Dimensional Attraction: ACE

Ace Redford had seconds to slide through the alley before the chairlift hit the pavement and blocked his path. The damn antiquated chairs should be outlawed. No one used them anymore with hovercraft making the flight safer and convenient. Scents of raw decaying sprouts and the pesticide used to kill them penetrated his nostrils. He blew out the stink and scanned the end of the alley for the thief.

In the distance the bandit bumped a kid off his transport, climbed on board and sped south on Conjunction Avenue. Ace stopped, sliding in the muck, then pivoted to run in the opposite direction. If he could catch the bridge before it closed for the night, he’d surprise and intercept the criminal. He couldn’t understand how he or she moved so quickly through the streets laden by the artifacts pilfered from his museum. He/she was clever enough to hijack the hoverboard.

Damn, the bridge lifted and was near opening. Passengers couldn’t leave the city, except by water transport. Invisible walls erected, protecting the east side of the metropolis from invaders. Had the theft made it across the divide? He ran up the vertical slope and caught the bridge’s border. He glanced over the ledge and scanned the perimeter. His fingers ached from holding the razor sharp edge. He had seconds before the security cameras reported him, maybe less before the metal cut through his skin.

No hoverboards in sight. However, at the end of Conjunction was a shock of lightning. He dropped. At the bottom, he sprinted. The block grew longer the closer he got to the intersection. He stopped several feet from the aberration.

Unbelievable. In front of him was a kaleidoscope of patterns. The forms whirled faster than the tornado vortex he’d witnessed that spring season. The rounded frame of the hoverboard and a fluttering of a black shirt vanished inside the white center. The manifestation closed inside itself, disappearing in a spark of silver.

Sirens screamed in the background behind him. Unable to absorb what had happened he ran, taking Conjunction to Plateau. Huffing short breaths, he pressed his palm to the security entry pad and slipped through the backdoor of Zander.

He leaned against the door, placed his hands on his knees, bent and took deep cleansing breaths. A quick scan of the rebooted museum security system proved nothing else had been disturbed, except what had been taken a few minutes earlier. Upright again, he went into his office, dropped into his desk chair and queued the tape. The theft had managed to disable the obvious cameras, but as with most people failed to consider a back-up defense. Concealed in the Michelangelo replica of Creazione di Adamo was a camera. The video, hidden within the red, became his point of humor. The background shape around the God and angel figures was the brain and the perfect hiding place for a memory device.

Within seconds the nimble theft appeared. He halted the window and enlarged the image, zooming in on the head. He exhaled and pushed his back into the chair. Kyrja. The babe he’d met last week at the Governor’s Gala. Ace scrubbed his hands over his face, bristling the chin hairs. He’d brought her to his museum, intending to impress her with his collectibles and eventually get her into the sack.

He’d done this. She had an unquenchable thirst for information. Combined with her bottomless knowledge of artifacts made her more attractive. His desire to get closer to her became his Achilles heel.

He dug his cellphone out of his trouser pocket, swiped to contacts, and selected Professor Dove’s number. On the fifth ring he considered leaving a message, but time might be imperative.

“Hello,” the rusty monotone rattled through the line.

“Malcolm, it’s Ace. I need your help.” Ace sped through the other images of Kyrja, analyzing her moves and determining her tells.

“It’s midnight. Can it wait until the morning?” Bed covers rustled in the background.

“Who is it?” A feminine voice. He had company.


“One question.” Ace halted the slide of Kyrja breaking into the key’s lockbox. Her gaze moved rapidly along the floor, no doubt checking the circuitry for a flaw.

“Go,” Malcolm murmured.

“At the end of Conjunction I saw a swirling twister that sucked in a hoverboard and…”

“What?” Malcolm’s voice firmed. Ace imagined him sitting upright in bed.

He swallowed. “Kyrja.”

“The girl you’ve talked about for days? The one you didn’t get a last name or address and has a wart on her lip?”

Ace clenched his teeth. “Yes. It’s a beauty mark.” He shifted his jaws. “What was it? The tornado thing?”

Malcolm hissed. “Without more, I’d guess a vortex.”

“Where?” The female tone insisted.

“Are you at home?” Malcolm rushed the words.

Ace glanced at the computer screen. “Yes, downstairs in the museum.”

“We’ll be right over. Draw an image of what you saw,” Malcolm said.

“Who is we?”

The call ended.

