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Lord of Storms Teaser Tuesday

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Dark Fantasy, Capture Fantasy, Action Adventure

Date Published: May 3, 2024

 

 

Advertising executive by day and novelist by night Gray Stewart has
retreated to the country for a much-needed vacation.  She’s at
the top of a mountain when lightning threatens to fry her to a crisp.
She finds shelter with a mysterious man who goes only by Rowan.

Rowan is the Lord of Storms, a super-human being who has power to minimize
the damage of dangerous storms.  He works in secret, and his female
visitor is a threat to that secrecy.  She’s also a threat to his
equilibrium because as long as she’s around, his thoughts keep
straying to sex… and love.

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EXCERPT

 

Gray Stewart had reached the top of the world. Okay, she was only up about
nine thousand feet, but her heart still raced from the climb, and her lungs
were working overtime to suck in oxygen. She’d made it all the way to
the top of Mount Richardson, the tallest peak in this part of California,
and if she could breathe, the view would steal her breath away. Wait
‘til she told the wiseasses back at the office she’d mastered
the climb. None of the macho types who treated women like weaklings could
have kept up with her.

She broke out her water bottle and took a swig and swung her small backpack
off her shoulder onto the granite beneath her. Then, she sat, crossing her
legs. The beautiful ham and Swiss sandwich the inn’s restaurant had
made for her beckoned. She removed the plastic wrap and took a bite. With
the tomato from the farmer’s market in the inn’s parking lot,
nothing had ever tasted so delicious. In fact, the water tasted pretty
damned amazing, too. Maybe she’d give up coffee.

No reason to get crazy about this, though. Pretty soon she’d be back
in the city where you needed caffeine to face the morning. For now, she
could gaze into the valley far below… at the tall pine trees that now
appeared the size of toys for a model train set and the river shrunk to no
more than a ribbon winding between rows of wine grapes.

A couple of days in the country, and her head was starting to straighten
out. She’d left home for college, and for a little hick girl from a
tiny town, that had been a shock. But then, she’d found the chance job
of a lifetime as a professional writer. So, her art consisted of convincing
people that Gloryshine toothpaste could give them a dazzling smile. Big
deal. She made a good income at that and wrote the great American novel at
night. Her life ought to be perfect. So, why wasn’t it?

She continued eating and feeling sorry for herself until she’d
devoured the sandwich. Then, she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested
her arms on them as she studied the beauty of nature. Unless… wait a
minute… was that a… Lord no, please… a thunderstorm in
the distance? Maybe it was travelling away from her. Lightning flashed, and
she started counting the seconds before the thunder. It took some time and
wasn’t particularly loud. A good sign.

Another flash, and this time the thunder came quicker. And louder. So, the
storm was headed her way, after all. She was sitting at the very top of a
tall mountain with no trees around her — just like a lightning rod waiting
to be hit.

Then, the wind whipped up, and clouds gathered. More lightning, followed by
more thunder, now really loud. She had to get away from here and fast.

She scrambled to her feet and grabbed her pack before heading in any
direction as long as it was down. Even city people knew you didn’t
want to be the tallest thing around when lightning was looking for something
to hit. She was moving too fast for the terrain, which you couldn’t
call a path. Rocks underfoot threatened to trip her, and the gravel was even
more uncertain. The rain started, slapping her in the face, blurring her
vision, but she kept going. That blasted storm was chasing her, and either
she reached safety, or she could get fried.

Her backpack slipped from her hand, taking her phone and the keys to the
rental car with it. She kept going, jumping over obstacles and skidding in
places. The way got steeper, and remaining upright took all her effort, and
all the while, the booming got louder. How much longer before the spears of
lightning would overtake her? In the end, something caught her foot and she
fell.

Attempting to catch herself with outstretched arms only caused her to turn
sideways and roll. Sky, dirt, sky, dirt. So fast she couldn’t tell up
from down. Something sharp bit into her arm as she kept spinning down the
side of the mountain. Lord help her if there was a cliff ahead because
she’d never stop.

But she did stop. Suddenly, something dug into her side — a boot, of all
things. And it belonged to a man. From where she lay, he seemed as tall as a
pine and as fierce as a bird of prey.

“What kind of idiot climbs to the top of this mountain ahead of a
thunderstorm?” he said.

“Who in hell are you?” she said right back.

“Never mind. You’d better come with me.” He bent and
scooped her up as if she weighed nothing at all. That was her last thought
before the world went dark.

 

About the Author

USA Today best-selling author Alice Gaines has published several sensuous
and erotic works. She prefers stories that stretch the imagination,
highlighting the power of love and sex. Alice has a Ph.D. in psychology from
U. C. Berkeley and lives in Oakland, California, where she sings in her
church choir.

Find Alice on Facebook

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

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Lord of Dreams Teaser Tuesday

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Night Lords, Book 2

 

Paranormal Women’s Fiction

Date Published: January 5, 2024

 

 

Psychotherapist Thea’s instinct to help urges her to reach out to the
man who haunts her dreams. When they finally touch, she finds herself drawn
into his arms.

