What the Duke Wants: 13 Favorite Authors on #Thursday13 with #MFRWauthor @AmyQuinton

MFRW author Amy Quinton shares her 13 favorite authors.
Amy Quinton is an author and full time mom living in Summerville, SC. She enjoys writing (and reading!) sexy, historical romances. She lives with her husband, two boys, and two cats. In her spare time, she likes to go camping, hiking, and canoeing/kayaking… And did she mention reading? When she’s not reading, cleaning, or traveling, she likes to make jewelry, sew, knit, and crochet (Yay for Ravelry!).

Thirteen Favorite Authors

1. Kresley Cole

2. Julia Quinn

3. Karen Marie Moning

4. Julie Anne Long

5. Eloisa James

6. Johanna Lindsey

7. Kristen Callihan

8. Tessa Dare

9. Elizabeth Hoyt

10. Monica McCarty

11. Sara MacLean

12. Julia London

13. Paula Quinn

What the Duke Wants

Agents of Change, Book 1
Erotic Regency Romance
Liquid Silver Books

Upstanding duke desperately seeks accident-prone wife from trade…

1814: Miss Grace (ha!) Radclyffe is an oftentimes hilariously clumsy orphan biding her time until she is old enough to come into her small inheritance. Much to her aunt’s chagrin, she isn’t: reserved, sophisticated, or graceful (she once flung her dinner into a duke’s face). But she is: practical and in love… possibly…

The Duke of Stonebridge is an agent with a tragic past. His father died mysteriously amid speculation that he was ‘involved’ with another man. The duke must restore his family name, but on the eve of his engagement, he meets his betrothed’s cousin, and his world is turned inside out… No matter, he is always: logical and reserved. And he isn’t: impulsive or in love… possibly…

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EXCERPT

Therefore, despite the uncomfortable feeling of wetness seeping through her gown and the faint-though-nearby sound of dripping mud, she did what any sensible lady of good upbringing would do in less than ideal circumstances. She cursed. With conviction. 

“Bloody hell. Not again.”

So maybe she didn’t say that.

~

Grace now made a herculean effort to pull herself together (and not curse), confident she would be laughing off the memory. Later. Perhaps tomorrow. Or the next day. 

“Excuse me, my lord? I am afraid the mud might be hardening and whilst I love gardens, I do not want to become a permanent fixture in this one.”

There. This is good. My brain is functioning again, albeit a bit impertinently. 

She let slip a light chuckle hoping to further diffuse the awkwardness of the situation. Who doesn’t appreciate a little self-deprecating humor to smooth over an uncomfortable state of affairs?

“Of course. . . May I ask? Does this sort of thing. . . happen. . . often?”

Apparently, not this man.

~

Abruptly, Stonebridge spoke: “Bryans, I want you to find out all you can about a woman here by the name of Miss Grace Radclyffe. I assume she’s a guest.” He wasn’t sure what prompted his request; the words just seemed to burst out of his mouth of their own volition. 

“No need, Your Grace. She’s all anyone has talked about since we arrived. Apparently, she’s the earl’s niece through his first, now deceased, wife. All the servants are half in love with her, as she’s quite friendly with the staff, knows everyone by their first name and all that. She’s been living here about a year, since her parents died. Her father was a bookseller in Oxford, and probably why she doesn’t put on airs with the staff. Shall I inquire further?”

“No, thank you. That will be all.”

“Oh, and I almost forgot. It seems she has a peculiar tendency toward clumsiness.”

“Don’t I know it,” murmured the duke. 

“What was that, Your Grace?”

“Nothing. That will be all.”

“Very good, Your Grace. I shall inquire further without betraying your interest.”

The duke ignored the impudence and left without another word, slamming the door behind him. 

~

Stonebridge remained completely still. He closed his eyes as he tried to hold on to her lingering scent and the image of her staring up at him with so much intensity—with desire in her eyes. Then, ever so slowly, he leaned his head against the books where only moments before she had stood within his arms, within his reach. His heart still beat erratically. 

He had nearly kissed her. And what a mess that would have been. And yet, he was completely undone, for it wasn’t he who had stopped it from happening.

CONNECT with Amy

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Werewolves on #MFRWorg #Thursday13 with #MFRWauthor @KryssieFortune

MFRW Author Kryssie Fortune joins us for Thursday 13.
Kryssie Fortune is a Yorkshire lass who is lucky enough to live within driving distance of Whitby - the home all things paranormal and strange. Her husband says she’s part cat - always curious. He's probably right, but Kryssie maintains that she’d rather be part dragon. She loves mythology and visiting ancient sites. That's where she gets lots of her ideas. Although she hasn't met any Yorkshire werewolves yet.

Kryssie has two grown up children of whom she is inordinately proud and a husband she still adores after thirty-eight years of marriage.

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Whitby is one of my favorite towns. Both Curse of the Fae King and my new book To Mate A Werewolf open in the Abbey grounds. 

