Saturday, November 30, 2019

#Caitlin'sDuke #HistoricalRomance


Title: Caitlin’s Duke
Author: Christine Young
Genre: Historical Romance/Regency
Book Heat Level: 4

Buy at:AmazonBarnes and Noble, Apple, Kobo, Google Play


TAGLINE

Roc Leighton knows the first time he watches Caitlin O'Shea play the fiddle and dance around the pub she will be his.


BLURB: Caitlin's Duke

She played a fiddle in an Irish pub....

Caitlin O'Shea Is the most beautiful woman Roc Leighton has ever seen. With her blue violet eyes and long black hair she captivates him. In turn he mesmerizes Caitlin. Caught in the power of his gaze as he watches her, she is wise enough to know he desires her but will never give his heart to her. Caitlin has vowed to never be any man's mistress.

And fell in love with an English Lord...

Roc knows the first time he watches her play the fiddle and dance around the pub, she will be his next mistress. Despite her protest, he will find a way to convince her that her place is with him. While Caitlin's determination to keep her vows, fate takes a cruel turn and she is forced to seek refuge with Roc.


EXCERPT: Caitlin's Duke

“You say things that confuse me,” she told him as she stepped over a large rock, lifting her skirts high enough he could see more than just her ankles.
He recalled a short glimpse of her legs earlier today when the dog knocked her over, but he’d uncharacteristically averted his gaze.
“If you were wise to the world, they wouldn’t confuse you, but I like you just the way you are.”
They stepped onto the sand, water whirling only a few feet away. She sat down on a rock, taking her shoes and stockings off. With her skirts lifted, she waded far enough for the water to cover her ankles and splash against her knees.
“Oooo, It’s cold.” Cat ran backwards away from the water then followed the tide out a ways. “You want to join me? Or are you too much of a coward to get your feet wet?”
The simple query gave him reason to pause. He was sure his grin spread from ear to ear. He couldn’t remember the last time he played in the waves. It seemed his life over the last ten years had been a bit stoic even though he’d faced life-threatening danger more than once. “Like watching you better.”
“Chicken,” she said, kicking up the water so the spray filled the air around her. “You will get used to the cold.” She turned toward him.
“Don’t want to get used to numb feet or wet pants. If you don’t watch yourself, you’re going to get all wet.” But he definitely didn’t believe he’d ever get used to seeing her ankles. They were so slim, tiny and her feet were narrow as were the muscles of her legs. A ragged breath caught in his throat as he imagined seeing other parts of her. Bloody hell, he had to stop thinking this way. When he was with her and even when he was not, it seemed his body was in a constant state of arousal.
A large wave caught her by surprise, reaching past her knees. She turned to run but not before her dress was soaked nearly to her waist. He stepped into the receding water, heedless of his perfectly shined Hessians, drawing her into his arms and striding to dry ground.
She was laughing and the sound was contagious. He sat on a large boulder, holding her close, their laughter echoing in the small area.
“You’re all wet?” He brushed her hair away from her face, taking the moment for a quick kiss.
“And your boots are most likely ruined.” She laughed, touching his lips with a fingertip. “Do you care?”
“My boots are meant to protect my feet, and they did the job perfectly. But your dress...” He paused before committing to his next words. “You’re going to have to take it off and let it dry or you most assuredly will catch cold. See, you’re already shivering. I can give you my jacket.”
“I can’t take off all the layers, so I might as well leave the dress on,” she told him, pushing slightly away as if she meant to see into his heart and soul.
If she did, she might find him lacking in too many ways to count. “I’ve an extra shirt and a pair of buckskins in the carriage. You can put those on while your dress and petticoats dry. I don’t want to take you home before the sun slips below the ocean. I won’t let a soaking wee dress ruin the day I planned for us.”
“They will be huge on me. How will I keep the pants up?” She set her hands on his chest.
“I’m sure I’ve got something that can be used as a belt. Otherwise, you’ll have to wear just the shirt and that won’t keep you warm either. As I said, I’d rather not end this outing before we’ve watched the sunset,” he repeated. Truly, there were too few alternatives here. He tugged on the leather thong holding his hair back.
“I’m really not cold.”
“No, of course you’re not. That’s why your lips are blue and you’re shivering so hard the quaking would wake the dead. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it’s an earthquake upon us.” He wrapped the leather around her waist. “Plenty to spare so you can keep the pants from falling down.”
“I am a bit cold,” she tried to stand but he swept her into his arms and strode up the path to the carriage.
“I can walk.”
“But I adore holding you.”