Ace captured the image of Kyrja and saved it to his desktop then opened his web browser and typed in “vortex”.





jj Keller

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Dimensional Attraction

Kyrja Merchant ran, dodging and weaving around the security poles lining the street. Her rapid breathing caused her lungs to burn. Full pockets clanked, giving away her position. Even over the clamor, behind her boots clapped against the concrete. The guy she’d stolen from had stayed on her heels.

Twelve more lengths and she’d reach the portal. She peered over her shoulder. The angry owner gripped a laser pistol in his left hand. His straight blond hair fell across his forehead. If he drew closer she’d see the determination in his piercing indigo-blue eyes.

She drew a deep breath and picked up her pace.

The last time she’d ventured through the time dimension, she’d bumped into him. On that trip, he hadn’t recognized her in her retro Forties disguise. She’d gotten to know all of his muscles and curves. His touches and her desire got them to the bed, but the timing was wrong. Her need to rush to a closing portal halted the intimacy. She went away with a keen sense of his essence and his name, Ace Redford.

At home, she’d researched the name Ace, which meant noble or in Latin, first in luck. Today, her guy had every intention of getting lucky and catching her and reclaiming the artifacts she’d stolen from the Zander Museum of Antiquities.

He wasn’t getting them. She needed the relics in order to pay her mortgage for the month. Her dealer especially wanted the orb tucked away in her coin pocket. Tariff wouldn’t declare why he had such urgency for the object, but the gleam in his eyes gave her bargaining power…that is if she made it across the divide. In her mind she could feel Ace’s breath on her neck.

She detoured into Vagrant Alley. A kid using a hoverboard skated near the end. Three seconds away. She glanced behind her. Ace rounded the corner. The ten-story buildings lining the alley pushed in, making her queasy. She took a deeper breath. I hate hoverboards.

Ahead, a lift pull dangled. Kyrja evaluated where the elevator was positioned, calculated the time the chair would push down and block the alley. She pulled the chain to call the outside elevator chair from the fifth floor and kept hustling. She hoped it’d arrive in time to block Ace’s progress.

The boy on the hoverboard paused at the intersection. Kyrja edged to his side, shoved him off the board and slid her stomach on top of the craft. She gripped the sides, directed the transport higher in the air and turned south. Five more minutes and she’d enter the spiral and return home, to her time dimension.





jj Keller

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Romantic, but Relationship Avoider, Ericka Gilmore

Mystic Love: characterization of Ericka.

Ericka Gilmore ached for a special love. Hidden deep down, for a brief insane moment, she dreamed of a husband, children, and pets. A perfect family. She came to her senses and shook off the unlikeliness. Love she could do, but engagement leading toward commitment…no. Forever wasn’t in her genetic code.

Men came in all shapes, sizes and personalities (some strange), and she always gravitated toward the wrong guy. None of her lovers progressed past the eventual clash of vow or not to vow. After a short fling with a ghost, who-like other males before left without a word, she found a loophole.

Cast a spell and bring forth a supernatural lover. She’d have constant romance without the messy entanglements of a relationship. In addition, the women of her family were cursed.

She convinces her BFF, Jacey, to chant a pricey abracadabra incantation. The result was a window slamming shut and lights flickering—possibly due to an approaching storm.

Jacey tried to dissuade her from continuing down witchy lane; but she had too much to lose.

The expression on her friend’s face …to repeat a cliché, ‘said it all’. She’d go on a date with one of her friends. Date arranged, Jacey left.

Ericka prepares for her only case.

As a new attorney in the area, her client list was dismal to the point her deflated bank account meant she had to win the case or sell her house. She loved Ames Mansion, with its soft southern charm and rambling acres. It was home and the first she’d ever owned. She needed the sense of posterity.

She had to win.

Too bad the guy was guilty. A high profile case would give her press, but not if she lost. What about morality? As an attorney she promised to defend. She didn’t like the guy. What if he proved to be responsible for the wrongdoing? What a mess.

A storm blew through by the name Joe Reeves. This handsome, motorcycle-riding nomad appeared on her doorstep and changed her entire world.

MYSTIC LOVE…appearing October 26, 2016


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Joe Reeves: Deathwatch Cop

I’ve a new book, Mystic Love, with a release date of 10.26.16, and I can’t wait to introduce you to the characters. I  hope you grow to love them as much as I do.

This week I’ll be presenting Joe Reeves,a detective from Louisiana. He has a stellar work history and would be fighting crime today if it weren’t for a car accident.

Joe has one sister who is married to a psychology professor at a university in Pennsylvania. He has two nephews and a newborn niece, but do to his problem he hasn’t met the little tyke.

