Why should I provide my email address?

Start saving money today with our FREE daily newsletter packed with the best FREE and bargain Kindle book deals. We will never share your email address!
Sign Up Now!

A round of applause for KND brand new Romance of The Week! Sharon Hamilton’s super steamy military romance SEAL My Home

 Then you’ll love our magical Kindle book search tools that will help you find these great bargains in the Romance category:

And for the next week all of these great reading choices are sponsored by our Brand New Romance of the Week, Sharon Hamilton’s SEAL My Home:

SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood 9)

by Sharon Hamilton

SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood 9)
4.6 stars – 13 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled

Here’s the set-up:

Bad boy Rory Kennedy was raised in foster care, bouncing in and out of trouble along the way. He finds his true family and real brothers as a Navy SEAL, one of the Navy’s elite warriors. When his BUD/S instructor barked the SEAL’s Motto: Only Easy Day Was Yesterday, he knew he had found home.

Megan Palmer works in a bookstore and finds her passion in life through reading steamy romance novels. Her brief affair with a man she later found out was married has left her damaged, until she meets the handsome SEAL, who stands ready to open her world and give her things she’s only dreamed.

On a skiing trip, Rory suffers a possible career-ending injury and also comes face to face with a past he never knew of, and a family who had abandoned him. His relationship with Megan is tested to the breaking point as Rory wades through the dark waters of recovery and whether or not he can live without the life he loves. A home-grown terrorist cell forces his hand and he discovers his true purpose.

5-star Amazon reviews

The love scenes are super hot. The action is on. The SEALs are back…”

This was a great read and I highly recommend it to those who like a story with some steamy chemistry and suspense. This is a story you want won’t to put down.”

Click here to visit Sharon Hamilton’s Amazon author page

*  *  *

Need More Romance in Your Life? We Got Your Fix ;)

Free and Bargain romance eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday! Subscribe now! http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

BookGorilla-logo-small

Spicy, Contemporary, Uniformed Heroes are here to please…
Cross My Heart (The Heart Falls Heroes Book 1) by K.D. Friedrich
Sample now for Free!

Cross My Heart (The Heart Falls Heroes Book 1)
4.5 stars – 2 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled

Here’s the set-up:

Pete Cross is struggling with the emotional and physical scars of war, the last thing he needs is to find himself attracted to the one woman he shouldn’t want … his best friend’s sister. K.D. Friedrich is pleased to present Book 1 of her new series, The Heart Falls Heroes. Cross My Heart takes you on a poignant journey of loyalty, love, and above all, the healing power of second chances.

Struggling with the emotional and physical scars of war, Marine Pete Cross returns to his hometown, Heart Falls, New York, bitter and broken. The last person he wants to see is the stubborn tomboy from his past, Cara Sands. The guy code of ethics demands he keep his hands to himself where his best friend’s sister is concerned, but Cara never got that memo. Apparently, neither did Pete’s libido, because his desire for her is stronger than ever.

Cara has no clue where the man she loves went, but she’ll do whatever it takes to bring him back. Pete tries to push Cara away with bitterness and anger, but she yanks him right back with understanding and patience. Her persistence drags them closer to an outcome that might destroy them both or show him, once and for all, the power of second chances.

Content Notes: Spicy, Contemporary, Uniformed Heroes

Click here to visit K.D. Friedrich’s Amazon author page

And here, in the comfort of your own browser, is your free sample of Cross My Heart:

Chase Baker is looking for the most prized archaeological treasure in the world: The mortal remains of Jesus…
Vincent Zandri’s multi-award winning novel The Shroud Key (A Chase Baker Thriller) – Take 80% off today!

The Shroud Key (A Chase Baker Thriller)
49 Rave Reviews
Kindle Price: 99 cents
On Sale! Everyday price: $4.99
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled

Here’s the set-up:

Named one of SUSPENSE MAGAZINE’S Best Books of 2014!
WINNER: BEST “POTBOILER” NOVEL for 2013 by CrimeFictionBook Blog
THE NO. 1 AMAZON BESTSELLER IN “OCCULT”
THE NO. 1 AMAZON BESTSELLER IN “INTERNATIONAL CRIME AND MYSTERY”

“If you put Zandri and Dan Brown in a dark Cairo back alley, I’d put money on Zandri. He went to Cairo in the middle of the Arab Spring (against the explicit wishes of the U.S. State Department), gathered materials for the book while Tahrir Square rioted … The Shroud Key is page-turning fun for popcorn munchers.”
–Ben Sobieck, CrimeFictionBook Blog”Zandri has brought back that wonderful ‘quest’ story … THE SHROUD KEY is well worth every minute.”
–SUSPENSE MAGAZINE

Chase Baker is a true Renaissance Man. He’s also a man who knows how to find trouble. A part-time resident of Florence, Italy, his resume reads like a modern day Da Vinci or Casanova. Writer, private investigator, tour guide, historian, treasure hunter, adventurer, and even archaeological sandhog, Chase is also a prolific lover. Unfortunately for him, his dangerous liaisons all too often make him the target of a jealous husband. Now, at the direct request of the Florence police, he finds himself on the trail of an archaeologist by the name of Dr. Andre Manion who’s gone missing from his teaching post at the American University. But having worked for the archaeologist several years ago as a sandhog on a secret but failed dig just outside the Great Pyramids in the Giza Plateau, Chase smells a renewed opportunity to uncover what just might be the most prized archaeological treasure in the world: The mortal remains of Jesus. But how will Chase Baker go about finding both the archaeologist and the Jesus Remains? With the help of Manion’s beautiful ex-wife, Chase will manage to secure an up-close and personal examination of the Shroud of Turin, not only to view the famous image of the crucified Christ, but to unlock the relic’s greatest secret which is none other than a map, or a key, detailing the precise location of Jesus’s body. A romantic, action-packed, and thrilling action/adventure from NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY Bestselling author, Vincent Zandri.

* * *

Never miss another great sale again – Free and Bargain eBooks & Apps delivered straight to your email everyday! Subscribe now! http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

BookGorilla-logo-small

* * *

Each day’s Kindle Daily Deal is sponsored by one paid title on Kindle Nation. We encourage you to support our sponsors and thank you for considering them.

and now … Today’s Kindle Daily Deal!

Click on the image below

Kindle Daily Deal

BEST PRICE EVER on the phenomenal bestselling book that tells the story of the day Christ was martyred:
The Day Christ Died by Jim Bishop

This deal found exclusively on BookGorilla. Join our thousands of happy subscribers and never pay full price on eBooks again. It’s FREE and EASY at BookGorilla.com.

The Day Christ Died

by Jim Bishop

The Day Christ Died

This is a book about the most dramatic day in the history of the world, the day on which Jesus of Nazareth died. It opens at 6 P.M.& the beginning of the Hebrew day& with Jesus and ten of the apostles coming through the pass between the Mount of Olives and the Mount of Offense en route to Jerusalem and the Last Supper.

Today’s Bargain Price: $1.99

Everyday Price: $10.39

Get it now


Premium Bestsellers at The Lowest Prices on BookGorilla!

button_subscribe

★★★★★

Join our thousands of happy subscribers. It’s FREE!

Get Deep Discounts on Premium Bestsellers, Plus Free Books for Your Kindle! – Subscribe now http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

BookGorilla-logo-small(1)

Last chance to discover KND Thriller of The Week! Don’t miss MC Browne’s Second Life: Losing You Saving Me

Last call for KND Free Thriller excerpt:

Second Life: Losing You Saving Me

by MC Browne

Second Life: Losing You Saving Me
 5.0 stars – 1 Reviews
Or FREE with Learn More
Text-to-Speech: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

Second Life Losing You – Saving Me is a contemporary romantic thriller – with edge. A triangle of grief, obsession and unrequited love. It is the summer of 2014. Juliet tells of leading a duplicitous life of appearing to be in a happy, successful marriage with the seemingly steady Mark, while beginning to obsess about her ex – lover, Luka.

Flashback to when Juliet and her identical twin, Grace, survive a childhood of chaos being brought up by their emotionally absent alcoholic mother, who often can’t find her way to return home, or by people paid to care.

Then Grace, tragically, dies of cancer and leaves behind a son, aged four. Throughout the book Juliet tells of how she is haunted by the death of her twin. Alone and not knowing how to deal with her grief, Juliet immerses herself into a career, her behaviour mirroring the brutality of her life lived to date, just in a more refined setting. When promoted into the boardroom, Juliet begins to hallucinate, seeing and hearing what she believes is her sister’s voice and image. Whether real or imagined, Juliet believes the voice represents her sister’s love being reciprocated. The book then takes a dark and twisty path, as Juliet travels around the globe to try and escape her grief where she meets and falls in love with Luka. Juliet finds herself not knowing who is telling the truth? Who can she trust?

Interspersed throughout the book are the perspective of Juliet’s husband Mark, and the object of her obsession, Luka. Filling in the parts of Juliet’s life that she cannot see or understand.

Can Juliet trust herself? Events unfold that change everyone’s lives forever. Ultimately she has to make a choice: to accept the ultimatum of a life with Mark and medical intervention, or lose everything and remain living in her own world, accompanied by the voices in her head.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

Chapter 1

Irresistible 2014

 

It was irresistible, the notion. That airbrushed upon my life was a gentle watercolour image of us, together. The day we met, we were both searching for something else entirely, and it became that we could not be without each other. We were as one. Then someone I had considered a friend came along and took what we had. Over time, I tried many different ways to erase the image. Of us. Forever. There were even times when it momentarily vanished. Only to return with a vengeance. When something inconsequential would release a trigger, my emotional safety valve would ‘pop’ and, once again, I would be consumed and troubled.

