Please Welcome M. S. Spencer a fellow Secret Cravings Publishing Author is stopping by on my blog to show us her latest release Whirlwind Romance. I totally adore this cover, one in which I wouldn't mind jumping into and walking the lengths of the sandy shores
WHIRLWIND ROMANCE
M. S. SPENCER
What do pirates,
Puritans, and propaganda have in common? Find out in Whirlwind Romance, a
romantic adventure set in the western Caribbean. My latest release begins
during a tropical storm in Florida and ends on a lush, exotic, and remote
Caribbean island. There be pirates there, and princes, and an intriguing
assortment of characters in a setting that can only be described as unusual.
Whirlwind
Romance
Secret Cravings (9/2/2014; print
12/24/14)
Ebook (89,000 words); Print (270
p.)
Romance Adventure, M/F, 3 flames
BLURB:
In the aftermath of a hurricane, Lacey Delahaye finds herself marooned on an
island off the Florida coast with a mysterious man. Before he can confess his
identity, they are kidnapped and taken to a tiny island in the western
Caribbean. In a story laced with adventure and romance, Lacey encounters pirates,
power-mad ideologues, and palace intrigue, not to mention the advances of three
men, only one of whom she loves.
EXCERPT (PG): Tommy’s Tree House
She climbed quietly,
hand over hand. As she reached the last board, a soft, but menacing voice
purred, “Well, my sweet, you’ve found me.”
Okay, here’s where we find out if he’s a bad guy. “Give me a hand up, will you?”
Other than a
slight intake of breath, he complied without a word. Lacey’s head rose up over
the floor to find a cubicle lit by a small pencil torch and cluttered with toy
guns, candy bar wrappers, and crushed Dr. Pepper cans. And Armand. Who took up
most of the rest of the space. He still held her hand, but he had stopped
pulling her. “Where did you plan to sit, on my lap?”
At least he’s toned down the threat level. “Or you could come down. I don’t think Tommy Forster allows
uninvited guests in his palace.”
His jaw dropped.
“Palace?” After a brief interval, he said, “Oh. I see. I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“Come down.”
“Why not?”
“I…I…think I
reinjured the ankle. I can’t put any weight on it.”
Lacey toyed with
the idea of leaving him there for little Tommy, but his mother would have been
appalled. “All right, just a minute.” She climbed down and went back to her
house, grabbed a coil of rope from the shed and sprinted back up the street.
“Armand?”
“At your
service.”
“I’m bringing up
a rope. I want you to tie it to something, then you can shimmy down without
using your feet.”
“Um, what about
when I get to the ground?”
How much did he say he weighed? Twelve stone? Lacey calculated swiftly. Must
be over a hundred sixty pounds. “I’ll try to ease you down.” She threw the
coil into the darkness and backed down the tree.
A few minutes
later the rope tumbled down and Armand emerged. “For the record, this was my
worst event in public school.” He held on for dear life and inched down the
rope.
Five minutes
later he’d descended a foot. “Come on Armand—hurry it up.”
“I’m doing my
best.” By dint of a lot of swearing and some wild swinging, Armand made it into
Lacey’s waiting arms. He sat on the ground, legs splayed out in front, panting.
“Now what?”
Lacey hadn’t
really thought that far. If he’s a
fugitive, I can’t trust him. And I have no way of contacting the police. Maybe
this wasn’t such a great idea. “Er, I guess we’d better get you back home. Then
you can tell me what this is all about.” He didn’t argue, but when he tried to
stand, he fell over. She considered the situation. “What we need is some kind
of transport. What was that thing the Indians used?” Lacey cast about for the
word.
“Travois?”
“That’s
it—aren’t you clever. A sort of triangular thingy to carry a wounded man. Made
of logs and deerskins.” She stopped, not, as one might assume, due to the lack
of readily available logs and skins, but because of the picture in her mind of
an injured warrior lying spread-eagled—bare-chested, sexy, bravely enduring the
pain. Wow.
Armand didn’t
seem to notice her heightened color and pointed at the carport across the
street. “Could we use that little red wagon?”
She followed his
gaze. Story of my life—instead of
Geronimo I get Ralphie. “That’ll do. Wait here.”
“Yes, I think I
shall.” Armand kept a straight face. Lacey brought the little wagon to him, and
he lay down in it, arms and legs hanging over the sides.
“You’ll have to
lift up your extremities if this is going to work.”
And so, with Armand looking like an upside down turtle and Lacey
with tears of laughter streaming down her face, they staggered along the road
to her house.
****
BUY LINKS:
Barnes and Noble:
****
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Although she has lived or traveled in every
continent except Antarctica and Australia (bucket list), M. S. Spencer has
spent the last thirty years mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian,
Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker,
policy wonk, non-profit director and parent. She has two fabulous grown
children, and currently divides her time between the Gulf coast of Florida and
a tiny village in Maine.
CONTACTS:
Blog: http://msspencertalespinner.blogspot.com
OR http://bit.ly/1aBzraT
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/msspencertalespinner
Twitter:
www.twitter.com/msspencerauthor
GoodReads:http://www.goodreads.com/msspencer
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/msspencerauthor/
About.me:
http://about.me/msspencerauthor
AUTHOR
PAGES:
Amazon Author Page:
Thank you so much M. S. Spencer for stopping by :)
.jpg)
