Once We Were Witches #ImmortalKissSeries Series Book 4 by Laura Daleo Book Tour! @SilverDaggerBookTours @AuthorLauraDaleo @author_laura_daleo

A journey of tortured vampires, longing, heartbreak, passion, betrayal, and redemption awaits you in the IMMORTAL KISS series.

Once We Were Witches

Immortal Kiss Series Book 4

by Laura Daleo

Genre: Dark Urban Fantasy

The mysterious world of witchcraft, murder, and mystery thrusts Raven Sagestone into an adventure whose main goal is to unlock the secrets of her powers. To do this, she teams up with Brandon Cass, an outsider with knowledge of the supernatural world. Raven is introduced to Eve, a psychic who reads destinies. Despite this, Raven is protected by a strong magic barrier, preventing Eve from seeing her. Brandon and Raven search for the truth at Bloodthirst, a vampire club. Visiting The Council's haven with Margarete and Caleb is Raven's chance to find answers to the questions that have plagued her.

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The Vampire Within

Immortal Kiss Series Book 3

Brandon Cass is not your average teenager. He has a taste for blood—human blood. For sixteen years, he stumbled through life without a hitch until the enigmatic aroma of blood awakened something dark within him. Visions of a beautiful young woman with chocolate brown hair and ocean blue eyes haunt his mind, yet her identity is a puzzling mystery. 

His hunger for blood strengthens, and the cravings become too powerful to control. No one is safe, not even his family. To safeguard all he once found dear, Brandon sets out on a quest for answers. In an unfamiliar city, he comes face-to-face with the beautiful young woman, confronts the dark force which controls him, and learns what he must endure to reclaim his soul. 

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Bound By Blood

Immortal Kiss Series Book 2

Five years crawled by at a painfully slow pace for young vampire, Beth; each year more agonizing than the next. The powerful unyielding spell which masked Amon’s whereabouts showed no signs of weakening.  Influenced by the binding ritual and Amon’s blood surging inside her, Beth will stop at nothing, and risk everything, to find him and turn the tables on Osiris, Isis, and Hathor.  In foggy streets of London, lives are threatened by a new breed of hunter, and nothing is what it seemed.  Beth once again finds herself surrounded by betrayal.  In the midst of it all, she is forced to choose between Philippe and Amon – knowing that her decision will change one life forever. But whose? 

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Immortal Kiss

Immortal Kiss Series Book 1

Centuries ago ten powerful vampire gods first walked the earth; their blood thirst knew no boundaries. The destruction of mankind was inevitable. Recognizing their weakness, they selected twelve wise human beings to transform with their godly blood. These twelve, known as The Old Ones and The Council, govern The Ten. A blood lottery appeasing The Ten’s hunger was set forth into the human world and passed down every fifth generation, continuing into the present day.

All of Beth Ryan’s life a mysterious mist has watched over her; a mist she believed to be a vampire. On a cold winter night, Philippe Delon, a 700-year-old vampire walks into Beth’s life. She is drawn to him, certain he is the vampire behind the mist...but is he?  

Beth and Philippe cannot deny their love for each other, nor do they try to fight it. Within days of their encounter, Beth accepts Philippe’s invitation to move into his mansion. The mansion unlocks the door to the vampire world and exposes secrets from Beth’s past. Within its walls, she learns the true identity of the mist, her link to the blood lottery, and betrayal of her loved ones. Surrounded by lies, Beth stands before The Council begging for resolution.

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LAURA DALEO has been writing for over 20 years and has published 7 books. In addition to advocating for reading and writing, she is a strong supporter of the Indie author community. She is well known for her Immortal Kiss series which captures vampiric persuasion. The Egyptian pantheon, which gave rise to vampires, is explored in this series in an interesting way.

Laura has a passion for writing stories that explore the supernatural realm and bring her characters to life. Her published works include Immortal Kiss, Bound by Blood, The Vampire Within, Once We Were Witches, The Vow, The Soul Collector, and The Doll.

