Bøger udgivet af DISTRACTIONS INK

Seemingly overnight, Renee Millings found herself orphaned and married to the indescribably handsome but ever-frowning Roque Montan. His father, the General, was obsessively determined that his lineage would continue posthaste--with or without consent of his son's new bride.But when Roque reveals the existence of a sworn oath that will obstruct his father's ambition, will the villainous General conspire to ensure the future of his coveted progeny to be borne by Renee himself? Will Renee find the only means of escape from the odious General to be that of his late wife--death? Or will the son find no tolerance for his father's diabolic plotting concerning the woman Roque legally terms his wife?

Regency Romance, Historical Romance, Romance, Gothic Romance, Teen Romance, Inspirational Romance

Exerpt: But when she saw him take his own seat next to her--carefully eyeing him peripherally--she was wildly disconcerted when she felt goose bumps breaking over her arms. Although she had not had a good, solid look at him, she could sense he was very handsome. His voice alone revealed he was--the deep, rich nature of it. In truth, his voice made her feel--well, it somehow whisked her back--whisked her back four years, bathing her in memories of another supper and a voice she'd heard that night--a voice as deep and rich, as warm and wonderful as molasses taffy."It seems we cross paths again, Miss Ambria Blanchard," the man said.And she knew then. Ambria knew that the voice and the man were not simply similar to the voice and the man that had changed her life four years before--but that the same man himself was sitting next to her.Thinking of the worn photograph she still cached in a secret space in her wallet, Ambria turned and nearly fainted with euphoric shock when she found herself gazing into the blue, blue, bluest eyes of the most gorgeous, beefcaked, super-stud lady-killer she'd ever seen.

As Keeley unbuckled her seat belt, she looked up to see a man step out of the cabin that was the Snow Creek Ranch office and start toward them."Thank you, Santa Claus," she mumbled to herself--for the man walking toward them was unquestionably the most attractive, the most well-formed, the most striking, the most handsome, sexiest man she had ever seen!He looked to be in his mid-twenties. He wore jeans, weathered comp-toe work boots, and a classic barn coat that hung open to reveal the black-and-red flannel shirt beneath it. But it wasn't his manly, capable attire that so captivated Keeley--left her mouth agape and her eyes widened. It was his clean-cut dark brown hair, downright seductive oval, almost rectangular eyes, square jaw, and sensational movie-star smile!"Boom-boom-foxy!" Paisley said as she leaned over Keeley to stare at the man who had reached their SUV and was offering a friendly handshake to her father.

Excerpt: Haven's body tried to gasp again, for the intensity of the man's jade-colored eyes seemed to burn through her with a fierceness she had never even fathomed could exist. Yet she could not draw a breath, for when she had gasped at first seeing the man, the lemon drop in her mouth had been sucked to the back of her throat. She was choking! After having just warned the children of the dangers of hard candy, she, their teacher, was choking!Frantically Haven's hands went to her throat as she tried to cough up the lemon drop. But being unable to draw a breath, she was therefore unable to push a breath to a cough."Miss Abernathy? Are you all right?" she heard Johnny McGhee ask from behind her.Haven could feel her mind beginning to dizzy, felt her face was red from the strain of her body not being able to breathe. Her panicked gaze still held the fierce one of the stranger through the instruction room window, and she saw his dark brows pucker in a frown."She's chokin'!" Oscar hollered. "Miss Abernathy is chokin' on a lemon drop!""Is this one of our manners lessons, Miss Abernathy?" Nancy inquired.Again, Haven's body attempted to gasp as, all at once, the door leading from the outside boardwalk to the instruction room burst open, splintering throughout the room--the stranger with the fierce and fiery stare stepping across the threshold."She's chokin' on a lemon drop, mister!" Margie cried.The stranger said nothing--simply strode to Haven, reached out, and slapped her hard on the back. But the lemon drop did not dislodge from her throat."She's gonna choke to death right here with us watchin'!" Florence shrieked.Again the man pounded on Haven's back. Nothing. She still couldn't breathe!"Well, then..." she heard the man's low, imposing voice rumble.Haven felt the man's arms suddenly go around her waist--felt more dizzying effects as he flipped her upside down and began shaking her."Cough it up, lady," the man growled, "else you're gonna commence yer dirt nap right here in front of these kids."Holding Haven upside down with now just one arm around her waist, the man pounded on her back once more. At last, the lemon drop dislodged from Haven's mouth and, seeming to have a will of its own, leapt out of her mouth and went bouncing across the wooden planks of the instruction room floor.