“Cat. Cat! Wake up. I want to show you something. I know it’s late but you’ve just got to see this. Cat.” Roc called, banging on her door eager to show her the shooting stars. He’d never seen so many sailing through the sky at one time. He looked in the window to see if he woke her.
“Roc?” She sat up, brushing her hair from her eyes. Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she stumbled sleepily from the bed to the door. “You’re back. Is that you?”
“Only an hour ago.” He stepped inside the now open door. “Put your coat on and come. Never mind.” Grabbing a quilt off the bed, he wrapped it around her. “You always sleep in wool socks?” he laughed, wondering if she would do the same when she slept in his bed.
“When it’s cold, they keep my feet warm.” She sounded miffed and defensive to him, but he didn’t care. He was so happy to see her and have all his business deals wrapped up. He was going home in the morning and he hoped she’d go with him, but even if she didn’t, he’d come back as soon as he shared all the details of his mission with his boss.
“I’d like to keep your feet warm,” he blurted while he swept her into his arms and made his way down a path to a rock wall overlooking a field. “I saw these on my way home and knew you had to see this dazzling light show.”
Beast woke up and danced around the couple barking and seeming to cry out, Look I’m here. Pet me. Get me out of here.
For a moment he set her aside to pick up the dog. “You best behave or I won’t take you on another outing with your mistress,” he told Beast, roughing his ears.
“What are you talking about?” She snuggled against him and he guessed it was for warmth more than anything. The night was a cold one but clear which made this meteor shower more impressive.
Beast followed them, prancing around Roc’s feet then racing ahead only to return a few minutes later. He was so full of energy, Roc realized he must have spent most of his time in the pen.
Gently, he set his precious cargo on the stone fence before sitting down beside her. He pulled her close, making sure the blanket covered her. “Look in the sky and make a wish.” He pointed heavenward.
“Why?” She sounded petulant as well as sleepy. She rubbed her eyes, staring into the night sky.
“It’s a meteor shower. Most people call them shooting stars, but they aren’t stars at all.” He watched in awe as the show continued.
Beast stood on his hind legs, begging to be picked up but there was no room on his lap. “Lie down, Beast,” he told the dog who didn’t obey.
“What are they?” she asked, finally seeming interested in his excitement over rocks falling towards the earth.
Beast finally settled at his feet, his head resting on one foot. The dog would be loyal to her and possibly to both of them. He could only pray the animal wouldn’t have to prove his loyalty.
“They are,” he paused, thinking about Cat and all she meant to him, “what we call meteors, but they are really rocks falling through the earth’s atmosphere. The heat so far above us sets them on fire. Now make a wish and it’s sure to come true.”
She looked for seconds upon seconds and he didn’t know what she was thinking, perhaps she was wishing to come with him. Well, all she had to do was say the words and he’d have her on his ship in the morning, and they’d say goodbye to Portrush together.
“Did you make a wish?” she asked, finally smiling when she looked at him. “I did too.”
“Good, are you warm enough?” He tucked her in closer to his side. “Tell me what you wished.”
“My nose is cold.” She laughed, what about yours? “Nope,” she said when she touched his. “Can’t tell a person your wish or it won’t come true.”
Holding her close and watching the stars shoot from the sky was the best thing, he’d done in a long time. Their visit to the beach five days ago had been fabulous, but sharing something that he was excited about with her was heaven in disguise. He needed to savor this moment with her, keeping it tucked inside his mind.
“Can’t say I’m sorry I woke you but...” He didn’t want to tell her he was leaving with the morning tide. Didn’t think he stood one chance in hell of talking her into leaving with him, but he did need to know if anything happened during the week he’d been gone.
“I’m glad you woke me up. I was dreaming of you.” She picked up his hand in hers.
