Audio Review Tour & Giveaway - Lauren Gallagher - The Best Laid Plans

Buy Links: Audible US | Audible UK

Length: 8hrs 46mins

Narrated by: Michael Ferraiuolo & Lia Langola

Blurb

It's a foolproof strategy...until the emotional balance shifts.

After yet another adoption falls through, Gabe is ready to give up, and Shahid isn't far behind him. Apparently, being a gay couple - half of which is Muslim - is just one strike too many for the powers that be. When their friend Kendra offers to carry their baby for them, both men balk at first but gradually warm to the idea. Especially Gabe, whose bisexuality is open to the chemistry among the three of them.

The plan seems simple. Kendra and Gabe, foregoing the cold, impersonal IVF clinic, paperwork and red tape, will conceive the old-fashioned way. They'll all share parenting responsibilities, and live happily baby after.

But as the heat flares between Gabe and Kendra, Shahid's long-suppressed insecurities bubble to the surface. Then some unexpected news catches the trio off guard and derails their plans - and now one heart could be left out in the cold.

Warning: Authors subsist on the tears of listeners. Please recycle your hankies by wringing out and reusing. We'd hate to be the cause of a worldwide shortage of tissues.

August 27 - My Reading Reality, Wicked Reads, Mainely Stories, Drops of Ink, August 29 - Dog-Eared Daydreams, Meleth Bookaddicted, August 31 - Xtreme Delusions, Katie's Book Corner Reviews, United Indie Book Blog, September 5 - Reading In Sarah's Corner, Momma Says: To Read or Not To Read, Nerdy Dirty & Flirty

Lauren Gallagher is an abnormal romance writer who has recently been exiled from the glittering utopia of Omaha, Nebraska, to an undisclosed location in South America. Along with her husband, a harem of concubines, and a phosphorescent porcupine, she remains, as always, in hiding from the Polynesian Mafia. For the moment, she seems to have eluded her nemesis, M/M romance author L.A. Witt, but figures L.A. will eventually become bored with the wilds of Spain and come looking for her. And when that time comes, Lauren will be ready. Assuming L.A. doesn't have her hands full keeping track of Lori A. Witt and Ann Gallagher, which she probably will.

Website: http://www.gallagherwitt.com
E-mail: gallagherwitt@gmail.com
Twitter: @GallagherWitt
Blog: http://gallagherwitt.blogspot.com

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Review Tour & Giveaway - Lauren Gallagher - The Virgin Cowboy Billionaire's Secret Baby

Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK

Length: 79,000 words

Blurb

After retiring at thirty-five, billionaire Matt Coolidge should have it made. Instead, he’s got chronic migraines and high blood pressure. Oh, and during his workaholic years, he completely forgot to have a love life. Now he’s just trying to relax in between arguing with his mother about the fate of the family farm, not to mention his lack of a family of his own.

Then Matt’s childhood best friend, Dara Marley, rolls back into town. Ten years after a stupid argument ended a longtime friendship, they’ve both matured, and it’s time to let bygones be bygones.

Especially since they’re having a baby together.

Thanks to frozen embryos from years ago, Dara’s pregnant… and alone after her husband walked out. She wants her child to have a father, so she’s turning to the most logical place—the biological father, and the man she’s always regretted falling out with.

But with two judgmental families who can’t stand each other, and both Matt and Dara just trying to find their footing, they agree to keep the pregnancy quiet for now. Because somehow, he doesn’t think this flavor of “having a family” will appease his mother…

Excerpt

Dara wasn’t surprised that Matt looked good. She just hadn’t been prepared for how good. Sure, he’d long ago morphed from a gangly kid into a guy who could’ve modeled his way through college, but he wore his thirties better than he had any right to. And she’d been in Los Angeles for the past ten years—she’d seen her share of attractive men.

She shook herself. Was she really ogling Matt? Of course she was. She’d never even entertained the idea of being more than friends with him, but right now, checking him out was easier than watching his expression, because she wasn’t entirely sure how this was going to play out. If he’d talk to her, or if he was a breath away from a “get the fuck out of here”. And if he talked to her, she had some news—and a question—that might yet bring out that “get the fuck out of here”.

Beside her, Beth cleared her throat. “I’ll, um, let you two catch up.” Gesturing at the horse, she added, “Do you want me to put her away for you?”

