Some Like it Plaid by @AngelaQuarles #NewRelease #TimeTravel @InkSlingerPR

Today we have the release blitz for Some Like it Plaid by Angela Quarles! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today!

Title: Some Like It Plaid

Author: Angela Quarles

Genre: Time Travel Romance

About Some Like It Plaid:

When Ashley Miller sees a Craigslist ad for an all-expense paid vacation to Scotland with a handsome Highland “escort”, she’s all over it. Worn out from working two jobs to pay off the debts her scam artist ex-husband left her with, she just needs a friggin’ break already. Rolling, misty mountains of the Scottish Highlands, here she comes!

But one minute she’s sipping a latte and the next she’s zapped to the 2nd century and promptly informed she’s managed to wed her handsome Highlander without even an “I do.” Oh, hell no.

After a devastating tragedy, Connall’s tribe is left with few marriageable women. When his Druid priest suggests a place filled with bonnie lasses, he of course agrees to go fetch one for himself. But nothing prepared Connall for his sassy new wife, nor his tribe for a woman determined to see equal rights for all women.

Now the men are threatening revolt if he can’t rein his young wife in, but it might be too late. The women are demanding the men get “woke”—which of course makes no sense because they already woke that morn—and give women “the vote,” whatever the bloody hell that is. Despite all that, Connall can’t stop wanting to convince his wife to get naked, and he’s starting to wonder if he’s been bewitched.

Only the more he gets to know her, the more he starts to think she’s just what they needed. If only he survives her next demand…

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Exclusive Excerpt:

“Head out? Where are we?” That trickle of unease bloomed in her heart, her breath catching. Because his words were different. Somehow, he was speaking in a lilting but foreign language, and she’d not only understood every single word, but had answered in the same language.

To distract herself and, well, because her stomach chose that moment to growl, as if it knew she’d just been handed food and was all, Gimme, woman, she took a bite of bread.

The yeasty flavor burst on her tongue, along with the taste and crunch of oodles of grains. No dream she’d ever had was this vivid. The details were sharp, down to her being cold. And to the odd taste and texture of the bread. And her hunger.

The taste, though—a fuzzy memory poked. She took another bite, trying to chase it. Whatever it was, it had been buried so far in her past she couldn’t form it. Except for a fleeting, wonderful feeling of being cherished.

“Aye, we need to break camp and head to my tribe’s stronghold. And we’re in a land called Scotland.”

That last word was not in the same language—instead it was in her own—and he said it as if it were a strange word to him.

“What happened? How did we get here?” She’d asked this last night, but maybe he’d change his answer.

He strode toward her and knelt. She appreciated he would no doubt repeat himself but took the time to listen to her and patiently explain. “Mungan, our spellcaster, weaved strong magic. Brought me to your land, and then brought us both back here.” He held up a round stone incised with two parallel deep grooves around its center. As if that explained everything.

The hell it does. Some dude, even in a dream, was just whisking her about?

He waved to the two horses. “They left us mounts to ease our journey.”

She swallowed, trying to work moisture into her parched throat. “How long will it take to get to your…stronghold?”

“Only part of the morning.”

“How many hours?”


“Yeah, how long? How many hours?” Was her Star Trek Universal Translator on the fritz already? The word “hours” had come out in English.

He shook his head and frowned. Then he pointed to the sun just barely visible as a pale glow behind morning clouds. “As long as it takes the sun to travel from there”—he slid his finger just a few inches away—“to there.”

She pulled in a deep breath. Oookay.

He marched over to a shaggy brown horse, grabbed the saddle, and swung himself up into it with one swift motion, like she’d seen in old cowboy movies.

Wow, that was hot.

She’d ridden her share of horses growing up in Nebraska but had never perfected that technique. She stepped up to her horse and stroked its mane, pulling in the musky scent of the beast, letting him smell her, adjust to her. The animal’s fur was thick and curly, its coarse hairs springing through her stroking fingers.

Is this real?

She stared at the imposing but gentle Highlander, and then at the horse she was supposed to ride. If she did as he asked, she’d no longer be “playing along” with her dream. She’d have to face what she hadn’t wanted to admit yet— hopping onto this horse would be accepting this wasn’t a dream. This step, this moment, felt real. Tangible.