Surprised by the simple gesture, he thought perhaps his cause was better today than when he left. He spread his fingers wide, measuring her hand with his. So tiny, exquisitely delicate and fragile, she didn’t think of those as her characteristics, and she was too bricky for his taste. She’d take on the world alone with her fearlessness. Then he let his fingers entwine with hers, bringing their hands to his lips and kissing the back of hers.
“Does that mean you might change your mind about leaving with me?” He knew it was too soon to ask her, but he supposed the answer would be the same now as it would be an hour from now. They really only had a short time to figure this out.
“Honestly, I want to be with you but I can’t become your mistress. The position is not one I would...I have to feel joy and happy about my choices. I would always regret that decision. I will miss you though.” She leaned into him, her hands wrapping around him.
His heart fell for a few seconds. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear but what he expected. “I’m leaving this morning on the tide, only a few hours from now. If you change your mind...” He could always hope. After all, that was his wish, that she come with him.
Pushing away for a moment, he looked into her blue-violet eyes. She had the most unique and beautiful eyes, but when she leaned into him again, he felt the silent sobs of pain. “I understand. I’ll never see you again. I suppose it always had to be this way.”
“I will come back.” That was a promise he intended to keep. After debriefing he would have little to nothing to do with his life. His shipping company as well as the farms they rented pretty much ran themselves. The men his mother had hired were among the most competent in all of England. He’d told Cat he wanted peace and quiet, but what he craved was her beside him, sharing his life.
“But not to stay, just to try to convince me of something I just can’t bring myself to do.” She brushed away the new tears that had fallen. “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”
As if Beast agreed with her, he stood and let out a low growl as if he sensed something was wrong.
“If you turn down this offer, you might find yourself wed to Blair. Ida told me some things before I left. I don’t like what he has planned for you. It just doesn’t bode well,” he said, wishing he didn’t have to resort to bad news to convince her what was best for her.
“I won’t marry that man, ever,” she said softly, so softly he had to bend closer to hear the words. “He’s detestable and I know he’d hit me every time he got drunk, which is every night.”
“If you stay here, you might not have a choice, He’s a powerful man who is more than willing to wield that authority to get what he wants,” he warned, wishing there was some other way to tell her that her options were limited.
“I think we’ve had this conversation before.” She stood, “Come, Beast, we’re going home,” but it seemed she realized she wore only socks and no shoes and she sat back down.
Looking forlorn and a bit lost, she looked to him, more tears filling her eyes. She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. He wanted to kick himself for hurting her, but short of marrying her, there was nothing he could do.
When he first looked at her feet and realized her attempt to leave failed, he almost laughed at her expression but held it back, telling himself not to add insulting her to her misery. “I’ll be pleased to carry you. That way I can hold you closer to me and your socks won’t get wet.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to carry you. Come, Beast.”
Beast became more alert and looked at them when he heard his name and started homeward, leading the way as if he was the king and they were his ever-faithful followers. Once inside, Roc closed the door with his foot and let her slide to the ground against his body.
Beast growled at the partitioned room, but Roc ignored him, thinking the animal a little bit ornery for the late night. Still holding Cat, he opened the pen for Beast. “Go on, get inside and go back to sleep. This adventure is over.” Beast trotted into the pen then lay down, closing his eyes.
Then turning his attention back to the woman in his arms, “Mon petite chatte,” he murmured against her ear. In his arms she completed him, felt like heaven to his heart and soul.
Her quilt slowly slipped off her shoulders. His hands rested on her perfectly formed buttocks, unable to stop himself and needing to feel more of her than he’d allowed himself before, he wound the cloth of her nightdress in his hands until he could touch her, feel her silken flesh the way he’d wanted to for so many weeks now he couldn’t remember.


