Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Goddess Fish Presents: Three Weeks to Wed by Ella Quinn

Three Weeks to Wed
by Ella Quinn


GENRE: Historical Romance (Regency)



In the first book of her dazzling new series, bestselling author Ella Quinn introduces the soon-to-be Earl and Countess of Worthington--lovers who have more in common than they yet know. The future promises to be far from boring…

Lady Grace Carpenter is ready to seize the day--or rather, the night--with the most compelling man she's ever known. Marriage would mean losing guardianship of her beloved siblings, and surely no sane gentleman will take on seven children not his own. But if she can have one anonymous tryst with Mattheus, Earl of Worthington, Grace will be content to live out the rest of her life as a spinster.

Matt had almost given up hope of finding a wife who could engage his mind as well as his body. And now this sensual, intelligent woman is offering herself to him. What could be more perfect? Except that after one wanton night, the mysterious Grace refuses to have anything to do with him. Amid the distractions of the Season he must convince her, one delicious encounter at a time, that no obstacle--or family--is too much for a man who's discovered his heart's desire…

"Oh, the tangled webs we weave…especially when our hearts are involved. Three Weeks to Wed is a delightfully heartwarming escape into the sparkling world of the Regency.  Ella Quinn weaves magic." --Cathy Maxwell, New York Times bestselling author



“Yes, my lady.” He nodded, tapping the side of his nose. “You were never here. Don’t expect to see anyone else in this weather. You and your servants will sleep warm and dry tonight.” He pointed to the door next to the stairs and within easy reach of the common room. “I’ll put you in this parlor for dinner.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you. That will be perfect.”

Susan, one of Brown’s daughters, showed Grace to the large chamber at the back of the inn on the first floor. She handed the girl her cloak to dry, then shook out her skirts. “I’ll call for you when I am ready to retire.”

“Yes, my lady. Anything you need, just pull the bell.” Susan bobbed a curtsey and left.

Grace glanced around. Although she had stopped here any number of times on family outings, she’d never spent the night. The inn had been in the Brown family for several generations. The building was old, but it was clean and well maintained.

She took a book and Norwich shawl from her large muff before descending the stairs to the parlor. Although it was early, not much past two o’clock, Mr. Brown had closed the shutters, and a fire was lit, as well as sufficient candles to brighten the room.

An hour later, warm and dry, she was engrossed in Madelina, the latest romance from the Minerva Press. Over the storm, sounds of another carriage arriving could be heard. Grace lowered the book, wondering who the newcomer could be.

The inn door slammed opened. Moments later, Mr. Brown’s agitated tone and that of another man, a gentleman by his speech, reached her.

Her heart skipped a beat. Worthington? Could it really be him? She hadn’t heard his voice for four years, but she’d never forget it.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Bestselling author Ella Quinn’s studies and other jobs have always been on the serious side. Reading historical romances, especially Regencies, were her escape. Eventually her love of historical novels led her to start writing them. She has just finished her first series, The Marriage Game, and her new series will start in April 2016.

 She is married to her wonderful husband of over thirty years. They have a son and granddaughter, one cat and a dog. After living in the South Pacific, Central America, North Africa, England and Europe, she and her husband decided to make their dreams come true and are now living on a sailboat cruising the Caribbean and North America.

She loves having readers connect with her.



Ella will be awarding signed print ARCs of THREE WEEKS TO WED to five randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. (International)

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Sunday, March 27, 2016

Movie Review: The Big Short

The Big Short, starring Brad Pitt, Steve Carrel, and Christian Bale, is a film about three groups of people who independently foresaw the collapse of the 2008 housing market two or three years before it happened.  They 'shorted' the mortgage bond market or bought "swaps", betting against the market, and made billion dollar fortunes.  The story is supposedly true.