I had left work early, citing a headache. It was the anniversary of my twin sister’s death. Grace. Identical in every way except that she was dead. Ten years. I remembered the moment when the medics offered her the opportunity to participate in a trial of new drugs, which had some successes on patients with advanced cancer. The words ‘opportunity‘ and ‘advanced’ were used by the medics as a perverse, ‘Ying‘ and ‘Yang.’ I remember the day as if it were yesterday, only today the memory is blacker.

Driving home, I flicked through the channels between listening to a fierce debate about Gaza and a high pitched shriek of, ‘One less problem without you.’

I switched the radio off and pulled over to allow the car roof to open when I spotted him. Walking along into Kentish Town Underground, it was him. Luka.

How could I be sure? That slow walk of his. The slight turning of his head to follow my car with his eyes. We both did a double take. His face. Irresistible.

I would have recognised him anywhere. I got out and turned around. Too late. He had disappeared. I whispered to myself, ‘It can’t have been him.’

After that moment, I just couldn’t shake his image out of my head.

I whizzed through the afternoon like I had somewhere to be. My evening routine transformed. After putting our Baby Girl to bed, I poured a large glass of wine for Mark, my husband, whilst mine remained untouched. Then I ran a warm candle lit bath, filled with relaxing oils to help us both unwind. Mark was delighted at my renewed interest, showing my commitment to us.

I laid back, with my arms above my head, as he stroked my face and told me in earnest that he loved me more than life itself. I should have felt guilty though, shouldn’t I? As my thoughts lingered on my first love.

Later, I stayed awake and waited for Mark’s descent into a deep sleep. Like cream silk rippling in the breeze, I slipped out of bed and slowly opened our bedroom door, whilst looking over to ensure I hadn’t woken him. I tip-toed along the hallway, down the stairs into the study. As the Apple logo flashed on my laptop screen, it reminded me of the first time I saw him. Shamefully, I had visualised taking his clothes off with my teeth. I typed his name, a brief Google search. Minuscule. Innocent. Once. Just once. Harmless. Searching. 0 – 60 with Chrome. Where did he live? Was he working in London? Did he remain married? I found images of him everywhere. Endless pictures of him at award ceremonies and black tie events. The camera still shared my love of him.

The next morning I met with girlfriends for coffee in Costa.

I mentioned my guilty pleasure of searching the internet. We laughed. Each of us had, at some time or another, sought out an ex-boyfriend.

If only to reassure ourselves, we agreed we were now in a better place. I relaxed in silence as they shared, with loud mocking laughter, their reunited stories.

One warned me though: ‘Be careful. There are horror stories, and Mark doesn’t strike me as forgiving type.’

After that, I felt compelled to type Luka’s name and press return every time I logged on. Why? I can’t offer an explanation.

A few nights later, there was the answer to a big question. The one burning right into my gut. He remained married. It was painful, you know, but more than that, it offended me. That he had stayed with her. I felt waves of resentment I thought had dissipated long ago.

I tried to find an image of her. The wife.

I spent hours searching, trawling databases, delving into dark cavernous parts of the web. Nothing. Where was she? Where were the pictures of her? As the darkness lifted outside, with the birds yawning, I would give up and slip back into bed and sleep, a deep immovable sleep.

Weeks later I decided to call him. Right out of the blue. I searched and discovered his ex-directory telephone number. I found it listed on a US website, paid 24 US dollars Inc. sales tax and there it was. Obtaining it actually made me laugh. I felt like I had won an award. I know. I heard words softly in my head, repeating, encouraging me.

‘Wonder what he’s doing? The gorgeous Luka? You have his number, why don’t you give him a call?’ I smiled and thought – Why not?

You do agree, you would have done the same. Wouldn’t you?

That was how it began. My Limerence.

 

Chapter 2

Born Lucky 2000

 

I was born lucky, everyone told me so. With an identical twin – Grace. As soon as we could reach out and touch, we formed the habit of reaching across and touching each other’s heart. We took consolation in the feel of the rhythmic thud against each other’s palms. It reminded us that we always had each other.

My earliest memory is of being woken up by a loud indistinguishable curse as our stepfather’s key had refused, once again, to surrender itself from the sticky lock. I heard a soft jingle as the bunch was left dangling on the outside, followed by the noise of the door slamming shut, the echo travelling in waves around the stairwell, drawing out the sound. His main challenge was habitual and specific. It was one of walking. I remember rubbing my eyes and tightening my ponytail as I pulled at Grace, asleep on the other bed, to wake up as I heard the sounds of him stumbling around, oblivious to the blackness. He carried with him his smell of stale unfiltered cigarettes and beer. I heard the sound of my heart beating as he coughed in and out. The heavy creak of the bedsprings as he sat down at the end of my bed, immense like a sack of wet sand, then almost falling off. As his tongue slurred, I heard his words, but at the time I just didn’t fully understand.

‘You are lovely, you two, every man’s fantaseee.’

I saw the shadow of Mum at the door as she wrapped her flimsy nightgown around her. I held my hands to my ears as they shouted obscenities at each other. Mum’s tone getting louder and higher.

Her challenging him, over and over, the shouts of ‘Just leave her alone.’ Our routine was fixed.

He stood up and staggered towards her voice and we heard his muffled, ‘Get out,’ followed by a thud and more slurring. As Grace jumped out of her bed, we could both hear what was happening outside our door and we started to get dressed.

Knowing we needed to be quick, knowing the drill, the inevitable. We had been here before. The unforgettable sounds as he punched her, like a whip cracking over and over, repeatedly—one, two, three. Grace and I decided to do something new. Thinking about it, maybe we didn’t decide, maybe we just didn’t have an option. We pulled him off Mum, who was lying on the ground curled in the corner, silently, like a puppy in training. She hadn’t even raised her hands to defend her face. Mum, Grace and I managed to grab our shoes as we ran out of the apartment and down the stairwell. We huddled in the hallway outside our neighbour’s. Mum held her finger against the doorbell. When there was no answer, she began to bang on the door with her fist. Grace and I stood behind her and at the same time we reached across and touched each other’s hearts. It reminded us that our bodies belonged to us and us alone.

Our neighbour, Mrs. Dixon, finally opened the door, a fractional crack of light in the shadowy darkness, her craggy face just visible between the three thick chains. Each chain seemed to endorse her fragility.

I can still remember the sickly feeling we had when, with light in her eyes, she undid them, slowly, one by one, the sound of the scraping metal sliding across as she ushered, ‘Come in, come in.’

Her once white dressing gown was always the colour of greyhound, matching her hair and her skin.

We waited in her sitting room, three of us squashed onto the lace covered sofa, staring quietly at the tiny silhouette of our rescuer outlined in her Parker Knoll chair.

The light from the nightlight disguised the misery of our plights. No one moved or spoke. We could hear him shouting from above us, standing in our doorway, his threats and promises in broken slur, his menace diminishing as the words echoed up and down the hallway. We sat there, the four of us and looked out of the single Crittall window at the lights in the tower opposite, waiting for them to fade and go out, one by one. Until that day, life had played on repeat. The same swelling, the same blackness. This time, though, the signs were different. Our ritual had changed. Grace and I were top and tailed on the sofa.             A swirly patterned polyester eiderdown was produced by Mrs. Dixon, who announced, ‘When I saw it the Oxfam shop just before Christmas I thought of you all. Isn’t this a find?’

Mum cried silently, trying to cover her intakes of breath with shaking hands. I guess that was the moment she realised that this is what she was settling for. Thankful for the darkness, Grace and I were able to whisper confidences to each other, hoping that this time, please God, this time, things would be different. But our problem remained. Our real dad had disappeared and our mum was a drunk.

The next morning, Mrs. Dixon’s son, Reggie, arrived in his black hackney cab to drive us to St Albans. The car sped along as we shared our excitement, Grace and me, that the sky had become larger and the spaces between the lamp posts wider.

Mum stared ahead, not seeming to hear. Breaking her silence with, ‘It will be a lovely treat for us to stay with my parents.’

Spoken as if to herself, and then she returned to gazing intently at something neither of us could see.

Grace and I looked at her lopsided bruised face and back at each other as Mum examined her eyes in a tiny cracked compact mirror.

She tried to cover the red and black marks with an orangey coloured make-up stick Mrs. Dixon had given to her. As we left, with a clasped hand, Mrs. Dixon whispered, ‘It’s from the 60’s.’

Finally, the car pulled off the new M25 motorway and Mum exhausted everyone saying, ‘Right, no sorry left, no, I meant right.’

The driver made funny faces in the mirror at her each time she spoke, which she didn’t seem to mind. It helped us all laugh.

When she changed her directions, he exaggerated his driving so that we giggled even more and I imagined we were at a funfair on a roller coaster ride.

Then he stopped the car in the middle of the road, ignoring the beeping of other cars from behind us as he turned to us in the back and said, ‘No disrespect intended love, but if you could name a pub or a park or something? We might have a better chance of finding the house.’

Mum answered in her easy voice, the one we recognised from when she didn’t have the rent for the council or when she was making up a story about why she was buying sherry and a packet of biscuits at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning.

‘I am so sorry. I am silly; it’s opposite Rothamsted Park, the North entrance off Ambury Lane. Here’s me trying to direct you – and you a professional driver. Silly me.’

