Carries Book Reviews

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Title: Irish Knit Murder

Author: Peggy Ehrhart

Publisher: Kensington Cozies 

Publication Date: February 21, 2023

Page Count: 266

My rating: 3 1/2 stars

About the book:

A member of a prominent New Jersey family has been found dead on St. Patrick’s Day—and Pamela Paterson and her knitting club have a parade of suspects . . .

The Listers have been part of Arborville society for generations—though seventy-something Isobel Lister doesn’t fit the role of upper-crust heiress. She’s always been a colorful character, and her fun-loving spirit is on display at the senior center celebration as she performs some beloved Irish songs. But just minutes later, her body is found backstage.
 
It’s hard to imagine who’d target such a harmless eccentric, but Pamela finds herself suspecting everyone. There’s the Wiccan who thought St. Patrick wasn’t so saintly; the woman upset about cultural appropriation who feels the commercialization of shamrocks is a sham; the two men Isobel was seeing, who could have been green with jealousy—and old friends and family who may have feared Isobel would spill their secrets. But Pamela’s on the case, and that means for the killer, the jig will soon be up . . .

Irish Knit Murder by Peggy Ehrhart is the ninth book in the cozy A Knit & Nibble Mystery series. Each book of the series contains it’s own mystery that will be solved so they can be read as a standalone or in any order one chooses. However, those that follow from the beginning will see the full character development that carries over from book to book.

The main character of the Knit & Nibble series is Pamela Paterson who is on the older side for a cozy protagonist. Pamela found herself with an empty nest when her daughter headed off to college so she joined the Knit and Nibble knitting group. The group not only spends time together crafting their favorite projects but also cooks up some yummy treats as the name suggests.

Pamela and her best friend and fellow knitter, Bettina, first became involved in what has become a habit for them in solving murders when a body was found at Pamela’s home. This time around Pamela and her fellow knitters are celebrating St. Patrick’s day when another murder occurs. Isobel Lister had just performed some songs at the senior center celebration when shortly after her body was found and of course Pamela is right on top of figuring out who had done the horrible act.

The A Knit & Nibble Mystery series is one that I have followed from the beginning and always enjoy coming back to. The characters in the series are quite likable and there is always another laugh to come which I enjoy quite a bit. The one niggle I’ve had all along in the series leaving the books mostly at three and a half stars is that the author tends to get a little too descriptive of knitting and cooking but otherwise it’s a fun series I will continue to enjoy.

I received an advance copy from the publisher via NetGalley.

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon

About the author:

Peggy Ehrhart is a former English professor who writes mysteries and plays blues guitar. She holds a doctorate in Medieval Literature, and her publications include a prize-winning book dealing with classical mythology in the Middle Ages. Her Maxx Maxwell mysteries, Sweet Man Is Gone (2008) and Got No Friend Anyhow (2011), feature a blues-singer sleuth.

Peggy is currently writing the Knit & Nibble mystery series for Kensington Books. Set in the charming (fictional) town of Arborville, New Jersey, it features amateur sleuth Pamela Paterson, founder and mainstay of the town’s knitting club.

Peggy is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime.

Visit Peggy online at http://www.PeggyEhrhart.com

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Sapphire Eyes
Aurelia Yates
(The Red Club Series, #2)
Publication date: February 24, 2023
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense

Innocent, doe-eyed Rose is living the life in New York, interning at the largest law firm in Manhattan with a year left in law school. That is, until her parents tell her they can’t afford to continue paying her tuition. While she’s stressed over how she’ll make ends meet and finish her degree, her friend tells her a secret she’s kept hidden—that she works at a strip club with many rich, good-looking men as her customers.

Rose enters Club Red, looking only for a waitressing position, but what she finds ends up being so much more.

A large man with blond hair and the most hypnotizing sapphire-blue eyes, Blaze wants to put Rose into positions that have nothing to do with serving anything or anyone but him. And he will not stop pursuing her until he makes the darling Rose his.

 

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

Trying to gather my nerves, I walk up to the door. It’s large, and it looks to be made out of steel. I try to turn the handle, but it’s locked. I knock twice, waiting for someone to answer the door. I take in the surroundings. If it wasn’t for the flashy cars in the front of the building, it would appear to be an abandoned building.

When the door swings open, a very large man with blond hair, and the most hypnotizing blue eyes stands in the doorway. I take a step back. To say he intimidates me is an understatement.

