Intimate Choice (Empire Blue, Book 7) by D.C. Stone ~ #RomanticSuspense @DCStoneauthor

Intimate Choice

Empire Blue 

Book 7

D.C. Stone

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Publisher: Evernight Publishing

Date of Publication: 07/10/26

ISBN: 978-0-3695-1480-6

ASIN: B0GX2VK1HW

Number of pages: 306

Word Count: 87,000

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Tagline: Real world, Real Men, Real Crimes

About the Book: 

Ava Larsen has spent her adult life trying to outrun the shadow of the girl she used to be: a bully whose mistake cost her sister’s life, and one who pushed away a boy they both loved. But her redemption is cut short when her latest investigation into a high-profile money laundering ring turns deadly.

After surviving a brutal kidnapping, Ava’s only hope for survival is Michael Gonzalez, a Secret Service Agent fueled by a decade of bitterness. Mike doesn’t believe Ava has changed, and he certainly hasn’t forgiven her for the accident that killed his first love. But with a corrupt government official determined to silence her, Mike is ordered to protect her at all costs.

From the streets of New York to the corridors of power in Washintong D.C., the two are hunted by an enemy that will stop at nothing to keep their secrets buried. As the investigation reaches a breaking point, Mike and Ava must navigate a minefield of political betrayal and personal trauma. In a race against time, they’ll have to trust each other to survive—or let the sins of their past bury them both.

Purchase Links:

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Read an Excerpt:

“Get to the point. What’s up?”

She sighed. “I don’t even know where to start.” The watch on her wrist buzzed with a notification. She checked it, and her mouth tightened into a thin line. “This case looks to be seriously fucked up. Not a whole lot to tell you right now other than there were several, and I mean we’re talking numbers in the teens, bodies found in this old house. Owner is this guy everyone said was super quiet, always kept his yard clean, etcetera, etcetera. From what the neighbors are saying, no one would have thought any of the horrors we’ve found were happening in this house. Talking victims, all women, completely cut up. Sometimes methodically so. As if he had all the time in the world to do the perfect job.”

Mike grimaced. “This is why I do protection and white-collar fraud. I could never sit through those forensic shows you and Dwayne used to watch.”

Charlie threw him a saucy smile, then went serious again. “Early this morning, a woman actually got out of the house. Naked as the day she was born. Ran a few houses down and collapsed on the porch but not before she rang the doorbell.”

The mental image she painted had him wincing. “Jesus. Is she okay?”

Charlie took a deep breath and let it out super slow as if she was preparing for something. He braced, suddenly feeling a sense of foreboding. Whatever she was about to say was going to mess him up entirely. That’s why she’d been taking for-fucking-ever to get to the point. It’s why she was here in person instead of calling him on the phone. It’s why Dwayne had sent her. She’d always had ways of calming Mike down, even under the tensest of situations.

Except for that one time. He shook his head, refusing to think about that now. It’d been years since he’d seen her.

“Who was the woman?” he asked, his voice rough. But he knew. The answer was written all over Charlie’s face, from the grimace to the pity stamped across her faery features.

“The woman was Ava.”

Her name spoken was like someone socked him in the gut. He let out a rush of air, expelling oxygen immediately, as if it needed a place to escape. Kind of like his body was fighting to do, too. It was amazing how one’s body reacted to news or the presence of someone who’d made part of their life hell. That whole fight-or-flight response was true, and as he thought of the Ava of his childhood, and both the sister and the murderer of the first woman he loved, his body was warring with itself, trying to figure out which response it wanted to go with.

The urge to flee was so strong, he actually took a step back. Charlie’s knowing gaze sharpened on him, and she sighed, the sound coming out with a lot of pity he didn’t need. It only served to piss him off.

“Look, maybe we can find someone else,” Charlie said, shaking her head, then did a double take at something over his shoulder and tossed a glare at the women still admiring them from afar. “Those fucking women…”

It was at that moment his mother decided to make an appearance and came storming out of the house having found her shoes. His normally very demure mom looked spitting mad, her red face a mask of irritation and anger.

“Shit,” he said.

Charlie chuckled low, following the path his Ma took to the garden hose, who then bent and turned the water on.

“Shit,” he said again, ignoring Charlie’s outright laughter now. He started toward Ma, intent on intercepting her before she could open the hose up on the neighbors. He knew her plan almost as if she’d put an announcement in the paper. “You could help, you know,” he said to Charlie.

She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “Not a chance. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in ages. Come on, don’t be a spoilsport. Let Karen teach those hens a lesson.”