About Angela:

An avid reader herself, Angela Quarles writes books she’d like to read–laugh-out-loud, smart, sexy romances that suck you into her worlds and won’t let you go until you reach The End. She is a RWA RITA® award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary, time travel, and steampunk romance. Library Journal named her steampunk, Steam Me Up, Rawley, Best Self-Published Romance of 2015 and Must Love Chainmail won the 2016 RITA® Award in the paranormal category, the first indie to win in that category. Angela loves history, folklore, and family history and combined it with her active imagination to write stories of romance and adventure.

Connect with Angela:

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Baby Boomers Downsize w/Tiny Homes #FreebieFriday Christmas in July #Romance


First posted 2015 

Many of the so- called baby boomer era are facing empty nesters’ syndrome. That is to say, their once boisterous, happy homes are now quiet wastelands of space.

According to CIGNA HealthCare, family life cycles have five stages:

  1. Independence from your parents
  2. Settling down with a partner
  3. Becoming a parent to your own children
  4. Launching your adult children into their own independence stage
  5. Your retirement years

There has been an upsurge in the housing market, which in turn, has led to many couples who are coming into their retirement years, selling their homes and either moving into condos, tiny homes, like the one pictured above, or RV’s.

We chose the latter route. With our daughter grown and hundreds of miles away, we found ourselves alone and lonely in a five bedroom bi-level that was much too big. My mother had a suite downstairs, but most of the time it felt like we were simply keeping the dust bunnies company.

There are RV resorts all over Canada and the United States that cater to year round travelers. Some are very fancy with golfing, pools, tennis courts, and fitness rooms:

slider-2-1040x350-RV Resort

And others offer the wilderness in all its glory:


Our new home may not be thirteen hundred square feet, but it can take us to places we’ve never seen before.

And maybe even relieve some of that, ‘What are we going to do without our kids?’ feeling we all go through sooner or later.

2012 104

How about you? What do you do to relieve that empty nester’s syndrome?

Celebrate Christmas in July!

My holiday romance, Silver Bells is #Free July 12-14/2019!

Click the covers to visit Amazon for the books.


Will a Christmas wish give a lonely author a family?

Mystery writer, Joel Carpenter, has no time for romance. He has a deadline to meet, and too many skeletons in his closet to trust the slightly spinny artist renting his house.

Christy Taylor has her hands full dealing with an ailing business and a diabetic daughter, she doesn’t need the temptation that is her landlord, Joel Carpenter.

Can a Christmas wish bring two stubborn souls together and give a little girl the gift she wants most?

Tangled in Tinsel: The Celebration Series, Book 1 

Being the new girl in town is hard, especially when you’re running from your past. It even gets harder when your handsome neighbor is a police officer who wants to get to know you. No matter how much Casey tries to avoid Thad, something is always pulling them together. 

Thad has lived in Celebration Township his entire life, and it’s not until a beautiful brunette moves in next door that his eye is finally caught. If only she didn’t push him away at every chance she got. 

When an unexpected visitor shows up at Casey’s house a few days before Christmas, her future and past collide. Will Thad figure it out what’s going on in time, or will Casey end up being a conspirator to a murderer? 


Wounded warrior, Ben Michaelson is a former rock star who’s at Dragonfly Pointe intending to make a comeback at the town’s yearly charity event. 

The adopted daughter of a music superstar and an artist herself, Rose Atkinson has suffered her own share of heartache, long ago deciding she’d never get involved with another musician. 

But will the magic of a kiss beneath a Christmas star help Ben convince Rose that fate has always meant for them to be together?

What if your husband turns out to be the man sent to kill your ancestor? Must Love More Kilts by @angelaquarles #TimeTravel #Romance

Must Love More Kilts
Angela Quarles
(Must Love #4)
Publication date: August 29th 2017
Genres: Adult, Romance, Time-Travel

What if your husband turns out to be the man sent to kill your ancestor?

A choice to make…

Highland Games fanatic Fiona Campbell believes her only compelling quality is her family’s history, myths, and legends. So when she travels back to 1689 Scotland and discovers she’s the Fiona of family legend, you’d expect her to be excited. And she is. Except that the legendary warrior she’s to save her ancestor from is the hottie in a kilt she just handfasted.