The first group, Steve Carrel's group, is led by Mark Baum who leads some kind of investment group linked with Merrill Lynch.  His group bets their investors' money on the mortgage industry collapsing.  They even go to Florida, one of the first states to show weakness, and interview loan officers, real estate agents, and all real estate parties involved.  Lenders love to prey on immigrants and poor people who just want to "own" a home and don't bother to read the terms of the loan.  They also push through mortgages for people with ultra-low credit scores, anything to get their loan commissions..  All of these risky mortgages are being packaged into supposedly "safe" or "AAA rated" mortgages.  In one scene a landlord gets a mortgage on a beautiful home while using his dog's name.  They also learn that no one is paying their mortgage yet these mortgage bonds are lying about the low risk investment.
The second group is one man, Christian Bale's character, a doctor.  He is a bit of an eccentric financial guy.  He wears no shoes, t-shirts, and jams metal music while working.  However, he is brilliant.  He is one of the few people in America who actually read what is in these so-called mortgage bonds.  Most of the mortgages are five year ARMs or balloon mortgages.  A five-year ARM allows the borrower to pay a smaller mortgage for the first five years and then the mortgage goes way up.  Again, going by the low credit scores and annual income of the borrowers, he predicts that once the five year ARM mortgages expire, homeowners will default on the loans.  He bets all of his and his clients money on the banks failing.  In fact, there is no such bet or counter-fund to do that and he has the banks create a way for him to bet against the mortgage industry.  Again, he finds out the rating system of Standard and Poor and Moody is falsely propping up the industry and delaying his big pay day.  Once the first round of five year ARMs was up, the garbage mortgage backed security bonds were still claiming everything was okay.  Another year went by before everything collapsed.
The third group of investors are two young men who notice that the mortgage industry could not survive.  They enlist Brad Pitt as their money man and bet against the banks.
On a side note, the movie also talks about CDOs which act as a side bet to whether or not mortgage payers would pay their mortgages.  Then there was another way to "invest" by synthetic CDOs which was a side bet to a side bet.  The movie did not go into it, but I wonder if CEOs of these mortgage companies bet against their companies on the mortgages failing....
At the end of the story Mark Baum debates the head of Bear Sterns who seems unconcerned with the garbage bonds that he and his company sold.  We all know what else happened.  Obama bailed out Wall Street and the mortgage industry and once again, the good ol' tax payer bails the greedy corporate world out of their irresponsibility and fraud.  One person out of the thousands involved went to jail.  Millions lost their homes wound up in financial trouble.
My Review: This is one of those movies that everyone should see.  The media did a horrible job explaining and covering the corruption of the mortgage industry.  No one called Obama out for bailing out these crooks with American tax dollars and no one called out Paulsen and Greenspan for promoting the irresponsible banking policies.  SEC and the Attorney General should have sent them all to jail for defrauding their investors.  A bond with a triple A rating is supposed to be safe and they knew damn well that these bonds were garbage.  And what about Standard and Poor?  Moody?  They are supposed to rate these bonds without bias, yet they gave the companies the best rating knowing full well that these bonds were worthless.  Carrell's character, Mark Baum, should run for president.
I loved the documentary, Inside Job, narrated by Matt Damen which had the same theme-Wall Street owns the government and we are all screwed!  Seems like that has become the American way. Leave a comment.  Love to hear from you.

Thursday, March 24, 2016

Frank Fontaine Stops By: New World Order Rant

Frank Fontaine
I can no longer keep silent and need a place to vent.  Thank you, Dina Rae, for giving me a platform to scream NEW WORLD ORDER is here!!!!!  Some of you who read this might be asking yourself what the hell I am talking about.  Well, to keep it short, New World Order is a theory about a group of people most commonly called the elite who are secretly running the world.  They want to condense it all under a one world government.  Why?  For power, wealth, and some would say to show allegiance to Satan.  Sounds crazy, right?  

Ever since I read Dina's first book and my all time favorite book, The Last Degree (2012), I knew she was onto something.  She turned my suspicions into fanaticism.  So who are the elite?  How do they plan to create a one world government?  Here is a quick list of how it all works.
George Soros (he funds wars, protest groups like Black Lives Matter, and John Kasich's compaign to name a few)
Rothchilds and Warburgs: Run the banks.  Rothchilds own Federal Reserve.
Rockefellers: Huge contributions to medicine and colleges.
Vatican City: Priceless relics and wealth beyond keeping track of-use scare tactics to keep the world ready for take over-Example: Pope Francis telling all to open borders because it's the Christian thing to do.
Other noteworthy players: Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos, Eric Schmidt, the English Monarchy, Royal Saudi Family, and Warren Buffet.

