Tag Archives: Seasonal

two ghosts…what could possibly go wrong? ‘The Ghost of Her Ex’ #AlettaThorne #Erotic #Paranormal #Romance @evernightpub

Hey folks! Today I’m happy to introduce you to Aletta Thorne and her story The Ghost of Her Ex!

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Aletta Thorne believes in ghosts. In her “normal” life, she is a choral singer, a poet, a sometimes DJ, and a writer about things non-supernatural. But she’s happiest in front of a glowing screen, giving voice to whoever it is that got her two cats all riled up at three AM. Yes, her house is the oldest one on her street. And of course, it’s quite seriously haunted (even scared the ghost investigator who came to check it out). Aletta is also the author of The Chef and the Ghost of Bartholomew Addison Jenkins.

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Blog/Website ## Amazon Author Page ## Facebook ## Facebook Page

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Just because she’s sixty-three, cynical, and a church musician, Emily Rauch is hardly done with life—or love. Now that she’s traded in her old barn of a place for a tiny house in the hills, Emily’s ready for a new start. Throw in one enormous pipe organ, two ghosts, a pot dealer named Santa Claus, the reappearance of Emily’s bad-boy college squeeze, and a blizzard…what could possibly go wrong?

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…You are a woman of … appetites, Em. You like to eat and drink and…”

“…and fuck.” Emily shocked herself by saying that. Dropping an f-bomb when you were just randomly turning the air blue was one thing. But this was no fuckity-fuck-fuck. This meant actually doing the deed…

But she hadn’t shocked Al. “Indeed. And fuck.” He nodded, his lips tight. “I left you in the lurch.”

Emily sighed. “Yup. Yup. Guess you did. But we talked that stuff to death two decades ago. Shit, Al! It’s just … just … I don’t know what it is. Alexa, play Widor organ music.”

“I don’t know any songs by Widor,” said Alexa.

“Alexa, argh!” Emily made neck-choking gestures toward the black cylinder on her counter.

“Bee-boop,” said Alexa. Her illuminated blue ring danced and turned itself off.

“I know our lovely and talented daughter meant well with that thing,” said Al. “But The Echo sucks at classical music unless you get lucky. Works better just to ask for radio stations.”

“You’re too good at that. Do you haunt many Echo owners?”

“Just Gordon.” Al laughed ruefully. “That young fella of his bought an Alexa for him. Alexa, play WQXR.”

“Playing WQXR.” Alexa provided them with the middle of Respighi’s “Ancient Airs and Dances.”

“Not bad,” said Emily. “No static. It barely comes in up here on the FM. And they’re a public station now, so no more pre-need funeral ads, I guess. God, funerals!

“Yeah. That. I gather you had a spectacularly bad day…”

“Do you get special ghost email about that or something? Ghost Facebook?”

Al’s laugh, again, was rueful. “Hard to explain. It doesn’t work like that. I never really thought of you as a femme fatale, Em.”

I wasn’t the one who fatale-ed him! I honestly didn’t intend to have anything else to do with him! Or not much else, anyway. Look, I was being a sex-positive, independent woman caring for her own needs. He went home to his girlfriend, tried for a little more of the old slap and tickle … and crumped.”

“And now you’re playing his funeral. And he came to the organ loft today to bother you.”

Emily began to laugh, too—a bit too hard. There was nothing else left to do. “Oh, fuckity fuck!”

“What?”

Then there were tears in her eyes again. She laughed until she ran out of air. “I never even unblocked him on my phone. I never even friended him on … Facebook! It was supposed to be a nothing. A one-off. A…”

“I sort of remember Brad. He was at the reception when you played in Brooklyn, right? Was he a good organist?”

Emily wiped her eyes. “He was terrific. But loud and flashy—at least when we were kids. A show-off. I don’t think I’ve actually listened to him play since before I met you. He loved boat races as much as he loved music. Not to mention chasing women. I used to regard that as a challenge when I was in school: break the womanizing horn-dog’s heart and win the Battle of the Sexes. Ah, Al, we’re so nuts when we’re young.”

Al took Emily’s hands. “‘Nuts’ is harsh. I think we’re young when we’re young. You know?”

“I do know.”

“Em, I’ll tell you this… Brad’s going to be … around. Womanizer or no, he probably liked you a lot more than you thought. I get that. Plus, he doesn’t know he’s dead, right?”

“He seems a bit unclear about that. He’s got to know I’m practicing for his funeral. You never seemed unsure about being…”

“Being dead. I had lots of warning. I was sick for a long time.”

