Spotlight & Excerpt: T.A.G. Family Christmas + Giveaway

TAG CHRISTMAS

Book Title: T.A.G. Family Christmas

(The Assassins’ Guild #3)

Author: A.G. Carothers

Publisher: A.G. Carothers

Cover Artist: Amai Designs

Release Date:12/15/20

Genre/s: MM Romance, Holiday Romance, 

Trope/s: Age Gap, Sweet, Established Couples, 

Themes: Ensemble Cast, Holiday Vacation Fun, Bratty Twinks

Heat Rating:  2 flames

Length: 22 000 words/94 pages 

It is not a standalone story. 

The Assassins’ Guild Series are enclosed stories but they are all connected and best read in order.
T.A.G. You’re Seen
T.A.G. You’re Heard
T.A.G. Family Christmas

Goodreads

 

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link  |   Amazon US  |  Amazon UK  

Blurb

Happy Holidays from everyone at T.A.G. Your one-stop shopping source for all your killing needs.

It isn’t all stabbings, poisonings, and shootings here at The Assassins’ Guild. We decided to pause that and take a little time to celebrate being alive, and for some, being in love.

This is your friendly communications agent, Mr. No, here to tell you about the holiday fun Mr. H and his boys got up to this one Christmas.

Once upon a time, there was a Bob. This Bob got tasked with three missions. Not just any old ordinary missions, but missions of love…

Between guarding Connor, being stalked by Enrique, and being his usual sneaky self, Bob must put into motion three big surprises for his chosen family.

But it’s not all snowman contests and catching Mr. Ti in potentially embarrassing situations while they vacation in a chateau outside of Paris. Oh no, something is afoot. Mr. H won’t let the new problem code-named The Poacher interfere with family time.

So, take a little time out of your busy schedule and join us for a T.A.G. Family Christmas the likes of you’ll never forget.

Attention: This story contains adorableness taken to a whole new level. There are adult situations, language, kinky snowmen, and all the churros you can eat.

 

Excerpt 

Connor

Paris, France

Sixteen Days till Christmas

Lights twinkled, making the bare trees that lined the Champs Elysée seem full once more in the early evening darkness. This far north, the sun was long set by five. My breath puffed in the chilly air in front of me as I looked down the wide avenue with the Arc de Triumph behind me. The sound of the cars zooming around the large roundabout was dim to my ears as I stood in awe of the sight before me.

Ice glistened on the branches as the smell of—a sharp elbow jabbed my bicep. “Are you going to stand here all evening gaping? I’m freezing my nuts off here, and you promised me lots of mulled wine and fresh churros.”

I side-eyed Yoshi with a huff. “I was imprinting this moment to my memory. Plus, look how pretty it is. Besides, I told you to wear a thicker jacket.”

“Well, if we move, I won’t be so cold, and I didn’t want to look like a marshmallow man.”

“At least I’m warm and fashionable.” I’d worn a poofy teal coat that went to mid-thigh, toasty flannel lined jeans with fleece-lined boots. I topped off my outfit with matching earmuffs that had cat ears on them and a pair of our special cold weather gloves that kept my hands perfectly warm while not losing any dexterity nor the ability to operate any of our touchscreen electronics. 

Yoshi pogoed on his toes, and I looked back over to Bob, who shrugged. “Well, at least let me get some photos first.” 

“Fuck. It’s cold.” Yoshi blew into his hands.

“Well, I offered you earmuffs, but you scoffed at me. Dmitry told you to at least take a scarf and you scoffed at him. I think you just like suffering and complaining about it.” I took the opportunity to pull my scarf over my nose to try to warm it. The wind by the Arc was a bit too much for my comfort.

Yoshi laughed heartily. “Of course I like suffering.”

“That’s not what you said this morning. You were begging for Dmitry to stop torturing and fuck you,” I quipped. 

“Damn thin walls in that place.” Yoshi blushed a little then shrugged it off. “I’m not the only one who’s loud. How tight is your Daddy’s hole? I don’t think I quite heard.”

I grinned wide and licked my lips. “Mmmmm, so tight. He hugs my cock—”

Yoshi shoulder checked me, nearly making me stumble into someone walking in the opposite direction. “And he’s so hot and the way he flexes—” I dodged Yoshi and caught up to Bob, who had taking point. He arched an eyebrow at me as I used him as a shield. 