With her Facebook group, The BOOKLounge For Readers and Authors, she has created a community for readers and authors. It is home to over 65k active members. In addition, Laura is contributing to a short story anthology with four other authors from The BOOKLounge for Readers and Authors. The anthology is scheduled for release in October 2023.

A native of San Diego, California, Laura now lives in Tucson, Arizona with her two dogs, Rose and Cooper.

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The Frog in the Room Series: Escape! 1 by Jade Buchanan New Release Blitz!

 

Title:  The Frog in the Room

Series: Escape! 1

Author: Jade Buchanan

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: April 12, 2024

Heat Level: 4 - Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 16 pages

Genre: Romance, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Women's Fiction, Shapeshifters

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Thomas Adler is a stickler for neatness. When his ordered life goes completely to the frogs, what's a man to do? Grab hold of the closest frog shifter and hang on for dear life, of course!

Excerpt

A bright light flashed in front of Tom's eyes again.

"Not again," he moaned, fed up with all the flashing lights.

When he opened his eyes, the frog was gone. In its place was a man gorgeous enough to cause his dry mouth to suddenly feel like the Sahara.

"Oh, momma," he gasped, reaching out and poking a finger into the man's chiseled, perfect chest. His skin was a rich tan, with an underlying green tint to it.

He was bald… everywhere. Right down to the hairless groin where his thick, tasty cock rested. Tom licked his lips, intrigued despite himself.

"How did you come here?" the man asked, in a rich tenor.

Tom looked up in shock, his eyes wide when he stared at the man's face. He had a wicked glint in his eyes, probably from seeing Tom's uncouth leer at his shaved crotch.

"Wait, is this even physically possible?" he asked, tilting his head and studying the man in front of him.

Movement at either side made him swing his gaze around. The other frogs had dropped to the ground, bright flashes of light sparking before men stood tall in their place.

Technically, he should probably be freaked about now, but he figured he was either A) dreaming, B) dead or C) in an alternate universe. Either way, he probably couldn't control anything but his own reactions, so he might as well go with it. Besides, that guy was seriously sexy and seriously hung!

The men were all studying him, confused expressions on their faces. The big guy at the front stepped to the side, poking at his car, caressing the metal with one massive hand. Tom shivered, half wishing the guy was stroking him like that. He willed his rueful erection down. He shouldn't be turned on in a situation like this. Okay, that settled it, he was definitely dreaming.

"Well, this has got to be the weirdest day I've ever had," he mused, sitting down on the beach. He clenched his fist, realizing with a start that the green frog king was still in his hand.

He set him down on the beach beside him. The big man stopped petting his car, turning to motion the others away. They left with a backward glance or two, looking downcast, leaving the two of them in the clearing alone. Well, three of them if you counted the furry frog beside him. He snorted.

"You have got to explain to me how a two pound frog becomes a two hundred pound man, 'cause my mind just can't figure that out." He licked his bottom lip.

"My name is Eric Odhrán. This is my kingdom, and you have now entered into my keeping," the man said, coming forward to crouch in front of him.

"Well, Eric Oh Rawn, my name is Thomas Adler, and I'm insane. Pleased to meet you, seeing as you're the most fabulous apparition I've ever invented." Tom stuck out his hand.

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Meet the Author

Jade's writing is as eclectic as her reading tastes. She's also been known to accept writing challenges from friends and family just to see their reactions. She's a firm believer that love and romance are universal concepts, no matter a person's gender identity or sexual orientation. Learn more at Jade's Website

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Red Pines Trapnell Thriller Book 3 by Jill Hand Book Tour! @SilverDaggerBookTours #JillHand

 

 The South's wealthiest, most dysfunctional family is back, 

with old scores to settle and a surprising houseguest  

Red Pines

Trapnell Thriller Book 3

by Jill Hand

Genre: Thriller

“In this hilarious third installment, Jill Hand gives us the weirdest, funniest family saga yet.”

