Carries Book Reviews

If You Loved Me
Brianna Remus
Publication date: April 26th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

My parents would lose their minds if they found out their precious daughter lost her virginity to the town’s notorious bad boy and ex-convict.

Ranger Adams might have been a dangerous pariah after he was released from prison, but he was the only man I wanted. And after I convinced him to take me on a date, I got exactly what my body…and heart desired.

I spent my entire life trying to get away from my parents ’overbearing grasp. They’ve tried to control every part of my life, even down to the man I was supposed to marry. That was the price of being born into one of the South’s richest families.

The second I had a chance to get away, I did. Ten years of pissing them off and making my dreams come true was worth the sacrifice. No fun. No relationships. And no sex.

My life had been all work until Ranger came back into town. Everyone whispered about what he’d done to land in prison. But I didn’t care.

He was rough around the edges, wild, and free.

And I wanted every bit of what he was willing to give me.

Author Bio:

Brianna Remus is a Florida-based author who lives with her husband, three pups, and terrorizing cat. She started her writing journey in 2016 to ward off the woes of graduate school.

The light-hearted hobby quickly turned into a passion filled dream that consistently distracts her from the real world.

When Brianna isn’t working as a psychology resident or writing books, you can find her getting lost in the worlds created by others (through writing and movies), spending a day at the ocean, or taking a walk in the forest. She loves to spend her days outdoors surrounded by the beauties of nature.

A true Tolkien nerd, she also spends a lot of her time immersed in Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, as well as praying that Amazon doesn’t completely fuck up the new LOTR series.

Website / Goodreads / Bookbub / TikTok / Instagram

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**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

Not a whole lot to share this week with only five new titles but I’m still excited to read them with all of them being authors I’ve read before. Hopefully I don’t break a branch of the ever towering TBR with my excitement!

Edit – Sorry this post is so late this week, daylight savings got it stuck in the outbox!

As always clicking the covers will take you to the book on Amazon!**

New additions from Netgalley Mar 3rd  – Mar 10th

Please don’t come home for Christmas…

Julie Parker’s kids are her greatest gift. Still, she’s not exactly heartbroken when they ask to skip a big Christmas. Her son, Nick, is taking a belated honeymoon with his bride, Blair, while her daughter, Dana, will purge every reminder of the guy who dumped her. Again. Julie feels practically giddy for one-on-one holiday time with Heath, the (much) younger man she’s secretly dating.

But her plans go from cozy to chaotic when Nick and Dana plead for Christmas at the family cabin in memory of their late father, Julie’s ex. She can’t refuse, even though she dreads their reactions to her new man when they realize she’s been hiding him for months.

As the guest list grows in surprising ways, from Blair’s estranged mom to Heath’s precocious children, Julie’s secret is one of many to be unwrapped. Over this delightfully complicated and very funny Christmas, she’ll discover that more really is merrier, and that a big, happy family can become bigger and happier, if they let go of old hurts and open their hearts to love.

An epic survival-thriller about four teens who get lost in the Paris catacombs for days—a gripping and propulsive story of love, danger, betrayal, and hope… even when all seems lost.

“Tense and fast-moving, with a unique setting and compelling characters, Under the Surface is Diana Urban’s best yet.”—Karen M. McManus, #1 New York Times bestselling author of One of Us Is Lying


Ruby is terrified to cave to her feelings for Sean and risk him crushing her heart. 

Sean is pumped to spend a week with Ruby in Paris on their senior class trip, and he’ll wait however long until she’s ready to take things further.

But when Ruby’s best friend sneaks out the first night to meet a  mysterious French boy, Ruby goes after her with two classmates, but caves to another temptation: attending mystery boy’s exclusive party in the Paris catacombs, the intricate web of tunnels beneath the city, home to six million long-dead Parisians. Only they never reach the party.

Underground, as something sinister chases them, they get lost in the endless maze of bones, uncovering dark secrets about the catacombs…..and each other. And if they can’t find a way out, they’ll die in the dark beneath the City of Light. 

Aboveground, Sean races to find the girl he loves as a media frenzy over the four missing teens begins.

From award-winning author and rising YA star Diana Urban comes a twisty tale of four teens lost in the dark beneath the City of Light and the race to find them.

Anna Downes’s extraordinary next thriller Red River Road follows a woman desperate to discover what happened to her sister on a solo road trip through the Australian outback.