She smiled at him, a wonky smile that looked painful, and he set off, this time with purpose. Us laughing with him as he gave a two-fingered salute out the window to the drivers behind us. He dropped us outside a moss-covered terrace at the end of the row, overlooking a park.

Our collective euphoria was short lived. We stood as instructed by Mum, beside a red letterbox a little way from a moss covered end of terrace house, watching as Mum rang the brass doorbell, knocked the smart black door and then started shouting, ‘Hello,’ through the letter box.

With one arm wrapped around her body, to keep her red tartan coat from flying open, she said with sudden enthusiasm, ‘Come along, there’s a corner shop. I have enough for a box of Tunnock’s teacakes and you can eat all of them in one go.’

We hadn’t inherited the specific gene that seemed to allow Mum to survive on air most of the time.

As we wandered down streets, clutching our belongings, Grace and I threw a silent caution at each other, walking past rows of red brick houses which all merged into each other until we got to an open park.

The well-beaten path was covered in squishy brown mud, the texture like wet meringue that tugged at our shoes as we navigated our way to a rough wooden bench. We sat together, our Woolworths bags piled up at the end.

Mum leaned in and gave us instructions. ‘Stay together, and don’t speak to anyone.’

We must have looked worried because as she got up to go, she stopped and said, ‘I’ll only be gone a little while, I have to find your granddad. It will be great for us to finally meet and be together. I just need to speak to him first and check that it’s okay.’ She turned and waved to us as she left.

Grace made a point of her being ‘first out’ which automatically afforded her certain rights. She opened the bright yellow box and pulled out the six red and silver foil covered marshmallows encased in chocolate. She divided them equally and as we unwrapped the first one, without speaking we both held one in our hands, closed our eyes and counted, ‘one, two, three.’ We both laughed big open-mouthed guffaws as we tapped the teacake on our foreheads and opened our eyes to see how many cracks appeared all over the top of the marshmallow mound.

Grace had a theory that each crack represented a year of your life. After vigorously counting to twenty something and then skipping directly to one-hundred, we could start our ritual of slowly peeling the chocolate off, segment by segment, then wolfing the rest whole. Which we always tried to do without licking our lips.

Years later; too late, I realised that I was the one who set up our rituals and Grace was in charge of the accompanying theory.

When the pigeons disappeared and no one had passed us for a while, Grace and I sat together on the bench in silence.

Grace kept wrapping her arms around me saying, ‘It’s okay Baby Girl, Mum will be back soon, you’ll see.’

That was the first time Mum left and couldn’t find her way to return.

Eventually, the park warden came and called the police, who then called social services. We were driven back to London and placed with our first foster family and we returned to school the next day – another normal Monday. And my life went on.

Grace liked to pretend we were on holiday and every few months would become ecstatic when Mum appeared, flanked by social workers. Initially, Mum was always fit and healthy, declaring sobriety. We would be rehomed together, anywhere up to three bus rides away from our school, until the next time.   The next time Mum walked out and just couldn’t find her way back.

Then we returned to the treadmill of people paid to care. Grace and I recognised a new routine had been set. A new low.

We left our final foster placement at the age of eighteen. I was off to university. Our form tutor had called my offer of a university place, ‘A gift from God.’ Once again, all of my effort marginalised and awarded to someone else.

University was our first proper separation, for Grace and me. It was never really properly discussed. Just long pauses as I carefully spoon fed information about the media course to Grace, who nodded and then changed the subject. Grace dreamt of something else. A fairy-tale. The handsome prince, beautiful children, preferably one of each.

We stood at the station; me with an oversized backpack strapped to my back, waiting for the platform number to flash up on the overhead screen, when Grace announced she was pregnant. We hugged each other, accompanied by loud shrieks, both sounding the same but with very different meanings. I placed my palm softly against her tummy. It was washboard flat. I boarded the train and waved at her through the thick opaque glass as it pulled out of the station.

I leaned forward, kissing the glass, with my lips flat against the window, using my tongue so that she laughed even more as she tried to run along the platform, waving as the train pulled away.

When I couldn’t see her any longer, I sat down while the other passengers in the carriage turned away from me, and no matter how many times I wiped my face it just remained wet.

Her pregnancy had only been a matter of time. I guessed it was a miracle she had made it to eighteen without being caught.

The next time I saw Grace, we were running barefoot through the dew covered grass in the park, picking petals off the perfect rose bushes to use as confetti for her marriage ceremony that afternoon. When the petals flew up and around, cascading in swirls of soft velvety pastel over Grace, as she stood clutching Brendon, her new husband, under the archway of Ealing town hall. Although there were only a few of us, we smiled and waved at each other.

Grace had a real daisy chain on her head and her long blonde hair with its soft waves tumbled untamed around her. Tiny ankle bracelets combined with thin flat leather sandals and with a long white cotton flowing dress, she was the definition of blooming and beautiful. We laughed and joked about being hungry and looking forward to our, ‘two for one’ meal deal at the local Pizza Express. Mum was smiling, smelling of her own unique combination of too much perfume mixed with alcohol, but at least she had found her way to the venue.

Mark was there. Our first love from our foster home before last. As always, that foster family had three of their, ‘own’ children. Two girls and a boy, all a year or so apart and a similar age to us. They were lined up in the hall, bored, like a mini set of Russian dolls, ordered to stand up straight and meet the new arrivals. Black hair, small framed and perfectly formed. Grace and I were like giraffes penned into a cage. Each of us worth £160.00 a week to the family. Then Mark arrived, brought by another set of faceless social workers moments after us. Another charge.

He kept saying, ‘We were promised I would be with my brother and sisters.’

A social worker’s reply was delivered in a pass me the salt kind of way, ‘This is the best we can do, Mark. Be grateful.’

Our affinity with Mark was instant, shared broken hearts and a sense of confusion, hidden behind a big smile and bigger laughter. He was as I imagined an Italian to be. His extra-large physique betrayed a softness Grace and I could see, but for some reason the others chose not to, as they pushed past us to get the last seats in the living room.                                                                                                                              Mark came into our allocated pink and white fluffy bedroom and sat on a pink plastic box in the corner. His head was pointing towards something on the floor, but we could see he was watching us from under uplifted eyelashes. We spent hours that night exaggerating poses in front of him, delighted to have an audience while we examined ourselves from every angle in front of the mirror.

Our silhouette remained long and lean and we yearned to have enough to be able to fill a bra. Even a tiny one. Our hair was the same, always cut almost in a straight line, when Mum had been sober enough to be trusted with a pair of scissors, sitting blunt on our shoulders.

‘What colour do you think our hair is? Mark?’

‘Dirty blonde.’ He smiled.

Grace punched him lightly on the arm and as he rubbed it in fey agony, he said, ‘Blonde. Sorry, I mean blonde.’

Grace spent the evening, while I remained quiet, firing questions about every part of our appearance at him and made him answer again and again until she was satisfied. He agreed our eyes were only just too far apart and our noses maybe too small, but identical and, ‘cute.’

He said, ‘You’re attractive – in a fresh, girlfriend material, seeing double way. You even laugh the same, big open-mouthed guffaws that you cover with both hands, left over right.’

That made us laugh even more.

Later that night Grace was crying, and Mark crept into our room and sat on the carpet, silent. His large shadow dominated the wall.

He just sat there. I found his presence comforting. After a while, we pointed out the stars in the sky to him. We knew all of them off by heart. We explained our tale, in whispers, of the hours spent looking out windows waiting for our mother to decide if she could find her way home.

For a few months, we would find Mark sitting on the wall outside school, always offering to carry our bags home, one over each shoulder. Grace devised a sketch of him bowing to us as we sat on our beds and pretended to be royalty, deferring our hands to be kissed by him. It made us all laugh in such a way that downstairs always guessed we were together in our bedroom.

Our foster dad would shout up the stairs, ‘Is that you, Mark? You’re not allowed in the girls’ bedroom.’

Mark would then lean over and whisper, ‘Hide, it’s the butler.’ We would scramble into wardrobes and under beds, always getting us in to more trouble.

Some mornings I would wake up in the bedroom and stare at the stars painted on our ceiling and I had a consuming feeling that I would never belong anywhere. Grace would see my face and throw herself on the bed and drag me out of my darkness, with tales made up from her imagination. Where the male monster always died in a horrible, gruesome way, right at the end.

I would go downstairs and look across at Mark, with his bulk, hunched behind the tiny kitchen table and it reminded me that I wasn’t the only one trying to fit in.

I was glad that Mark was there, at the wedding, smiling and laughing. Grace kept taking pictures of us, Mark and me. He took loads of Grace and me. He looked less awkward, like he had grown into himself. I suppose we all had grown up.

Someone managed to take a picture of Mark with us on either side of him. The next day we parted again, Grace to a bedsit in Ealing with her new husband Brendon, and me to a coveted place at Birmingham University.

Mark gave me his number on a scrap of paper as I left for the train station and, of course, I lost it somewhere between Ealing and Birmingham.

Chapter 3

Losing You 2007

 

My life was summed up by The Scissor Sisters lyric, ‘I don’t feel like dancing.’ I carried a large invisible object strapped to my back, full of grief. The size of a king sized mattress but stuffed with confused undetonated emotions. Sometimes I would pass a stranger and guess they had the same weight strapped to them, it was a look that passed over their eyes, nothing more.

After the memorial service for Grace, I returned to my job at an advertising agency. It was a great place to hide, behind a pastel tissue wrapped marshmallow of creativity; no thudding heartbeat required. A few weeks later, a group of us from university were having a catch up, all penned into the corner of a heaving pub in Soho, drinking wine like we had just returned from a month in the desert.