Joe Reeves: Deathwatch Cop

Flashing lights and the siren’s roar of a high-performance car during a chase had been an exciting part of law enforcement. The odor of burning rubber, fumes from the tailpipe of the criminal’s car and the thrill of putting him in jail was typically something Joe loved, but not on that day.

Adam, his partner, had insisted he drive. For the first time Joe sat in the passenger seat, gun primed and ready.

On reflection he regretted the mistake of allowing Adam to navigate the race. Broadsided by a failure-to-yield, his friend was instantly killed and Joe went comatose. The coma lasted for a month and left him with consequences.

Yeah, riding in a confined space gave him claustrophobia… and he dreamed of death.

Resolving the neurosis was simple–he purchased a motorcycle and stayed away from tight spaces.

The dreams were more difficult to manage.

At first he ignored the nighttime visions, believing them aftereffects of his coma. Then he had a prophecy of a kid being killed by a drive-by. He managed to locate the crime scene. His timing…he was to late.

The realization he could have saved him—if he would’ve taken responsibility for his mind’s trickery.

Something happened inside him. After the nervous stomach and subsequent puking, he experienced an empyrean light.

He paid attention to the visions, details and especially timing, and acted sooner.

The spark, fresh determination to succeed and to save victims, lasted six months. One of two results occurred each time he attempted to change the outcome of a vision: the bystanders labeled him a champion or they challenged him, claiming the circumstances made his activities suspicious. Either way he lost because people turned away.

His hero mindset dissipated when he concluded he couldn’t…it wasn’t humanly possible to keep the target from certain death.

He became a wanderer, trying to avoid remaining in one place for any length of time. His visions seemed to occur when he got close to a person. Emotional involvement set off a prophecy.

Running didn’t help, the predictions continued.

He had to make them stop.

Attempts were made to eradicate the foresight through religious avenues to no avail. No matter how bizarre or odd the gimmick he’d try. He would not allow another child to die.

The prophecies had to end.

Cyan, Indiana and a Native American healer became his aim.



Next week I’ll introduce Ericka Gilmore…she’s a jewel. I hope you’ll visit and make her your book  friend .










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Summer is coming to a close and I’ve been a slacker with my blog. I need to get back into the headgame of writing. In October Mystic Love will be released, and I’m finishing off the prequel, Haunted Inheritance. I’ve a new story rattling around in my mind, so look out readers…

Here is the cover and blurb for Mystic Love.

Ericka Gilmore dabbles in life and death when she tries to conjure a ghost lover. But when flesh and blood, Joe Reeves appears on her doorstep in the midst of a storm, she has to rethink her destiny.

A car accident left the former cop with the ability to foresee death. No longer willing to watch people he cares about die, Joe goes in search of a shaman to remove his “gift”. His remedy until then is to avoid all relationships. But like a lightning strike, he experiences a strong connection with Ericka. A nearby mystical ley line could be Joe’s solution if he and Ericka combine their gifts. But her secret past and his fear of seeing her death keep them at odds.



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MYSTIC LOVE, are love and destiny entwined?


YES! Mystic Love is a story I’ve been working toward getting published for years. I created, massaged, deleted, recreated, and now it is at the point its ready for paranormal romance fans to experience (or anyone wishing to read an excellent story).

Here is a blurb:

Ericka Gilmore dabbles in life and death when she tries to conjure a ghost lover. But when flesh and blood, Joe Reeves appears on her doorstep in the midst of a storm, she has to rethink her destiny.

A car accident left the former cop with the ability to foresee death. No longer willing to watch people he cares about die, Joe goes in search of a shaman to remove his “gift”. His remedy until then is to avoid all relationships. But like a lightning strike, he experiences a strong connection with Ericka. A nearby mystical ley line could be Joe’s solution if he and Ericka combine their gifts. But her secret past and his fear of seeing her death keep them at odds.

Mystic Love

While you wait, check out my other books with The Wild Rose Press…jj Keller






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A Woman with Cancer

Update: Deborah Brown, aspiring author, passed away from colon cancer on June 8, 2016. Her faith, love, and kindness will be missed.

I visited a friend, Deb, in the hospital today. Despite her worsening condition, she maintains faith in her God and that he will help her survive cancer for the second time.

I met Deb when I taught a writing class for Fort Wayne schools. A group of aspiring authors soaked in the information I’d acquired writing and getting published. The diverse class members had a variety of topics and a strong desire to create their own stories.

