I get only a glimpse of the woman in the window before the curtains fall back into place and she disappears, but the image of her is seared onto my retinas.
Dark hair, red lips, olive skin.
A black, low-cut dress.
Acres of cleavage.
And eyes that glittered silver in the afternoon sun like the flash of coins at the bottom of a wishing well.
She can’t be Liliana, the lass I’m here to meet. I’ve seen pictures of her. She has a sweet, innocent face. A shy, lovely smile.
The woman in the window looks like she’d only smile if she were slitting your throat.
Mindful of the armed guards, I say in Gaelic to Kieran, “I thought the lass’s mother died?”
Standing beside me, he follows my gaze and looks up at the blank window.
“Aye. Why?”
“Who else lives here?”
He shrugs. “Dunno. From the size of the bloody place, probably a thousand people.”
She’s not a servant, that much I know. There wasn’t a hint of servitude in those flashing eyes.
She looked more like a warlord about to lead an army of soldiers into battle.
“This way,” says the guard nearest to me. He nods toward an arched opening in the brick wall that leads from the circular driveway into an interior courtyard.
Dismissing the thought of the mystery woman, I button my suit jacket and follow behind the guard as he leads Kieran and me away from the car. The other guard walks behind us. We’re led through the lushly landscaped courtyard to a set of enormous carved oak doors, flanked on either side by towering marble columns.
The main house looms over us, three sprawling stories of beige limestone with elaborate balustrades and scrolled iron balconies, topped by a line of Roman centurion statues gazing down at us from a ledge on the red-tiled roof.
Inside the main foyer, the décor becomes even more ostentatious.
Naked cherubs frolic with hairy satyrs and woodland nymphs in colorful frescoes on the walls. Instead of one drop-crystal chandelier overhead, there are three. The floor is black marble, the carved mahogany furniture is edged in gilt, and my eyes are starting to water from the kaleidoscope glare of stained-glass windows.
Under his breath, Kieran says, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Looks like Liberace hurled his lunch all over the bloody place.”
He’s right. It’s fucking awful.
I have to force myself not to turn around and walk out.
“Ah, Mr. Quinn!”
I turn to my right. A man approaches with his hands spread open in greeting.
He’s fit, of average height, and somewhere around forty. His dark hair is slicked back with pomade. Wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit I can tell is custom made, a powder blue tie with a diamond tie pin, a chunky diamond watch, and a gold pinky ring on each hand, he oozes wealth, privilege, and power.
His cologne reaches me before he does.
His smile is blinding.
I hate him on sight.
“Mr. Caruso, I presume.”
He grabs one of my hands in both of his and pumps it up and down like he’s a political candidate campaigning for my vote.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to my home.”
“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”
He hasn’t stopped grinning or shaking my hand.
Ten more seconds of this shite, and I’ll break those Chiclet teeth of his.
“This is my associate, Mr. Byrne.” I extract my hand from Caruso’s death grip and gesture to Kieran, who inclines his head respectfully.
“Sir.”
“Mr. Byrne, welcome. And please, both of you, call me Gianni. I prefer if we’re all on a first name basis, don’t you?”
I’d rather blind myself with acid, you wanker.
Kieran politely offers his name. I offer nothing. There’s an awkward pause while Caruso waits, but he gets the hint and suggests we retire to his study to speak in private.
After what feels like a death march through miles of echoing corridors, we arrive at the study. It’s probably larger than the law library at Notre Dame. We sit across from Caruso in a pair of leather chairs so uncomfortable, they had to be designed by sadists.
I haven’t been here ten minutes, and I’m already regretting the fuck out of this.
Until she walks in the door.
Dark hair, red lips, olive skin.
A black, low-cut dress.
Acres of cleavage.
Not only cleavage, but long legs and an hourglass figure that would make any man stupid with lust. If he wasn’t too busy being turned to stone by the ice in her eyes, that is. I’ve never seen an attractive serial killer, but I bet this is exactly what she’d look like.
J.T. Geissinger is a #1 internationally bestselling author of twenty-seven novels. Ranging from funny, feisty rom coms to intense, edgy suspense, her books have sold over five million copies and been translated into more than a dozen languages.
She is a three-time nominee in both contemporary and paranormal romance for the RITA® Award, the highest distinction in romance fiction from the Romance Writers of America®. She is also a recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book and the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy.
She’s a Southern California native currently living in Nevada with her husband and rescue kitty, Zoe.
Two Love stories. One surviving WW2. One surviving a separation. Both fighting their own war. But neither is willing to give up. Because love is worth fighting for.
Alternating between the past and the present, The Touch of Love tells two intertwined love stories spanning generations. The first is set in modern times and tells the journey that Katie embarks on while being embroiled in a separation from her husband. The second is set in Poland during World War 2, and tells the story of Jakob, an orphan, who falls in love with a Jewish woman. Will either of these love stories survive the unforeseen battles awaiting them?