He’s wearing a cobalt-blue dress shirt, rolled up on his forearms. The color makes his sapphire eyes shine bright. I take in his body. The rippling muscles on his arms, the strong jawline he possesses, and the tattoos that crawl up under the sleeves of his shirt and peek out of his collar. The man screams badass.

He scans me from the toe of my shoes to the top of my head, and when his eyes come back to meet mine, he gives me a wicked grin. He has to be the most breathtaking man. I have had the pleasure of sharing the same space with.

I’m barely able to get the words out. “I’m here to see Liz Black.”

His tongue darts out, licking his lips, and then his teeth slowly pull in his bottom lip. I try my best not to seem effected by his good looks, but it appears the cocky bastard notices how much he has affected me. My attention is tuned in to how long and thick his tongue is. Holy Mother Teresa, my mind is in overdrive as to what he could do with that weapon.

“Blaze,” he says with a silky voice.

“Blaze?” I say with a wrinkle between my brows.

The god says, “My name is Blaze.”

 

Author Bio:

Aurelia writes contemporary romance and enjoys reading it just as much! She lives in Alabama with her husband, daughter and fur babies. She spends most of her time taking care of her loved ones and plotting stories. Excited to begin this new journey, she’s looking forward to sharing her stories.

 

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In Too Deep
L.K. Shaw
(To Love and Protect Series, #1)
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

In search of my missing brother, I cross paths with a sexy, but dangerous man. Everywhere I go, he watches me with a heated gaze that sets my body on fire. I’m helpless against the forbidden attraction.

But a vicious crime lord wants us both dead, and soon we’re in a fight for our lives. When the battle ends, secrets are revealed, and I discover the man I’m falling in love with isn’t who he says he is. Will I ever be able to trust him again?

 

Goodreads / Amazon

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IN TOO DEEP EXCERPT:

“Will you stay with me tonight? I don’t think I can be alone.” My words were barely above a whisper.

Tomás ’look was pained. He shook his head. “It’s not a good idea, Ines.”

 

I clasped his hand between mine and squeezed it against my chest. “Please.”

He warred with indecision, but I knew the moment he made his choice. He took the keys from my hand and led me inside, closing and locking the door behind us. I flipped on the light and removed my hat, laying it on the side table. Next, I slipped out of my heels, leaving them at the door. I padded barefoot across the living room until I reached the kitchen, my body humming with awareness of the man following behind me. Tension radiated off him, and I could hear his soft footsteps. I grabbed two beers out of the fridge and popped the top off both before turning and handing him one.

Our eyes connected, and neither of us broke contact. Tomás continued his white-knuckled hold on his at the same time I took a long pull from mine. My body thrummed, and my core pulsed. A spark lit my fingers when he slipped the bottle from them, our skin grazing, and set both mine and his on the counter. In one long stride, he was almost pressed up against me. We were so close, we practically breathed in each other’s air. My nipples hardened with arousal, and when he reached up and brushed a strand of hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear, my breath hitched.

“You’re so beautiful and far too good for me.” Tomás ’voice was husky.

Slowly, he backed me up until I ran up against the counter, out of room, his arms caging my body. Not that I wanted to go anywhere. With infinite care, like he was waiting for me to stop him, Tomás dipped his head, our gazes still colliding, and brushed a kiss across my lips. His touch was featherlight, and I wanted more.

 

Author Bio:

LK Shaw is the bestselling author of the sexy, sinful suspense. She resides in South Carolina with her high maintenance beagle mix dog, Miss P. An avid reader since childhood, she became hooked on historical romance novels in high school. She now reads, and loves, all romance sub-genres, with dark romance and romantic suspense being her favorite. LK enjoys traveling and chocolate. Her books feature hot alpha heroes and the strong women they love.

Want a FREE short story? Be sure to sign up for her newsletter and download your copy of A Birthday Spanking, a short story set in the Doms of Club Eden world! http://bit.ly/LKShawNewsletter

 

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Title: It’s One of Us

Author: J.T. Ellison

Publisher: MIRA

Publication Date: February 21, 2023

Page Count:  415

My rating: 4 1/2 stars

About the book:

From the New York Times bestselling author comes this twisting, emotionally layered thriller about a marriage torn apart when the police arrive at an infertile couple’s door and reveal the husband’s son is the prime suspect in a murder. The perfect blend of exhilarating suspense and issue-driven book club fiction.

