Thursday, March 7, 2024

The Desk from Hoboken by ML Condike ~ A Genealogy Mystery Series

 

A Genealogy Mystery Series


Mystery

Date Published: March 5, 2024

Publisher: Harbor Lane Books, LLC.

 

 

In a bid to heal from the grief of a personal loss, forensic genealogist, RaeJean Hunter, takes on a straightforward case —identify human remains found on a nearby college campus, believed to be the 180-year-old remains of Mary Rogers, a woman who died mysteriously in 1841 and was believed to have been buried in the nearby cemetery that had washed away. It should be simple enough, a project to get her back in the game.

Unfortunately, it quickly becomes anything but. In fact, it becomes downright dangerous.

Someone doesn't want RaeJean to investigate the puzzling death of the woman whose death inspired Edgar Allan Poe's "The Mystery of Marie Roget." As she follows clues through four states and discovers living family members who both help and hinder her search, she quickly realizes that the secrets of Mary Rogers' demise were never meant to be exposed.

What lengths will someone go to keep the truth buried in the past? As threats escalate and RaeJean and her family's lives become endangered, she's forced to follow every lead and use every skill she has to find the answers she needs before it's too late. Using DNA from two famous New England families, historical data, modern genealogical techniques, and a little guidance from a seemingly mystical antique desk, RaeJean takes on the cold case despite being given every reason to abandon it.

After all, what truths have been hidden for 180 years that would be worth bribery, kidnapping, and even murder?

RaeJean Hunter is about to find out.


 

About the Author

ML Condike has published short stories in anthologies that include Strange & Sweet, (2019), Tall Tales and Timeless Stories, (2022), Malice in Dallas, Metroplex Mysteries, Volume 1 (2022), and won first place in the fifteenth annual Writer’s Digest Popular Fiction Awards, Mystery/Crime category (2019), and 2nd Place in the Tennessee Williams Short Story Contest, Key West Art & Historical Society (2022).

She’s an associate member of Mystery Writers of America Florida Chapter, Sisters in Crime National, Sisters in Crime North Dallas (Treasurer), Granbury Writers’ Bloc, and Key West Writers Guild.

As the result of her study of genealogy for her debut novel The Desk from Hoboken, she researched her own family and she discovered she had a direct bloodline to a Patriot. So, most recently she has been inducted into the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR).


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Tuesday, March 5, 2024

The Spinster, the Rebel & the Governor by Charlene Bell Dietz #Historical #Fiction

 


BLURB:

 

Move over Susan B. Anthony. There’s an unsung woman asking for the vote 224 years before you, and murderous rebels and bigoted gentlemen can’t prevent spinster Lady Margaret Brent from wielding her power to defend Maryland settlers from plunder and obliteration.

 

Lady Margaret Brent, compelled to right wrongs, risks her life by illegally educating English women, placing her family at risk. She fights to have a voice, yet her father and brothers exclude her from discussions. Worried the kings’ men may know of her illegal activities, she flees to the New World where she can enjoy religious tolerance and own land, believing she will be allowed a voice. Once in Maryland, she presents cases in provincial court where she’s hired as the first American woman attorney, but there she uncovers perilous actions, prompting her to build a fort to shield those within from being murdered. Can Margaret Brent’s integrity and ingenuity protect Maryland from being destroyed?



Excerpt Three:

 

Their cousin Cecil, the second Lord Baltimore, addressed the men. “I’ve spoken of colonization before. You’ve listened politely, but your loyalties remain with your king and England. I understand, as do mine.”

“Then you’ve no need to speak more of this.” Edward said.

“But I do.” Cecil narrowed his eyes.

 

Richard said, “You forgot something rather important, my friend.”

 

Cecil hesitated.

 

“You must consider the king’s act that restrains the popishly bred from going beyond the seas and the punishments for those who assist.”

 

Giles looked up from the map. “Popish—the hell. King Charles can’t even bring himself to say Catholic.”

 

“Silly. Everyone but those of us who are says ‘popish.’” Margaret now waited for her father to reprimand her, but he said nothing.

