Straight Browsing from the Library: Magnolia Bay Series

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Erika and Kim will be awarding a $15 Starbucks card to a randomly drawn winner during the tour via the rafflecopter at the end of this post.

READ THE BLURBS

Willamena Dunn is having a lousy week. Not only is her baby sister about to marry into the family of Dunn-Right Preservation’s biggest professional rival, but the historic bungalow of her dreams has just been bought by the most infuriating (not to mention exceedingly handsome and notoriously wicked) man to ever hammer a nail in Magnolia Bay, Knox Loveless. 


But when Knox offers her a wager she can’t refuse, a bet with the coveted bungalow as its prize, Willa is sure her bad luck might finally be turning around—until Knox surprises her with a passionate kiss, and suddenly all bets are off.

Could this be just another one of Knox Loveless’ games, or will two rivals finally surrender to a long-simmering attraction and declare a truce once and for all?


~~~~~

Darcy Vance has sunk every cent she has into making Mimosa House the best bed and breakfast in Magnolia Bay. But the key to her success lies in the hands of the Historic Preservation Society run by the Bloom bitches who are embarrassed about their father’s connection to the storied house and they have no intention of validating it with a spot on the society’s registry.

After losing his PGA card, Trent Mauldin has come home to Magnolia Bay to lick his wounds and has no plans to stay. Until he falls for Darcy. Things heat up between the two until Trent’s good intentions to help Darcy go sideways. While Darcy works to save her house, Trent fights to win her back and keep her in Magnolia Bay for good.

READ AN EXCERPT FROM BET THE HOUSE
Erika Marks
©Copyright 2014

As she marched up the bungalow’s uneven front steps, Willamena Dunn made a vow: No matter who stood on the other side of the cottage’s peeling door, she would not lose her temper.

Yes, it had crushed her very soul to learn that another buyer had outbid her for the historic home she’d dreamed of owning since she was old enough to blink. Yes, she’d said unspeakable things about whoever had dared to steal it out from under her when she’d learned the awful news the day before. But no, her personal feelings didn’t change her professional priorities.

No matter what, Willa wanted to ensure that the neglected house would finally get the restoration it deserved. As Staff Historian for Dunn-Right Preservation, her goal was to make sure the historic architecture of Magnolia Bay, South Carolina, was maintained and respected. Whoever had bought the nineteenth-century bungalow would have to understand the responsibility that came with owning a historic home in a landmarked district. And if they didn’t, Willa would gladly—and firmly—enlighten them.

Her older sister, Connie, hadn’t trusted Willa to carry out this introduction alone, too worried that she would let her passion for preservation override her professionalism. Willa had promised it would not.

She would be civil.

She would be courteous.

And, most importantly, she would not use foul language.

But that was before Willa stepped inside and saw the most infuriating man to ever hammer a nail in Magnolia Bay inspecting the crumbling green tile of the home’s fireplace surround.

“Knox Loveless, what the hell are you doing here?”

So much for promises.

“Good morning to you, too.” Knox stepped back from the fireplace and flashed Willa the same devilish grin he’d been flashing her nearly her whole life. At a little over six feet tall, blessed with hair that resembled poured molasses and eyes to match, he was a hard man to ignore—though God knew Willa had been trying long enough. “Here to welcome me to the neighborhood?” he asked.

“You stole this place from me?”

“I didn’t steal anything,” he said, wiping his palms on his thighs. “I outbid you, fair and square.”

Oh, that was a laugh! There was nothing fair or square about the way Loveless Brothers Construction did business, trying to shoehorn new homes in among the town’s most cherished historic properties. Their lack of regard for Magnolia Bay’s architectural history was one of the main reasons Willa’s mother, Lily, had opened the doors of Dunn-Right Preservation thirty years ago. Now the firm was known up and down the coast for its soup-to-nuts services to historic home owners. From contracting repair and restoration professionals, to filling out applications for tax credits, there was nothing Dunn-Right couldn’t or wouldn’t do to promote the well-being of Magnolia Bay’s rich architectural history and charm.

If only they could add Putting arrogant building developers out of business to that list.

Knox pointed behind her. “Be a sweetheart, and hand me that tape beside you, will you, Meen?”

Willa bristled at the nickname. He’d coined it for her when they were teenagers, claiming it was short for Willamena but she’d never quite believed him, and she’d certainly never liked it—which, of course, explained why Knox still used it.