Website URL: http://christineyoungromancewriter.com/

Blog URL:  http://christineyoung-romancewriter.blogspot.com/

Facebook page:  https://www.facebook.com/Christine-Young-350132315013316/

Twitter handle: https://twitter.com/achristay

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/christine-young-5a991c21-1f11-47a0-ada5-6c2e6b689cbe


LINKS






Short Blurb:

She played a fiddle in an Irish Pub and fell in love with an English Lord. Caitlin O'Shea is wise enough to know Roc Leighton desires her but will never give his heart to her. Caitlin has vowed to never be any man's mistress, but fate takes a cruel turn and she is forced to seek refuge with Roc.

Friday, November 29, 2019

#AuntMaddie'sDoggoneMisadventures #Humor


Title: Aunt Maddie's Doggone Misadventures Boxed Set
Author: Genie Gabriel
ISBN: 978-1-62420-368-8
Genre: Fantasy, Anthology
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1



TAGLINE

Doggone fun! Come to Aunt Maddie's castle, where exploding inventions,
hilarious misadventures and sweet romance are part of everyday life for
a cast of zany characters and the dogs who talk to them!


BLURB: Aunt Maddie's Doggone Misadventures 

Doggone fun! Come to Aunt Maddie's castle, where exploding inventions,
hilarious misadventures and sweet romance are part of everyday life for
a cast of zany characters and the dogs who talk to them!

1 – Chasing Rainbows
An artistically eccentric aunt, an uncle who invents a mechanical dog, a
mother who wears poodle skirts, and a brother who wears pearls provide a
hilarious backdrop for the courtship of a young woman who yearns for a
"normal" family.

2 – St. Batzy & the Time Machine
An eccentric inventor is determined to reclaim his wayward time machine
from the neighbor girl's dog and save his beloved wife from her latest
misadventure. If only they can travel safely past the black hole...

3 – No More Poodle Skirts
After drifting for years in the innocent age of the 1950s, a woman
struggles to join today's world by finding a career and a new love, with
some help from her zany family and a talking dog.



EXCERPT: Aunt Maddiei's Doggone Misadventures

Ka-boom! The blast shattered the settling peace of dusk as Marissa Madison pulled into the circular drive. Rissa threw open the car door and sprinted toward the gray stone house.
“Please, no blood this time,” she whispered as her feet hit the rough-hewn steps leading up to the broad double doors.
A bespectacled man stepped through the doorway amid a confetti shower of envelopes and leaflets. His silvery hair stood in startled spikes around a balding pate as if it too had been a victim of the explosion.
“Too much torque in the mail conveyor,” he muttered with a frown.
“Please turn it off, Uncle Horace!”
“Right.” The old man disappeared back into the house. Within moments, the clanking stopped and silence fell over the rolling hills once again.
Just another normal day,Rissa thought, as she surveyed the day’s mail scattered in gay abandon across the landscape.
The sullen gray sky rumbled ominously and tossed a few raindrops against her face. Rissa grabbed a check out of the privet hedge, an overdue bill off the bird bath, a shampoo sample from the branches of the azaleas, and a plain brown envelope from the lawn.
I hope I didn’t miss anything important.Rissa scanned the inner courtyard once more. Lightening crackled across the sky, hurrying her steps back to the navy blue sedan to grab her briefcase and a bag of groceries. She closed the heavy wooden door behind her as a gust of wind pushed fat, sloppy raindrops against the mullioned windows.
Maybe Uncle Horace should invent a mail dryer instead of a mail conveyer.Rissa dropped the soggy mail on a cherry wood table as she stepped out of her shoes. With the bag of groceries balanced on one hip, she padded barefoot toward the kitchen. A tall figure in a sweeping lavender print dress stood at the sink.
“I couldn’t tell if the grocery list said chips or cheese, so I got both.” As Rissa moved closer, the person she thought was her aunt turned toward her. She shrieked and dropped the groceries. “Ryan!”
Rissa’s twin brother grinned at her from beneath the purple feathers of one of her aunt’s collection of hats.
“Do I want to know what’s going on?” Rissa asked warily.
“I’m going to a Valentine’s party tonight,” Ryan replied.
“Dressed as Aunt Madelaine?” Rissa retrieved a head of lettuce and a package of marshmallow pinwheel cookies from the marbled tiles.
“It’s a great way to pick up women.” Ryan bent down and caught an escaping tomato. “You’d be amazed at what they tell dear Aunt Mads.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“Sure. Madelaine thinks it’s a hoot.”
“Where is Aunt Maddie?” Rissa pushed aside a stack of unwashed dishes to set the tattered grocery bag on the counter.
Ryan shrugged. “She’s been gone all day. By the way, I left your food in the microwave since I knew you’d be late.”
Rissa opened the microwave and poked at the still-warm entree.
“It’s beef tips over rice—one of your favorites.”
“Thanks.” Rissa glanced over her shoulder. With the hat pulled low across his face, Ryan bore an uncanny resemblance to their tall, raw-boned aunt. She couldn’t resist one jibe. “You’ll make someone a wonderful wife some day.”
Ryan fisted a hand on one hip and struck a pose until Rissa chuckled.
“Come with me,” Ryan urged. “When was the last time you went out?”
“Thanks, but I’m tired.”
“You work too hard.”
The truth of her brother’s statement stirred a wistfulness in Rissa, which she quickly pushed away.
“I think Madelaine might have a special surprise planned for tonight.” Ryan grinned wickedly.
“What are you scheming now?” Rissa frowned at her brother.
“Guess you’ll have to come with me to find out.”
“Oh, no. I’m not falling for that trick. I’m going to eat this gourmet dinner you so thoughtfully prepared and go to bed.”
Ryan shrugged, and Madelaine’s lavender feather boa slid off his shoulder. “Well, you can read about it in the morning paper anyway.”
Rissa’s fingers gripped the plate holding her dinner. Ryan was baiting her. That was all. He wouldn’t really do anything too foolish.
The muffled thud of the front door echoed her brother’s departure.
He’ll go to the Pink Flamingo, have a few drinks, pick up another blonde, and come home just before my alarm clock goes off,Rissa told herself. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Of course, she never would have guessed Ryan dressed up as their aunt, either—and apparently got away with it.
“No, I am not going to follow him.” Rissa marched to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and spread a napkin across her lap. She even lifted a bite of food to her mouth.
“Oh, bother and damnation.” She set her fork carefully back on her plate. What if her brother really did something spectacularly stupid? Rissa would have to pick up the pieces anyway. She might as well stop the disaster before it got started.