Emily nodded. “That sucked. You sure didn’t deserve it.”

Al pecked her cheek with his usual hurried and dry kiss. “No one deserves it. Your friend clearly has unfinished business,” he said. And then he disappeared.

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Evernight Publishing ## Amazon: US

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Aletta Thorne, thank you for stopping by today!

Love & blessings to all! ❤
Jacey

a one-nighter with a ghost? #Paranormal #Romance #AlettaThorne @evernightpub

Hey folks! Today I’m happy to introduce you to Aletta Thorne and her story The Chef and the Ghost of Bartholomew Addison Jenkins!

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Aletta Thorne believes in ghosts. In her “normal” life, she is a choral singer, a poet, a sometimes DJ, and a writer about things non-supernatural. But she’s happiest in front of a glowing screen, giving voice to whoever it is that got her two cats all riled up at three AM. Yes, her house is the oldest one on her street. And of course, it’s quite seriously haunted (even scared the ghost investigator who came to check it out).

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Facebook

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Halloween, 1982. MTV is new, poodle perms are the rage, and life just might be getting better for Alma Kobel. Her ugly divorce is final at last. Her new job as chef at Bright Day School’s gorgeous old estate is actually fun. But the place is haunted—and so is Alma’s apartment.

Bartholomew Addison Jenkins’ ghost has been invisibly watching Alma for months. When he materializes one night, Alma discovers Bart—as he likes to be called—has talents she couldn’t have imagined … and a horrifying past. Can you have a one-nighter with a ghost? And what happens if you decide one night is all you want—and end up ghosting him? Some spirits don’t like taking “no” for an answer.

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“You’ll turn over the record. Oh, because you…”

“I do like to keep up. Who poured you wine from the … refrigerator? Although, I don’t understand why people of your age prefer it so icy.”

Alma followed Bart into the living room, still wondering why things didn’t seem odder than they were. She remembered the Casper the Friendly Ghost cartoons she’d seen as a little girl. This ghost was acting—well, perhaps a bit more flirty than friendly. He only glowed a bit as they walked through the dim hallway that connected her rooms. You can hardly even tell he’s translucent. What had he seen of her, though? She was glad her frustrating night with Sid had been at his place.

As Bart bent over the turntable and flipped the record, the reading lamp by her couch highlighted the silver buttons of his coat. She curled up on the couch and put her wine glass on the glass-covered orange crate she’d turned into a coffee table.

Bart sat beside her, suspiciously close. He put an arm over the back of the couch, and Alma shook her head again. That’s the old sneaky-arm trick—like a high school kid. It’s kind of cute. She pulled her legs up under herself, and they quietly listened to the music.

“You’re right,” she said after a few minutes. “‘Fountains’ is really good, too. I almost never listen to that side.”

Bart made a quiet harrumphing noise.

Do ghosts clear their throats? Apparently so.

“Dear lady,” he said. “Although I do try not to snoop, as you would say, I have indeed observed your solitude. Let me assure you, your life will soon be happier.” He slid even closer to her.

Okay. Now the ghost is absolutely coming on to me. This is really happening. Oh, hell—why not? He’s not bad—for a dead guy.

“Um, Bart?” she said. His eyes really were a startling color—almost bronze… “You can’t actually be…”

Bart set his fingertips on her cheeks, looked into her eyes, and sighed. Then he smiled. “You think this is a ridiculous situation. It’s not ridiculous,” he said. “Not at all. Allow me to demonstrate … with your permission, m’lady.”

Somehow, that was funny, and Alma giggled. “Granted.”

Bart’s hands were impossibly soft and gentle—and his touch had some of the same fire-and-ice buzz that she’d felt before in the kitchen when he’d tried to get her attention. He guided her lips to his, and gave her what would have been a tiny peck—from anyone else. It shot a bolt of fire straight through her.

Oh,” she said. It took a minute to get her breath.

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Evernight Publishing ## Amazon ## BookStrand

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Aletta Thorne, thank you for stopping by today!

