see him swallow. His lips twitched, like he was holding in a laugh. His nose was straight and the perfect size for his face. Not daring to meet his eyes again, Sasha skipped up to his forehead. Please, God, just get this over with. Either let go or shake hands, or whatever it is you do and go away so that you won’t see me melt into a mindless puddle. Finally, she looked into his twinkling eyes.
“Sasha Montgomery of Earth, please forgive me for frightening you earlier today. I am Dagan Tiranon of Caldor.”
Sasha barely had time to register what he’d said in his deep, rumbling bass before he moved his hands to her waist and lifted her up like she weighed nothing at all, bringing her in to rest against his chest.
“What are you doing?” Sasha squeaked. She pushed against his shoulders and wriggled to make him put her down, but he didn’t budge. He didn’t even seem to notice she was trying to get away.
“I am greeting you, little one, as humans do,” Dagan rumbled. “I am new to your world but I have been watching how you greet each other. I would like to share in your traditions. I believe you call it hugging.”
Becca Brayden spends her days writing and her nights dreaming up her next hot adventure with even hotter alien hunks. A Colorado native, she has lived in New Zealand, Florida, Alabama, Kansas and loves to travel in direct proportion to how much she hates to cook. Chocolate makes her happy, licorice makes her cringe, and despite the cult following – she hates pumpkin pie and pumpkin spice lattes. (More for you!) Natural wanderlust has given her a deep love for Mediterranean food and a bookshelf filled with everything from philosophy to sexy romance.
She believes that if we are to save our great planet and all its amazing inhabitants, we must put aside our differences and collectively work together!!
You can catch her enjoying a cup of hot cocoa at her website www.BeccaBrayden.com
Title: I Put a Spell on You Author: Sarah Vance-Tompkins Genre: Fairy-Tale Retelling
“Being a modern-day fairy godmother isn’t all ‘bibbidi bobbidi boo,’” the legendary Lilliana Willowbrook says. “It’s hard work, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. We don’t handle cash, jewelry, real estate or revenge.”
AVIANA WILLOWBROOK had no idea that her mother is a living legend until the day the tattered old copy of “The Fairy Godmother’s Rulebook” arrived in the mail on her twenty-first birthday. Estranged from her mom, and living in Beverly Hills with her father, her stepmother and two super-achieving stepsisters, Aviana is unhappy and directionless.
Hotel heir NASH NOLAN isn’t content to use his family’s fortune, instead he’s used his computer knowledge to create a successful travel app. He’s not the kind of guy to wear his heart on his sleeve, Nash is immediately attracted to Aviana’s confidence and kindness.
But everything changes when novice fairy godmother Aviana is tasked with sparking a romance between Nash and her wicked stepsister. Will she use her powers to help Nash and her stepsister find their destiny, or will she use her pixie dust to find her own happily ever after?
When I returned ‘THE FAIRY GODMOTHER’S RULEBOOK’ was open on my desk. No one was nearby, but the old velum pages were open to reveal a woodcut etching of a fairyland scene faced with a thin slice of tissue paper. In the etching a group of fairies floated above the ground in a circle around a regal-looking woman in a ball gown as they balanced a bejeweled tiara on her head.
I slammed the book shut and a cloud of glittering dust rose from the pages. The dust cloud made me woozy and gave me the sneezes. When I recovered from the sneezing fit, my ears itched like I had poison ivy.
No surprise.
If the old book had anything to do with Mom, I was allergic to it and its contents. I stuffed the book back into my tote under my desk. Best to be forgotten. As soon as possible. I didn’t have time for fairies, or fairy tales. I didn’t believe in them when I was a little girl, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.
Sarah Vance-Tompkins received an MFA in Film Production from the University of Southern California, and went on to work in feature film development in Hollywood. Prior to film school, she wrote and produced radio and television commercials. She grew up on the shores of Lake Michigan, and now lives in Southern California with her husband and a glaring of unruly cats.