What are they trying to do?
Create a one world government.  
Europe is the best example-European Union has a set of laws that supercede individual country laws.  Europe is allowing itself to dissolve by encouraging Syrian/Middle Eastern immigrants to enter and live in their cities.  Sweden has also invented a chip that is used as identification for a corporation.  Hmm, Hand or forearm will receive the mark of the beast... to paraphrase Revelation.
United States: Our democratic process is a joke.  On the Democratic side, we got super-delegates who can ignore the votes of the people and vote for who they want, and they want Hillary.  She is their "yes" woman and help create the right atmosphere for a one world government.
On the Republican side they have unpledged delegates that aren't used as often as the Democrats.  However, they just run campaigns against candidates they do not like and then hopefully have a convention and pick their "yes" man.  John Kasich just got hundreds of millions from George Soros so obviously he is a New World Order guy.  And if doesn't win, then they would rather have Hillary win to keep the gravy train going.
Cruz and Trump are perceived as loose cannons to the "establishment" or those who work for the elite.  Trump is a self-funder, so that is a possibility.  Cruz is very much an insider despite his claims.  Neil Bush (remember him-pissed away a billion or two during the S and L crisis) endorsed him as well as Jeb Bush. Yeah, Ted is a real outsider.  He is funded by Big Oil, Goldman Sachs, Wall Street, and Citibank!  To add onto my disdain for 'Lying Ted', Heidi Cruz used to have a lucrative career at Goldman Sachs.
My rant to be continued......

Thanks, Frank!
Please leave a comment for Frank Fontaine.

Tuesday, March 15, 2016

Goddess Fish Presents: Once Upon A Lie by Michael French

Once Upon A Lie
by Michael French

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GENRE: Fiction / Murder Mystery



Once Upon a Lie  is about a smart, ambitious sixteen year old, Alexandra, who chooses to keep silent when she learns terrible secrets about both her father and her mother, whom she grew up adoring. The price of keeping her "perfect" family together soon unravels her well-planned future, and puts in jeopardy the life of a young stranger whom she befriends and ultimately falls in love with.  We learn how your life can end at any time, and it can end more than once.  And then it can be saved.

He got busy filling two beat-up suitcases with books, clothes, personal papers, and his drawing of Peartree, which he untacked from its frame and rolled up carefully. His mind kept spinning, wondering how his luck could have ended so abruptly. He was on the run again.  What kind of fate was that? Maybe in life you only had so much good luck, and once you’d used it up, you were on a high wire without a safety net.  He took a taxi to the Greyhound station, and bought a one-way ticket to San Francisco. On the bus, he was too distracted for anything but fitful sleeping. His pathway to Princeton, and a possible baseball career, were now dead ends. He hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to school friends. Soon they’d be reading about an impostor—a killer—who had attended classes, eaten in their cafeteria, and played ball with them.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Michael R. French graduated from Stanford University where he was an English major, focusing on creative writing, and studied under Wallace Stegner.  He received a Master's degree in journalism from Northwestern University.  He later served in the United States Army before marrying Patricia Goodkind, an educator and entrepreneur, and starting a family.  In addition to publishing over twenty titles, including award-winning young adult fiction, adult fiction, biographies ad self-help books, he has written or co-written a half-dozen screenplays, including Intersection, which has won awards in over twenty film festivals.  He has also had a long business career in real estate, living in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  His passions include travel, collecting rare books, and hanging with friends and family.   He describes his worst traits as impatience and saying "no" too quickly; his best are curiosity, taking risks, and learning from failure. 

Once Upon A Lie Amazon Buy/Pre-Order:

Michael French Website:

Michael French Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MichaelRFrenchAuthor

Michael French Twitter:

Michael will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
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Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Goddess Fish Presents: Crushed by Deborah Coonts

by Deborah Coonts


GENRE: Contemporary  Romance



In Napa Valley, he who has the best grapes wins. And in the pursuit of perfection, dreams and hearts can be crushed.

Sophia Stone is a widow on the brink of an empty nest, stuck in an unsatisfying job managing the vineyard for a mediocre Napa vintner. Faced with an uncertain future she wonders how do you choose between making a living and making a life? Between protecting your heart and sharing it? Five years ago, after her husband was killed in an accident, Sophia put her heart and dreams on ice to care for those around her. Now her home, her dreams, and her family’s legacy grapes are threatened by the greed of the new money moving into the Valley. Sophia has a choice—give up and let them take what is hers, or risk everything fighting a battle everyone says she can’t win.