Everybody lies. Even the ones you think you know best of all . . .

Olivia Bender designs exquisite home interiors that satisfy the most demanding clients. But her own deepest desire can’t be fulfilled by marble counters or the perfect rug. She desperately wants to be a mother. Fertility treatments and IVF keep failing. And just when she feels she’s at her lowest point, the police deliver shocking news to Olivia and her husband, Park.

DNA results show that the prime suspect in a murder investigation is Park’s son. Olivia is relieved, knowing this is a mistake. Despite their desire, the Benders don’t have any children. Then comes the confession. Many years ago, Park donated sperm to a clinic. He has no idea how many times it was sold—or how many children he has sired.

As the murder investigation goes deeper, more terrible truths come to light. With every revelation, Olivia must face the unthinkable. The man she married has fathered a killer. But can she hold that against him when she keeps such dark secrets of her own?

This twisting, emotionally layered thriller explores the lies we tell to keep a marriage together–or break each other apart . . .

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon  /  BookShop.org / IndieBound / Barnes & Noble / Books A Million

Excerpt:

1

THE WIFE

There is blood again.

Olivia forces away the threatening tears. She will not collapse. She will not cry. She will stand up, square her shoulders and flush the toilet, whispering small words of benediction toward the life that was, that wasn’t, that could have been.

She will not linger; she will not acknowledge the sudden sense of emptiness consuming her body. She will not give this moment more than it deserves. It’s happened before, too many times now. It will happen again, her mind unhelpfully provides.

There is relief in this pain, some sort of primitive biological response to help ease her heavy heart. Olivia has never lied to herself about her feelings about having a child. She wants this, she’s sure of it. Wants the experience, wants to be able to speak the same language as her sisters in the fertility arts, her friends who’ve already birthed their own. And she loves the idea of being pregnant. Loves the feelings of that early flush of success—the soreness and tingling in her breasts, the spotty nausea, the excitement, the fatigue. Loves remembering that moment when she realized she was pregnant the first time.

She’d known even before she took the test. She could feel the life growing inside her. Feel the quickening pulse. A secret she held in her heart, managing several hours with just the two of them, alone in their nascent lives. Every room of the house looked new, fresh, dangerous. Sharp corners and glass coffee tables, no, no, those would have to be tempered, replaced. The sun glancing off the breakfast table—too bright here, the spot on the opposite side would be best for a high chair. The cat, snoozing in the window seat—how was she going to take an interloper? The plans. The plans.

After a carefully arranged lunch, fresh fruit and no soft cheeses, she’d driven to the bookstore for a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, accepted the sweet congratulations of the bookseller—think, a complete stranger knew more than her family, her husband. She tied the plastic stick with its beautiful double pink lines inside two elaborate bows—one pink, one blue—and gave it to Park after an elegant dinner.

The look on his face—pride and fear and terror and joy, all mingled with desire—when he realized what she was saying. He’d been struck dumb, could only grin ear to ear and pat her leg for the first twenty minutes.

So much joy between them. So much possibility.

Olivia replayed that moment, over and over, every time she got pregnant. It helped chase away the furrowing, the angles and planes of Park’s forehead, cheek, chin, as they collapsed into sorrow when she’d miscarried the first time. And the next. And the next. Every time she lost their children, it was the same, all played out on Park’s handsome face: exaltation, fear, sorrow. Pity.

No, the being pregnant part was idyllic for her, albeit terribly brief. It’s only that she doesn’t know how she feels about what happens ten months hence, and the lifetime that follows. The stranger that comes into being. But that’s normal—at least, that’s what everyone tells her. All women feel nervous about what comes next. Her ambivalence isn’t what’s killing her babies. She can’t help but feel it’s her fault for not being certain to her marrow what she wants. That God is punishing her for being cavalier.

Of course, this internal conversation is moot. There is blood. Again.

She hastily makes her repairs—the materials are never far away. If she stashed the pads and tampons away in the hall cabinet, it would be bad luck. Too optimistic.

Not like they’re having any luck anyway. Six pregnancies. Six miscarriages. IUIs and IVF. Needles and hormones and pain, so much pain. More than anyone should have to bear.

With a momentary glance at the crime scene in the toilet, she depresses the handle.

“Goodbye,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Olivia brushes her teeth, then pulls a comb through her glossy, prenatal-enriched locks, rehearsing the breakfast conversation she must now have.