Deb got stymied and asked for help in finding direction for her story.

Through discussion we discovered our paths might have crossed in the past. She worked in the graduate office at Ball State University when I finished my M.A. We also had similar views regarding mortality, war, and the simple love of humankind.

After further exploration, she revealed her complex past.

While her desire to pen a tale evolved from her commitment to God and doing good deeds in his name, the essence of her true story was her recovery from breast cancer and the murder of her husband.

My mouth dropped to the floor. Health Issues. Peril. A young boy deprived of his father. Not only had Deb suffered the loss of her first love, but also had to endure the trial of the woman who stabbed him.

A light shone in her face.

This aspiring author grasped what most creative novelists realize…passion and writing go hand-in-hand.

The words streamed and she couldn’t put them on paper fast enough. All of those emotions, she’d kept hidden inside, flowed from her and into an amazing narrative.


We’ve remained friends and see each other once a month, but her story isn’t finished.

Deb told me I came into her life for a reason, claiming I provided a means for her to sort out her past and have resolution. Perhaps; however, she has given me friendship and a role model for an authentically honest and good person.

I hope she’s able to complete her story.


Here is a photo of Deb helping me set-up for a book signing. She dreams of becoming a published author.

Deb Brown

Blessed be,


Face (1)


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Love this site…check it out


I follow Karen. At first I went to this book review blog because Karen is a Geek and who doesn’t love a bright mind? Then, I read the articles. All of the reviewers are articulate, clever, and their reflections/assessments held my interest.

In addition, I like the spiral bookcase. It is like falling into a very desirable rabbit hole.

Oh, they rant. Off the Wall Rants

LOL…please take a look and let me know if you agree.


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Last Chance at Love: Nominated

Hi all,

Last Chance at Love has been nominated for an award. AND you can participate in getting the wonderful sweet/peppery story to the top.

Here’s how:

http://www.theromancereviews.com/bookvote.php   Easy-Scroll down the page to near the bottom under PARANORMAL ROMANCE, Last Chance at Love click on nominate


Last Chance at Love has to garner at least 50 nominations within the time period in order to qualify for the next and final round. The nomination will start on March 14 and end on March 31. Invite your fans and reader community to nominate the book here: http://www.theromancereviews.com/bookvote.php

Last Chance at Love


When Alyson McLeod returns to Jove, she never expects her high school sweetheart to knock on her front door. Sam’s arrival stirs memories she thought she’d banished long ago and awakens a fiery need no other man has been able to conjure.

The phoenix tattoo on Sam Crown’s arm immortalizes the woman he loved—and lost—long ago. Alyson’s return should excite him, but instead, she awakens a guilt he’s not sure even love can overcome.

Can these star-crossed lovers finally find happiness or will a wicked matchmaker’s antics keep them apart forever?

BUY: http://cobblestone-press.com/catalog/author/jjkeller.htm



Alyson swung her attention from her laptop to the handyman bent over the kitchen cabinet. Chris’ powerful, flawless arms enabled him to wield the screw gun like a pro, and durr, durr, durr added a pleasant melody to the room.

The maple cabinets had been an impulse purchase, but she rather liked how the lighter color made the space appear larger. A bonus to having her kitchen updated, Chris modeled the hero in her current book. His white T-shirt pulled taut across his broad shoulders as he stretched to secure a bolt from a toolbox a foot away.

Jeans sheathed his tight, perfectly formed rear. His thick thighs enabled Chris to lift heavy pieces of lumber while her hero’s enabled him to hold the heroine against the wall during a hot, sexy, clandestine encounter. Chris’ dark blond hair, styled in a buzz cut, accentuated his sharp cheekbones and granite jawline. Her hero had light brown hair that touched the tips of his ears. However, the cheekbones and stubborn jaw…the same.

In a lot of ways, Chris reminded her of Sam Crown, her boyfriend at Chilton Academy nearly thirty years ago. Sam had been the love of her life, the man who’d created a cancer in her heart no other man had been able to cure. Returning to her hometown had stirred memories of their ill-fated romance, and she’d embedded some of those details into her book. In doing so, in giving fictitious-Sam and fictitious-her a happy ending, maybe she could finally eradicate him from her thoughts.

She scooted her chair away from the dining table and evaluated the renovations. The noise and scenery inspired her. She wouldn’t leave the area despite the strong odors of glue and dust. She had to think of another job to keep her handyman on site after the current project ended on Friday. At least long enough for her to write twenty thousand more words. She hated the thought of her “hero” leaving before her book was finished.