Katy Sweeney is looking for her sister. A year earlier, just three weeks into a solo vanlife trip, her free-spirited younger sister, Phoebe, vanished without a trace on the remote, achingly beautiful coastal highway in Western Australia. With no witnesses, no leads, and no DNAevidence, the case has gone cold. But Katy refuses to give up on her.

Using Phoebe’s social media accounts as a map, Katy retraces her sister’s steps, searching for any clues the police may have missed. Was Phoebe being followed? Who had she met along the way, and how dangerous were they?

And then Katy’s path collides with that of Beth, who is on the run from her own dark past. Katy realizes that Beth might be her best—and only—chance of finding the truth, and the two women form an uneasy alliance to find out what really happened to Phoebe in this wild, beautiful, and perilous place.

Anna Downes takes us on a twist-filled journey into the dark side of solo female travel, in this gripping novel that explores what drives us to keep searching for those we have lost, the family bonds that can make or break us, and the deception of memory.

In Erin Hahn’s latest cozy, swoony romance, Maren Laughlin has been fishing her whole life, but she’s finally ready to be caught.

At thirty-three, Maren Laughlin’s just turned down her boyfriend’s proposal, walked away from her decade-long position as a park ranger, and returned to her childhood playground in Northern Wisconsin to accept her inheritance: a decrepit waterfront bait shop. After a lifetime of letting things happen to her, she’s ready to start making her own moves, even if everyone else thinks she’s making the wrong ones. Well, not everyone―at least the local heartstopper and resort owner is on her side.

Josiah Cole has made some missteps in his life, but he’s proud of what he has: two awesome kids and the keys to the kind of getaway spot that has families coming back every summer– their up north home away from home. After his marriage dissolved, leaving him a single dad, he feels he’s the last person to judge Maren for her recent transformation (even if his best friend, her brother, wants him to feel otherwise). Besides, he genuinely likes having her around. She’s a breath of fresh air, his kids adore her (not to mention her dog, Rogers), and it doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful.

Things between Maren and Joe are easy. So easy, they’re fully immersed in the middle before they even decide to begin. It’s not a question of should they, but rather can they make it last? Are things too easy, or is this just how real love works? In Erin Hahn’s heartwarmingly sexy Catch and Keep, Maren and Joe have to be brave enough to find out.

The latest novel in this exciting supernatural cozy series from the author of the Witch City Mysteries features a New Englander transplanted to a Florida town along the scenic Gulf of Mexico when she inherits a charming, century-old—and very haunted—inn from a mysterious benefactor. Fans of Amanda Flower and Heather Blake will delight in murder, ghosts, and the heroine’s golden retriever, Finn.
 
It’s June in Haven, Florida, a “between seasons” time in the tourism business, and Maureen’s Haven House Inn is feeling the pinch. There are plenty of ghosts in residence, but Maureen needs living guests to pay the bills.
 
Inspired by an old brochure she finds in a trunk she inherited along with the inn from her mysterious benefactor Penelope Josephine Gray, she gets the brilliant idea to revive a June fishing tournament from twenty years ago, hoping to reel in anglers who’d love to catch the Gulf Coast’s popular kingfish and take home a trophy.
 
But one fisherman won’t make it to the tournament. While walking on the beach with her golden retriever Finn, Maureen discovers a body. When Officer Frank Hubbard arrives, he recognizes local charter boat fisherman Eddie Manuel.
 
Now it’s up to Maureen and her spirited sleuths to sort through the red herrings and bait a hook for a killer before someone else ends up sleeping with the fishes . . .
 

**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

Title: What Grows in the Dark

Author: Jaq Evans

Publisher: MIRA

Publication Date: March 5, 2024

Page Count: 304

About the book:

The Babadook meets The Blair Witch Project in this chilling contemporary horror novel about confronting trauma. When fake spiritualist Brigit returns home to investigate the disappearance of two teenagers, the case eerily echoes her own sister’s death sixteen years earlier.

This chilling tale of siblings, the emotional toll of the places you once called home, and the necessity of confronting and moving beyond past trauma brings together the psychological horror of The Babadook with the found footage and supernatural eeriness of The Blair Witch Project.

