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book tour – Page 257 – Luv Saving Money

Just One Summer Book Release Blitz

One summer, no regrets

Carly Reynolds does not want to work at her father’s Branson theater over the summer,
but she has no choice. After wrecking his prized Mercedes on Prom night, she’s got to
pay him back somehow before she leaves for college. Now she’s stuck working as the
personal assistant to twenty-year-old Gracin Ford, former member of one-hit-wonder
boy band Accentuate.
Gracin is demanding, condescending, and an all-around jerk. Carly would rather eat
glass than deal with a male diva who’s more famous for his stint in rehab than his
music. Until she realizes that Gracin’s lonely. Once she welcomes him into her life, she
starts to let him into her heart. Even though she knows it will end when she leaves for
school, Carly doesn’t want to look back on her life and wonder what if. Even if it means
a broken heart.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/39398410-just-one-summer

Author Bio:

Lynn Stevens flunked out of college writing her first novel. Yes, she still has it and no,
you can’t read it. Surprisingly, she graduated with honors at her third school. A former
farm girl turned city slicker turned suburbanite, Lynn lives in the Midwest where she
drinks coffee and sips tea when she's out of coffee. She’s the author of Full Count and
Game On..
Author Links:
Website: www.lstevensbooks.com
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16771319.Lynn_Stevens
Twitter: https://twitter.com/LStevensAuthor
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LynnStevensAuthor/
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/lstevensauthor/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lstevensauthor/
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2JinMTL
Buy Links:
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2L8MJBU
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/just-one-summer-lynn-
stevens/1128543167?ean=2940159100788
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/just-one-summer-2
iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/just-one-summer/id1375380297?mt=11

Excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

Nobody sane should ever be up at eight on a Saturday morning. Especially not when
said person stayed up until three a.m. for a horror movie marathon with her best friends
Ivy and Nena. So totally worth it though.
What a waste of a Saturday. I could be sleeping, or bungee jumping, or sleeping, or
ziplining, or sleeping instead of starting a job I didn’t want in the first place.
I bit back a yawn as I smoothed the wrinkled turquoise polo, the required uniform for
Mountain View Resort employees. Taking a deep breath to steady the waves in my
stomach, I knocked on the door to room four-oh-two three times, as instructed, and
squeezed my clipboard against my chest.
What had my father been thinking bringing this guy to Branson? For the last few years,
I’d overheard Dad lamenting to my brother about how the shows didn’t make enough
money and the profits from the resort disappeared into the theater. If Dad wanted to
revive that dump, he’d need someone to sell out every performance. I had serious
doubts about his choice. Another reason I was in the doghouse.
I lifted my fist to hammer the door a second time when it flew open.
A wet torso greeted me, and a hint of the hotel’s jasmine soap drifted from the room. My
gaze followed water dripping down tanned pecs and over the only real six-pack I’d ever
seen as it disappeared into the thick hotel towel wrapped around his waist. Wow. My
face burned hotter than the coffee I’d slammed earlier, and I forced my head up to meet
the gaze of The Gracin Ford, celebrity bad boy and former member of Accentuate, a
one-hit wonder boy band.
Gracin’s manscaped eyebrows arched as bright blue eyes took a circuit over my body.
My skin tingled all over in response to his gaze.
Sadly, he had to open his mouth. “Not my type, but thanks.”
Then he slammed the door in my face.
What? That… that… that son of a bitch! I punched the door three times, fully prepared
to give this egotistical asshole a piece of my mind. Meanwhile, my father’s lecture from
half an hour ago echoed between my ears: “If you want to go to U of N in the fall, you
work for me this summer to pay me back for the damage to the Mercedes. Don’t, and
you can go to Southern Community like your brother did.” I counted to thirty, trying and
failing to calm myself while I waited for his highness.
The door swung in. At least this time, he’d had the decency to put on a pair of khaki
shorts and a t-shirt. His gaze shifted over me once more, and I tried not to squirm, but
blue eyes gave me the creeps. And brought back memories I’d rather pretend didn’t
exist.
“What now?” he asked. If he was even slightly miffed, he didn’t show it. The cool
nonchalance in his voice didn’t stop my temper from shooting toward the atmosphere.
I dug my nails into the back of the clipboard and smiled my best smile. “Hi, Mr. Ford. I’m
Carly Reynolds, your … personal assistant. Your father provided us with a detailed
itinerary of your day-to-day–”
“Let me see it,” he said, leaning his shoulder against the door jam.
I handed it over, keeping the tremor in my hands at bay. Personal assistant my ass,
more like his errand bitch. If he hadn’t fired his previous P.A., I could be lounging by the
pool as a lifeguard or cleaning rooms or checking guests at the front desk. Instead, I
had to spend my summer following every whim of a twenty-year-old has-been. As he
took the itinerary, his eyebrows furrowed at something else. Before my hand could drop

