Sharing the Stranger

Sharing the Stranger
A Dark Tale of Forbidden Fertility
by Giselle Renarde


Valerie and Marissa are spending the night in a remote old farmhouse. The last thing they expect is a knock at the door. When Raphael appears out of nowhere, they’re possessed. What is it about this strange figure that has them so mesmerized? Is it his pale skin? His raven hair? His silver-tipped walking stick and shoes that are inexplicably clean despite the mud all around?

Perhaps Raphael’s most alluring quality is his ability to make the girls want things they never imagined… and do things they’ll never forget…

A forbidden first-time fertility tale.

Now Available from Amazon| http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00V8CZ34C?tag=dondes-20
Amazon UK| http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00V8CZ34C?tag=dondes-20
Amazon Canada| http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B00V8CZ34C
Amazon Australia| http://www.amazon.com.au/gp/product/B00V8CZ34C


EXCERPT

“Valerie?” I asked, skulking around the corner.

She was standing in the entrance with the door wide open.

In the darkened entryway stood a man who looked neither young nor old. His dark hair fell in greasy strands across his gaunt cheeks. He had that pale sort of skin that gave way to blue bags under his eyes, the way I looked when I didn’t get a good nine hours of sleep. But there was something about him… something inexplicably appealing…

“Marissa,” Valerie said, opening the door a little wider. “This is Raphael. He says he used to live here.”

Raphael reached for my hand and I gave it to him in an instant. “Marissa? What a beautiful name.”

“Thanks.” When I felt his cold fingers against my palm, my knees weakened. I almost collapsed against the door when he brought my hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

Any other guy did that, I’d kick him in the nads.

But Raphael had these eyes, these piercing green eyes that convinced me everything was okay.

“Soft skin you have. Just like your sister’s.” He looked from her to me. “Such lovely young women you are. Same eyes you have. I see the family resemblance.”

Valerie broke out in a blush and said, “Oh, we’re not related. We’re just stepsisters. Our parents only got married less than a year ago.”

“Ahh,” Raphael said, nodding. “Then you have not lived here very long?”

“No, we just moved in,” I said, rushing to speak before Valerie could get a word in. “Before that we lived in the city. It’s very different, living out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Very different,” the stranger agreed.

Now Available from Amazon| http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00V8CZ34C?tag=dondes-20
Amazon UK| http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00V8CZ34C?tag=dondes-20
Amazon Canada| http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B00V8CZ34C
Amazon Australia| http://www.amazon.com.au/gp/product/B00V8CZ34C

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Ah, spring. Our thoughts turn to ... murder

Cassie Whittington thought she was starting a new life in the landscaping business after being laid off from her high-tech job. She didn't count on catching the eye of her new boss, Sam Barlow, the owner of the business where she works.

When Cassie inherits an estate from an elderly relative, her life gets really complicated, especially when the inheritance is tied up in court because of unhappy family members who feel deprived of their rightful share.

Add to all this the discovery that her ex-husband is still in love with her, a threat from Sam's ex-wife, and a murder in the greenhouse…if Cassie isn't careful, her new life might be ended before it can begin.

EXCERPT:


I went to the old greenhouse and pushed open the door, drinking in the humid smells of dirt, plants and the sharp tang of fertilizer. The odors were a balm to my winter-weary senses. March in Minnesota is a month of tantalizing hope and we still had half-a-foot of snow on the ground. This greenhouse was an oasis in the desert.

I walked along the narrow entry aisle, paved with flat stones that lay unevenly on the gravel floor. This walkway led into the greenhouse proper, the three-tiered tables on either side loaded with ficus, spider plants, dumb canes, bromeliads and ivy. The plants effectively blocked my view of all but the intersection ahead and the bright afternoon sunlight over me.

I reached the intersection for the main aisle and looked to my right. Four three-tiered benches lined either side of the aisle, each loaded with assorted plants. The Boston ferns were kept in the center of the greenhouse, where the humidity was less variable in the leaky structure. I turned to walk to my left, into the main part of the greenhouse and as I did, I almost fell over a body.

Michael Peavey was stretched out on the floor, overturned plants, dirt, and pots scattered over and around him. My first thought was that he’d fallen. Then I got a closer look at his face. I’ve never seen anyone with cyanosis before, but I recognized the symptoms. They were drilled into those of us who took Nursery Operations 101. Michael Peavey had all the signs of a man with pesticide poisoning — fixed and rigid limbs, a blue tinge to his face, bulging eyes, and protruding tongue.

I froze for one long, awful second. Then I realized whatever poisoned him could still be in the air if it had been released as a vapor. I turned to flee and that’s when I saw the thin trail of blood, bright red against the white of a broken ceramic pot on the floor. I hesitated—was he just injured or was he dead?

I hazarded another look at his face and what I saw convinced me to get the hell out while I could. I dropped the ferns in a crashing explosion of busted pots and dirt then dashed out of the greenhouse, almost overturning a bromeliad on the way. I burst into the hallway then into the potting room, barreling into Ed Jenkins, who chatted with a group of students near the door. I grabbed his arm, almost spilling his ever-present coffee cup from his hand.