He picked up his pace to a jog as his Ma started across the lawn, her intent now screamingly clear. That the ladies hadn’t moved and were still watching on with faces of various bemusement was baffling. “Ma,” he called. “Come on now, don’t.”

“Michael James,” she said, and he winced. “Go put a shirt on. I’m about to teach the girls some manners.”

Standing behind her in the doorway was his father in a similar pose as Charlie had been, crossed arms and a smile stamped across his face.

“Pops, come on,” he called. “Don’t just stand there.”

Daniel Gonzalez shook his head, his chest moving with a chuckle Mike couldn’t hear. “I’m not getting in the middle of this. Anyone want some popcorn?”

He reached his mother just as she lifted the hose and pointed, then squeezed the handle, causing a spray of what had to be icy cold water shoot out and over the women sitting along the edge of the lawn. Shrieks and screams lit up the neighborhood before he could grab the nozzle and push it down. The smile on his mother’s face was the loudest of them all.

“That should teach them,” she said, and he sighed.

Approximately thirty minutes later, Mike took a deep breath, calling on patience and strength, the confidence he’d grown as he went through weeks of training at FLETC and the Secret Service Training Academy. His hands were sweating like they normally did when he did any kind of public speaking, something he’d been struggling for years to overcome. If he’d been in the gym he normally went to, he’d be able to put some chalk on his hands to soak up the moisture, but as it was, all he could do was rub them on his light-wash 501s.

After his mother had doused the neighborhood watch ladies with water earlier, he’d gone inside to change and had put on jeans and a pale baby-blue button-down. He was by no means wanting to impress the woman on the other side of the door, but he couldn’t escape the feeling driving inside of him. The one that told him he wasn’t a young teen able to be pushed around anymore. That he couldn’t care less what she thought of him.

But all of that was a lie, and he knew it. He just refused to admit it.

Ava Larsen had an impact on his life and who he’d grown to become.

He was here at the hospital at his brother’s request to consult on a case, apparently. There was nothing saying he had to spend any length of time with her at all. He’d listen to what his brother had to say, would hear her version of events, then he’d make a recommendation for what they should do next. That was it.

With another deep, calling-on-calm breath, he pushed and held the door open for Charlie, keeping his eyes downcast as she entered. He blew out a breath through pursed lips, then stepped inside and lifted his gaze to meet the sky-blue ones of his childhood bully.

 

 

About the Author: 

D.C. “Desi” Stone is a best-selling romance author and full-time fraud investigator. She lives in the northeast with her incredibly supporting husband, two kids, a cat, and the ever-growing family of dogs.

After serving eight years of service with the United States Air Force, she went on to transition into the world of financial crimes and became a lead investigator for many years.

Reading has always been a passion of hers, getting lost in a good, steamy romance is one of her favorite past times. She soon after discovered her own love for writing and recreating stories and characters in her head. Her writing concentrates on romantic with specifics in paranormal, suspense, and erotica.

Now, when she isn’t trying to solve a new puzzle in the world of fraud, she is engulfed with coffee, her laptop, and all those crazy characters in her head. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America, Hudson Valley Romance Writers, New Jersey Romance Writers, RomVets, RWA Kiss of Death, and the Liberty State Fiction Writers. She served as the 2014 NJRW Vice President and Conference Chair. Come stop by on Facebook, Twitter, or her website and say hello!

Website: www.authordcstone.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/DCStoneauthor

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dcstoneauthor/ 

Facebook PAGE: http://www.facebook.com/authorDCStone

Facebook PROFILE: http://www.facebook.com/dc.stone.92

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Jane Won't Quit by Eva Shaw ~ Romantic Suspense #Excerpt #LasVegas #Mystery #SlowBurnRomance ~ @partnersincr1me

JANE WON'T QUIT

by Eva Shaw

May 11 - June 19, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

About the Book:

I’ll protect her—even if she hates me for it… until the day she actually needs saving.

Perfect for readers who love:

Dark conspiracy mysteries with emotional stakes

Romantic tension without overpowering the plot

Strong, unconventional heroines

Protective, duty-bound heroes

Stories where justice matters as much as love

Pastor Jane Angieski has never fit the mold—too outspoken for church politics, too compassionate to look the other way, and too stubborn to quit when lives are on the line.

When a high-profile scandal erupts inside a powerful Las Vegas mega church, Jane is pulled into an investigation far darker than corruption or infidelity. Behind the polished sermons and celebrity pastors lurks a brutal international trafficking ring—one that buys, sells, and returns unwanted children through a diabolical foreign adoption scheme.