“Brat.”

“You’re just jealous.” I stuck my tongue out at him.

“I do not want to know what Oz’s ass even looks like, much less feels.”

I fell back in step with Yoshi. “Eww, no, of course not, but I meant that you never get to fuck Dmitry.”

Yoshi shrugged. “Eh, it’s not something I need. Sometimes it’d be nice but I’m good.”

We were finally topside again. So many people were out shopping or having dinner. There were many tourists as well, but it was the Champs Elysée, so that was expected. The next day they were going shopping in the fashion district. I wasn’t a clothes whore by any means, but if you’re going to come to Paris, you must at least do some clothes shopping. 

“Do you want to stop for a coffee?”

“No, let’s go to Tiffany’s like you want first.”

A nervous excitement bubbled in my gut as we got closer to the store. “Are you sure you don’t want something too?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. We do a lot of things together, but I think we can skip this one.”

“Don’t you want to marry Dmitry?”

“Sure, someday, but it’s not something I really think about. He’s not going anywhere. He promised and he has my key.”

I nodded as I walked through the door that Bob held open to the multilevel shop. “Maybe you can get him like a diamond-encrusted cock ring?”

“Nah, do you know what a pain that would be to clean?”

 

About the Author

A.G. Carothers is actually a dragon very cleverly disguised as a human. They are a non-binary author of LGBTQIA Romance and Urban Fantasy, who enjoys writing original and entertaining stories. They are very excited to share the worlds they’ve created with you.

A.G. currently lives in Tennessee with their platonic life partner, who is not a dragon. They yearn to live back in Europe and will some day. In their spare time they are addicted to losing themselves in the lovely worlds created by other authors

A.G. is committed to writing the stories they see in their head without restrictions. Love is blind and doesn’t see gender, race, or sexuality.

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Book Blitz & Excerpt: Tic Tac Mistletoe + giveaway

Tic Tac Mistletoe Blitz Banner

Tic Tac Mistletoe
N.R. Walker
Out November 27th 2020
Adult, Contemporary, Holiday, LGBTQ+, Romance

Hamish Kenneally is moving from Australia to the US for a fresh start, starting with Christmas at his sister’s place in Idaho. When a snowstorm diverts his plane to Montana and leaves him stranded two days before Christmas, he hires a car and drives right into a blizzard.

Ren Brooks has always called Hartbridge, Montana, and his family hardware store, home. After a few failed attempts at love, he’s resigned to being single forever—after all, no guy wants to stay in his sleepy little town for long. And after his dad’s passing earlier in the year, Ren’s Christmas is looking bleak. But when a car runs off the road in front of his property, Ren pulls the driver out and takes him home to get out of the cold.

With the storm and the holidays leaving Hamish with nowhere else to go, Ren kindly offers a place to stay. Hamish is certain he’s crashed right into a Hallmark Christmas movie, despite more car delays and road closures and the prospect of not seeing his sister for Christmas. And with help from Hamish, Ren is beginning to feel a little Christmas cheer.

These two unlikely strangers have more in common than they first realise, and after two days of Christmas decorations, cookies, and non-stop conversation, it looks like Christmas might be saved after all.

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Tic Tac Mistletoe NR walker

EXCERPT:

Hamish’s POV

A totally catastrophic, unmitigated disaster.

What is a totally catastrophic, unmitigated disaster, you might ask?

Let me break it down for you real quick.

My life, my relationship, my job, my plans, my future, and this whole damn trip.

So, basically me.

Me.

I am the totally catastrophic unmitigated disaster.

Hamish Kenneally, thirty-one-year-old Australian, who quit his shitty job and sold his shitty apartment and left behind his shitty life in Sydney, packed his said-shitty life into two suitcases, and boarded a plane to spend Christmas with his sister in God-knows-where, Idaho, USA.

Well, Christmas first. Then two years, at least, in America trying to unshitify his life.

And if the trip to said God-knows-where, Idaho, was any indication of just how spectacularly extra-shitified my life was going to get, I should have turned around and stayed right where I was.

Because if the flight from Sydney to LA was bad, which it was, then the second flight, LA to Spokane, made the first flight look like a joy ride.

Because I didn’t get to Spokane, did I?

Oh no, of course I didn’t.

Because you see, Christmastime in America is in winter. Which is weird enough for this Australian. Christmas should be hot summer days at the beach, seafood and salads, beers and watching the bronzed surfers and drunk foreigners at Bondi. That is what Christmas should be.

