5 Days of Nicola Rendell – “Confessed” 18+


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Lucy Burchett is the heiress to a notoriously disastrous family, and she’s left home for good. But when she runs a big, black pickup off the road, totaling it, she finds herself stuck in the middle of nowhere with the driver. He’s got a body to die for and a hair-trigger temper. Vince Russo looks like a felon, but he’s also pretty funny. He’s on the lam from the cops… and a psychopathic, Russian mob boss who wants to put his balls on a barbeque. Literally.


After a night of ill-advised cocktails and bathroom-wrecking sex, Vince just can’t get Lucy off his mind. But he’s got plans to rob her. And Lucy’s life is about to get a little bit criminal too.


But can a bad boy and a good girl really escape from their troubles together? Can they trust each other at all?


In the steady march of disasters that follow them west, they fight and they laugh. They tease and they’re tender. They’re either oil and water, or chocolate and peanut butter.


Except, they can’t run from the real world forever. And there’s a hell of a surprise in store for both of them…



He runs his hand through his thick black hair. “When I was your age, music was sexy. Seriously fuck-worthy.”He brings his lips right close to my ear. “Not like this shit playing now.”And then he pulls away. He slides his stool back from the bar and gets up. I watch him walk over to the jukebox. Even the way he stands is incredibly aggressive, masculine, and sexy. Can a stance be dripping with testosterone? Apparently.


He turns and catches me staring. The jukebox goes silent, and there’s just that one second of anticipation in the air. He hitches up his belt and gives me this predatory stare. I resist the urge to place my forehead on the bar. Mercy.


But then it happens.
Bongo drums.
Electric guitar strum.
Phil Collins.


He walks back towards me and sits down, dead freaking serious, not a glimmer of fun in his eyes. Unfortunately, deep, deep down, I feel a laugh coming up. One of those incredibly painful church-and-funeral laughs. Phil Collins?


A little honking laugh does shoot out of my nose. I can’t help it. I’m only human.


He looks wounded. “This is classic music, Peaches.”


I move my hand to his forearm and grip it. I mean it to be apologetic, but the way he feels under my hand…it gets sexy in a hurry. “I thought you were going to go for something a little more…”I look him up and down, “broody.”


He’s dead serious. Phil Collins is obviously not a joke. “This is the sexiest song in the entire fucking world,”he says. Not for one second, not even to blink, does he look away from my eyes. And then he puts his hand to my waist, gripping me tight.


He nestles his chin in close to my ear and draws my body closer, between his parted legs. With his tongue just sweeping against my earlobe, he growls, “I can feel it…in the air tonight.”


My neck slides back for him. I feel the seam of his T-shirt under my fingers. Oh, Lord.


“I’ve waited for this moment…”He runs his finger up my arm. I breathe him in. “…all my life.”


Oh Lord.


Eye to eye now, he brings his fingers up my neck and knots them in my hair. I feel goose bumps down my spine. He draws my head to his. The feel of his stubble is harsh and gritty against my skin, almost scraping me. The hand on my waist slides me over my bar stool. I let my legs press hard and hot against his.


His tongue makes its way up the curve of my neck.


Oh. Lord.
His lips are almost touching mine now. “The hurt won’t show, but the pain, it grows…”


As the drums come in, his other hand comes up and takes my cheek in his palm. I feel my body heave slowly towards him, like a surrender. I can’t help myself, and groan, “Oh, Lord.” Out loud.


The pressure of his head changes against mine, and he leans in like I’m making him weak. He nudges me with his nose again, like he did on the ground earlier. So close I can almost taste him. But not close enough.


I press my cheek to his and whisper, “Kiss me.”


I feel the smile more than I see it.


Both hands come to my face, and he pulls me in. He decides the depth of the kiss and moves his tongue all the way into my mouth.


Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord.


Phil Collins hits us with the drums, announcing the obvious: This is a guy who knows what he wants and is going to take it. Who knows what he’s doing and is going to show me what he wants too. He tips my face in his hands, kissing me deeper, sweeping my tongue aside with his. I feel my grip weaken, and one of my legs slides off the stool. He wraps his huge arm around me. But then he pulls my lips from his, and I open my eyes a second later. “Why do I want you so bad, huh? Helen?”He drags his tongue along the edge of my ear.


“I don’t know,”I moan. “But I can feel it.”


He nods. “In the fucking air tonight.”


I inch my hand toward his hard-on.