Thirteen Things About Whitby
1. Bram Stoker wrote Dracula whilst staying in Whitby.
2. Dracula came ashore in Whitby when his ship The Dementer was driven ashore on Whitby’s east cliff. He took the form of a black dog
3.  Captain Cook spent his youth in Whitby. He went on to map a large portion of Canada and New Zealand.
4.   William Scorsby – the whaler who designed the Crow’s Nest – sailed from Whitby.
5.  Whitby and Whaling were once synonymous. The giant arch atop the east cliff is made from the jawbone of a Bow Head Whale. Alaskan Intuits gave it to the town in respect of their whaling tradition.
6. In medieval times, the peasants believed St Hilda - the founding abbess of Whitby Abbey – beheaded all the local serpents and turned them to stone. This was the only way they could explain the abundance of fossilized ammonites around Whitby.
7. In the 7th century, Whitby Abbey hosted the church synod that decided the date of Easter.
8. Viking slavers regularly raided Whitby Abbey. They sold their captive monks in Dublin’s slave market.
9. Legend tells of a giant serpent sleeping in the cliff beneath the abbey. It’s pictured as a dragon, and called the Whitby Wyrm. He helped inspire me for the baby dragon, Lipstick, in my book, Curse of the Fae King.
10. 199 steps link the Whitby marketplace to Whitby Abbey. They have a resting place for pallbearers half way up.
11 The River Esk runs into Whitby Harbor, and flows on into the North Sea.
12. In 1909 a swing bridge was built across the River. It separates the upper and lower harbors and still operates today.
13. Whitby hosts two Goth festivals a year. Goths roam the streets in Victorian garb. It only adds to town’s charm.

To Mate A Werewolf

Erotic Paranormal Romance

Loose-Id

The scars on Ellie’s cheek are a constant reminder of the times she tried to escape from sexual slavery. Two years ago, Joel Blackheart led the rescue party that freed her. She’s loved him ever since.

When their relationship finally explodes into steaming sex, he offers to pay her off. She walks away with her head high and her heart shattered. Then she discovers a plot to destroy him. Now she needs to warn him. 

Joel has to fight to retain his pack. He’s horrified when Ellie turns up on the night of his engagement to a woman he’s never met. Finally, he realizes Ellie’s his true mate. He has to choose between his arranged marriage that strengthens the pack, and the woman he truly loves. Will he choose with his head or his heart?

To Mate a Werewolf is a stand alone story within the Scattered Siblings series.

#MFRWauthor BOOK SPOTLIGHT: Undone by @LiviaQuinn

Undone: A Sexy Romantic Adventure

Blood Opal Series, Book 1
Livia Quinn | Campbell Hill Publishing
Erotic Contemporary Romance
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Undone - The setting: New Orleans and Pernambuco, Brazil. One year ago, Antiquities dealer Elektra Charpentier lost the rarest opal she'd ever almost owned, and the only man she'd ever loved.
Now he's back.
Aussie gem hunter Cass McKay spent the last year searching for Elektra's Blood Opal and a way back into her life and her heart.
Now he has it. And he doesn't intend to lose her again, because without her, he's -- U n d o n e " Like a Rumba or Salsa...the beat of this story will get cha!

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EXCERPT
""Hot, hot, hot! Did I mention, it's hot? Loved the scenes in Brazil...Strong characters. Tight, fast plot. Oh, and it's hot.""

""I loved this book!! Exciting, sexy and sit on the edge of your seat kind of book!!!""" "A low animal growl sounded from deep in his chest as he halted, still deep within her, his chest heaving in agonizing uneven breaths. In a single fluid motion, he levered himself off of her to sit on the edge of the bed.

Oh my God, what was happening to them? Agony clamped down on her heart. How could she make this right? Shoulders slumped; he held his shaking hands in front of his face as if he didn’t recognize them as his own. “I’m sorry,” He whispered raggedly.

“Cass—”

Cass held up an unsteady hand. He only had a few words left and he wanted to get them said. He wiped his hand over his face, disgusted. Looking down he saw the rose petals crushed and broken beneath his feet. Like his heart.
He’d done it again; he’d given up his self-respect to this woman who only wanted him for sex and a piece of glorified rock. And this time he’d forced himself on her in an act not entirely of love.

It was over.

He placed his fingers on her chin and waited until she returned his gaze. “When are you going to figure out that you became the successful, intelligent, creative woman you are, despite that sonofabitch of a father? You might flash the Blood in your father’s face, but you’ll only be disappointed if you think it will make him respect you.”

“No, I—”

He pulled his pants on, his shoulders hunched, shook his head. When he turned to her, she ached at the pain and defeat in his eyes.

“You’re terrified of relying on someone, on me— trusting me.”

She couldn’t speak because what he said was true. At least it had been— once.

He stroked her cheek, a slight tremor in his fingers then his hand dropped to his side, “You’re breaking my heart, sheila.”

 He walked to the door, said quietly, “Whatever it takes, I’ll get your opal. Then maybe I can move on.”

“But—” he’d tuned her out.

“I won’t touch you again.” As if all his energy had been drained, he rested his forehead against the hard wood. “I have to try to move on.”

Then he was gone."

ABOUT Livia Quinn
Livia Quinn, a D.C. native living in Louisiana, began pursuing her dream of publication after a little known event called Katrina. With several interruptions in her career involving weather, it’s only natural that storms would be at the center of her stories. She is a business owner and professional singer; has been a salesperson, plant manager, computer trainer, and mail lady.

She's written eight books based in the communities around Storm Lake— an infamous, though fictional lake in Southern Louisiana, where stories range from paranormal on the west end to contemporary on the east.

http://liviaquinn.com  |  https://www.facebook.com/liviaquinnwrites http://www.twitter.com/liviaquinn  |  http://pinterest.com/liviaquinn

https://www.tsu.co/LiviaQuinn  |  plus.google.com/liviaquinn