–Wayne Turmel, author of Johnny Lycan: The Werewolf PI series

The discovery of the bodies of two "honky-tonk hitmen" on land belonging to a former relative brings the Trapnell siblings, self-centered Aimee, indolent Trainor, and brilliant Marsh, back to White Oaks, their opulent ancestral home. FBI Special Agent Carson Burns is tasked with protecting them, something she finds increasingly difficult, as sinister events keep occurring which barely avoid being fatal.

Adding to the confusion is a deposed dictator who has eluded his Secret Service watchdogs and is pretending to be Marsh's valet.

It becomes clear that someone intends to murder the Trapnells, but who? And why? A rapper called Baby Patty Cake insists the Illuminati are to blame, but that can't be true, can it?

What readers are saying:

Author Jill Hand has crafted a thriller that offers the ideal balance of

 humor and suspense to create a delightfully entertaining experience filled

 with quirky characters and unexpected twists. The dysfunctional

 dynamics of the Trapnell family are an absolute joy and a great foil to

 play off during the biggest surprises of the plot, while the witty dialogue

 and eccentric scenarios provide plenty of laughs along the way. The clues

 unfold at a great pace to allow us to figure things out alongside Agent

 Burns, yet the reader is kept in a fair amount of suspense about the true

 motives behind the attempts on the Trapnells' lives, leading to a satisfying

 and surprising conclusion. Overall, Red Pines is a captivating read that

 offers equal parts humor and suspense, making it a must-read for fans of

 comedic thrillers everywhere.

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Excerpt from Red Pines, third in the series of Trapnell Thrillers by Jill Hand   

Dooley Voight drove them the thirty-five miles from the airport to Cobbs, a sleepy village not far from the Florida border. Cobbs had been the domain of the Trapnell family for generations. On the outskirts of town was their plantation house, White Oaks. It sprawled, vast and palatial, under the late afternoon sun, its meticulously tended green lawns, columned portico and dazzling white façade a vision of opulence.

Holy cow, thought Burns, stunned by the sight. It’s a genuine Georgia plantation. Leave it to Bad Choices to own a plantation.

As if he had read her thoughts, Marsh said, “A penny for your thoughts, Agent Burns.”

“My thoughts aren’t worth a penny,” she replied.

“I sincerely doubt that. I’ll show you around later. There are many interesting things to see at White Oaks. There’s a graveyard that’s supposed to be haunted, and a room where one of my ancestors kept his wife imprisoned for twenty years. The story goes that it stemmed from the having a disagreement over a game of whist. The scratches are still visible on the back of the door, where she clawed at it in a futile attempt to escape.”

“Great,” said Burns. “Can’t wait to see that.”

“I sure do enjoy comin’ out here to y’all’s stately home,” Dooley said to Marsh as he piloted his Lexus up the mile-long drive paved with white oyster shells. The shells crunched under the car’s tires as it rolled along at a sedate five miles per hour.

Dooley had the air-conditioning turned up. The thermometer on the dashboard registered eight-eight degrees Fahrenheit. That was considered normal, even a bit cool for Cobbs in late May. It would be another month before the real heat would set in, causing all outdoor activity to grind to a torpid, tropical crawl.

Aimee was already having reservations about returning to her ancestral home. The last time she was there, she and Marsh and Trainor, as well as their stepsister, Karen, had almost been murdered. The time before that, Trainor had allowed their father to strangle a sideshow performer Bad things had a way of happening at White Oaks. 

Aimee resolved to watch her back. She hoped the level-headed presence of Special Agent Burns would be a calming influence.

“This is the second time today I been here,” Dooley remarked as they approached the circular turnaround in front of the house. In the center a marble fountain in the shape of a pod of dolphins sent jets of water into the air.

Pulled up to the portico steps was Blanton’s white 1959 Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith. Its tall, stainless steel radiator grille was topped by a sculpture of a crouching woman, her robes billowing out behind her. “Nellie in her Nightie,” was how jocular Rolls-Royce factory workers used to refer to the mascot, although its official name was the Spirit of Ecstasy. Parked behind the Rolls was a cherry-red BMW XM sedan.

