ALL IN FOR LOVE: A Lucky 7
Anthology
An Inn Decent Proposal By Sharon Buchbinder
An Inn Decent Proposal By Sharon Buchbinder
Perfect
Odds By Lashanta Charles
Hypnotic
By Alicia Dean
A
Ghost To Die For By Keta Diablo
Raising
Kane By Kat Henry Doran
For
Money Or Love By Margo Hoornstra
Take
A Chance On Me By M.J. Schiller
Genre:
Contemporary Romance/Romantic Suspense Anthology
Release Date:
June 1, 2017
ASIN B071V94BWM
ALL IN FOR LOVE: A
Lucky 7 Anthology
Seven Award-winning authors bring you seven *sweet to sensual* romances filled with suspense, thrills and maybe even a ghost or two—for less than the price of a cup of coffee—99 cents!
Seven Award-winning authors bring you seven *sweet to sensual* romances filled with suspense, thrills and maybe even a ghost or two—for less than the price of a cup of coffee—99 cents!
Welcome to La Bonne Chance Resort & Casino!
With thousands of people passing through the
casino’s doors on a daily basis, it’s no surprise that a variety of lives and
loves are on the line there. It’s said that you’re more likely to lose your
heart at La Bonne Chance than a hand of poker. Whether you are the Director of
Casino Operations or the guy who created its software, a jilted bride or a
black jack dealer, a past guest’s ghost or a sous chef--when it comes to love,
the stakes are high.
Thank goodness what happens at La Bonne Chance,
doesn’t always stay at La Bonne Chance….
Ready to roll the dice?
Giveaway
To add to the fun, we are giving away one gambling
themed handmade item to ONE lucky commenter who will be selected by a Random
Number Generator.
Links
Newsletter
sign up https://maryschiller.wixsite.com/mysitecontactslucky7
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35052000-all-in-for-love
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35052000-all-in-for-love
* * *
Excerpts and Author Fun Facts
Excerpt from An
Inn Decent Proposal by Sharon
Buchbinder
After the hotel auction, a
stunned Jim Rawlings and excited Genie King go to Sips, a local coffee house.
Overwhelmed with self-doubts verging on buyer’s remorse, Jim begins to question
his sanity. Genie, on the other hand, is bursting with enthusiasm and ideas…
“Why did you
want this place?”
“The old girl
called to me, begged me to save her.” He gave Genie a wistful smile. “Do I
sound crazy?”
“You call the
Inn ‘she,’ too?”
“Yes, she’s
like a grand old dame who’s fallen on hard times. Remember the parties? The famous
people who stayed and played there? Celebrities came to the Inn because they
knew their privacy and secrets were safe with us. If those walls could
talk! Every day was new and
exciting. I would love to bring back her glory days.”
Genie leaped
up, ran around the table and hugged him. “I have the same dream. We can do it.”
He hesitated
for a moment, then returned the gesture, his hands unable to resist lingering
on her luscious curves just a tad too long. Genie’s inviting cleavage made him
wish they were somewhere private. He could scarcely breathe and had to shake
his head to dispel naughty images of nuzzling her soft breasts. “We can do
what?”
She sat down
again, but clung to his hands. “I’ve done the research. The Inn should be in
the National Park Service Historic Registry—but it isn’t. If we can get her
added to the Registry, there are laws and standards about how we make the
rehabilitation. We can bring it up to modern codes, but have to use certain treatments—”
“I hate to
burst your bubble, but where will we get the money to do all this?” He wasn’t
sure he could afford too many more big gambles like this last one.
Her face
flushed and her sapphire blue eyes sparkled. “If we can get her added to the
Registry, we’ll qualify for special low interest loans. And for a major tax credit. And we have a million dollars in
equity.”
“Pretty, smart—and
you say you can cook? If you can do all that, you are a genie.”
She released
his hands, pulled her shoulders back, and inadvertently gave him a better
glimpse of her bosom. Genie gave him a scalding look. “Are you challenging my cooking, Mr. Rawlings?”
Uh-oh. He never dreamed of Genie having a little temper. He couldn’t
resist tweaking her. “I’m sure you’re a solid cook.”
She stood,
almost knocking her chair over. “Solid? What the hell does that mean?