 

“A serious point, my friend. Dangerous times, indeed,” said Cecil. “King Charles’s wrath increases and will come down on those who refuse to conform to the Church of England.”

 

Fulke shut his eyes a moment before saying, “You’re a kind gentleman, sir. But if you pursue this, you will certainly lose everything you and your father have acquired. Even your mentioning this to us puts you in jeopardy.”

 

“Every second of every day puts us all in jeopardy. Today and the weeks forward, your family may suffer destruction beyond your imagination.” He took several paces then stopped and studied each of the men. “Please, friends, decide to take my offer. It takes time and special negotiations to arrange a safe passage for you. Remember, a most disagreeable mood has overtaken England concerning passengers who refuse to take the oath of allegiance and acknowledge the king’s supremacy. We need to be clever so as not to be entrapped.”

 

A tap on the door stopped the conversation. Mary glanced at her father, then rose, and opened it.

 

Pursell stood waiting to be acknowledged.

 

“Yes?” said Richard.

 

“Sir, supper will be served within the hour, and also there’s a man at the back door. He’s asked to speak with you.”

 

 “Cecil, good friend, will you join us in a late supper?”

 

“It’s past time for me to be on my way to Ilmington. Please consider what we’ve discussed. I’ll send word where we may engage in a private meeting.”

 

“Pursell,” Richard said, “have Dary see Lord Calvert’s carriage and horse are brought forth.”

 

Lord Calvert strode to the table. He placed with great care what must have been his cherished map on top and slid the stack into a burgundy, embossed leather folio. Gathering his cape and hat and in good cheer, bowed his farewell.

 

Her father squinted at his servant. “Tell me, what brings this fellow to our door at this hour?”

 

“He says his name is John Coates, sir. It seems a young girl saw Lady Margaret talking with his son earlier this afternoon. His son has gone missing, and the sheriff has found a dead man.”

 



AUTHOR Bio and Links:

 

Charlene Bell Dietz lives in the central mountains of New Mexico. She taught kindergarten through high school, served as a school administrator, and an adjunct instructor for the College of Santa Fe. After retirement she traveled the United States providing instruction for school staff and administrators. Her writing includes published articles, children’s stories, short stories, and mystery and historical novels

 

Email: chardietzpen@gmail.com 

Website: https://inkydancestudios.com/

 Char Bell Dietz @CharBellDietz 

Purchase: http://apbooks.net/srg.html

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

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Lemon by Marteeka Karland #mc #suspense @changelingpress

 

Grim Road MC, Book 2

 

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: March 8, 2024

 

 

Lemon: I’m settling in at Grim Road in my role as vice president. The men test me, but it’s all in good fun. I think I enjoy it as much as they do. Then, out of nowhere, things go horribly sideways. I realize how much weaker I am physically than everyone else in the club. That weakness can be a horrible liability. Yeah. Things are going great. Until they aren’t. I may have bitten off more than I can chew…

Rocket: My little sourpuss is a force to be reckoned with. She takes everything dished out to her and gives it back in spades. She’s my VP, but she’s also my old lady. Sometimes, I need to take care of her. More importantly, she has to let me. That fact is never more apparent than when a small team of roughnecks think she’s a woman from another club. They soon find out the error of their ways, but at what cost to Lemon? It’s time for the president of Grim Road MC to take charge. And there’s gonna be hell to pay.


 


Excerpt

 

Lemon

I made it a whole month at Grim Road MC before Falcon threatened to cut off my dick and feed it to me. I think he forgot I was a girl or something because I’m as docile as they come. Yep. Passive even!

OK. I’m lying. I liked busting Falcon’s balls just ‘cause I could. The guys had made me vice president of Grim Road right after Rocket brought me to the compound. Since then, we’ve all been working on our trust issues. And by “we,” I mean the men of Grim. I got that they all had secrets. I got that everyone had things they didn’t want anyone else to know. Even then, you tell your family. Because it was your family who would always have your back. Grim Road was family. Rocket’s family. My family.

Except for Falcon. But he was a work in progress.

“I swear to God, Rocket. If you don’t do something about that little hellion, I may shoot her.”

“Now, Falcon. You know it’s not nice to threaten to shoot your vice president.” I just loved taunting him.