Captain Frank Morales has spent his career protecting the city from monsters. He knows exactly how dangerous this case is—and exactly how reckless Jane is being by digging into it. The attraction between them is instant. The trust is nonexistent. And the closer Jane gets to the truth, the harder Frank has to fight to keep her alive… whether she wants protecting or not.

When a lost disabled child is found abandoned on the streets of Sin City, Jane and Frank are forced into an uneasy alliance.

Because this isn’t just one victim. It’s thousands.

To stop the operation, they’ll have to expose powerful men, corrupt ministries, and an international pipeline that treats children like merchandise. And someone is very willing to kill to keep it buried.

In a city built on secrets, faith and justice may not be enough to save them—but walking away isn’t an option.

Tropes include:

Law Enforcement x Civilian Investigator

Forced Partnership

Opposites Attract (Faith vs Procedure)

Slow Burn Romantic Suspense

“Stay Out of My Case” Dynamic

Protector Hero

Watch the JANE WON'T QUIT Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Varus Publishing
Publication Date: March 12, 2026
Number of Pages: 393 pages, Paperback
ISBN: 9798249459451, Paperback
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Varus Publishing

Read an Excerpt from Jane Won't Quit:

Chapter 1

Place the blame where it should go: on chocolate. The good stuff. The variety that melts way too fast as you swirl it over your tongue and let it cuddle the inside of your mouth, knowing the sensation is fleeting, which makes it more delicious. Yeah, that’s the kind I’m talking about.

I opened the front door of my Vegas condo and instantly tried to slam it. Except, the man I faced handed me a golden, foil-wrapped box with the unmistakable Godiva logo.

He placed it in the palm of his right hand and extended his arm. Then he stepped back. With elegance and skill, he had baited the hook, and I was snagged. Just like that.

I’m fast and grab the box before he could pull away. Or maybe that was his plan all along. If it hadn’t been for the lure of delectable dark chocolate, I would have stayed happily ignorant about sex slaves, black-market babies, cheating preachers, and an assortment of lowlifes that suddenly intruded on my cluttered, frazzled life.

If only I’d slammed the door, I would never have been rejected, arrested, and nearly exterminated.

Wait, did you just say, “Back the truck up”? Sorry, writing a memoir is new to me, and I just got overly excited to tell you everything. Instead, I’m taking some deep yoga-style breaths and will give you the whole story, nothing but the truth, just like it happened.

You see, at the stroke of another scorching Las Vegas summer midnight, I found myself feeling the still sizzling breeze swirling around my sleep shorts and tank top—front door open, air conditioning spewing out into the neighborhood. I stood and sniffed the corners of the box, knowing full well the pleasures that were inside. Why was this guy on my doorstep? It was wrong. It was a moment, much later, I wanted to stop time—like you can while watching Netflix. Instead, I ripped open the box, placed a scrumptious piece of heaven-on-earth into my mouth and eyed up and down what the devil had dumped on my doorstep.

Medical studies have proven it’s a bad idea to let a woman with PMS eat a pound of Godiva at one time, or so some new report said. Trust me, however. It’s an even worse idea to try to take chocolate away from a woman, PMS or not.

Fortunately, this guy certainly knew women. So he waited. I gobbled three more. In a row. Then handed him back the two-thirds empty box. I’m not greedy, see?

Forget whatever you’re thinking. This man was not a hunka, hunka burning love, but seemed to be my pudgy grandfather. Or a doppelgänger dressed collar to cuffs in glitter galore, gold, and some gosh-awful alligator-esque cowboy boots. In blood red.

He squinted in the light of the front steps of my townhouse/condo combo, and his chin dragged low. He grumbled, muttered, and withdrew his left hand from behind his back, producing yet another box with the chocolatier’s signature wrapping. I told you he was good. I salivated, snatched it, and stepped out of the way. I’m not addicted to the stuff; I just like it a lot, a whole lot.

Okay, that gives you the abbreviated version of why, five minutes later, my disgruntled relative was huddled on the beige sofa in the sterile Las Vegas condo that came with my current job. It does not explain why I was stomping up and down in front of him, but I’ll get to that. You see, I’m usually the one who solves problems; that’s my field, being I’m a minister and all.

You heard it right. I might not look like any preacher you’ve ever met, being that I’m rounded in all the right places, and I prefer a flashier wardrobe than you may have seen on church ladies. Like it or not, that’s me, Pastor Jane Angieski. I’m ordained and licensed, overly educated and fully confused a good portion of the time. I’ve been told, by the governing board of my denomination, that I should be more professional. It’s taken a long time and therapy, but I like me as I am.

