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The Extra Shot – March 18, 2018

The Extra Shot – March 18, 2018

Welcome to The Extra Shot, a weekly Sunday post featuring EXCLUSIVE content from Authors who have books releasing in the near future.  

Books I Love A Latte is a book review blog focusing primarily on the romance genre, fiction, and women’s fiction. In addition, we periodically review products to keep you organized and more productive as writers and readers.  

Stay connected with Rae Latte and Books I Love A Latte for Book Reviews, Excerpts, Teasers, Coffee With (Interviews), Giveaways, Authors Dish, Book Sales, and other Tasty Tidbits. 

Today we’ve got an EXCLUSIVE excerpt to jump start your week along with a fabulous giveaway too! 






She was across the room in seconds. It was like watching a racquetball game where she was the ball. Esme never stopped moving. She tugged at her shirt collar as she crossed to another wall and whirled. “Damn it; I hate wearing other people’s clothes. They never fit right. I swear they’re going to choke me . . . Whi-iip! Damn it. There has to be something I can do to keep myself busy until he comes back.

“It’s staying in this house.” There was a sudden cunning edge to her voice. “That’s what’s wrong. I’ve just been cooped up too long. How about if I go for a nice long walk . . . jog . . . run. I could run for a while. Just keep running . . .”

“Esme, honey, you’re not going out. Not like this.” Ripper took the brunt of her irritation as she whirled on him, asking who gave him the right to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. Natalie and Ripper had gotten home a half hour earlier. Dr. Ryan had been out of the office indefinitely. The staff wasn’t giving explanations, and there were enough annoyed women there in various degrees of pregnancy trying to reschedule or get referred to another doctor that the Forester couple had given up.

Bay tuned out the argument and walked over to Serena, notepad in hand. “How long has she been like this?”

“It started about an hour after you guys—well, no, after Whip left—let’s be honest. It was just pacing at first; like she’d had two too many cups of coffee or something. It’s been getting steadily worse. Where is Whip?”

“I asked Steel to tell him to wait outside until he called. I wanted to see if Esme was doing the same thing . . .”

“Whip’s like this too?” Appalled, Serena looked from one male to the other.

“Can you do anything?” Steel asked his friend.

“Hell, I don’t even know what’s wrong with her. It could be she’s coming off the drug, whatever it was. This could be the equivalent of withdrawal.”

“After one dose? And what about my nephew? How the hell did it get in his system?”

“Who knows? That’s the problem. We just don’t know. It could be a side effect . . . it could be anything.” Bay’s concern sharpened his tone.

“I want Whip. NOW!”

The front door slammed open, making everyone jump as Whip stalked into the room as if summoned by her words. His face was tight and sheened with sweat as his head turned from side to side, searching, tracking. His gaze was dangerous as he prowled into the room. His attention locked on Esme. Even as he took in her pale, sweaty complexion, she launched herself across the room at him with a moaning noise that was a cross between a whimper and an exclamation.

The other Foresters looked on as the couple tried to devour each other. Wild kisses deepened. Esme’s legs were locked around Whip’s waist, but she was equally sealed into place by his arms locked around her back. His large hand cupped her skull, fingers splayed to cover as much as he could, as if he expected her to try to break free of his ravenous mouth.

There was no chance of that. Even the spectators could see that she was doing her best to crawl inside him.

“Where have you—?”

“Damn, I missed you—”

“God, how could I—?”

“. . . long, too long . . .”

Whip’s shirt fell to the floor.

“Uh, guys.” Serena grabbed her uncle’s arm. “We need to get out of here. NOW.”

The two men looked at her, their faces blank.

“Damn. Natalie! Pheromone alert! Help me out here!”

Instantly, Natalie grabbed Bay by the hand while she used a full-body bump to rouse Ripper from his stupor.

“Come on. They are not going to stop. We are not going to watch. We need to get out of here. Now.”

Steel swore softly as he shook his head to clear it. He glanced over his shoulder at the oblivious, now half-clad couple in the living room. “Bay, should we try to stop—?”