back to my side, he snatched it and tugged at the tie holding the leather cuff covering
my wrist.
His eyebrows lifted again and amusement danced across his full lips. “Nice tat. Why
hide it?”
“Who says I’m hiding it?” He let go of my hand, and I quickly retied the cuff over the
small trinity knot tattoo on my wrist. It had only been two weeks since I’d gotten inked,
but Mom and Dad hadn’t noticed. Yet. I crossed my arms and bit the inside of my upper
lip. As much as I didn’t want to be here, I also didn’t want to go to Southern Community.
Keeping my mouth shut was kind of required if I wanted to go to Nashville in the fall.
Gracin nodded and refocused on the itinerary. He flipped the paper, shaking his head.
“According to this, you’re supposed to take me to breakfast every morning at eight so
we can discuss the day’s schedule.” He handed the clipboard back to me. “I’m
assuming that’s why you’re here now.”
“Yep.”
He sighed. “Let me get my shoes. No doubt the big kahuna will be expecting me.” He
moved into the room and I reached out to hold the door open. “I’ll get a more realistic
schedule to you.”
“Realistic?” I asked as he slipped on a pair of boat shoes and a Rolex that could pay for
half a semester at U of N or the entire two years at Southern Community.
“Yeah, that’s clearly the schedule Dad wants me to keep. Not even close to reality.”
Gracin stepped into the hallway, patting his pocket. He groaned and turned to stop the
door from shutting completely, but it was too late. He fell forward, letting his forehead
thunk against the thick wood. “You wouldn’t happen to have a key to my room, would
you?”
“No, but we can get one from the front desk after breakfast. You’re moving into one of
the cabins today anyway.” I shrugged because it wasn’t that big of a deal. “No worries.”
Gracin laughed, but there wasn’t any humor to it. “Do me a favor. Keep this key thing
between us, okay? The last thing I need is to hear how irresponsible I am. Again.”
I held back the scoff and the sarcastic comment that would normally shoot from my
mouth in record speed. Especially since I’d heard the same lecture more times than I
could count. “Yeah, okay. But we have to go now, or you’re going to have to hear how
irresponsible I am.”
“Well, I won’t say anything about the tat in that case.” Gracin’s smile showed his
Hollywood white teeth.
We were half way between his room and the elevator when his cell rang. I tried to
ignore his half of the conversation, but when you’re alone with someone, it’s hard not to
listen.
“Hey, babe.” Pause. “Yeah, I had a great time too.”
Another pause. Gracin laughed, clutching his hand against his chest.
“Probably best they didn’t catch us. Photographic evidence and all.”
Another pause when we got to the elevator. Gracin’s face turned from California tan to
the shade of a bruised red pepper.
“You didn’t? Please tell me you didn’t.”
I wanted to lean closer to hear what the person on the other end had done. Celebrity
drama and all. I didn’t seek it out, but that didn’t stop me from reading the headlines
when they popped up on my computer.