Average? Good enough to make the turkey for Thanksgiving dinner for the
family—but not good enough to cook for guests? Tell you what, Mr. Critic, you
come to my house for dinner tomorrow night.” She scribbled her address on a
business card and threw it on the table. “My food makes men go weak at the knees.”
Hypnotized by
the sway of her voluptuous ass as she stalked out of the nearly empty café, Jim
bet it wasn’t just this saucy woman’s cooking that made strong men weak.
About Sharon Buchbinder
Sharon Buchbinder and her husband used to breed
and show Egyptian Maus and Color Point Persians (formerly called Himalayans).
If you’ve ever seen the mockumentary, Best
in Show, you have an idea of what life was like 24 out of 52 weekends a
year for this wild and crazy couple. When Sharon returned to school for her PhD
in 1986, she decided a doctoral program plus a toddler plus a full time job was
more than enough and they placed all their cats in good homes—including their
own.
* * *
Excerpt from Perfect Odds by Lashanta Charles
Callista is meeting her fiancé
at the airport so they can fly out to N.Y. where they're supposed to get
married, but it seems plans have been changed without her knowledge.
“James? Where are you? They’re boarding everyone now,” I say when I answer.
“I’m not coming,” he says.
I pause in making my way to the
attendant station. Surely I heard him wrong.
“Hang on a sec, let me ask them how
long we have before they can no longer wait. If you’re here already it
shouldn’t be a problem. You’ll just need to hurry. Like, sprint through the
airport or maybe get one of those guys on the carts to give you a ride
somehow.”
The attendant smiles at me and holds
her hand out for my boarding pass. I move to give it to her, but hear James
speaking again.
“Cali, you’re not listening. I’m not
there. I’m not coming,” he says.
Pulling my boarding pass away from the
attendant, I force a smile and step away for privacy. “What are you talking
about, James? I’m here waiting for you.” As if he doesn’t know that. He helped
me load our luggage into the car before I left this morning. Is this some sick
joke he’s pulling right now?
“I’m not
coming, Cali,” James repeats for the third time.
I stare numbly at the ‘now boarding’
screen above the attendant. I heard him the first two times. It makes as much
sense now as it did then – none.
“I don’t understand. You can’t not come. I can see if they’ll schedule us
for a different flight. I’m sure it’s not too late. We’re getting there early
enough that one day won’t really matter,” I tell him.
He lets out an exasperated sigh. He’s annoyed? We’re two weeks away from our wedding
and I’m at the Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport in Atlanta, Georgia,
sans fiancé. I battled an hour and a half of traffic to get here and get us
both checked in two hours early, lugged all our suitcases – overweight, I might
add – only for him to call when it’s time to board the flight to New York and
tell me he’s not coming, yet, he’s the one who’s annoyed?
“I don’t know what else to say, Cali.
I’m trying to do right by you here. We both knew this wouldn’t end well.”
I splutter. Try as I might, I can no
longer get the words to flow from my mouth to have this conversation. We didn’t know anything of the sort. Do right by me? How is standing me up for our wedding
doing right by me? I didn’t ask to marry myself. I didn’t insist on us having a
short engagement or me moving in with him. I definitely didn’t count on any of
this.
About Lashanta Charles
So I don't really have
anything too witty, but I have a 6-year-old with a sharp tongue. One of the
things I always tell my kids is that mommy and daddy knows everything. So one
day I'm taking my daughter to the store to buy toys with her birthday money.
This is how the conversation went:
Her: So, who gave me this
birthday money?
Me: Poppy (Grandad)
Her: Oh, I really miss
Poppy. I want to go see him.
Me: Well, you have to wait
until this summer, when you're out of school.
Her: Why?
Me: Because you have to
learn things in school and if you miss a day, you'll miss what you need to
learn and then you won't know everything.
Her: Ohhhhh, you mean like
you and daddy don't really know everything even though you say you do?
Me: *speechless*
* * *
Excerpt from Hypnotic by Alicia Dean
My hero, Griff Caulder, and heroine, Rosalie DuBois, are a hypnotist and
his assistant. This is from Rosalie’s point of view. She’s just left the stage
after her part of the show ended, and she’s watching from backstage as Griff
performs his ‘finale’ with one remaining woman he kept on stage:
“Hello, Patty.” Griff’s deep, sultry voice carried throughout the
auditorium.