“No.” His voice thick, the doctor steered them through the kitchen and outside. “The state they’re in—I don’t want to be responsible for what would happen if we tried to take her away from him right now. Whether it’s the drug affecting him somehow or ‘just’ her, at this point he’d go wolf on us. And we know it’s the drugs with her; we just don’t know what it would do if we, uh, interrupted. Her heart was racing and her blood pressure was doing weird things before he showed up. Frankly, I’m hoping this acts like another dose and actually stabilizes her.”

“And we need to find out what the hell she was drugged with. If it can affect us third-hand, two days later, halfway across a room, we have to stop it.”

“Or build those two an igloo,” Ripper muttered, even as he tugged at Natalie’s hand and pulled her up the back stairs toward their room.


ONE e-book of Past Imperfect by Rowan Worth is up for grabs.

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In case you missed it, my Coffee With Rowan Worth

Author Info:

Rowan Worth lives in Virginia where she writes both contemporary and paranormal romantic suspense and adventure. Romance…Suspense…and a Touch of Paranormal Heat…you’ll find all of that and more in The Foresters, an ongoing series featuring a family of shapeshifters trying to stop an enemy intent on destroying their small pack. The first book, PAST IMPERFECT, is available now!

Rowan is a member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), and its Washington (D.C.) Romance Writers (WRW) and Futuristic, Fantasy, and Paranormal (FF&P) chapters. She currently serves as President of the WRW board. Her manuscript LACY’S GIFT (now TOUCH OF LIES) placed second in the esteemed Georgia Romance Writers “Maggie” contest for unpublished authors and recently finaled in the Wisconsin “Fab 5” contest. She is represented by Miriam Kriss, Vice President, at the Irene Goodman Agency.

Find out more about Rowan at her website and subscribe to her newsletter Worth Reading! for all the latest release information, fun shapeshifter trivia, and a peek at some delicious upcoming covers:

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The Extra Shot – March 11, 2018

The Extra Shot – March 11, 2018

Welcome to The Extra Shot, a weekly Sunday post featuring EXCLUSIVE content from Authors who have books releasing in the near future.  

Books I Love A Latte is a book review blog focusing primarily on the romance genre, fiction, and women’s fiction. In addition, we periodically review products to keep you organized and more productive as writers and readers.  

Stay connected with Rae Latte and Books I Love A Latte for Book Reviews, Excerpts, Teasers, Coffee With (Interviews), Giveaways, Authors Dish, Book Sales, and other Tasty Tidbits. 

Today we’ve got TWO EXCLUSIVE excerpts and a few giveaways to jump start your week. Each author has brought there own giveaways so be sure to read for details within each feature!



Meaningful Detail: the little things that tell a tale by Damon Suede

I want to thank Rae for letting me come talk with y’all about the ways characters drive a story. Next week Verbalize comes out, aka my new craft book on characterization and story-planning, and we thought you might dig splashing around in some of its ideas. If you’d like to enter to win a story consult or a copy of Verbalize (print or digital), check out the contest here.

Specificity is critical in genre fiction. Over and over we’re told to keep things precise if we expect readers to care, but I often wonder if that advice goes far enough. Paying attention is always the answer to creative problems, but what needs our attention. Authors absolutely need to focus, but they need to focus on things that matter.

On that tip, I’d like to include a brief excerpt from Chapter 1 of Verbalize, about the power of significant specifics.

*    *    *

When we care about something, we pay attention, and by the same token, when we pay attention to something, we start to care about it.

You can only pay attention to specificity, so canny authors go out of their way to provide juicy detail that supports the story. Vagueness connotes laziness, sloppiness, or apathy in the writer, which is why pablum is general and generalized. Consequently, specificity is the core of solid craft and superior art. Precision makes us focus and remember.

By the same token, specifics are critical, but only in service to the tale you’re telling. Plunking random specifics into a story without any awareness of their impact serves nothing. Paying attention to your story’s details makes your readers follow suit. When you stop paying attention, likewise.

