April 30

#MondayMorningMusic – Fascination Street by The Cure

Mornin’! 🙂

This week’s #MondayMorningMusic always brings back memories of Ft. Knox, where I spent my last two years of high school. As I mentioned in #MondayMorningMusic – Tainted Love by Soft Cell, my brother used to work at an under 21 club in Louisville. For some reason, the only song I actually remember dancing to is The Cure’s “Fascination Street”.

I’m not entirely sure why it’s the only song, but it’s typical that my memory sucks, which is a story for another day.

In the meantime, let’s get our freak on…

Happy Monday! <3

March 19

#MondayMorningMusic – All These Things I’ve Done by The Killers

I remember the first time I heard this song was on the radio when I lived in Los Angeles. I also remember thinking it was a completely different band, though for the life of me, I can’t remember who I thought it was.

It brings good memories for me – I had a great time living in California, even if the reason for my moving out there was suspect and not entirely well thought out. 🙂

Case in point: To mix up this week’s #MondayMorningMusic, here is a bit from my essay “Ten Steps for Befriending a Rockstar or The Gentle Art of Stalking*”.


*Disclaimer: I am not encouraging anyone to actively stalk a celebrity (or anyone else, for that matter). It is, as they say, a bad idea, and will potentially result in a restraining order and / or jail time. These “steps” are based on my own experiences and should not be copied. If I met my Rockstar today, I would most likely not do a quarter of the crazy (and downright stupid) things I did. I don’t regret them, but I wouldn’t repeat them.


The gentle art of stalking and befriending a Rockstar requires a perfect balance between getting noticed and not scaring the hell out of him.

Must haves (in no particular order):

1 Rockstar, 1 small bottle of Vodka, 1 blank cassette tape marked as “mood music,” pens, paper, 1 small cardboard box, 1 small votive candle, poster board (as needed), Sharpie® markers in assorted colors, camera, Internet connection, 1 Brain plush doll, email address, random questions, picture(s) of yourself, acceptance, investigative skills, inquisitive nature, love of travel, sense of humor, and active imagination, ability to flirt, reliable transportation, a pinch of interest, love of adventure, infinite supply of patience, and an addiction to excitement.

Most importantly: An express willingness to make yourself look like an ass. Repeatedly.

Step One

Before you can embark on the adventure of stalking and befriending a Rockstar, you first have to locate one. Candidates for the position must be beautiful to you. This is important. You do not want to choose a Rockstar based on other people’s criteria. This is your Rockstar, not someone else’s. Putting another’s standards above your own will only result in dissatisfaction and / or disaster.

In addition to matching your idea of beautiful, your Rockstar must also be able to inspire you to great heights and feed your imagination. If you can’t envision being both perfectly naughty and perfectly normal with your Rockstar, then you’ll need to keep looking.

Some tips on finding your Rockstar:

1. Listen to his music – Do his lyrics speak to your soul? Do the melodies he crafts create an emotional connection?

2. Peruse music-related Internet sites – Does the image he project goad your imagination into overdrive?

3. Go to live shows – sometimes fate sets up a flawless bit of synchronicity.

NOTE: Should synchronicity occur, accost him after the show, and, if your Rockstar is bald, rub his head for good luck. After assuring him you won’t hurt him. Then take pictures. Don’t worry if they come out blurry; if all goes as it should, you’ll have plenty of time to snap more.


The full essay can be found in Fractured: essays on love, friendship, and the nightmares in between at Amazon and Barnes and Noble. In the meantime, enjoy this week’s song!

February 27

#TellTaleTuesday with Charlotte O’Shay and A Model Engagement


Welcome author Charlotte O’Shay and the gut-wrenching – and, sadly, all too common – story behind her novel A Model Engagement.


Thanks Keiti for the opportunity to share the inspiration behind my current release A Model Engagement.

[KJ: Thanks for stopping by to tell us your story, Charlotte!]

 When Lacey Reed rebels against her conservative, controlling parents by moving to New York to become a lingerie model, she falls into the trap of a sexual predator who then blackmails her.

She blames herself for her predicament as victims often do.

When I was in college I planned a career in journalism. One of my freshman journalism assignments was a day in the life piece. Each member of the class was go to a pizza place anywhere in the city and interview the proprietor. I don’t recall the name of the place I chose— maybe I’ve blocked it out.