Willa shifted her glare to the measuring tape on the windowsill. She’d hand him the tape, all right. Hand it right to the side of his miserable, underhanded skull. From this distance, she could get some serious speed.

“Get it yourself,” she said.

“Now don’t frown,” Knox said, sauntering across the floor to retrieve his tape measure. “You always get that cute little line right there between your eyebrows when you frown and then you pull at it all day to smooth it out.” He reached toward Willa as if intending to plant his finger on the exact point.

She swatted his hand away. “You do know this building is in a protected district and that any alterations you make will have to be approved by—“

“The Historical Society Board,” he finished for her, returning to the window. “Yes, I know. I’m on the board, remember?”

“You so rarely make an appearance at the meetings, I forget.”

He stretched the tape across the sash. “Now that’s not fair. I was there just last week.”

“And doodling on your handout the whole time.”

He grinned at her over his shoulder. “So you were watching me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Willa crossed her arms tightly, hoping to squeeze herself hard enough to slow down her racing heart. She blamed its rapid beat on the shock of finding Knox there—and not on his dimpled smile. The fierce topknot she’d secured of her wavy blond hair now wilted down one side of her head. She gave it an exasperated push to realign it. “Knox, there are plenty of old houses for sale in Magnolia Bay. Why did you have to take this one?”

“Because I like it.” He squinted to read the measure.

“Since when?”

Knox let the tape snap back into its casing. “Since I dared you to break into it when you were fourteen and I was sixteen, which—if I remember—resulted in you needing five stitches in a very tender place.” He looked at her thigh; Willa slapped her hand over the spot as if he could see through her jean shorts to the jagged scar underneath.

MEET THE AUTHORS

Kim Boykin is a women's fiction author with a sassy Southern streak. She is the author of The Wisdom of Hair, Steal Me, Cowboy, and Palmetto Moon (Summer 2014.) While her heart is always in South Carolina, she lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, with her husband, 3 dogs, and 126 rose bushes.

http://kimboykin.com/

https://www.facebook.com/authorkimboykin

https://twitter.com/AuthorKimBoykin

http://tulepublishing.com/product-category/kim-boykin/

Erika Marks is a women's fiction writer and the author of LITTLE GALE GUMBO, THE MERMAID COLLECTOR, THE GUEST HOUSE and IT COMES IN WAVES (July, 2014). On the long and winding road to becoming published, she worked many different jobs, including carpenter, cake decorator, art director, and illustrator. But if pressed, she might say it was her brief tenure with a match-making service in Los Angeles after college that set her on the path to writing love stories (not that there isn't romance in frosting or power tools!) A native New Englander, she now makes her home in Charlotte, NC, with her husband, a native New Orleanian who has taught her to make a wicked gumbo, and their two little mermaids.

http://www.erikamarksauthor.com/

https://www.facebook.com/ErikaMarksAuthor

https://twitter.com/erikamarksauthr

http://tulepublishing.com/product-category/erika-marks/

ENTER THE GIVEAWAY

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Straight Browsing from the Library: Steal Me, Cowboy by Kim Boykin

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author and publisher will be awarding a $15 Starbucks card, Valentine mug, and yummy candies to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour (US only). Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

READ THE BLURB

Unbeknownst to her boyfriend, Sassy South Carolina hairstylist, Rainey Brown, is headed to Missoula, dead set on giving her minor league baseball player boyfriend of four years an ultimatum. Either put a ring on it or let her go, preferably not the latter.

When Rainey's piece of crap car dies in the middle of Nowhere, Montana, she's sure she's a gonner, until gorgeous restaurateur Beck Hartnett stops to help. Beck falls hard for Rainey, and knows she would admit she's fallen for him too, if she wasn't too stubborn to admit it. Beck has five days before the car is repaired to steal Rainey away from a boyfriend who doesn't deserve her. Five days before she's gone for good.

READ AN EXCERPT

My last client of the day meticulously inspected her razor-sharp bob, trying to find a reason to stay in my chair. This was a language I knew well, usually a sign that something was going on in a client’s life, something they would never tell their sister or their mother or even their therapist. They tell me because I’m a hair stylist. For most women, that trumps everything, but for God’s sake, why did Katie Mills have to wait until now to start her therapy session?