Brigit Weylan’s older sister, Emma, is dead. Sixteen years ago, Emma walked into the woods in their small hometown of Ellis Creek and slit her wrists. She was troubled, people said—moody and erratic in the weeks leading up to her death, convinced that there was a monster in Ellis Creek, and had even attempted to burn down the copse of trees where she later took her life. Marked by the tragedy, Brigit left and never once looked back. Now, Brigit and her cameraman Ian travel around the country, investigating paranormal activity (and faking the results), posting their escapades on YouTube in the hopes that a network will pick up their show. The last thing she expects is a call from an Ellis Creek area code with a job offer—and payout—the two cannot refuse.

When Brigit and Ian arrive in Ellis Creek, they’re thrust in the middle of an investigation: two teenagers are missing, and the trail is growing colder with each passing day. It’s immediately apparent that Brigit and Ian are out of their depth; their talents lie in faking hauntings, not locating lost kids. Except for the fact that, in the weeks leading up to their disappearance, the teens had been dreaming about Emma—Emma in the woods where she died, ringed with trees and waiting for them. As Brigit and Ian are drawn further into the investigation, convinced that this could be the big case to make their show go viral, the parallels to Emma’s death become undeniable. But Brigit is worried she’s gone too far this time, and that the weight of being back in Ellis Creek, overwhelmed by memories of Emma, will break her…if it hasn’t already. Because Brigit can’t explain what’s happening to her: trees appearing in her bedroom in the middle of the night, something with a very familiar laugh watching her out in the darkness, and Emma’s voice on her phone, reminding Brigit to finish what they started.

More and more, it looks like Emma was right: there is a monster in Ellis Creek, and it’s waited a long time for Brigit Weylan to come home.

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon  /  Bookshop.org  / B&N  / Books A Million 

Excerpt:

1: BRIGIT 

Connecticut
October 2019
An Attic

Brigit Weylan slid her fingers across the vintage tape recorder in her lap, the plastic warm as living skin. 

    “Are you picking anything up?” Ian asked, snaking a hand beneath the camera on his shoulder to massage his trapezius. He caught her watching and she cut her eyes away, thumbed off her mic. 

    “Nothing but your breathing.”

    “It’s ambience. And we’re stalling because…” 

    She shifted on the pine floor. Pinkish clouds of insulation erupted from the walls on either side, and the ceiling sloped aggressively. It was a delicate maneuver to uncross and stretch out her legs in this tight space, but her foot was at risk of falling asleep. Brigit switched her mic back on. 

    “Sorry for the technical difficulties. We’re getting a little interference, which is actually a good sign—
    At the far end of the attic, a cardboard box fell off its stack. Papers spilled across the plywood in a plume of dust that brought the moldering scent of dried mouse droppings. Ian coughed but kept the camera level. In the living room downstairs, the baby goth who’d hired them would have a perfect view. 

    “Hello?” Brigit asked calmly, holding in her own cough as her throat burned. “Logan, is that you?” 

     Logan Messer, struck down by a heart attack in 1998. Craggy of face and black of eye, he’d glared up from the obituary they’d found in the Woodbridge library like a nineteenth-century oil magnate. Definitely the most likely of several spirits that could be haunting Haletown House. At least, that’s what Brigit and Ian had told its newest occupant. 

    A gust of wind ruffled the scattered papers in the corner, although the attic had no windows and the rest of the air sat thick and claustrophobic. Dust motes swirled through the wedges of light cast by the single hanging bulb. Brigit pushed her short hair back from her forehead and presented Ian’s camera with an unobstructed slice of profile. 

     “Logan, my name is Brigit Weylan. My sister and I are here to help you find peace.” She took a moment to steady her voice. “Is Emma with you now?” 

     From the corner came a sharp rap like knuckles on wood. At the same time Ian strangled another cough in the crook of his arm, nearly drowning out the knock. Brigit kept the tension from her face by digging her fingertips into her thighs. A small black hole had opened in her chest where her sister’s name had passed. 

    “I know you don’t want to leave, but I promise you’ll be happier once you do. All you need to do is take Emma’s hand and you’ll be free.” 

    The knocking came again, louder. Brigit had expected an echo, but the air seemed to catch the sound. The rest of the house was so chilly, all its warmth trapped up here like breath. Whatever mice had left those droppings probably suffocated. Little mummies in the walls. 

    “Brigit,” Ian murmured. “Can you see them?” 