You’re not the first, you know, to wonder how a flashy gal like me got into the ministry business. Most folks do not come straight out and ask because they’re dumbfounded to find out I know the Good News backward, forward, and well done in the middle. My response when they sputter a question or raise both eyebrows to the ceiling? “You see. They have quotas. Recall affirmative action? The denomination needed more females who had curves and padding in their ranks. There were plenty of string bean ones.”

Honestly? Hold on to something sturdy:

When I returned to college to finish my master’s, I was working part-time in retail at Victoria’s Secret, then at a mortuary where I applied makeup to the dearly departed. I also gave out contraceptives and condoms at a free clinic in Watts, and did some hard time asking, “Do you want fries with that?” Along the way, I made enough to avoid incurring huge debt. Psychology was to be my field. I am outrageously curious about people. We humans are so weird, and I love it.

One steamy Los Angeles day, I attended a program on campus because the AC in my apartment was broken. I also knew that with luck there’d be cake and coffee. The program, as I found out, was to recruit grad students into the ministry. It was probably the sugar talking, but I signed on the dotted line and started that summer attending seminary. Graduated with honors, accepted an assistant minister gig straight out of the seminary doors and got kicked out because I volunteered to help the cops in tracking down hoods in the hood where I was the pastor in this ghetto church.

The church council didn’t mind that I nabbed the bad guys looking like a lady of the evening who could do it all night. What they didn’t like was that I appeared on the front of the L. A. Times in a hot pink leather miniskirt, strappy sandals that wound up to my knees and a blouse leaving little to the imagination of Great Aunt Tillie, or anyone else. The news story hit the floor running, and little old me was seen and talked about on PBS News Hour, CNN, Fox News, and then YouTube, and then it went viral. As if no one had seen a minister before. Go figure.

People magazine beseeched and besought me for an interview, full four pages of me, but better judgment kicked in. I turned it down after a call from a member of my denomination's district council put the brakes on that one. Besides I don’t always want to stay and play second fiddle in the church hierarchy. I do have some pride and ambition. I’d like to be known someday as an important voice in ministry, not one of those television evangelists with flapping eyelashes and hair like dear old Marge Simpson. No offense, Marge. It’s not a good look for either of us.

The metaphorical knuckle-wrapping, to me, was worth it. It resulted in the dealing, drugging, and pimping partners in crime who went off to a helping place in another area of California, clogging an overstuffed prison system even more. Not my problem there. I got a letter of commendation from LA’s mayor and my backside booted to Vegas. I wasn’t exactly demoted, but I was no longer a full pastor. These days, if I should burp without saying, “pardonnez-moi,” the council hears about it. In detail. Hence, the youth minister I’m filling in for left exact instructions on the requirements of my professional demeanor so that I wouldn’t lead any teens down a slope where a flashing sign reads: Beware: She’s Crazy and Dangerous.

Back to the man of the midnight hour littering my living room. His grumbling continued. Like waiting out a storm, I sat down next to the huddled mass of manhood whose name isn’t Woe Is Me, but Henry J. Angieski, Ph.D.—my grandfather who just happens to have an alternative personality, one of a classic rocker with the 70s band Slam Dunk. You may have heard of him when he was called Hank A. Yes, that’s Gramps. Although you wouldn’t recognize him. I didn’t.

Gramps is a “let’s get coffee” kind, friends with Sir Paul, Bruce, Mick and a lot more you can name, if you like the older stuff. In all of my thirty-five years, I’d never known him to be defeated, never seen him without a sly smile and a plan to take on the world.

Quick familial footnote: He and Gram couldn’t have children, and they knew it before they married. Gramps told me like this: “Uncle Sam really needed me and thought a tropical Asian trip might help me understand humanity better.”

Translation? It was 1965. He’d dropped out of grad school to find his musical mojo. He was drafted, surprise, surprise, and sent directly to Vietnam where horrible things were happening, like an unpopular and soul-crushing war. Did you wonder how I got into this mix?

Gramps said, “I found the son of my heart there, honey. The kid was always hanging around the barracks. He had red hair like your gorgeous gram and the most intense almond-shaped eyes I’d ever seen. He picked up English like it was nothing, and one day when I handed him a guitar, he started to play chords. He was six or seven, but he didn’t know his birthday and had forgotten his father’s name, if he'd ever known it. Mom died in childbirth, and the bio family shunned him. The other guys in my unit adopted him like a mascot.

“I was finishing my deployment when I got word that I’d been accepted into the music program at the University of Southern California. Your Uncle Sam thought I deserved to return to California because, with this chunk of shrapnel in my knee, I was pretty useless as a foot soldier, and I told everyone the kid was mine.”

That country was in shambles, already invaded by the French, English, and Russians before the US stepped into the mess. So Gramps returned to Gram with a ready-made son whom they adored.