Predator story short when I explained my purpose to the owner of the place, he ushered me into a back room so we could talk— privately—a small, dusty room off the kitchen containing a metal desk. As soon as he closed the door behind us, and moved toward me, unease crept down my spine. A sixth sense that has never let me down before or since told me what was about to happen.

I had to get out of there. I can still see the flour on his hands and the threatening menace of his arms. I was five feet two and 105 lbs. and he was old enough to be my father. What power did I have? I did the only thing I could think of. I started talking and kept talking loudly till I talked my way out of there.

Did I tell anybody about this near miss? No. I did the assignment. I chose another pizza place and wrote less of an interview and more of an observational study of all of the pizza lovers of every age and every walk of life who frequented the homey space.

That was my last journalism class. I changed my major and eventually became a lawyer. It’s no coincidence I spent part of my career assisting abuse victims navigate the legal system.

What I remember most is how for so long, I blamed myself. How I didn’t tell anyone because the rest of the class did the assignment, hadn’t they? I blamed myself for being so naïve or maybe I gave off the wrong vibe. It had to be something I did wrong. I was nineteen years old and a born and bred New Yorker.

I should’ve known better, right? Wrong. But it took me years to realize it.

Flash forward to two years ago when a famous TV icon was accused of sexual assault by a string of aspiring actresses. No one believed these women because, you know, they’re “actresses.” He said it was consensual or in some cases denied it happened at all.

That’s when I wrote A Model Engagement. And because I love romance and a happily ever after, Lacey’s finds the courage to confront the predator. She also meets the love of her life a gorgeous, gentle giant named Connor, who falls hard for her and schemes to keep her in his life.

One Amazon reviewer called A Model Engagement “real, relevant and romantic.” I agree.

In spite of the topic there are no graphic scenes of sexual assault in the novel.




Lacey Reed jumps at the chance for independence with a career in the big city. But her naivety and ambition blind her to the lure of a blackmailer.

With her savings gone she has nowhere to turn when she literally runs into financier Connor Devlin.

Though dazzled by Lacey, Connor sees the desperation she tries to hide. He hires her as his fake fiancée. Now Lacey has a job and he has a bandage for a family crisis.

When the blackmailer ups the ante, Lacey resolves to face him down— no matter what the consequences.

Does that mean Lacey will lose the only man who’s ever seen who she truly is?


It all came back like a rush of filthy sewage.

How he’d drawn her in. Discovered her desire to reap the most financial benefit from her career before retiring. Then, in a seemingly normal progression, he set up a meeting at his office. Designed for shoptalk so that they could discuss photographic details of her breakout exclusive ad campaign for Mon Secret.

His home office as it turned out, complete with multiple couches and a closet full of evening wear and fur, props for the shoot. Lacey had developed a veneer of sophistication during her four plus years in the business. Or so she’d thought. But Barry’s lavish living and working space wowed her. She cringed as she remembered telling him how eager she was to start.

Lacey relived it all in that split second and Connor, who’d done nothing more than offer her his jacket and then a ride home was suddenly a stand in for the monster who had taken her piece of mind along with practically every red cent she possessed.

Buy Links

Amazon – http://amazon.com/dp/B074DPCV76/

Nook – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-model-engagement-charlotte-oshay/1126899607?ean=2940158616327

The Wild Rose Press https://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/all-titles/5260-a-model-engagement.html

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/a-model-engagement

ibook – https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/a-model-engagement/id1267055968?mt=11

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/Model-Engagement-City-Dreams-Book-ebook/dp/B074DPCV76/

Amazon Australia – https://www.amazon.com.au/Model-Engagement-City-Dreams-Book-ebook/dp/B074DPCV76/

Author Bio

Charlotte O’Shay was born into a big family and married into another big family.

The drama! The noise! The inspiration!

Negotiating skills honed at the dinner table led her to a career in law. After four beautiful children joined the crowded family tree, Charlotte traded her legal career to write about happily ever afters. She lives on the far westside only 3 subway stops from where she grew up.

When Charlotte isn’t reading or writing steamy contemporaries featuring heroines in crisis and swoony heroes with issues, she’s on the hunt for that perfect pair of sunglasses.

She LOVES to hear from readers.