The Villarreal burrito boy and the funnel cake girl find romance when he assists her after she falls to the ground.

Of a sudden, Minnette's reminiscences were scattered when she heard a sound that was not native to the meadow. A whistled call of sorts--and definitely human. Sitting up--for she had indeed relaxed to near sprawling in the grass while caught up in her reverie--Minnette frowned when the next sound to reach her was that of shouting--a man shouting. Leaping to her feet, she looked to the tree line at the north border of the meadow in time to see a man come bursting from without the forest at a full run. He was tall--that much Minnette could distinguish from her distance--and he appeared in some sort of distress by the further look of him. His shirt, though white and bloused at the sleeves, hung open, and he wore no vest or coat about it. His breeches were black, but his legs were otherwise void of protection; he wore no boots nor shoes of any kind. Again the man shouted, as if tribulation were hot at his heels, and Minnette gasped as she then saw that it was indeed so. For as the man sprinted further into the open meadow, a pack of enormous white wolves, numbering at least five in brood, raced from the tree line in pursuit of the man! The wolves almost instantly overtook their prey, forcing the man to the ground as they pounced upon him, snarling and gnashing their teeth. Minnette took hold of her kirtle skirt and, without pause, raced into the meadow toward the spectacle. The man would be dead before she reached him--she was certain of it! Yet she must try! She must endeavor to help him--to attempt to ward off the pack of hungry predators before they literally tore the man apart!

A very loud pounding on the door startled everyone then. "Well, who on earth could that be at this hour? And in this weather?" Lottie asked. "I swear, that knockin' nearly startled me right out of my skin!" "Me too, Mama," Savannah agreed. In fact, her heart was still racing. "We aren't expectin' anyone, are we, Lottie?" Bill asked. "No. Not at all," Lottie said. Savannah watched as Bill quickly strode toward the door. He grabbed the rifle he'd set next to it when he'd entered earlier and then called, "Hello? Who's that?" A deep, masculine voice answered from the other side of the door. "Mr. Dickerson? It's me, Trenner Barnett. Do you remember me, sir?" "Trenner Barnett?" Bill mumbled, frowning as he immediately pulled the bolt on the door and opened it. A gust of merciless wind and blowing snow whooshed into the house in the wake of the man who stepped in....

Tansy felt a warm blush heat her cheeks as her gaze fell to the tall, totally hot guy standing near the back of the touring group. He smiled at her as their eyes met, and she half expected to see two vampire fangs as part of his dazzlingly white set of teeth. He was truly that good-looking-fictional vampire good-looking. So good-looking, in fact, that Tansy was proud of herself for not stumbling over her words as she continued to give her "beginning of our tour" speech. The guy wore jeans and a blue flannel shirt with his sleeves rolled up to just beneath his elbows. He had short dark hair, a flawlessly chiseled jawline, a square, mildly cleft chin, and shoulders as broad as a barn! He was so her exact idea of a dream man that Tansy quickly glanced around to ensure that there weren't any movie cameras rolling or something. The guy was too good looking to be just a regular Joe out for a stroll with the other tourists. But Tansy didn't see any news or TV cameras, so she straightened her posture and tried to funnel her focus back to the group of people waiting for the tour to start.