He took one look at my panicked face and set the mug down on a nearby table. “Is there a problem?”

An important dignitary and the chief donor to the school dead of pesticide poisoning in the Horticulture Department greenhouse? A problem?

That was the understatement of the year.

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New Release

Kissed by a SEAL
Hot SEALs
NY Times/USA Today bestseller Cat Johnson

Retired SEAL Chris Cassidy knows the bro code—no messing around with teammates’ sisters. However, Chris never was one for following rules. Besides, his teammate Rick’s gorgeous sister Darci is worth breaking the rules for.

Darci Mann is tired of being alone. Since Zane, the bad boy SEAL she formerly had a crush on, fell in love with someone else and her best friend Ali found her own happy ending Darci’s feeling her single status extra keenly. Though she suspects her brother’s buddy Chris would be willing to change her status . . . if she decides to let him.

When a routine assignment turns deadly and Chris switches from charming joker to capable trained warrior willing to kill or die to save Darci’s life, she might have to reevaluate her feelings about the perpetual bachelor and her own future.



CHAPTER 1 Excerpt (G rated)
Chris watched the sway of Darci’s hips as she skirted the stool that stuck out from beneath the kitchen island. She headed toward the fridge and pulled open the door.
When she bent at the waist to grab a can of coke from the bottom shelf Chris got one hell of a nice view. The fabric of her pants stretched across the ass he’d been itching to get his hands on for many years.
Good God almighty, that girl could work it.
A sight like that was enough to make a man’s mouth water. Sometimes it seemed as if the doggone woman put a little extra sashay into her walk just to torture him. But if she was doing it on purpose, Chris knew it wasn’t for his benefit.
There had only been one guy Darci Mann had her eye on, that Chris knew of.
Sadly, in spite of what he considered his good looks and unending southern charm—if he did say so himself—that one man in Darci’s sights wasn’t Chris Cassidy.
For better or worse, that honor belonged to his teammate, Zane Alexander.
Meanwhile, Zane had always been such a self-centered player he’d never even noticed how Darci couldn’t drag her eyes off him whenever he was in the room.
Chris had noticed, though.
Man oh man had he noticed, and it ate a hole in his gut every time he saw the expression on Darci’s face when Zane would hook up with one random woman or another, while not giving Darci more than a passing friendly hello.
Jealousy was an ugly trait, but Chris couldn’t fight it, any more than he could fight his feelings for Darci.
Now, Zane was off the market, thanks to his new and surprisingly serious girlfriend, Missy.
Zane apparently settling down hadn’t helped the situation much. It was like Darci was extra determined to prove to Zane what he’d missed out on.
It seemed her skirts were shorter, her lips more pouty, her glances sexier . . .
The results were enough to have Chris walking around like a dog drooling over a bone any time he was near her, and it had him waking up to some pretty steamy thoughts at night.
He was like a damn schoolboy when it came to Darci. It was as if he was forty going on fourteen, and thanks to circumstances Chris couldn’t have stayed away from Darci even if he’d wanted to, which he didn’t.
“So what do you guys think?” Jon’s question tore Chris’s attention off Darci, and how hard she was working it, and back to actual work.

In eBook and Print

SIGN UP AT catjohnson.net/news for new release alerts delivered to your inbox

More info and buy links at CatJohnson.net

Get the entire Hot SEALs Series
Night with a SEAL
Saved by a SEAL
SEALed at Midnight
Kissed by a SEAL


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Big, Black and Beautiful

Just sent the finished script off to my editor. Here's a little teaser of my up-coming interracial romance, available on 3/25!

unedited - Tony's POV

Tony released a harsh breath and leaned his forehead against the door. She knew he hated his full name. “I swear to God, if you don’t open this fucking door—” He heard the click that indicated Shelly had unlocked it, but he knew she wouldn’t open it, she was just that stubborn.

By the time he opened the door, Shelly was walking away from him. Tony’s gaze automatically fell to her ass, admiring the way the soft roundness filled out the sweats she was wearing. Shit, don’t go there, man. She’s off limits. He closed and locked the door.

“See?” Shelly tossed over her shoulder, the wild waterfall of her thick, auburn curls bouncing with the movement of her head. God, she had great hair. “I’m okay.”

Tony could tell by her tone that she wasn’t. He caught up to her and reached for her arm. “No, you’re not.” He forced her around to face him, his gaze dropping to what she had in her hands. “Oh hell no, you’re not doing this.” He reached for the quart of ice cream, noticing that it was half gone. “You’ll regret this in the morning.”

“How do you know?” Shelly asked, as they as they went back and forth, each trying to take control of the container.

“Because I know you.” It was true. Tony and her brother Steve had grown up as best friends, and had spent a lot of time at each other’s houses. Shelly was only a three years younger than them, but she’d always seemed to be around when he was at their home. Over the years he’d seen a lot, including that she always seemed to pick the wrong men.

“You think you know me, but what you don’t know would surprise you.” She finally gave up and let him take the ice cream away from her. For a moment they stood silently staring at one another.