Sign up for news about giveaways and new releases: http://eepurl.com/b4lbvn

The City of Dreams series are standalone books linked by Sabrina and Vlad’s wedding in The Marriage Ultimatum.

Book 1,   The Marriage Ultimatum ~ Sabrina & Vlad
Book 2,   A Model Engagement ~ Lacey & Connor
Book 3,   Their No Strings Affair ~ Honey & Jake

Charlotte’s Online Playground

Website: http://charlotteoshayauthor.com

Facebook: Charlotte O’Shay  – http://facebook.com/charlotteoshayauthor

Twitter:  @charlotte_oshay / http://twitter.com/charlotte_oshay

Instagram: charlotte_oshay_author

Amazon Author Page: amazon.com/author/charlotteoshayauthor.com

Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/coshayauthor

December 11

#MondayMorningMusic Winter Wonderland by The Eurythmics

By nemahziz ([{{{flickr_url}}} Flickr]) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
I’ve loved Annie Lennox for as long as I can remember… Enough said.

October 31

#TellTaleTuesday with Sandra Tilley and The Ghost and Mrs. Miller


Welcome Sandra Tilley for this special Halloween edition of Tell Tale Tuesday!



Not only is it TELL TALE Tuesday, IT’S HALLOWEEN!  The time for ghosts and goblins and ghouls…

And in the spirit of Halloween, I’d like to introduce you to Neil Miller, the ghost in my book, The Ghost and Mrs. Miller. Neil is not your normal, scary kind of ghost. Some people might even think he’s sort of friendly. Think Caspar–without the pudge. Neil wasn’t always a ghost. He was an accountant with charts and balance sheets and lists. Lots of lists.

Neil trains throughout his childhood for his senior year’s Most Likely to Succeed yearbook spread. And shortly after graduation, he marries his childhood friend and sweetheart Libby Carlisle. For nineteen years their lives follow their carefully documented plans: finish college, secure career, buy home, have children, live happily ever after. Somewhere during the Happily Ever After, Libby catches Neil at his office lip-locked with his hot assistant. However, bad turns to unbearable when on his way home, Neil’s car careens off an overpass, shifting his status from human to …well…ghostly.

The Ghost and Mrs. Miller is written in Libby’s POV. In the following excerpt, Libby encounters Neil’s new, other-worldly status:


There’s been a mistake. He can’t be dead.

The cool light from the moon gleamed through the window over the sink. Neil sat like a still life painted in watercolors. The irises of his eyes, once warm and brown, faded to the color of desert sand. Blurred earth tones from the tile pattern on the back splash behind him softened the angles of his face. The hint of color in his blue, button-down oxford shirt and khaki slacks blended into a wash of pastels.

I reached out my hand. “Can I touch you?”

Neil held out his hands palms up. “You can try.”

I touched his hand. Only air. “Did you feel that?”

“No. Nothing.”

I leaned against the counter. “Are you a ghost?”

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

I pushed my hand all the way through his chest. “How do you explain this?”

“Let’s say I’m a spirit.”

“So what is your spirit doing here?”

“I don’t know. The last thing I remember is hitting the overpass.”

I rocked my head back and forth. “This can’t be happening.” I pinched my arm, hard. “Ouch. What’s going on? I catch you with Sheri, and the next thing I know the police are banging on the door telling me you’re dead.”

“Don’t act so inconvenienced.” Neil squared his shoulders, and his eyes flashed a soft mocha. “Before I’m even cold, good ole’ Eli comes running to your rescue.”

I stepped into Neil’s glow. “What are you saying, Mr. Cheater?”

Neil sat taller and peered down his narrow, transparent nose. “We’re going there?”

I poked his chest but my finger stabbed air. “Oh, yes. I caught you with Sheri. And on our anniversary!” My voice reached its alto limit and scaled upward into the soprano range. “And you have the gall to accuse me of something? With Eli? Do you think I’m a complete idiot?” My pitch spiraled into a crescendo.

“That a rhetorical question?” Neil grunted.


I love ghosts and ghost stories. In elementary school, my favorite ghost stories came from 13 Alabama Ghosts by Kathryn Tucker Windham and Margaret Gillis Figh. Then I moved up to all things Edgar Allen Poe. And one of my faves is “The Tell-Tale Heart.” I took my 7th grade students to a live performance, hoping to engender a love of literature. Or maybe I went for myself. J

The Ghost and Mrs. Miller contains humor; but it also deals with the pain of loss, anger, guilt, second chances, and redemption.