Broke and widowed, Rachel Ferrer has already lost so much that when her tarot reading roommate pulls The Tower card, Rachel isn’t phased. What are upheaval and chaos when the worst had already happened? When Rachel’s late husband’s childhood best friend, Nicolas, reappears in her life and brings a handsome friend along with him, Rachel forgets the cards. She takes a chance on Blake even though she can’t stop thinking about Nicolas. It isn’t settling if the person you want is married, right?
Nicolas Rivera has always been a man of faith. His marriage and his job at the church have been his pillars, but when the foundations of both begin to crumble, doubt and a forbidden attraction tempt him to seek comfort in the one woman he shouldn’t go anywhere near.
Nicolas and Rachel have been on the periphery of each other’s lives for years, but as circumstances push them together, lightning crackles between them. Will they be able to resist the electricity or will they get burned by Temptation?
Nicolas was covered in dirt and sweat, and his skin itched. If he hadn’t just destroyed one of his favorite parts of his year, he would have been satisfied with a good day’s hard work. As it was, the catharsis he’d been looking for felt more like a dead end. Like he was slowly erasing himself and his legacy from the church instead of controlling the narrative.
Rachel collapsed on the curb beside him. They sat on the edge of the church parking lot, looking out over the now-barren field where the garden had been.
She was just as dirty as he was, but it didn’t change how adorable he thought she was. He’d been so distracted by the way her tied-up T-shirt accented her waist that it had taken him more than an hour to realize she was wearing one of Blake’s campus ministry T-shirts. Because she had come from Blake’s place this morning.
He’d spent the rest of the day reminding himself of that.
“Here,” she said and handed him a red cup full of Coke.
He tried to hand it back. “I don’t drink soda.”
She pressed her fingers against his forearm, and the warm touch of her hand soothed the sore muscles like a balm. He wanted to lean into her but focused on the drink in his hand instead as she said, “It’s what’s in the soda, Nicolas.”
He sniffed. “Whiskey?” And a lot of it too.
Rachel looked to the sky and sighed. “Gabe’s funeral was five years ago today.”
Nicolas didn’t think. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t make the connection. How are you doing?”
Rachel shrugged and sagged against him. It was too hot to touch for long, but Rachel didn’t seem bothered by the heat or the fact that their significant others could turn from where they were gathered around the food table at any moment and see them embracing.
“It’s been five years, but I still miss him. Sometimes I wake up, and I still expect to find him in the kitchen making coffee and talking back to the news, like normal. Even if I have to resign myself to knowing things are never going to be normal like that again. I think that’s part of the reason why Naomi was determined to make this into a party. That and it was an excuse for her to flirt with your wife.”
Nicolas chuckled at her attempt at levity. He’d noticed the way Naomi had tracked Kat’s every move all day long. “I didn’t quite believe it before, but I think you might be right.”
Rachel only shrugged and motioned with her cup to where Naomi and Kat stood with Blake and the kids across the parking lot. Naomi squealed and pulled Kat into what looked like a spontaneous hug. Everyone else was smiling, so Nicolas chose to do the same. It hadn’t really been that bad, having them all here today.
Nicolas nudged Rachel, who was staring off into space, with his elbow. “What shall we toast to?” He didn’t want her to be sad today.
Rachel motioned toward the decimated field with her red cup. “To new beginnings,” she said. Nicolas knocked his cup against hers and said aloud the one thing he’d been trying to garner for himself lately when it came to his job, and maybe his marriage. “To having the courage to start the journey.” They shared a sad smile before they both drained their drinks.
Marla Holt believes in second chances, romance, and the radical notion that everyone deserves a happily every after. She’s living her own fairy tale, writing contemporary romance novels in her Kansas farmhouse with her husband, three boys, three cats, and flock of imaginary sheep. Follow her at marlaholt.com or on Instagram as @marlaholtauthor