A heart to heal…

Duncan MacCowan trusted his heart once to the wrong woman, but when a strange lass drops into his life and pries opens his heart once again, he impulsively handfasts her. Yet before visions of domestic bliss are even done dancing in his head, she flees on the night of their wedding, leaving him brokenhearted and even more convinced that he can’t trust his own instincts when his heart is involved.

A family legend that will tear them apart

Fiona wants to shake her fist at Fate–she finally meets the man of her dreams but can’t have him because of the family legend? Not cool, Fate, not cool. Duncan believes he’s just terrible at picking women and is resigned to being alone. But as their attraction proves too strong, they dare to tempt Fate, but can Love conquer Fate?

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo / iBooks






“So you’ve returned,” Duncan rasped, the words catching, slicing through a too-dry throat. “The woman who one moment handfasted with me”—he swallowed to ease his throat and blinked, hoping to keep the phantasm in view—“and the next turned me out of bed in disgust.”

Was…was the lovely nighean wiping his brow indeed his Fiona?

His Fiona.

Ach, fever-addled his mind was. The handfasting, her disappearance… But that was several weeks past. More events had transpired, he was sure.

Sharp pain speared his shoulder and filtered across his chest, a reminder.

The battle…

“What happened?” The words scratched past his parched throat, but he’d be damned if he let that stop him. Wincing, he rolled upward, but his muscles protested, and he dropped back against the unforgiving mattress, jarring the pain in his shoulder. The movement set his world spinning, his head strangely a-whirl. Mo Chreach, what ailed him?

He clamped his eyes closed, as if to shield his roiling stomach.

A warm hand pushed against his chest, the touch gentle but firm. “Easy now,” her melodious, oddly accented voice said near his ear.

Day and night that voice had haunted him since first he’d heard it.

She pushed her arm under his shoulders and gripped him tight, the fabric of her clothing cool against his heated skin. Her scent, like the freshest grass in spring and the sweetest flowers, enveloped him. “Try to drink this.” She raised him slightly.

He cracked an eye open again. Aye. ’Twas Fiona. Feverish he might be, but never could he be forgetting the night she secretly pledged herself to him and then pushed him away.

Nor could he ignore how her nearness now acted as a balm. A balm which soothed his confusion and pain.

His eyes had a dry, dragging weight to them. He blinked. Forced them open. Though darkness cloaked the room, save a lone, flickering candle near the bed, he recognized the bare stone walls and sparse furniture of his own chamber. How…?

“It wasn’t disgust.” Her voice was small, tentative.

Before he could reply, she pressed the tin cup to his mouth, the metal cool against his parched, dry lips. He took a sip, quickly swallowing. Bitter. Metallic. Not as putrid as old Hamish’s concoction. Och, she could be poisoning him, to be sure, but his mind was so clouded, his body so racked with pain, that he cared not.

He eased back against the pillow and closed his eyes, the exercise strangely exhausting.

“What happened?” he asked again.

“What do you remember?”

Smoke from the discharge of hundreds of rifles and the scattered cannon of the Williamites. Confusion as the battle waged in the twilight. The vacant eyes of their chieftain fixed on the blue-night sky. And then… “Yourself. And Traci appearing at the battle. Dundee, shot.”

“No,” she whispered. He shouldn’t find even the tone of her voice lovely, but curse him, he did. “You were shot. You took the bullet meant for him.”

Shot. He edged his hand up his chest, the action disconcertingly hard to achieve. His fingers searched, touched. Met with stiff fabric. That explained his shoulder. The ungodly pain. But he’d suffer that and more if it meant Dundee lived.

Did he? “And Dundee? Iain?” He dropped his arm back to his side.

“Both survived the battle.”

A light feeling suffused him, the relief easing the last of his tension, though it highlighted the pain clamping down on his shoulder, throbbing. “I must be going to the great hall. Help me arise, woman.”

She pushed against him, her enticing scent shrouding him anew. Near her elbow, the candle lent enough light to caress the gentle, sloping line of her neck, delicate jaw, round cheek, and…

Holy Mother. Those eyes. Those gray-blue, intelligent but playful eyes. Eyes that had also drawn him that first night they’d met.