Briney heard the jingle of spurs approaching but couldn't seem to tear her attention away from the friendly horse nuzzling her arm. It wasn't until the person drew nearer to her and spoke that every hair on the top of her head tingled-that every inch of her flesh broke into goose bumps. "Mornin' there, ma'am," the rich, smooth voice greeted, the same voice that had lulled Briney to sleep on several occasions since Mrs. Fletcher's death. "I hear you've come lookin' to buy a horse."

It was cold-so miserably cold. Athena knew by the numbness in her own fingers and toes that Annabel's, Marta's, and Bronwen's must be frozen stiff. Yet she hoped that their merriment-in singing Christmas carols on the doorsteps or in the parlors of those who opened their doors or invited them inside for a moment-would offset their discomfort. After all, a happy heart warmed many a frigid soul, as well as ice-cold appendages. As a child, Athena had adored caroling. It was with warm fondness that she thought back on all those Christmas seasons of the past when her entire family would carol to their neighbors. Always her mother had made puddings, cakes, and other sweet treats to bring with them, to give as gifts of affection to their kind townsfolk and friends. And once the caroling was at an end, the Monroe family-Athena's father, mother, and sisters Annabel, Marta, and Bronwen-would return to their own home to sit before the fire and enjoy roasted chestnuts and wassail. But this Christmas season-the season that had always been bright and shining, the season that had always been to Athena a time to consider others, to give and serve-this Christmas season was stark in opposition! Never had Athena imagined that she would find herself in such dire, desperate circumstances as she did then. As she followed her younger sisters to the next door on the row of lovely houses-houses so similar to the one in which she and her sisters had spent only the very last Christmas season-she hoped that the next kind family to open the door might offer her sisters (and herself as well) a token of goodwill-a warm mug of wassail, a small butter biscuit, anything for their stomachs...

"Sir, I am so sorry," Valynn started to apologize as her intestines began to twist themselves into knots of anxiety. "I had no idea who you were. I thought you...well, that you were here to lock up the building or something. I don't even know what I thought really...but I didn't think you were, you know, you." Valynn found herself uncharacteristically breathless as he smiled down at her and said, "It's fine. Valynn? Is that right?" "Yeah," she managed to answer. "It's good to finally meet you," he said. "And your work is..." He shook his head with admiration. "Your work really is the best I've ever seen." "Th-thank you! Wow, that means more than you can imagine...coming from you." she stammered... Instantly Valynn realized that she'd never really seen a photograph of the well-known photographer and entrepreneur. His work was so popular, as well as artistic, that she'd never paused to wonder what the man behind the camera looked like. But if she had taken a moment to wonder, she never, ever, ever would've imagined he was six foot three-ish, with gorgeous raven black hair, eyes that looked like two sapphires had been placed in them, the firmest, squarest, most perfectly shaped chin and jaw she'd ever seen on a man, and an overall appearance of just plain sigh-inducing hotness!

Evangeline startled a little as a somewhat quiet bark drew her attention from the autumn vista before her and to a medium-sized brown dog that had suddenly appeared at her side. The dog stood panting happily, as if he'd known her all her life, and it quite warmed Evangeline's heart. "Well, aren't you a friendly little fellow?" she giggled as the dog-who she quickly noticed was missing one hind leg-sat at her feet, wagging its tail and panting in joyous anticipation of attention. Again Evangeline giggled. "Aren't you just a handsome man? Yes, you are," she said to the dog as she hunkered down and scratched behind his ears. She laughed when the dog's one hind leg began to beat the train platform as a signal of delight. "Oh, you are a sweetheart, aren't you? I bet you're quite the Romeo in town too, hmmm?" "Well, well, well. If it isn't Evangeline Ipswich," came a man's voice from behind her. "And I see you've already won over Jones." Evangeline felt goose bumps break over her entire body, for she'd instantly recognized the voice, even for the near six years it had been since she'd last heard it.