Fast forward ten years. Gram died after a painful battle with cancer, and a couple of months later I came into the world. My father somehow neglected to tell Gramps there was a teenager in his life who was about to birth their baby, and it was a surprise all around when she showed up one day with me in a pink blanket.

Parenthood didn’t rock the Richter scale of life for this young couple. Gramps, once more, manned up, and he became the saving grace for me. The story goes that the twosome, my bio parents, piled their macrobiotic rice, pine nut smoothies, ceremonial drums, unfiltered carrot juice, and love beads inside a rusting, hand-painted purple VW bus, dotted with yellow daisies, and went in search of their bliss. I believe they were about ten years past the real hippies, but that didn’t seem to deter them. The last I heard, when I was sixteen, was that they were in Sedona, selling therapy rocks to tourists. I was happy for them; I had the best grandfather, the coolest Gramps in my school. However, getting a rock in the mail for one’s birthday stunk.

Enough about me. At least for a few minutes—unless it has to do with the reason I wrote this memoir, which is to explain why I ended up a viral sensation on YouTube. Again. Although the in-between stuff scared me silly.

Gramps interrupted my gallop down Memory Lane with a grunt that sounded suspiciously like he was swearing, which I knew he didn’t. Or the normal-ish grandfather I previously claimed didn’t swear.

“Call me Onesimus,” he growled.

“What-a-muss?”

“Get a clue, you’re a preacher. You know this stuff. Always spouting it off as you do all that Bible-belting.” Then he grumbled about how his granddaughter could easily become a pompous prig.

“I’ve never belted a Bible in my life, I’ll thank you.” And I wondered in a tiny spot in my heart if I should look up the definition of prig before I felt insulted.

“Don’t give me that look, girl. I’m immune. Been looking at myself too long for one of your freeze-frame frowns to frazzle me and make me spill my guts.”

“Are you talking Old Testament or New?”

“Look it up, Pastor.”

He never calls me, Pastor. Never before had he even raised his voice to me. “Who are you and what did you do with my grandfather?” I demanded. My now mostly-retired from sex, gals, and rock and roll, and teaching at the university, grandfather lived in the beachy town of Carlsbad, California. “It’s midnight, and my real grandfather is safety tucked in bed right now, not in Vegas, baby.”

We stared at each other, then a flickering two-watt bulb flipped on. “Are you talking about Onesimus, as in the slave the Apostle Paul wrote about?”

“Bing-a-ding ding, girl. Listen, Janey, I’m having a crisis, one that, well, is personal, as private as it can get for a man.”

From the dancing rhinestones embedded on his denim shirt, past the belt buckle the size of Rhode Island, and the boots which had three-inch heels, the man was either auditioning for a low-budget movie or had lost his marbles. My real grandfather was a rock star, wore a lot of black, dragged a guitar everywhere and didn’t dress like a cowboy. He was dependable, had style, sure, and a heart for the next gal and guy. Always.

Okay, there were some ladies of a certain age, groupies if I’m honest, who would have had their way with him, but Gramps was incredibly discreet about that stuff. Then again, I never had a conversation about the birds and the bees with him.

“Oh, personal and private,” I muttered, regretting my decision to have that second Lean Cuisine Mexican Medley. I did not ever, ever, want to discuss my grandfather’s sexual inadequacies or his performance issues, and the souring sensation in my stomach agreed. Big time.

Instead, I blurted, “Men your age are well past that. For Pete’s sake, don’t tell me you’re in Vegas to marry an 18-year-old, half-naked dancer who wears pink feathers that glow in the dark with matching pasties that barely cover her nipples. And that she’s just misunderstood and currently employed at a local strip joint because she’s putting herself through med school.”

He just took off a boot. There was no denial.

“She’s not some chorus babe, Jane. She has to be at least 18 or 19, however. Guess she could be 16 with a fake ID. I never asked.”

***

Excerpt from Jane Won't Quit by Eva Shaw. Copyright 2026 by Eva Shaw. Reproduced with permission from Eva Shaw. All rights reserved.

 

 

Meet the Author:

Mystery writer Eva Shaw, Ph.D. is one of the US’s premier ghostwriters specializing in memoirs. She’s the author of more than 100 award-winning books. Eva has been a university writing instructor with for two decades, mentoring more than 50,000 writers in her remote-learning classes through Education to Go.

Novels with her byline include: Jane Won’t Quit (Vaus Publishing, March February 2026), The Beatrix Patterson Mystery Series from Torchflame Books (The Seer, The Finder, The Pursuer and The Conductor). Other novels include Games of the Heart and Doubts of the Heart.

