Showing posts with label Time Travel romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Time Travel romance. Show all posts

October 20, 2016

Finding My Highlander by Aleigha Siron - This Foreign Woman Kindles His Desires Like No Other #TimeTravel #Romance #Laird



Blurb

On a windswept cliff above San Francisco Bay in 2013, 27-year-old Andra Cameron, the last member of her family, prepares to scatter her family's ashes to the wind. An earthquake catapults her to the Scottish Highlands in 1705. She wakes, aching and bloody, to the sound of horses thundering through the trees. Terrified and with no other options, Andra accompanies these rugged warriors. She can't deny the undeniable attraction that ignites between herself and the handsome but gruff Kendrick. Will she trust him to provide protection in the harsh reality of 18th century Scotland and with her secret, or will she find a way to return home to the 21st century?

Laird Kendrick MacLean and his men, escaping a recent skirmish with their worst nemeses, clan Cameron and their Sassenach allies, are shocked to find an injured, unprotected female in their path. How could she not know her kin and how had she landed in the middle of the wilderness alone? His men suspect she's a spy or a witch. Still, Kendrick will not abandon an injured woman, even if she speaks unusually accented English, and her name is Cameron.

Will he ransom her to others or will their closed hearts open to each other? Although he questions her every utterance, this feisty, outspoken woman inflames his desire like no other.

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Excerpt

“Lass, can I help you?” His voice was softer than the others, his stance relaxed, composed, despite the dirt and blood splattered over his massive arms and clothing. He seemed to be a quiet, gentle man, though physically as imposing as the others.

“You could bring me my bag.”

He moved his hand from behind him and cautiously extended her mother’s old carpetbag. “Do I need to check it for weapons?” A slight crinkle lifted the corner of his mouth. A piece of leather cord tied wavy, light-brown hair at the nape of his neck and tight braids spilled alongside sharp, scruffy cheeks. His eyes were dark and shadowed.

“Thank you…it’s Rabbie, correct?”

“Aye,” he nodded.

Andra granted him a guarded smile. “I’ll pull no further weapons if you promise to be kind.” The slight attempt at humor from both of them eased the tension coiled in her gut.

He swept an arm gracefully in front of him and bowed, “Always, m’lady, as I learned at me mother’s knee.” Then he left her to tend the horses.

She searched her bag for the washcloth, hand towel, and first aid kit she always carried when traveling. The washcloth came to hand first. She dipped it into the cold water and wiped the dried and clotted blood from her face and hair. Then she dunked her head in the pool several more times.

“I seem to be awake,” she whispered, just for the comfort on her own voice. “My surroundings feel solid enough,” she pounded her fist on the dirt, “so it must be real. Accept it, Andra, and decide what to do next.”

She could hear the men speaking Gaelic, hushed yet clearly distraught about the condition of their clansman. They gathered near another pool of water several yards from where she knelt. She watched them over her shoulder for a few minutes struggling to fit the scene into her new reality. A million questions rose in her throat.

“Not now. Patience and observation are what’s required. All will be revealed in time.” What a stupid clichĂ©.

Should she offer her help with their friend; would they accept it? She could not sit here and do nothing when one of them was seriously injured. Besides, anxiety always spurred her to take action.

Her father had always said, “Move, keep busy, and don’t let dust gather under your feet.” With her father’s words ringing in her ears, she approached the men cautiously, keeping her eye on the mean one, Struan.

“May I be of assistance?” She stood with her feet firmly planted on the hard-packed, dirt floor, her head held high, one hand pressed flat against her side, the other rested on the cross dangling on her chest. It took an extreme effort to control her trembling body. Her palms moistened with sweat. She steadied her focus on Kendrick. His strong hands moved carefully over his brother’s body. The mean one harrumphed and growled.

A growl? Really?

Kendrick looked up, concern etched on his face. His dark, probing eyes bore through her. “Are you a healer, then?” he asked.

“Not a healer exactly, but I have cared for ill and injured persons and have some training in first aid. I wish to help if you’ll permit me.”