He glanced at the dapple gray as if he’d forgotten the horse was there at all. “Um… I…”

“I’ll try not to keep you too long,” Dara said. “There’s something I need to talk to you about. And I figured it would be best to do it in person.”

His eyes widened a little further. “Oh. Um.” He glanced at his horse. “I should really—”

“I’ve got her. Go.” Beth gestured at other end of the barn. “You’re welcome to use my office.”

Matt hesitated. “Sure. Thanks.” He took a step toward Dara, but paused. To his sister, he said, “I think we need to bring Whiskey and Lady in. They both look like they’re going to foal any minute.”

Beth nodded. “I’ll take care of them too. Go.”

“What about—”

“Go.”

Matt glanced at the horse, then nodded and gestured for Dara to come with him.

As they walked, she checked out their surroundings. The barn was bigger now—the loft was new, and Dara could’ve sworn the aisle hadn’t been quite that long before. There definitely hadn’t been quite so many stalls. For that matter, the aisle had been packed dirt before, and it was smooth concrete now, and lined with gleaming metal-edged white cedar doors. No bars on the doors, of course—neither Matt nor Beth would’ve allowed that.

This place had changed so much, and yet in a lot of ways, it still felt the same. Just being here screwed with her balance. She’d been back in Aspen Mill for two weeks, staying with her parents in her childhood home until she’d moved into a rental house across town, but it was this place that took her breath away. Coming back to the Coolidge farm was, more than anyplace else she’d been recently, like coming home. It was like she’d never left, and at the same time, like she’d been away for far too long.

Which may have had less to do with the building and more to do with the man walking silently beside her.

It shouldn’t have felt this surreal to walk next to Matt. They’d been friends since they were little kids. And it wouldn’t have felt this surreal if ten years hadn’t passed since they’d last seen each other, and that wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been a goddamned idiot back then.

But she had been, and she couldn’t change it. All she could do now was hope to God he wasn’t just being polite.

At the end of the barn, he stopped in front of a door marked Private. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, then gestured for her to go inside.

Wasn’t this place a blast from the past? She’d been in here plenty of times as a kid, and like the rest of the barn, it was both radically different and exactly the same.

Two walls were covered from floor to ceiling by awards. The trophy case she remembered—a small china cabinet with a modest collection of local trophies—had been replaced by a much bigger one, and it was exploding with silver cups and platters, as well as glass and acrylic awards.

The desk was the same, though the ratty chairs had been replaced with much nicer ones. Behind the desk, there was a huge photo on the wall that had been there for years. It was a little faded now, with some dust on the glass and the frame, but it had aged well. It must’ve been taken when Matt was four or five. Definitely no older than six. He and his two siblings sat in a row on the back of their grandfather’s prized stallion, all gap-toothed grins and bowl-cut hair on top of that elegant coal-black horse.

Behind them, Matt shut the door with a quiet click. Dara steeled herself, her heart pounding and her palms sweating—she’d been dreading this conversation ever since she came back to Aspen Mill, and now there was no escaping. Willing her stomach to stay where it belonged, she faced him.

Matt took off his baseball cap, revealing some silver at his temples. He was a little young to be going that gray, but wow.

Staring at her, he swallowed. “I still can’t… Is that…is that really you?”

She smiled, trying like hell not to get her hopes up. “In the flesh.”

“Holy shit.” He stepped closer, threw his arms around her and hugged her tight. “I can’t believe how long it’s been.”

Her eyes stung, but she forced the emotions back. He didn’t need to see her fall apart quite yet. “It’s been way too long.”

“Yeah. It has.” He let her go, and when he met her eyes, his were unreadable. Even if he was happy to see her, his guard was up. Not that she blamed him.

“So, um.” She cleared her throat, loosely folding her arms to keep from fidgeting too much. “When did you come back to Aspen Mill?”

“Last year. I retired early.”

“Really?” She smiled despite her nerves. “I didn’t think you’d ever slow down.”

“I didn’t either. But I, uh, didn’t really have much choice. Another year or two in that place probably would’ve killed me. Literally.”

She blinked. “That bad?”

He nodded. “One of my business partners had a heart attack, and I was pretty much asking to be next.” With a shrug, he added, “So I decided it was time to get out.”

“Wow. So, what are you doing these days, then?” She gestured toward the rest of the barn. “Besides riding, I mean?”

“That’s about it, to be honest. And helping Beth around the farm.” He shrugged again. “I needed some time off, I guess. More than I thought I did, apparently.”