“Next time Rocket calls church, I’m askin’ for your fuckin’ patch.”

I sighed, trying to fight back a smile before I ruined my indifference. “Are you still sore about your bike? ‘Cause it was totally for a good cause. Saved Rocket’s life.”

“You know what the fuck this is about, woman!” Falcon’s hair was wild and sticking out all over the damned place. Looked like he’d been trying to pull his hair out by the roots. Over and over. And over.

“I even had the thing fixed for you. Only took a couple weeks in the body shop, and they assured me it would be good as new. Not a scratch to be seen.”

“You had them paint it pink!” He had his arms out like he was going to lunge and choke me to death the second he got the chance, but I wasn’t worried. First, Falcon was all bark and no bite. At least he was with me. Remember the family part? Second, he knew Rocket would feed him to the sharks in very small pieces if he even looked at me cross-eyed. “Not only did you crash my fuckin’ bike through a door intentionally, you disrespected it even more by painting it pink!” He practically roared the last word. And I was pretty sure there was spit flying from his lips. Which was just gross. Fucker.

“Tell you what. I’ll apologize to your bike. I’ll even volunteer to ride beside you when you take her for a test drive.”

“No way in fuck I’m ridin’ that abomination in public. I’m surprised Knox let the fuckin’ thing in the compound at all.”

Knox chose that moment to enter the common room. “Knox didn’t know what was gonna roll out of that Goddamned trailer or he wouldn’t have let it in,” he commented.

I grinned, looking over my shoulder at Knox and popped my gum like a bimbo. “Hey, Knox. Havin’ a good afternoon?”

“Was until that fuckin’ bike showed up.”

“Awesome! Now. Forget all that. It’s not important.”

“Not important? How the fuck is you having my bike painted pink not fuckin’ important?” Yeah. Falcon was in a bit of a snit. But fuck him. If he wanted to be the best patched member of Grim Road -- after me, of course -- he needed to learn that there was a method to my madness. And there was one very huge wrong in this place that needed to be righted. I figured one month was long enough for everyone involved to start their penance.

“Because it was sacrificed for the greater good. This is one of those times, Falcon.”

“What the everlovin’ Christ are you talking about, Lemon?” Falcon sounded equal parts pissed and resigned.

“I’m talking about Gina.”

That got everyone’s attention. And quit the bitching.

“She good?” Falcon was immediately sober, all his anger at me evaporating in the space of a word.

“She’s learning to be. In case you hadn’t noticed, she’s been leaving her house more and more. Had supper in the common room last night.”

“Yeah. I noticed.” Falcon glanced at Leather, who ducked his head, shaking it slightly as if he wanted to deny what had happened. “A few of us made sure she had what she needed.” Falcon gave a sigh. “I apologized, too. Took several tries before she finally opened her door. Not that I blame her. She say why she ain’t left? Surely she knows she can. Right?”

“She knows,” Rocket leaned back on the couch where we sat. He draped an arm over my shoulder, and I snuggled against him shamelessly. Not only did it feel good to have his arm around me, but it reinforced my claim to any club girls in the building. “This is her home now. I promised to keep her safe, even from men inside my own club.”

“So she trusts you,” Falcon nodded. “I guess that’s something.”

I snorted. “Nah. She don’t trust Rocket.” My man gave me the side eye, but flashed a cocky grin too. Like he was proud of me. But, honestly, what man with me wouldn’t be proud, right? “She trusts me.”

When Falcon looked to Rocket to confirm, Rocket just smirked. “She ain’t lyin’, my friend. Gina believes in Lemon. Believes Lemon can keep her safe. Ain’t gonna lie and say I’m not disappointed a woman under the club’s protection doesn’t fully trust me, but I suppose that’s just one of many reasons I have Lemon in my life.”

“Damned straight, baby.” I leaned in and brushed a kiss over Rocket’s lower lip. “See me, love me, motherfuckers.” That got a laugh from everyone, including Falcon.

“Seems like you’ve got that situation under control.”

“I totally do, Falcon. Which is why I had your Harley painted pink.”