“I dinnae ken your meaning. What’s the first aid of which you speak? As you can see, we give him aid, but if you can do anything to help save my brother’s life, I will gladly accept your offer.”

The mean one growled again. “Don’t trust her, she’s the enemy and will just as soon slit his throat.”

Ignoring the slur, she continued, “Have you determined the extent of his injuries?”

“Aye, his shoulder is dislocated, several fingers broken, which we have straightened and bound as best we’re able. We need to stitch multiple, deep wounds, and he’s lost a lot of blood, though blood no longer flows freely.”

The injured man lay on a plaid, stripped completely naked, his kilt torn away from his battered body. Mud, blood, and all manner of vile debris caked the hard planes of his bronzed chest. Andra couldn’t identify the severity or location of all his injuries. He moaned but appeared unconscious, or so she assumed, since he hadn’t opened his eyes. Clumps of dried blood crusted over wounds on one leg and foot. Dark, matted refuse covered the entire other leg.

His manhood lay flaccid against his thigh, and none of the men seemed concerned about his state of undress in front of a strange female. She stood quietly, waiting for several breaths.

--


Buy links

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1SZ766h

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1rt3Nbk 

Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/finding-my-highlander-aleigha-siron/1123595128

Apple:  https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/finding-my-highlander/id1097148126?mt=11

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/625227?ref=cw1985 

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/ebook/finding-my-highlander

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Author Bio:


After more than twenty years writing and delivering management and other training programs for modest-sized to Fortune Five Hundred companies, and ten years developing community crisis-intervention training programs, Aleigha turned her writing efforts to her first loves, fiction, and poetry.  Her poetry has appeared in numerous anthologies and university presses over the past few decades.  Following a difficult period in her life, she discovered solace in romance novels that inspired her to write in this genre.  As she says, "who doesn't desire a guaranteed happy-ever-after scenario?" Always interested in the concept of time-travel, she knew her first few stories would follow that theme.

When not writing, her trusty four-legged companion/helper, Strider, accompanies her on sunset walks along the shore. During these quiet walks under an expansive sky, with the whoosh of waves across the sand and her gaze drifting over the rolling sea, her best glimmers of inspiration come to mind.  Following the recent discovery of distant Scottish ancestors, she embarked on a trip to the Highlands. Although she had already developed the characters for Finding My Highlander, her trip to the Highlands enriched the characters and enhanced the story direction. This is her first full-length romance novel.

Aleigha is working on a prequel to Finding My Highlander, and another time-travel novel set in a later period.

WWW (Aleigha Siron’s Webpage)
http://aleighasiron.com/

Aleigha Siron’s  Book page at Tirgearr Publishing
http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Siron_Aleigha/finding-my-highlander.htm

Tirgearr Publishing Home Page
http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/index.htm

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/people/Aleigha-Siron/



September 18, 2014

Must Love Breeches; An Oh So Hot Time Travel Erotic M/F Romance By Angela Quarles

HOW FAR WOULD YOU TRAVEL FOR LOVE?



"A fresh, charming new voice" – New York Times bestselling author Tessa Dare



Blurb:

Isabelle Rochon, a thoroughly modern American working at the British Museum, has finally met the man of her dreams. There's one problem: he lives in another century. 

When a mysterious artifact zaps Isabelle to pre-Victorian London, a thief steals it, stranding her in a place where nobody's heard of toilet paper or women's lib. Now she must find the artifact, navigate the pitfalls of a stiffly polite London, keep her origins a secret, and, oh, resist her growing attraction to Lord Montagu, the Vicious Viscount so hot, he curls her toes. 

But when he asks her to pose as his fiancĂ©e for his scheme of revenge, his now constant presence overthrows her equilibrium and kicks in her old insecurities. Why does he have to be so damn hunky, compelling and, well, Drool-Worthy? This is not what she needs. She’d carved off part of herself for another man before and is determined never to make that same mistake again. Staying would be the ultimate follow-the-boyfriend move. In the end, she must decide when her true home lies.