After I pushed the button for the elevator, we stood side by side. Gracin’s fingers
tightened around the phone. I could hear a female voice coming from his speaker but
not what she said. Gracin slapped the mirrored doors.
Housekeeping’ll love that.
The doors dinged open as Gracin’s fist soared toward them, and he threw himself into
the elevator. He managed not to fall, but it was so hard not to laugh.
“Next time you talk to that jackass, tell him you were just another one-night stand.”
Wow. I’d somehow managed to keep my expression neutral when he fell into the
elevator, but my mortification couldn’t be hidden.
He stared at me in the mirror. “There goes hiding my lack of responsibility today,” he
said in a calm voice that didn’t match the fury from a moment ago.
I kept my mouth shut despite the thoughts running through my head and held his
mirrored gaze. Both took supreme battles of will. I thought only one thing: U of N.
Nothing was going to keep me from going to Nashville.
Gracin tilted his head. His eyebrows sagged as he opened his mouth. A beep sounded
from his phone, distracting him from whatever he was about to say. He shook his head
at the screen and then handed it to me. “Here. Fair warning before Hurricane Albert
leashes his wrath on me.”
I wasn’t interested in getting caught up in his drama, but curiosity got the best of me and
I glanced at the image on the screen. It wasn’t anything major. A beautiful girl with bright
brown eyes and obviously dyed red hair kissed a smiling Gracin on the cheek. It was
pretty clear they were in a bar when this was taken. Several empty beer bottles sat on
the table in front of them.
“A hot chick took a photo of you guys in a bar?” I handed the phone back. “Big deal.”
“The ‘deal’ is she sold it to a tabloid.” Gracin shoved the phone into his pocket. He
didn’t spare me a glimpse, even in the mirror. “I can see the headlines already: ‘Gracin
Ford Falls Off the Wagon.’ ” Finally, he faced me. “Except I didn’t. I’ve been sober for
almost a year. None of those empties were mine. Not that anybody will believe me.
Especially King Albert.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh.’”
I didn’t say anything, but the heat burning the tips of my ears was enough.
The elevator opened to the lobby. Gracin motioned me out first and followed me to the
private dining room. Dad sat at the head of the table in the middle of the room. My
mother sat to his right, and a gray-haired man with a stringy comb-over sat on his left.
His extensive lack of hair didn’t stop Albert Ford from trying. My older brother, Luke, sat
next to three empty seats for me, Gracin, and my little sister, Miranda. Quite the family
affair.
“Carly, I’m glad you made it,” Dad said, adding a fake laugh at the end. To anyone else,
it might’ve appeared teasing. I knew better. Dad was not happy we were a minute late.
Of course, when it came to me, he wouldn’t have been happy had I been two minutes
early either. My father was the consummate politician around here. He ruled more like a
dictator, but was JFK when guests were around. “I thought you were going to be late.”
“That’s my fault, Mr. Reynolds,” Gracin said. He threw out a hundred-watt smile.
I fought to roll my eyes. At least he’s taking the hit for me.
“Carly rushed me out the door, then let it close before I remembered to grab my key.”

And under the bus I go. Thanks, asshat.
Dad stared through me with his laser pointer green eyes. “Well, Carly, I suggest you
head to the front desk and get another. While you’re there, make sure housekeeping
stays out of his room until this evening when the cabin is ready.”
“Yes, sir.” I let my head drop in good girl compliance, catching the laughing eyes of my
brother. We both inherited Dad’s light brown hair, but Luke lucked out getting Dad’s
eyes. Unfortunately, he used them to taunt me at every turn, which only served to
remind me who was the chosen one in the Reynolds family. Hint, his name began with
an L.
Gracin made his way toward the buffet spread. He piled fresh fruit on his plate, winking
at me. I shuddered as I freed myself from the room. Guys who winked were just plain
creepy.
My last summer before heading off to college was going to be the worst one of my life.
All because of a little dent in a Mercedes. Smashing.

Serial Murderess Book Tour & Giveaway 5/16 – 6/16

Please note this book does contain adult content. I have not included an excerpt for this one due to content and language for my regular readership


The Darkness in Faith

Serial Murderess Volume 1

by C. F. Rabbiosi

Genre: Erotic Horror

My name is Faith: Tortured sex slave turned brutal murderer. Men have
abused my body for inhuman pleasures, hurt me and made me feel
helpless. But now…
They fear me. I wish I could say that it is all for the good of the world
that I kill them slowly and give them a taste of what they have made
others feel, but that would be a lie. Turns out, I have a lust for
blood and get off on making THEM my slave. They may be way past being
offended at that point, but I sure enjoy my living dead boys.