KEYWORDS

dogs, time machines, misadventure,1950s, family, talking dogs, zany

SOCIAL LIINKS

Website URL: www.GenieGabriel.com

Blog URL: http://quantumcanines.blogspot.com

Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/genene.valleau



Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Rogue's Angels Present: In Between Days by Anne Jamison

Please welcome Anne Jamison author of In Between Days

Anne Jamison will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.


In Between Days
by Anne Jamison 

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

GENRE: Young Adult

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

BLURB:

Chicago suburbs, 1985. The high school. The mall. The blood-stained Mercedes. Misogyny. Homophobia. Class warfare. Cocaine.

(And the first semester isn’t even over yet.)

The Jocks with their pastel Izods. The Barbies. The loser Burnouts.

High school in the 1980s had rules. Barbies and Jocks can mix. Barbie cheerleaders steer clear of the losers. Punks want to burn it all down.

Samantha Ward doesn't love the rules, but she plays to win. So when a snarky Burnout goes after her in a face-off, of course she fights back. Of course she fights mean. She may not get his sex joke, but she knows he made one. About her. In front of the entire cafeteria. And what's worse, she feels a tingle when she looks at bad-boy Jason.

How could she know her mean girl put-down would launch a war? Or that the school she knows hides a darker world she never even dreamed of?

In Between Days is a pitch-perfect story of first love, friendship, and enemies; of loyalty, betrayal, and the power of secrets. This darkly funny, suspenseful tale is perfect for fans of The Outsiders and The Breakfast Club.

"GRIPPING AND UNPUTDOWNABLE." --Christina Lauren, international bestselling authors of Dating You/Hating You “THIS WAS a bittersweet tumble into eighties high school nostalgia, with all the angst, sexual tension and emotional confusion involved with first love, and so well done it was a non-stop read to the end.… (Oh, and one of the best first kisses I have EVER read...),” says one reviewer

Author's Note:

This is a historical novel that contains period language that is, and was then, and should be, offensive.

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



EXCERPTS:


1. Vicious

1:05 pm, October 7, 1985 

It was completely amazing how long Mr. Richards could talk without taking a breath. Samantha Ward was trying to match him, and failing badly. She let the air out slowly so Richards didn’t notice. 

Jessica Levin was in the next row trying to look like she was adding and subtracting linear equations instead of cracking up. Her face was immobile, but her back was shaking. Every time Mr. Richards took one of his huge breaths, Samantha did too. On the fourth try, Jessica collapsed into a coughing fit.

Not for the first time, Samantha wondered if Jessica Levin was entirely good for her academics. She had no idea what Mr. Richards was talking about because she had to concentrate so hard on his not-breathing and Jessica’s not-laughing.

Of course, Samantha also had no idea how a simple conversation about Richards’ long talking had led to the biggest burnout in school calling her frigid in front of the entire lunchroom. After that, she wasn’t sure how much concentrating on equations she’d be doing in any case. 

It was the stupidest thing. At lunch, Jessica told anyone who would listen that she'd tried to hold her breath for as long Mr. Richards could talk. It was impossible. Three kids from the next period had tried, and none of them could do it either. Which clearly proved Richards was an alien or a robot.