“Not… seeing how the two go together.” Poor Falcon. He was really having a hard time. He seemed to have even forgotten he was supposed to be pissed about the paint job on his bike. This was why I liked keeping him off-balance. It was so much fucking fun to watch. I knew I shouldn’t enjoy myself at Falcon’s expense. This was actually serious stuff. But, honestly, I just couldn’t help myself.

“Because, Gina happens to be fond of the color pink. In fact, she told me that, if she knew how to ride a motorcycle, she’d save everything she could to buy her a pink bike. Now, me personally?” I shook my head. “Don’t see the appeal. However, if Gina likes it, I think we all owe her way the fuck more than one stupid pink motorcycle.” I pointed at Falcon. “You ever want to graduate to officer’s training camp?”

“Officer… what?” Falcon jerked his head back like I’d slapped him. Which, I mean, I won’t lie and say I didn’t want to. Not because he deserved it, but because he thought he deserved it. And I just plain thought beating up on Falcon was fucking fun. But, not in this instance. Much.

“Well, yeah. You don’t think every officer in this club will be around forever, do you? Or even want to stay an officer. There will be a time when your services may be needed in that capacity, though why, I’m not sure. You’re just as big a dumb fuck today as you were the day I met you.” I looked him up and down like I was judging him and finding him lacking. “Gonna take longer than I first thought with this one,” I muttered.

Falcon took a threatening step toward me, but Rocket growled at him. The younger man glanced from me to Rocket before slinking back that fucking threatening step. I smirked.

“One of these days, Lemon,” he growled.

“Yep. One of these days I’ll hand you your balls, and you’ll probably just stand there wondering what the fuck just happened. You know. Like you’re doing right now.”

“Christ.”

“Pretty sure Christ had little to do with it,” Leather muttered. “Satan? Yeah. Possibly.”

I waved them both away. “Satan has a restraining order out on me. He had nothing to do with it either.”

Knox barked out a laugh before moving from the doorway. “Give it up, guys. You’re never gonna get one over on that woman.”

“Whose bright idea was it to make her vice president anyway?” Falcon was back to looking all surly again.

“That’d be me.” Bear, the second biggest man I’d ever seen in my life moved into the room, crossing from the back to the front in his even, confident gate. He didn’t pause but passed by Falcon and smacked him on the back of the head before heading out the front door to the parking lot.

“Ow, Bear! What the fuck?” Falcon looked ready to do murder, but I wanted to laugh. God, I loved it here! There was so much glorious mayhem! And, being vice president, I got to cause as much as I wanted and no one said anything. Occasionally, Rocket would pull me back, but most of the time, he let nature take its course.

“Best get on your bike and go find Gina. Give her a few rides, make her comfortable with everyone here and maybe Lemon will let you paint your bike black again,” advised Bear.

“Finally!” I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Someone who understands.” I looked up at Rocket. “You should make him your vice president. Oh, wait…” I grinned.

Falcon mumbled, but Leather actually nodded his head, his face relaxing a little, and I knew he got it. “We should all take a turn, Falcon. I know it’s your bike and all, but if she likes pink Harleys, then I think we should all take her ridin’. Show her we’ll do anything to earn her trust.”

I tilted my head at Leather. “You just went up several notches in my esteem. Maybe we can put you in charge of sensitivity training.”

“Lemon,” Rocket sighed. “They’re doing what you wanted. Let them work it out.”

“They don’t seem to be able to, though Leather got the right idea. Kudos to you!” I grinned at Leather. “See if you can get the other dumbasses who don’t want to admit they did anything wrong to fall in line. You do, I’ll give you a cookie.”

Surprisingly, Leather grinned. “Yes, madam vice president.” He sketched me a two-finger salute and sauntered outside. Falcon gave a dramatic sigh and followed.

“He’s not a bad guy, you know.” Rocket leaned down to murmur next to my ear.

“Yep. I know. I just like fuckin’ with him. Besides, Gina needs this. And I think the guys do too.”

“They do. I’m glad you recognize that. Of course, I’m pretty sure none of them would have voted you in as VP if they hadn’t known you’d have good instincts with us.”

“How’m I doin’?” I gave him a cheeky grin.