On this All Hallows’ Eve of Tell-Tale Thursday, I find it fitting to end my post with Poe’s words from “The Tell-Tale Heart:”

“It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night.”

Here’s to hoping a diamond of an idea haunts you day and night. J

Happy writing, my friends!

Visit me at SandraTilley.com

Like me at Facebook.com/sandy.f.tilley

Follow me on Twitter @SandyFTilley

The Ghost and Mrs. Miller can be found at The Wild Rose Press and Amazon.


October 10

#TellTaleTuesday with Luanna Stewart and Love & Mayhem


Author Luanna Stewart joins us this week to share the story behind her novel Love & Mayhem.


Thank you so much, K.J., for letting me visit with your readers.

[K.J. here – thanks for coming to visit, Luanna!]

One of my favourite scenes in my latest release, Love & Mayhem, is right at the start when the hero and heroine meet. They’d known each other before but hadn’t seen each other in many years due to unforeseen circumstances. I wanted to convey Sybil’s feisty independence and her apparent disinterest in male persons. She’s convinced she’s happy as a spinster on the shelf, occupying her time with running the family sheep farm. But when she sees Max she can’t believe the young man from her past has become this mature and handsome man – truly hero worthy.

Max, the hero, had been away for several years and had all but forgotten the sister of his friend. He certainly had no recollection of her being particularly beautiful. So when they meet again he’s thrown for a loop, no longer sure of his plans for the future. In that first meeting he’s confronted by a female who doesn’t act at all as females should, and his curiosity is piqued.

The whole reason I wanted to write this story was to turn the usual trope – young woman must marry because she has the hots for the guy but won’t sleep with him until they’re wed – on its head. Sybil has the hots for Max but there’s no way in heck she’ll get married. She enjoys her independence and a husband will just get in the way. She’ll take a lover instead. She pursues him, and has the devil of a time convincing him to participate. Also, she’s unschooled in seduction and has to do research. Needless to say, shenanigans ensue, hehe.


Sybil is happily on the shelf, tending to her sheep. But she fears she’ll depart this life without experiencing physical love, which she suspects is rather enjoyable. When her long-lost fiancé returns from sea, she decides he’s the lucky man who’ll receive her virginity.

Max is eager to return to his sugar plantation and has no intention of remaining long in London. However, he didn’t bargain on a wilful, pretty, exasperating spinster determined to take him to her bed.

He insists on marriage but she wants only his body. Her heart is not part of the deal. Unfortunately, love doesn’t always follow the rules.

Excerpt from Chapter One

London, England, 1882

Sybil Woodbridge shut the door and sank onto the hard chair behind the desk in the study of the rented house. She glanced at the threadbare carpet, more dirt than pattern, then at the dirt under her fingernails. She was filthy from scrubbing the top layer of grime in the rooms they’d use. If it were up to her, she’d—

But it wasn’t up to her. A spinster sister had few rights even in these more enlightened times. Married women had even fewer. Thank goodness that at the ripe old age of twenty-nine offers of marriage had dried up.

She shivered as the damp cold penetrated her gown. That smell was in this room, too. She was used to strong odors, being a sheep farmer, but those smells were the natural result of raising animals. She enjoyed them: hay, damp fleece, manure. This smell—she wrinkled her nose. She suspected several mouse carcasses lay within the walls. A rodent crypt.

She got up and stirred the fire, then placed a few more lumps of coal on the grate. Late February was frigid this year, and the house was impossible to keep warm. No wonder her brother had been able to rent it so cheaply.

Seated again at her desk with heat from the fire warming her back, she moved her journal to one side and shuffled through papers and ledgers. Balancing the accounts from the previous year should have been done weeks ago. But with one thing and another, the tedious chore had been moved from one day’s list of tasks to the next. And the next, and the next. Most days she could find any number of things she’d rather do than sit in the virtual counting house. Most days—well, all the time—she had a farm to manage and fields to tromp.

Unfortunately, her silly brother had gotten an idea in his head, and so here she was, in London, in a rented house, with naught to do but add income and subtract expenses—the larger of the two sums.