“Hi.” The woman’s reply was soft, breathless.
“Did you know that you’re a lovely, beautiful woman?”
She gave a quick headshake and turned her face away. “I’m not. I’m ugly.”
“Please, look at me.” She hesitated, then slowly swiveled her head back.
“You are not ugly. Don’t ever say that. You’re beautiful.”
“I am?”
“Of course. Don’t let anyone make you feel less than the gorgeous,
desirable woman you are.”
She nodded gingerly. “Okay.”
“That’s my girl.” He leaned placed a kiss on her forehead, then led her
back to the bright red sofa where the other participants had sat earlier. When
she was seated, he said, “Now, hold your hands in front of you, palms facing.”
She did as instructed. “You have magnets in your palms. And those magnets are
pulling your hands together, slowly, steadily. You couldn’t stop them if you
tried. Good. That’s good. When they touch, you’ll fall into a deep, relaxed
sleep.” Her hands slowly met, and her head dropped forward, her body visibly
relaxing. “Right. Good job. I’m going to count backwards from five. When I
reach one, you’ll wake up feeling relaxed and refreshed. Feeling beautiful.
Five, four, three, two, one…”
She raised her head. Multi-colored-stage lights touched on her
expression, first bewildered, then joyful.
“How do you feel?” Griff asked.
A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Wonderful. Rested.” Her smile
widened. “Pretty.”
The crowd erupted in applause. Griffin stood and pulled her to her feet.
Holding onto her hand, he motioned for her to take a bow with him. They bowed,
while the crowd chanted his name to thunderous clapping. He helped her down the
stage stairs, and she returned to her seat, her step lively, her face glowing
in the dim lighting.
Griff joined Rosalie backstage, and she threw my arms around him. She
breathed deeply, savoring the faint aroma of his musky soap tinged with a light
scent of manly sweat. Vintage Griff. “Wow, that was wonderful!”
He chuckled and hugged her, his strong arms drawing her against the silky
fabric of his stage suit jacket, where she felt his hard muscled chest beneath
it. “I think you’ve seen it a time or two.”
She pulled back and smiled. “Yes, but I never tire of it. You gave her
something she’s probably never had.” Whether or not his suggestion lasted
throughout the woman’s entire life, she’d at least enjoy a measure of
confidence, of feeling attractive.
“All part of the act.”
“Yeah, right.” Rosalie released him and they headed toward the exit that
led to the hallway of the Casino hotel. “Your good guy act is nothing more than
a put-on. I believe that like I believe everyone in the casino will walk away a
winner.”
Dimples creased on either side of his mouth where a 5’o clock shadow
covered his strong jawline. He opened
his mouth to speak, but she never knew
what he intended to say. His words were cut off abruptly as a female’s
blood-chilling scream ripped through the air.
About Alicia Dean
I'm a well-documented klutz,
and one of my most embarrassing incidents was one evening when I went to a
business dinner with a potential boss. I rode with he and his wife in their
SUV. The dinner went well, and they drove me home. I opened the door, saying my
goodbyes, and exited the vehicle...except I'd failed to unbuckle my seatbelt
and I was sort of dangling, half-in, half-out, my feet hovering above the
ground.
* * *
Excerpt from A Ghost To Die For by Keta Diablo
Rooney encounters a stranger in her hotel room
and soon finds out he's a ghost!
Rooney
looked at the man through narrowed eyes. "You weren't at the séance on
stage, so what then, were you in the audience?"
No, I was on stage, but kind of
hanging around in the background. He put his hands in the air, palms out. I swear, I won't hurt you, but I been
lurking around this hotel for two months now wondering how I was going to get
out of this mess. Then you arrived at La Bonne Chance with your sister, you
know, the fabulous Fontaine sisters, the crème-dela-crème of psychics, and my
prayers were answered.
She
snorted. "I'm not a psychic, mister, so if that's your angle, you picked
the wrong sister."
No, I picked the right sister.
Now if only I can get her to hear me out.
"I
don't want to hear you out; I want you to get the hell out of my hotel room.
Like now!" When he didn't comply, she moved the can of hair spray until it
loomed inches from his face. "I'm going to count to three. If you aren't
out of that chair and out that door by then, I'm giving you a face full of hair
spray."