She shares her life with Coco Rose, a rambunctious 7 year old Welsh terrier, loves reading, painting, traveling, spending time with friends and family, playing the banjolele, volunteering with her church, the American Cancer Society and other organizations. She lives in Carlsbad, California.

Catch Up With Eva Shaw:

www.evashaw.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub
Instagram - @evashawwriter
Facebook - @evashawwriter

 

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What Happens In Vegas… Could Win You A Gift Card

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Witness in the Shadows by Blaire Morgan ~ @partnersincr1me ~ #WitnessInTheShadows #BlaireMorgan #KyndallFamilySuspense #RomanticSuspense

WITNESS IN THE SHADOWS

by Blaire Morgan

March 16, 2026 Book Blast

About the Book:

Kyndall Family Suspense 

In this gripping romantic suspense set in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, danger closes in and trust may be the only way to survive.

A woman tormented by her past.

For eight years, FBI Agent Alexa Kyndall relentlessly pursued justice, leaving no room for the guilty to escape. In Witness in the Shadows, her dedication draws her into a deadly hunt for a serial killer—and into the path of the most unexpected criminal of her career.

A man willing to do whatever it takes to save her.

When a child witnesses a brutal slaying, Alexa’s life becomes intertwined with Craig Pierson’s, a man with his own haunted past. They join forces, only to discover they must put everything on the line in a pulse-pounding struggle to protect and survive.

A killer closing in.

As the shadows deepen and danger tightens its grip, Alexa and Craig must risk everything to survive.

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Blaire Morgan Books
Publication Date: March 16, 2026
Number of Pages: 255
Series: Kyndall Family Suspense Series, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Goodreads | BookBub

 

Meet the Author:

Blaire Morgan is a pseudonymous American author blending danger, emotion, and high-stakes storytelling into gripping romantic suspense. She lives wherever the next adventure takes her—usually somewhere with a lot of trees, or a place that exists only in her imagination.

Catch Up With Blaire Morgan:

www.blairemorgan.com
Amazon Author Profile
BookBub - @blairemorganbooks1

 

Tour Participants:

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In The Shadows Of Suspense: Giveaway

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Last to Fall by Lynn H. Blackburn ~ Christian Fiction, Romantic Suspense, Romance ~ @LynnHBlackburn @partnersincr1me

LAST TO FALL

by Lynn H. Blackburn

March 2 - 13, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

About the Book:

GOSSAMER FALLS

 

She's caught in a deadly game. He's the only one who can help her win.

Bronwyn Pierce has poured everything into The Haven, her family's exclusive mountain resort in Gossamer Falls. But when financial discrepancies surface and the numbers suggest something far darker than simple mismanagement, she's forced to call on the one person with the skills to help her: Mo Quinn, a former Army intelligence officer, her first love, and the last person she ever wanted to trust again.

Mo has spent years avoiding the woman he once loved and the secrets that tore them apart. But when Bronwyn calls, he can't walk away--especially when it's clear someone wants her gone for good. As they dig deeper into the treacherous motives behind a blackmail scheme, their proximity reignites long-buried feelings neither of them are ready to face. And when the evidence points to an unexpected culprit, Mo faces an impossible choice: trust the proof in front of him or trust his heart.

With danger closing in and no one else to turn to, Bronwyn must break years of silence with Mo to uncover who's trying to destroy The Haven. They'll have to risk everything--including their hearts--to expose the truth before it's too late.

The finale to Blackburn's Gossamer Falls series is an exhilarating romantic suspense novel packed with tension. This gripping read will hook fans of the family rivalry, bodyguard, small town, second chance romance, and forced proximity tropes.

Book Details:

Genre: Christian Fiction, Romantic Suspense, Romance
Published by: Revell
Publication Date: March 3, 2026
Number of Pages: 368
ISBN: 9780800745387 (ISBN10: 0800745388)
Series: Gossamer Falls, Book #3 | Learn more on Amazon, Goodreads, & Baker Book House
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Christianbook | Goodreads | BookBub | Baker Book House

Read an Excerpt:

 

 

Meet the Author:

Lynn H. Blackburn is the award-winning author of Never Fall Again, as well as the Dive Team Investigations and Defend and Protect series. She loves writing swoon-worthy Southern suspense because her childhood fantasy was to become a spy, but her grown-up reality is that she's a huge chicken and would have been caught on her first mission. She prefers to live vicariously through her characters by putting them into terrifying situations while she sits at home in her pajamas. She lives in Simpsonville, South Carolina, with her true love, Brian, and their three children.