Everyone laughed. Everyone laughed at whatever Jessica said, it was a given. And if Samantha said something remotely funny, like, “Duh, he’s a math teacher,” people laughed at that, too. It was just the way of things.

Then Dave Watson from the jock table said that if Jessica and Samantha wanted men who could go a long time without breathing, they should really check out the swim team.

Samantha rolled her eyes with the other girls, but she didn’t get why Jessica would be blushing, which did not happen easily. Dave Watson had very nice back muscles that you could totally see through his shirt. But who cared how long he could hold his breath?

Then Bethany Moran called Dave Watson a perv and flung a grape at him. Samantha still had no idea what was going on, but if Bethany was calling someone a perv and Jessica was blushing, it was bad. She tossed her head and turned away.

She turned right into the stare of Jason Devlin, a.k.a. the Devil himself. He was standing by the end of Samantha’s table with a couple of burnout loser friends on their way to throw out their trash or deal drugs or something. Samantha didn’t know him, she just knew who he was because everyone did. He was always getting paged to the principal’s office or thrown out of class. And now he was at her table, staring openly, like he had no idea how the school even worked.





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


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Anne Jamison is the author of three critical books, including Fic: Why Fanfiction is Taking Over the World. She lives in Salt Lake City with her dogs, her son, and an avant-garde poet. She is an English professor, but not the kind that corrects your grammar (unless she is actively grading your paper). In Between Days is her first novel. 

www.annejamison.net
https://www.facebook.com/annejamisonauthor/
https://twitter.com/prof_anne
https://www.instagram.com/annejamisonauthor/

Buy In Between Days:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Between-Days-Anne-Jamison-ebook/dp/B07XLN7X69
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/in-between-days-anne-e-jamison/1133878288?ean=9781087805757
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/in-between-days-10
Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/in-between-days/id1481939900


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

GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE

Anne Jamison will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f3223

Tuesday, November 26, 2019

#CatsInTheCradleOfCivilization #Suspense


Author: C. L. Kraemer
Genre: Suspense
Excerpt Heat Level: 
Book Heat Level: 1




Cats in the Cradle of Civilization by C. L. Kraemer
Publisher: Rogue Phoenix Press
Genre: Contemporary, Suspense/Mystery
Length: Short Story (146 Pages)
Rating: 5 Stars
Reviewed by Cyclamen

Glenda Nagel, editor for Getty Museum’s monthly magazine loves her home in the Juniper Hills and her cats. When an ivory and emerald statuette of the cat goddess Bastet makes its way to her home and sets her cats on edge, Glenda is panicked.
Who knows about his and why has the darkly handsome, new Director of Egyptian Antiquities become so determined to visit her high desert home? Doesn’t Egypt have enough sand?

Glenda Nagel has ordered her life just the way she wants it. She enjoys her job as editor for Getty Museum’s monthly magazine, and she has a home far away from the Los Angeles congestion and smog, as she lives in the Juniper Hills with her three cats. But then a new Director of Egyptian Antiquities is hired, and while Glenda admits that he is very handsome, she finds something strange about him. She doesn’t trust him.
I liked Glenda from the very beginning. She is smart and capable, and she’s worked hard to get to her current position. All of a sudden everything is threatened when she discovers an ivory and emerald statuette of the cat goddess Bastet. She only discovers it because Pandora, her Persian cat, takes an instant dislike to the vase it was hidden in.
It can be hard to write a convincing mystery when the reader knows from the beginning who the villain is and what he’s up to, but C. L. Kraemer manages just that. Much of the story is told from Glenda’s point of view, but we also get to know Dr. Dabir Omar Ben Rashid Yacoub Riyadh, and he is definitely a villain that I really disliked. His character is well-fleshed out and he has very few redeeming characteristics. But then we also get the viewpoint of another level of villains and the suspense builds as the reader follows Glenda’s actions. There are curses and a long history of intrigue and injustice.

The descriptions of not only the scene, but the history of Egyptian archaeology is fascinating and brings a real richness to the story. I learned things while I held my breath as Glenda faced one situation after another. The pacing is excellent and the author really keeps her readers on the edge of their chairs.
Mystery lovers are sure to enjoy this glimpse into the world of archaeology as they watch Glenda trying to stay ahead of Dr. Riyadh.