I tried to explain, whilst shouting over the sound of the music, ‘I arrive home from work, lay in bed and gaze at the walls, running through the last few years, over and over again. Just as my eyelids become heavy and my eyes start to close, my alarm clock goes off and it’s time to get up and start all over again.’

Her response was to stare at me for a second too long and then she said, ‘Trust me. It will get better. I promise.’

But it didn’t.

Every morning, I reversed back into my memories of my twin Grace; a single mother trying her best. When she died, her son was almost four. Little Bobby.

The flashbacks continued daily. Arriving like an unexpected twister, spinning my life around bringing a primal fury and darkness. Reminding me of sickness without grounds or reason, my memories were always accompanied by the chemical smell of the hospital, right up inside my nose.

Sepia images played on repeat, like a video shot in super 8mm, of Bobby, speaking in his tiny wispy voice, who kept asking, ‘Mummy – Why are you in bed?’

It was a big question. I visited the hospital every afternoon and they were always sat, Grace and Bobby, squashed, arms wrapped around each other like honeysuckle, whilst she read to him and he listened silently with occasional deep breaths. Then she would sleep whilst he sat doing colourful crayon drawings on a small A5 pad.

My memories were filled with Bobby, obediently moving to the end of her bed when the nurses needed her arm, or another body part to stick more needles in, so they could continue to practice their art. I would fast forward in my mind, past the smell of burning skin from her radiation treatment and the long strands of blonde hair left on the pillow when she needed to make the short, slow walk to the toilet.

I always pause at the part where my sister’s ex-husband, Brendon, came and stayed in her house. Weeks of hell when, in a stonewashed attempt, he worked towards getting to know his son and we all sat back and pretended that the moment was normal. I tried to camouflage my surprise that he didn’t arrive wearing a black cloak and carrying a scythe. I really did.

I remembered one of our last conversations. Grace and I. Just before she died. I was sitting on the end of her bed cutting grapes in half, handing them to her one at a time and we were talking. As if arranging the detail of a forthcoming holiday.

I said, ‘Bobby should live with me. I’ll move back to St Albans to be near Mum.’

‘It’s arranged – he’s going to live with his Dad. Brendon.’

‘Brendon? But Brendon doesn’t even know him. In the last three years, how often has Brendon seen him?’

‘He needs his father. I trust Brendon. Don’t forget, I cheated on him. His new wife is lovely, she is. You just haven’t bothered to get to know her.’

‘She’s an airhead. Manchester? Grace, Bobby will have to start over again. His home is here.’

‘I’ll be watching – you think I’m going to die and that’s it? I intend to watch over you all.’

‘Grace – don’t say that.’ I reached over and touched her heart. She tried to sit up and, as I helped her, she touched mine.

I couldn’t feel her heartbeat; it was a sign, but instead I said, ‘Why can’t Brendon move down here?’

‘Juliet. It’s agreed. Please? He’s a good guy. He will be a great dad and he loves Bobby. Promise me? Promise me you won’t interfere? Just promise me you will live life enough for both of us.’

She was five and a half stone when she died. It was six months and two days from the initial diagnosis of cervical cancer. I cry briefly every morning, just before I get out of bed, at the memory. Of a few days after the cremation, carrying Bobby’s things to the car and dragging him off my leg and persuading him to go live with his dad. Waving them off, to a new life in Manchester. Without his mum, without my other half, without my sister Grace.

If I had remained in that state, I would have either killed myself or someone else.

Instead, I threw my attention into my work and every day it was like finishing the London marathon for the first time. The joyous relief of getting to the end of the day without having collapsed in a heap.

If I had remained in that state, I would have either killed myself or someone else.

Instead, I threw my attention into my work and every day it was like finishing the London marathon for the first time. The joyous relief of getting to the end of the day without having collapsed in a heap. If everything and everyone had been nice and cosy, it would have been easy. I could have thrown myself off a bridge.

I went to work every day and built a barrier to anything soft. I became known for unnecessary sparring and confrontation. Generally, I won the argument, if not the friends. After losing Grace, I had to win. I constantly created an atmosphere right on the edge of ugly. It sated my mood and satisfied a need for brutality. Replicating my experience of life, just in a different setting.

For over a year, I had a boyfriend who was also Head of Human Resource. It was against both of our terms of employment to sleep with colleagues.

I didn’t care. He was so refined sometimes I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I stayed with him anyway. Did I mention he was the Head of Human Resource?

There were quite a few of us working alongside each other while concealing our fierce ambition. I was promoted to Account Director, with a small team. I wanted more. My competitors within the agency didn’t know how far I would go. How could they? You see, I had nothing to lose. I guess only those touched understand the impact of grief upon person’s moral compass. Being a woman helped. I played my feminine charm for all it was worth. I know. I enticed the staff to pick a side, my side, and help me. If you wanted to be on my team, everyone else was the enemy.

If you didn’t like it, I suggested a career change. Never to your face, always via the head of Human Resource. I veneered my approach with expense-account fuelled laughter, always paying with a company credit card.

And all of my hard work paid off. Despite vicious competition, the board promoted me to Client Service Director of the agency. My reward for screwing everyone over. Happy? I didn’t feel a thing. Nothing. I should have though, shouldn’t I? I began to relax and rather than get stuck in, I rode along on the crest of office politics.

Then my Head of Human Resources boyfriend dumped me. I won’t even bother to tell you his name. I came home from work to find my ‘emergency’ key on the table and his toothbrush gone.

Continued….

Click on the title below to download the entire book and keep reading

Second Life: Losing You Saving Me

3-in-1 Boxed Set Alert! Romance readers, it’s time to discover Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3

Last call for KND free Romance excerpt:

Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3

by Cynthia Eden

Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3: Alpha OneGuardian RangerSharpshooter
 
Text-to-Speech: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

Harlequin Intrigue brings you a collection of reader favorites from the Shadow Agents series by New York Times bestselling author Cynthia Eden. Get all three edge-of-your-seat reads, now available for the first time in one volume!

ALPHA ONE
Juliana James has never forgotten the day Logan Quinn left her heart in pieces. But if she wants to stay alive, Juliana must trust the navy SEAL to protect her from a ruthless weapons dealer. Once she is safe, Logan will have a new mission: to get another chance with the woman he can’t lose again.

GUARDIAN RANGER
Veronica Lane knows that ex-Ranger Jasper Adams is the only man who can keep her safe. Posing as a ruthless mercenary is a cover for what Jasper is really doing—hunting a killer. What will happen once Veronica discovers that everything about him is a lie except his passion for her?

SHARPSHOOTER
Gunner Ortez has been watching Sydney Sloan’s back since he save her life two years ago. Sydney knows Gunner is her only hope at completing their hostage-rescue mission. But the ex-SEAL who arouses her passion also poses the greatest risk to the secret she carries in her heart…and in her belly.

*  *  *

Free and Bargain Quality eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday – Subscribe now http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

button_subscribe

*  *  *

  And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free romance excerpt:

ALPHA ONE

The first installment in the Shadow Agents series
by NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author
Cynthia Eden

 

 

If Juliana James wants to stay alive, then she must trust navy SEAL Logan Quinn. But trusting Logan isn’t easy…he’s the man who broke her heart ten years before.

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

“You don’t deserve to die here.”

 

Juliana James looked up at the sound of the quiet voice. She couldn’t move her body much because she was still tied hand and foot to the chair in the dimly lit room. Tied with rough ropes that bit into her skin. Though she’d struggled for hours, she hadn’t been able to break free. She’d done nothing but slice open her flesh on the ropes.

 

“If you tell them…what they want to know…” He sighed. “They might let you go.”

 

Juliana swallowed and felt as if she were choking back shards of glass. How long had it been since they’d given her anything to drink? After swallowing a few more times, she managed, “I don’t know anything.” She was just trapped in a nightmare. One day, she’d been soaking up the sun on a Mexican beach, and the next—

 

Hello, hell.

 

It was a nightmare all right, and she desperately wanted to wake up from it. Ready to wake up—now.

 

John Gonzales, the man who’d been held captive with her for—what was it now? Three? Four days?—was slumped in his chair. She’d never met John until they were thrown together in this hell. They’d both been kidnapped from separate areas in Mexico. The men who’d abducted them kept coming and getting John, taking him.

 

Hurting him.

 

And she knew her time was coming.

 

“I’m not…perfect,” John’s ragged voice whispered to her. “But you…you didn’t do anything wrong… It was all your father.”

 

Her father. The not-so-honorable Senator Aaron James. She might not know who had taken her, but once her abductors had started asking their questions, Juliana had figured out fast that the abduction was payback for something the senator had done.

 

Daddy hadn’t raised a fool. Just, apparently, someone to die in his place.

 

Would he even care when he learned about what had happened to her? Or would he just hold a press conference and look appropriately saddened and grievous in front of all the cameras? She didn’t know, and that fact made her stomach knot even more.

 

Juliana exhaled slowly. “Perfect or not…” She didn’t know the things that John had done. Right then, they didn’t matter. He’d talked to her when she’d been trapped in the dark. He’d kept her sane during all of those long, terrible hours. “We’re both going to make it out of here.”

 

His rough laughter called her words a lie.

 

She’d only seen his face a few times, when the light was bright enough in the early mornings. Appearing a bit younger than her own thirty years, John had the dark good looks that had probably gotten him plenty of female attention since he was a teen.

 

Not now, though.

 

“Do you have any…regrets?” John asked her.