 

Black Willows

Trapnell Thriller Book 2

A mysterious cowboy is stalking the eccentric Trapnell siblings. Is he a supernatural entity or a hired killer? To complicate things, the will making them heirs to their billionaire father’s estate is missing and a relative has returned from a watery grave.

Last time, the Trapnells saved the world from destruction. This time they may not be able to save themselves. Black Willows is a darkly funny Southern-fried adventure, complete with Voodoo, arson, and alligators.

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“And then,” Palmer Trapnell told an architect named Chase Merriweather, “An alarm will sound, one of those that goes aoogah! aoogah! The room will start filling up with ice-cold water and everyone will have to swim to safety. What do you think of that?"

            Merriweather looked over Palmer’s shoulder to where her husband stood. Trainor Trapnell was shaking his head and frantically waving his hands, as if to say, No way! That’s insane!

            “Well,” the architect said cautiously. “It’s an interesting concept.”

            “I know! Escape rooms are popular right now. My friend Chandler Woodbury has one. It’s at Lakeland Mall, between Razzle-Dazzle Doughnuts and Sweet and Sassy Lingerie, where that store that sold things like blacklight posters and lava lamps used to be. You have to find clues to figure out how to escape from a room done up like a library in a spooky old mansion. This will be much better.”

            Palmer beamed complacently. Her sandy blonde hair was cut in an asymmetrical style popularized by an actress with a starring role in a daytime television drama. Palmer was a former dog groomer who had advanced several rungs up the social ladder by marrying Trainor. With her bright pink lipstick and Lilly Pulitzer twin set, she was the apotheosis of an affluent young Atlanta matron.

Palmer and Chandler Woodbury, ostensibly friends, were locked in a mortal combat of one-upmanship. If Chandler had an escape room then Palmer wanted a better one.

            “But the logistics,” Trainor said desperately. He drew up a chair and seated himself next to his wife at the polished mahogany conference table in Merriweather’s office. He spread his hands in mute appeal to the architect to put an end to this nonsense. “That’s what they’re called, right? Logistics? Ways of doin’ things? You can’t fill up a room up with water and make people swim out. It’s not safe. What if somebody drowns? And how do you empty the water out afterwards? I don’t see it.”

He turned to Palmer who had folded her arms across her chest and was pouting. “I’m sorry, Chicken Legs, but I think it might be illegal.”

White Oaks

Trapnell Thriller Book 1

“An ingeniously dark comic thriller about greed, gluttony and murder that is destined for the big screen.” –Best Thrillers

Aimee Trapnell reluctantly leaves her apartment on Manhattan’s Central Park West to return to her childhood home in Georgia for her father’s ninetieth birthday. Also on hand are her two brothers, wily Marsh and ne’er-do-well Trainor. With a forty-billion-dollar inheritance at stake, they’re willing to do whatever it takes to make the old man happy.

To their shock they learn that what their father wants for his birthday is to kill someone. He doesn’t care who it is. He just wants to know what it’s like to commit murder.

Betrayal, double-dealing, and fast-paced action set the Trapnells on a collision course with an unexpected villain. Their journey takes them from the swamps of Georgia, to Italy’s glittering Amalfi coast, to rugged Yellowstone National Park.

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             Chapter 31 – What Peewee Pelletier Found

Earlier that morning a man named Pewee Pelletier drove his pickup truck through a gap in the tall privet hedge in front of White Oaks. A discrete metal sign, white letters on a forest green background, declared it to be the service entrance to the estate. 

The truck’s tires crunched on the gravel roadbed as Pewee drove past the kitchen wing, past the greenhouses and the water cascade, water burbling over its stone steps, and down beyond the old slave graveyard. He parked beside the white granite mausoleum. TRAPNELL was carved in stern block letters in the triangular pediment above the door.