Mayvee couldn't keep from giggling. The fact that this tall, dark, and handsome Christmas tree shopper was at the lot to buy a Christmas tree for his grandparents was endearing enough on its own. But add to it the fact that he'd paid enough attention to his grandma's Christmas ornaments to know she liked Radko ornaments was just too adorable! When Craig had called her over to help a new customer, Mayvee hadn't expected to see a guy so classically handsome that he looked like he'd stepped straight out of Hollywood's Silver Screen era. But at the same time, he was more rugged-looking than any truly manly-man she'd ever seen.

"Oh! Do link arms with me, Calliope," Blanche whispered, her brown eyes widening with apprehension. She took Calliope's arm, tightly linking it with her own. "The old Mulholland house still gives me the willies every time I walk past it. I hate to think on what might have gone on inside. It's truly terrifyin'!" "Oh, don't be silly, Blanche," Calliope said, feigning calm. "Poor Prudence's lunacy...it's sad. And besides, her fiendish acts were not committed inside the house. There's nothing wrong with it. It's just...it's just a sad, empty building." Calliope Ipswich felt the hypocrite, however, as an uncomfortable shiver of residual dread and unease shuttered down her spine, More than six months had passed since the All Hollow's Eve when the dangerous state of Prudence Mulholland's fracturing mind had been revealed to the townsfolk of Meadowlark Lake. And now, each time Calliope thought of poor Prudence and her family, not only did her heart ache for their family's unhappy lot but a chill of lingering horror rippled through her being. In truth, at times Calliope wondered if it had all been simply a bad dream-a nightmare. But it hadn't. It really had happened-all of it.

Ember Taffee had always lived with her mother and sister in the little cottage by the sea. Her father had once lived there too, but the deep had claimed his life long ago. Still, her existence was a happy one, and Ember found joy, imagination, and respite in the sea and the trinkets it would leave for her on the sand. Each morning Ember would wander the shore searching for treasures left by the tides. Though she cherished each pretty shell she found, her favorite gifts from Neptune were the rare mermaid tears-bits of tinted glass worn smooth and lovely by ocean. To Ember, in all the world there were no jewels lovelier than mermaid tears. Yet one morning, Ember was to discover that Neptune would present her with a gift more rare than any other-something she would value far more than the shells and sea glass she collected. One morning Ember Taffee would find a living, breathing man washed up on the sand-a man who would own claim to her heart as full as Neptune himself owned claim to the seas.

Tabby glanced up to see the sales and marketing analyst for the company, Jagger Brodie, walking-rather sauntering-toward the PR office. Without realizing it, a heavy sigh of something akin to longing escaped Tabby's lungs as she watched Jagger Brodie cross the main office space. He was entirely the most attractive man Tabby had ever known-not that she really knew him well, but she knew him well enough to know he was hot! Tall, dark, and handsome, Jagger Brodie looked as if he'd stepped directly out of some sort of trendy clothing store ad, only wearing a business suit instead of nothing but a pair of jeans. He had the deepest green eyes Tabby had ever seen, a flawlessly chiseled jawline, and ebony hair that alluringly beckoned to be combed with female fingers-Tabby's fingers. "Boom chicka wow wow!" Emmy whispered. "Absolutely!" Tabby breathed as she watched Jagger Brodie saunter past. She envied Jocelyn for a moment, knowing he was most likely on his way to drop something off on Jocelyn's desk or to speak with her. Jocelyn got to talk with Jagger almost every day, whereas Tabby was lucky if he dropped graphics changes off to her once a week. "Ba boom chicka wow wow!" Emmy whispered again. "He's sporting a red tie today. Ooo, the power tie! He must be feeling confident." Tabby smiled, amused and yet simultaneously amazed at Emmy's observation. She'd noticed the red tie too. "There's a big marketing meeting this afternoon," she told Emmy. "I heard he's presenting some hardnosed material." "Then that explains it," Emmy said, smiling. "Mr. Brodie's about to rock the company's world!" "He already rocks mine...every time he walks by," Tabby whispered.