She handed the mirror back to me and looked into the big round one on my station. “Jackson’s cheating. Again.” This was something Katie couldn’t tell anyone, or at least that’s what she swore to me. She attributed it to the fact that she was one of my first clients when I got out of beauty school six years ago and we were friends. And we are, but that wasn’t it. There’s some kind of transfer of trust that takes place when you snap a cape on a client, when you stand over them with a pair of scissors and their wet hair, either giving them what they want or saving them from making a huge mistake.

I looked at her, knowing if things went the way they normally did when her husband couldn’t keep his pants zipped, we’d end up getting coffee or tapas at the bar two doors down, drinking wine and talking for hours. No wonder she’d asked for the last appointment of the day. I glanced at the clock. Adam would be landing any minute, waiting for me at baggage claim with that tall delicious body, that beautiful smile. Then he’d spend the rest of the weekend making me forget how tired and frustrated I’d been lately with our relationship.

Katie knew as well as anyone that I hardly ever got to see Adam. I’d met him four years ago when he was playing minor league baseball for the Tampa Yankees and instantly knew he was the one. Since then he’s lived with me here, in Columbia, South Carolina, when he wasn’t bouncing around from farm system to farm system, trying to make it to the major leagues. But moving up the baseball ladder is the equivalent of winning the lottery, and as much as I loved Adam… since I met him, he’d been steadily moving down the ladder. “Katie, I’m sorry, really I am—.”

“I’m just so sick of Jackson’s shit, Rainey. I know it’s some girl in the athletic department. She’s probably twenty something with tits up to here.” If they were up to her neck, the girl must look like an alien. “Wanna grab a coffee?”

Jackson was a serial cheater, but as athletic director at the University of South Carolina, he made a lot of money. Katie liked the money so much she had put up with his antics at three different universities. She’d had babies thinking that would keep him home and monogamous, but all she had to show for her efforts were three towheaded little boys and a chronically broken heart.

“I can’t, Katie, I have to pick Adam up.” She looked like I’d stuck a knife in her back. “We haven’t seen each other in three months.”

Katie’s chin quivered as she held my gaze in the mirror, tears pooled in her chocolate brown eyes. She was still a beautiful woman, a Mississippi belle who’d somehow lost herself along the way. I could have told her she was still gorgeous, that she was bright and funny, and sexy when she turned on her Ole Miss charm.

But the look in her eyes reminded me of myself lately. I thought I was used to loving Adam Harper any way I could get him. Lately, I’ve wanted more. Needed more. “I’m sorry, Katie.” I couldn’t look at her when I unsnapped the cape. “I can meet you for coffee Sunday afternoon after I drop Adam off at the airport.”

“What am I going to do now?”

What you always do. You go back to Jackson. I wish you wouldn’t, but you do the insanity dance over and over again, losing weight, shopping, Botox, trying to change yourself in hopes that your husband will change, but he can’t or he won’t. I put my hands on her slender shoulders and said the words I’d wanted to say to her since I met her, the words I thought were too pushy or too dangerous.

“Katie, you are beautiful. You are valuable. And if that bastard can’t see that, to hell with him.”

“Are you saying I should leave my husband?”

Yes. No. These are the moments when I feel the truth, that I’m a hair stylist and not a trained therapist. I don’t want to be responsible for a broken marriage—hell, broken marriages— because Katie isn’t the only client who has a spouse like Jackson, but I had to leave. Now.

I rifled through my station and found the business cards Ruthie Cox gave me. She was a therapist and said I’d probably never need to pass out her cards because in many ways, Ruthie felt I was better equipped to help clients than she was. It took several visits, sometimes months, for Ruthie’s clients to trust her enough to tell her their problems, and yet those same people could sit in the chair of a hairstylist they hardly knew and bare their souls.

“Call Ruthie. She’s a wonderful therapist. She’ll help you sort this out. I love you Katie, I do.” The tears were coming. Again. I’d cried a lot lately missing Adam so much, wishing just once that he’d pick me over baseball. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen him, and I only have thirty-six hours before he flies out again.” I choked out the last words, grabbed my purse, and left without looking back.

MEET THE AUTHOR

Kim Boykin is a women's fiction author with a sassy Southern streak. She is the author of The Wisdom of Hair, Steal Me, Cowboy, and Palmetto Moon (Summer 2014.) While her heart is always in South Carolina, she lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, with her husband, 3 dogs, and 126 rose bushes.

Website ~ Facebook ~ Twitter

Buy the book at Amazon.