She saw his head tilt toward her as he waited for her response.

 

Juliana blinked against the tears that wanted to fill her eyes. Regrets? “A few.” One.

 

A pause. Then “You ever been in love, Juliana?”

 

“Once—” and in the dark, with only death waiting for her, she could admit this painful truth “—but Logan didn’t love me back.” Pity, because she’d never been able to—

 

The hinges on the door groaned as it opened. Juliana tensed, her whole body going tight with fear. John was already swearing, jerking against his binds, but…

 

But the men weren’t coming for him this time.

They were coming for her.

 

Juliana screamed.

 

Logan Quinn felt a trickle of sweat slide down his back. He didn’t move, not so much as a muscle twitch. He’d been in position for the past forty-three minutes, waiting for the go-ahead to move.

 

To storm that building and get Julie out of there.

 

Hold on, baby.

 

Not that she was his baby. Not anymore. But the minute Senator James had contacted him, asking for his help and the help of his team, Logan had known that trouble, serious trouble, had come to hunt him down.

 

Julie’s missing. You have to get her back.

 

That was all it had taken. Two sentences, and Logan had set his team up for a recovery mission in Mexico. His unit, part of the Elite Operations Division, didn’t take on just any case.

 

But for her, he’d do anything.

 

“There’s movement.” The words whispered into his ear via the comm link that all members of his recovery team used.

 

Logan barely breathed.

 

“I have a visual on the target.”

 

His heart raced faster. This was what they’d been waiting for. Movement and, hopefully…visual confirmation. They wouldn’t storm the place, not until—

“I see her. The girl’s being led down a hallway. There’s a knife at her throat.”

 

Visual confirmation.

 

Logan held his position even as fury pulsed within him. Juliana would be scared. Terrified. This was so far from the debutante balls in Mississippi that she knew. So far from the safe life she’d always wanted to lead.

 

He’d get her back to that life, then he’d walk away. Just as he had before.

 

“South side,” that same voice whispered in his ear. Male. Gunner Ortez, the SEAL sniper Uncle Sam had recruited for their black-ops division. A division most said didn’t exist.

 

They were wrong.

 

“Second door,” Gunner said, voice flat and hard as he marked the target location.

 

Finally, Logan moved. A shadow in the night, he didn’t make a single sound as he slipped into the building. To his right, Jasper Adams moved in perfect sync with him. The Ranger knew how to keep quiet just like Logan did. After all their training, stealth was second nature to them now.

 

Logan came up on the first guard, caught the scent of cigarettes and alcohol. One quick jab, and the guard’s body slumped back against him. He pulled the guy into the shadows, dropped him in the corner and signaled for Jasper to keep moving.

 

Then he heard her scream.

The blood in Logan’s body iced over. For a second, his vision seemed to go dark. Pain, fear— he could hear them both in Juliana’s scream. He rushed forward, edging fast on Jasper’s heels. Jasper knocked out the next guard, barely pausing.

 

Logan didn’t pause at all. He drew out his gun and—

 

“Please, I don’t know!” It was Juliana’s desperate voice. The voice he still heard in his dreams. Not soft with the South now, but high with terror.

 

They passed the first door. The second was just steps away. Hold on, hold on…

 

“Company!” Gunner’s terse warning blasted in his comm link. They barely had time to duck for cover before the rat-a-tat of gunfire smashed into the wall above them.

 

Made. Logan fired back, once, twice, aiming with near-instant precision. He heard a choked cry, then the thud of bodies as two men hit the ground. Jasper covered him, moving quickly, as Logan kicked open lucky door number two. With that gunfire, the men inside would either flee…

 

Or try to kill their prey.

 

Option number two damn well wasn’t going down on his watch.

 

But as Logan burst into the room, three men turned toward him. He fired at the guy on the left as the man drew his gun. The guy’s body hit the floor. Then Logan drove his fist into the face of the attacker on the right. But the one in the middle…the one with his knife pressed against Juliana’s throat…

 

Logan didn’t touch him. Not yet.

 

“Deje a la mujer ir,” Logan barked in perfect Spanish. Let the woman go.

 

Instead, the soon-to-be-dead fool cut her skin. Logan’s eyes narrowed. Wrong move.

 

“Vuelva o ella es muerta,” the guy snarled back at him. Step back or she’s dead.

 

Logan didn’t step back. He’d never been the type to retreat. His gaze darted to Juliana. She stared at him, eyes wide, body frozen. A black ski mask covered his head, so he knew she had no idea who he was. But Logan knew she’d always had a real fine grasp of the Spanish language. She understood exactly what the man had said to him.

 

“Step back.” Her lips moved almost soundlessly. “Please.” Then she repeated her plea in Spanish.

 

Still, he didn’t move. Beneath the ski mask, his jaw locked. He kept his gun up and aimed right at her attacker’s head. One shot…

 

“Vuelva o ella es muerta!” Now the guy yelled his warning and that knife dug deeper into Juliana’s pale throat.

 

Instead of backing up, Logan stepped forward. Juliana screamed—and then she started fighting. Her nails clawed at her captor’s hand, and she drew blood of her own. The guy swore and yanked back on her hair, but that move lifted the knife off her throat. Lifted it off just enough for Logan to attack.

 

He caught the man’s wrist, wrenched it back. Even as Logan yanked Juliana forward, he drove the guy’s wrist—and the knife—right back at the bastard’s own throat.

 

When the body hit the floor, Logan didn’t glance down. He pulled Juliana closer to him and tried to keep her attention off the dead men on the floor. “It’s all right,” he told her, attempting to sound soothing in the middle of hell. More gunfire echoed outside the small room. The sound was like the explosion of fireworks. The voice in his ear told him that two more men had just been taken out by Jasper. Good. The guy was clearing the way for their escape. Logan’s hands tightened on Juliana, and he said, “I’m gonna—”

 

She kneed him in the groin.

 

Logan was so caught off guard by the move that he let her go. She lunged away from him, yelling for all that she was worth.

 

“Damn it,” he growled and hissed out a breath, “I’m not here to hurt you!”

 

She’d yanked the knife out of the dead man’s throat. She came up with it clutched tightly in her white-knuckled grip. “You stay away from me!”

 

“Easy.” They didn’t have time for this. Logan knew that if he yanked up his mask and revealed his identity, she’d drop the weapon. But he had mission protocol ruling him right then. Their team was to stay covered during this rescue, until the target had been taken to the designated safe zone. No team member could afford to have his identity compromised at this site. Not until everything was secure.

 

“Back up and get out of my way,” Juliana snapped right back at him, showing the fire that had first drawn him to her years ago.

 

He hadn’t obeyed the dead guy. Did she really think he’d obey her?

 

But then Jasper leaped into the room at the same instant that Gunner barked on the comm link, “Extraction. Now.”

 

Logan caught the whiff of smoke in the air. Smoke…and the crackle of flames. Fire wasn’t part of the extraction plan.

 

“Two hostiles got away,” Jasper grunted, shifting his shoulders, and Logan wondered if he’d been hit. He’d seen the Ranger take three bullets before and keep fighting. One hit wouldn’t slow him down—Jasper wouldn’t let it slow him down. “And I think those fleeing hombres want to make sure we don’t get out alive with her.”

 

No, they wouldn’t want her escaping. Too bad for them. Logan spun for the window. Using his weapon and his fist, he broke the glass and shattered the old wooden frame. He glanced down at the street below. Second story. He could handle that drop in his sleep, but he’d have to take care with Juliana.

 

“Clear,” Gunner said in his ear, and Logan knew the guy was still tracking the team’s movement. “Go now…’cause that fire is coming hard for you.”

 

Juliana’s captors had probably rigged the place for a fast burn. The better to leave no evidence—or witnesses—behind.

 

Logan grabbed Juliana’s hand. She yelped. He hated that sound, hated that he’d had to hurt her, but now wasn’t the time for explanations.

 

The knife clattered to the floor.

 

Now was the time to get the hell out of there. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close against his body. “You’ll need to hold tight,” he told her, voice low and growling.

 

But Juliana shook her head at him. “I’m not going out that window. I have to—”

 

“You have to live,” Jasper said from his post at the door. “That fire’s coming, ma’am, and you need to get through that window now.”

 

She blinked. In the faint light, Logan saw the same dark chocolate eyes he remembered. Her face still as pretty. “Fire?” Then she sucked in a deep breath, and Logan knew she’d finally caught the scent of smoke and flames. “No!” She tried to rip out of his arms and lunge for the door.

 

Logan just hauled her right back against him. Now that he had her safe in his arms, he wasn’t about to let her get away.

 

“Area’s clear,” Gunner said in Logan’s earpiece. “Extract now.”

 

Logan tried to position Juliana for their drop. The woman twisted against him, moving like a slithering snake as she fought to wrench back and break free. “I’m not leaving!” she snapped at him. “Not without John!”

 

Who?

 

“Extract.” Gunner’s order.

 

“Stop fighting,” Logan told her when she twisted again. “We’re the good guys, and we came to take you to safety.”

 

She stilled for a moment. Heaving a deep breath, she said, “Me…and John.”

 

Seriously, who the hell was John?

 

“He’s back there.” Her hand lifted and one trembling finger pointed to the doorway. The doorway that was currently filling with smoke. “We have to get him out.”

 

No other civilians were in the building. Only Diego Guerrero’s killers. Logan’s team members were pulling back and—

 

“I’m not leaving without him!”

 

 

An explosion rocked the building. Juliana fell against Logan’s chest.

 

Jasper staggered. “Go time,” Logan heard him say.