    “I can’t see anything.” She licked her lips. Her tongue felt dry, chalky with dust. “But Logan is here. I can feel him in the room with us. I may need to move—don’t lose me.” Brigit raised her voice. “Emma, I’m with you. Let me help. Let me give you strength.” 

    She stretched her hand toward the corner. The knocking was a drumbeat now, even faster than her pulse. Slowly, Brigit shifted to her knees and readied herself to crawl toward that wedge of darkness—and the drumming stopped. Ian let out his breath in a quiet whoosh. Brigit exhaled too, long and slow. Then she turned to face the camera and smiled. 

    “It’s done,” she told Haletown House’s youngest resident. 

    “This house is clean.”

    The boy who’d paid for their services was waiting on the couch when Brigit and Ian climbed down from the attic. Brigit went first, Ian following with the camera bag now stuffed with their equipment: the laptop and its associated Bluetooth speaker, the miniature fan she’d hidden underneath the boxes, the fishing line trap in the corner. There were a few other props around the outside of the house—such as the rotten eggs in the upstairs gutter, which had been carefully planted in an early-morning excursion that had nearly put Ian in the hospital—but those were all biodegradable and couldn’t be traced back to them.

    In and out, that was the modus. They were surgeons like that, implanting a psychic placebo effect. Honestly, most of these people? They just wanted to feel believed. The rest wanted to see themselves on YouTube.

    Brigit hadn’t needed that moral reassurance when she finally agreed to Ian’s pitch for the series a year ago, but there was something about this kid today. A familiar sloppiness to the liner drawn below his pale blue eyes. He asked, “You think the old man’s really gone?” 

    “I hope so,” she said. Ian watched her from the doorway to the living room. Brigit could feel it on her neck as she dropped into a plush armchair. “You’ve got our contact info if he isn’t.” 

    The boy shrugged. “Guess I’ll be on the show either way.” 

    “Technically we need the waiver signed by someone over eighteen,” Ian put in. The kid looked at him while Brigit looked at the kid. Dyed black hair, chapped lips. His sneakers weren’t actually black, just Sharpied to a purplish gray. She sat forward. 

    “You’ll be on the show. Your birthday’s what, next year? This wouldn’t go online for a few months anyway. We can hold the episode.” 

    Why had she said that? It didn’t matter how old he was. Their first season hadn’t gotten picked up despite all attempts to woo a real television network, and neither would the second. Ian was fooling himself if he thought this thing was going to happen for real. 

    The kid smiled, and his eyeliner cracked. Discomfort fisted in Brigit’s chest. “Cool,” he said. “Thanks.” 

    “I do need something in exchange. If things keep happening around here, stuff only you can hear, smell, whatever? Tell your parents. Call us too, but you have to tell your folks.” 

    “Why? They’d lose their minds if they knew about this.” 

    “Because you’re a minor, and this isn’t exactly a hard science. If it turns out I screwed up in there and it comes back on you, I need to know you’ve got someone in this house who can get you out.”

    Or if he was in real trouble, the kind that could hit kids at around his age, that he would confide in someone other than a fake psychic out to pocket his summer cash. It was a moment of weakness, wanting this promise she’d never be able to confirm, but Brigit couldn’t stop herself. 

    The kid chewed at the inside of his lip. Something turned behind his eyes, a decision being weighed as Brigit held her ground. Then he grimaced. “What if I lied to you just now?” 

    “About what?”

    “They wouldn’t lose their minds. They wouldn’t care at all,” he said. “My dad doesn’t even live here. The house was a bribe to keep my mom from making his life more difficult, and she hates that she took it, so she just works all the time. I tried telling her before, about the old man, and she said I needed more friends. That was before the wine.” 

    The spike of decade-old commiseration at this was so sharp and startling that Brigit almost laughed. Behind the kid, Ian looked faintly stricken.

    “Got it,” she said briskly, and relief eased the kid’s shoulders. “How about a neighbor? Someone at school?” 

    “Ms. Brower, maybe. My English teacher?” 

    “Classic choice.” Brigit calibrated a wry smile and won half of one in return. “Okay. More weird stuff goes down, you tell Ms. Brower and then you call me. Deal?” She stretched her hand across the coffee table. 

    The kid hesitated. Behind her, Ian’s breathing was louder than anything else. Then a slim, chilly hand smacked into hers, and for a moment, Brigit wasn’t in this stranger’s living room at all. She was in the woods, the Dell, in the cold dark night, her sister’s icy fingers clamped around her own. 