None of this “sorry folks; to avoid flying into a massive snow blizzard, we’re being diverted to Missoula, Montana” crap the captain of the plane said when we were halfway there. Like the screaming baby in the seat next to me, or the vomiting lady in the row in front of me weren’t bad enough. Like we had any choice about which direction we were flying into.

I had no choice. I was now going to Montana. In a freaking blizzard, of all things. Ever been on a plane that flew into a snowstorm? There is zero joy in that kind of turbulence, believe me. It would also explain the screaming baby and the vomiting woman. And the man behind me saying Hail Mary’s . . . which you’d think might be comforting. But oh boy, is it ever not. Especially when he yelled the prayer every time we hit a particularly large pothole in the sky on the descent. Honestly, if this flight was a scene in a movie, you’d think it was too ridiculous to be real.

After the plane landed—to which I would have clapped and cheered like everyone else if I wasn’t stuck in the brace position after trying to kiss my own arse goodbye—we were kicked off the plane without so much as a good luck in the wrong bloody state.

So there I was, a clueless Aussie, after flying for twenty hellish-hours and now a few hundred kilometres from where I was supposed to be, trying to wrangle two overweight suitcases down the concourse, when one little wheel on my suitcase broke.

Because of course it did.

Frazzled and trying not to cry— Yes, cry. A thirty-one-year-old man can cry; shove your toxic masculinity in your cakehole and stop judging me. I was having a jetlag-fuelled shitastic day meltdown, trying to keep my shit together the best I could, and clearly not doing it very well. I was allowed a little saltwater leakage.

Anyway, getting back to my story. I tried to call my sister.

No signal.

Because of course there’s not.

So, taking a deep breath and willing myself not to spiral, I found my car rental kiosk. Finally, something is going right. “I have a car booked,” I said, trying to keep my now-broken suitcase upright with my foot while rifling through my backpack for my booking confirmation and driver’s licence. After dropping my passport and half the contents from my backpack all over the floor, then scrambling to collect it all while still trying to keep my suitcase upright, I handed everything over with a flourish of triumph. “Oh, that flight was the worst,” I said, sagging onto the counter. I was about to tell her all about my day from the ninth circle of hell when she looked up at me with that look.

You know the one.

The look of superficial appeasement before they cut you off at the knees. “I’m sorry, sir. But I don’t have a reservation under your name.”

I stared at her. My brain short-circuited and the will to live left my body. It was an actual out-of-body experience, I’m sure of it. I could see myself staring at her, mouth gaping like I’d been lobotomised.

Because of course they didn’t have my booking.

Why would they? My rental car was waiting for me in Spokane. In Washington. Not in freaking Montana.

“Oh,” I whispered, and my left eye twitched. “That’s nice.” I looked around the airport, at the line of annoyed people behind me. “Excellent. I’ve seen that movie where Tom Hanks lives in an airport. It wasn’t so bad. Could be worse. Could’ve been the one where he’s stuck on the island, I guess. Though I didn’t pack a volleyball, so that would’ve sucked.”

She blinked and tap-tap-tapped away at her keyboard. “But sir, we’ve had a lot of cancelled flights today because of the weather. I can arrange a vehicle for you, if you’d like?”

Oh, my sweet baby Jesus in a manger, why didn’t she lead with that?

Tic Tac Mistletoe

 

Author Bio:

N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance. She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn’t have it any other way.

She ismany things: a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who liv

e in her head, who don’t let her sleep at night unless she gives them life with words.

She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things… but likes it even more when they fall in love.

She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal.

She’s been writing ever since…

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / Bookbub

Tic Tac Mistletoe

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Book Blitz & Excerpt: A Husband For Christmas, by Nancy Pirri

A husband for Christmas
A Husband For Christmas
Romance, Holiday Romance
by Nancy Pirri

Date Published: October 2020

Publisher: Satin Romance

On Sale for Only $.99 Until 12/15/2020

Can a little girl’s wish for Santa to bring her mom a new husband come true?