Just one small problem. I am falling for my newest conquest and don’t know
anymore if I want to tie him up and kill him slowly. He supposedly
sexually assaulted a woman horribly ten years ago and is currently on
parole for the crime, but something about those genuine sea green
eyes and that beguiling mouth makes me weak. I still want to tie him
up but what I want to do to him- will make us both scream.

Something about his darkness and pain calls to my own, and he knows I could
kill him at any time, but still fights to possess me in every
dripping, consuming and tantalizing way.

Come inside if you dare where real sex slave stories are my inspiration
and I’ll tell you the story of a serial murderess and the life
altering events that made her a Lover of the Dead.

“Rabbiosi’s books are beautifully written, twisted and sadistic, and will consume
you from the first page until the very end and you will want more.”
-Under the Night Sky book review.

“After the first chapter, I looked at the clock and sighed because I knew
exactly what I was going to be doing all night. 6 am alarm be
damned.” -Nicole Horn, author of Sapphire Crystal Rose series.

“Gripping, dark and exciting, I can’t wait to get the next in the series.”
-Desiree Ferreira

“These books are sexy and twisted, with true sex slave tales inspiring the
backstory of the main character. There’s a lot of darkness with a
touch of crazy, and I was truly entertained.” -Amazon User

Darkly Dreaming Faith
Serial Murderess Volume 2
How can
I admit to myself that I have fallen for the one thing I fear the
most? I should kill him, as I have visited bloody death on many
others just like him but…
Instead I have let him inside me. Deeply, painfully and with all-
consumingpsychotic passion. My body hums when he hurts it, as he’s brought out
a hidden side of me that thrives off his rough touch. I have never
felt so alive.
Here he is by my side as we travel the country, staying in the finest
hotels and savagely getting revenge on those who have sexually
tortured me. What a ride. Kill, rough sex. Try to kill each other,
more rough sex… And repeat.
But something changes my dark lover with each kill and I fear I will lose
him forever. The blood thirsty beast he struggles to keep locked up
within thrashes against its cage, and I don’t know how much time we
have left together. Oh, but I WILL make the most of it.



Vicious Faith
Serial Murderess Volume 3
My enemy becomes my lover…
Please let me go,” I say.
He takes a deep breath. “I can’t. Why don’t you see that you are
meant for me? You’re a killer, you’re a sexual predator, and my
dark soul demands I take yours. I need to **** your body mercilesslyand make you scream from beneath me. I have no choice because I’ve
never wanted anything so bad.”
His lips move to ear. “Say you want me, Faith.” He sucks my neck into
his mouth and the ache feels good. He leaves bruises. “I will do
anything.”
I cringe and stare into nothingness. This is my way out. If he has
become obsessed with me because I escaped him years ago, because his
best friend wants me, and because I challenge him, then I can use it
to escape. I refocus and allow my demoness to take hold. “I
shouldn’t want you James.”

He moves inside me, lifting me up and forcing me back down over his
thickness and I cry out. “But you do,” he breathes.

I won’t make it that easy. “You excite me. You make my body sing
and scream at the same time.” His **** rubs through me igniting
incredible sensations and I haven’t lied to him yet. “I want
you,” I say breathlessly. He feels so good because this is so bad
and my sanity is being pushed to the limit. I run my fingers across
the shaved sides of his head and rip his blond hair backward. I ride
him hard. “You’re beautiful,” I say, trying to breathe.
“Because you tear me to pieces.”

He grasps my hips, the killer who has never gotten off without hurting a
woman first, and digs his fingers into my flesh. With a desperate
kiss, his eyes roll back and his body tenses in anticipation…


Charity used to be a Registered Nurse in California, and though she doesn’t

use her two degrees in the field anymore, they have helped her with
her real passion- writing. She happily writes the day away using her
in depth Anatomy, Physiology and Psych background to make her death
scenes more real and her killers more… colorful. But it’s not all

about the blood, because more than anything she loves hot romance.
Her heroine is kick-ass and her men are all the dangerous and
gorgeous beasts you love to hate.