    You want to be the wild child, Wild Child?

    “Deal,” said the kid. Brigit didn’t blink. The room came back to her, his grub-white face, cold palm against her own. Vanilla candles on the mantel. Nothing of Emma or their game but the bitter tinge of earth beneath her tongue.

Excerpted from What Grows in the Dark by Jaq Evans. Copyright © 2024 byJaq Evans. Published by MIRA.

About the Author:

Jaq Evans is a graduate of the University of Southern Maine’s Stonecoast MFA program and a former Pitch Wars mentee . Her short fiction has been published in Three-Lobed Burning Eye, Apparition Literary Magazine, Fusion Fragment, and others.

Author website / Twitter / Instagram

**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

Title: Kilt Trip

Author: Alexandra Kiley

Publisher: Canary Street Press

Publication Date: March 5, 2024

Page Count: 348

About the book:

For fans of Emily Henry and Sarah Morgenthaler comes a brand-new Scotland-set romantic comedy. In this enemies-to-lovers romance, one woman discovers more than the just the magic of the heartland’s lochs and landscapes—but not before clashing with the proud Scotsman she’s forced to work with.

Addie Macrae has always followed her wanderlust. As a travel consultant, she turns struggling businesses into world-class tour groups. Her job comes with the perk of jetsetting around the globe, which means never being in one place for too long—just the way she likes it. Since her mom passed away ten years ago and her father never stopped grieving, no place has felt like home anyway. But when she’s sent on assignment to help a family-run tour group in Scotland—the one place she swore she’d never go—Addie has to shed her emotional baggage and turn on the professional charm.

Logan Sutherland’s family business is operating just fine, thank you very much. The Heart of the Highlands was never meant to make the family rich, rather to teach sightseers to appreciate the beauty of Scotland’s hidden gems, which are more captivating than any tourist trap. The last thing Logan wants is some American “expert” pushing Outlander-themed tours and perpetuating myths about the Loch Ness Monster. And for a travel consultant, Addie oddly doesn’t seem interested in learning about the land Logan loves. Equally put off by each other, the new colleagues clash on every company decision.

Then Logan discovers Addie does have a personal connection to Scotland—it was her late mother’s favorite place, one that now lives on in a handful of faded Polaroids Addie kept from her parents’ Honeymoon. She wants to seek out the places in the pictures, but is worried that she’s too late to capture the wonder of following in her mother’s footsteps. Logan is convinced he can help Addie get some closure, and the two realize, when they agree, they actually work pretty well together. 

But Addie’s contract with The Heart is almost up, and the business is still losing money. They can’t afford distractions, but there’s no denying the intense chemistry between Addie and Logan. Besides, how can Addie do her job properly if she hasn’t explored all Scotland has to offer?

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon  /  Bookshop.org  / B&N / Books A Million

Excerpt:

One 

    Addie Macrae’s internal compass was irreparably damaged. For all the traveling she did, and the relative ease of navigating a city with English street signs, Edinburgh’s jigsaw puzzle of gray-toned buildings and twisting streets left her head spinning. 

    Under different circumstances she might’ve been swept away by the city’s lantern-topped street lights and cobblestone roads, but not while the architecture and charm conspired against her. She’d missed a full thirty minutes of her newest client’s city tour, the last one before their meeting tomorrow. 

    If she was going to turn The Heart of the Highlands around, revamp their tours, and pull them from the brink of financial ruin, she needed to know what she was walking into. The thrumming in her chest slipped into the realm of heart palpitations, one tier below racing for a connecting flight. 

    Which she’d already done today. 

    Striding along another street lined with red and teal storefronts, she tugged at her collar, letting the chilled air slice through the humidity inside her plasticky yellow raincoat. Nothing in sight resembled a staircase at the bottom of Calton Hill—the starting point mentioned on the website.

    Gigi, the irritatingly sunny voice of Google Maps, shouted, “Turn left.” She was hopelessly laggy, sending Addie in one direction, then two minutes later changing her mind. 

    Addie followed another skinny tunnel between buildings constructed long before the invention of motor vehicles. It deposited her into an unmarked courtyard, paths fanning out in all directions. 

    “Rerouting.” 

    Grinding her teeth, Addie restarted Gigi, tripped over a cobblestone, and cursed.

    Side-eyeing the red battery icon on her phone, she checked the time again. Dammit. At this rate, she’d miss the entire itinerary. 