Libby smiled as she watched him drink from the mug of cocoa she'd prepared for him. It was all so exciting-the renovation, the hope of finding something hidden in the house that no one had ever found before, the fact that the handsome contractor would be in and out of her shop and her life for weeks to come. All of a sudden, Libby felt a surge of rejuvenation course through her limbs, for she loved when life brought unexpected pleasures. And seeing the likes of him every day certainly would be a pleasure.

"You're the sweetest girl in Mourning Dove Creek, you know?" Jack mumbled as he paused in kissing Jilly a moment. Jilly smiled. "And you're the handsomest man in Mourning Dove Creek, you know," she flirted in return. Jack smiled. "I do know," he said. Jilly giggled. Jack Taylor was so predictable-and a little conceited. He really did think he was the handsomest man in Mourning Dove-and he was, for the most part. Secretly, however, if Jilly ever allowed herself to be completely honest about it (which she tried to avoid), there was one other man in Mourning Dove who always crossed her mind when the subject of the handsomest man in town arose. Yet there was no lingering on thinking of that man-no sirree! Not for a moment! Not for any reason-ever. And so Jilly just kept telling Jack that he was the handsomest man in Mourning Dove Creek. Besides, it was almost true-being that the other man lived outside of town and not right in town the way Jack did.

However, in an instant-in less than a breath or the bat of an eyelid-the elusive pepper spray hiding somewhere in her purse was all but forgotten. For standing before her-right there before her, not three feet away-was the best-looking, most gorgeous, handsomest man she had ever seen in all her life! "No, seriously," she thought out loud with lingering bewilderment at how perfectly stunning the man standing before her was, wearing a worn pair of Levi's, dusty cowboy boots, and a short-sleeved, plaid-print, snap-up shirt that hung open, revealing a bronzed, perfectly sculpted torso that was simply a mass of muscles. She was so unsettled by the man's appearance that she wasn't sure whether she was whispering aloud to herself or her car. Either way, the man asked, "Beg your pardon, ma'am?" "Oh...oh, nothing," Fairlee said as she began rummaging in her purse again. But the man's presence and appearance had entirely rattled her. As her awe-inspired brain obviously quit sending out instructions to the rest of her body, Fairlee felt her purse slip from her hands-watched in humiliated dismay as its contents tumbled out and scattered over the shoulder of the road."

She was tired-oh so very, very tired. Never-not in all her life-had Evony Elorietta known such thoroughgoing fatigue. As she trudged out of the dark woods still veiled in the shadows of early sunrise, out across the expanse of cold, dew-drenched grass and onto the main road of the village, Evony wondered how she would ever endure a day that was only just beginning. Every bone in her body ached-every muscle throbbed in misery, every inch of her flesh begged for respite. Yet there would be none-at least not until she had finished her stitching-finished the near thirteen hours of sewing she now faced under the ever observant, incessantly critical eye of seamstress Agnes Teche. After such a long, chilled, and sleepless night spent in watching-peering through the darkness and into the rooms of the inn in the woods, until her eyes were too dry to watch any longer-after listening to the shallow, often vile conversations, until her ears hurt from the foul ferment of it-Evony dreaded sewing for Mrs. Teche more than ever before. The woman was a banshee of an employer. And yet, she was grateful Mrs. Teche had had the keen eye to recognize Evony's superior skills with needle and thread-for how else would Evony have managed to feed Mikol and Tressa-to shelter them-to keep them hidden?

Civil War-no one could flee from the nightmare of battle and the countless lives it devoured. Everyone had sacrificed-suffered profound misery and unimaginable loss. Vivianna Bartholomew was no exception. The war had torn her from her home-orphaned her. The merciless war seemed to take everything-even the man she loved. Still, Vivianna yet knew gratitude-for a kind friend had taken her in upon the death of her parents. Thus, she was cared for-even loved. Yet, as General Lee surrendered signaling the war's imminent end-as Vivianna remained with the remnants of the Turner family-her soul clung to the letters written by her lost soldier-to his memory written in her heart. Could a woman ever heal from the loss of such a love? Could a woman's heart forget that it may find another? Vivianna Bartholomew thought not. Still, it is often in the world that miracles occur-that love endures even after hope has been abandoned. Thus, one balmy Alabama morning-as two ragged soldiers wound the road toward the Turner house-Vivianna began to know-to know that miracles do exist-that love is never truly lost.