“Is it helping? I mean, are you doing—”

“Dara, what’s going on?” He studied her. “I haven’t seen you in ten years, and suddenly we need to talk?” His voice was gentle, with no trace of hostility. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t stop by to discuss my health.”

She gulped. “Okay. Yeah. There is something. I…” …severely underestimated how hard it would be to talk to you about this. “It’s…” She couldn’t stand still, and she couldn’t look him in the eye anymore, so she started pacing across the well-worn, dusty red rug that had been there since the dawn of time.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, he asked, “Is everything okay?”

Not really, no.

May 19 - Book Lover Reviews & Recommendations, 2 Chicks & A Book

May 22 - Erotic Romance Book Blog, Nerdy Dirty & Flirty

May 24 - My Time Out Book Blog, Archaeolibrarian - I Dig Good Books, The Power Of Three Readers

Author Bio

Lauren Gallagher is an abnormal romance writer who has recently been exiled from the glittering utopia of Omaha, Nebraska, to an undisclosed location in South America. Along with her husband, a harem of concubines, and a phosphorescent porcupine, she remains, as always, in hiding from the Polynesian Mafia. For the moment, she seems to have eluded her nemesis, M/M romance author L.A. Witt, but figures L.A. will eventually become bored with the wilds of Spain and come looking for her. And when that time comes, Lauren will be ready. Assuming L.A. doesn't have her hands full keeping track of Lori A. Witt and Ann Gallagher, which she probably will.

Website: http://www.gallagherwitt.com
E-mail: gallagherwitt@gmail.com
Twitter: @GallagherWitt
Blog: http://gallagherwitt.blogspot.com

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Blast From The Past Blitz & Giveaway - Lauren Gallagher - All The Kings Horses

Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK

Length: 91,000 words

Cover: Lori Witt

Blurb

Amy Dover’s dream of training horses has come with a price. The pressures of her career—not to mention an oppressive husband and business partner—have sucked out all the joy the horses used to bring her. After her husband’s sudden death, Amy leaves that world behind and takes a job as a farmhand so she find her passion—and herself.

Dustin King has more than enough on his plate. He’s got a full barn and a packed training roster that includes rescued horses who need more attention than he can spare. The last thing he wants to deal with is a woman who’s unnervingly indifferent toward horses, no matter how attractive she is.

Except Amy isn’t as indifferent as Dustin thought. In fact, working with two traumatized horses might be just what she needs, and as Amy and Dustin bond with the rescued horses, they also bond with each other. Dustin reignites something else Amy thought she’d lost forever. No matter how much they try to resist, the spark that draws them together keeps getting hotter.

But Amy has known from the beginning that she’ll one day go back to her old life. She just didn’t plan on having someone to leave behind this time…

Excerpt

I didn’t go to my husband’s funeral.

It was a closed-casket service, so there’d be no closure from seeing him one last time. I didn’t care to see him again anyway, closure or no. All the tearful sentiments—he was so young, it was so tragic, he was such a wonderful man—would have sent me right into the ground with him. I couldn’t stomach the thought of one more person patting my shoulder and telling me how sorry they were, how horrible it must be for me, and to call if I needed anything at all.

The night before they buried Sam, I quietly packed the few things I couldn’t live without into my truck. Whatever belongings didn’t fit, I left in the too big, too quiet house. The next day, at a little past noon and right around the time my family and friends were probably all dressed in black and filing into the church, I climbed into the cab and drove out of town without looking back.

I didn’t know where I was going.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I had an address entered into my GPS. I had a job lined up, a place to stay, a destination in mind. But beyond that? I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything anymore except that I needed to get far, far from here so I could collect my thoughts and
and I didn’t even know. I couldn’t even say I needed to sort out my feelings, because I didn’t feel anything. No pain. No grief. No anger. Nothing but the restlessness reverberating through me and telling me to just get the hell out of here.

So I drove.

I was forty-eight miles from home and two from the county line when my cell phone rang. If the caller ID had showed any other name, I’d have ignored it, but since it was my older sister, I answered.

Cringing, I said, “Hey.”

“Honey, where are you?” Mariah asked in a hushed whisper. Voices murmured in the background as she added, “The service is starting any minute.”

The service. My husband’s memorial service. There should have been a lump in my throat or something, maybe even some hot, seething anger, but I felt absolutely nothing. Even the makeup-concealed mark on my face wasn’t throbbing anymore.