Her style is beautifully gruesome and inspired by Interview With The
Vampire, Buffy, and True Blood. She lives in the beautiful university
city of Columbia, MO with her incredible husband and three girls, and
loves yoga almost as much as living and writing in her own fantasy world.


 

Follow the tour HERE

for exclusive excerpts and a giveaway!

 

 

49 Buddhas Book Tour & Giveaway 5/15 – 6/15


49 Buddhas: Lama Rinzen in the Hell Realm
Lama Rinzen Mystery Series Book 1
by Jim Ringel
Genre: Mystery

49 Buddhas tells
of Lama Rinzen in the Hell Realm—a realm of confusion, shifting
ground, and anger.

Lama Rinzen awakens from meditation to find himself reincarnated as a
detective on Denver’s Colfax Avenue. Immediately he realizes that
once again he has been reborn into the Hell Realm—this time charged
with finding insurance man Sonny Heller’s killer. Rinzen believes
finding Heller’s killer will lead to the Sacred Dorje, which has
eluded the lama for many lifetimes. By finding the Dorje, he will
become a bodhisattva, allowing him to lead all sentient beings to
Nirvana. But should the Dorje escape his grasp, Rinzen will be forced
to suffer yet another lifetime in Hell, haunted by past demons and
his failure to achieve enlightenment.

**Releasing in ebook for an Amazon

Best Seller Day on May 23rd!!**



Jim Ringel writes the Lama Rinzen Mysteries, with each book set in one of
the six Buddhist realms of Hell, Hungry Ghosts, Animals, Humans,
Warring Titans, or Gods. In each realm, Rinzen must solve a crime and
learn the lesson of the realm so he may progress along his path to
enlightenment. The first book of the series comes out in May, 2018.

Jim is a Buddhist practitioner who writes and explores Buddhism in his
every day life. His previous works include the novel Wolf, a
“sales-werewolf” noir set in a world where vanquished dogs
return seeking revenge, and where salesmen sell products they cannot
understand.

Jim writes the Writing Like a Buddha blog (www.WritingLikeaBuddha.com),
and lives in Colorado with his Tibetan Terrier, Rascal, who is both
inspiration and teacher.
 

 

Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!

 

 

The Virgin & The Bull Book Tour & Giveaway 5/15 – 6/15


The Virgin and The Bull
by Erato
Genre: Noir Romance, Suspense Thriller

Suicide, rape, murder — Love is a serpent more subtle than any of the field.

 

Twenty-three year old Charles Macgregor had everything going for him, so

why did
he choose to take his own life? As the Sheriff-Depute of Edinburgh
reads through his collected letters, he uncovers a breathtaking story
of femmes fatales, jealous rivals, and love gone violently awry.

An artful and

intellectual thriller told with a noir style, The

Virgin and the Bull shocks
and startles with tense plot, lurid sex and vivid characters amidst a
seductive and scary vision of Old England and Scotland. The frisson
is out of this world when the fiery anatomist Macgregor risks life
and limb to fulfill his desperate desire for the dangerously
beautiful Constance Fawkes, pitted against her mad father and the
more-than-meets-the-eye “virgin” priest, Francis
Exenchester.

“Erato did a superb job… the pace
is right on point… highly intriguing… It blows your mind.”
– T. Renee, author of Hearts On Fire.






Be taken to another ERA
with ERATO.
Erato is a hispanic American
author of historical fiction. Her stories are often set in the
Georgian/Regency period, taking the characters past the traditional
bonnets and balls into gritty cities, forced marriages and painful
love affairs.
The name Erato belonged to one of the nine muses
of Greek mythology: that who ruled love stories. No, it’s not the
same word as erOtic; literally Erato is “the Lovely,” from
Greek erastos “loved, beloved; lovely, charming.” The
author’s own given name being that of a different muse, the name
Erato was chosen as the nomme de plume that seemed especially fit for
writing historical stories with a romantic theme, though she also
writes historical novels without strong romantic elements. Her works
are normally highly researched, subversive, and can tend toward
humorous even when telling of tragedy.
Edinburgh.
April 28th, 1800.To all my best friends and my dearest family — you could have never done more for me
than all the goodness, favor and friendship which you have offered and provided unto me, your
wretched relation who did so ill-deserve them! You must know that what has passed is, in no
capacity, a mark against you. You cannot be blamed, and you could have offered no help that would
have altered, in any way, the outcome of my unhappy condition. To the unfortunate man who shall
find me, I offer my deepest apologies and regrets that it must be you. As I was a student of
medicine, I know full well the horror that it is to look upon a dead man for the first time, and to see
the human form with frightful lack of motion, heat and soul; but do not fear it; rather, take comfort,
and know that one day this sad fate shall befall each and everyone that you have ever known. Be
familiar with it now, and know what lies ahead for you, rather than to find yourself blindly leapt to the
abyss of death — “And mind, for aw your mickle pride, sae will become o thee.”