It’s only seven-fifteen and already it’s hot as a crotch, Peewee thought, squinting at the white disc that was the sun, blazing mercilessly above the tangle of trees marking the beginning of the swamp. He wanted to finish the day’s work early and go fishing. He’d sweep out the mausoleum and get it looking shipshape for Blanton Trapnell’s big sendoff. Then he’d swing by Holy Redeemer and White Knoll cemeteries and cut the grass before knocking off for the day. With any luck he’d be on the lake in his bass boat by noon, along with a cold six-pack and a container of minnows from Buzzy’s. Perhaps he’d get Gordon Buzzy to sell him a bottle of Old Rocking Chair. He bit into the egg salad sandwich his wife had made for him.

Chewing egg salad on white bread liberally smeared with mayonnaise he looked at the mausoleum and snorted in contempt. The damn thing probably cost more than his house. Rich people, he thought resentfully. At least rich people died, just like everybody else. Blanton Trapnell wouldn’t be driving his Rolls-Royce through town anymore, not deigning to wave at Pewee when Peewee drove past going the other way in his truck.

Peewee always waved when he encountered other drivers. It was the neighborly thing to do, but Blanton Trapnell thought he was too good to acknowledge people like Peewee who weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth. Blanton Trapnell wasn’t neighborly. Now he was dead and good riddance. Let’s see what Saint Peter would have to say about his lack of neighborliness when he showed up at the Pearly Gates. Peewee bit into the dill pickle his wife had packed along with the sandwich. Pickle juice ran down through the beard stubble on his chin as he smiled, thinking of Old Man Trapnell being denied admission to Heaven and instead being cast, shrieking, into a lake of fire. 

He crumpled the pieces of wax paper the sandwich and the pickle had been wrapped in and stuck them in the hip pocket of his green Carhartt work pants. Then he took the key hanging from a cardboard tag marked ‘Trapnell’ that Chapman had given him and went to unlock the door.

Leaving the bronze door open to let it air out inside, Peewee got a push broom and a pry bar out of the truck. He carried them into the cool interior of the mausoleum and sniffed cautiously. It smelled musty, like closed-up spaces always did. He also detected the unmistakable stink of decomposition.

The decomp odor wasn’t coming from any of the corpses in the crypts. Those were embalmed and would be as dry as old leather. It was something freshly dead, most likely a possum or a raccoon that had crawled through the ventilation shaft on the roof. Pewee figured he’d find whatever it was lying in the shadows, paws-up. He drew on a pair of rubber work gloves and patted the black plastic trash bag tucked in his belt. Ms. Possum or Mr. Raccoon would be going into the bag. He just hoped they weren’t too gooshy.

 A stained glass window in the rear wall threw splashes of red, blue and green over the stone floor. The window’s subject was utterly inexplicable to Peewee: not Jesus or some saint but three naked men being attacked by huge snakes. Peewee stared at it, trying to recall which Bible story it could have come from. There were several involving animals. There was Daniel in the lions’ den, and Jonah and the whale, and one about a talking donkey that got pissed off when its owner kept hitting it with a stick, but he couldn’t think of anything involving snakes, other than the Garden of Eden thing.

“Rich people,” he muttered shaking his head. 

He leaned the broom against the wall inside the door. He’d sweep the floor before he locked up.

The double crypt where Blanton Trapnell’s coffin would go was on the left wall, down near the snake window. Trapnell’s second wife was in there and he would be going in beside her. The late Mrs. Trapnell had been a terror. Peewee wouldn’t want to wait for the last trumpet to blow while lying beside a bitch like Deirdre Trapnell. Fortunately he wouldn’t have to. He’d be buried out at Holy Redeemer with his wife and his mama and daddy and the rest of his family. The Trapnells could keep their old mausoleum with its bizarre naked-men-and-snakes window, thank you very much.

Pewee intended to use the pry bar to remove the granite slab known in the funeral trade as a shutter from the front of the double crypt. The shutter was inscribed with Blanton’s name and date of birth, as well as his wife’s name and her dates of birth and death. A stonecutter would add Blanton’s final date and it would go back in place and be sealed, after his bronze casket went in. 

The casket was a model called the Chancellor made by the Batesville Casket Company. It cost $25,000. It had a variety of high-end features, including a rounded glass seal, bronze swing-bar handles, fully adjustable inner bed with head and foot velvet pillows and matching velvet blanket and a hidden locking mechanism. 