Blurb: Cats in the Cradle of Civilization

Glenda Nagel, editor for Getty Museum’s monthly magazine loves her home in the Juniper Hills and her cats. When an ivory and emerald statuette of the cat goddess Bastet makes its way to her home and sets her cats on edge, Glenda is panicked.
Who knows about this and why has the darkly handsome, new Director of Egyptian Antiquities become so determined to visit her high desert home? Doesn’t Egypt have enough sand?

EXCERPT: Cats in the Cradle of Civilization

Lifting the lid of the innocuous, wooden box sitting in the middle of his desk, Dabir Omar Ben Rashid Yacoub Riyadh allowed a smile to transform his bronzed features. His ebony eyes glinted as they slid appreciatively over the form resting on straw packing. Unconsciously, his tanned finger reached to stroke the artifact. He stopped, hand poised in midair, as his mind flashed to the photo of the hieroglyphics painted over the doorway of the vault posted on the internet at the Cairo museum's site. There was a warning regarding misery and eating one's self. Omar Riyadh didn't put much stock in the curses carved on crypts thousands of years ago, but recent scientific studies of the germs entombed made him cautious, nonetheless. He reached into the desk drawer to his right, and removed a pair of surgical gloves from the opened container. Slipping his hands into the milliliter thin second skin, he lightly ran a finger over the relic resting inside the box.

Gingerly, he picked up the detailed piece, jumping at the buzz of his intercom. As he felt the artifact slip from his fingers, he cursed. Inspection of the new object d'art assured him no damage had come to it. He punched the button on his intercom.

"What?" he growled.

Sharp, snapping sounds assaulted his ears. "Uhm, Mr. Riyadh?"

"Yes?"

The popping sounds filled the air. "Uh, Dr. Burkhardt and Ms. Nagel are here."

"I'll be out in a moment; tell them to have a seat." I must speak to Miss Showers regarding her office demeanor. This gum popping will have to cease.

Omar reclosed the lid of the small box and slid the package into his bottom drawer, surgical gloves resting on the top. Bits of straw littered his desk. He looked around his office and, spying the large shipping crate sent to him by his cousin Feneku, hastily ripped open the top pulling out a clay vase, and setting it on the spot where the little treasure had sat.

He stood and straightened his tie, then opened the door to face the Director and Miss Nagel.

Karl Burkardt, Getty Museum Director, made the formal introductions.

"Glenda Nagel, let me introduce Dr. Dabir Omar Ben Rashid Yacoub Riyadh, our new Egyptian Antiquities Director. Dr. Riyadh comes to us after many years working in the Egyptian antiquities system and on several important digs in the Valley of the Kings. His last post was in the Cairo Museum.

"Dr. Dabir Omar Ben Rashid Yacoub Riyadh, allow me to introduce you to Glenda Nagel, contributing Editor to the Museum's publication, Archaeology in Today's World."

Omar extended his hand.

"Please… just call me Omar. All the other stuff has meaning only in my country. Omar is much simpler. I am pleased to make your acquaintance." He wrapped a velvety smooth, copper colored hand around Glenda's squeezing gently and gazing intensely into her turquoise eyes.

Glenda's hand tingled. Her heart skipped a beat, and breath suspended in her lungs. Slipping her appendage from Omar's, she replied, "My pleasure".

Director Burkhardt launched into Glenda's achievements droning on endlessly about her taking on the dying magazine and reviving the publication.

She felt herself flushing at the lavish compliments the Director was heaping on her.

"Please, Director Burkhardt…" Glenda dropped her gaze to the floor.

"It is well deserved, young lady. You've helped to breathe new life into this institution. As much as we would like to function without the public's help, we do need them. Your efforts have paved the way to a successful partnership."

He continued, "Now, Omar. The reason I've brought Glenda here today is, she'll be in need of your expertise, on occasion, to guarantee the information we impart to the public is correct. Please extend her all the resources at your disposal." He glanced at his watch. "If you two don't mind, I've a meeting with the Budget Committee. Can you carry this without my help?"

Both nodded.

"Good. Then, I expect to see our magazine, as well as our visitor numbers, thrive."

Turning on a heel, Director Burkhardt exited leaving the magazine editor and new antiquities director glancing nervously at each other.

Omar motioned for Glenda to take a seat.

"Please feel free to contact me at any time." He pulled a business card from the holder on his desk and scribbled something on the back. "This is my home phone. Should you have a question that arises after business hours, do not hesitate to call." He shoved the card past the vase to Glenda.