“I’m not coming.” Ugh. Could I have sounded any more like a petulant brat? Stomp, stomp, I’m not coming, and you can’t make me. As if it really was that simple or that petty.

“You’re not coming?” Anyone else would have read me the riot act, but Mariah just lowered her voice a little more and asked, “Why not?”

“I can’t.”

She was quiet for a moment. I thought she might be chewing on what I’d said, thinking of a response, but soft movement on the other end suggested she was relocating to someplace where fewer people might overhear. The voices in the background quieted, and Mariah said, “What’s going on?”

“I can’t do it,” I said. “Look, there’s a lot I can’t explain right now. I just, I need to get away from
everything. Clear my head, I guess.”

“Get away? Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m—” I paused. “I’m leaving, actually.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need...” I glanced at the rearview, meeting my own eyes for a second before I focused on the road ahead. “I just need to go away. Get myself back together.”

“Okay, but where?”

I gnawed my lower lip. I really didn’t want anyone to know because I didn’t want any of them to try to find me. I just needed to be as alone as I could get for a while. Taking a deep breath, I held the steering wheel tighter. “Just don’t worry about me, okay?”

“You know I will.”

Leaving Snohomish County. The sign whipped past my truck, and I slowly exhaled.

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

“You’re blowing town while we’re burying your husband.” Mariah’s voice was gentle but insistent. “That’s not fine, Amy. That’s going off the deep end.”

“Well, maybe that’s what I need to do, then,” I said quietly. “Maybe I need to go off the deep end.”

My sister was silent for a long moment. “When you get a chance,” she said finally, “could you at least e-mail me and let me know where you’re at with the horses on your training schedule? So I can work with them for you?”

Guilt twisted under my ribs. I’d been in such a hurry to get away, I hadn’t thought about everything else I was leaving behind. “Oh, man, I’m sorry, Mariah. I’m leaving you in a lurch, aren’t I?”

It’s not too late. I can turn around. Hardly anyone even knows I’m gone yet. King’s Ranch probably won’t have any trouble replacing me. Farmhands are a dime a dozen.

“Amy. Honey.” Mariah’s voice was the closest it could be to a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “If this is what you need to do, then I’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone. I’ll bring in an extra pair of hands if I have to, but you just go. We’ll all be here when you come back.”

When I come back.

Am I coming back?

I swallowed. It hadn’t even occurred to me before this point how long I might be gone, or if I might go back at all.

But all I said was, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she said. “What should I tell people?”

I gritted my teeth. “Just tell them I’m okay, and I need some time to deal with everything.”

“How much of that is true?”

I rested my elbow beneath the window and rubbed the back of my neck. “Well, the last part at least.”

“That’s what I figured.” Mariah sighed. “Take care of yourself, all right?”

“I will.”

“And you can call me any time. You know that.”

“Thanks.” I paused. “You can call me too. I’ll still have my phone.”

“I’m sure I will,” she said. “I have to go. The service is about to start.”

I exhaled. So I was really doing this. My husband’s funeral was starting, and I was really driving seventy-five miles an hour in the opposite direction and wondering if I could possibly get away any faster.

“Okay,” I said, gripping the steering wheel tighter as I pressed down on the accelerator. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Aside from the engine and the hum of the road beneath my tires, the truck’s cab was hollow and silent without my sister’s voice. I flipped on the radio, but the music just annoyed me, so I went back to silence.

And I kept driving.

My chest ached with guilt. Part of me wished I could think that ache away, but part of me was admittedly glad to feel something for the first time since long before Sam died, even if it was just guilt that I’d left my oppressively huge workload in my sister’s lap. Maybe I should have done this sooner. While he was still alive and could have dealt with the fallout of me leaving.

Yeah, right. I wouldn’t have made it past the end of the driveway.

But Sam couldn’t stop me today, and I would find a way to make this up to Mariah, so I drove, and I kept on driving. Mile after mile, city after city, over the ear-popping mountain pass and down into the desert scrubland while the familiar evergreen trees faded in the rearview. An off-ramp took me from the interstate to a rural highway, and that highway wound between cornfields, wheat fields and dry brown hills that lounged across the landscape like lazy Shar Pei dogs.