Nico Treviani has one goal in life: make brilliant wine. A woman would be an unwanted distraction. So, while recognized as one of Napa’s premier vintners, Nico finds himself alone… until his brother’s death drops not one, but two women into his life—his thirteen-year-old twin nieces. In an instant, Nico gains a family and loses his best friend and partner in the winemaking business. Struggling to care for his nieces, Nico accepts a job as head winemaker for Avery Specter, one of the new-money crowd. And he learns the hard way that new money doesn’t stick to the old rules.

When Sophia Stone gets caught in the middle of Nico’s struggle to remain true to himself or sacrifice his convictions to make stellar wine, both Sophia and Nico are faced with a choice they never imagined. A choice that might extinguish the hope of a future neither expected.



Chapter Two

Nico Treviani’s mood stood in stark contrast to the collegial spirit of the throng gathered at the annual meeting of the Napa Valley Vintners Association.  Housed in a LEED-certified, open and airy, steel-and-glass building near the library in St. Helena, the Vintners Association was Mecca to winemakers both experienced and novice—a repository of their collective knowledge and a gathering place to commiserate over the fickle affections of their shared mistress.


Had he had a choice, Nico would’ve done anything other than be a winemaker, but choice was not an option—he’d been born to it, a family heritage so strong that Nico suspected his blood was half Cabernet.  As his father’s first-born, he was handed the reins to something that was less a business than a calling.  On the other hand, his brother, Paolo, had been given the option, and, fool that he was, he chose wine.  And the fool had died before he knew the brilliance of the last Cab vintage they’d crafted together.  100 points.  Liquid perfection.  Not many wines reached those lofty heights—not that it translated into much more than bragging rights, which were a damn poor substitute for food on the table.  Without his own land, his own grapes, he was nothing more than the hired help.  Oh, he could buy grapes and custom crush, but that wouldn’t be the same—he’d have no real control, and folks would take too keen an interest in watching him work his magic … assuming he had any left without his brother.  No, he nee
ded his own space far from prying eyes … and he needed very special grapes.

Their mother had always said while you’d be hard-pressed to make a good living out of winemaking, you could make a great life.  Nico wasn’t sure he agreed. And now that he had Paolo’s, children to house, feed, clothe, chase down, and send to college, he was feeling the pinch.  How his brother had done it, he didn’t know.  Especially after his wife had fled to the city.  Preferring a quiet, sophisticated life, she’d turned her back on her family, her children.  Nico was sure that was one of the unforgivable sins, the kind that ensured an eternity roasting on a spit over the open fires of Hell.  And if it wasn’t, when he got there he’d be sure to figure a way to make it so.

As he eased into the back of the large room and leaned against the wall, Nico thought about the price a life of wine exacted.  He recognized the back of every head filling the rows in front of him as the speaker droned on.  He knew their histories almost as well as they did.  One guy was a recovering alcoholic—no longer able to risk tasting his wine, he still made it, slaving over every nuance of the process.  One or two had hit a home run and now basked in the ability to make limited batch estate wines that sold for upward of a grand a bottle.  Some scratched out an existence on the strength of their wine clubs.  Most turned large fortunes into small, proving the old joke.  And then there were a very few, like Nico, who had been born to winemaking or grape growing, selling their skills to those who could pay.  Despite differing backgrounds, and differing futures, wine glued them together.

Except for Avery Specter, Nico’s current employer.

As if thought could conjure flesh, Avery materialized in front of Nico, his usual ruddy complexion flushed hotter than normal.  With his eyes at half-mast, his comb-over falling the wrong way in wisps of misplaced hair, exposing his bald pate, he looked like exactly what he was:  a self-important prick who’d made a fortune in manufacturing, or textiles, or running a hedge fund, or something, and had bought his way into the wine business.  

Specter grabbed Nico by the arm and tugged him into the vestibule as he hissed, “Have you read this report?”  Stopping in the center of the open area, Avery turned to face his winemaker and pressed a sheaf of papers into his chest.  “And before we get started, you need to learn one thing, Treviani.  You come when I call.”

Being treated like a dog to be trained was enough to kick up Nico’s simmer to a boil, so he wasn’t about to validate Specter’s contemptuous attitude by making excuses … although he did have a good one.  He figured talking the sheriff out of turning his twin thirteen-year-old nieces over to the Juvenile authorities would earn him a get-out-of-jail-free card, but ego wouldn’t let him play it.  The psychologist said the girls were just acting out and they’d get beyond it.  Fine for him to say—he didn’t have to ride herd on the heathens.  Who knew two pint-sized females could bring a grown man to the point of complete surrender?  Nico snorted at his own weakness.