Go ahead. Maybe then you'll
realize what I am and listen.
"You
asked for it." She held the nozzle down and let him have it right between
the eyes. He didn't move a muscle, didn't react at all. Much to her dismay, she
didn't even have the satisfaction of seeing him blink. The drizzle and aroma of
hair spray hung heavy in the air but didn't seem to bother him nearly as much
as it did her. Through a series of chokes and chortles she managed to eke out
the words. "What are you, some kind of weirdo with inhuman defenses?"
A ghost.
"What!"
You asked me what I am and I'm
telling you. I'm a ghost.
Eyes
wide, voice in shriek mode, she fell onto the edge of the bed and glared at
him. "You can't be a ghost. I don't believe in ghosts!"
Understandable. Neither did I
until I became one.
She
reached out and touched his arm, more to prove him wrong than anything else. A
startled scream escaped when her fingers danced through vacant air. Coming to
her feet, she paced a small area beside the bed. "This can't be happening.
It isn't possible."
That's exactly what I said when
they pushed me off the balcony and I wound up in this state.
She
resumed her prior position on the bed. "Someone pushed you off a
balcony?"
More like tossed me over, right
here at the La Bonne Chance Casino, seventh floor, two months ago.
"Two
months ago? You've been wandering around here for two months?"
He
released an exasperated sigh. I thought
you might be a good listener, but I've said that twice now. Two months ago I
died, and yes I've been hanging out here, twiddling my thumbs and trying to
figure out what to do next.
"You
can't leave the hotel?"
Not yet, anyway. I'm working on
it, but you have no idea how much energy it takes just to project my voice. No
one else has been able to hear me, or see me, until you, Rooney, and now I seem
to be experiencing a renewed sense of energy.
"Stop
saying my name as if we're besties."
Well, after that séance and
the conversation you had with Violet about your little sister, Vanessa, I kind
of feel as if we are.
About
Keta Diablo
Keta once dressed up as old man on Halloween and picked up
her 9th grader at school in costume! Needless to say, he wasn't pleased. In
fact, he refused to get in the car. She followed him out of the parking lot and
down the street for two blocks before he'd even look at her. Yes, he finally
got in, but didn't appreciate her humor...at all. Update: He's in college now
and says the "old man" incident is now one of his fondest childhood
memories.
* * *
Excerpt from Raising Kane by Kat Henry Doran
Lt. Kieran Pollack signs in to work and comes up against the
woman of his dreams: Mallory Kane, ace investigative reporter. Unfortunately
she's just spent the night in jail and is in no mood to speak with
anyone--particularly a cop.
“Anything I
need to know before I head upstairs, Sarge?”
“It’s all
there.” The night duty man passed him the report from the previous platoon.
“The usual pugs, thugs and mugs threw themselves a circus down at The Dirty Dawg
last night.”
Kieran scrawled
his name on the sign-in roster. “Again? Somebody ought to look into closing
down that pest hole.”
“I bet the
Mayor is thinkin’ along those same lines. With the Chief on vacation and the
Deputy Chief at a meeting out of town, as PIO it’s your job to handle the
fallout. Lucky man.”
Fall-out? “What
are you talking about?”
A woman with
mile-long legs and hair the color of roasting chestnuts strode past the desk,
heading in the direction of the revolving door.
“Overnight
guest,” the sergeant advised under his breath. “TV Reporter. I was you, I’d
head that one off at the pass.”
In addition to
a talent for scoping out shapely legs, Kieran possessed the good sense to act
on sound advice. After shooting both cuffs and ensuring his tie hung straight,
he glided up beside the woman. “Excuse me, miss?”
She stopped,
threw back her shoulders, then turned. “Yes?”
In the shimmer
of an early morning sun he saw a nasty bruise blossoming across one cheekbone
and winced. “Does that hurt as bad as it looks?”
“Who are you
and what do you want?”
She possessed a
voice designed to make a man think of hot nights and cool sheets. Extending a
hand, he launched into his usual PIO song and dance. “Kieran Pollack, Public
Information Officer for the Victory PD. What’s a pretty thing such as yourself
doing in a joint like this?”
