This is a blog hop. Be sure to check the link at the bottom to see posts from other authors!
Blurb:
Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!
Daniel Goodman is a man on a mission. He aims to become headmaster of Westover Academy. For that he needs a particular, special woman to help him set high standards. Into his cut and dried life of moral and upright behavior, comes Eve Star, formerly one of Europe’s foremost exotic dancers. Her life is anything but cut and dried, black and white. Daniel is drawn to her like a kid to chocolate. Nothing good can come of this attraction. Or can it? He is after all, a good man.
Buy link:
Amazon KU: https://amzn.to/2q7ovi4
Excerpt:
Daniel stood. “Shall we talk in the kitchen?” The woman sighed, but led the way.
“I feel so awful for that boy,” she started, lifting the coffee pot and raising her brows at Daniel.
“No, thanks.” Daniel leaned against the counter and stared at the woman. With only the light over the stove casting a glow, her hair shone like an auburn halo. Her head bowed to blow on the hot liquid in her cup. Full, round breasts rose and fell with each breath, tempting him to touch. Her narrow waist and curvy hips were pure sin and there wasn’t anything he wanted to do more than press her against him and explore every curve. He’d never get the chance, considering how tangled she was with Michael Haynes and The Bare Moose.
“Feeling awful. Is that how you happened to put both him and yourself at risk by becoming involved with him?”
Her head snapped up, and eyes he’d fantasized glazed with lust a brief moment ago now flared with fire. “We’re not involved. He said it, we’re friends. My—” she stopped, looked away, took a breath, looked back, “—my son, Timmy, and I were in the park by the river one Sunday last June. I was painting. Michael stopped to talk. We saw him several times in the park after that. I didn’t see any harm.”
“Didn’t see any harm? The boy’s infatuated with you, couldn’t you tell? Besides, The Bare Moose is a long way from the river.” Fifteen miles from the park, light years from Westover Academy.
She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “One Sunday I took a picnic and Michael joined us. He always seemed so alone. When he asked if I knew how to cook pot roast and I said of course, he looked … I don’t know, wistful. So I asked if his parents would mind if he came to my house for supper the following week, and he assured me they wouldn’t. I didn’t think it was all that wrong. Until the school year started, I didn’t know he attended Westover and he hasn’t visited here since then. He’s never been inside the tavern, and I certainly don’t give him alcohol.” Her eyes flashed again. “I promise you, we don’t engage in anything racier than passing the mashed potatoes or cutting hair.”
Daniel frowned. “Cutting hair?”
“Yes. I thought he looked a little shaggy one day, so I cut his hair. Look, he plays with Timmy and tells me jokes and stories. I teach him art. We’re company for each other. There’s nothing more to it.”
Daniel hadn’t gotten past Eve’s cutting Michael’s hair. He could feel her fingers raking through his own hair, skimming his scalp, skating the tips of his ears. His cock rose, hard and throbbing, not caring that he and Eve were strangers and that impressionable children were mere feet away.
“So, you were a dancer?” She blushed, and the certainty of what caused the blush made his dick ache even more. He’d bet the tassels on his mom’s old pasties that he knew exactly what kind of “dancer” Eve Star was.
Evening Star. He could picture what her costume looked like. Battery-powered star headdress to illuminate her path to the center pole, silver lamé cape sailing behind like the tail of a comet, shimmering bra, panties and high, high heels that showed off her sexy-as-hell legs. He’d bet she made every man in the room salivate and want to become an astronomer so they could examine her heavenly body up close. Just like Daniel wanted to do right then. The kitchen counter was just the right height to…
He shook his head to clear the image of taking her on her spotless kitchen counter.
“Dancing’s behind me. I run the tavern now.”
At least she can do that with her clothes on.