So enthusiastic, she’d been. Her smiles. Och, made just for him they seemed, though he’d told himself it couldn’t be so. But as the night spun onward, and his defenses crumbled, he’d thought… Well, he thought he’d finally found the one person who made him feel wanted for himself, not for what he could do for them. Aye, he’d finally and inexplicably felt at home.

As they handfasted in secret, trusting his instincts, he spun fancies as to the shape of their shared life. The little ones they’d create together. The belonging he’d feel. Already felt.

However, when they were to lay together, she recoiled, and he cursed himself for a fool. Cursed the whisky he’d consumed. For he’d forgotten his heart’s poor judgment. Longing speared through him anew, rivaling the pain in his shoulder.

Concern marred her forehead, but he’d be unwise to believe it meant anything more. They’d handfasted, aye, but that meant nothing if the other didn’t acknowledge it. Especially in these modern times with the Kirk frowning on such declarations, and with no witnesses.




Author Bio:

Don’t miss Angela’s next release! Sign up for her newsletter and be notified when the next book goes on pre-order/sale, and also receive exclusive content!

Angela is a USA Today bestselling author. Her debut novel MUST LOVE BREECHES swept many unpublished romance contests, including the Grand Prize winner of Windy City’s Four Seasons contest in 2012. Angela loves history, folklore, and family history, and has been a hobby historian for twenty+ years. She decided to take her love of history and her active imagination and write stories of love and adventure for others to enjoy. When writing, she’s either at her desk in the finished attic of an historic home in beautiful and quirky Mobile, AL, or at her fave spot at the local Starbucks. When she isn’t writing, she’s either working at the local indie bookstore or enjoying the usual stuff like gardening, reading, hanging out, eating, drinking, chasing squirrels out of the walls, and creating the occasional knitted scarf.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter



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If you don’t know where you’re going: Wide Awake Asleep by Louise Wise #TimeTravel #Romance






‘Past events can be changed but one must be careful of how one does it because it’ll impact on the rest of one’s life.’—Dáire Quin, Modify your Destiny if you Must, 2003

No one saw Julie’s car leave the road, no one saw her crash into the watery ditch, no one saw the gnarled tree branch pierce through the window screen and impale her to her seat.
No one heard her screams.
Yet, this was the beginning of Julie’s life.

Julie Compton, is a forty-something woman, striving for success in a male dominated business world. She thinks she’s made it. She thinks she has it all. Trouble is, her destiny has been travelling in the wrong direction and Julie is now forced to relive her life by occupying people’s bodies from her past in a time-travel, paranormal adventure.

For readers who enjoyed books like ‘The Time Traveler’s Wife’ and ‘The Lovely Bones’.


Universal link:


UK link:


America link:



Excerpt from WIDE AWAKE ASLEEP – a paranormal, time travel romance.


Disorientated, I looked around at my surroundings. I had the strange feeling that I wasn’t here at all. I thought I heard a voice, and I cocked my head, but it was carried away on a gust of wind. The feeling of hands touching my body subsided and I was left in this paradox universe where I was me inside someone else’s body.

I looked down at myself and the first thing I saw was a plaid skirt, and thick tights, which sagged at the knees and ankles.

My heart began to beat in horror. No, no. Please, God, no.

My hands touched the stained cardigan over my large droopy breasts. Up further to my face…

My hands recoiled.

I felt a moustache!

I gasped in horror. I was ‘Auntie’ Iris Grimshaw!

It was bad enough being goofy Sarah Marshall, but now I had a moustache! And a bloody monobrow!

Iris began to walk, and I felt a sharp pain in my hip. I slowed, but the pain persisted. It shot down my left leg every time my foot touched the ground. No wonder the old sod was grouchy.





Louise Wise is a British author. She lives in the Midlands with her husband and four sons, and works as a pharmacy technician.

Her debut novel is the acclaimed sci-fi romance EDEN, which was followed by its sequel HUNTED in 2013.


Her other works include A PROPER CHARLIE (romantic comedy), OH NO, I’VE FALLEN IN LOVE! (dark, comedy romance), and SCRUFFY TRAINERS (a collection of short stories). She has written numerous short stories for women’s magazines including Women’s Own and Take a Break.