Squirming in the chair, she rubbed at her leg. Dratted wool stockings, always prickling and itching. And crawling—

Crawling. Blast. Sybil hiked up her skirts. The sensation of tiny legs scrabbling over her flesh increased tenfold. Now the buggers were on her thighs heading toward—

She pulled the skirts to her waist, spread her legs, and searched the skin.

Oswald had rented a flea-infested hovel!

Where were the buggers? She felt them crawling through the hair on her head and up her back. Blast it all to—when she saw her brother again…

The door opened.


She raised her head to verbally skewer the speaker, but it wasn’t Oswald. It was a man, though. An attractive man. The handsomest man she’d ever seen. Or imagined. Tall, swarthy, with brilliant blue eyes staring at her—oh!

Sybil tried lowering her skirt but it had become tangled with itself and the hem was caught on the arm of the chair.

Oh heavens, her face burned. She was not a pretty blusher, but instead looked like she’d been slapped hard. Finally, finally, she got her legs covered and again met the man’s gaze. “Who are you?”


Maxwell Bretherton closed the door at his back and leaned against the solid wood. Sybil, in the flesh. And what gloriously pale, smooth flesh it was, covering slender legs. All the way to her frilly drawers.

What a sight for sexually deprived eyes. He’d not gazed on a woman’s naked body in months. Not that she was naked but he’d like her to be. He’d forgotten how pretty she was. Blonde hair gleaming in the lamplight. Green eyes wide, surprised, embarrassed.


His cock stirred. Definitely too long since he’d slept with a woman. Though, since his mistress never came to his house, and he never spent the night in hers, sleep didn’t enter the picture. Best to give it the proper name—tupping, fornicating, fucking.

Finding Sybil with her legs spread wide put all those words at the front of his brain.

“I said, who are you?” Definitely angry.

“Don’t you recognize me? I knew you instantly, even with that charming distraction.” He moved closer to the heat from the fire. And into the circle of light.

“Good heavens.” Her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes widened farther and the color drained from her cheeks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Where to Purchase

The Wild Rose Press / Amazon

iTunes / Kobo / Barnes and Noble

Author Bio

Luanna Stewart has been creating adventures for her imaginary friends since childhood. As soon as she discovered her grandmother’s stash of romance novels, all plots had to lead to a happily-ever-after.

Luanna writes full time, concentrating on sexy romantic suspense, steamy paranormal romance, and spicy historical romance.

Born and raised in Nova Scotia, Luanna has recently returned to the land of her birth with her dear husband and two spoiled cats. When she’s not torturing her heroes and heroines, she’s in her kitchen baking something delicious.

Under her previous pen name of Grace Hood she has two novellas published with The Wild Rose Press.

Luanna’s Online Playground

Website:  http://www.luannastewart.com/

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/Luanna_Stewart

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/Luanna.Stewart.nau

Pinterest:  https://www.pinterest.com/luannastewart/

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14104212.Luanna_Stewart

Amazon Author Page:  www.amazon.com/author/luanna_stewart


August 22

#MondayMorningMusic (on a Tuesday) – Chapel of Love by the Dixie Cups

So, even with the best of intentions, I got sidetracked by a weekend of 50th Anniversary festivities. Some of us got together and planned a surprise party for my parents. My mom’s sisters sneaked in from out of town, and I told so many lies I’m pretty sure I earn a sizeable basket, complete with a big, red bow.

So, in honor of my parents and their huge milestone (according to my dad, only 7% of married couples make it to their 50th wedding anniversary in this day and age), I share another of my favorite songs: Chapel of Love by the Dixie Cups.

March 29

Lapses of Memory by M.S. Spencer

Please welcome M.S. Spencer to the blog. She’s here to share her new release, Lapses of Memory.

I’m a relatively seasoned traveler, but M.S. Spencer puts me to shame, and I bow at her place-hopping prowess. 🙂

In any case, I’m glad she’s here.

Lapses of Memory can be purchased at the following retailers:

The Wild Rose Press / I Tunes / Amazon
Barnes and Noble / KOBO / Bookstrand


Lapses of Memory

Wild Rose Press, 3/15/2017, Imprint: Champagne Rose
Contemporary romantic suspense/Action Adventure; M/F;2 flames
Ebook (70,560); Print: 296 pp.