With tears in my eyes, I know it is most probably my family that shall ultimately take
possession of this letter, and none but they shall take concern with it. I have loved you all. Never
doubt that I have loved you, but familial love is not enough to sustain a soul that writhes in such
unending torment as mine, all my dreams dead, all hope dispersed. Be not sad for my passing; be
glad that I have ceased to suffer a torment which has been endured for too many months, and which

it is evident shall never pass. If there is a Heaven, perhaps, in spite of this deed, I may still be
admitted thereunto, for this sin has been committed only to prevent a greater misdeed; and in the
name of preserving whatever good may come of this, I beg of you to never disclose my fate to the
one named Constance Fawkes, or now that she is to be married, called Constance Exenchester. If it
comes, ever, that she will ask what has become of me, tell her that I have gone away to India or
Jamaica, or that you know not where I am, but that I am never expected to return. Do not mar the
happiness in her life with any cause to fret herself for me. But if she should pry and insist to know
my fate, or if she might catch a circulating rumor, or by some accident come to know of what has
passed — in a word, if it cannot be helped, and the circumstance be such that denial of the truth
could do nothing more than to concern her the worse, then and only then might you disclose the
facts to her. That you might know those facts, both for your own comfort and for hers, I have
collected here all the artifacts of my time with Constance; in particular my letters to her, which have
been returned by her own hand. How I have suffered in my love for her! And she (though I do not
blame her for this) has chosen another for her spouse, my prior claim to her notwithstanding.
Perhaps I should not have done what was right. Perhaps I ought to have kept her, greedily, for
myself, and compelled her to go forward with a match that would have shamed us both; but I, so
confident in her love, did allow her to slip from my hands, and I shall never see her again. Now I
have lost all; lost unspeakably.

I cannot go on with this writing, with these thoughts, or else I shall lose my resolve and
merely spend another long, sad night wallowing in tears. Having shed such oceans of sorrow
already, one might expect that my bodily humors would be so much disordered that a natural death
could easily come to me; but then, that is a slow and painful process, and I would be at risk that
some well-meaning surgeon might indeed chance upon my cure. Then to what good will I have
prolonged my misery? The time is now. My victory shall be my success in this endeavor — the
accomplishment of my escape. I bid you farewell, my loved ones. I pray that you shall forgive me,
and I am sorry for what I did to Exenchester, and to Fawkes.
Your own, Charles Macgregor.
From the Sheriff-Depute of Edinburgh.

The letter, which you have just read, was found atop a stack of papers which had been
carefully curated, even edited at times, by the late Mr. Macgregor. When discovered, it was rather
soiled from the blood of its own author.
Mr. Macgregor was found dead in his house, in the Cowgate, discovered by his landlord, Mr.
Richards. The blast of the bullet had rendered his corpse a most gruesome sight, such that would
bring terror to the heart of even a skilled medical man as himself. He had shot himself through the
skull, blown so thoroughly asunder that there was nothing left to call a face upon the body. A
butcher’s boy had to be contracted to clean the room after the corpse was taken out, for not even
the lowest housekeeper could be persuaded to suffer the blood, brains and skull that were strewn all
over the floors and wall. Upon further examination, a second, recent gunshot wound was
discovered, through the leftmost side of Macgregor’s hip. Two pistols, emptied of their charges, were
in reach of the body; one of which was found in his hand.
In life, Charles Macgregor had been the sort of man who dressed ever in sad hues, and until
a recent accident, he had been known as a very handsome youth. It is said that many a man would
have been proud to possess such a face, and even his enemies are documented to have called him
“the Scottish Adonis”; yet Macgregor was not previously known to have been caught into this trap of
vanity, and he was perceived to be generally of a sensitive temperament, and much devoted to his
studies. He had ice blue eyes and skin so fair it was described as being like that of a ghost, yet his
colorless complexion was corrected by the vivid hue of his hair, which he wore a little longer than is
the present fashion, but in a styling that suited him well. He stood a height of around five feet, ten
inches. He was said to have always carried in his breast pocket an edition of Fergusson’s Poems.
This was found on his body, with a lock of woman’s hair pressed inside. At the time of his death, he
was aged three and twenty years.