The screech of
tires on the street outside obscured any response she might have made. Panel
vans bearing the logos of the local TV affiliates disgorged reporters and
camera-persons who wasted no time in storming the doors to the Public Safety
Building.
Kieran
attempted to head her off at the pass with a fast two-step and a faster line of
bull. “Look, can you help out this hard working public servant?”
She raised one
hand to shield her injured cheek. “Not without my attorney.”
“Aw, now. Why
do you want to go and do something like that? We don’t need no lousy lawyers to
make things right, do we?”
“I believe it’s
somewhere in the Bill of Rights,” she murmured, eluding his out-stretched hand with
a fast step to the left.
“Please. Hear
me out,” he pressed, one eye on the camera-persons now jockeying for position
just inside the doors. “I can make this all disappear―if we could go someplace
to talk. It would be to your advantage, I promise.”
A spark flared
in those dull, pain-filled eyes. “I’d sooner walk barefoot through a nest of
pit vipers than spend one second alone with any member of the Victory Police
Department.”
About Kat Doran
There was the time I played
private duty nurse for my uncle, after he underwent a resection of an aortic
aneurysm. Very scary for a number of different reasons. It became my job to
ensure Father Joe got sufficient rest which boiled down to playing traffic cop
and time-keeper on visitors. On one afternoon, I could see Joe was fatigued and
needed a nap. As I rounded up the crowd to send them out the door, one smirked
at me. "Who's Nurse Ratched, Joe?" he asked.
I said, "Who are you,
the Pope?"
He said, "Close to it,
honey. I'm the Bishop."
Aw geez.
* * *
Excerpt from For Money or Love by Margo Hoornstra
Lindsey Carr's two best friends, Rita and Anne, discuss
exactly why she and her mega-millionaire boss, Daniel Montgomery, are no longer
romantically involved.
Shooting Lindsey a quickly manufactured smile, she turned her full attention to the eye candy. “No doubt about it. Those are bedroom eyes.” She trailed her fingertips over Daniel’s forehead, down his cheek and onto the outline of his lips.
Lindsey brought both hands
to her lap under the table, locked her fingers together and squeezed. It was a
four-page spread in Today’s Tech magazine. The picture of
Daniel’s forehead, cheek and lips.
An important distinction to
remember. If that had been her boss in the flesh he’d be blushing beet red from
all the fluttery female attention. Daniel Montgomery was different than most
other powerful millionaires. Those she’d heard about anyway. Certainly drop
dead gorgeous as had been established. With a mile wide shy streak not many
people knew about or even suspected. Hands still clasped, Lindsey leaned away
from the display.
Anne slid her glass aside
and moved up to fill the void, her critical gaze focused on Daniel’s picture.
“I’m never sure what the term ‘bedroom eyes’ means.”
“Not droopy or sleepy.”
Rita didn’t bother to look up. “Sexy. There’s no other word for it. Well, maybe
erotic would fit. I must say, Lindsey. It amazes me you can work side by side
with this man day in and day out and manage to keep your hands to yourself.”
“It’s easy.” She murmured
the blatant lie. Very easy. He does the same and then some.
“You and this marvelous
specimen.” Rita waited until Lindsey glanced up then met her eye to eye. “As a
couple, are old news, right? That’s what you’ve said.”
“Absolutely.” Purposely
lowering her voice, she mentally counted to five before she spoke again. “We
did the dating thing for a while.” She shrugged one shoulder for effect. “It
didn’t work for us.”
Lindsey took a small gulp
of wine to avoid having to share more, and was relieved when Rita and Anne went
back to hunk browsing. Trying her best to ignore the fact it was Daniel’s hunk
they browsed, she gave up to give into her own thoughts about the man.
Bowing to a mutual attraction that became evident soon after they met,
Lindsey and Daniel dated for a time. A very short time, consisting of a few
casual dinners, a couple of movies. That one night in….
“Why didn’t it work for you
exactly?”
Unsure who asked the
question, Lindsey looked up then blinked. “It just didn’t.” She slowly let out
a breath. “I don’t think of Daniel Montgomery in that way.” Much
anymore.
“Then why are you
blushing?” Her sharp gaze unrelenting, Rita leaned considered her from across
the table. “Care to share?”
I’ll have no peace around
here until I do. Taking her time to
indulge in another sip, she completed a long, slow swallow then licked her
lips.