Taking the card, Glenda eyed the clay vase on the desk.

"This isn't authentic ancient Egyptian, is it?" She leaned toward the vessel and squint her eyes to take in the details.

Omar loosed a deep, baritone laugh.

Glenda felt her skin rise in goose bumps at the pleasant sound washing over her ears.

"Yes and no. All the authentic antiquities, we store in a room in the basement with monitored temperature and humidity control. We wouldn't want something the desert has preserved for thousands of years destroyed by today's harmful pollution.

"This," Omar picked up the vase, "is my cousin's handiwork and he is from Egypt. He sent it to show me what he has been creating for the tourist business he runs; in case someone decides to try to pass it off as an antiquity." Omar smiled as he replaced the vase. "His heart was in a good place."

Glenda ran a slender finger over the smoothness of the vase's surface.

"This is quite lovely. Your cousin is a talented artisan."

Omar nodded. "That, he is. I have told him he should come to America and start a pottery factory, but he loves Egypt too much to leave. He sells enough goods to own two Mercedes, and put his five children through college."

The two chuckled as Glenda continued to admire the simple designs on the pottery.

"Miss Nagel?"

"Hmmm?"

"You have a question?"

"What? Oh, yes. I wanted to ask if you could direct me where to start research to verify a story one of my freelancers recently sent."

"I'll try. Can you relate what your writer has so far?"

"Well, according to his source, there was a little known Princess named, Kia, who fled to Yemen to be concealed from the sadistic Pharaoh to whom she was promised in marriage. Rumors had been leaking from unknown sources in the palace that his former queens had met Ra under suspicious circumstances. Kia's protector, and nursemaid, hired a boat for the two to flee down the Red Sea where they landed on the Yemen shores at a place known today as Al-Hudaydah. The nursemaid's family had been slowly migrating from there to the town of Ta'izz, so the pair trekked to Ta'izz. Things went well for a while. The little Princess adapted, as most children are wont to do, and seemed to be thriving in her new home. As the story goes, she contracted some unknown illness a couple months after arriving, and died very quickly. Writings, recently uncovered, indicate the Pharaoh had located the whereabouts of his young fiancé and, in a fit of rage, ordered her death along with all who had defied him by stealing her away. To keep the image of himself as a divine entity, he buried the Princess in a royal tomb telling all she succumbed to forces from the underworld. He would have saved her had she been by his side but, unable to move with enough speed, he arrived too late. He gave no one the tomb's location.

"Now, mind you, all of this had been hearsay passed from generation to generation until this point. My freelancer also sent these photos."

Glenda handed pictures taken in the tomb to Omar.

He thumbed through each pausing on the last shot.

She watched his eyes scrutinize the details.

Handing them back to Glenda, a slight smile crossed his face. "These could have been taken at any tomb in the Egypt, Saudi Arabia area; there are so many. I have heard the story you tell me. It is similar to your American fable of the Lost Dutchman's Goldmine; everyone has been told the story, and is certain they know the true location. I'll be happy to start the search in my library to see if I can, at least, verify the Princess existed. When do you need the information?"

Glenda gathered the photos and stood up. "You don't need to do this, Dr."

Omar, grinning broadly, waved a hand in the air. "It is no problem. It will help me to get my bearings here, and help a fellow employee."

She blushed, "Thank you. If I need the writer to redo the story, I'll have to get it back to him by the end of the week. Will that be enough time?"

Omar nodded.

"Thank you, Dr. Riyadh. I appreciate the time you're lending to this. I'll leave my number with your secretary if you need to get in touch."

She walked into the outer room. Nodding at the Director's secretary, she left. The new director was good looking, all right. He sent sparks up her spine, but something just didn't sit well with her. Glenda shook her head as she entered her office.

"Any messages, Amunet?"

The young woman behind the computer screen looked up. "No. How did the meeting go? Is he handsome?"

"I think I can honestly say he is the most handsome man I've ever met."

Amunet raised her eyebrows. "He can't be that good looking."

Glenda stopped and turned to her assistant. "Compared to Dr. Riyadh, Brad Pitt is homely."

"Wow."

"That's an understatement. I'll be in my office pulling out my hair. Buzz me only if the building's on fire. On second thought, don't. If everything goes up in flames, I won't have to worry about it." Glenda flashed a grin and closed her door. The magazine deadline was looming, and she needed a lead story with undisputable facts.