He kisses me again, starting out way more tenderly than he left off. He fits his fingers between my ribs and grips me hard. I am outrageously wet and can feel the slippery wave between my thighs as I move my legs to bring him closer. I feel my wetness outside my panties even, in a cold smear on my thighs.


My fingers find their way to the back of his head to the base of his neck. I feel the muscles rippling even there. Solid columns of tension.


“I want to hear you scream,”he whispers. Phil Collins starts to fade out.


“I want you to make me scream,”I say.


“Jesus Christ.”


I let my lips just brush his ear. “Should we get out of here?”


“Room’s not ready,”he says.


His jaw nudges mine aside and then he explores my neck through a kiss. I go limp in his hands, but he keeps me right where I am. How he can be so tender and so vulgar, I don’t even know. He makes me want to do things I’ve never done before. He makes me want to set fire to all the rules of polite society. This guy here? He makes me want to get in trouble. Big trouble. “I’ve never had sex in a bathroom.”


He groans again. “Fuck you,”he says. “Get out of my head.”


He presses his mouth to my ear. His voice, it’s dark and dangerous. “Meet me there in two minutes. Don’t you dare make me wait.”And then slowly his stool screeches on the floor as he steps back from the bar.


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Nicola Rendell writes dirty romantic comedy. She likes a stiff drink and a well-frosted cake. She loves to cook, sew, and play the piano. She realizes that her hobbies might make her sound like an old lady and she’s totally okay with that. She grew up in Taos, New Mexico; after receiving a handful of degrees from a handful of places, she now works as a professor in New England. An Amazon bestseller, her work has been featured in USA Today’s Happy Ever After and the Huffington Post. She is represented by Emily Sylvan Kim at the Prospect Agency.


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“A Saving Grace (Free At Last Book 3)” by Annie Stone #BlogTour


A grave injury leaves Hunter in a dangerous state. A place where he can no longer see the light. In anything. But Mackenzie can’t—and won’t—accept that.

So she sends him a reason to live. With that comes unforeseen difficulties.

Once again, Mackenzie sees firsthand how strong Hunter’s love and determination can really be. But is that enough? Will their lives ever be the same again?

When I’m finished packing, I join the other two in the living room. They’re sitting on the couch, arms crossed in front of their chests.
“I don’t want!” Hazel cries.
“But you can’t stay dirty like that,” Carey reasons with her.
“Yes, I can.”
“People need to take baths, Hazeline.”
“Not Hazel.”
“Aren’t you a person, too, Hazel?”
She shakes her head. I lean against the doorframe, amused.
“What are you then?”
I smile. She’s pretty quick.
“Isn’t a kid a person, too?” Carey insists. Hazel shakes her head. “No? What is it, then?”
Carey smiles. “A lion?”
“Grrr,” she says, sounding more like Simba’s first attempt at a roar than any real lion.
“Well, little lions have to take baths, too,” Carey tells her.
“How?” She looks genuinely confused.
“Their mommies lick them.”
“So, what’s it going to be, little lion? Are you going to take a bath, or do you want Mac to lick you?”
She gives him a critical look. “With bubbies.”
“Bubbles it is.”
“Pink bubbies.”
He smiles and stretches his hand toward her. She slips hers in it and shakes it as hard as she can like they’ve just struck a business deal.
Carey looks up and sees me standing there. “Your baby does not want to be licked.”
“That’s totally okay. I don’t really want to lick such a dirty baby.” I pull a face and make scary hissing sounds, sending her running all over the living room. I run after her, yelling that I’m going to eat her. She squeals and sprints into Carey’s arms.
I come after her, and she squeaks as I kiss her shoulder making licking sounds. Carey laughs and saves her from me.
“Come on, let’s get to the bathroom, Hazeline, quick!”
She nods emphatically, and together they sprint out of the living room. I run after them, still making scary sounds they seem to find hilarious. Carey slams the door shut in my face, and I scratch at it, hearing them laugh inside.
“Your mom is crazy,” Carey laughs.
“Yeah,” the little traitor agrees, clapping her hands.

I’m a contemporary romance writer, who likes her men tattooed, her women independent and her coffee strong.

My stories are all about love, but some are of the romantic kind, some of the sad kind and others of the very steamy kind. So if you can stand drama, foul language and sex, you came to the right place.