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#BookReview ~ The Arrangement (Bancroft University Chronicles Book 1) by S.D. Lettie ~ #RomanticSuspense #NewAdult #NA @pumpupyourbook

A forced engagement binds them, but the secrets simmering between them threaten to implode their lives far sooner than any wedding bells—part one of a slow-burn duet…

 

Title: THE ARRANGEMENT

Author: S.D. Lettie

Publisher: Independent

Pages: 298

Genre: New Adult, Romantic Suspense

Format: Paperback, Kindle, FREE with Kindle Unlimited

About the Book:

You know that guy you fell for at sixteen—the one who vanished without explanation, leaving behind enough damage to last years? Now imagine being forced into an engagement with him because your parents decided you’re more useful as leverage than as a daughter. 

And the part he forgot to mention? He’s heir to a Bratva empire with blood on its hands. 

That’s Emilia’s life. Her future is not her own, and her fiancé, Nikolai Volkov, is a man whose silence is more dangerous than his words. Their past is a wound. Their engagement is a threat. And what grows between them is something neither of them should let happen. 

The Arrangement is a dark, slow-burn story of buried truths, political corruption, and a connection that pulls two damaged people toward a collision neither may survive unscathed.

My Review:

The Arrangement is the first book in the Bancroft University Chronicles duet. We follow Emilia as she's used as a pawn in political warfare. The daughter of the US Vice President, she's always on stage, doing what she's told. Then, a marriage is arranged between Emilia and her teenage crush who abandoned her. 

This book is amazing. The chemistry between Emelia and Nikolai is explosive. The secrecy, the lies, and the corruption threaten everything Emilia has ever held dear and always believed. I was on the edge of my seat watching everything play out in The Arrangement. I can't wait for the second part of this story.

I was provided with a copy of this book. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review. The opinions I have expressed are my own.

My Rating:

Read a Book Excerpt:

My phone buzzes in my shorts pocket. I ignore it, thinking it’s a text, but then it buzzes again. I look down and see my father’s name lighting up the screen. Groaning, I answer. 

“Emilia.” His voice is calm, clipped. Not cold, just clean, like everything else he controls. He says my name like punctuation. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Your mother asked me to check on the brunch.” 

She didn’t want to ask herself. She never does. She strategically delegates through him, like always. “It’s done,” I say. “Final headcount is confirmed. Catering’s squared. My remarks are short and already vetted.” There’s a pause, the sound of him moving paper in the background, or maybe pouring a drink. I can’t tell. He’s always multitasking, even when he speaks like everything is a priority. 

“She wants it to go smoothly.” 

It will. He knows that. He wouldn’t have called if he didn’t already trust it was handled. 

“There’s something else,” my father says right as I think we’re done, his voice flat and clipped in the way he reserves for things that aren’t up for discussion. “I’ve arranged a meeting with Nikolai and his father next week at the Four Seasons. I’d like you to be there. We have some important things to discuss.” 

– Excerpted from The Arrangement by S.D. Lettie, Independent, 2025. Reprinted with permission.

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The Arrangement is available at Amazon.

 About the Author:

Before she ever had “author” next to her name, S.D. Lettie was—and still is—an avid reader first; the kind who would finish a book in a day and beg her parents to take her back to the bookstore. Reading started as a hobby and, as she got older, became her source of entertainment, escape, and comfort. Over the years, she found herself wanting to write the kind of worlds readers could get excited about—a world that could grow into a fandom of its own. 

Today, Lettie writes slow-burn romances—stories about characters who are imperfectly perfect, the hard moments that shape them, and the plot twists that leave readers reeling. Outside her writing life, she’s a wife and mom of two, roles that influence both her time and perspective. She’s also a dedicated soccer fan, the kind who will plan her day around a match and openly admit she’ll yell at the TV when things get heated.

Through all of it, her goal as an author is simple: she wants her characters to stay with readers long after the book ends. 

Her latest book is the new adult romantic suspense, The Arrangement (Bancroft University Chronicles Book 1).

Visit her website at www.sdlettieauthor.com. Connect with her on Facebook, Instagram, BookBub and Goodreads.

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Impulse Control by Emily Carrington ~ @CarringtonEmily @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #ImpulseControl #EmilyCarrington #LGBTQ #MMRomance

Impulse Control by Emily Carrington

Marisburg Chronicles (#8)

Romantic Suspense / LGBTQ

Date Published: February 6, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Spontaneity can be both exciting and terrifying for everyone involved.

When Riku ran from the trouble caused by his lover’s family, he wasn’t quite sure what he was running to. He left his beloved behind, abandoning his heart’s desire in the name of escape. Now, in a job he loves but missing that critical piece of his soul, he mourns, longing for the companionship as much as the sexual tension.