Her latest novel, WIDE AWAKE ASLEEP, is out December 16th 2016 and available for pre-order. In this novel, she has mixed time travel and romance with her on-going theme of isolation and loneliness.











AUTHOR Bio and Links:

“Where shall I begin? Which of all my important nothings shall I tell you first?” (J.A. June 15, 1808)

That I reside in the Victorian village of Monrovia, California; a mere two miles from my place of employment. A local hospital where I spend most daylight hours in the operating room as a scrub nurse.

That I am a native Californian, having been born in Glendale, and spent most of my life here with a relatively short span of years in Reno, Nevada where I attended school. Returning after graduation I have remained in sunny SoCal.

That I was widowed some time ago. That I have very domestic hobbies like sewing, cooking, baking, candy making and cake decorating. Oh, yes I write, too. Mike, my late husband and teacher, taught me that writing has to be treated like a job so every day no matter how tired I am I edit, research one or more projects and write.

That I have finished the sequel to The Man Who Loves Jane Austen with Yours Affectionately, Jane Austen; have started a story of reincarnation that takes place in Pasadena, CA and am making notes for a ghost story set in San Francisco. Three stories running around in my head and often colliding but I untangle the debris and continue on.

There you have a few of my nothings. (blog)  (@Chawton1810)


Days of Future Past

by Sally Smith O’Rourke




Things are not always what they seem.

Fate sometimes conspires to right a decades-old wrong. The 6.8 earthquake that strikes Southern California one warm March night is the fateful event that brings family therapist Ann Hart and trauma specialist Ted McConaughy back together.

Twenty years after his betrayal caused the cancellation of their wedding, Ted finds himself in need of Ann’s help. The intense, recurring dreams that are invading his sleep are thought to be memories of past lives. And hypnotherapy, one of Ann’s specialties, may be the cure he seeks.

Their journey defies time and reason, forcing them to re-evaluate their capacity for love and forgiveness.



Chapter One

Sunday, March 9, Now

Night fell over the arroyo, and the lights in the garden twinkled to life. The moon, glowing with a halo portending the possibility of rain, rose in the western sky. A light breeze stirred the ferns and mosses that framed the thatched roof cottage casting shadows on the walls, making it appear as though someone was home.

Ann smiled at the memory of Alex, her husband of four years, rushing into the house with the charming miniature bungalow. He’d been like a small child bringing in a stray puppy he’d found on his way home from school. He insisted it had called out to him from the display window of a shop in Silver Lake, and he simply had to stop and take a look at it. Carrying it carefully into the house, he said it was the final piece for their woodland backyard, a fairy house. The woman in the shop had told him a story about a young groom captured by an ogre only a few days before his wedding. His bride-to-be begged for help from the garden fairies who did, in fact, bring him home in time for their nuptials. Ever after, the newlyweds set out food and gifts for the fairies in gratitude. “So,” the woman continued, “if the garden sprites feel welcome at your home, they will always protect you.”

As Ann turned away, something caught her eye. She peered into the dim evening light almost putting her face on the glass. She was sure she’d seen a figure move inside the fairy house, not a shadow but an actual figure. She laughed at herself. Amazing what your mind could imagine, thinking she actually saw a fairy.

The garden was beautiful, everything they had hoped, especially at night. The moonflower vines with their white morning glory-like blossoms now wove their way through the tree branches. The moonbeams caught by the flowers created an almost iridescent glow. It was magical. She gritted her teeth, still angry that Alex never got to see it like this.


It was well past lunchtime when Ann and Alex stood on the patio to look at their handiwork. The overcast had yet to clear, but the cloud cover kept the January morning cool and mild making the physical labor of creating the woodland landscape fairly comfortable.

Alex slipped his arm around her waist, “Well, we did it.”

“It looks so magical. Imagine how it’ll look at night with the lights.”

Alex leaned over and kissed her. “You’re the magical one, my witchy little witch.”

All her life Ann had had the weird ability to know when things were going to happen, not hunches or feelings, but knowledge. Somehow she just knew things. It wasn’t controlled, and it only happened occasionally. The first time Alex witnessed it was when they started a day trip to Oak Glen for the apple harvest. Ann told him that he was going to get a traffic ticket. He laughed saying he hadn’t gotten a ticket since he was a teenager. When he got pulled over that day, he decided she was a witch. After he’d seen the ‘gift,’ as her mother called it, in action a few more times, he bought her a heather witch’s broom that still held a place of honor at the fireplace.