Excerpt

A reenactment ball was the perfect setting for romance. Or not.

Isabelle Rochon fidgeted in her oddly shaped, but oh-so-accurate, ball gown, surrounded by women who'd sacrificed historical authenticity for sex appeal. Red carpet ball gowns in the nineteenth century, really? Once again she was the dorky kid participating in dress-up day at school when everyone else had magically decided it was lame.

“Gah. I feel like a green robot with strange battle armor.” Isabelle pointed to her dark green dress, the shoulders flaring out almost to a point, exaggerating their width. “What were the fashionistas in 1834 thinking?”

“I have no bloody idea.” Jocelyn squeezed the poof of fabric at her shoulder. “These huge-ass sleeves are ridiculous.”

“Ah, screw it, we’re having fun, right? I’m not going to self-sabotage the ball. Not after all the time I spent obsessing over my costume.”

“And obsessing over the etiquette rules.”

“That too.” Besides, how fun was it to learn Jocelyn shared her obsession with guys in period clothes and bodice-ripper romances?

Isabelle eyed a guy strolling past in tight-fitting, buff-colored pantaloons. She pitched her voice to be heard over the string quartet. "Hmm. How about the clothes on that daring derriere?"

Jocelyn sucked on her olive and plopped the empty stir stick into her martini. "Oh, yes. Definitely a breech-ripper."

Isabelle choked on her Bellini, the champagne fizz tickling her throat and nose. This was the first opportunity they'd had to socialize outside work, so she treated this moment delicately, afraid to puncture the mood. No need to point out he sported pantaloons, not breeches.
She should ease up on the drink. She didn't want to get plastered at the Thirty-fourth Annual Prancing Through History Reenactment Ball. Especially since her new colleagues would be around. And her boss. She needed to impress him.

"Look lively," Jocelyn said, her voice low, with a dollop of teasing. "Here comes the office hottie."

She'd been cultivating a mild crush on Andrew since starting her new job at the British Museum six months ago. The whole situation was perfect. A guy in the same field would respect her interests, wouldn’t expect her to give up her profession for a relationship. He was safe. If it worked out, great, if not, no biggie. She was happy, finally, with how her life was working out.

She'd pictured him in period clothing before, looking resplendent.
He did.

"Hi, Andrew." Her voice came out a little too high. Jeez, could she sound any more like a lovesick fool? She always did this around gorgeous men—went ga-ga like she couldn’t rub two brain cells together. She gazed around the Duke of Chelmsford's newly renovated ballroom and pretended her breath hadn’t quickened and her body hadn’t heated at the sight of Andrew.

"Hello, Isabelle. Jocelyn." Andrew nodded. His smile felt like a gift for her alone.
Her pulse throbbed. He'd sought her out. Play it cool. Say something witty. "So, uh, having fun yet?" 

Having fun yet?

Something, or someone, in the crowd hogged his attention. She followed his gaze until she found it. Or rather him. Their boss at the bar.

Andrew faced her and the remnants of calculation on his hot-as-heck features disappeared behind his over-bright grin.

He leaned closer.

The artificial tang of his cologne drifted her way. She wrinkled her nose. 

"Well done on the Whittaker exhibit. Finding that journal was a bit of a coup. It'll be a fine addition to the exhibit, once it's built."

He'd noticed. She'd worked damn hard. "Thank you." Why couldn't Brits find her Southern accent as sexy as she found theirs?

"Glad you came across the pond to work with us. That find should put you in the running for the promotion."

Good. The promotion would mean she could stay in London. Well, it would make staying easier. No matter what, she was determined to remain.

"Of course, you'll have to beat me out."

Cold clarity hit her stomach like accidentally gulping a glass of iced gin instead of iced water, jolting her from her usual foray into Incoherent Land around attractive guys. "You're applying too?" Of course he was.

"Without a doubt. Career changer and all. I'm a shoo-in. Sure you still want to apply?"
Could she scrub the smug look off his face? She settled for the less satisfactory, but more controlled, "Yes."