    Cars rumbled by on the wrong side of the road as she wound through the bustling downtown and crossed the construction zone that was the North Bridge. A light drizzle began to fall, dripping from her hood and curling the end of her blond braid. Great. 

    A low brick wall to her left did nothing to contain the oldgrowth trees threatening to hop the street. She walked right past a staircase tucked between the disheveled, leafless forest before backing up. 

    Begging to be missed, a miniature blue sign attached to a lamppost pointed up the stairs to Calton Hill. Addie shook her head. How were tourists expected to find this? 

    Her annoyance drowned out any relief at finding the tour. 

    As she headed toward the steps, her phone rang. Boss Babe lit up the screen. Devika filled all the roles in Addie’s life: best friend, coworker, mother hen. 

    They were kindred spirits—always stayed late, snuck champagne and slippers into the office to work through the holidays, and sent each other postcards from airports around the world. Every time one of them got to a new destination, they checked in. Like the lone-women-travelers’ buddy system. In the haze of lost luggage and misdirection, Addie had forgotten. She answered, “Sorry. I’m here safely, although sans suitcase.” Her green hardside—scuffed, covered in stickers, and affectionately referred to as Frank—had taken an impromptu side trip without her permission. 

    “That blows. Do they know when it’ll be back?” 

    Addie started up the stairs, dragging her fingers over the sculpted lion’s head at the base of the shiny black handrail. A tower in the shape of an old-fashioned spyglass rose out of the knotted trees above her. “Hopefully tonight, or I’ll be wearing my airport-acquired rain gear to my meeting.” 

    Devika laughed. “What’s on the books for today?”

    The answer to their running joke was, of course, always, work. Six months ago, her mentor, Marc, started a new agency—Dawsey Travel Consulting—and took Devika and Addie with him. It could hardly be called poaching when she would follow them to the ends of the earth. Addie wanted to be them when she grew up. 

    Devika was a powerhouse karaoke song. She brought people to their feet with her magnetic presence and got shit done like a boss. 

    Marc was quieter, more serious, but in an industry full of power-hungry men, he always listened, remembered vegetarian and gluten-free options, and cut off interrupters with a stern   

    “Addie wasn’t done talking.” He was the one person who’d taken a chance on her when she’d been at her lowest, who’d taught her how to keep moving when she wanted to give up. 

    They were in a million different time zones right now, hustling to build a name for themselves in the competitive world of travel consulting. With ironclad non-competes from their old firm, their client roster currently consisted of Marc’s friends and whatever referrals their favorite clients could muster. 

    Every project had to go perfectly to make their new business turn a profit. The future of their venture depended on it. And as the junior partner—the first one to be cut if things went sideways—Addie’s job did, too. 

    She scanned the spider web of paths at the top of the hill. 

    A random cannon sat in the median. This had to be the right spot. “Research,” Addie said. “I’m already docking them three points for starting the tour in an obscure location.” 

    There. A group of ten or so people carrying colorful umbrellas huddled around a man in a kilt. Bingo. 

“Are you spying?” 

    Her stomach clenched at the censure in Devika’s voice. “I’ve got this.” Maybe it was the jet lag making her a bit desperate, or the fear of what would happen if she failed, but she’d take whatever edge she could get. “Besides, gathering intel isn’t illegal,” Addie defended, even though Devika was right to worry. 

    Rebuilding trust with the client took time she didn’t have, but this was a calculated risk. As a rule, executives didn’t take kindly to corporate espionage in any form. However, executives were also rarely objective about their own tours. They chalked lagging sales up to uninspired marketing or internet algorithms, never to generic itineraries, up-charging for headphones on an audio tour, or rambling guides.

    Metrics on destination costs and ticket prices were important, but the way people responded to their guides told an indisputable story. One day trip could show her more about a company’s weak spots than five board meetings combined.

    “You better hope you blend in.” 

    Addie bit her lip as she looked down at her attire. Between the yellow raincoat and poppy-splashed wellies, she looked about as unobtrusive as a knockoff Paddington Bear waving a sign that read I’m crashing your tour. But it was fine, she could totally pass as a tourist. “You’re not helping at all. I have to go be sneaky.” 

    Devika laughed and made the word bye last for three syllables. 