“You think this is funny?”  Specter’s voice rose enough to turn heads as the meeting broke up and Nico’s friends filtered out of the meeting room.  When Nico ignored the sheaf of papers, Specter pulled them back and began rolling them into a tube, his agitation poorly hidden.

“No, sir.”  Nico avoided making eye contact as he fought to get his temper under control.  “There’s a lot more to life than making wine, Mr. Specter.”

“Not while you’re on my payroll.”

Specter had no children of his own, and that thought alone reassured Nico that there was indeed a God.  But it also made arguing with the man futile.  So he argued with himself.  He had sold out.  Lowered his standards.  And he couldn’t shake the feeling it was going to bite him in the ass.

“You wanted to talk to me about a report?” Nico asked even though he knew all about it.  Avery Specter might need a report to learn what had been painfully obvious for years, but Nico didn’t.   Hell, he could’ve written the damn thing himself—he’d been saying as much for a long time now to anyone who would listen.  It didn’t take some government expert to know the baby boomers were transitioning to fixed incomes, their penchant for high-end wine taking a hit along with their lifestyle.  The next generation, whatever they were referred to—the Millenials, the Me generation, the Y generation?  Nico couldn’t remember, but whoever they were, they didn’t yet have the disposable incomes or the sophisticated palates to support the high-end wine industry at the current levels.  Something had to give.

Wineries had to reposition themselves.

 Keeping his eyes lowered, Nico managed to avoid the few stragglers just now leaving the meeting room.  It was bad enough being called to heel by his boss, but having his colleagues witness it threw gasoline on the embers of his foul mood.  A few greeted him, and he nodded but didn’t invite conversation so they didn’t stop.   Out of the corner of his eye, Nico caught the looks many flashed at Avery: contempt, thinly veiled if they tried to hide it at all. 

Avery wasn’t stupid … anything but.  His barely contained frustration and worry pulsed from him like light from a dying star making his hands shake as he unrolled then re-rolled the sheaf of papers into a tighter tube. “Cult wines are coming under economic pressure and there’s nothing we can do about it.”  His reedy voice screeched like notes played by a fourth-grade clarinetist.

Nico crossed his arms and glowered at his boss.  Cocking an eyebrow he feigned interest.

Avery didn’t wilt when he ran headlong into Nico’s scowl.  “They say that the number of Boomers, the population segment solely responsible for the record profit of the cult wine industry, is shrinking.”

“Age attrition.  People die, Mr. Specter.”  Nico’s voice was flat, hard.

Avery’s mouth pulled into a thin line.  His backbone straightened.  But at six feet he was still several inches shorter than Nico, so he leaned in closer and lowered his voice.  “I like being talked down to about as much as I like tardiness.  You’re property bought and paid for.  You’d be wise not to jerk my chain.” 

“And you’d be wise to show a bit more respect.  You need me, Mr. Specter.  Without a winemaker making wine’s damned difficult.  And you want high-priced juice, so you need a man with my CV—and, to my knowledge, there is only one.”

Heels firmly dug in, both men stared at each other.  Neither wavered.

Finally, Specter shrugged as his gaze slithered to the side, focusing over Nico’s shoulder.  “I know what people think of me around here.  You people think I haven’t paid my dues.  I don’t have wine running in my veins, filling my soul.”  His derision leaked from each word.  “You think I’m the worst kind of blight since phylloxera—a businessman thinking he can buy his way into making great wine.  And you know what?”  He stepped back and slapped the rolled-up report into Nico’s chest.  “That’s exactly what I am.”  He shot Nico a grin.  “Working pretty good so far, don’t you think?”

Nico grabbed the papers before they could unfurl like the white flag of surrender in the heat of battle.  A tic worked in his cheek as he watched the bastard saunter away.  Avery Specter didn’t deserve much, he thought.  Perhaps a grisly, lingering, painful death and a pine box, but not much more than that.

Nico felt someone step in next to him, but, wearing the blinders of pride, he resisted looking to see who. 

“He’s wrong, you know.  To me he’s more like Pierce’s disease.  Kill a vine in less than five years and no cure in sight.  Phylloxera we got under control.”  Billy Rodrigues clearly had been eavesdropping, a fact that would make Nico mad if Billy wasn’t his best friend. 