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matching socks, I can relay Susie’s whole impression, what was said to her and what she replied. This often puts the questioner to sleep with TMI, but hey! It’s a talent, right?
that, but give me any normal space and stand back for the sight of your life as I park almost like a guy with the back-up gene. Of course, I pull into a space whenever possible. No need to wear a talent out with too much practice.
mom used to collect those little Hummel figures—not the real ones. But I was never drawn into that. I’m sentimental…and yet, not. My mother-in-law once convinced me to collect pewter cups. In Virginia, pewter is readily available and some of the fine cups used for display are really beautiful. I collected three and then lost interest. Maybe I don’t have the patience to build an actual collection. However, for hoarding…I find that a little too easy.
silver serving tray, silver monogrammed drinking glasses, and silver tipped salt and pepper shakers. Nope, never used them. Kept them in the same boxes we received them. But I kept packing and moving them with us because for some reason I just couldn’t let them go. Crazy? Yeah, I think so a bit. Finally, in a wild downsize, I sent all of that stuff to the Salvation Army but—I won’t lie—it was painful.
ridiculous dust collector I picked up in Chicago, book my mom gave me fifteen years ago, etc.), so I can’t toss it away.” That’s how it goes, folks. One day I will have to say goodbye to all of it, but until then, all of that stuff is in four tubs stacked in my closet. Sigh.
Is this her tummy, or my tummy. Okay. No contest. I vote for MY tummy.
like to speak for a moment on how romance novels make our lives better.
heroine and her FBI man, or a staid teacher and his stripper girlfriend. There’s no demand for heavy thinking or bracing for a tragic ending. Love is going to win in the end, the mystery will be solved, the villain will be vanquished. Contrary to being insipid escapism for unhappy housewives, romance novels give our minds a chance to recharge and our souls a necessary boost.
Romance novels make us believe in love, know that happily ever after does exist, and that a true kiss from our soul mate can change even the most awful world into a place we want to be. Of course, we all know that romances are novels, fiction. But if a little enjoyment for a few hours a day makes us happier and better able to face scraped knees, broken down cars, coffee spilled on the last clean blouse in the closet, I’d say they greatly influence how we go about our daily lives.
From its DVD writable drive to its mic plug. I’ve lived with this machine for so many years I had to look up the date we bought it. Now its chugging away back in the office trying to recover files at the manufacturer’s settings so we can see how much stuff we’ll be able to recover. (Note to self: Have “Back up more!!” tattooed on forehead.)
by Becky Wade that were Christian books (yes, I like my reading eclectic 😉 ), True to You and Falling for You. Both made me laugh and Falling for You made me cry, too.
pew to pew. Since I’m five feet two inches, such a dress was not in the cards. But I did find a dress I liked okay and I got it for $75, so I was happy. I made my headpiece and bouquet from silk flowers and a yard or two of tulle, and told my bridesmaid to wear whatever she wanted. I was not Bridezilla. In fact, I didn’t care all that much about the wedding—I cared only for the groom. Is that weird? Yeah, maybe, but I watch all those brides on Say Yes to the Dress and wonder sometimes if they care more for the wedding than they do the marriage. I didn’t have 
that bridal moment when I first tried on the dress—I didn’t really care what I wore so much. It was white, it was long and demure, and it was cheap. ‘Nuff said.
front of everyone. But when all was said and done, I kissed everyone except hubby—my maid of honor, the minister, the best man. Hubby said I was about to head for the organist when he turned me and took my up the aisle.
thought that if I could afford it, I’d rent a cottage in the moors around Inverness and spend a summer writing. That’s my fantasy vacation! It hasn’t come about but I fill my fantasies by reading books in Scottish settings.
train in Waverley Station in Edinburgh I felt as though I’d come home. Maybe I’d lived there before. The city called to me. I wandered at will and had a great time and met some fantastic people. I also loved the area around Loch Ness (so beautiful!), and Stirling and Balquhidder are gorgeous. Skye had light like I’d never seen, and I could spend a week there just looking out over the sea.
back there again. I haven’t given up hope!
happen in the first chapter because you have to be concerned with character introduction and plot hints. But using a prologue, the author can spend all of his/her time engaging the reader with emotion in what follows. You know me—I’m all for engaging!
examples and see where the author might have gone wrong. As for me, I never skip prologues. I might not read the rest of the book if the prologue is terrible, but at least I’ll have a good reason for it.
protagonists become engaged? Once they’re married are they happy? Do they have children? It seems that children or the announcement of a pregnancy are routinely in the epilogue of historical romances, and I like that little bit extra. It’s like biting into a chocolate—really good in itself—and finding a caramel filling that you didn’t expect. A step beyond satisfying and into the realm of happy.
is what I long to read. I have used them myself, and even enjoy reading them then. 😉