In 1946, Sarah Delaney writes to Santa for a husband for her mom for Christmas. She’s never known her father, who went missing during WWII so five-year-old Sarah decides it’s the perfect gift for her mother—a husband, and a daddy for her. Her mother, Rose Delaney, has been working as a banking accountant—until Jack Campbell, the man who held the position first returns from the war and her boss gives him back his job. Rose, unhappy about losing her job begins looking for another position but can’t find one that pays well enough. Jack, feeling guilty since he’s a single guy with no child or wife responsibilities convinces his boss to hire Rose as his secretary. Rose takes up the offer as nothing else is available. Within weeks, Jack falls in love with Rose, even though she refuses to date men she works with. He has big plans in his life though and pursues her until she eventually accepts his offer of marriage. Rose can’t deny she’s in love with him also, until she learns the ‘real’ reason he’s looking for a wife.

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Excerpt

Chapter One

St. Paul Minnesota

September 1946

Captain Jack Campbell, a schooled architect and account, and a medic during the war, honorably discharged from the United States Army, sat on the doctor’s examination table, wondering if his leg would ever heal completely.

Dr. Richardson gave him an answer without Jack having to ask. “The leg’s better than I expected, Jack. But I’m afraid you’ll have a permanent limp for the rest of your life from the lodged shrapnel.”

Jack shrugged. “Guess dancing’s out for me.”

You’ll be able to manage the ones that count…the slow ones. “He gave Jack a sly look. “Bet you can’t wait to hold a pretty girl in your arms for a night of dancing. You were gone nearly three years, weren’t you?”

Jack nodded. “Yes, it’s good to be back in familiar territory.

Dr. Richardson’s smile slipped. “Have you been home yet? Seen your father?”

No. He doesn’t want to see me. I met my mother for lunch last week, though. She, at least, appreciates the fact I survived the war.”

He’ll get over you enlisting, sooner or later. Don’t think badly of him. You are, after all, his only child. And now that you’ve returned you can take up the reins of the family business.”

Father threatened to will the business to a distant cousin, if I enlisted. I’d never wanted to make a career out of the steel business anyway, so I gave him my blessing.”

Think that’s a wise move?”

It’s the smartest one I’ve ever made, Doc.”

So, what are your plans?”

I’m going to return to LaSalle National Bank as head accountant. Then I’m going to search for a woman willing to be my wife and bless me with children. I’ve seen friends die and know life can be too short.”

The doctor frowned. “I heard you’d made marriage plans before leaving for the war.”

Things never worked out between Veronica and me.”

He heard bitterness in his voice when he thought about his ex-fiancée. Thought how he’d received letters from friends about how she’d been seen around the city with an old friend of his, Sedrick Hawthrone. She’d never even had the decency to write him a ‘Dear John’ letter while he was in the Army but had simply stopped replying to his own.

Veronica Miller wasn’t your style, son. Bah! Society girls are nothing but spoiled debutantes with no brain inside their pretty little heads. You need a smart woman, one who’s independent and can think for herself; a woman who can be a helpmate, not a noose around your neck. Besides, there are plenty of ladies around who’d be proud to marry a war hero, who also happens to be a millionaire.”

Dryly, Jack said, “I won’t inherit that money until I marry. And if I don’t marry and get my millions, well, it’ll only mean I’ll have to work a while longer at the bank to save up enough money to launch my business. My grandmother and her will—it’s ridiculous.”

Your granny sure knew how to rile things up when she was alive, but now she’s doing it from the grave, too.” The doctor chuckled. “She was a hell of a gal.”

If it hadn’t been for my mother wanting me home in one piece, I probably would have stayed in the Army, and to hell with those millions. It’s tough being an only child.”

Yeah, real tough,” the doctor said with a laugh, slapping Jack’s back.

Jack left the doctor’s office and limped down the street to his new model Studebaker, noticing dames of all shapes and sizes sending appreciate glances his way. He had gained twenty pounds of muscle while serving his country, so none of his pre-service clothes fit him. Home for nearly a month, he still hadn’t had a chance to have new clothes made so he still wore his Army uniform.

He started thinking about his long-range business goals and smiled, knowing he was on the right track. Soldiers were getting married every day with the ending of the war, and there was a definite housing shortage. The home-building industry was set to explode, even though his father still felt steel was the clear ticket to success.

Perhaps he was right, but Jack had never had the interest his father had in the steel mining business. He also recalled how his father would be gone for weeks at a time, running his business, traveling and selling, leaving Jack and his mother alone. Jack had long ago decided he’d work no more than nine to five at his business and spend the rest of his time surrounded by his lovely, loving wife and children.