Now catching her boss' attention was more important than ever. Besides wanting to escape into another era, she'd also hoped her costume would impress him. She glanced at the wet bar. Drat. Where had her boss gone?

Andrew slipped his hand around her elbow, pulling her closer. "How about we ditch this party and grab a pint? You and me." He ignored Jocelyn, who stared back and forth between them.

It all made sense—his sudden interest after dismissing her for months, the calculation she’d caught when he’d turned back—he thought he’d intimidate and charm her into giving up the position.

She yanked her arm free, saying, "Fat chance, you smarmy horndog," which cut through the room because, of course, the music had just ended.

Jocelyn snorted her drink, eyes watering, and coughed, fighting to catch her breath. For a moment, her coughing was the only sound punctuating the silence.
The curious eyes of the onlookers made Isabelle feel like a huge moat had sprung up around her. The moat of Beware, All Ye Who Enter—Idiot in the Center. If one of those eyes were her boss…

Andrew trotted out his grin, the one that used to make her insides hum. "Thought we had a connection. No?" He backed away, hands up, eyes locked with hers in a you’re-such-a-fool stare, his heels snapping on the marble floor with each backward step.

 "Cheers, then, babe. May the best man win." He nodded and sauntered off.

Jocelyn, bless her, completely ignored the Moat of Embarrassment and stepped to Isabelle’s side. “How had we never noticed what an ass he was?”

“Probably because we were too busy drooling?”

“There is that.”

“Seriously, I should just go pound my head against the nearest vertical object and repeat one hundred times, ‘When will I learn?’” 

“Just be careful not to poke out your eye with those lethal shoulder sleeves.”

“Ha.” But Jocelyn’s dry humor softened Isabelle’s mood. "Can’t believe he expects me to just roll over. I have to get the promotion, I need the security. No way am I going to sacrifice my dream to be with a guy, I don't care how hot he is."

Never again would she let a jerk encased in a good-looking skin influence her life. Been there. Done that. Have the gold-stitched Fool’s cap.


Buy Links


Kobo:  http://bit.ly/MLBkobo

ARe:  http://bit.ly/1rXAZmw

Itunes:  http://bit.ly/1rXKylc

Google Play:  http://bit.ly/MLBGoogle

Goodreads:  http://bit.ly/MLBGR

Must Love Breeches board on Pinterest:  http://bit.ly/1qCPKcy

Official Book Page:  http://bit.ly/MLBBook


Bio:
Angela is a geek girl romance writer. What makes her romances geeky? Whether it's fan girling over Ada Lovelace by having her as a secondary character in Must Love Breeches, or outright geek references with geek types in my romantic comedy with paranormal elements, Beer and Groping in Las Vegas, or going all Southern steampunk in Steam Me Up, Rawley, she like to have fun with her romances and hopes her readers do too.

Angela works at an independent bookstore and lives in an historic house in the beautiful and quirky town of Mobile, AL. When she's not writing, she enjoys the usual stuff like gardening, reading, hanging out, eating, drinking, chasing squirrels out of the walls and creating the occasional knitted scarf. She's had a varied career, including website programming and directing a small local history museum, and has discovered that writing allows her to explore all her interests.

She's an admitted geek and is proud to be among the few but mighty Browncoats who watched Firefly the first night it aired. She was introduced to the wonderful world of science fiction by her father, by way of watching reruns of the original Star Trek in her tweens and later giving her a copy of Walter M. Miller Jr's A Canticle for Leibowitz as a teenager. She hasn't looked back since.

She has a B.A. in Anthropology and International Studies with a minor in German from Emory University, and a Masters in Heritage Preservation from Georgia State University. She was an exchange student to Finland in high school and studied abroad in Vienna one summer in college.