Every specific in a story requires a purpose, a function. Instead of pointless detail, what you should aim for is significance: meaningful patterns start with resonant focus. When weighing the effect of any detail, you should be able to answer the question “How does this help tell the story and improve the emotional ride?” Under that lens you’ll quickly pinpoint facts that actually characterize and dramatize the tale you’re telling.

Significant specifics don’t just attract attention, they reward it so that the patterns of the story begin to connect to patterns already hardwired in your reader’s mind. Rather than providing conclusions, show your audience respect and engage them directly by allowing them to reach conclusions on their own. Significance jacks into their consciousness directly for more potent and efficient narrative results.

A detail only becomes significant when it helps you tell the tale.

Show your readers significant specifics and you don’t need to tell them anything, but try to tell them something, and their craving for pattern will send them looking for specifics that might contradict it. Better to have your audience as an enthusiastic ally than a dubious witness.

The great power of significance is that it forces all your words to do the heavy lifting—sometimes several jobs at once—so you can pack more of a punch into less space by showing and not telling. As Elizabeth Bowen put it, “Irrelevance, in any part, is a cloud and a drag on, a weakener of, the novel. It dilutes meaning. Relevance crystallizes meaning.”[i]

Here’s the great secret of writing popular fiction: your audience helps you tell the best story, but only if you give them the right materials.

What matters most is why characters pursue what they pursue and how they pursue it despite terrible odds. Instead of bogging down in minutiae, you can anchor every project in the raw, emotional power that engages readers and inspires creativity by focusing on the energy of the story. What matters to your audience and your process is the driving force behind the story, the spring in the clock, the emotional core, the choices of the characters. The actions they embody. The risks they take.

The rest is parsley on the plate.


Excerpted from Verbalize by Damon Suede.

© Damon Suede 2018. All rights reserved.



Damon grew up out-n-proud deep in the anus of right-wing America, and escaped as soon as it was legal. Though new to romance fiction, Damon has been writing for print, stage, and screen almost three decades and just released his first craft book: Verbalize, a practical guide to characterization and story craft. He’s won some awards, but counts his blessings more often: his amazing friends, his demented family, his beautiful husband, his loyal fans, and his silly, stern, seductive Muse who keeps whispering in his ear, year after year. Get in touch with him on Twitter, Facebook, or at


[i] Elizabeth Bowen, “Notes on Writing a Novel” included in Collected Impressions, (1950).


Only a few more hours till you can discover for yourself how to Verbalize! Get your copy here –

In case you missed my review, you can read it here.  



The solid wood door swung out easily when I pulled, and my heart began beating a quicker rhythm as Chance’s distinctive low voice rolled out the open door of an office adjacent to the lobby.

“If it gets any worse, let me know, John. We’ll lend a hand.” I could see Chance’s back as he stood looking out the window behind his desk, the phone to his ear.

“Miranda. What’s up?” There was an office on each side of the small reception space, and Sam appeared from the side opposite Chance’s office, no doubt summoned by the bell above the front door.

“Hey Sam.” My eyes were locked on Chance’s broad back, a dark flannel pulled tightly across the muscles just below the curls that were beginning to form at the top of his tanned neck. I pulled my gaze away to land on Sam instead. His familiar face was hardly a comfort. Chance and Sam’s eyes were almost identical, and the angular cut of their cheekbones and jaws were similar too. Both Palmer brothers could have been carved from stone—they were that good looking.

Despite their similar faces, I swooned when Chance looked at me, and I definitely felt something when my eyes met Sam’s—only I wasn’t sure exactly what it was. He made me nervous. Not in a good way, but in a way that kept me on my toes. And the way he was staring at me now made me uncomfortable. Like he was trying to figure something out. I was suddenly regretting wearing my hair down.

Best get to the point. “I came in to ask about that job. The administrative one?” My fingers found the tassel on my purse and began pulling at it.

Sam stepped out of his office and squinted at me as one side of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. He looked confused, his face crinkling up. “Why?”