He’s the Lord of Dreams, and together they help him heal from a past
disaster. But can she learn to get over her own fear of attachment and give
herself to him?

 

Publisher’s Warning: Includes discussion of teen suicide that may be
a trigger for some readers.

 

 

Lord of Dreams paperback

 

EXCERPT

 

Thea Jamison went to the break room and filled a mug with the vile elixir
that came out of the coffee pot. After loading it with sugar, she leaned
against the counter and choked some down.

Something was happening to her patients — all of them simultaneously. It
was common for neurotics to report nightmares. Not so common for all of them
to discuss bad dreams on every visit. Unless they’d gotten together
and planned a conspiracy to make her crazy by copying each other, something
else was going on.

She had half an hour free before her next session, so she stayed where she
was and tried to make sense of something they never taught her in her Ph.D.
program. She was still lost in thought when a colleague walked in and went
straight for the coffee pot.

“You look pensive,” Bob Monroe, Ph.D., one of the founders of
the Bellville Clinic said.

“Something’s off…” She hesitated. “Some kind
of shared neurosis in my patients, but not like anything I’ve ever
read about.”

Bob stopped in the act of filling his mug. His expression grew serious, his
eyebrows nearly meeting. “What shared neurosis?”

“All my patients are reporting nightmares. All of them, every single
night,” she said. “Some are afraid to go to sleep.”

He studied her until she could almost hear wheels spinning in his head.
“All the same content?”

“No, they vary, but they’re persistent,” she answered.
“Do you think they could be pulling a prank of some kind?”

“Only if my patients are in on the joke.”

She could only gape at him. “Yours, too?”

“Yup. I heard that some of our other clinicians’ patients were
reporting bad dreams, but I didn’t pay too much
attention.”

“Oh, shit.” Maybe she should mention to Bob that she’d
been having a strange recurring dream as well. Not a nightmare, but odd.
Every night a man would appear as she slept. Ghostly figures flitted around
him. No threat to her, but he struggled against them. When he grasped one,
others would swarm, and he’d seem to choke until he fought them off.
And from time to time, he’d glance at her and beg her with his eyes.
He needed something, and he seemed to think she could give it to him.

“You got quiet all of a sudden,” Bob said. “Was it
something I said?”

Not this again. Not this morning, please. With Bob’s healthy ego, the
man couldn’t believe she’d broken up with him. She never should
have dated someone senior to her, anyway. Luckily, she’d gotten out
before she got too involved.

“Not at all, Bob. I’m just worried about the
patients.”

“All work and no play, Thea.” Bob’s ego again. He’d
gotten over Thea well enough to date others. But he couldn’t make
himself believe a lover had rejected him.

“I just don’t want to get involved with anyone…
ever.” She’d had enough abandonment for one life and
didn’t plan to put her heart in danger again.

“If you really mean that, you should work on it,” he said.
“It’s not healthy.”

“I do not want to discuss this, especially at work.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I give up.”

If only that were true. She drank the last of the coffee she could stand,
turned, and dumped the poison into the sink. “Maybe we should get
everyone together and see how widespread this phenomenon is. We could treat
it as some kind of mass hysteria.”

“Not a bad idea,” he said. “And if it holds up, we could
write an article for one of the journals.”

Maybe he could name a syndrome after himself and get it in the DSM. Bob was
an excellent therapist, but he had a tendency toward self-promotion. Oh,
hell, a journal article would be a good idea.

Just then, Phyllis Conroy, MSW, joined them. “You two seem pretty
intense. Is anything going on?”

“Have you noticed anything interesting about your clients?” Bob
asked.

“Odd you should mention it,” Phyllis answered. “I have.
They’re all reporting bad dreams… every last one of
them.”

Thea and Bob exchanged a look.

“We’ll ask the entire team if this is happening with their
people, too,” Bob said. “If it is, I’ll call a few other
clinics to see if they’re experiencing the same
phenomenon.”

“What if they are?” Thea said.

“Then something horrible is going on with psychiatric patients
everywhere,” Bob said. “It’ll be a public health
crisis.”

Phyllis frowned. “Are you two serious?”

“Afraid so,” Bob said. “I’ll call a staff meeting
so we can discuss this.”

He put down his cup and left the break room.

“What could cause something like this?” Phyllis said.

Thea shrugged. “Beats me. A virus of some kind? Something in the
water?”

Whatever it was, it was connected to the man in her dreams. She had no way
of knowing that, of course, but the man had started coming to her about the
same time as her patients began reporting nightmares. And the knowledge she
was connected to him… maybe to help him… came through
clearly.

“Water pollution hardly seems likely,” Phyllis said.

“Do you have a better explanation?”

“I sure don’t,” Phyllis answered.

Thea had practiced directing her own dreams with some success. If she could
connect with the man, he might have an answer for what was happening here. A
far-out plan, but it was worth a try.

 

About the Author

Alice Gaines lives in the San Francisco Bay Area in a fixer-upper house she
never fixed up. Aside from writing and reading hot, hot romance, she loves
cooking, knitting and crocheting, and her church. She has a pet corn snake
named Casper. She’s insanely passionate about the funky soul band, Tower of
Power.