In that quiet moment Tony let himself take in all of Shelly. He’d first met her when she was a cute, chubby ten-year-old. Over the years that baby-fat had redistributed into one sexy, curvy woman that took his breath away, and tested his libido. It was getting harder and harder to keep his attraction for her a secret, like right now, when all he wanted to do was kiss those soft, full lips pouting up at him. But that wasn’t all Tony wanted to do to Shelly, and that was the problem.

In the face of her quiet anger he picked up the spoon and took a big bite of the ice cream, hoping to take his mind off Shelly as a desirable woman and get it back on track that she was his best friend’s little sister, and therefore hands off.

Tory Richards

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Mischief at Midnight by Rayne Forrest


Madelyn Murphy isn’t your typical spoiled rich girl. She only has one household drone, after all. Why? Because she’s so liberal, she does her own cooking.

Triple D Drones’ owner, Dallas Dyson, has made a fortune in the service drone industry. He’ll even lend a helping hand himself if someone’s in a pinch.

When Madelyn’s service drone breaks just before a dinner party, she calls Triple D Drones for help. When the new “Dallas” prototype shows up to lend a hand, Madelyn finds she needs help with more than serving dinner. Isn’t service what a Triple D drone does best?


EXCERPT from Mischief at Midnight


Dallas Dyson had weathered his fair share of calamities, but this one threatened to expand far beyond the initial predictions. A tiny, fifty-cent relay wreaked havoc across his multi-billion-dollar, service-drone empire. The years it had taken to build his company into the industry standard, the long hours, hard work, and personal sacrifices would all be for nothing if he didn’t manage this crisis very carefully.

Almost eighty-percent of the Hazel I model drones around the world equipped with the Gamma Del Royce upgrade had crashed and burned. His screen lit up with information about the incoming caller, identifying her as one Madelyn Murphy. Damn. This customer had a GDR equipped original Hazel. He took a deep breath and forced his lips into a smile.

“Triple D Drones. May I help you?”

Dark hair, dark eyes, the pale complexion of someone who took care not to allow sun damage to her skin, and a smudge of…Was that a parsley leaf on her otherwise perfect nose? Dallas discretely zoomed in for a closer look.

It was a basil leaf on her nose and olive oil in her hair. This didn’t bode well for the condition of her drone. The GDR upgrade involved Hazel’s cooking protocols.

Her full lower lip quivered. A drop of olive oil broke free and dripped from her bangs. Her eyes rounded in horror as she swiped her hand over her face.

“Oh, dear. I must look a fright,” she murmured. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re a drone.”

Drone? Not the last time he checked, he wasn’t. Last night, he’d been flesh and blood man as he sweated through his workout at the gym. His shoulders and thighs still ached from the punishment he inflicted on his body to keep it in shape. He checked her account.

She didn’t own a Triple D personal pleasure drone, but that didn’t mean some of her friends didn’t, which would explain why she thought him a drone. Not for the first time, he cursed his vast stupidity in basing the appearance of the Trent personal pleasure model on his own features.

Dallas quickly gave her the good and bad on her drone, his mind racing as it tried to come up with a temporary replacement for her.

“Ms. Murphy, we have isolated the problem with the Hazel I model with the most recent food preparation upgrade. However, we’re waiting for the repair part to become available.”

Her lovely face carefully arranged itself into a bland expression. She blinked rapidly, several times, her long, thick eyelashes dampened.

Dallas knew from experience to choose his next words carefully else he’d fall into the bottomless pit of feminine desperation. A woman’s tears sent him to his knees, every time, and this one hovered on the verge of major flooding.

“However, I’m available to assist you in any capacity necessary.”

He’d not planned on saying that. Good lord, how had that spilled from his lips? He’d lost his mind!

She stared at him, astonishment holding the tears at bay. He watched, mesmerized as the tip of her tongue flicked over her full lips. She cleared her throat—twice.

“I need an emergency replacement that can assist with preparation and serving a very important dinner party in…” She checked her watch. “Four hours. I need the replacement to arrive immediately.”

Insanity seized him, sucker punched him right in the gut and he didn’t even feel the blow until it was too late to dodge it.

“I am trained as a chef, ma’am, and as a server with full host protocols. I will arrive in approximately thirty minutes.”

What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t impersonate a drone!

She nodded, forging brusquely ahead. “I’ll expect you to be prompt. Thirty minutes. Please be prepared to remain on call until my Hazel is repaired.” She pursed her lips. “And…um…activate your level five personal interaction chip before arriving.”

Dallas’ stomach plunged nervously even as his body sent out urgent, greedy pleas that he fulfill that level five personal interaction request to the best of his ability. After all, hadn’t he invented what was frequently called the ‘love machine’ chip? Hadn’t it made him a very wealthy man?

Before he could say another word, his screen blanked as Madelyn severed the link, eliminating the opportunity for him to tell her the truth before he reported for the assignment. Only one option remained.

Tough it out.

Mischief at Midnight is available at Amazon

Mischief at Midnight was previously published as part of a two author anthology. 

Rayne Forrest


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