 

And yeah, it was. Keeping a hold on Juliana, Logan tapped his receiver. “Is there another civilian here?” He had to be sure. He wouldn’t leave an innocent to burn.

 

He motioned for Jasper to take the leap out. He had Juliana; there was no need for the other agent to stay any longer. Jasper yanked out a cable from his pack and quickly set up an escape line. In seconds, he began to lower his body to the ground.

 

“Negative,” Gunner responded instantly. “Now move before your butt gets fried.”

 

Gunner wouldn’t make a mistake. He and Sydney Sloan had the best intel there was. No way would they send the team in without knowledge of another innocent in the perimeter.

 

Juliana blinked up at him. “Y-your voice…”

 

Aw, damn. He’d lost most of his Southern accent over the years, but every now and then, those Mississippi purrs would slip into his voice. Now wasn’t a good time for that slip.

 

“You’re goin’ out the window…” Another explosion shook the building. Her captors were packing some serious firepower. Definitely don’t want her getting away alive. “Your choice—you goin’ through awake or asleep?”

“There’s a man trapped back there! He’s tied up—he’ll burn to death.”

 

She wasn’t listening to him. Fine. He grabbed her, tossed her over his shoulder, held tight and dropped down on the line that Jasper had secured for him.

 

By the time she’d gotten any breath to scream, they were on the ground.

 

“Take her,” Logan ordered, shoving Juliana into Jasper’s arms. “Get her out of here.” She was the mission. Her safety was their number one priority.

 

But…

 

He’ll burn to death.

 

Logan wasn’t leaving a man behind.

 

He grabbed the cable and started hauling his butt back up into the fire.

 

“What the hell is he thinking?”

 

Juliana stared around her with wide eyes. She was surrounded by two men, both big, strong, towering well over her five foot eight inches. They had guns held in their hands, and they both wore black ski masks. Just like the other guy. The guy that, for a moment, had sounded exactly like—

 

“Alpha One,” the hulking shadow to her right said into his wrist. “Get back here before I have to drag you out of that inferno.” Wait, no, he wasn’t muttering into his wrist. He was talking into some kind of microphone.

 

Alpha One? That had to be the guy who’d jumped out of the window—with her in his arms. Her heart had stopped when he’d leaped out and she’d felt the rush of air on her body. Then she’d realized…he’d been holding on to some kind of rope. They hadn’t crashed into the cement. He’d lowered her, gotten her to safety, then gone back into the fire.

 

“There’s someone else inside… John…” Juliana whispered. The fire was raging now. Blowing out the bottom windows of that big, thick building. Her hell.

 

They were at least two hundred feet away from the fire now. Encased in shadows. Hidden so well. But…

 

But she couldn’t stop shaking. These men had saved her, and she’d just sent one of them right back to face the flames.

 

She couldn’t even see the men’s eyes as they glanced at her. The sky was so dark, starless. The only illumination came from the flames.

 

Then she heard a growl. A faint purr…and the man to her right yanked her back as a vehicle slid from the shadows. Juliana hadn’t even seen the van approaching. No headlights had cut through the night.

 

The van’s back doors flew open. “Let’s go!” a woman’s sharp voice ordered.

 

The men pretty much threw Juliana into the van.

“Where’s Alpha One?” the woman demanded. Juliana’s gaze flew to her. The woman had short hair, a delicate build, but Juliana couldn’t really discern anything else about her.

 

The man climbing in behind Juliana pointed to the blaze.

 

“Damn it.” The woman’s fist slammed into the dashboard.

 

But as Juliana glanced back at the fire, she saw a figure running toward them. His head was down, his body moving fluidly as he leaped across that field.

 

The van started to accelerate. Juliana grabbed on to the side of the vehicle. Were they just going to leave him? “Wait!”

 

“We can’t,” the woman gritted out as she glanced back from the driver’s seat. “That fire will attract every eye in the area. We need to be out of here yesterday.”

 

But—

 

But the guy was nearly at the van. One of the guys with her reached out a hand, and her “hero” caught it as he leaped toward them. When he landed on the floor of the van, the whole vehicle shuddered.

 

Juliana’s heart nearly pounded right out of her chest. Her hero was alone. “John?”

 

He shook his head.

 

“Logan, what the hell?” the woman up front snapped. “You were supposed to be point on extraction,

not going back to—”

 

Logan?

 

A dull roar began to fill Juliana’s ears. There were thousands of Logans in the world. Probably dozens in the military.

 

Just because her Logan had left her ten years ago that didn’t mean…

 

“There was no sign of another hostage,” the guy—Logan—said, and his voice was deep and rumbling.

 

A shiver worked over her.

 

Juliana sat on the floor of the van, arms wrapped around her knees. She wanted to see his eyes, needed to, but it was far too dark inside the vehicle.

 

One of the other men leaned out and yanked the van doors closed. The sound of those metal doors shutting sounded like a scream.

 

“’Course there wasn’t another hostage!” This came from the woman. “She was the only civilian there. I told you that. Don’t go doubting my intel.”

 

He grunted as he levered himself up. Then he reached for Juliana.

 

She jerked away from him. “Take off that mask.” She could see now. Barely.

 

He pulled it up and tossed it aside. Not much better. She had a fast impression of close-cropped hair and a strong jaw. Without more light, there was nothing else to see.

She needed to see more.

 

“You’re safe now,” he told her, and his words were little more than a growl. “They can’t hurt

you anymore.”

 

His hand lifted, and his fingertips traced over her cheek. Her eyes closed at his touch and Juliana’s breath caught because… His touch is familiar.

 

His fingers slid down her cheek. Gentle. Light. It was a caress she’d felt before.

 

There were some things a woman never forgot—one was the touch of a man who’d left her with a broken heart.

 

This was her Logan. No, not hers. He never had been. “Thank you,” she whispered because he’d gotten her out of that nightmare, but she pulled away from his touch. Touching Logan Quinn had always been its own hell for her.

 

The van rushed along in the night. She didn’t know where they were heading. A heavy numbness seemed to have settled over her. John hadn’t made it out.

 

I’m not…perfect.

 

“We’re the good guys,” one of the other men said, his voice drawling slightly with the flow of Texas in his words. “Your father sent us after you. Before you know it, you’ll be home safe and sound. You’ll be—”

 

Rat-a-tat.

Juliana opened her mouth to scream as gunfire ripped into the vehicle, but in the next instant, she found herself thrown totally onto the floor of the van. Logan’s heavy body covered hers, and he trapped her beneath him.

 

“Get us out of here, Syd!” Texas yelled.

 

Juliana could barely breathe. Logan’s chest shoved down against hers, and the light stubble on his cheek brushed against her face.

 

“Hold on,” he told her, breathing the words into her ear. “Just a few more minutes…”

 

Air rushed into the van. Someone had opened the back door! Were they crazy? Why not just invite the shooters to aim at them and—

 

Three fast blasts of thunder—gunfire. Only, those shots came from the van. The men weren’t just waiting to be targets. They were taking out the shooters after them.

 

Three bullets. Then…silence.

 

“Got ’em,” Texas said just seconds before she heard the crash. A screech of metal and the shattering of glass.

 

The van lurched to the left, seeming to race away even faster.

 

Juliana looked up. Her eyes had adjusted more to the darkness now. She could almost see Logan’s features above her. Almost.

 

“Uh, Logan, you can probably get off her now,” that same drawling voice mocked.

But Logan didn’t move.

 

And Juliana was still barely breathing.

 

“Missed you.”

 

The words were so faint, she wasn’t even sure that she’d heard them. Actually, no, she couldn’t have heard them. Imagined them, yes. That had to be it. Because there was no way Logan had actually spoken. Logan Quinn was the big, strong badass who’d left her without a backward glance. He wouldn’t say something as sappy as that line.

 

Backbone, girl. Backbone. She’d survived her hell; no way would she break for a man now. “Are we safe?”

 

She felt, more than saw, his nod. “For now.”

 

Right. Well, she’d thought they were safe before, until the gunfire had blasted into the back of the van. But Texas had taken out the bad guys who’d managed to follow them. So that had to buy them at least a few minutes. And the way the woman was driving…

 

Eat our dust, jerks.

 

“Then, if we’re safe…” Juliana brought her hands up and shoved against his chest. Like rock. Some things never changed. “Get off me, Logan, now.”

 

He rose slowly, pulling her with him and then positioning her near the front of the van. Juliana was trembling—her body shaking with fear, fury and an adrenaline burst that she knew would fade soon. When it faded, she’d crash.

 

“Once we get out of Mexico, they’ll stop hunting you,” Logan said.

 

Juliana swallowed. Her throat still felt too parched, as if she’d swallowed broken glass, but now didn’t seem the time to ask for water. Maybe once they stopped fleeing through the night. Yes, that would be the better moment. “And…when…exactly…do we get out of Mexico?”

 

No one spoke. Not a good sign.

 

“In a little over twenty-four hours,” Logan answered.

 

What? No way. They could drive out of Mexico faster than that. Twenty-four hours didn’t even make—

 

“Guerrero controls the Federales near the border,” Logan told her, his voice flat. “No way do we get to just waltz out of this country with you.”

 

“Then…how?”

 

“We’re gonna fly, baby.”

 

Baby. She stiffened. She was not his baby, and if the guy hadn’t just saved her, she’d be tearing into him. But a woman had to be grateful…for now.

 

Without Logan and his team—and who, exactly, were they?—she’d be sampling the torture techniques of those men in that hellhole.