 

About the Author

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts (which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with Marteeka's latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her website. Don't forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you with a potpourri of Teeka's beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.


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The Berman Murders by Doug Kari #TrueCrime

 

Unraveling the Mojave Desert's Most Mysterious Unsolved Crime

 

True Crime

Date Published: March 5th 2024

Publisher: Rowman & Littlefield


 

At daybreak on January 6, 1986, a couple on a camping trip in the Mojave Desert set out for a stroll and never returned. The local sheriff’s office eventually discovered that Barry and Louise Berman had been murdered. As years passed and the double homicide remained unsolved, the Berman case spawned speculation and conjecture. Despite extensive investigation by local and federal authorities, to date there’s never been an arrest made in the case – let alone a conviction. But this doesn’t mean the crime is unsolvable.

After years of investigation, research, and interviews, Kari was able to link the Berman murders to a Cambodian sex crimes and trafficking case involving a former Marine. This is the first book to tell the full story of the Berman murders and uncover the likely suspect.


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Saturday, March 2, 2024

OUT NOW—Not That Kind of Witch, A Brand-new M/F Steamy Contemporary Romance by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #contemporaryromance

 


The latest release from Lucy Felthouse, Not That Kind of Witch is a M/F steamy contemporary romance filled with fun and steam, which also tackles some serious topics. So if you’re looking for a hefty dollop of realism in your romance, then check this one out!

 

Blurb:

Can Willow let go of her fears and begin living her life again, or will her issues get the better of her?

Willow Green is having a hard time of it. Losing her job at the beginning of the pandemic and her elderly grandmother’s ‘clinically vulnerable’ status have resulted in her becoming housebound. While her entrepreneurial, hard-working spirit and the knowledge passed down through generations of green witches in her family mean she has solved her employment problem, her fear of going out, of allowing the dreaded virus into the house she shares with her grandmother, is far from resolved. In fact, it seems worse than ever.

That is, until Joe Lane comes along. The handsome care worker turned delivery driver does Willow a favour, gaining her attention and reluctant admiration. He’s got plenty of baggage of his own, but he also has the skills and temperament to help her with her problem—and he really seems to care.

The question is, will she let him get close enough to try?

 

Available in eBook and paperback formats: https://books2read.com/ntkow

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Excerpt:

Willow Green had just stepped into the kitchen from the back garden when there came an almighty hammering on the front door. Panic and irritation flared in equal measure and she dumped her loaded wicker basket on the huge farmhouse-style table before hurrying through the house towards the source of the noise.

Another hammering. The irritation started to outweigh the panic. Whoever was there was in danger of waking the dead, never mind disturbing mostly-deaf Grandma Annie, whom Willow had left happily knitting in the conservatory with a cup of tea on the table at her side before she’d headed out to the garden.

Willow cast her gaze to the ceiling and grunted with frustration. The whole point of installing the smart doorbell and having it set to only sound an alert on her phone had been to prevent Grandma being tempted to get out of her chair and make her way to the door, putting her at risk of a trip or fall along the way, or placing her in a vulnerable position with a complete stranger. The added bonus being, Willow could be at the furthest reaches of the garden, and her phone would cleverly let her know someone was at the front door.

Had this person not seen the sign? Smack dab in the middle of the door: Please use doorbell. With an arrow pointing to it. Couldn’t they read?

Then she remembered. The last time this happened, which had been a while ago, prior to getting the doorbell camera in the first place, it had been kids at the door. Kids who, once she’d opened up, backed off down the path and began flinging jibes and questions at her from what they considered a safe distance.

Hey, witch.

Been out flying on your broomstick?

What’s bubbling in your cauldron?

You gonna turn us into toads?

Did your ancestors get burned at the stake?

Where’s your black cat?

Her heart sank. She sighed and prepared herself for more of the same. It was unlikely, after all, they’d have come up with something new or more original—despite the astonishing wealth of information the human race had at its fingertips these days. Perhaps they hadn’t bothered to look, to educate themselves, or simply thought it was fun to torment a forty-year-old woman who’d never harm anything or anyone—not even if it was possible to turn people into toads. Though, admittedly, if she were a lesser woman, she’d be sorely tempted to throw out a few fake incantations to scare them, make them think she’d cursed them.