The highway narrowed, and the speed limit inched down from fifty-five to forty-five to thirty-five. It dipped into the twenties as I rolled through a no-name town with dusty pickups parked along the sidewalks in front of places with names like “Mom’s Diner” and “Aunt Edna’s Groceries.” On the other edge of town—the first edge still being visible in my rearview—the speed limit picked up to forty-five again, and I continued weaving and winding my way past the fields and hills.

With every mile, I was less and less sure about this. It wasn’t like me to just drop everything and run, especially without saying a word to anyone until the wheels were already in motion. The more unfamiliar scenery I passed, the more real it all became, and this strange brand of newfound freedom became almost suffocating in its uncertainty.

But I couldn’t turn back. If I’d thought this through before I left, I’d have talked myself out of it, and now that I’d come this far, pride wouldn’t let me face my family yet, not after they’d probably heard what was going on. What I was doing. How badly I was losing my mind.

And anyway, I told myself, I had a job waiting for me out here. A menial one in which I was very, very replaceable, but still one I’d committed to start tomorrow. If I decided to go back to the world I’d just left–and the job to which I should have been way more committed—fine, but not at the last second. I’d left enough people high and dry this week.

And I had to do this. One more second within those familiar walls and fences and I’d have gone even more insane than I was apparently going right now.

Of all things that could have offered me some kind of comfort today, I found relief in the moment I turned off the blacktop and onto a dirt road. When my back tires bumped from the lip of asphalt onto the rough, pothole-littered gravel, I rolled my shoulders like a huge weight had been lifted off them.

I was no longer connected to the never-ending knot of pavement that tangled and twisted together in one giant rat’s nest of streets and highways. I was no longer tied to the loops and straightaways and exits and off-ramps that, no matter how far I’d driven, always bound me to that one blood-stained intersection. As dust kicked up from my tires and I navigated around potholes the size of grain buckets, that intersection no longer haunted my rearview mirror.

I wasn’t free. Not yet. But I was a mile closer to it.

“Next left,” my GPS announced, and I took the turn.

I was in one of the river valleys now, and the dirt road took me past more fields and—thank God—some forested areas. Not as thick and green as on the other side of the state, but not quite so desolate and scrubby as every uncultivated stretch I’d seen for the last few hours. Off and on, between small clusters of trees, white fences surrounded herds of cattle. Then horses. Then cattle again.

And finally, long after the sun had settled behind the distant mountains, I turned down a long, dusty driveway and drove under an arching sign that read King’s Ranch. Twin fences lined the driveway and guided me to the heart of the ranch, where two log houses and a large barn with pale aluminum sides stood in front of a covered arena.

I pulled up beside the barn. When I turned off my headlights, the milky glow of a few mercury vapor lamps kept the night from closing in.

As I got out of the truck, a light came on behind me, and I turned around as an older gentleman in dusty jeans and a cowboy hat stepped off the front porch of the larger house.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked, Texas dripping off every syllable.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m Amy Dover.”

He stopped, straightening like I’d just shocked the hell out of him. “Are you, now?”

“I am.”

“Well. How about that.” He continued toward me and extended his hand. “I’m John King.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “We spoke via e-mail.”

He smiled, the weathered corners of his eyes crinkling. “We did. Now, Dustin owns the place—I’m mostly retired now—but I can show you where you’ll be staying.”

“Is Dustin here?” I asked as we started walking across the gravel driveway.

“Not tonight,” John said. “He’s down in Oregon picking up a couple new horses. I imagine he’ll be home around noon tomorrow, so that ought to give you some time to settle in.”
In spite of the voice in my head that decided—again—to question everything I was doing, I managed a smile. “Sounds good.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Ms. Dover,” he said. “We’ve been hurtin’ since the last hand left, especially with Dustin being away this past week.” He gestured at himself. “These old bones can’t do all this nonsense anymore, I’ll tell ya.”

“Glad to help,” I said.

You have no idea how much you and Dustin are saving my sanity right now
John led me across the driveway to one of the two log houses. The one he’d come out of a moment ago was two-story, while the one he led me toward was single-story but wider than the other. Almost like two small ranch-style houses pressed up against each other. When I’d agreed to take this job as a live-in farmhand, I’d expected a tiny apartment, maybe a converted loft over the barn or a mother-in-law suite beside the house, but, by the looks of it, this was a full-size duplex.

As we walked onto the porch, John said, “Dustin lives on that side.” He gestured at the door on the far right of the wide porch. As he started toward the left side, he said, “And this side is yours.”