Annoyance flooded me. This was the problem with Sam. Nothing was straightforward. I sighed, turning to see if Chance might be done with his call and come out so I could speak to him instead. Of course then I’d be nervous instead of annoyed. “I thought I might be able to help out with that.”

“It’s not a ‘help out’ type of thing. It’s a job. And you already have a job. And you’re in school.” Sam leaned his tall body against the door jam of his office and crossed his big arms over his broad chest. He gave off an air of judgment that put me on edge. And of course he was being difficult about something that could be simple.

“But Chance said it was part time?”

“What part of the time do you see yourself being here?” He was smiling now and I got the distinct impression he was toying with me. I shifted my weight uncomfortably as I stood there, in Maddie’s khaki pants and flowered blouse. The clothes had me feeling a bit unlike myself, and now I was standing here like an idiot in the middle of the room and Sam was being difficult. I had no doubt Chance would have offered me a seat. He was the polite brother. Sam was just watching me, like I was put there to amuse him.

“The part of the time when you guys need me, I guess.” My voice didn’t carry the confident edge I wanted it to, so I cleared my throat and continued. “I can rearrange my diner shifts if I need to, and college is online. I do most of my work at night anyway.”

“Right.” Sam chewed on his bottom lip for a second and then something about his fingernails caught his attention. He brought his hand to his face and rubbed his thumb against his index finger, looking intently at it. Finally he tucked his hand back under the opposite elbow and looked back up at me. “Okay.” He stood upright again and turned around to head back into his office, leaving me standing in the middle of the room.

Okay? What did that mean?

Love Reimagined © Delancey Stewart 2018. All rights reserved.

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Author Info:
Delancey Stewart is an award-winning author who writes romantic fiction with humor and heart.

Stewart has lived on both coasts, in big cities and small towns. She’s been a pharmaceutical rep, a personal trainer and a wineseller.

A wife and the mother of two small boys, her current job titles include pirate captain, monster hunter, Lego assembler and story reader. She tackles all these efforts at her current home outside Washington D.C.

Find her at


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The Extra Shot

The Extra Shot

Welcome to The Extra Shot, a weekly Sunday post featuring EXCLUSIVE content from Authors who have books releasing in the near future.  

Books I Love A Latte is a book review blog focusing primarily on the romance genre, fiction, and women’s fiction. In addition, we periodically review products to keep you organized and more productive as writers and readers.  

Stay connected with Rae Latte and Books I Love A Latte for Book Reviews, Excerpts, Teasers, Coffee With (Interviews), Giveaways, Authors Dish, Book Sales, and other Tasty Tidbits. 

Today we’ve got an EXCLUSIVE excerpt from MK Meredith‘s upcoming release Honor on the Cape, a Cape Van Buren series. This romance series is full of characters that are sure to tug at your heart. A town rich with family traditions, secrets that test it’s residents, and a little spiced latte to make your book adventure full of excitement and surprises. I can’t wait to read MK’s next Cape Van Buren installment. Want to know when release day is? Be sure to follow MK across all social media platforms for the latest information. Enjoy & Happy Reading!