    Addie moved to the back of the group where two people speaking Japanese, having clearly forgotten their raincoats, wore see-through Heart of the Highlands–branded ponchos. 

    Practical and effective swag, 1 point. 

    Gigi shouted, “Keep right at the fork!”

    All eyes swung to Addie and heat flooded her cheeks as she struggled to turn off the speaker. “Is this the Hidden Gems tour?” she asked the approaching guide. “I got lost…” Addie looked up into crinkling gray eyes. 

    Whoa. 

    Curls fell over his forehead, a wavy sea of honey and bronze. On anyone else, she’d have said he was in dire need of a haircut, but it worked for him—matched the close-trimmed beard and the power of his shoulders. 

    He would be intimidatingly rugged if he wasn’t draped in clear plastic.

    “Aye. Welcome. Are you Heather Munro?” 

    Her gaze slipped down to his navy blue and forest green kilt… Damn. 

    She’d never considered herself one to swoon over a kilt, but his work boots and rounded calves were doing something to her stomach she couldn’t feasibly attribute to her bumpy flight. The navy cable-knit sweater, too—much better than the frilly pirate shirt that usually accompanied this getup. 

    Although, it did little to set their guides apart. 

    Gimmicky uniform, minus 2 points…on anyone else. 

    The last words he said filtered back to her, and heat crept up her neck. Shit. 

    “Oh, yes. Hi. That’s me.” Addie was more accustomed to sleeping on planes than in her own bed, but she was clearly more jet-lagged than she’d realized if she couldn’t remember her own fake name. 

    The guide’s lips curved into an amused smile. “I’m Logan.” 

    She could tell a lot from a handshake. 

    Crushing: domineering and a pain in the ass to work with.

     Limp: kind but required vast emotional resources to make decisions. 

     Wet-fish: well…that was never a good sign. 

     But Logan’s firm handshake was warm. It said: I know what I want. I’m not afraid to ask for help or entertain new ideas. 

    Not that it mattered. She’d be working with the owner and his son, not the guides.

    His grin sent tingles whispering over her skin as he dropped her hand and turned back to the group. “This way to the National Monument of Scotland, built to commemorate those who fought in the Napoleonic Wars.” Logan gestured to the Parthenon-style structure missing two and a half sides of pillars. “Or, as it’s affectionately called, Scotland’s Shame. As you can see, funding ran out rather quickly.” A few snickers and an abundance of smiles followed his remarks.

    “Edinburgh is nicknamed the Athens of the North, and these buildings celebrate our architectural feats and enlightenment. But long before the monuments were constructed, Calton Hill was a site for many pagan rituals. My favorite is Beltane, the Celtic festival hailing the reappearance of summer and the fertility of the land. Fire represents the return of the light, and revelers celebrate in its glow.”

    Logan could have described the architecture, the historical figures, or the politics at the time of construction. Addie had been on that kind of tour in the real Athens and knew firsthand how hard it was to keep guests’ interest with dry facts. Instead, Logan’s tales of rejoicing and fire, spirits and drums, enthralled the tourists. The group huddled around him, his voice low and soothing like it’d wrapped around everyone and pulled them in. 

   If all the guides were this good, Addie wouldn’t need to bring in a story-crafting coach; Logan would make a dishwasher manual sound interesting. 

    Engaging the guests, 3 points. 

Excerpted from Kilt Trip by Alexandra Kiley. Copyright © 2024 by Alexandra Kiley. Published by Canary Street Press. 

About the Author:

Alexandra Kiley writes big-hearted romances full of banter, found-family, and deep love. When she’s not writing, you can find her drinking tea, hiking, or gazing adoringly at the mountains of Colorado where she lives with her husband and two kids. Her novels are inspired by her semester in Scotland where she fell in love with not only the lush and magical land, but also the people who invited her into their homes and made her feel like family.

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The Forger and the Duke
Misty Urban
(Ladies Least Likely, #2)
Publication date: March 5th 2024
Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance

In 1776 London, orphaned vicar’s daughter Amaranthe Illingworth supports her small household with her skills as a copyist, but her quiet routine is shattered the day three children show up at her door seeking aid from her brother, their tutor. Behind them storms in Malden Grey, would-be barrister and their erstwhile guardian, who accuses Amaranthe of kidnapping the young Duke of Hunsdon and his siblings.

