Thursday, January 31, 2013

Tour Kick- Off: "No Greater Illusion" by K. Baskett.

A number of unacquainted adults, from various walks of life, routinely enjoy the benefits of residing in a nation where liberty and justice are among its chief luxuries. Having different statuses of education, income, and ethnicity, all are suddenly forced to cope firsthand with the "domino effect" of America's vitriolic reaction to the assassination of an auspicious female presidential nominee, Gov. Ceinwen Jarvis. In a day and time where the advancement of technology allows one's voting status, banking information, and even medical history to be accessed by microchip scan, they quickly realize that America - as well as their own lives - will never be the same.

Quick Facts
Release Date: November 30, 2012.
Genre: Dystopian Fiction (Science Fiction / Techno-Thriller / Suspense / African-American Fiction)
Formats: Paperback, Kindle.


Win a Paperback or e-copy of "No Greater lllusion".

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The Author

Jack of all trades, master of none - save for the art of procrastination - K. Baskett lives by the motto, "Never do today what can be put off until tomorrow." K. firmly believes that you aren't really interested in the author's hometown, spouse, children or pets, and has therefore decided to spare you the details. No Greater Illusion is the author's debut novel.
Learn more about the author at:

An Excerpt

THAT NIGHT, I BECAME an eye witness to murder. The cop who pulled the trigger might have claimed it was “self-defense” or “protection from an imminent threat,” but all I saw was a 90-pound woman brandishing a lug wrench that was almost too heavy for her to lift.
“Conspiracy!” she yelled at the top of her lungs and used all of her might to swing the weapon at a nearby car, shattering the driver’s side window.
“Stand down,” ordered the nearest police officer in a booming voice, as he and countless others surveyed the entire riot scene unfolding before us.
“Never. We want justice,” the lady screamed, successfully breaking out the rear passenger’s side window this time. The officer made a move toward the woman and she turned to him, struggling for purchase as she raised the lug wrench over her head. A crazed expression morphed her face into a vacant wasteland, so that she appeared to be gazing at and through the officer at the same time, eyes and mouth sloping downward, gaping. She looked to be coming straight from the office, dressed conservatively in a pencil skirt and high heels, which I noticed because they were so inappropriate. Skinny as the tool in her hands, she posed little to no physical threat and could have easily been subdued by some other method, so I was surprised when the police officer drew his gun.
“I’m warning you. Stand down,” the officer growled, his eyes two hard pebbles of flint, sparking as he aimed the gun squarely at the woman’s heart.
She moved with no forewarning and surprising quickness. Like a lioness, she pounced, and got close enough to the officer to be able to see the color of his eyes before he fired his weapon. It was nothing like in the movies. His gun made more of a popping sound rather than a loud bang. In all the noise it could have been mistaken for something else, like a car backfiring or a tire exploding. She collapsed instantly, freefalling, slamming to the pavement with so much force her body seemed to bounce once before landing in a final thud, facedown, her fist still clutching a tool used for changing flat tires. Her entire back was a mass of gore from the exit wound, blood so dark it looked black in the low light, soaking her smart silk blouse and pooling around her body in an ever expanding puddle.
Even in the midst of the mayhem, there seemed to be an almost pure silence that descended over the immediate circle of people surrounding the woman’s corpse. Their stillness attracted even more attention than the gunshot and the crowd around the fallen woman grew. The officer began to slowly back up, a look of dread on his face. He spoke into his shoulder radio, “Two-forty-eight requesting backup at Sixth and Watson. Code thirty. I repeat: I need units at Sixth and Watson, immediately.”
The officer’s call for backup shifted the crowd’s focus from the dead woman to him.
“He did it,” someone spoke clearly from the group. “The cop.”
The officer continued to step backward, gingerly almost.
Another yell came from my right. “Ol’ racist ass cop!”
The crowd closed in and began to slowly advance toward the officer. I stood on the perimeter, not sure if I wanted to get involved.
“Fall back,” the officer ordered, pointing his gun into the crowd now, aiming in the general direction from where the slur came.
Various shouts rang out in response, more people getting agitated now and too many of them yelling at once to clearly decipher any one phrase.
“I will not hesitate to discharge my weapon,” he warned.
We see that, I thought. Obviously he was ready to pull the trigger yet again.
The closer the crowd got, the more the officer seemed to be losing his aura of authority, his confidence getting smothered by fear, his eyes now showing uncertainty where before there was boldness. Not a soul had responded to his call for backup. The city’s police force was sorely understaffed and everyone knew that in this chaos there weren’t nearly enough officers to go around. The gun trembled slightly in his hand as he pointed it at the closest target, a young black man in his early twenties advancing to the front of the crowd. He was shirtless, wearing nothing above the waist but several large black tattoos, his athletic body coiled with intent.
“Crooked cops,” the young man stated passionately, as a matter of fact. “I fucking hate the police.” He glanced back at the others and raised his voice with that last statement.
They thundered their hearty agreement.
“So what we gonna do about this racist motha fucka?” the young man snarled, having assumed leadership of the crowd by their earlier assent.
“Don’t try me,” the officer shrieked. He made another useless call for backup, panicked and on edge. The crowd had backed him into a wall and like any cornered animal he was ready to attack.
“Grab him!” The suggestion came in the form of a growl.
The young man sprang forward, all that tension uncoiling from his chiseled muscles in a single smooth leap. With a wild look in his eye, the officer pulled the trigger. In his agitation, he actually missed the young leader and instead his bullet found someone else who screamed out in agony as their flesh was torn. This indiscriminate shooting incited the crowd even more, and in the time it took the cop to fire another shot into the group, he was completely buried under a pile of angry bodies, swarming around him like bees to the hive.