The whirring of the motorized tool ended, and wood particles flew into her nostrils. A couple sneezes had her frantically searching for the napkin she’d left amongst the clutter on the table.

“Ms. McLeod?” Chris’ resonant voice matched his six-and-a-half-foot frame. The scent of man-sweat radiated from him, so unlike anything she’d become accustomed to over the course of her marriage. Jasper, her ex-husband, was the type of man to hire people to shift a piece of paper from one side of the desk to the other, so she’d rarely seen him perspire. Not even after he’d played polo, but he’d sure been sweaty when she’d found him naked in their marital bed with his assistant.

She looked away from the carpenter’s sculpted upper torso, and he chuckled, his tools clanking and tingling. Oops. She hadn’t looked away quickly enough.

She lowered her gaze to the keyboard. “Yes, I’m sorry, Mr.—”

“Please, call me Chris.” He nodded to her laptop. “How’s the book coming?”

She glanced into his eyes. The blue-grays were so reminiscent of Sam’s. She had to get a grip on her overactive imagination. Would she see Sam’s face in everyone, all over town? One of her high school friends had told her Sam moved away, hadn’t been seen since the funeral.


“Sorry. Great. Good. The best one yet.”

Chris looped a thumb through a hanging hoop on his leather utility belt. “I’ll have a substitute here tomorrow. My son has a doctor’s appointment, and I need to check on another project. Sam will manage the installation of the countertop. It’s a simple task. He’ll arrive around ten in the morning.”

“No problem.” Good God, even her old flame’s name came into play.

“The sub’s my dad.” At the mention of his father, pride splashed across his roughened features. “He’s a professor.”

“Architecture or construction?”

“He’s a math professor at West Indiana State University. He’s been teaching a reduced load of classes this semester and going stir crazy with nothing to do. This project came at the perfect time.”

She wanted to jot down notes about mannerisms. Some of his phrasing was priceless. She lifted scattered papers and searched for an ink pen. Finding one, she slid a glance at him, put ballpoint to notepad and quickly scribbled to get the ink to infuse.

“I understand that happens,” she mumbled. “Maybe he needs a hobby?”

Wiping his hands on a red, thin square towel, he smiled and showed off his pearly whites. “Oh yeah, a hobby would be good.” He pointed to her computer, the cloth waving like a banner. “Is that the type of book you write? Hobbies?”

Heat infused her cheeks. She’d just finished a sex scene for the vamp character. Nope, not a book about typical hobbies. “Not exactly. I—”

The ding of a cellphone sounded and a light shone through his jeans pocket. He dug the phone out and glanced at it. “Excuse me. I need to take this.”

The younger man swiped a finger across the screen, and after a few mumbled comments, glanced at her as he took a few steps into the corridor. He wouldn’t have privacy in the Echo Wall hallway.

Alyson put the pad of paper in front of her keyboard and focused on the computer screen.

“Dad, Mrs. Clydesdale called and said you ditched her.” He paused.

She leaned forward, wanting to know more. Might be useful information for her book.

“Yes, she does look like her name, but you can’t keep dating women one time and…” Chris exhaled. “No, I don’t want to hear about that aspect of your life. I know. I’ll meet you at the usual place. Someday maybe we could meet at a coffee shop instead. Yeah, I miss her too. I’ll be on time.”

Alyson choked back a chuckle and lowered her laptop’s screen. In her own style of shorthand, she jotted notes. Busy trying to catch up from the previous interaction, she failed to hear more of the conversation. Usually, she couldn’t care less about other people’s phone discussions, but for some reason, the dialogue between Chris and his father had piqued her interest.

“Time to leave?” she asked when he returned.

“Yeah, something came up with my dad.” He tucked his phone back inside his pocket.

She smiled, hoping to reassure him she hadn’t overheard his conversation, at least not all of it. “I understand about complicated families.”

He nodded. “Oh, I forgot you’re a widow too, so you understand. Even after a year and a half my father’s adapting. He and my mother were really tight.” Chris packed up his tools. He slid screwdrivers into the loops of his utility belt and plunked heavier items into the metal toolbox.

She didn’t want to correct him about her single status. Perhaps her brother, Grayson, had declared her a widow. He’d arranged the construction company. Maybe Grayson didn’t want his friends to find out she’d left her husband. Divorcees had their own set of barriers and stigmas.

She dreaded the questions, the ones her friends would ask. From her experience, people were either predominately nosy or, the polar opposite, caring.