And Here’s M.S. Spencer…

Old Town Alexandria


Thanks for having me at your wonderful site, K J. I’d like to talk about my new romantic suspense Lapses of Memory, in which two romances intertwine as a mother recounts her life-long love affair while her daughter juggles two lovers. The setting is Old Town Alexandria, one of my home towns, where both Artful Dodging: the Torpedo Factory Murders, and The Mason’s Mark: Love and Death in the Tower take place as well.



Every few years from the age of five Sydney Bellek meets her true love Elian Davies, but while he remembers her, she doesn’t recognize him. Only after surviving wars, revolutions, and years of separation will she realize they are meant to be, but this time it is Elian who has lost his memory of her. Will he remember her before she loses heart or will their new love be enough to replace the old one?

In the frame narrative of Lapses of Memory, Sydney Bellek’s daughter Olivia is writing the story of her parents’ life together.  While Olivia labors to get her mother to cooperate, she has little time to concentrate on her own dilemma.

Poor Olivia! Forced to choose between two handsome, accomplished, loving men. Men who represented polar opposites. Rémy, dashing, rich, world traveler—French. Benjamin, dependable, reasonable, domestic, American to his Pilgrim core.


Excerpt (G):  Sydney Interferes

Olivia opened the door to the dining room and stopped. A tall, thin man stood awkwardly by the table, his long, patrician fingers nervously tapping the back of the chair. He stared at Olivia, mouth twitching in what could have been a rare attempt at a smile. Olivia spat out, “Benjamin!” Hands on hips, elbows out, she swung around, barely skimming her mother’s solar plexus. “Mother!”

Alice appeared from the kitchen door with a tray. “Dinner is served.”

The meal couldn’t have been jollier. Olivia spent most of the time scowling at her mother whenever she thought Benjamin wasn’t looking, and Benjamin spent most of the time examining his plate. Sydney gave up on small talk after the first ten minutes. As Alice cleared the dishes, she poured coffee into her grandmother’s delicate Wedgewood cups.

“Shall we take our coffee into the living room?” The other two diners nodded mutely. Sydney reflected that perhaps she had miscalculated the teeniest bit. She preceded them and surreptitiously poured a thimbleful of brandy into her coffee before turning to face them. “Well, it’s so good to see you, Benjamin. How’s the senator?”

Benjamin sat on a spindly chair as far from Olivia as possible. “Look, Mrs. Davies—”

“Sydney, please.”

“Uh, Sydney. I appreciate your invitation, and I’m ready to talk, but I think”—he glanced at Olivia—“she feels differently.”

Olivia’s eyes grew wide. “Me? It’s you who told me, and I quote, ‘I guess there’s nothing more to be said.’ ”

Benjamin stood and began to pace. His light gray eyes glinted in the lamplight. He dug under his mop of rich brown hair with a finger. “But you said—no, you announced—that you intended to go with Rémy.”

Olivia flounced onto the sofa, spilling her coffee. “I did no such thing. I asked you what you thought, and you—”

“You could care less what I felt, Olivia. You’d made your decision. I know only too well that there’s no changing your mind once you’ve settled on a course of action.”

“Well, I—”

At this point, Sydney slipped backwards out of the room, taking care to grab the brandy bottle. Her work was done. With luck, not temporarily.


About the Author

Although M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five of the seven continents, the last thirty years were spent mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director, and parent. After many years in academia, she worked for the U.S. Senate, the U.S. Department of the Interior, in several library systems, both public and academic, and at the Torpedo Factory Art Center.

Ms. Spencer has published ten romantic suspense novels, and has two more in utero. She has two fabulous grown children and an incredible granddaughter. She divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.

M.S. Spencer Online

Blog / Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads
Pinterest / Google+ / LinkedIn

Her Calendar of Events can be Found at:

Romance Books 4 Us



March 1

A Kiss to Build a Dream On by Katie Baldwin

Please meet Katie Baldwin and her debut novel, A Kiss to Build a Dream On, to the blog. Katie is a writer after my own heart – she’s obviously got great taste in subject matter. 😉 Plus anyone who has a “ferocious passion” for Nutella is okay in my book!

A Kiss to Build a Dream On can be purchased at the following retailers:

Amazon / The Wild Rose Press / Barnes & Noble

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Wild Rose Press
Publication Date: March 1, 2017
Cover Artist: Debbie Taylor

ISBN# 978-1-5092-1316-0

Rating: Hot (R)
Number of pages: 252
Word Count: 59190

About the Book

Bethany Michaels leads a fairly isolated existence, but she longs to be an outgoing and sexually confident woman. When her celebrity crush comes to town, and literally falls at her feet, her prayers seem to be answered. But can she protect her heart while still experiencing true passion?