“So, does that make you my warlock?”

“No way, I don’t do anything magical.”

Ann gave him a very wicked grin. “Depends on your definition of magic.”

“Really? Nice to know I’ve still got it.”

“Oh, you’ve definitely got it.” She kissed him.

“I think we should christen the garden with champagne,” Alex suggested.

“You don’t mean smash a bottle over it, do you?”

“Well, we could, but I’m thinking that it might be more fun to drink it.”

He turned her in his arms and kissed her nose. “I love doing this everyday stuff with you.” Then he kissed her more thoroughly. “I love doing everything with you,” he whispered.

Leaning her head on his chest she sighed. “Me, too.”

“You, too? You like to do things with you, too?” he teased. Feigning exasperation, she pretended to try and push away from him. But he held firm and wiped a dirty gloved hand down her cheek. “Boy, you sure could use a shower.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m a dirty girl?”

“I certainly hope so,” he said with a leering grin.

“Sir,” she said pretending to be shocked, “what kind of girl do you take me for? I’m a good girl, I am.”

“Yes,” he said with a raised eyebrow, “and I know just how good.”

He picked her up and whirled her around then set her down gently. Just as he bent to kiss her, the piercing sound of the phone threatened to end their romantic moment.

“Let’s ignore it,” Ann whispered.

Alex glanced at the phone then kissed her. But as soon as the voice of Bill Wyman called out Alex’s name from the answering machine, the mood was broken completely.

“Hey guy, we have a plane down in the Sierra foothills. I’ll pick you up on the way to the airport if you’re there.” There was a pause. “Alex?”

Alex looked at Ann, silently asking how she felt about his leaving at that moment in time.

One of his passions was flying, and they’d had the plane, a Grumman Tiger, for three years. Bill Wyman was Alex’s flight commander in the Civil Air Patrol, and a downed plane meant search and rescue.

The question was still in his eyes. So, pushing the disappointment down as far as she could, Ann reminded herself that she was married to an amazingly generous man who wanted to help people. How could she say ‘don’t go?’

She smiled and shook her head. “Go … I’ll take a bath and put on my sexiest nightgown.”

“Never mind the nightgown,” he said, winking as he picked up the phone.

“Put the champagne on ice, I’ll be back early,” Alex said before he left. “And you might hold up on the bath, too. We can take one together later. You know, to conserve water.”

“Yeah, to conserve water,” Ann said with a playful wink, “good idea.” She couldn’t help but giggle. Sometimes it felt like they were teenagers, and after four years of marriage he could still make her giddy.

Then he held her in a passionate embrace, making the long lingering kiss the last time he ever touched her and the last time she saw him. The fairies had failed them.


Staring out at her fairy garden, Ann rubbed her eyes dry before tears could fall onto her cheeks. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the window. He’d been gone more than six years, why did she keep doing this to herself? Why couldn’t she get past it? She knew the clinical term was denial, but it was too hard to accept. They never found Alex or the plane. Her hope from the beginning was that he might be living in some mountain village with no memory of himself. Was it really so awful that she wanted to believe he was still alive? Any psychiatrist worth his salt would say yes. As a psychiatrist herself, she had to admit that this was definitely denial and not hope. Hope had been important in the beginning. The hope that he’d landed in some out-of-the-way place and wasn’t able to call, the hope that some Good Samaritan had taken care of him, the hope that he was fine. But eventually, hope had to turn to reality.

She wasn’t sure why she still harbored the fantasy when she knew it was a fantasy. When they didn’t find the plane after the spring thaw, after all the snow was gone, hope started to dwindle, but she wasn’t prepared to give up. So, that first summer she spent weeks driving from town to town all over the Sierra Nevada Mountains. On the western slopes, the eastern slopes, in the valleys. She’d even found a few towns that weren’t on any of the maps she was using, but no one anywhere had seen him. No one had seen the plane. She knew then that he was gone but not having his body made it hard to accept. No casket to say good-bye to, no grave to visit. Not that she would visit a grave. She couldn’t stand of thought of seeing proof of his death carved in stone.