Chris looked barely twenty years of age, too young to lose a parent. Then again, maybe his parents had him later in life.

He returned to the table. Tools were no longer distributed throughout the kitchen. A sudden sense of loss snatched the warmth from her.

She slid the notepad forward. “I’m sorry about your mother. How did she pass?”

Chris hoisted his toolkit. “Cancer. She was an amazing woman.” His cell phone dinged. “Dad—Sam—will be here tomorrow around ten to do prep work and accept the delivery of the countertops.” He nodded toward the panel truck in the driveway, visible through the kitchen window. On the side, “Stiles Construction and Remodeling” was written in bold black letters over a sun rising on a blue sky. A ladder sat on top. “But we’ve remodeled a couple of kitchens, so he has skills.”

“Okay, thanks. I look forward to meeting Sam.” She stood, wishing she’d made more notes about the way Chris talked, some of the charming language he’d used and his magnificent facial expressions, but she always had next time.

* * * * *

The next day, Alyson tossed clothing on her king-sized bed. She’d collected a lot of designer eveningwear during her ten years of marriage. She selected a dress for the upcoming Wish Upon a Star charity event but added most of her gowns to the donation pile. She probably wouldn’t use formal attire as often now that Jasper was no longer dragging her to one black-tie affair after another.

With a smaller closet, she should have thinned out the older garments before moving back to Indiana. She’d donate the unused clothing to a local woman’s shelter. From the height of the pile, she’d need a truck to transport them. Most of the dresses could be converted into casual wear or business attire if their new owners were so inclined.

Dressed in her camisole and panties, she tried on summer outfits to determine if she needed new sizes. She didn’t want to think her hips had expanded or back fat had appeared. As a realist, she understood changes occurred in a woman’s body as she aged, but she didn’t want to admit she couldn’t keep a husband or that she’d gained weight in all the wrong places.

A knock sounded on the front door.

She glanced at the oversized medallion clock. Nine. Chris’ dad wasn’t due to arrive for another hour.

Her sleek emerald robe hung off the edge of a beige barrel table. She grabbed it and slid her arms into the sleeves as she scurried down the hallway and into the dining room. She bypassed the security panel and eased the white plantation shutter open to peer outside.

Her heart thudded to a stop. “Sam,” she whispered, not truly believing what she was seeing.

The man on the porch was Sam. Her Sam. The love she’d never been able to forget. The one who’d broken her heart over two decades earlier.


Fantasies with spice and humor.

TWITTER http://twitter.com/jjKellerauthor

FACEBOOK http://www.facebook.com/pages/JJ-Keller/263353331459?v=wall

WORDPRESS http://romancewithjjkeller.wordpress.com

AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=JJ%20Keller&search-alias=digital-text&sort=relevancerank



Last Chance at Love October 2015

The Valkyrie and the Marine, Pippa’s Rescue, Memory of Love&

Trade Agreement, LASR Best Book, Prop in the movie RED. http://www.thewildrosepress.com print and eprint.

All rights reserved.  Star-crossed #lovers: find happiness or will a wicked matchmaker’s antics keep them apart? #LastChanceatLove @jjkellerauthor


I just finished reading Last Chance at Love. I truly enjoyed it.

I loved that sexy cupid at the start, the gorgeous art work Sam and Alyson made, Tina’s growing understanding, and the depth of the emotion as the story built to resolution. A feel good factor of 10. Daisy Banks

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Last-Chance-at-Love-Keller-ebook/dp/B015VV68DA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1443629710&sr=8-1&keywords=Last+Chance+at+Love+by+jj+Keller

All Romance Ebooks https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-lastchanceatlove-1897353-349.htm


Cobblestone Press http://cobblestone-press.com/catalog/books/lastchance.htm

BN-Nook http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/last-chance-at-love-jj-keller/1122751405?ean=2940151215930


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THE HUNT BEGINS:  http://cobblestone-press.com/catalog/author/jjkeller.htm


Julie has a stalker. What’s worse? Everyone in her sleepy town thinks she’s the threat. Not to anyone’s life, to the video shoot bringing big bucks into town. After the mayor asks her to leave, Julie retreats to a secluded cabin. Trouble, however, follows her.


When his production company arrives in Jove, Match isn’t prepared for Julie James. His attraction takes on a new dimension when he discovers she’s a magical healer, and he needs a miracle to save his baby brother’s life.


As the deviant closes in, Julie and Match’s lives become entwined, but tragedy is hovering on the horizon.







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