Happy Day-after-Christmas, everyone! I hope you all enjoyed yesterday with family, friends or by yourself. If you need something to drive away the post-holiday blues why not pick up a digital copy of RESCUING LARA? Today is official launch day for this first book in my new Romancing the Guardians series. It’s a departure from my western historical romance, but I think you will find it just as action-packed, suspenseful and steamy as the westerns.
To celebrate, I’m offering a FREE pdf copy of WHITE WITCH and DARLIN’ IRISH to anyone who purchases RESCUING LARA today and reviews it on Amazon or Barnes & Noble within the next week. Just send me a copy of your published review along with your email address to collect your prizes.
Now here’s a peak at RESCUING LARA:
Lara Spenser is running for her life. She guards a treasured relic from ages past that her ruthless enemies want to get their hands on. Although she has escaped to Ireland and is hiding from them, her special sixth sense tells her the “Hellhounds” are growing near. Injured in a car wreck that killed her beloved uncle, she is desperate for someone to act as her bodyguard.
Enter Connor O’Shea, ex-Special Forces soldier. Now the foreman for a crew of oil and gas well firefighters, Conn is on an extended vacation in County Kerry after a devastating explosion on his last job. His strong protective instinct convinces him to take on the job of guarding Lara until she can find a permanent bodyguard. Romance soon blooms between the two, but Lara suffers from deep physical and emotional wounds. While Conn may keep her safe, can he rescue her from the pain that holds her prisoner? Will she fulfill her destiny as High Guardian of apocalyptic secrets? Find the answers in Rescuing Lara, book one in this tantalizing new series, Romancing the Guardians.
Burdened by grief and guilt, she hadn’t been able to even think about translating the scroll until finding a small measure of peace in this out-of-the-way Irish cottage. During the past few weeks she’d finally felt secure enough to begin the translation, but now she sensed the Hellhounds closing in. She feared she would not be safe here much longer.
Bent over the document, she reviewed the portion she’d already translated, reading the same fear expressed by the long dead oracle whose message had been handed from one High Guardian to the next through the long centuries.
The Milesians draw near. They have destroyed my people, the Tuatha Dé Danann. Only I, Aodhfin, bearer of the white fire, and my council of mages remain above ground with a small force of protectors. Soon, we will join our brethren in the netherworld. Before I go, I must record one final prophesy.
Our laws forbid the Word of Danu to be written down. Yet, I was appointed to commit this sacrilege in order to preserve the Truth. She who taught me the Word entrusted me with this duty upon her deathbed, for she knew our race would not long endure above ground. At her direction, I have recorded our six greatest prophesies.
That was all Lara had so far deciphered. Anxious to know the final, ruling prophesy, she called upon Malcolm’s spirit to guide her as she focused on the next group of symbols.
. . . .
A knock on the study door broke her concentration. Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder. “What is it, Una?”
“Mum, the man who telephoned yesterday has arrived.”
“Oh! Um, one moment please.” Engrossed in the task at hand, Lara had forgotten her appointment with the man who’d answered her ad in the The Kerryman, the local newspaper. Scolding herself for letting such a crucial matter slip her mind, she quickly rolled up the scroll, slipped it back into its tube and dropped the container in her knitting basket under the table. She nudged it beneath skeins of yarn with her good foot, making sure it was well hidden, then wheeled to the door and unlocked it.
“Come in,” she called, opening the door and backing away.
Una stepped into the room with a rolling pin gripped in one hand and flour dusting her apron. She partially closed the door behind her.
“Mum, he looks a bad un,” she whispered, worry lines creasing her brow. “Ye oughtn’t to be alone with him.”
Lara hesitated briefly then put the warning down to melodramatics. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Please show him in, Una.”
“But mum, he’s –”
“Show him in,” Lara gently insisted, raising her hand to stave off further argument.
The Irishwoman issued a mournful sigh and nodded. “Aye, mum, as ye wish.”
While she went to fetch the man, Lara smoothed her long skirt and fingered the jagged scar running from her right cheekbone down almost to her jaw. She considered standing to create a stronger first impression but dismissed the idea. Her injured leg wasn’t strong enough to bear weight yet, if it ever would, and standing on one foot she’d risk losing her balance.
A man’s heavy tread accompanied Una’s footsteps up the hall. The door opened again and the plump Irishwoman warily ushered in a tall stranger. He halted just over the threshold to stare at Lara, obviously unprepared for her appearance. She stiffened self-consciously and gulped at the sight of him. Six-foot-two or three, he had shaggy coffee-brown hair, and several days’ growth of beard shaded his square jaw. A slight bump marred the bridge of his Roman nose, revealing it had once been broken. Clothed in faded jeans, a dark blue shirt, black leather jacket and boots, with studded leather gloves protruding from the jacket pockets, he looked like he belonged in a motorcycle gang.