 

“We’ll be going out on a plane that sneaks right past any guards who are waiting. Guerrero’s paid cops won’t even know when we vanish.”

 

Sounded good, except for the whole waiting-for-twenty-four-hours part. “And until then? What do we do?”

 

She felt a movement in the dark, as if Logan were going to reach out and touch her, but he stopped. After a tense moment, a moment in which every muscle in her body tightened, he said, “We keep you alive.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Her scream woke him. Logan jerked awake at the sound, his heart racing. He’d fallen asleep moments before. Gunner and Jasper were on patrol duty around their temporary safe house. He jumped to his feet and raced toward the small “bedroom” area they’d designated for Juliana.

 

He threw open the door. “Julie!”

 

She was twisting on the floor, tangled in the one blanket they’d given to her. At his call, her eyes flew open. For a few seconds, she just stared blindly at him. Logan hurried to her. She wasn’t seeing him. Trapped in a nightmare, probably remembering the men who’d held her—

 

He reached out to her.

 

Juliana shuddered and her eyes squeezed shut. “Sorry.”

 

His hands clenched. The better not to grab her and hold her as tight as he could. But this was a mission. Things weren’t supposed to get personal between them.

 

Even though his body burned just looking at her.

 

Faint rays of sunlight trickled through the boarded-up window. Sydney had done reconnaissance for them and picked this safe house when they’d been planning the rescue. Secluded, the abandoned property was the perfect temporary base for them. They could hear company approaching from miles away. Since the property was situated on high land, they had the tactical advantage. They also had the firepower ready to knock out any attackers who might come their way.

 

And with that faint light, finally, he could see Juliana. She’d changed a lot over the past ten years. Her long mane was gone. Now the blond hair framed her heart-shaped face. Still as beautiful, to him, with her wide, dark eyes and full lips. She was still curved in all the right places. He’d always loved her lush hips and breasts. The woman could—

 

“Stop staring at me,” she whispered as she sat up.

 

Hell. He had been staring. Like a hungry wolf who wanted a bite so badly he could taste it. Taste her.

 

She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Is John dead?”

 

Logan didn’t let any expression cross his face. Here, he had to be careful. The team wasn’t ready to reveal all the intel they were still gathering. Another reason we aren’t slipping out of Mexico yet. They could have gotten her out faster, but his team didn’t like to leave loose ends behind. So a twenty-four-hour delay was standard protocol for them.

 

“I searched down that hallway,” he told her, and he’d found the room they’d been holding her in. Seen the ropes on the floor near not one, but two chairs. John had been there. Only, no one had been in the room by the time Logan got there. “I didn’t find another hostage.”

 

“They got him out?”

 

He didn’t want to lie to her. “Maybe.” He’d been trained at deception for so long, sometimes he wondered what the truth was.

 

He took a slow step toward her. She didn’t flinch away. That was something. “Did they…hurt you?”

 

She touched her cheek. He could see the faint bruise on her flesh. “Not as much as they hurt John. They’d come in and take him away, and later, I’d hear his screams.”

 

Another slow step, almost close enough to touch. “So they took you, but they never questioned you?”

 

“At first, they did.” She licked her lips. Now wasn’t the time to notice that her lips were as sexy as ever. It wasn’t the time, but he still noticed. He’d always noticed too much with her.

 

Not for me. Why did he have a problem getting that fact through his head?

 

They were thrown together at the moment, but once they got back to the United States, they’d be going their separate ways. Nothing had changed for him. The senator’s daughter wasn’t going to wind up with the son of a killer.

 

And now he was a killer, too.

 

Logan glanced down at his hands. No blood to see, but he knew it stained his hands. After all these years, there was no way to ever get his hands clean. Too much death marked him.

 

He was good at killing. His old man had been right about that. They’d both been good…

 

Too good.

 

Logan sucked in a deep breath. Focus. The past was buried, just like his father. “So when they were…questioning you…” The team needed this info and he had to ask. “Just what did they want to know?”

 

Her chin lifted. “They wanted to know about my father.” She paused. “What did he do this time?” Pain whispered beneath her words. Logan knew that Juliana had long ago dropped the rose-colored glasses when it came to her father.

 

As for what the guy had done this time…

 

Sold out his country, traded with an arms dealer, took blood money and thought that he’d get away scot-free. A normal day’s work for the senator. “I don’t know,” Logan said. The lies really were too easy. With her, it should have been harder.

 

She blinked. “You do.” She stood slowly and came close to him. Juliana tilted her head back as she looked up at him. At six foot three, he towered over her smaller frame. “But you’re not telling me.”

 

Being the guy’s daughter didn’t give her clearance. Logan was on Uncle Sam’s leash. The job was to get her home safely, not blow an operation that had been running in place for almost two years.

 

“What did you tell them about the senator?” Just how much did she know about his dark deeds?

 

“Nothing.” Her eyes were on his, dark and gorgeous, just like he remembered. “I didn’t tell them a thing about my father. I knew that if I talked they would just kill me once they had the information they needed.”

 

Yeah, they would have. He hated that bruise on her cheek. “So you didn’t talk, and they just left you alone?”

Her story just didn’t make sense. Unless Guerrero had been planning to use her as a bargaining tool and the guy had needed to keep her alive.

 

For a little longer, anyway.

 

Juliana shook her head and her hair slid against her chin. “When you found me…they’d taken me into the torture room.” She laughed, the sound brittle and so at odds with the soft laughter from his memory. “They were going to make me talk then. The same way they made John talk.”

 

But they’d waited four days. Not the standard M.O. for Guerrero’s group. All the signs were pointing where he didn’t want them to point. “This John…what did he look like?”

 

“Tall, dark…late twenties. He kept me sane, kept me talking all through those long hours.”

 

Yes, Logan just bet he had. But “tall and dark” could be anyone. He needed more info than that.

 

“You get a good look at his face?” Logan asked.

 

She nodded.

 

He offered her what he hoped was an easy smile. “Good enough that you could probably talk to a sketch artist back in the States? Get us a clear picture?”

 

A furrow appeared between her eyes.

 

“We’ll need to search the missing-person’s database,” he told her. Liar, liar. “A close image will help us find out exactly who John was.”

 

She nodded and her lips twisted. “I can do better than meet with your sketch artist.” Her shoulders moved in a little roll. “Give me a pencil and a piece of paper, and I’ll draw John’s image for you.”

 

He tried not to let his satisfaction show. Juliana was an artist; he knew that. Sure, she usually worked with oils, but he remembered a time when she’d always carried a sketchbook with her.

 

She’d always been able to draw anything or anyone…in an instant.

 

“We’ll want sketches of every man or woman you saw while you were being held.”

 

Now her shoulders straightened. “Done.”

 

Hell, yes. This could be just the break they needed.

 

“I want these men caught. I want them stopped.”

 

So did he, and Logan wasn’t planning on backing off this mission, not until Guerrero was locked up.

 

The mission wasn’t over. In fact, it might just be getting started.

 

He turned away from her. “Try to get some more sleep.” They could take care of the sketches soon enough. For the moment, he needed to go talk with his team to tell them about his suspicions.

 

But she touched him. Her hand wrapped around his arm and every muscle in Logan’s body tightened. “Why did you come for me? Why you, Logan?”

 

He glanced down at her hand. Touching him was dangerous. She should have remembered that.

He’d always enjoyed the feel of her flesh against his far too much.

 

With Juliana, only with her, he’d never been able to hold back.

 

Maybe that was one of the reasons he’d run so far. He knew just how dangerous he could be to her.

 

“The senator came to our unit.” Yes, that was his voice already hardening with desire—just from her touch. “He wanted you brought to safety.”

 

“Your unit?” Her fingers tightened on him.

 

He gave a brief nod. “We’re not exactly on the books.” As far as the rest of the world was concerned, the EOD, or Elite Operations Division, didn’t exist. The group, a hybrid formed of recruited navy SEALs, Rangers and intelligence officers from the FBI and CIA, was sent in for the most covert missions. Hostage retrieval. Extreme and unconventional warfare. They were the ones to take lethal, direct attacks…because some targets had to be taken out, no matter the cost.

 

“Does your unit—your team—have a name?”

 

Not an official one. “We’re called the Shadow Agents.” Their code name because their goal was to move as softly as a shadow. To stalk their prey and complete the mission with a minimum amount of exposure.

 

They always got the job done.

“My father really came to you? How did he even know you were—” Her hand fell away, and he missed her touch. Close enough to kiss, but never close enough to take.

 

It was the story of his life.

 

“He didn’t come to me for help.” The senator had nearly doubled over when he’d seen Logan sitting across the desk from him. “He came to my division, the EOD—the Elite Ops Division.” Because the FBI had sent him there. The senator still had power and pull in D.C., enough connections to get an appointment with the EOD.

 

Juliana shook her head. “I didn’t think he’d try to get me back.” A whisper of the lost girl she’d been, so many years ago, trembled in her words. Lost…but not clueless.

 

She knew her father too well. The mission to Mexico hadn’t just been about her. And if Juliana knew the full truth about the trade-off that had been made in that quiet D.C. office, she’d realize that she’d been betrayed by them both, again.

 

As if the first betrayal hadn’t been hard enough for him to stomach. For years, he’d woken to find himself reaching for her and realizing that she’d forever be out of his hands.

 

But she’s not out of reach right now.

 

He turned fully toward her, almost helpless, and caught her chin in his fingers. “I was getting you back.” Logan recognized his mistake. He was letting this case get personal, and that was the last thing he should be doing.

 

Hands off. Get her on the plane. Deliver her home.