Blanton’s purchase of the most expensive casket among those on display in Chapman’s showroom had been a red letter day for Lycott and Joelle Chapman and their two children. The family celebrated by taking a trip to Jekyll Island, where they’d gone to a water park.

Peewee walked down the center aisle, pausing to kick at a drift of leaves that must have blown in under the door. As he kicked at the leaves, scattering them, his work boot came in contact with something unyielding. He looked down to see what it was and found it was a foot, clad in a narrow, polished black shoe.

The pry bar hit the stone floor with a clatter as Peewee turned tail and ran.

Jill Hand is a member of International Thriller Writers. Her Southern Gothic novels, White Oaks, and Black Willows, are available on Amazon and from the publisher, Black Rose Writing.

Advance readers called White Oaks a fast-paced, hilarious account of three siblings who are competing for their father's forty-billion-dollar fortune while trying to prevent the destruction of Planet Earth.

Diane Donovan, senior reviewer from Midwest Book Review praised White Oaks, calling it, "an unusually multifaceted tale that holds the ability to prompt laughter from thriller-style tension."

A sequel to White Oaks, Black Willows, follows the adventures of the squabbling, dysfunctional Trapnell family. Red Pines, third in the series of Trapnell family thrillers, was just released in April 2024.

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Dirty Books by Carissa Knight Blog Tour!

 

Dirty Books
Carissa Knight

(The One Night Stand Club, #2)
Publication date: April 12th 2024
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

SOMETIMES, LIFE CAN BE STRANGER (AND HOTTER) THAN FICTION.

Carlie Taylor, a shy and (often clumsy) erotic romance author, decides to walk on the wild side at Club Nocté’s latest event – a masquerade party. What’s the harm in a little anonymous fun? Well, when that fun leaves you with flashbacks of a stranger’s kiss and the world’s most baffling case of déjà vu, things get interesting.

Enter Adam, a personal trainer with abs that deserve their own Instagram account (oh wait, they have one). When he starts training Carlie, the sparks fly—but not just from the workout burn. There’s something strangely familiar about those biceps, but where could she have seen them before…?

Cue the drama: Adam’s Insta-famous life is like a soap opera, complete with a villainous ex who could give Cruella a run for her money. As Carlie and Adam’s flirty banter turns into something more, the world watches, likes, and comments. But can their fledgling romance survive the glare of the spotlight and the ghost of masquerades past?

The plot thickens like a good protein shake when Carlie has her ‘aha!’ moment. That mysterious, dreamy guy from the club? Yup, it’s Mr. Six-Pack himself. Now, the question isn’t just about enduring a tough gym session, but whether they can flex their hearts into accepting that their one-night stand might just be the real deal.

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Read an Excerpt

“First day?” she asks, her voice filled with the kind of pep that suggests she’s never faced the cruel betrayal of a snooze button.

“Is it that obvious?” I ask, attempting to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace.

Skye just laughs—a sound so cheerful it practically bounces. “Don’t worry. You’re going to do great. You’re in good hands.”

“Oh, good.” 

I hope Skye’s optimism is infectious because I need all the help I can get.

She hands me a schedule, and my eyes skim the bonus classes being offered. 

‘Aqua Zumba.’ 

‘Kettlebell Khaos.’ 

And ‘Yoga for the Soul.’

They sound like a list of bands that would play at an extremely niche music festival.

With a few minutes to spare before my meeting with certain death—I mean, Ada—I venture further into the facility. Each area reveals new devices of torture. 

There’s the weight area, which I promptly nickname ‘The Iron Jungle’. The cardio section is ‘Treadmill Territory,’ and I decide the less said about the free weights area, the better. I’m pretty sure the grunting noises from that quadrant are a form of communication I’m not advanced enough to understand.

There’s an aerobics class in progress, and through the window, I catch a glimpse of synchronized suffering. I entertain the thought of joining, but then I remember my coordination is on par with a newborn giraffe’s. 