Hollywood celebrity Aidan Shannon, drunk and lost in small-town Virginia, finds himself in the home of a beautiful woman, and he finds her more than just a little alluring. Bethany is voluptuous and nurturing, fragile, yet steely. And that is a problem for a man who never wants to be tied to another woman again.

Living in the now is good enough for Aidan and Bethany for the short term. When the universe steps in and shows them what’s important, will Aidan take a chance on love a second time around when his girl needs him?



Well, either she was a crazy fan about to poison him or she was a shapely woman who was about to save him from a diabolical hangover. In for a penny, in for a pound. He eyed the tea one more time before making a decision.

Aidan carefully sipped the tea, unsure what to expect. Before the liquid touched his lips, his stomach clenched. This was going to be dreadful. Not even someone with his acting skill could pretend this tasted good.

“Drink it all, Mr. Shannon, or it won’t help,” the sweetly militant voice cautioned.

“It tastes worse than it smells,” he said, trying not to whimper. But then he realized she had said “Mr. Shannon.” He sighed. “It appears you know who I am.”

“Are you kidding?” The woman before him giggled softly. “The entire town is in ecstasy because you guys are filming your movie here.” She paused as she narrowed her eyes. “Wait a minute. Don’t try to distract me; drink your tea. How about this…? If you drink it, I will make you some eggs.”

He considered arguing but drank the whole thing down like a shot of whiskey.

“Good!” She looked as if she were trying not to laugh when he immediately grabbed the bottle of water and drank a giant slug from it.

“I left a towel and a new toothbrush in the bathroom. Why don’t you take care of yourself, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Well, thank you, Ms…?”

The woman smiled. “I’m Bethany Michaels, Mr. Shannon. You are in my home. I found you singing away last night on a bench by the library where I work. I didn’t recognize you right away, I’m sorry to say, but once I did, I tried to get a cab to escort you back to your hotel, but you refused to go. You see…” She paused, as a sweet blush bloomed on her face. “You apparently thought that you and I were going to…to…well, you know. After convincing you that I did not want to “ride the Aidan train,” as you so delicately put it, you somehow convinced me to take you to my place—I’m still not sure how you did that—and you ended up asleep in my guest bed.”

Aidan grimaced. “Ms. Michaels, I—”

“Call me Bethany,” she said, patting him soothingly on the shoulder.

“Bethany, thank you for taking care of me. It means more than you can possibly know.”

“You’re welcome. I admit I’m a fan and am happy to help. I’ll give you some privacy now.”

“Bethany, you’re to call me Aidan then, right? I’m terribly sorry about the ‘train’ remark. Whiskey makes me incorrigible,” Aidan said, smiling.

“Let’s pretend it never happened, shall we? I’ll leave you alone so you can shower.”

“No need to leave, I mean…”—he glanced beneath the sheets at his unclothed body—“you’ve seen me naked so…”

“No! Mr. Sh—I mean Aidan, I most certainly have not! You disrobed yourself after I had already closed the door.” Then she paused, her face reheating. “I mean, well if you don’t count seeing you naked in Robot Warrior. But of course, you don’t mean that. I should go.”

“Bethany, a movie or last night, you’ve already seen me. No need to leave.”

“Are you still drunk? Because you still seem pretty incorrigible to me.”


About the Author

Katie Baldwin has a secret life. During the day she is a mild-mannered administrator at a University. By night she writes fantastical tales of romance and mystery. When she is not pacing her home working out dialogue in her mind, she is baking scones and working out dialogue in her mind. Aside from writing, she has a ferocious passion for the Green Bay Packers and Nutella. She can be found on twitter waxing eloquently about all of her passions. Go Pack Go! She can be reached via twitter @katiebwrites.


Katie Online



February 14

Happy Valentine’s Day!

For someone who peddles in romance, I kinda suck at pulling together a thoughtful post about it. More a planning issue than a celebratory issue. 🙂

So…I hope everyone has a wonderful day and enjoy the love.

And Erasure… because even unrequited love deserves a nod. 🙂