Love & blessings to all! ❤
Jacey

a handsome stranger saves her #erotic #ROTG @NeilaRocks @evernightpub

Thank you for having me on your blog today! I am very excited to introduce your readers to the Price family. A Hero Inside is the first novella in my Love With A Price series. I’ve been spending a lot of time with the Price family, and I hope you all will love them as much as I do. I’m thrilled to tell you that the next two novellas in the Price series are already contracted and will be released over the next couple of months. Until then, enjoy the love story of Ethan and Tori…

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A Hero Inside (Love With A Price, Book 1)

By: N.J. Young
Genre: Romance on the Go, Contemporary, Erotic Romance, Seasonal/Holiday
Release Date: December 23, 2015
Publisher: Evernight Publishing

Blurb

After bouncing around foster care homes as a kid, Tori Bennett abandoned her dream of having a family long ago. Instead, she is focused on saving money to finish her nursing degree, and seems content to adopt her best friend Becca’s family as her own.

On the eve of Thanksgiving, a handsome stranger saves Tori from a would-be robber. Tori can’t get this hero out of her head. Once she finds out he’s her best friend’s brother, life gets complicated.

Ethan Price has been running for years. After the death of his father, he shut down emotionally, deciding it’s easier to be alone than to deal with the pain of loving – and losing – someone.

Sparks ignite between Ethan and a gorgeous bartender after he saves her from a gunman. Once he finds out she’s the best friend of his little sister, Ethan has to decide if it’s worth the risk to stop running away and take a chance on love.

 

Purchase Links

Amazon | Evernight Publishing | All Romance eBooks | BookStrand

 

About N.J. Young

NJ Young Square Crop Watermark on bottom SMN.J. Young has been a writer since she was old enough to hold a pencil. After realizing the trials of corporate America weren’t for her, she decided to leave that world behind and pursue her true dream of writing.

Instead of spending her days writing sexy texts to her husband and engaging in “that’s what she said” jokes, she took that energy and poured it into her books. Sprinkle in a couple of hot guys, a little suspense, and a few sexual fantasies, and her first book was born. She now spends her days drinking coffee at her computer, while diving into the adventures of the imaginary friends who live in her novels.

N.J. Young was born and raised in the Midwest, and currently resides in the Kansas City area with her husband, two children, and a menagerie of animals. When she’s not writing, she enjoys horror movies, live music, cooking, and telling her kids why they can’t read mommy’s books.

 

Stalk N.J. Young on the Web

Facebook | Twitter | Website/Blog | Goodreads

A Hero Inside Excerpt

AHeroInside-evernightpublishing-JayAheer2015-BOOKSTAND

Ethan watched as she took a deep breath and then looked at him. He wished she didn’t look at him like he was a hungry wolf waiting to devour her. But then, that was a fairly accurate comparison, wasn’t it? He did want to devour her. Every inch of her. Oh, he’d bet she tasted sweeter than any pie.

“So, cinnamon,” she said in a rush. “I know where Sally keeps her spices in the pantry.”

“Tori.” He tasted her name on his lips, but she ignored him, rushing by him and opening the door to the huge walk-in pantry. She flipped the light on and walked to the back of the room. Well, if this was the only chance he had to talk to her alone…

“What are you doing?” She whirled around as he shut the door behind him and leaned against it.

“I want to talk to you.” He wanted more than that, but right now, he would settle for talking.

“About what?” She crossed her arms over her chest. Dammit, she was putting up her shield again, and he wouldn’t let her. He’d seen the way she looked at him through dinner. He knew he wasn’t making it up in his head. It took him only a split second to make a decision.

“About this.” In two steps, he crossed to her and wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her to him so their lower halves were pressed together. As hard as he was when he was near her, there was no doubt in his mind that she could feel the rigid line of his erection pressed against her.

He knew he was right when her wide green eyes darkened. “Ethan.” Her hands came up to his chest and shoved at him. “What are you doing? Your mother is in the next room.”

Oh, he’d be damned if she was going to shove him away. Clasping her wrists in his strong hands, he backed her up against the wall and pinned her arms above her head.

“I want you, Tori,” he breathed. “If you don’t want me, then tell me now.”

Her breath had quickened, and Ethan could feel the pounding of her heart. “I…” She swiped that tongue over her lips and he had to bite back a groan. “I … uh…” She was staring at his mouth. “What was the question?”

Tightening his grip on her wrists, he knew he couldn’t resist her for one more second. Leaning in, he crushed his mouth to hers, and reveled in the moan that escaped her into his mouth. As her lips parted in an unspoken invitation, his tongue surged, sliding against hers. That torturous tongue of hers danced and played with his.

His natural dominance took over as she softened under him. God, he wanted her. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her in this instant. He angled his head this way and that, taking her mouth over and over again. When he released her wrists, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, lightly tugging. The soft moans she made in the back of her throat flowed into him in an offering.