Instead, I find a corner to stake out—somewhere between a row of stationary bikes and a rack of dumbbells. 

Here, I can observe, and possibly blend in with the surroundings. If I stand still enough, maybe I can pass as an out-of-place piece of equipment.

I check my phone, pretending to look busy as I wait for Ada to come find me, but really I’m drafting a mental will. 

• To Lily, I bequeath my coffee maker. May it fuel your mornings. 

• To my unwritten novels, find someone worthy to tell your tales.

A man locks eyes with me, and I brace myself, only for him to ask if I’m using the dumbbells I’m leaning on. I shake my head, resisting the urge to apologize for giving the impression that I could actually lift them.

I’m about to hunt for a water fountain—hydration is key to survival, after all—when I see her. 

Ada. 

Or at least, I think it’s Ada. She strides confidently across the gym, a beacon of health and athleticism. She has that personal trainer glow, the kind that says, ‘I eat burpees for breakfast and have more protein shakers than friends.’ 

I watch as she nears, her gaze locked onto me with a serious intensity. Her physique is nothing short of intimidating, muscles defined under the skin-tight fabric of her gym attire that hugs her like a second skin. 

Jealousy flares inside me. 

She’s the embodiment of every fitness magazine cover that’s ever made me think twice about reaching for a slice of cake. I can’t help but compare the definition in her arms to the softness of my own, the tautness of her abs to the comfort of my belly.

My stomach knots with nerves, and I practice the smile I’ve been rehearsing—the one that’s meant to say ‘I’m friendly and totally ready for this,’ but probably screams ‘I’m terrified and considering bolting for the nearest exit.’ 

I wipe my palms on my not-so-spandexy spandex, hoping the sweat doesn’t betray my cool exterior.

This woman is everything I’m not, everything I aspire to be in those secret, vulnerable moments before sleep when the day strips bare my confidence.

My heart rate picks up, not from exercise, but from the sheer panic of having to match her stride for stride. I can almost feel the weight of her expectations bearing down on me, threatening to squash my newly found resolve like a bug.

Why did I think a woman trainer would be better again?

I’m honestly at a loss. 

Thankfully, she veers off, heading over to ‘Treadmill Territory’ instead.

I exhale a little too loudly.

Dodged a bullet there.

Before I can breathe a full sigh of relief, my thoughts scatter as a man enters the room and stares right at me. 

He’s tall, his build athletic but not imposing—instead, it’s the kind of fit that speaks of strength without intimidation. His hair is a sandy blonde, slightly tousled, as if he’s run his hands through it a few times. 

But it’s his expression that catches me off guard—a look of shock or maybe confusion?

In a few fluid steps, he’s standing in front of me.

“Carlie?” he asks tentatively, his voice drawing me in like a seductive embrace. There’s something in his tone, a familiarity that shouldn’t be there, considering we’ve never met.

“That’s me,” I manage to say, feeling a little breathless and more than a little lost.

“I’m Adam,” he extends his hand, which I take, finding his grip firm and warm. “Your trainer.”

My brain stutters to a halt. 

Adam? 

He seems to read the confusion on my face. “I hope you weren’t expecting a woman. I noticed there was a typo in the schedule,” he explains with a chuckle that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which are still studying me with that same perplexed intensity. “Unless you’d like to work with Jillian,” he points to the fit goddess across the room, “you’re stuck with me.”

I blink at him, trying to process this new information but my brain has completely malfunctioned.

Can you say plot twist?

Carissa Knight is all about bringing the heat in every romance she writes but making the journey as angsty and awkward as possible. (Because come on! What could be more fun than making the characters squirm?)

While she’s a new kid around the romcom block, Carissa’s actually been kicking out books for over a decade as award-winning & international bestselling author, Carissa Andrews. If you like paranormal or urban fantasy, check her out.

In the meantime, get ready for her brand new steamy romcom series, “The One Night Stand Club!”

Be sure to sign up for Carissa’s email list to stay on top (wink, wink) of her releases!

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