Love, Annie

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“Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies (Canadian Historical Brides Book 6)” by Suzanne de Montigny #Excerpt

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Chapter Three

The Ferry

After Lea swallowed the last sip of her soup, she settled herself on the main deck, finding a seat as near to the window as possible. Tucking her suitcase under her legs, she glanced about to see how crowded the ferry was. If there weren’t too many people, she might have the entire row of seats to herself, a safeguard from lonely men looking for company. She relaxed when an old woman made herself comfortable beside her.

As they sailed away, the land behind them diminished, the greens fading to misty pale blues that disappeared into the haze. She watched the faint line grow thinner until water surrounded the vessel, lapping against the hull, only gray sky visible beyond. Lea’s pulse quickened as she remembered her mother’s worries. Could there still be U-boats left that haven’t heard the Armistice has been signed? No! Nap said it’s official—the war’s over, and if he says so, then I believe him. To convince herself of his words, she pulled out the stack of letters from her bag that he’d sent over the past year and filed through them until she found the one she was looking for.

My dearest Lea,

   I’m sorry I haven’t been by to see you for some time. You see, I wasn’t given leave, though we’ve been stationed close to Chatlineau a few times. We’ve been transporting POWs back to Germany from France and Belgium now that the armistice has been signed. You’d think it’d be easy work, but it’s not. It’s quite sad, really. These men are so thin and broken, and I worry, even though they’re the enemy, that they may not survive. My comrades say I shouldn’t concern myself after all the atrocities the Germans have committed, but aren’t all men equal? Weren’t they serving their country the same as we were? Don’t they have mothers and fathers who love them too?

Yesterday, I spoke to a German who told me, in broken French, that he had a wife and a four-year-old daughter waiting for him back home. I wonder if they’ll find him changed, the way his hands tremble and the way he starts at the slightest sound. He’s a haunted man. We weren’t the only ones hurt. It’s a terrible thing war, where decent men are forced to kill each other because of decisions made by political leaders.

One of our boys told me a touching story the other day. He said that one Christmas, the Allies near Vimy Ridge heard the Germans singing ‘Silent Night’. They were so moved, they joined in. Can you imagine? Germans and Allies singing together, each in their own language? Then a magical thing happened. Slowly, they all came out of the trenches, shook hands, showed pictures of their girls. Some even cried together. Others shared what small portions of food they’d received from back home. Then someone pulled out a ball, and they began playing soccer. Can you imagine? Soccer! But it all ended when they heard gunshot in the distance. Their brief Christmas was over. It was business as usual. They shook hands and then lowered themselves back down into the muck of the trenches and resumed shooting. My eyes fill with tears at the thought. What a terrible thing to befriend and kill your enemy on the same day.

But there is one good thing that has come from this war, my beautiful Lea, and that’s you. As I sat in the mud-filled, rat-infested trenches before the armistice, it was you who kept me going. I could survive the cold and damp, the trench foot, and the lack of food just by filling my mind with thoughts of you, your beautiful blue eyes, your dark hair, your charming accent. It gave me something to hope for—a future.

As always, I love you,Nap

Lea let out a sigh. Her little Napoleon! She never grew tired of reading his letters! At first his correspondence had related the latest news, but as they got to know one another—be it live or through mail—he began leaving small hints, choice words that indicated they might have a life together! The day came when Lea received a short note saying he’d drop by that night, that he had something important on his mind to discuss with her.

“I think this is it,” Lea had said to Mathilde in an excited whisper.

“What?” asked Mathilde, folding dried bed sheets, still checking for the telltale signs of lice—a slight blood stain—though many months had passed since the soldiers had spent the night.

“Napoleon is coming—tonight!”


“Yes, and I think he may ask me to marry him!”
Her sister’s mouth dropped.

“Marry him! You can’t be serious. You barely know him! He’s only been here a few times to see you.”

“Yes, but we’ve been writing back and forth. I know him well enough. He’s the kindest man I’ve ever met. He’s funny, he’s sweet, and besides, I would like to see these golden fields and blue skies he talks about.”

“But you don’t know what’ll happen between now and then. You could be a widow with a baby.”

Lea mulled her words over. It was true. She’d known three of the town’s girls who’d been furlough brides only to lose their husbands a few months later on the front.

“You can’t rush into these things,” said Mathilde. “And what if you marry him and then don’t fit into his world. Remember, you’re Belgian. And he’s asking you to move to Canada, an untamed country.”

Lea weighed the consequences of her decision, then replied. “Yes, but I love him.”

“But Lea…” Mathilde dug her hands into her hips and gave her a condescending look.
A timid knock at the front door brought an abrupt end to the conversation.