He rounded the end of the isle just as the woman in question stepped through a door labeled Eclectic Staff Only, her head was down and she worried her berry-colored lower lip with her teeth. He’d never get used to it, the sight of her was a swift punch to the gut. He remembered how those lips felt, how they tasted…
“I’m sorry we’re closed.” She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes going wide. “Jamie.” Her tone was breathless with surprise.
He’d never tire of hearing the Irish lilt in her voice when she called him by the nickname. He looked around with a nod. “I found myself outside and had to come take a look. You have something special here.”
“Yeah, I do.” She hesitated, studying him closely. “I worked hard for it, too.”
“Larkin told me you put yourself through school until you got your masters in business. That couldn’t have been easy.”
Pressing her lips together, she pulled in a breath, her nose flaring in the way he’d always loved. She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder and said, “Look, I have to get back to work. My stock doesn’t unload itself.” She nodded toward the front of the store. “You can let yourself out.”
He had two choices. The smart choice would be to do as she said and leave, but when it came to Blayne, his intelligence was in serious question and usually found just above his balls. Following her through the small hallway flanked with a small office on one side and a break room on the other, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the way her ass moved beneath her pencil skirt.
Her style drove him wild, and her current attire was no exception. He perused the line of her legs down to her high heels. “How the hell are you unloading boxes with six-inch heels holding you up?”
She spun around with a startled look on her face. “I said let yourself out, not in. What are you doing?”
“I’m helping.” He looked around at the stacked boxes and table full of merchandise. “I’ll unload and unpack, you inventory.”
“I don’t need your help, Jamie.”
“No, you don’t. But you’re going to get it.” He stepped beside her, noting how she stiffened with his nearness. He stiffened too, but in a completely different way. And to the point that he shifted from one foot to the other hoping his unwieldy body part would settle in a more comfortable position.
He pulled a delivery off a stack, then carried it to the table. Grabbing a box cutter, he flicked up the blade with a swipe of his thumb against the small textured lever. “Look, Blayne. I’m here. You might as well make use of me.” He heard it as soon as he said it.
And realized he meant it.
She ran her eyes from the tips of his shoes to his crotch–Please God, he cleared his throat–then on up to his chest, and finally his face. “What’s the American saying? Been there, done that?”
His bark of laughter echoed off the walls, and her painted lips quirked up at the corners.
With a sigh, she threw her hands up. “Fine. Unpack each box, carefully handing me one item at a time. This job is about accuracy and care, not speed. Got it?” One perfectly arched dark brow raised with her question.
Something settled in his chest. It meant something for her to give in, to let him stay. “Got it, boss.”
She scoffed. “Take that back to the conservation center and I’ll let you help me here any day.”
He sliced through the tape of one box. “In your dreams. We’re partners at the center, but I will give in to your demands here.”
“Give in to my demands?” Her question sounded anything but innocent. “All of them?”
“Anything?” Her eyes dilated.
F#*k. Me.
“Completely.” His heart beat hard in his chest as she stepped closer. The heat of her made him want to reach out and pull her in until her breasts flattened against his chest. It was as though his breathing stopped with his heart as she leaned toward him.
So close, her silky hair, her porcelain skin. Those damn lips that left his d*^k begging and his mouth speechless.
Then just as quickly, she stepped back, her fingers gripping a silver paperweight in the shape of an inchworm. She slapped it into the palm of her other hand, and he winced. “Perfect.”
He narrowed his eyes at the victorious gleam in her own.
Two could play that game.
With a clap of his hands, he scanned the stacked boxes, taking a small measure of satisfaction when she jumped at the noise. “Well, Blayne MacCaffrey, let’s get to work.”
Shrugging off his jacket, he kept his gaze on the table, purposefully avoiding her eyes. He grabbed the hem of his black, knit sweater and pulled it up and over his head.
“What are you doing?” A hint of panic raised the pitch of her voice.
With the self-control of a monk, he resisted the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth, and grabbed the first box. “Getting to work. I imagine you don’t want to be here all day, and I don’t want to get my shirt sweaty before having a chance to meet with Mayor Marth.” He shook his head. “It’s so weird to think of quiet, timid Sebastian as the Mayor.”
She waved her hand with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “First, get your shirt on and second, I’ve seen Sebastian Marth…there is nothing timid about that man.”
Her light green eyes stared off into space for a brief second, causing a swift, unreasonable, knot of jealousy to twist in his gut.
“The last time I saw him, he had two, fifty pound salt bags hoisted on each shoulder.” She followed up with a low whistle.
And the knot twisted tighter. It shouldn’t. He didn’t have the right to feel one way or another. He lost any claim to her the night he walked away. His head knew it, but damned if his heart did. He grabbed another box and moved it over to the table, followed by two more.
She picked up a large serving bowl made of glass and silver, studying it from every angle, seemingly unaware of the change in atmosphere. “Yep…not timid at all.” Placing the bowl to the side, she reached up on tip-toe to rearrange items on the top shelf labeled serving wear. “Like…at all.”
That’s it.
If anyone asked, he’d say the devil made him do it. And he’d do it again, too.
Without a sound, he stepped behind her, so close his chest brushed her back.
She sucked in a breath, but couldn’t move because she had two porcelain dishes perched on the edge of the shelf.
“Careful now. I’m just trying to help.” His voice was even but his blood raced through his veins at her nearness. Her scent wafted around his head, her heat warmed his skin, and the silky slide of her hair tickled his biceps as he reached around her to assist with the bowls.
“Jamie.” She stiffened. And he’d have sworn on his position at the conservation center she quit breathing.
“You’re about to lose two bowls that were balanced against the ones in your hands. Take it easy and let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” She shoved back slightly with her ass to force him to move but all she accomplished was pushing those round globes tight against his d*^k. And his vision went white.
Now he was the one who couldn’t breathe. God damn she felt so good.
As quickly as she pushed back, she pulled forward.
His hands wanted to grab her hips and pull her back so he could grind against her softness, and his heart wanted to pull her back to a time when she loved him. He blinked and swallowed hard, then adjusting the bowls by her hands, helped slide the other two back to safe ground.
As if his body hadn’t been on the verge of exploding, he stepped away and returned to his table.
Blayne didn’t move away from the shelf for a full minute. He’d counted, thankful for the time to get his body in check and his mind straight. Those kind of games were dangerous, but f*^k him if it didn’t feel good to play.
Finally, she quietly cleared her throat and reached for her clipboard, busying herself with her list of incoming stock.
He opened another box, slipped the box cutter blade safely beneath the protective edge, then set it on the table.
With a quick, easy grace, she grabbed the box cutter and unsheathed the blade.
“What the hell?” He looked from the blade to her eyes which glittered in a telling ominous manner.
He let out a soft chuckle. “Blayne, don’t be ridiculous.”
She raised the blade a little higher in its sheath.
“I was only trying to help.”
“Bulls&*t. You were trying to manipulate me. You were trying to muddy my head with your filled out muscles and smooth skin.”
His d^*k jumped.
“Come on. I was doing nothing of the sort.”
The hell he wasn’t.
And she knew it.
He raised his hands in front of him. “Seriously.”
“Get out.”
“Blayne, come on.”
She grabbed his shirt and threw it at his face. “Get. Out.”
There were times to advance, and there were times to retreat.
And there were times to run like hell from a mad woman with a blade.