Maybe she should. Yes, it was stooping to their level, but if it stopped them coming back…

No. I’m not going there. She briefly considered not answering the door at all. She could access the doorbell speaker and tell them to clear off from the safety and comfort of her hallway, but she didn’t want them to think she was weak, or frightened. That’d just enhance the thrill for them, encourage them to harass her more often. Not happening. Not on my watch. I don’t have time for that kind of idiocy.

She shook her head, unlocked the door and yanked it open, her annoyance already spilling forth. Generally speaking, she was an incredibly placid person, and slow to anger. But she didn’t want these kids to think this house was an easy target. She’d kept the previous incident from Grandma, not wanting to worry her, and had hoped the addition of the doorbell camera might deter them from returning. “Have you horrible toerags seriously got nothing better to do? You should be ashamed of yourselves, pestering people like this! I’ve a mind to contact your parents—”

She stopped dead as the door swung wide enough to provide a view of who was on the other side of it. Not kids—horrible or otherwise—but a man. With a large cardboard box at his feet, bearing a familiar logo. Uh-oh.

A glance past him to the gravel lane leading to her house confirmed her fears. A white Transit van sat there.

She cringed and forced her gaze back to the man. A navy-blue T-shirt bearing the delivery company’s logo was stretched over his muscular biceps and chunky abdomen—a dad bod, she supposed it’d be classed as, though she didn’t really agree with the terminology—as well as a pair of tan shorts and some beat-up looking trainers. He was tall, well over six feet, and she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry. The last time someone hammered on my door like that, it was a bunch of kids shouting abuse. I thought you were them. If you’d just rung the doorbell, like the sign…”

The frown that appeared on the man’s face as she spoke made her shift her attention to her right, a sinking feeling taking over. Where there should have been a sign attached to the centre of the door, were now only six evenly-spaced blobs of Blu-Tak.

Heat flared into her cheeks, and she let out a groan and closed her eyes momentarily. “Well, there was a sign. It’s obviously fallen off. I had no idea. Or I wouldn’t have… never mind. I’m really sorry. And now I’m waffling.” She gave a pained smile, her face threatening to burst into flames. “Anyway. You have a parcel for me?” Her voice went so high at the end she was surprised she hadn’t summoned the neighbourhood dogs.

To his credit, the man simply shrugged. “No worries. I’ve been called worse. You’re…” he consulted the screen of the smartphone in his hand, “Willow Green?”

Given the circumstances, she let the slight waver of amusement in his voice at her name slide. “Yes,” she replied resignedly. “That’s me.”

“Great. It’s a tracked parcel, so I need to take a photo to prove I’ve delivered it…”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

He tapped his phone screen a few times, then lifted the device and stepped back, presumably ensuring he got the right angle so his image would contain both the parcel and her feet inside the open doorway. Pressed the button. “Got it. Thanks. Do you want me to bring it in for you? It’s pretty heavy.” He pocketed the phone.

“No,” she said quickly, recoiling as he approached and made to pick up the box. “I mean, no thank you. I’m fine. I need to find the sign before I go indoors, anyway. Don’t want to shout at any more undeserving delivery drivers, do I?” The chuckle she let out sounded forced, even to her own ears.

“Guess not.” He backed off and clasped his chin, then stroked his thick beard, more grey than black—the colour of his thick, plentiful hair, which had only a dusting of grey at the temples. He glanced at the doorbell and wrinkled his nose. “Should’ve spotted that, really. Especially when no one answered after I knocked a few times. The Blu-Tak should have provided a clue that maybe there was a sign there, and I could have put two and two together. I’m sorry. Such an idiot. Won’t make that mistake again though, will I?” Despite the weakness of his smile, it transformed his face enough that Willow’s stomach flipped. Goodness, he’s handsome.

 

Available in eBook and paperback formats: https://books2read.com/ntkow

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Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight, Curve Appeal, and The Heiress’s Harem and The Dreadnoughts series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 175 publications to her name. Find out more about her and her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/linktree 

 



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