The former duke’s illegitimate son, Malden Grey has learned to live by his wits, and he’s told he’ll advance to the bar if he takes a proper wife. As she helps him restore order at Hunsdon House, Amaranthe seems a likely candidate—if only Mal can unearth the truth behind the rumors that she’s been forging, and selling, priceless medieval manuscripts. Amaranthe, in the meantime, needs to stay on her guard lest the charming Malden Grey steal her heart at the same time she’s hoping to borrow from his library a priceless book that could make her fortune.

But when Mal’s foray into Amaranthe’s past yields a discovery that will change both of their destinies, they’ll have to fight together to clear their names and stake out a future together—if either has a future at all.

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EXCERPT:

She set the portrait gently in its place. Mal battled the impulse to take those cool, capable fingers and press them against his aching head.

“And where is your mother now?” Her steady, fathomless gaze rested on him.

“She died when I was young.” Dear Lord, he was becoming sentimental. He pushed the weakness aside. “You are coming to know a great deal about us, Miss Illingworth, and I know very little about you.”

Her eyes crinkled as she smiled widely, and Mal cast about for breath. “We have not even been properly introduced.”

“Malden Grey of Bristol, aspiring to the bar.” He held out his hand.

“Malden,” she said, and a silken quality in her voice made him shudder, as did the slide of her fingers as she placed them in his.

“You haven’t told me your name.” His voice roughed his chest.

“Miss Amaranthe Illingworth of St. Cleer, Cornwall. My father was very fond of classical antiquity, so he chose a Greek name for me.” She held the volume of housekeeper’s accounts close to her chest, like a shield.

He sat back. She appeared completely unconcerned to learn he was a bastard, the status he wore like a brand on his forehead, marking him as less than, as lacking.

She rose, and he scrambled to his feet. Very neatly she placed her glass on the shelf beneath the decanter. Her eyes traced the figurines above, all of them representing mythological half-women with breasts prominently displayed.

“They’re not mine,” Mal said.

That small, maddening smile quirked her lips again. “No, they are young Hunsdon’s now, I imagine. I’ve seen this and worse among some of the medieval marginalia I’ve copied, Mr. Grey. You wouldn’t believe some of the grotesques those monks could dream up. I suppose it comes from being locked away day after day with no company but other men.”

That was his problem as well, Mal decided. Too much time in the company of other men. That was why she riled his senses so potently.

He moved around the desk toward her as she stepped away. “I can drive you tomorrow. When you make inquiries about hiring servants. What time shall I bring the carriage round?”

She hesitated, and her face went studiously blank. A slither across the back of his neck told him this was the expression she assumed when she was withholding something. He was beginning to recognize it.

“Eyde made up a room for me here,” she said. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not. There are dozens of rooms.” Or so he thought. Hunsdon House was not his, as nothing about the Hunsdon estate was to be his—not even the family name—and so he’d never let much of it occupy his attention.

Mal wondered which room Miss Illingworth would select for her own. Did she see her silk-smooth skin as best set off by the draperies in the Blue Room? Would she choose the Oriental patterns of the Jade Room? Or would she, like an empress of old, demand the royal purple? He imagined her nearby in the house going about her nightly routine, taking down her hair, drawing off her prim robe, perhaps splashing water onto her face that would run down that softly stern neck to the collarbones hidden beneath her gown and—

He’d best stop imagining Miss Illingworth at her ablutions. He was about to embarrass himself.

“Till tomorrow then, Miss Illingworth.” Had she said he could call her Amaranthe? He wanted to roll the name over his tongue. It was exotic, yet robust. A name with command and presence, much like the woman.

Good Lord! That brandy had turned his wits. He was behaving like a moonstruck calf. No, worse.

“Till tomorrow,” she said softly, and her gaze held his. The flickering candlelight brought out violet shadows in her eyes, and all the air left Mal’s body. He wanted to be found worthy of that calm, assessing gaze.

There was no way she would ever find him worthy.

The door shut behind her, and Mal smacked a hand to his head to clear it. He’d best bring himself in order. They had business to conduct. Problems to solve.

She had secrets he wanted very much to discover.

He had gotten his first good look at Miss Amaranthe Illingworth. He wanted a second. And a third.

 

Author Bio:

Misty Urban is a medieval scholar, freelance editor, and college professor who likes to write stories about misbehaving women who find adventure and romance. She holds an MFA and Ph.D. from Cornell University and lives in the Midwest in a little town on a big river.

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