Blame ego, blame my need to prove I could build a business all on my own. Hell, blame my parents—God love ‘em—for thinking I’d have problems prospering with a hammer instead of a law degree.
Turns out I’m doing just fine with a chain of luxury resorts bearing my name, but it’s a cold comfort when the woman I love hates my guts. Can’t say she’s wrong, considering how things ended.
I set out to win Lauren back, scoring a spot on her family’s reality show social experiment, or whatever it’s called when someone buys an old cult compound to build a tiny town. Works for me, since I’m a builder who loves a challenge.
But getting Lauren to forgive me proves way more than challenging. Between a botched baking class, sexy bumper car battles, and a bizarrely hostile fish, it’s clear Lo’s in no hurry to pick up where we left off.
Good thing I’m no quitter, especially when it comes to her.
When Tawna Fenske finished her English lit degree at 22, she celebrated by filling a giant trash bag full of romance novels and dragging it everywhere until she’d read them all. Now she’s a RITA Award finalist, USA Today bestselling author who writes humorous fiction, risqué romance, and heartwarming love stories with a quirky twist. Publishers Weekly has praised Tawna’s offbeat romances with multiple starred reviews and noted, “There’s something wonderfully relaxing about being immersed in a story filled with over-the-top characters in undeniably relatable situations. Heartache and humor go hand in hand.”
Tawna lives in Bend, Oregon, with her husband, step-kids, and a menagerie of ill-behaved pets. She loves hiking, snowshoeing, standup paddleboarding, and inventing excuses to sip wine on her back porch. She can peel a banana with her toes and loses an average of twenty pairs of eyeglasses per year. To find out more about Tawna and her books, visit www.tawnafenske.com.To learn more about all of Tawna’s books, visit www.tawnafenske.com
A medieval Scottish blacksmith and a millennial from Detroit walk into a bar…
By the age of six, Fiona could sink a bank shot.
By eight she could mix a perfect Manhattan.
By twenty-two, she had a business degree and a concrete plan to save her grandfather’s failing bar.
Then she was pushed through a time-portal.
Now Fiona is stuck in fourteenth-century Scotland with no way home. There’s a good chance time-soldiers are after her. And Henry, the guy she’s shacked up with, is a grumpy son-of-a-bitch who doesn’t get her at all.
He is hot, though.
And brave.
And most definitely the love of her life.
If the two of them can stop bickering long enough, Fiona just might be able to have it all—the tavern of her dreams and the first man who can actually keep up with her. That is, if they can survive the battles, murder, and mayhem of the Middle Ages and the time-soldiers who have a hand in it all. **10% of books sale profits and 100% book merchandise profits go to The Three Penny Project, Sarah’s charity working to plant food-bearing, perennial plants throughout Toledo!
This was medieval Vegas, baby! Bold and bright and fabulously gaudy. Patterned tents in electric hues. Actors and singers and acrobats. Merchants in exotic robes. Shoddy goods and priceless treasures.
She took a drag from her tankard. “Ye should enjoy the moment o’ calm. Soon as that bell rings, it’ll be bedlam.”
“I’m counting on it!” Henry earned a third of his annual salary from this fair, and with any luck, I would do the same.
She refilled her tankard, and I excused myself to take a leak behind some bushes. When I returned, I found her bobbing her head to a bawdy song the chandlers in the tent next to us were singing.
“‘Some be lewd, and some be shrewd’,” they sang.
Mairi pumped her fist in the air. “‘Go where the shrews go’!”
I covered my mouth with a palm. Never in my life would I have expected prim, proper Mairi to be singing along to a dirty tavern song.
I eyed her nearly empty tankard. “How many of those have you had?”
Downing the last dregs, she burped. “Four. And I’m due for another.”
That’s when the man with the bear showed up. With a bob of his head in greeting, he gestured to the bear. “This here’s Aggie.” The bear rose to its hind legs and bowed.
I laughed.
Mairi squinted at the beast. “Fleas.”
The man patted the bear’s back. “Aggie’d like to buy an ale.”
My grin widened. “Aggie, huh?” I winked at the man. “Well, if it’s for the bear…I suppose I can sell you one early.”
“How,” Mairi hiccupped, “does Aggie intend to pay?”
“Well, ye canna expect a bear to pay in silver.” He made a circling gesture with his finger, and the bear pirouetted. “Ye see, no purse. Where would she keep the coin?”
I wanted to hug Aggie—she was so freaking cute. “I take it Aggie pays in entertainment?”
The man nodded. “Precisely.”
“Ye scaffy wee bugger.” Mairi’s words slurred before she took another drink and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Your coin purse looks plenty full to me.”