How far should you go to win a little league baseball game? This time it was Blake that was sucked into the vortex; Blake Curtis, the only player with Down syndrome to ever play in the FABL, was coming to the plate next, brought by design as the weak hitter with two outs and a runner on third. Blake Curtis might possibly be the last batter for his team in the championship game. Not just any ballgame, the championship game at the center of the universe. Ted was doing everything he could to help his team win. Apparently no one had explained to Ted the concept of a mockingbird, of justice, in Blake's universe. The Rays pitcher correctly read the sign. His first pitch of the at-bat hit Johnny on the foot, sending Johnny to first base. He hit Johnny on purpose! Now Blakey was coming to the plate. As Blake strode in his ungainly gait toward the batter's box, time bent. No one intercepted and deciphered the Ray's signals. No one could prove Johnny was hit intentionally, but I knew what Ted had done.

"The spirit of adventure and curiosity that dwelled within her bosom was passionate with excitement! It was obvious there was something wildly interesting inside the gristmill, and Amoretta silently swore to herself she would discover what it was no matter what. She promised herself that nothing short of torture could keep her from seeing what was inside now that her feet were set on the path. "Is it frightening at all?" Calliope asked. "Shh," Blanche kindly scolded. But Winnie whispered, "I suppose it could be considered frightenin'...to some girls." "Is it a ghost?" Calliope asked in a softer whisper. "Oh heavens no!" Sallie giggled. "It's ever so much more wonderful than a ghost!" "Now everyone hush," Prudence whispered as she began to rather creep toward the back outer wall of the mill. "If they hear us...well...we don't want anyone to hear us is all." Slowly Amoretta and Calliope followed the others to a place where a board hung loosely from the rest of the wooden planks of the outer back wall of the gristmill. Blanche put a finger to her lips to remind everyone to be silent. Winnie smiled as she took hold of Amoretta's shoulders. "Just kneel here in the grass," she whispered. Sallie knelt down in the grass and took Calliope's hand to guide her to follow. Amoretta carefully knelt in the cool grass shaded by mill and trees. Once Prudence and Blanche had knelt down with the others, Prudence pointed to the low, loosely hanging board, indicating that Amoretta and Calliope should look through the open space it presented. Amoretta's heart was pounding like the rapids of some raging river! What were they about to witness? Spirits roaming the old mill? Pirates? Outlaws? Her imagination couldn't list possibilities quickly enough. And then, all at once-in the space of a moment and a short gasp-Amoretta Ipswich knew exactly why the young ladies of Meadowlark Lake liked to sneak out to the gristmill and peep through the loose siding board. "Oh my-" Amoretta's exclamation of astonishment was silenced by Winnie's hand quickly covering her mouth.""

With the sea at its side, the beautiful township of Bostchelan was home to many-including the lovely Coquette de Bellamont, her three sisters, and her beloved father. In Bostchelan, Coquette knew happiness and as much contentment as a young woman whose heart had been broken years before could know. Thus, Coquette dwelt in gladness until the day her father returned from his travels with an astonishing tale to tell. Antoine de Bellamont returned from his travels by way of Roanan bearing a tale of such great adventure to hardly be believed. Further, at the center of Antoine's story loomed a man-the dark Lord of Roanan.Known for his cruel nature, heartlessness, and tendency to violence, the Lord of Roanan had accused Antoine de Bellamont of wrongdoing and demanded recompense. Antoine had promised recompense would be paid-with the hand of his youngest daughter in marriage. Thus, Coquette found herself lost, thrust onto a dark journey of her own. This journey would find her carried away to Roanan Manor-delivered into the hands of the dark and mysterious Lord of Roanan who dominated it.