At the sound of Billy’s voice, Nico felt himself relax.  “Quatro, you do have a way with words.  Let’s hope he and his friends don’t kill the wine business.”  Nico called Billy “Quatro” as did many others, because he was William Xavier Rodrigues IV.  His father was Tres, same logic.  Nico called him “Sir.”

Through the years, he and Quatro had witnessed many of each other’s indignities; one more wouldn’t matter.  “But there is another side to all of this.  And maybe I’m justifying,” Nico said, his temper dissipating.  “God, I hate to give the guy any credit, but without money it’s damn hard to make a truly great cult wine.  When you and me scratched our way up the ranks, making wine was like voodoo, a bunch of wine drinkers relying on folklore and playing around with a kid’s chemistry set.  And the growers were nothing more than hobby farmers.  But now, with property values through the roof, international distribution agreements, hundreds of wineries in this valley alone, it’s big damn business. ” Nico shot his friend a serious look minus the scowl he’d used for Specter.

 “I still can’t figure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”  Quatro was thick and solid, his hair and skin different shades of brown, his eyes black, and his smile pure mischief.  He’d been working the fields so long his hands were a mass of callouses permanently stained from red dirt, and red grape skins, and scarred by the brutal work.  As if remembering his manners too late, Quatro swept his sweat-stained broad-brimmed straw hat from his head then raked his fingers through his thick salt-and-pepper hair.  When he was done, he set his hat back in place, low over his brow. 

“Both.  More money to go around, but long-time residents are being priced out of the game.”  Nico stuck the tube of papers in his back pocket.  “All of us are in this together, the whole Valley.  If we don’t figure out how to distinguish ourselves, the economic contraction is going to squeeze us all back into oenophilic oblivion.”

“All your awards—”

“Couldn’t save the family vineyard or keep my brother from dying.”  Nico snarled as his brows snapped into a frown.  The emotional tempest dissipated as fast as it had arisen.  He squeezed his friend’s shoulder.  “Sorry.  Got a lot on my mind.”

“You made a 100-point wine from Beckstoffer grapes.  And we all know they are the best.”

“I made the wine.  My employer makes the money.”  Nico didn’t voice his fear that now, without his brother, his wine wouldn’t be as good.  They’d been a team.  Was half really as good as the whole?  And, his worst fear, could he even make wine without his brother?  “What I need is something new, something better than Beckstoffer.”  Nico raised his hand before Quatro could get a word in.  “Not better, that was the wrong term.  Just different, but not too far a reach for the discerning but limited American palate.  Something amazing that we can produce at a reasonable price point.”

“Amazing yet accessible.  The Holy Grail.  Well, if anybody can do it, you can.  But God knows where you’re going to find those grapes.  And I know you’re a Cab guy, but, if I were you, I’d be thinking about something white or rosé.”

“Yeah, short or no aging, quick to market.  I got an MBA in the family who’s been singing that song for years.  We just haven’t found the grapes.”

“I’m pretty sure if you start making wine on the side, Mr. Specter will have no problem dragging you into court. As I recall his lawyers spent a lot of time crafting your non-compete.  He’s got you tied up pretty good.”

“Given time and conviction all knots can be loosened.”


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

My mother tells me I was born in Texas a very long time ago, but I’m not so sure—my mother can’t be trusted.  She’ll also tell you I was a born storyteller.  That I believe—I have the detention notices and bad-conduct reports to prove it.  However, the path from minor hyperbolist, or as I prefer to think of my former self, Grand Master of the Art of Self-Prevarication, to the author of the New York Times Notable Crime Novel and double Rita ™ finalist, Wanna Get Lucky?, the book that launched the bestselling series, was a bit tortured.

Someone once told me I lived a peripatetic life—yes, I had to look it up.  And he was right.  I’ve been everything from a mom, business owner, accountant, wife, pilot, flight instructor, lawyer …worse, a tax lawyer… to a writer. The three personas I’ve kept suit me the best: mom, flight instructor, and writer. And the other personas I’ve tried on then shrugged out of and discarded like an itchy coat were great grist for the story mill.

Chasing stories keeps me busy and out of jail…for the most part. Researching in Vegas can be a bit… sketchy. 