How does she tell Park she’s failed, yet again, to hold the tiny life inside her?

Downstairs, it is now just another morning, no different from any over the past several years. Just the two of them, getting ready for the day.

The television is on in the kitchen, tuned to the local morning show. Park whistles as he whisks eggs in a bright red bowl. Park’s breakfasts are legendary. Savory omelets, buckwheat blueberry pancakes, veggie frittatas, yogurts and homemade granola—you name it, he makes it. Olivia handles dinner. If she cooks three nights out of seven, she considers that a success. They eat like kings in the morning and paupers at night, and they love it.

She pauses at the door, watching him bustle around. He is already dressed for work, jeans and a button-down, black lace-up brogues. His “office” is in the backyard, in a shed Olivia converted for his use. A former—reformed—English professor on a semipermanent sabbatical, Park has launched a second career ghostwriting psychological thrillers. He claims to love the anonymity of it, that he can work so close to home, and the money is good. Enough. Not obscene, but enough. They’ve been able to afford four rounds of IUI and two in vitros so far. And as he says, writing is the perfect career for a man who wants to be a stay-at-home dad. There’s no reason for him to go back to teaching. Not now.

A pang in her heart, echoed by a sharp cramp in her stomach. They are throwing everything away. She is throwing everything away. This round of IVF, she only produced a few retrievable eggs, and this was their last embryo.

My God, she’s gotten clinical. She’s gotten cold. Babies. Not embryos. There are no more frozen babies. Which means she’ll have to do it all again, the weeks-long scientific process of creating a child: the suppression drugs, the early morning blood tests, the shots, the trigger, the surgery, the implantation. The rage and fear and pain. Again.

The money. It costs so, so much.

She has frozen at the edge of the kitchen, thoughts roiling, and Park senses her there, turns with a wide smile. The whisk clicks against the bowl in time with her heartbeat.

“How are my darlings feeling this morning? Mama and bebe hungry?”

She is saved from blurting out the truth—mama no more, bebe is dead—by the ringing of the doorbell.

Park frowns. “Who is here so early? Watch the eggs, will you?”

Even chickens can do what she cannot.

It’s infuriating. House cats escape into the woods and sixty days later purge themselves of tiny blind beings. Insects, birds, rats, rabbits, deer, reproduce without thought or hindrance.

Nearly four million women a year—a year!—manage to give birth.

But not her.

She’s not depressed, really, she’s not. She’s come to terms with this. It happens. Today will be a bad day, tomorrow will be better. They will try again. It will all be okay.

Mechanically, Olivia moves to the stove, accepts the wooden spatula. Park disappears toward the foyer, shoulders broad and waist nearly as trim as the day she met him. She will never get over his handsomeness, his winning personality. Everyone loves Park. How could you not? He is perfect. He is everything Olivia is not.

The television is blaring a breaking news alert, and she turns her attention to it, grateful for something, anything, to focus on beside the intransigent nature of her womb and the fear her husband will abandon her. The anchor is new, from Mississippi, with a voice soft as honey. Tupelo? No, Oxford, Olivia remembers; Park took her to a quaint bookstore there on the square one summer, long ago.

“Sad news this morning, as it has been confirmed the body found in Davidson County earlier this week belongs to young mother Beverly Cooke. Cooke has been missing for three months, after she was last seen going for a hike at Radnor Lake. Her car was found in the parking lot, with her purse and phone inside. Metro Nashville Police spokesperson Vanda Priory tells Channel Four Metro is working with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation and Forensic Medical to determine her cause of death. The Cooke family released a statement a few minutes ago. ‘Thank you to everyone who has helped bring Beverly home. We will have more information on her burial soon. We ask for privacy during this difficult time.’ Metro now turns their attention to identifying a suspect. In this morning’s briefing, Homicide Detective William Osley stated that Metro has a lead and will be pursuing it vigorously. Next up, time to break into the cedar closet, it’s finally sweater weather!”

Olivia sighs in regret. That poor woman. Like everyone in Nashville, Olivia has followed the case religiously. To have a young mother—the kind of woman she’s so desperate to mold herself into— disappear into thin air from a safe, regularly traveled, popular spot, one Olivia herself hikes on occasion, has been terrifying. She knows Beverly Cooke, too, albeit peripherally. They were in a book club together a few years ago. Beverly was fun. Loud. Drank white wine in the kitchen of the house and gossiped about the neighbors. Never read the book.