 

Walk away.

 

But it had been so long since he’d held her. Even longer since he’d kissed her. One moment of weakness…would it really hurt? Would it really—

 

She rose onto her toes and kissed him.

 

Yes.

 

Logan let his control go. For that moment with her, he just let go. Logan’s arms closed around her as he pulled her against him. Her breasts pushed against his chest, and he could feel the tight points of her nipples. She had perfect breasts. He remembered them so well. Pretty and pink and just right for his mouth.

 

And her mouth…nothing was better than her mouth. At twenty, she’d tasted of innocence. Now she tasted of need.

 

Seduction, at that moment, from her, wasn’t what he’d expected. But it sure was what he wanted. His hands tightened around her, and he held her as close as he could. His tongue thrust against hers. The moan, low in her throat, was a sound he’d never forgotten. Arousal hardened his body as her hands slid under his shirt and her nails raked across his flesh.

 

She was hot. Wild.

But this was wrong.

 

So why wasn’t he stopping? Why was he putting his hands on her curving hips and urging her up against the flesh that ached for her? Why was he pushing her back against the wall so that he could trap her there with his body?

 

Because I need her.

 

The addiction was just as strong as ever, just as dangerous to them both.

 

He jerked his head up and stared down at her. Juliana’s breath panted out. Her lips were red, swollen from his mouth. He wanted to kiss her again. One hot minute wasn’t close to making up for the past ten years.

 

A taste, when he was starving for the full course.

 

Get her naked. Take her.

 

She’d been through hell. She didn’t need this. Him.

 

He sucked in a sharp breath and tasted her. “This can’t happen,” Logan said, voice growling.

 

At his words, the hunger, the passion that had been on her face and in her eyes cooled almost instantly.

 

“Julie—”

 

But she shoved against him. “Sorry.”

 

He wasn’t. Not for the kiss, anyway. For being a jerk and turning away? Yes.

 

 

But making love then, with his teammates in the next room? He wouldn’t do that to her.

 

“I don’t even know what I’m doing.” She walked away from him and didn’t look back. “I don’t want this. I don’t want—”

 

She broke off, but Logan stiffened because he could too easily finish her sentence.

 

You.

 

Adrenaline. The afterburn. He understood it, had been through enough battles and enough desperate hours after them to know what it was like when the spike of adrenaline filled your blood and then burned away.

 

He headed for the door and kept his shoulders straight, like the good soldier he was supposed to be. “You should try to get some more sleep.”

 

They weren’t out of the woods yet. Until they were back in the United States, until death wasn’t hanging over her head, he would be her shadow.

 

That was his job.

 

Since they’d been forced together, he figured she deserved the warning he’d give her, and he’d tell her only once. “If I get you in my arms again like that…” His hand closed around the old doorknob, tightened, almost broke it off. Logan forced himself to exhale. If I get you in my arms again… He glanced back and found her wide, dark eyes on his. “I won’t stop. I played the gentleman this time.”

 

Right. Gentleman. Because he knew so much about that bit.

Her eyes said the same.

 

His jaw clenched. “I’ll be damned if I do it again. You offer,” he warned, “and I’ll take.”

 

Not the smooth words a woman needed to hear after her ordeal in captivity, but there wasn’t much more he could say. So he left. While he still could.

 

And of course, Jasper was waiting for him in the other room. The guy lifted a blond brow. His face, one of those pretty-boy faces that always fooled the enemy, hinted at his amusement. “Now I get it,” he drawled.

 

Angry, aroused, close to desperate, Logan barely bit back the crude retort that rose to his lips. But Jasper was a friend, a teammate.

 

“You’re always looking for the blondes with dark eyes,” Jasper teased as he tapped his chin. “Wherever we go, you usually seem to hook up with one.”

 

He was right.

 

Jasper smirked. “Now I know why.” The briefest pause as he studied Logan. “How do they all compare with the original model?”

 

Logan glared at his friend. There is no comparison. Instead of responding to Jasper, Logan stalked off to trade out for his guard shift.

 

Senator Aaron James stared down at the gun in his hands. Things weren’t supposed to end this way. Not for him. He’d had such big plans.

 

 

Easy money. The perfect life. So much power.

 

And everything was falling apart, slipping away.

 

The phone on his desk rang. His private line. Jaw clenching, he reached for the receiver. “J-James.” He hated the tremble in his voice. He wasn’t supposed to be afraid. Everyone else was supposed to fear him.

 

Once, they had.

 

Until he’d met Diego Guerrero. Then he’d learned a whole new meaning of fear.

 

“She’s dead.” The voice was low, taunting. No accent. Just cold. Deadly.

 

Diego.

 

Aaron’s hand clenched around the receiver. “Juliana wasn’t part of this.”

 

“You made her part of it.”

 

His gaze dropped to the gun. “She’s not dead.” He’d gotten the intel, knew that Juliana had been rescued. The price for that rescue had been so high.

 

His life.

 

“You think this will stop me?” Laughter. “I’ll hunt her down. I’ll get what I want.”

 

Diego and his men never stopped. Never. They’d once burned a whole village to the ground in order to send a message to rivals. And I thought I could control him? Perspiration slicked Aaron’s palms. “I made the deals for you. The weapons were transferred. We’re clear.”

More laughter. “No, we’re not. But we will be, once I get back the evidence you’ve been stashing.”

 

Aaron’s heart stopped.

 

“Did you think I didn’t know about that? How else would you have gotten the agents to come for her? You made a trade, didn’t you, James?”

 

“She’s my daughter.” He hadn’t been able to let her just die. Once, she’d run to him, smiling, with her arms open. I love you, Daddy. So long ago. He’d wrecked their life together. Thrown it all away but…

 

I wasn’t letting her die.

 

“I want the evidence.”

 

He’d tried to be so careful. He’d written down the names, the dates of all the deals. He’d gotten recordings and created a safety net for himself.

 

But now he was realizing that he’d never be safe. Not from Guerrero.

 

“I’ll get the evidence.” A deadly promise from his caller. “I’ll get you, and I’ll kill her.”

 

The phone line went dead.

 

Aaron swallowed once, twice, trying to relieve the dryness in his throat. Things had been going fine with Guerrero until…I got greedy.

 

So he’d taken a little extra money, just twenty million dollars. It had seemed so easy. Sneak a little money away from each deal. Aaron had considered the cash to be a…finder’s fee, of sorts.

He’d found the ones who wanted the weapons. He’d set up the deals.

 

Didn’t he deserve a bit of a bonus payment for his work? He’d thought so. But then Guerrero had found out. Guerrero had wanted the money back. When Guerrero started making his demands, Aaron had threatened to use the evidence he had against the arms dealer…

 

My mistake. Aaron now realized what a fool he’d been. You couldn’t bluff against the man called El Diablo. The devil would never back down.

Click here to download the entire book:

Cynthia Eden Shadow Agents Series Books 1-3

*  *  *

Need More Romance in Your Life? We Got Your Fix ;)

Free and Bargain romance eBooks delivered straight to your email everyday! Subscribe now! http://www.bookgorilla.com/kcc

BookGorilla-logo-small

Kindle Nation Keeps Giving Back to Our Readers With a Brand New Chance to Win a Kindle Fire HD 7 or Kindle Voyage! Brought to you by Goddess Born by Kari Edgren

Scroll down to enter… and improve your chances to win by referring friends!

* * * * *

Goddess Born

by Kari Edgren
Goddess Born
4.5 stars – 57 Reviews
Text-to-Speech: Enabled

Here’s the set-up:

To love is forbidden. To trust is deadly.

Descended from the Celtic goddess Brigid, Selah Kilbrid is bound by immortal law to serve humankind. But as the last Goddess Born in the New World, she must conceal her power to heal or risk being charged as a witch. For eighteen years, Selah safely navigates the narrow gap between duty and self preservation — until the day a prominent minister uncovers her secret. Already tempted by her large estate, he soon covets her power and demands marriage in exchange for his silence.

Terrified, Selah flees to Philadelphia where she strikes a deal with an arrogant stranger. It doesn’t matter that she suspects Henry Alan harbors his own dark secrets. Once he agrees to the scheme, Selah refuses to look back. But as unseen forces move against her, she’s unsure which poses the greatest danger–a malignant shadow closing in from outside or the fire that threatens to consume her heart.

 

* * * * *

Enter Here to Win your choice of a new
Kindle Fire HD 7 or Kindle Voyage!

https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/G/01/kindle/dp/2013/KT/kt-slate-01-lg._V319829345_.jpgTo be eligible for the current drawing, complete the form below. This is your official entry and automatic sign-up for the Kindle Nation Daily email list.

If you already are a BookGorilla and KND member then you are all set! Otherwise upon completion, you will see a link that will take you to sign-up and customize your BookGorilla account.

You will also receive a personal link that will allow you to earn bonus entries. Share your personal link and each person that signs up for the contest through your link will earn you an additional entry. A win-win for all!https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/G/01/kindle/dp/2014/KI/ki-slate-01-lg._V325437379_.jpg

The KND Digest is a daily newsletter that highlights free and quality discount books, apps, tips, and tricks, while BookGorilla offers a daily alert with bestsellers and books you already want to read at prices you never dreamed possible. Another win for you!

One qualified winner will be selected and announced the day after the end of the weekly sweepstakes. To win the sweepstakes, you must be a subscriber to BOTH the BookGorilla and Kindle Nation Daily email lists.

Click here to read the Sweepstakes Rules!

Click here next Wednesday afternoon to see who won!