Prodded by the next adventure and the police, I keep moving. Right now I have a house in Texas, but that will change soon. I lived in Vegas for 15 years—the longest I’d stayed anywhere. And I get back there often. But other places, too, are calling.

Someone asked me the other day where I lived. The question stopped me cold.  Finally I said, “On Southwest Airlines, third row, window seat, either side.” Always in search of a story.  And the adventure would be perfect if they could just stock a split of nice Champagne.







Deborah will be awarding a $50 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
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Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Goddess Fish Presents: Pure Temptation by Auria Jourdain

Pure Temptation
by Auria Jourdain

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GENRE: Historical Romance



A rogue gypsy hired to kidnap a debutante Creole spying for the Cabildo government discovers they are both pawns in a dangerous Frenchman's game. Over land and sea, they discover the truth, but can they fight their uncontrollable desire for one another to save her family home?



Folding his arms about his chest, Talon stared at her suspiciously. What exactly had they told her?

Sensing his mistrust, Talia continued. “Alberto has regaled me with your life story, sir. Your activities during the revolution, and your adventure across England with your cousin, your Spanish heritage…need I go on?”

Talon smirked and shook his head, gazing out across the rough waters of the Atlantic. Apparently that bloody Spaniard didn’t know everything. “If you say so.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Alberto hasn’t given you the whole truth, not that he knows what it is.” Talon turned to her, gazing into her magnificent emerald eyes. “I am no Spaniard.”

Reaching a long finger out, Talia wrapped a curl of his dark hair around her fingertip, just as he had done to her all those weeks ago. She placed her palms against his bare chest, and Talon’s heart began to race, his blood pumping with desire as she looked up at him seductively. “If not a Spaniard, what are you?”

As his control dissolved, Talon inhaled her flowery scent that drifted through the air to weave its way through his senses. Her intimate touch had pushed him over the edge. Without any scruples, he placed his hands on Talia’s waist and pulled her close, her lithe, curvy body melting into his tall frame. Her strong, womanly presence drew him closer until his mouth hovered above hers. Talon whispered in her ear, his voice laden with desire, “I am Romani.”


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

An avid reader from an early age, Auria Jourdain has fond childhood memories of spending quiet afternoons with a book in her hand. She loved the "happily ever after" sweet teen romances, and when she came of age, she plunged into the world of historical romance with fervor, transporting herself to a bygone time. Her favorites were Regency, but as a girl brought up in a common home, she was disheartened that most of the novels of this era focus on the nobility and wealth. Auria set out to write her own romance, encompassing her passion for French Revolutionary history and her innate sense of goodwill for the common man. An idealist at heart, she writes heroes and heroines that struggle to find acceptance in their world. Their differences" and their soul mates' complete acceptance of them are the embodiment of values that she holds dear, passed down to her by her father, a blue collar worker. She has an autistic son struggling to make his own way in the world. Looking to educate people about this mysterious disorder, she’s releasing a YA novel set in the U.P just for him during Autism Awareness month, April 2016. She hopes that someday we can break down the social barriers and forgo stereotypical judgments that harm our world.

Auria lives in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan with her husband of twenty years, her four children (ages eight to eighteen), and two golden retrievers. A rather new transplant to the area, she loves the changing of the seasons, and she is currently working on a contemporary romantic suspense trilogy set in her rough and rugged homeland. Silence the Northwoods is set at a local ski resort in her hometown of Ironwood, Michigan—the ski capital of the Midwest. Silence the Waters takes place during the summer on the dangerous river ways that flow into Lake Superior in the Keweenaw Peninsula; and Silence the Birchwoods is an autumn tale set on Sugar Loaf Mountain, near Marquette, Michigan. All three involve murder, mystery, and romance, of course.

Auria spends her the long winters plotting and scheming her next book, and in the mild summers, she and her husband spend every waking moment they can hiking and kayaking the Northwoods. An amateur photographer, she lives fifteen miles from the shores of Lake Superior, and her muse has been piqued by the awe-inspiring beauty that surrounds her. Although she hasn’t officially acquired “Yooper” status yet, she can’t envision living anywhere else.
Find me here!

Buy link for Pure Temptation, Kindle and Paperback:



 Auria will be awarding e-copies of Pure Temptation on Kindle to 5 randomly drawn winners, and 1 grand prize - a signed paperback copy of Pure Temptation with swag bag and goodies - to one randomly drawn winner, all via rafflecopter during the tour.

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