Olivia stopped going after a few meetings. It was right before she’d started her first official fertility treatments, had two miscarriages behind her, was hopped up on Clomid and aspirin, and all anyone could do was talk babies. Beverly had just weaned her first and was drunk for the first time in two years. She alternated between complaining and cooing about the trials and joys of motherhood. Olivia couldn’t take it, this flagrant flaunting of the woman’s success. She stood stock still in the clubhouse kitchen, fingers clenching a glass of Chardonnay, envisioning the myriad ways she could murder Beverly. Cracking the glass on the counter’s edge and swiping it across Beverly’s pale stalk of a neck seemed the most expedient.

Honestly, she wanted to murder them all, the sycophantic breeders who took their ability to procreate for granted. They had no idea what she was going through. How she was tearing apart inside, month after month. How she felt the embryos detach and knew it was over. How Park’s face went from joy to disdain every time.

Some people wear their scars on the outside.

Some hide them deep, and never let anyone in to see them.

Olivia is still staring at the screen, which is blaring a commercial for car insurance, processing, remembering, fists balled so tightly she can feel her nails cutting the skin, when she hears her husband calling her name.

“Olivia?” His voice is pitched higher than normal, as if he’s excited, or scared.

Park enters the kitchen from the hall between the dining room and the butler’s pantry.

“Honey, they found Beverly—” she starts. But her words die in her throat when she sees two strangers, a man and a woman, standing behind him, people she knows immediately are police officers just by their wary bearing and shifting eyes that take in the whole room in a moment, then settle on her appraisingly.

“I know,” Park says, coming to her side, shutting off the gas. She’s burned the eggs; a sulfurous stench emanates from the gold-encrusted pan. He takes the spatula from her carefully. “It’s been on the news all morning. Liv, these detectives need to talk to us.”

“About?”

The man—stocky, slick smoky-lensed gold glasses, perfectly worn-in cowboy boots and a leather jacket over a button-down—takes a small step forward and removes his sunglasses. His eyes are the deepest espresso and hold something indefinable, between pity and accusation. It’s as if he knows what she is thinking, knows her uncharitable thoughts toward poor dead Beverly.

“Detective Osley, ma’am. My partner, Detective Moore. We’ve been working Beverly Cooke’s case. I understand you knew her? Our condolences for your loss.”

Olivia cuts her eyes at Park. What the hell has he been saying to them?

“I don’t know her. Didn’t. Not well. We were in a book club together, years ago. I don’t know what happened to her. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“Oh, we understand. That’s not why we’re here.” Osley glances at his partner. The woman is taller than he is, graceful in the way of ex–ballet dancers even in her street clothes, with a long, supple neck, hooded green eyes devoid of makeup and blond hair twisted into a thick no-nonsense bun worn low, brushing the collar of her shirt.

“Why are you here, exactly?” Olivia asks.

Park frowns at her tone. She’s come across too sharp, but my God, what she’s already handled this morning would break a lesser woman.

“It’s about our suspect in the Cooke case. Can we sit down?”

Olivia reigns in her self-loathing fury and turns on the charm. The consummate hostess act always works. Park has taught her that. “Oh, of course. Can I get you some coffee? Tea? We were making breakfast. Can we offer you some eggs, or a muffin? I have a fresh pan here—”

“No, ma’am, we’re fine,” Moore demurs. “Let’s sit down and have a chat.”

Olivia has a moment of sheer freak-out. Was it Park? Had he killed Beverly Cooke? Was that why they wanted to talk, because he was a suspect? If he was a suspect, would the police sit down with them casually in the kitchen? Wouldn’t they want something more official? Take him to the station? Did they need to call a lawyer? Her mind was going fifty thousand miles an hour, and Park was already convicted and in prison, and she was so alone in the big house, so lonely, before she reached a hand to pull out the chair.

She needs to knock off the true crime podcasts. Her husband is not a murderer. He is incapable of that kind of deceit.

Isn’t he?

Sometimes she wonders.

“Nice kitchen,” Osley says.

“Thank you.”

Olivia loves her kitchen. It is the model for all her signature looks. Airy, open, white cabinets with iron pulls, leathered white marble counters. A black granite–topped island just the right size for chopping and serving, light spilling in from the big bay window. A white oak French country table with elegant cane-backed chairs. It was the heart of her home, the heart of her life with Park.