You can write to Alice at authoralicegaines@gmail.com. You can see
information about new releases at www.alicegaines.blogspot.com. Sign up for
her newsletter. From time to time, she raffles off her handcrafted items to
her readers.

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

 

 

 

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Will Teaser Tuesday

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If It Feels Good, Book 3

 

Women’s Fiction / Paranormal

Date Published: July 21, 2023

 

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Sarah collects and sells antiques, and she lives in a fantasy world of her
own creation. When she’s transported to another universe, she meets
the man of her dreams, but he wants to teach her how to find pleasure in her
“real” life.

Will Loudon is Sarah’s pleasure trainer. He’s also an
honest-to-God English earl — the exact sort of man Sarah reads about in her
forbidden books. He does such a good job of teaching her to find real
pleasure, neither of them wants her to go home.

 

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2023 Alice Gaines

 

The dust in the old attic made Sarah Meadows sneeze, but she wouldn’t
have been happier anywhere else in the world.

“You sure you want to look through this ancient stuff?” Mr.
Gamble, the owner of the house, asked from where he stood on a ladder behind
her, his head poking out of the entrance to the attic.

“You said your wife saved everything,” Sarah answered as she
scanned an assortment of old trunks, boxes, and antique furniture someone
had found the strength to haul up the ladder.

“Never could get her to throw away anything,” he answered.
“As soon as you’ve found everything you can use, I’m going
to clean it all out.”

“I’m very grateful to be the first dealer you’ve had up
here,” she said. “I’ll pay you a fair price for anything I
find.”

“Guess that’s all it amounts to… a little bit of
money.” He sighed. “Anything’s helpful these days.
I’ll leave you to it.”

Which he did. Left her all alone in the relics of his wife’s life.
Poor man. She’d probably find something she could sell in her shop.
Then, she’d refer Mr. Gamble to a few businesses that could help him
empty his attic in preparation for selling the house. This couldn’t be
a joyful enterprise for him. It might be for her.

Dressed in grungy clothing for a dirty job, she got to work. The first box
held a bunch of record albums. Vinyl was making a comeback these days. She
pulled one of the discs out of its protective sleeve and did her best to
scan it for defects in the dim light. Looked pretty good.

The next box had pots and pans. Nothing much there. She hauled herself to
her feet and approached what looked like a lady’s dressing table. The
wood was dinged, but it could be restored. Polished, it could make a lovely
piece for a period boudoir.

One drawer held a hand mirror. Again, wood. Potentially salable. She
glanced into it and almost dropped it. It wasn’t a mirror, after all,
but the framed picture of a man’s face.

Okay, that shouldn’t have startled her. Maybe the lady who’d
owned the piece kept her lover’s face framed in her dressing table. It
sure didn’t look like Mr. Gamble, though. In fact, his wicked smile
and scandalously long-ish hair fit more with a wealthy rake of another
century. Maybe the piece was older than she’d thought.

“Don’t be frightened,” a man’s voice said from
somewhere in the attic. A voice with a very distinct English accent.

Her heart started beating like crazy. “Who’s there? Mr.
Gamble?”

That sure hadn’t sounded like Mr. Gamble. Neither did the laughter
that followed her question. Even without having heard the actual voice of a
wealthy rake, she recognized it as such.

She’d read about such voices in her favorite novels. She’d
never expected to hear one. She put her hand over her heart and did her best
to keep breathing.

“That wasn’t a picture,” the voice said. “It was my
reflection.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she said with as much
authority as she could muster. “Who are you, and where are
you?”

“Over here,” came the answer. But there was still no indication
of the direction it came from. Rather, it seemed to be everywhere.

Crap. She wasn’t staying up here with some stranger who could be
deranged for all she knew. Who hid out in attics? Instead, she got up and
walked slowly toward the ladder. She’d tell Mr. Gamble he had a
prowler, and once the police had evicted said prowler, she’d
return.

“Don’t go, Sarah.”

He knew her name. How? She stopped in her tracks but didn’t turn
around.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the voice said.
“I’m here to fulfill your dreams.”

What did a formless voice know about her dreams? She hadn’t shared
them with anyone because they sounded ridiculous, even to her own ears. To
live in a former time that seemed to glitter so much on the pages of novels
and in the movies. Back then, most common folk, like her, had led difficult
lives with no real education and folk remedies their only health care. But
the gowns and the balls. The architecture and art. The manners. Today seemed
so coarse compared to that.

“Come find me, Sarah.”

Oh, that accent, like butter on a scone to be covered with jam and clotted
cream. Wise or not, she was going to find him, so she might as well set
about it. But where?

 

About the Author

USA Today best-selling author Alice Gaines has published several sensuous
and erotic works. She prefers stories that stretch the imagination,
highlighting the power of love and sex. Alice has a Ph.D. in psychology from
U. C. Berkeley and lives in Oakland, California, where she sings in her
church choir.

 

Author’s Instagram and Twitter: @AliceGaines

 

Publisher on Facebook, Twitter & Instagram: @changelingpress

 

Purchase Your Copy Today

 

 

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