At twenty-nine, he was ready to find the right woman to marry and settle down to a normal work schedule, unlike his father. A sweet, compliant, pretty woman with a sensible head on her shoulders would be a good companion for him; one who cared more for him more than society events. A woman who wouldn’t mind keeping a home and caring for children and having him be the provider; fulfilling his needs would be enough for his wife.

~ * ~

Rose Delaney sat in her boss’s office, fingers twisting the corner of her handkerchief, wet with her tears.

Mrs. Delaney,” Mr. Jorgenson said carefully, “a woman’s place is in the home, unless there’s a war on. You were fully aware of the fact you’d lose your job once Jack Campbell returned from active duty.”

Disappointment settled deep inside Rose but somehow, she managed to keep her voice calm. “What am I supposed to do? I’ve a child at home to support, and no husband.”

I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

Rose didn’t think he sounded a bit sorry though she saw color flood his cheeks. He continued, “LaSalle National Bank promised our men they’d be given their jobs back upon their return from the service, and you were informed about this when you took the job. Jack Campbell’s a decorated war hero and is ready to return to work now that his injuries have healed. His position’s the one you currently occupy.”

Is he married?” she daringly asked.

The benign smile he’d given her he replaced with a scowl. “I don’t see why it’s any concern of yours,” he said, picking up a stack of papers from his desk and shuffling them.

I do,” Rose said, leaning toward him. “You see, I could understand him needing this job if he were married and had a family to support. If he’s only responsible for himself, then I can’t see why he can’t find a job elsewhere and leave this one to me.”

He rose from his chair and came around to the front of his desk. Taking her elbow in a light grasp he pulled her gently from her seat and walked her to the door. “I’m sorry. Your last day is the sixteenth of the month. I’ve a meeting in a few minutes. Perhaps we can find another position for you. Let me think on it.”

In her office, she sank into the chair behind her desk. Her hand shook as she tried smoothing out her frizzy hair. What would she do now? How would she support herself and Sarah, her four-year old daughter? Then hope filled her. Perhaps Mr. Jorgenson could find another position for her, one that hopefully paid as well as her current job. She could only hope.

Her husband, Timothy, had been listed as missing in action, assumed to have died at Pearl Harbor, leaving her pregnant and jobless. Other than her neighborhood soda fountain waitress job she’d held as a teenager she hadn’t worked upon graduating from high school. She’d attended business college for two years and studied accounting. But then she and Timothy had married. They’d spent just one night together—their wedding night, before he left for active duty. Six weeks later Rose discovered she was expecting a baby. Timothy never knew about the pregnancy, nor ever saw his daughter.

Rose’s business college certificate was the reason she’d managed to secure a well-paying job at LaSalle National once America became involved in the war. The bank had been desperately seeking a head accountant and had been delighted to hire her—even if she’d been four months pregnant at the time. Now, with the return of a local war hero, they apparently had no qualms about letting her go.

Rose received a small widow’s pension but that was all. Her home was a modest one-story with a quaint, enclosed front porch, which required many repairs she couldn’t afford. Now she was faced with the dilemma of keeping up the mortgage without a decent paying job.

The next morning, after a neighbor with a child Sarah’s age picked her up in the family car to take Sarah to school as they did each school day, she dressed for work in one of three suits she’d purchased upon her hiring at LaSalle Bank. She felt extremely blessed that Sarah had been deemed with advanced intelligence and had been able to start kindergarten school a year earlier.

She pulled a navy serge suit from her closet. The jacket was double-breasted with well-padded shoulders, the skirt pencil-thin, emphasizing her trim figure. Her starched white blouse contrasted dramatically with the suit. She pinned a sapphire and diamond broach to one lapel, a wedding gift from Timothy, and stared at her reflection in the mirror positioned on the wall behind her dressing table.

Depression settled over her. She didn’t feel like venturing outdoors where it had been raining for two days but knew she must. She still had her job and two weeks of pay coming. Quickly, she pulled on her raincoat, grabbed her umbrella from its stand then locked the front door.

It rained often in the fall in the Midwest, and on this cool morning torrents of rain fell from the sky, pounding the sidewalk and streets. As Rose stood on the corner a few blocks from her house, waiting for the streetcar to take her to work downtown St. Paul, a shiny, deep blue Studebaker screamed past her. Rose caught her breath as ice-cold water splashed up into her face, soaked her feet and plastered her seamed silk stockings to her legs.