The Macgregors were a family of intellectuals from the
city. Their financial condition saw that they were not altogether lacking in resources; but Charles was
not born into the ranks of society which could have guaranteed his lifelong comfort out of nothing
more than his name or family connections. Thus it fell to Charles to pursue a career. He had sought
to better himself by attending university in England; he received a scholarship at the age of fourteen,
and thrived. He subsequently believed himself to be destined for a career in the high sciences, in
which he should find himself winning his income through patronage and patents. Certainly he was
understood to possess the attention to detail and the depth of mind for such tasks, and nobody ever

claimed that any lack of talent or intellect would hold him back. He was known to have been
committed to his business, and demonstrated skill in his pursuit; and everybody that knew him
expected greatness from this young man. Through means of much private effort, he had been able
to secure for himself a position alongside a most prominent anatomist by the name of Samuel
Fawkes, who dwelt without London. Charles Macgregor did little suspect that this should beget his
downfall; at the time, he considered it only to be a great blessing. He went to the Fawkes home,
where he lived alongside the family: Samuel Fawkes having also in his home a wife, his elderly
mother, a young son, and a daughter of marriageable age who answered to the name of Constance.
These letters are hereby collected and faithfully copied by myself, assistive to the Procurator Fiscal
in his reaching a true ruling on the nature of Mr. Macgregor’s death, and to judge whether he was
killed by his own hand, by some coercive action, or any other cause; for though the letter we found
would appear to suggest he was felo de se, cases have been known in which a murderer did falsify
such documents in order to disguise his own guilt; and the wound to the hip does raise some
concern. Included in these papers are some very intimate details, regarding the lives of Macgregor
and others; my motive in recopying the whole of them is to ensure that nothing shall be subject to
destruction or loss at the request of any relative or acquaintance of the deceased, who might be
disgraced by the revelations within. Only truth and justice are sought from this collection, and it is my
hope that these words shall prove useful to our investigation of the affair. — H. A.

 

Follow the tour HERE

for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!

 

 

The Love Lock Book Tour & Giveaway 5/13 – 6/13


The LoveLock
by Eichin Chang-Lim
Genre: Romantic Suspense

A Suspenseful and Sensual Love Story…

 

From award-winning author, Eichin Chang-
Lim,
comes a love story that will grip you from beginning to end.

Life changes on a dime. Few understand this painful truth quite like
Violet and Dylan, former college sweethearts united by their troubled
childhoods.
When a gut-wrenching tragedy strikes in their adult years, they’re torn
apart—their relationship unable to survive the blow. Though they go
their separate ways, they remain connected by a meaningful token: a
locket, which Dylan bestows upon Violet on a blissful day by a
gorgeous beach in Coronado, California—to which he holds the key.
This lovelock remains to be their only connection as they struggle to
rebuild their lives. Violet, an aspiring actress, grapples with
mental illness and ends up stripping for a living. In the meantime,
Dylan faces his own challenges while trying to manage his past trauma
with an unknown future. They each venture down their own dark path
laced with drugs and manipulative, taxing characters. All the while,
neither can shake off their longing for the love they once shared and
endeared.