Honor On The Cape by MK Meredith © 2018

Have you read Love on the Cape, the first Cape Van Buren book? 

Comment below.

If not, get your copy here. Be sure to check out the awesome rafflecopter giveaway below. 

Follow MK MEREDITH’s Author Page on AMAZON for her backlist and soon to be released info.

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** Seducing Seven Giveaway provided by Books I Love A Latte.
Love on the Cape Giveaway generously provided by MK Meredith.**

MKCOAuthor Info: MK Meredith writes single title contemporary romance novels which promise an emotional ride on heated sheets. A member of several writing groups, she believes the best route to success is to never stop learning.

She’s had a lifelong love affair with peanut butter — the only two things coming close in the battle for her affections are gorgeous heels, and maybe Gerard Butler…or was it David Gandy? Who is she kidding? Her true loves are her husband and two children who have survived her SEA’s (spontaneous explosions of affection) and live to tell the tale.

MK’s been reading romance long before she should have and can’t think of anything better than to fill her life with the promise of happily-ever-afters. When people ask, “Why romance?” She replies, “There is nothing more exhilarating than to write about one of the most powerful entities on earth. Love can be the fall of kingdoms and move mountains, destroy lives and create new life, inspire the dark and summon the light. Love is a challenge, a hope, and a miracle all wrapped into one. Love is life. I write about life.”

The Meredith’s live in the D.C. area with their two large fur babies…until the next adventure calls.