Now, though, it is simply the site of his greatest betrayal. Forevermore, from this morning—with the burned eggs and the somber police and Park’s face whiter than bone—until the end of her tenure here, and even then, in remembrance, she would look at this precious place with fury and sadness for what could have been. The ghosts of the life they were supposed to have clung to her, suckled her spirit like a babe at her breast never would. Everywhere she looked were echoes of the shadow existence she was supposed to be living. Here, a frazzled mother, smiling despite her fatigue at the children she’d created. There, a loving father, always ready to lend a hand tossing a ball or helping with homework. And look, a trio of towheaded boys and a soft blonde princess girl, the teasing and laughter of their mealtimes. How the table would seem to grow smaller as the boys got older and took up more space. The girlfriends came, the boyfriends. The emptiness when it was just the two of them again, the children grown with their own lives, the table bursting at holidays only. The grandchildren, happiness and racket, the noise and the joy creeping out from the woodwork again.

She is alone. She will always be alone. She will not have this life. She will not have this dream.

Park made it so.

As the detectives continue to speak, softly, without rancor, and her world splinters, Olivia hardens, compresses, shrinks. She watches her husband and holds on to one small thought.

I have the power to destroy you, too. Dear God, give me the chance.

Excerpted from It’s One of Us @ 2023 by JT Ellison, used with permission by MIRA Books.

It’s One of Us by J.T. Ellison is a suspenseful thriller novel. The story in It’s One of Us is one that is told by alternating the point of view between central characters. This title is one that deals with the sensitive issue of infertility and miscarriage if those may be a trigger point to some it may be best to avoid.

Olivia and Park have been trying for a child for quite some time and just as things feel like they may work out Olivia finds that again it’s not in the cards for her. Just as Olivia is trying to wrap her head around another failure police come calling for Park.

Years ago Park donated sperm and now DNA results have led to his doorstep when it seems a child fathered by Park could be a killer. The fact that Park is already a father is a lot for Olivia to wrap her head around but being tossed into a police investigation on top of it all has her questioning everything.

J.T. Ellison is one of those authors that has never failed to draw me quickly into a story so I was excited to get to this latest novel. DNA testing stories seem to be popping up a lot these days and I’ll admit I find them fascinating so I wasn’t surprised I enjoyed this. There were of course plenty of twists and turns along the way that kept the pages flying by as I read and the author did a good job bringing the characters struggles to life. Definitely an author I’ll keep returning to in the future.

I received an advance copy from the publisher via NetGalley.

About the author:

J.T. Ellison is the NYT and USA Today bestselling author of more than 20 novels, and the EMMY-award winning co-host of A WORD ON WORDS, Nashville’s premier literary show. With millions of books in print, her work has won critical acclaim, prestigious awards, and has been published in 26 countries. Ellison lives in Nashville with her husband and twin kittens.

Author website  / Facebook  / 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.**

My Chance
Samantha Skye
(Men of New York, #4)
Publication date: February 21st 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense

My job has always been my ticket to the top.

Now my only chance at success is tall, dark, and menacing…

At no point in my law career did I think I’d have a mobster in my office, offering me a job.

Hard pass.

But Nico Molenti is as persistent as he is…persuasive. And thanks to my dad’s white-collar antics, my client list is looking as bare as my bank account will be in a few weeks.

Accepting Nico’s offer isn’t just about quick cash though. If I say yes to this, I kiss my New York law firm goodbye.

Perhaps that’s why he’s so intent on keeping my lips very busy.

But breaking my law-abiding habits to help a gangster exact vengeance on his enemies is easier said than done.

Although with every fiery touch, I can’t help but feel I’m going over to the dark side in more ways than one…

My Chance is the fourth and final book in the Men Of New York series. Featuring a curvy heroine and the sinful hero who falls for her, this is a suspenseful enemies-to-lovers, opposites attract, mafia romance with plenty of spice.

 

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble

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Author Bio:

Samantha Skye is a contemporary romance author from Melbourne, Australia. A country kid turned city slicker, Samantha writes characters that are as diverse as they are devilishly handsome.

Her unique brand of suspenseful spice deftly combines the risky and the risqué, setting hearts pounding for more than one reason! When she’s not plotting her next novel, Samantha can be found chatting on podcasts, or anywhere there’s sunshine.

An avid traveler, Samantha is just as comfortable in gumboots as she is in Christian Louboutins…but she’s usually having more fun in the latter.

 

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