She took a step back away from the window and blew out a deep breath.


Sally will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour, and a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn host.

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Sally would like to encourage her readers to follow the tour and comment; the more they comment, the better their chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:




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by Tamara Gill



Time-traveling archaeologist Sarah Baxter just left a piece of 21st-century equipment in 19th century Regency England. Unfortunately, when she goes back to retrieve it, she makes an even bigger mess of things—resulting in the death of an English earl. Now his brother is not only out for revenge, but he also has Sarah’s device. Now Sarah must find a way to steal back her device, hide the truth about the earl’s brother and—most importantly—to not fall in love…




“You will have to sleep with him.” Richard threw his cheroot into the unlit hearth. “I thought you planned on doing that anyway. You like him, and he obviously likes you, so what’s the problem? It’s not like you’re a virgin.”

Sarah shushed him and sat down on the opposite chair. “That’s not the point. I can’t just jump his bones; women of this era don’t work that way. He has to court me, woo me.” She sighed at Richard’s disgusted expression. “I know it sounds lame, but it’s actually quite nice to have a gentleman sweep you off your feet.”


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Tamara is an Australian author who grew up in an old mining town in country South Australia, where her love of history was founded. So much so, she made her darling husband travel to the UK for their honeymoon, where she dragged him from one historical monument and castle to another.

A mother of three, her two little gentleman’s in the making, a future Lady (she hopes) and a part-time job keep her busy in the real world, but whenever she gets a moment’s peace she loves to write romance novels in an array of genres, including regency, medieval and paranormal.

Tamara loves hearing from readers and writers alike. You can contact her through her website, and sign up to follow her blog or newsletter.

Author Email:

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Purchase Links:






Tamara would like to offer one lucky person who comments a $15 gift card to Amazon/BN:


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Welcome to the WRITING PROCESS BLOG TOUR. Last week my guest was Sylvie Grayson. We learned about how careers and experiences in her past led her down the road to living her dream of becoming an author.

This week, Sylvie passed the torch on to Helena Korin, a member of our local RWA chapter. Please give her a warm welcome,

Now a little about me, writing as Helena Korin,

What are you working on?

I am putting the finishing touches on my second novella. It is a time-travel story landing my heroine in Regency London. There she meets the double of a man she has just met in the twenty-first century. The sexual tension between them sizzles, but this man has the polished manners of an aristocrat. Can she get him to break through the social codes of his day and admit his feelings before she lands back in the present?

How do your romances differ from other historicals?

I think that time-travel stories bring their own set of challenges. The hero and heroine must ultimately choose which time period to remain in, consequently one of them has to make a life-altering choice. But historicals, in themselves, give the reader a time-travel experience – without the difficulties of a convincing teleport. I love the work of Amanda Quick, Jo Beverley, Nicola Cornick, Susanna Kearsley, Julia Quinn and Eloisa James. To be able to produce sparkling dialogue and sexual tension like these talented authors would be a dream come true.

Why do I write what I do?

I am fascinated by life in past centuries, the differences and similarities. I write Regencies because the elegant fashions and manners of the time appeal to me. I am aware of the contrasts between the very poor and the wealthy which existed then. But most Regencies focus on the world of the aristocracy. A ladies’ maid may turn out to be a long lost duchess. I think Regency readers like this fairy tale quality. My premise is that people two hundred years ago had the same feelings and motivations as we do nowadays. The trappings of life were different – no penicillin or electricity – but men and women still longed for love, adventure, and control over their own destiny.

How does your writing process work?

I am fascinated by historical buildings and try to imagine the people who once lived there. A sentence under the picture of a beautiful old library has me imagining the life of a dairy maid who married the lord when he was in his seventies…You can see where this is going  I try to plot because ‘pantsing’ inevitably leads me to a blank screen with the question, “Now what?” ringing in my head. But lately I’ve found that giving myself an approximate outline and then allowing some ‘pantsing’ works better for me. If I plotted every detail there would be nothing to discover as the story unfolds. I try to write daily but life does tend to intervene.

Thank you, Helena, for sharing a little of your process with us. I can’t wait to read your book, 🙂
How about you? What is your process?
Are you a pantser, or a plotter?
We’d love to hear from you.