Follow the Tour!

Feb 1st: Black Lion Tour Blog: Introduction.
Feb 2nd: 
Oh Chrys!: Guest Post
Feb 3rd: Coffe Bean Bookshelf: Review.
Feb 4th: Books in the Burbs: Interview and Guest Post.
Feb 5th: 
Bookshelves of Dreams: Review and Guest Post.
Feb 6th: Love in a Book: Top Ten List.
Feb 7th: BK Walker Books: Interview.
Feb 8th: Laurie's Thoughts and Reviews: Interview.
Feb 10th: 
My Devotional Thoughts: Review and Guest Post.
A Novel Idea Live: Interview.
Feb 11th: A Book Lover's Library: Guest Post.
Feb 12th: 
2nd Book to the Right: Review.
Feb 13thBookworm Lisa: Guest Post
Feb 14th: Black Lion Tour Blog: Wrap- up.


Alaina Claiborne: Book Tour Wrap-Up and Winners!

Thank you to all those who followed and participated in the tour for Alaina Claiborne. Winners will be notified before the weekend.

Congratulations to the giveaway winners!

$25 Gift Card Winner
Martha L.

Winner - Copy of Alaina Claiborne
Amber H.

Winner - Copy of Alaina Claiborne
Virginia H.

See you next time!

In case you missed it . . . 
How far would you go to avenge your family and save the one you love?
In nineteenth-century England, Alaina Claiborne had a loving family, a cherished friend, and devoted servants. She spent her days riding across the grassy hills of the English countryside, joyful and at peace.
Then tragedy strikes and her world is forever changed. Searching for those responsible is her only focus . . . until she meets Tristan.
Tristan Sheffield, a man of many talents, searches out those who don’t want to be found. His past is filled with secrets and deeds he would rather leave deeply buried. However, when his life unexpectedly entwines with Alaina's, he soon discovers they share more than a mutual desire to catch a murderer.
On their hunt for a man driven by greed, Tristan and Alaina find that love is the greatest weapon against evil, and they'll stop at nothing to survive.

Kindle | Print

Connect with the author!

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Book Tour Wrap-Up and Winners: Laurel O'Donnell's "Angel's Assassin"

Thank you to all those who joined the tour, and a big special thank you to the bloggers who hosted Laurel! 

Now for the giveaway winners of a copy of "Angel's Assassin" and one copy of her medieval romance, "The Angel and The Prince"

Cathy H. who commented at Laurie's Non-Paranormal Thoughts and Reviews
Felicia C. who commented at MK McClintock's Blog 

In cast you missed it . . . 
Damien is an assassin, a man with no home and a tortured past. Sold into slavery as a young boy, he is trained to kill with cold calculation, without remorse. As a reward for his ruthless success, he is given a chance to earn his freedom from his cruel master. One last mission. One final person to slay…

Lady Aurora of Acquitaine is the epitome of purity and goodness, beloved by all her people. She lives her life trying to atone for her mother’s cruelty by being a fair and just ruler. Secretly she fears that one day her mother’s murderer will return for her.

When Damien enters Aurora’s life, tempting her with promises of dark passion and forbidden lust, he threatens to tear her peaceful world apart.

Can Aurora’s light heal Damien’s dark spirit or will his evil consume her? The eternal battle of good versus evil, love versus hate, dark versus light, all come to a shattering climax in this historical romance set in medieval England.

Connect with the author!

Tour page:!angels-assassin-by-laurel-odonnell/cp91

Monday, January 21, 2013

Cynthia Woolf's "Capital Bride" Book Tour: 10 Reasons to Read the Books

Cynthia Woolf's  CAPITAL BRIDE
Unexpectedly homeless, un-wed mother Sarah Johnson has few options.  They could go live with her cousin William, but Sara believes there’s something untoward about his offer and it leaves her feeling uncomfortable.  She's qualified to be a governess, but no one will have her because she wasn't married when she had her precious MaryAnn.  Matchmaker & Co could be her salvation as mail-order-bride to Mr. John Atwood.

Single father, John Atwood, is raising his daughter the best he can in the wilds of the Colorado Territory but knows he needs help.  No woman he knows wants to take on the raising of his daughter who hasn't spoken since she saw her mother brutally murdered during a bank robbery.  Can Sarah, John and their two daughters overcome their pasts and find happiness together?