Theo has given chase, all the way across the country. He wants closure if nothing else, but that would be a terrible second choice. What he longs for is to have Riku back in his life and in his bed.

Now, with all the time and former distance between them, can Riku and Theo move past the merely physical cravings of “I missed you” to a confession of their true feelings?

 

Read an Excerpt:

Copyright ©2026 Emily Carrington

HotSpot Universal Media had taken off in the late nineties and seemed to grow exponentially every year. Theo’s parents’ company wasn’t exactly the only universal design organization that worked with people of all different abilities, but it had been one of the first to open its doors and actually make a profit.

Every time Theo had to recite that bit of historical dogma, he felt both proud and like he was rubbing his competitors’ noses in shit. He was so glad to have a job when many people with visual impairment and hearing loss couldn’t find work, but he was also profoundly aware that HUM traded as much in bad press for others as it did in good reviews.

He leaned back in the seat of the Audi and closed his eyes, effectively shutting out the world. He wore headphones that the driver could talk through to get his attention if need be, but mostly the noise cancelling was to soothe his over-stressed brain. He’d just spent four days at a conference touting the importance of the universal design company, using the catch phrase his parents’ marketing team had come up with three or four years ago: Charity begins at HUM.

He was suddenly distracted by a wet nose on his ankle. He tended to wear low-riding socks when he wasn’t in public and today was no exception. His service dog was either just shifting or she was asking for pets. He reached down without opening his eyes and found her head. He rubbed her stand-up ears affectionately. She shifted a little closer and lifted her head, giving him access to the spot under her chin. She liked to be scratched there.

Grinning, breathing out a good chunk of stress, and feeling grateful for Capitaine’s monitoring of his mood, Theo murmured, “Good girl.”

“Did you say something, sir?” Carlton asked through his headphones.

“Nope.” He felt his grin stretch. “Capitaine just needed some attention.”

“Very good, sir.”

He couldn’t break Carlton of the habit of calling him “sir.” Probably that was because the man was former military. Theo supposed it was better than not getting any respect, but the stiff interactions he had with the family’s staff made him extraordinarily self-conscious. He much preferred the occasionally awkward discussions he had with the businesspeople he worked with. Often, their responses were confused, as they were unsure how to talk to someone who was mostly deaf and losing more vision weekly, or so it seemed.

His phone rang, buzzing against his leg and sounding in his ears. He pressed a button and said, “Hello, this is Theodore Billings.” He didn’t recognize the number, but that wasn’t unusual. He got lots of random calls from folks trying to get him to fund their project or business.

“Sir, it’s Omar Jeffries. I’m sorry I’m calling from a strange number, but my cell is dead and I forgot my charger in the hotel.”

The private investigator sounded excited, or at least not as discouraged as he had during the last three conversations over the last two months. Theo sat up a little straighter and, after giving Capitaine one more pat, turned all his attention to finding out what Omar knew. “Good news?” he asked, trying to make his voice casual. He failed as a frisson of excitement bubbled up.

“I’m in Pennsyltucky and --”

Theo frowned and before he could stop himself, he asked, “Do you mean Pennsylvania?” He didn’t like unfriendly names for things. He tended to think there was too much division in the country at large.

Omar took a breath. “Yes, sir. Sorry. I’m in a rural part of the state and even if this little town is a hotbed of culture, it’s surrounded by farmland and…”

Theo heard him take another breath. Whatever he had to tell, he was letting his passion overcome his caution.

Did that mean he’d found something concrete?

“It’s a little town west of Philadelphia. Maybe an hour outside the city.”

“What’s the proof you’ve found this time?”

“Not just proof, boss. He’s actually living in a house with a gay couple. I’ve seen him, and he and the one man went out and bought him some new clothes, I think.”

Jealousy threatened to swallow Theo’s common sense then. He blurted, “Did they… Is Riku their third?”

“I don’t think so. I snuck a peek in the window when he forgot to shut the curtains. He sleeps downstairs on an inflatable mattress, although I don’t know why he doesn’t sleep on the couch that’s available.” He paused and then added, “Maybe he’s too tall to be comfortable. It’s more like a loveseat than a sofa.”

Theo’s heartbeat had picked up. He closed one hand into a loose fist and put it against his chest as hope coursed through him. “What’s he doing there?”

“I think he’s looking for work. He’s bought, or had bought for him, actually, a new suit.”

“Philadelphia… All right. I’ll get plane tickets and fly out there. What’s the name of the town?”

“It’s more like a tiny village than a town. It’s called Marisburg.”

About the Author:

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.

 

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