Present Day: While going thru old keepsakes in her grandfather’s attic, Katie stumbles upon two items which thrust her on a journey of discovery. The first is her old wedding dress, the sight of which still stings due to her recent separation. The second item is even more perplexing – an old black and white photograph of her grandfather during a war. The man with a deeply mysterious past. Knowing her grandfather’s days are limited, this photo sparks Katie’s journey to discover his past before his future runs out.
1939: Jakob and his brother are two carefree orphans deciding whether to join the Polish army when all of Europe is on the bring of World War 2. But Jakob’s decision is sealed the moment he meets Anna, a Jewish woman. Deciding he would rather fight for her survival than fight alongside his brother, Jakob embarks on a harrowing journey through the War, motivated solely by his unyielding love for Anna.
Can love survive the immeasurable tragedies of war?
The books in this series are standalone novels and may be read in any order.
Time is a puzzle full of fragments of moments spilled on the canvas of memory. While reflection on some moments may present that canvas as a masterpiece, other times the puzzle comes into focus for what it really is – a hazy image full of lost pieces. Too many memories are lost by time. Precious memories or mundane ones – time has no prejudice. It is an unyielding eraser all the same. And that is the simple beauty of a photograph.
A photograph is a miracle. A rollercoaster of emotion. A constant reminder of the path traveled to the present. And a window into a time which may have long passed, but which comes flooding back to the forefront once unearthed. The sounds, sights, tastes, and aromas of a single moment years ago can all instantly come alive again just because of a photograph. But even beyond this, a photograph can make a memory long forgotten feel as tangible as the photograph being held.
Katie held such a photograph in her hand as she rummaged through her grandfather’s attic. It was a time-worn photograph which any other person would have flipped through without noticing. But Katie noticed it. What the photo depicted surprised her, in more ways than one. She’d seen countless photos of her grandfather before, but they’d all been from after her mother was born. This one was different. Strikingly different. It was the oldest photo she’d ever seen of him. But even more, it showed her grandmother – revealing an unknown chapter to Katie of her grandparents’ mysterious past. The moment she saw the photograph, she knew it would lead her on a journey to not only discover her grandfather’s mysterious past, but the key to her own future as well.
Kyle Shoop is a multi-genre author of compelling stories. His new “Senses of Love” series is a romance series that provides rewarding and inspirational stories. The newest book – A TASTE OF LOVE – is now out! The books in the series may be read in any order.
Kyle is also the author of the Acea Bishop Trilogy, which is an action-packed fantasy series. All books in that series are now available, with Acea and the Animal Kingdom being the first book.
At a young age, Kyle was recognized for his storytelling by being awarded the first-place Gold Key award for fiction writing in Washington State. After spending several years volunteering in his wife’s elementary classrooms, he was inspired to write the Acea Bishop Trilogy. He is now motivated to share the compelling stories in his new romance series. In addition to writing novels, Kyle is also an attorney.
Title: Ice Floe Author: Melissa Birling Series: Ice Floe Series #1 Genre: Young Adult Fantasy Romance
SECRECY IS SAFETY. SISTERHOOD IS EVERYTHING.
Seventeen-year-old Glacia didn’t plan to track a kidnapper, stick a middle finger to the government, and fall into a forbidden summer fling. This is simply what happens when you’re the resident odd girl out, in a shoal of all-female mermaids whose values are a little cracked. Or a lot cracked, if you consider government-endorsed murder and the seizure of male infants to be an issue.
When society rules, family, and romance collide, Glacia fights back the best way she knows how: by taking the matter into her own combat-trained hands and kicking some tail. The problem is, no amount of training can prepare Glacia for the crime circle she discovers, secrets she unveils, and human guy she can’t get out of her head. Glacia finds herself at a crossroads where she must decide whose rules to follow. Who she can trust. And ultimately…who lives and who dies.
Melissa Birling strives to experience life from a “both and” rather than “either or” perspective. She enjoys living in metropolitan cities and on a small farm. She appreciates burn-your-tongue Mexican cuisine and delicious London pub food. Lately, Melissa spends her time engaging with cyber security professionals and mermaids. Not actual mermaids, although if you know any, she’d love to meet them.
The revelation that one can be both a successful corporate consultant and a fantasy author who writes about mermaids, encouraged Melissa to finish her debut novel, Ice Floe. The emotional high of typing “The End” at the completion of her first draft, triggered a writing spree that hasn’t stopped since. On any given Saturday or Sunday, you will find Melissa writing. She won’t respond to any attempts at human engagement, because she’s “at a good part,” but you’ll find her typing away, nevertheless.
Melissa lives with a ceaselessly supportive husband and their dog who enjoys hunting neighborhood skunks.