 

In spite of life’s impediments,
can
they heal their past and find happiness alone, or together?
**Only .99 cents!!**

Eichin Chang Lim is a writer of inspiration and romantic fiction. She has

also released a memoir / self-help book for special needs parents. In
real life, she is an Optometrist, Actress, Wife and Mother to
Theodore, and Victoria. They live in Orange County where she runs a
private practice with her husband.

Eichin is passionate about writing and enjoys listening to classical music

and opera.

 
Prologue
May 2008. San Diego, California
“Hey, Cheetos,” said Dylan, calling her by the nickname that always made her toes curl. “Let’s
get the hell out of Dodge for the day.” He lounged against her dorm room doorframe in his
carefree way, a roguish grin on his face.
“I’m there,” she replied without hesitation. Somehow Dylan always brought out her spontaneous
side in a way no one else could. She loved feeling so liberated. He was her sense of time, her
compass. Moreover, the best part? She didn’t even worry about time or direction with him. They
existed outside the realm of structure.
Soon they were on the highway, blasting Californication from Dylan’s ancient car radio. With
that,
they traveled down the 5 Freeway South. Mission Bay Park sprawled before them, with the
vision of vivid green grass and the rippling blue waves punctuated by palm trees.
Then, the breathtaking view from Del Coronado Bridge. From high above the bay, Violet noted
the strange contrast of navy warships and the lackadaisical sailboats that floated
by with no agenda.
How strange that this bridge to their blue sanctuary was also an instrument of destruction as the
third deadliest suicide bridge in the United States, seventh in the world.
Violet reminded herself.
Why am I even thinking about this, she thought, imperceptibly shaking her head. Her mind
always managed to locate the darker shade, even in the midst of something overwhelmingly
beautiful.
She forgot her thoughts after they crossed. Dylan released his right hand from the wheel and
laced his fingers through hers.
Violet thought she knew where they were headed: The Hotel del Coronado! They’d only been
there a few times, but each time had been special. Soon, the signature threetiered, red-pointed
roof came into view, piercing the placid sky. Violet had a feeling Dylan would whisk her to their
favorite spot.
She loved the old-world elegance of the hotel, not to mention its impressive Tinsel town history.
Clark Gable, Charlie Chaplin, Mae West… they’d all stayed there. It’s easy to see why: the
beach is enchanting, with baby powder-white sand and splendid views.
Getting out of the car, they blinked in the blinding May sun. The boardwalk was swarming with
tourists as usual. Violet kicked off her flip-flops before they walked through the expanse of white
sand, hand in hand. The wind tousled her hair affectionately.
Finally, they came upon a patch of shoreline that was less dense with people. It was then, when
she lay down in the sand, Violet could focus on the perfection around her. The blue sky framed
with the scene before her calmed Violet’s soul. Then Dylan removed his hoodie (revealing
strong arms) and extracted the box from his pocket.
He held it out to Violet. “Go on, open it,” he urged.
“You shouldn’t have,” she said in her best southern drawl. Nevertheless, when she opened the
black box, there was no joking. Sitting within it was a silver chain with a heart-shaped lock.
Beside it was a key, about half the size of her pinky finger, hanging from another chain.
“Wow,” Violet said. Then she noticed something on the key. “Is there an engraving on this?” She
answered her own question, “‘One heart.’ This one is your half, isn’t it?”
“Look at the locket,” Dylan replied.
“‘One love,’” Violet read aloud, running her finger over the engraving. “This is beautiful.” She
grinned
mischievously at him. “I’ve never seen you do something so cheesy, but I’m glad you did.”
Dylan laughed. “You make me do cheesy things, Cheetos.” He leaned in, draped the necklace
around her neck, giving her a kiss before fastening it. The heart lock nestled comfortably in the
dip of her collarbone. Dylan donned his own necklace, which hung low enough that it could
easily be concealed by his T-shirt. She circled her arms around his neck.
“So you have the key to my heart,” Violet whispered into his ears.
“Literally, now.” Dylan grinned.
“In every sense.”“And,” In his quickened heartbeats, Dylan responded, “I hope I always do.”
“Always.” Their lips met and lingered. His mouth slowly traveled downwards.
She wanted more.
“How I love you, Cheetos.”

 

Follow the tour HERE

for exclusive content and a giveaway!