The force of the wind made her struggle to keep the umbrella over her head. Once she was certain the umbrella was stable, she dug inside her pocket, found a damp handkerchief and swiped the water from her cheeks, trying not to disturb her makeup; trying not to bawl like a baby.

She heard the shriek of a car’s wheels braking and looked up in time to see the Studebaker barreling toward her, in reverse. She jumped back from the curb, ready to flee when a man’s solicitous deep voice called out to her.

Sorry about that, miss! I didn’t see you on the corner until the last minute. Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

Rose moved closer to the curb, bent down and peered at the man through the window he’d cranked open. His light brown hair was cut severely short on the sides, but long on top, his eyes deep blue and merry. His smile was wide, and flashing white teeth caught her attention. She was half-tempted to accept a ride but knew she couldn’t. He was a stranger—a stranger who’d drenched her from head to toe, her raincoat and umbrella having afforded her little protection.

She heard rumbling and looked up to see the streetcar arriving. Brakes screeched as the vehicle came to a grinding halt behind the Studebaker. The bus driver honked at the man to move but he didn’t budge.

Come on! You’re soaking wet,” he shouted.

Rose’s eyes widened on the passenger door he’d swung open. She shook her head as a nervous feeling sent prickles up her spine. It was broad daylight so she shouldn’t be frightened. But there was something about the man’s confidence and tone of voice that made her uneasy. Just the little he’d said led her to believe he was the type who wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

Yes, I’m wet, thanks to you!” she finally got the nerve to shout as she continued to back away. She ran for the streetcar, tore up the steps and found a seat right behind the driver.

You okay, miss?” the driver asked as he peered at her in his mirror. “Was that guy pestering you?”

I’m fine,” Rose replied, her cheeks heating up.

The man had bothered her. He’d just made her aware of the fact she was, indeed, still a woman. Nearly five years had passed since Timothy left, and she hadn’t had a single date since then. But then, other than young boys and elderly gentlemen, there hadn’t been many eligible men around during the war years, not that she’d gone looking. To her mind she was still married—until Timothy’s death could be proved.

She arrived at her destination, stepped off the streetcar and walked briskly up the street toward the bank building built of red brick and eight stories high. She took the stairs to the third floor, stopped in the ladies’ room to check her makeup and comb her hair, which was hopeless. Her honey-blonde colored hair, which she’d painstakingly pin-curled to make it smoother was now an unruly mass of frizz surrounding her face. Her makeup was streaky and some of it had bled onto the once pristine white collar of her blouse. She groaned when she turned, glanced down at one leg and saw the run in her stocking. Hopefully, she still had an extra pair in her desk drawer.

Rose did the best she could with her appearance, then headed for her office. “Hello, Marianne,” she said as she passed the receptionist.

The young woman’s eyes widened. “What happened to you, Mrs. Delaney?”

As Rose moved toward her office, she said, “Let’s just say I had an encounter with a Studebaker. Okay?”

Uh, sure. Say, Mr. Jorgenson said you should come straight to his office.”

Let him know I’ll be in shortly.”

Marianne protested, “Oh, but he doesn’t want you to go to your office until you’ve seen him first!”

Coming to an abrupt halt, Rose narrowed her eyes on Marianne. “Don’t tell me he’s cleared my things out already.”

Um, no, not yet, but…”

Good, then my extra stockings should still be in my desk. Ring him and tell him I’ll be there in five minutes.”

She ignored Marianne’s stammering, opened her door and came to an abrupt halt with a gasp. Her chair was turned to face the bank of windows overlooking the city. She saw a pair of chocolate brown pants legs crossed, oxford shoes on feet settled against the windowsill—shoes she guessed that likely cost more than a week’s salary; Then she heard a man’s deep, laughing voice as he talked with someone on the telephone.

He must have heard her enter as he pulled his legs down and swiveled around to face her. She stared in wide-eyed amazement into a pair of astonished, laughing blue eyes—familiar eyes.

 

About the Author

 

Nancy Schumacher is the owner-publisher of Melange Books, LLC, still writing under the pseudonyms, Nancy Pirri and Natasha Perry. She is a member of Romance Writers of America. She is also one of the founders of the RWA chapter, Northern Lights Writers (NLW) in Minnesota.

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