About Margo Hoornstra
Becoming a coffee connoisseur
wasn’t an instant fall head over heels event for Margo Hoornstra. Initial cups
were loaded with milk and sugar. When the children arrived, two AM feedings
coupled with six AM risings for work necessitated more indispensable caffeine.
Flavored, iced, lattes and such, a true coffee aficionado, she covets them all.
* * *
Excerpt from Take A Chance On Me
by M.J. Schiller
After chasing leads at the
station, Cash returns to his home where his partner, Ian, is supposed to be
watching over the murder witness, Harper...
Cash
slowly pulled his keys out of the door, examining the pair. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.
Right, Ian?”
Ian
nodded loosely. “Nothing. Like she said.”
Cash
closed the door and set his keys on the end table. “Uh-huh.” He stuck his hands
in his pockets. “What’s behind your back?”
Ian
shot a glance at Harper. “You’re on your own.” He ducked into the kitchen.
“Coward,”
she mumbled out of the side of her mouth.
Cash
moved forward, and she took a step back. He lunged, catching her, and causing
her to scream. He wrestled the bottle from her hand and brought it out where he
could see it. Ian ran in, his concerned gaze darting to Harper. He stopped and
put a hand over his heart, leaning against the side of the archway between the
two rooms.
“Hmm.”
Cash took a step back, tilting the bottle. He fought the smile tugging on his
lips. “Is this my Jäger?”
Ian
and Harper looked at each other with open mouths, but neither spoke.
Cash
ambled over to the coffee table and clinked the bottle against the shot glasses
as he set it down. “So—and correct me if I’m wrong—it looks like, while I’ve
been out working my ass off, the two of you were busy getting snockered.”
“Oh,
no.” Harper shook her head. “We were working hard, right, Ian?”
Ian
made an attempt to stand straight, but swayed comically. “We were working
hard.” He nodded, but turned to Harper. “What were we working hard at again?”
“Looking
at the mug shots.”
“Oh.
Yeah. That’s right. We were looking at the mug shots.” He faced Cash. “And
doing shots.”
“Sh-sh-sh.
It’s a secret.” Harper laughed.
Ian
chuckled along with her. “Oh, yeah.”
Cash
put his hands on his hips. “Well, I hate to tell you, friends, but the cat’s
out of the bag now.”
“Cat?
What cat?” Harper laughed, seeming to be slightly more sober than her partner
in crime, his partner.
“He
has a cat?” Ian seemed genuinely confused, looking around for the feline. “You
never told me you had a cat.”
Harper sputtered and broke into laughter
again.
Cash
sat, hiding his chuckle. She was so damned cute. He put his feet on the coffee
table, spreading his arms out along the top of the couch. “Whose idea was this
anyhow?”
They
pointed at each other.
“It
was mine?” Harper asked. Ian nodded. “Oh. It was mine.” She smiled and didn’t
appear to try to hide her pride.
Cash
shook his head, staring at them for a moment. He stood and pulled out his
phone. “Okay, Ian. I’m calling you an Uber.” He punched some buttons.
“Chrissy’s gonna kick your butt. And the next time she sees me, she’s gonna
kick my butt.” He looked at his screen. “Two minutes away.” He came over and
put his arm around Ian, steering him to the door.
“I’m
leaving?”
Cash
grabbed his jacket off a recliner. “Yes, you are. Maybe the night air will
sober you up some.”
“I
doubt it.”
Cash
laughed. “I doubt it, too. And you, little missie—” he swung around to point to
her.
She
looked about, then put a finger on her chest and mouthed “Me?”
“Yes,
you. Don’t think you’re off the hook. I’ll deal with you when I get back.”
About M.J. Schiller
One day--when M.J.'s triplets
were about two, and her eldest four--she was doing laundry and matching up the
socks, one of her least favorite chores. She lined them up all along her arms
as she hunted for their mates. After a bit of fruitless searching, she glanced
at the time and realized she needed to hustle to be on time for a prayer
service she was attending at her church.
She made it in time, her
four children in tow, and removed her coat before kneeling to say a prayer. An
half hour later, as she piously prayed along with the congregation, her eldest
asked, "Mommy, why do you have a sock on your shoulder?" She had
missed removing one of her husband's long, mateless gym socks!