“It can’t be him already!” whispered Lea. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips.

Her sister did a quick fold of the sheets and shoved them into the cupboard while Lea smoothed out her dress.

Papa opened the door.

Napoleon stood on the steps in full uniform, his chest pushed out. He reached up, took off his hat and smiled. “Good day, Monsieur Decorte.”

Papa turned and shot Lea an amused hint of smile. “Lea. Are you in the mood for Mr. de Montigny’s company? Or are you too tired today?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “I think she’s too tired.” He made as if to close the door.

Lea rushed forward before her beau had time to flee from Papa’s wry sense of humour. “Of course I have time for Napoleon. Come in, come in.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him to the sofa where they sat side by side holding hands.

Napoleon looked uncertain.

No wonder! After what Papa just put him through.

They made small talk until dinner was served. When they sat down to eat, he barely touched the fish and potatoes Maman had prepared, wiping his forehead over and over again with his napkin and taking sips of water as though his mouth were dry.

When the dishes were washed and placed in the cupboard, Lea led him to the sofa again while everyone conveniently disappeared except Papa who made an occasional entrance to cast a wary eye on the couple.

“So the war is over now and as soon as we’re done transporting the POWs, I’ll likely be discharged,” Napoleon said after the older man left the room for the second time.

“Oh?” said Lea.

Nap cleared his throat. “Yes, and then I’ll be going home to Canada. I’ll join my father and brothers in Saskatchewan.”

Lea moved closer, hoping for an arm to encircle her. “I’ll miss you.”

“As I will you.” He slid his hand over her shoulder only to remove it again when Maman wandered in and began polishing the silverware.

Lea flashed her an impatient glare, but Maman ignored it and continued rubbing the cutlery until every individual piece shone before leaving.

“Tell me more about Saskatchewan. Have you applied to the government for your homestead yet?” She loved pronouncing the English word. It seemed so worldly.

“No, not yet. I’ll do that when I get home.” Napoleon’s face paled. “But I…I…I was wondering if…”


Papa sauntered in and began sweeping the floor.

Napoleon let out a frustrated sigh and then changed the subject. “We’ve been lucky with the weather, haven’t we?”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Lea, throwing an angry look at her father.

Papa pushed crumbs into the dustpan and poured it into the trashcan, oblivious.

“It’d be nice to go for a picnic,” suggested Lea.

“Ah, yes, it would. We could pick up a baguette from the boulangerie, then take it to the park.”

“That would be lovely.”
The grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the room chimed. Ten o’clock.

“And we could get some fromage bleu too,” she added. It was getting late. If Maman and Papa didn’t leave them alone, Nap would never propose.

Papa cleared his throat and eyed Lea.

Lea hurled him a desperate glare, the effect obviously not working because he dragged a chair to the grandfather clock and began winding it.

On seeing his actions, Napoleon took in a sharp breath and stood up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late. I should be going.”

Lea’s heart fell. Her lips pressed together in a tight line as she walked Napoleon to the door.

He squeezed her shoulders, and cast a glance toward Papa, before saying, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Maybe in a couple of weeks.” He kissed her cheek, then retreated into the night.


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Fields of Gold coverTitle: Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies

Author: Suzanne de Montigny

Genre: Historical Romance

French-Canadian soldier, Napoleon, proposes to Lea during WWI, promising golden fields of wheat as far as the eye can see. After the Armistice, he sends money for her passage, and she journeys far from her family and the conveniences of a modern country to join him on a homestead in Saskatchewan. There, she works hard to build their dream of a prospering farm, clearing fields alongside her husband through several pregnancies and even after suffering a terrible loss. When the stock market crashes in ’29, the prairies are stricken by a long and abysmal drought. Thrown into poverty, she struggles to survive in a world where work is scarce, death is abundant, and hope dwindles. Will she and her family survive the Great Depression?


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Author Bio

Suzanne de Montigy

Suzanne de Montigny loved writing stories as a child, creating her first novella at the age of twelve. She has kept it on her shelf between her textbooks and novels all her life. As an adult, she pursued a career in music education, teaching school for twenty years. It was there she discovered she had a knack for storytelling. When her father passed away in 2006, she developed an overpowering urge to begin writing again. She has received awards for her “Shadow of the Unicorn” series and her young teen novel, A Town Bewitched.

She lives in Burnaby, B.C. with the four loves of her life, her husband, her two boys, and Buddy the bichon frisé.










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