Honest offense rounded his mouth and eyes. “Why should I have to pay? It’s Aggie what wants it.”
Her already flushed face flashed redder.
“Deal!” I put a calming hand on her shoulder. “It’s my ale, and I want to see what Aggie can do.”
The man placed a metal hoop over the bear’s head. “Well, then, Aggie, how’s about ye dance for your supper?” She shimmied it to her middle and hula hooped with far more success than I ever had. I clapped my hands and cheered.
Mairi snorted. “Dancin’ bear.”
“Well done, Aggie. Well done.” He tossed her a sardine from a bucket on his cart. “But a lady shouldna be shakin’ her hips like that. Why dinna ye show some poise?” He placed a ball on the bear’s nose. It held steady as she twirled in a dainty circle.
“Good job, Aggie!” The bear bowed.
The town bell rang, and excitement flared through me. I handed the man his cup. “Here you go. Well worth the price of an ale.”
His brow furrowed. “What are ye giving it to me for?” He handed the cup to Aggie, who tipped her head back and downed the pint in one gulp.
Sarah Charles is the author of Beneath the Destiny Stone, a book she wrote to keep from going insane while recovering from a spinal injury. (It mostly worked). A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, Sarah graduated suma cum laude with degrees in Psychology and German. Since then, she’s worked in the mental health field, owned a custom cake business, and given birth to three future super villains. She currently spends her days writing and working to bring food forests to Toledo through her charity The Three Penny Project. In her rare moments of free-time, Sarah dabbles in all things craftsy. She particularly enjoys wood-burning, rehabilitating old furniture, gardening, baking, and playing with clay.
“Get off of me,” she shouts, and I cover her mouth with my palm, my hand so large I damn near cover half her face. Fuck she’s small. Fragile. I know she isn’t human. Isn’t weak like some of the others who roam these halls, but the difference in our size makes my protective instincts spring forward.
Her eyes blaze and I lean in, ensuring she sees that I am not fucking around right now. Not when it comes to something like this.
“Don’t you dare open that pretty little mouth of yours and scream like that again. Do you feel me? Unless you’re ready to tell me who the fuck was dumb enough to hurt you, or decide to drop down on your knees and wrap your lips around my cock, your mouth is going to stay closed.”
Her eyes narrow, nostrils flaring as her tiger glares at me through her gaze. She’s so fucking pissed, and I wish I had more time to enjoy it. I’ve worked hard this past year getting Meiying to hate me. It makes keeping her out of my bed a hell of a lot easier that way. But damn if seeing her like this doesn’t make my dick hard, and the thought of her on her knees for me … fuck. I can’t be the only one affected by that image.
Her small fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling to get my hand off of her mouth.
“Are you going to behave?”
If looks could kill I’d be dead right now with the way she’s glaring at me.
“It’s a yes or no question, kitten. Blink twice for yes. Once for no.”
Her eyes narrow to slits. Seconds pass and the air grows impossibly thick. I’m sure she can feel my hard-on pressed against her stomach, but neither of us is going to acknowledge it. I catch a hint of arousal in her scent, throwing me off when she finally blinks twice and concedes. A rush of satisfaction swells inside my chest. I drop my hand, but don’t step away. I rationalize that the moment I do she’ll bolt. It has nothing to do with how fucking good she feels with her tight little body up against mine. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, her cheeks scarlet. A mix of anger and indignation. She is so fucking beautiful like this.
A few strands of her black hair fell from her hair tie during our struggle and I slowly reach out, tucking the flyaways behind her ear. Her eyes are guarded as I trail one finger down the side of her face before cupping her jaw. She closes her eyes, a small shudder moving through her.
“What’s his name, Meiying?” I ask, and there’s a bite of steel in my tone.
Her eyes snap open and she bears her teeth. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It was an accide—“
“No man leaves a mark on a female by accident.” My voice is deceptively calm. I lean down closer to her until our breaths mingle. “Was it Hunt? Did he do that?” The sudden widening of her eyes gives her away, and my vision goes red.
My jaw flexes and I go to step back, but she latches onto me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing, don’t. It was an accident. I don’t think he realized his rings would hurt me.” I fight the urge to encircle her waist and rise to my full height, taking her with me. Her arms tighten as her feet lift from the ground. “Desmond—”
I’m a Mexican-American author with an obsession for Marvel movies, a love of all things Urban Fantasy, and a cheerleader for the underdog in any given story.
If you’re looking for a heroine you can root for … someone who defies the odds and gets up every time they’re knocked down … then look no further because that’s what you’ll find in my books.