“Interesting setup,” I said.

“Well, we built the duplex so the kids had places to stay,” he said. “It was cheaper, you see, building one instead of two. But our daughter decided she didn’t want to stay on the farm, so we decided to use her half for farmhands. Ain’t a lot of other places for someone to live around here, and it meant we didn’t have to convert the barn office into an apartment, so it worked out nicely.”

He pushed open the door and made an “after you” gesture.

I went inside and looked around.

The cabin was small but cozy. It was pleasantly decorated in a country style that matched the old, probably antique furniture. From what I’d heard about Eastern Washington’s winters, I had a feeling that wood-burning stove would come in handy in a few months.

Not that I planned to be here that long. I didn’t think so, anyway.

“I hope this will do for ya.” John took off his weathered old cowboy hat as he stepped inside. “Ain’t exactly a New York penthouse, but it’s what we’ve got.”

“It’s fine.” I took in my surroundings. In fact, I liked the tiny place. It was small, and it was—more or less—mine. After sharing a house that was simultaneously way too big for two people and entirely too small for Sam and me, this was perfect. Turning to John, I said, “It’ll be just fine. Thank you.”

“Good, good.” He put on his hat and inched toward the door. “Well, I’ll let you get settled in. In the morning, I can show you around the farm.”

“Thank you,” I said.

He went back up to the main house while I grabbed a few things out of the truck. Not a whole lot—I hadn’t brought much anyway—but just the bare minimum to tide me over until tomorrow. Then I went into the tiny, warmly decorated bedroom that was mine for the foreseeable future.

Just the sight of the queen-size bed made me doubly aware of how exhausted I was. Every muscle ached, and my eyes were heavy like I’d just come home from a grueling, weeklong competition. Time to get some sleep. I could deal with thinking and all of that when the sun came up.

I went into the bathroom and, without looking in the narrow mirror above the sink, washed the concealer off my face. It was only when the water swirling down the drain was clear, devoid of even a single trace of color, that I forced myself to look at my reflection.

The bruise had faded, but not by much. The edges had expanded a little, radiating out from the darker center that covered my cheekbone, and the farther they reached down my cheek and up to my eye, the lighter they were. At least it was more of a sickly blue-green today rather than the deep, furious purple it had been the morning after. Another week or so of applying and reapplying concealer—wonderful when I’d be working outside in dusty summer heat—and it would be gone.

My gaze drifted from the bruise to the leather string suspended around my neck and dipping beneath my collar. Swallowing hard, I reached up and pulled it out from under my shirt, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end when my gold wedding band caught the light from the single bulb above the mirror. The heavy ball of lead that had taken up residence in my stomach sank a little deeper, and I let my gaze flick back and forth from the ring to the mark on my face.

One would go away on its own. The other, only when I took the initiative and took the damn thing off. And left it off this time.

Sighing, I let the ring drop onto my chest, wondering how a band that thin could be so heavy. One of these days, I’d take it off. Maybe even get rid of it.

But tonight, I just
I couldn’t. Not now. It was too soon.

Too soon? I should have taken this thing off years ago.

Maybe so, but I had my limits. Skipping town and blowing off Sam’s funeral pushed those limits, but taking off the ring? I wasn’t ready for that yet.

I closed my hand around the ring, the metal cool against my skin and the guilt hot in my otherwise numb chest. Closing my eyes, I could still hear the rumble of his motorcycle fading into the distance. I could still taste the venomous whispered prayer that it would be the last time I heard that sound, that he really wasn’t coming back this time.

Guess you should be careful what you wish for.

Author Bio

Lauren Gallagher is an abnormal romance writer who has recently been exiled from the glittering utopia of Omaha, Nebraska, to an undisclosed location in South America. Along with her husband, a harem of concubines, and a phosphorescent porcupine, she remains, as always, in hiding from the Polynesian Mafia. For the moment, she seems to have eluded her nemesis, M/M romance author L.A. Witt, but figures L.A. will eventually become bored with the wilds of Spain and come looking for her. And when that time comes, Lauren will be ready. Assuming L.A. doesn't have her hands full keeping track of Lori A. Witt and Ann Gallagher, which she probably will.

Website: http://www.gallagherwitt.com
E-mail: gallagherwitt@gmail.com
Twitter: @GallagherWitt
Blog: http://gallagherwitt.blogspot.com

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