Website: http://bit.ly/VMFK00

Blog: http://bit.ly/WkQbXG

Join my mailing list: http://bit.ly/1sde3Qi

Paranormal Unbound, the group blog I belong to: http://bit.ly/1sdaIRa

Twitter: http://bit.ly/Se5gQ0

Facebook: http://on.fb.me/VMFT3L

Pinterest: http://bit.ly/1qRhgHQ



August 19, 2014

The Inspiration Behind Janis Susan May's Time Travel Historical Romance; Passion's Choice.



I’ve always been intrigued by the past – especially certain time periods in the past. As I am a life-long student of Ancient Egypt, of course that tops the list. It is such an ancient land that the boundaries between past and present sometimes seem to blur. Did you know that at Deir el-Bahri there exists the stump of a tree planted at the time of its construction? Now desiccated and surrounded by an ugly iron paling, it still sits there in defiance of the millennia that have passed since it was planted by hands long turned to dust. Such things never cease to thrill me.

So, when I decided to write a time-travel, Ancient Egypt was a natural. If you’re interested at all in history, if you know how the past sparks your mind – what would it be like to actually be there? To live there? What would your daily life be like? How would it feel to realize that you could never come home again, that everything you had always known was forever denied you? Not just cosmic things like family and medicines and knowledge and the immediate gratification of almost every wish, though – everyday things like Mexican food, sneakers and hand cream.

And so was born PASSION’S CHOICE, a story about an average American woman thrust back into the turbulent time of Pharaoh Hatshepsut. And the work began. To sit and fantasize about living in another time and place is one thing. To make it into a believable, coherent story that is historically accurate (a very big thing with me!) is another. Would my heroine have worn cotton? (No) Eaten lemons? (No) Had slaves? (No – at least during my time period) Had toilets? (Yes, and flushed with water, but still very different from our own) Had pets? (Yes)

Writing a time travel means creating a believable, workable world with rules and parameters, just as must a fantasy writer creates a world of cool orange oceans and children who can fly up to the age of eleven, or whatever. A time travel is harder, though, because you are writing about something that is true, something that once actually existed. Most everyone knows something about most time periods, though, making your mistakes that much more visible. (Alternative histories and fantasy histories are completely different animals.) And you daren’t let a fact slide, thinking it is too obscure or unimportant to research. I guarantee someone will catch it and call you on it.

Once given the basic fantasy aspect of a modern-day person going back in time, there are just as many restrictions as writing a contemporary ‘reality’ story. Not only must you conform to the framework of history, you must accept the mores and mindsets of your chosen time period.

For example, the Ancient Egyptians believed most thoroughly in magic. In fact, to them magic and religion were inseparable, two disparate parts of a single whole that infused every aspect of life. The medical texts show this; the spells which were to be recited by the priest/physician and the magical texts which were to be inscribed on the bandages were given equal importance as the physical medicaments. To the ancients, it was a package deal; our perception of religion as one thing and medicine as another would have been incomprehensible and more than a little blasphemous to them.

It is tempting to create our own worlds and live our own fantasies when writing time travels, but it is imperative to keep your characters (time traveler him/herself excluded, of course) and facts, lifestyles and beliefs congruent with their time. Otherwise you end up with the dreaded ‘21st century people in fancy dress’ syndrome. That’s just plain bad writing.


No, writing a good time travel is difficult, and – if it is going to be a good one – takes a great deal more work than a simple contemporary story. You not only have to have the viewpoint and beliefs of your time-traveler, you also have to have the viewpoints and beliefs of the time traveled to. That conflict, of beliefs and attitudes as well as technologies, is what makes your story, and we all know that good books are nothing but a series of conflicts arisen and resolved.


Bio:

Janis Susan May/Janis Patterson is a 7th-generation Texan and a 3rd-generation wordsmith who writes in mystery, romance, and horror. Once an actress and a singer Janis has also been editor-in-chief of two multi-magazine publishing groups as well as many other things, including an enthusiastic amateur Egyptologist. 

Janis’ husband even proposed in a moonlit garden near 
the Pyramids of Giza. 

She and her husband live in Texas with an assortment of rescued furbabies.