Amazon | Smashwords

Top Ten Reasons to Read the Books
To be entertained
Fun Characters
New settings
Lots of Action
Sexy heroes
Strong heroines
Good story lines
Sensual scenes

Excerpts from Capital Bride
Excerpt 1
New York City    April 10, 1867
On the other side of the door was her last resort.  Either this or prostitution and prostitution was not a choice.  She couldn’t raise MaryAnn in that environment, nor if truth be told, could she lower herself to live like that.  At least this way there would be some stability in her little girl’s life.
    Sarah took a deep breath, turned the knob, and walked through the door to a better future for her daughter and, if she were lucky, for herself.
    The office was small and precisely kept.  A single desk with a straight, high backed wooden chair, one in front and one behind, sat in the middle of the room.   She’d noticed the flowered curtains were open on the way in, curtains tied to the side.  The small area was flooded with dazzling afternoon light.  The walls were whitewashed and the desk well organized.  There were several tables with neat piles of files along one wall.  The other wall held several rows of pictures of women and men.  None smiling, as that was the way pictures were taken, but all appeared to be wedding pictures.  Below each picture was a small brass place with the names of the bride and groom and the date of the wedding.
     A small, woman in her late thirties with fiery red hair, sat behind the desk.  When Sarah got closer she saw gorgeous dark blue eyes behind the wire rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose.  Her eyes were so dark a blue they could almost be called violet.  They were striking and clear, honesty shone from them along with a “no nonsense” attitude.
    “May I help you?” the woman asked.
    “Um.  Yes.  My name is Sarah Johnson.  I saw your advertisement for mail order brides.”
    The woman looked Sarah over, taking in her clothes, her hands clasped in front of her and ending at her face.
“First, let me introduce myself.  I’m Margaret Selby and I own Matchmaker & Company.  Please, sit down.  You’re older than the women we usually have.  You’re also better dressed and don’t appear to be hungry.  What would bring someone like you to my door?”
    “I’ve been living with my great aunt.  She passed away suddenly two weeks ago and the lawyer says I need to find other lodgings.  My cousin, William, has inherited everything except a small stipend she left for me.  William is selling everything.  MaryAnn and I have nowhere else to go.”
    “My daughter.”
    “So, you are a widow?”
    Now was not the time to be less than truthful, if she wanted this woman’s help.  “No.”
    “I see.  How old are you, Miss Johnson?”
    “I’m twenty-eight.”
    “And your daughter?”
    “MaryAnn is five.”
    “Tell me, Miss Johnson, how did you come to find yourself with child at age twenty-two without being married?  Surely you knew how those things happened by that age.”

Excerpt 2

It was May, but the chill air gave Sarah shivers.  She pulled MaryAnn closer to keep her warm.  MaryAnn taking a chill was that last thing that Sarah needed.    The trunks blocked part of the wind that whistled by the open platform, but none of the cold.

In a short while, a large man pulled up driving a long wagon with side boards.  He had dark coffee brown hair that brushed the collar of his black wool coat and was graying at the temples.  With his vivid green eyes he was one of the handsomest men she’d encountered in some time.  Why would this man need a mail order bride?
Next to him was a little girl with hair as pale as MaryAnn’s was dark.  She had the same green eyes as her father.  The black coat she was growing out of revealed the hem to her light blue dress peeking out the bottom.  This had to be Mr. Atwood and Katy. 
He jumped down and then held his arms up to the child.  The girl fell into them and wrapped her arms around his neck.  There she buried her face, clearly not wanting to meet her new stepmother and sister.
He carried her up the stairs of the platform stopping in front of Sarah.  Now that he was closer she saw that his green eyes were rimmed with dark lashes and stood in sharp contrast to his dark hair.  Sun, wind and laughter had left lines at his mouth and eyes, giving him character.  His face was very pleasing with a sexy shadow of stubble on his strong jaw.
“Mrs. Johnson?”  His smooth baritone washed over her leaving her with a little tingle of awareness.  One she hadn’t felt in years.  Not since before Lee died.
Sarah nodded.  “Yes.  Mr. Atwood?”
“Yes.  This is Katy,” he smiled down at the girl in his arms.
“Hello, Katy.  I’m Sarah and this is my daughter MaryAnn,” Sarah said.  She placed her arm around MaryAnn’s shoulders pulling her into her side.
“Hello,” said MaryAnn.
Katy turned and looked at MaryAnn, then buried her face in her father’s neck once again.


Cynthia is giving away  a $5 giftcard and an ebook of Capital Bride at each stop of the tour.  
Comment for a chance to win!

Meet the Author
Cynthia Woolf was born in Denver, Colorado and raised in the mountains west of Golden.  She spent her early years running wild around the mountain side with her friends. She worked her way through college and went to work full time straight after graduation and there was little time to write.  Then in 1990 she and two friends started a round robin writing a story about pirates.  She found that she missed the writing and kept on with other stories.  In 1992 she joined Colorado Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America.

In 2001, she saw an ad in the paper for a writers conference being put on by CRW and decided she'd attend.  One of her favorite authors, Catherine Coulter, was the keynote speaker.  Cynthia was lucky enough to have a seat at Ms. Coulter's table at the luncheon and after talking with her, decided she needed to get back to her writing.  She rejoined both CRW and RWA that day and hasn't looked back.

Learn more about the author at: