A Love Letter

My Dearest,

I love you, always.

We met by chance and the shimmer glowed and grew.

Our holographic universe spat our destiny into waves and rolls.

We made choices and decisions, some bad but mostly good.

Learning about life, creating life and losing loved ones made us stronger.

I love you, always.

Sacrifices were plenty, celebrations few and oh so magnificent.

The sparks have lessened and the shimmer has dimmed; however, companionship is worth more than youthful heated ecstasy. I look forward to seeing how the future plays out.

I love you, always.

Yours,

a heart not quite the same.

 

 

Heart on Concrete Floor

jj Keller is a native Hoosier. A dreamer. A writer. A storyteller.

 

She’s married and has two sons. Traveling to exotic locations is something she can’t do enough of (even if it’s only in her mind) and puttering around in her herbal garden is her favorite pastime. She enjoys a good story, easy listening music and a fine glass of wine.

 

Urban fantasy, paranormal, romantic suspense and thrillers are her favorite genres.

 

jj is a member of Romance Writers of America.

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jj’s pen name is a result of her family name. She used lower case in her given name because of her fondness for ee cummings’ work.The man was a great poet and author. They both tend to be unconventional, his capitalization and her imagination and “fresh” attempt at writing. ee studied English, as jj did, he had a fondness for Greek and Latin and she loves to use Greek Mythology references in her work. His unique style of writing can be seen in Buffalo Bill’s/defunct and her only western to date, revolves around Buffalo Bill.

 

She hopes someday her work will be considered “mud-luscious” and “puddle-wonderful”.

 

Links

http://www.twitter.com/jjKellerauthor

@jjkellerauthor

 

FACEBOOK:

https://www.facebook.com/jj.keller.58

Fan page:

https://www.facebook.com/jjKellerauthor/

@jjkellerauthor

 

 

https://romancewithjjkeller.wordpress.com

 

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

 

GOODREADS: url

https://www.goodreads.com/goodreadscomjj_Keller

 

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/30057 (Jewel Heist)

 

Authors Den: http://www.authorsden.com/visit/author.asp?authorid=93172

 

 

(http://www.theromancereviews.com)

 

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

 

 

Wild Rose Press

https://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/450_jj-keller

 

 

 

Amazon

https://www.amazon.com/jj-Keller/e/B004RAOBQI/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

 

 

YOUTUBE

 

https://www.youtube.com/user/justjKeller?feature=hovercard

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vxf1tPBXdSY (Trade Agreement)

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Trade Agreement

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Falling in love with the next door neighbor–impulsive.
Kidnapped by her ex-husband–startling.
Traded for contraband on the high seas—definitely unexpected.

 

Photo-journalist, Georgina Barrister, realized she had little time left in this world when her ex-husband handed her over as partial payment for a shipment of illegal imports. Apparently being the perfect wife, the perfect hostess, and the perfect lover, wasn’t enough for him. How would she escape, while on the high seas?

Special Agent, Jake Callahan has always believed love at first sight is impossible, until he meets Georgina Barrister Kaplan. His assignment, to follow a high seas trafficking case and she was a prime suspect. 
Will he rescue her from the Russian pirate or will they lose their lives and a chance at happiness?

 

Larkspur/LASR said: She is a first class storyteller with a unique way of telling it. Her love scenes are evocative, sensual and sizzle on the page, while her romance between our hero and heroine is sweet and sensual.

BEST BOOK: Long and Short Reviews

Chapter 1

Atlantic Ocean

Shivers cascaded over Georgina’s body, the November cold penetrating her thin dress. She braced herself against the bumpy jolts as the speed boat hit rough water. The night was moonless, deep black ink surrounded them. The closer they got to the freighter, the faster her heart beat, a quick cadence to match the waves hitting the side of the vessel.

Georgina drew in a shaking breath and tried to lessen her grip on the rail of the boat as they pulled beside the ladder. Her fingers ached with the chill of tension. She glanced at the freighter. It was oh-so tempting to simply fall into the water, but she’d freeze to death or get eaten by sharks. No, the only logical means of escape was catching a ride on the gray metal whale floating in the dark night, on a black ocean, surrounded by a mysterious fog.

She glanced at Kandi, her ex-husband’s current femme-de-jour, dressed in a sleek strapless azure dress and spiked heels, then to Tristan himself. She’d loved him once, but now even looking at him made her colder. His fingers wrapped around the rail of the freighter’s ladder. He grabbed her hand and tugged her from the seat.

No.

Her spine tingled with dread. Tristan couldn’t be trusted. She knew better.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Georgina said. “You can let me off at the next port.”

Tristan gripped her hand tighter and pulled her toward the ladder. “Can’t.”

“Why not?” Georgina jerked Tristan’s arm, ready to throw him overboard. Did demons sink? Her stomach tumbled. Getting on that freighter would be a mistake.

Kandi slid beside Tristan and snarled, “Just get on the ship, Georgina, or I’ll throw your spoiled ass overboard and you can swim back to Virginia.”

Shocked at Kandi’s language and the threat, Georgina glared.

“It’s too late. There’s no going back…not for Gemma either,” her ex-husband spewed.

Damn him for using her best friend as a pawn.

Georgina’s heart rate went tachycardia. She blew slow breaths trying to slow the pace. She released his forearm, sat down on the padded boat seat, and crossed her arms.

“Georgina, climb the ladder.” Tristan’s jaws snapped together.

Kandi sighed and tapped her foot on the metal rail of the rocking boat.

Had Tristan really kidnapped Gemma? He had to be bluffing, but Georgina’s heart rattled against her chest. What if Gemma wasn’t safe? She’d already lost one baby, she couldn’t lose another. “I
decline.”

Tristan gripped her arm and jerked her upright. She reached up with her other hand and dug her nails into the tender skin of his palm.

“She’ll go,” Kandi said.

Georgina sneered at the two, pivoted, and clutched the nearest brass rung.

The three-inch heels clipped the metal, and she slipped on the third rail of the ladder. Determined, she tightened her hold and stepped to the next rung. Homeward bound. A precarious scramble on steps or fear of the unknown wouldn’t prevent her from returning to her little house and Jake. Thoughts of the sleepy little town of Nero intruded. She’d often complained about the boredom and photographing nothing but dog and garden shows. Well, she’d trade her current situation for some of that routine any day.

Jake, her lover. Her heart clutched a little in her chest. Was he searching for her? She maneuvered up one more rung. In the back of her mind, she hoped Jake would come to her rescue.

A wintery breeze blew up her dress and she shuddered. She was beyond chilled in the clingy little dress. She clutched a metal bar and pushed the hem down. Her foot slipped, and her spiked heel dug into Tristan’s fingers. She applied as much pressure as possible.

Tristan roared. He slapped her rear with such force she pressed flush against ladder. “Keep going, Georgina. Move it.” 

Bastard. She stepped to the next bar, releasing his hand.

Finally, she reached the top. Two goons, heavyweight bookends with matching blank
expressions, hauled her over the rail. Tristan crawled on deck and helped Kandi onto the platform.

“Come.” One of the goons, with a melodic Russian accent, motioned with his head.

It didn’t sound like a request.

The men led them down a staircase, through a corridor, and into a square, frigid room. A stainless steel table and two metal chairs were the only furnishings. One seat was occupied by a man she assumed to be Aleksandr Stypopas, the captain of this fine vessel.

Like the gentleman he was, Tristan sat down on the other chair. A bottle labeled IKON Russian vodka sat in the middle of them like a referee. Kandi stood behind Tristan, her hand resting easily on his shoulder. Georgina stood to the side, as close to the door as possible.

While the men talked, in Russian or Ukrainian, Georgina deliberated how to convince Aleksandr to return her to the States. He was as dark and mysterious in appearance as the freighter. His shaggy black beard seemed blacker as a result of the elegant gray shirt and pants covering his thin body. Would this nightmare ever end? It had to be a dream, because Aleksandr was wearing Armani for God’s sake, at midnight, on a freighter, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. He didn’t look like a man who did favors out of the goodness of his heart. Would he want money? She didn’t have anything to offer. Or did she? She shuddered at the thought. A raised voice captured her attention. What had she missed?

There was a palpable sense of menace in the air.
Had they walked into a trap? Would they all be killed?

Aleksandr’s voice was oily and his smile– insincere. “Kaplan, we’ve been comrades for almost a year. Why the mistrust?”

“Do we really trust one another, my friend?” Tristan took a sip of vodka.

From Georgina’s viewpoint, Tristan’s hand appeared to be trembling. Damn. There were some underlying messages being sent back and forth that caused her alarm radar to go off. She glanced at Aleksandr. He was smiling. Like a crocodile.

Okay, Tristan, it’s time to leave—now! You’ll have to drop me off at the next port.

“Are you calling me a thief?” Aleksandr’s deep, heavily accented voice filled the tiny room like a sonic boom. He bolted to his feet and his chair clanged to the floor. The angry red glow on his face, either from the heated argument or from the drink, accentuated his gray appearance. His lips virtually disappeared into the mass of black facial hair as he sneered.

Tristan’s face remained calm. “Of course. Aren’t we all? We take items and sell them for a profit. The buyers are not important, nor the nationality, nor the cause, nor how illegal the goods. We steal them for the thrill of making a deal. For money.” His blond cropped hair, light crystal-blue eyes, and winsome smile widened, giving him the appearance of the boy next door.

Georgina stared at his devilish dimples while trying to get a grasp on the situation. She’d fallen in love with his dimples, before she’d fallen in love with the man. Now she looked past the façade and wondered how she’d been so foolish.

“I’ve never cheated anyone in my life, and I resent the implication, Kaplan.” Aleksandr nodded his head to one of his henchmen at the door. Georgina’s fight or flight urge was strong. She tensed and glanced at the exit, calculating whether she could get to it before the goons caught her. What she would do after reaching the entrance, she didn’t know. But she desperately wanted to go through that door.

“Please accept my apology. I meant no offense.” Tristan calmly lifted his half-empty glass of liquid fire and held it out to Aleksandr, for a customary salute.

Aleksandr stared at Tristan, a long, intense, soul-searching glare. “Ah, none taken. However, I do insist the whore be given to me as a fair trade agreement.”
Aleksandr slid his black-eyed gaze down Georgina’s body and came back to stare into her eyes. His thoughts about her were as clear as the vodka between them: brown hair, heart shaped face, an ordinary body, and not worth his time. The brunt of his perusal landed on Kandi. Georgina’s heart rate slowed from its marathon speed. Aleksandr lifted his chair and lowered to the seat.

Kandi gasped, edged closer to Tristan, and reached toward her diamond and jade bejeweled bodice. She tossed her long auburn locks out of the way and pulled the limited blue silk material of the strapless dress higher, trying to cover her endowments as much as possible. Her nipples protruded further as a result of her efforts. She folded her shaking hands at her waist.

“Consider it done,” Tristan said, the words ice cold.
“Tristan!” Kandi screeched, her voice, shrill and full of shock. Her pale pink lips quivered, and her bare shoulders twitched back and forth. Tristan had offered her as a door prize.

Could this be happening? The scene was a Saturday B-movie event. People in real-life did not trade off their friends or family to get a shipment of…of…of whatever obviously illegal thing they were exchanging. The goods had to be contraband to make Tristan sweat. Georgina knew him well enough after six years of living together to recognize the signs of his anxiety. Regardless of how calm he appeared, he wasn’t in control of the situation.

Aleksandr’s eyes glittered with dangerous ecstasy. He turned his cold, calculating stare onto Tristan and leaned back in his chair. His jacket gaped, revealing an old fashioned .44 revolver in a gray holster strapped to the side of his chest. Her father had one just like it in his gun cabinet. The racketeer’s don’t-mess-with-me attitude made him the perfect bad guy for any mafia movie.

Georgina tried to ignore the chills running through her body. She pushed a dry wind-blown strand of hair behind her ear. In an effort to appear to be in command of her emotions, she clasped her hands in front of her and waited.

Kandi’s brown gaze turned toward Tristan. She reached over and grabbed his arm, spilling vodka onto the table top. He peeled her fingers loose one by one.
“You can’t do this!” Georgina didn’t care how much she angered either man. Part of the reason she had filed for a divorce concerned Kandi and all of the Kandis before her. But she was still a human and Aleksandr, regardless of his designer suit, was scum.

“Shut up, Georgina,” Tristan barked.

Aleksandr’s glance took in the clear pool of vodka, and a scowl formed on his hairy face.

Apparently he valued his alcohol.
“How barbaric. Stop this right now, Tristan,” Georgina reasoned, hoping he’d understand this was illogical and perverse.

The oppressive atmosphere grew weighty and thick. Sympathy coursed through Georgina. The black Russian wouldn’t give Kandi the spa treatment on this tub as she’d had on Tristan’s yacht. Tristan had to do something. Why didn’t he act?

“It’s done. Take her away,” Tristan spoke softly, as if the words were for his ears alone. He lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked the alcohol off. The goons started toward the door.

Georgina glanced at Tristan and witnessed the truth in his eyes. 

 

Trade Agreement can be purchased at: THE WILD ROSE PRESS or any other reputable book vendor.

 

Voted #3 best of the best books of 2009 by LASR. 

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.

MYSTIC LOVE AT THE WILD ROSE PRESS

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Resolutions: Four Words

Four word Resolutions: Debunked
Weight
Exercise
Improvement
Friendship

 

At the beginning of the New Year I typically create resolutions…as most people do. Historically, I’ve found four easy enough to manage for an entire year.

After age 30 I added “lose weight” to the resolution list. As the metabolism slows the exercise must increase in order to maintain balance or eat less…but that’s a joke, as I enjoy cooking and especially savoring good food. So resolution number one…discredited.

Consistently exercise: the easiest of the four as I enjoy making my body stronger. I’ve discovered the importance of health, but time and motivation counteract my good intentions.

Help my children improve their lives: the most difficult because how does a mother know when to cease guiding and let the child make his or her own way. Making mistakes is a powerful learning tool. In retrospect I wished I had taught, “LISTENING” and “CONSEQUENCES” to a greater degree.

My third resolution is to be a better friend. As I grow more mature I learn the value of friendships and how harmony in one’s life evolves around health, wellness, family and friendship. However, friendship seem to mock me as we’ve moved to a larger city and I’ve found social groups are diverse and harder to infiltrate. I pledge to be a better friend to those I have—even if it’s via email and text.

Now, seventeen days into the year 2016 I’m debunking the four resolutions set. I refuse to let fear of the unknown dictate my thoughts, and I accept the reality of life…it ends without notice. I’m going to laugh, love and live so I’m going to embrace each day as if it is, indeed, the last.

How about you? Do you make resolutions? Stick to them?
Are you going to fling aside rules and cherish friends, family and time?

http://www.jj-keller.com
Fantasies with spice and humor.

TWITTER http://twitter.com/jjKellerauthor

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

WORDPRESS https://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

GOODREADS:
https://www.goodreads.com/goodreadscomjj_Keller

Last Chance at Love

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.

121 characters: 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
A Gentleman’s Folly
Marked for Magic
Christmas Carols

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.html

https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/last-chance-at-love-3

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

 

COMING SOON: STALKER

How important is a story title?

Is a title of the book more important than the cover?

Would you consider reading The Mud Dungeon with a shirtless man on the cover? What would be the draw? The man or the idea something existed in a dungeon made of mud?

What about a title, The Killing Hotel with a basket of red roses on the cover? Do they even go together?

What is your idea of a good title for a story about second chances? Here is the blurb:

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?

I titled the book Second Chances because the couple has a second chance at renewing a love and the “messenger in training” had a second chance at getting the black off her soul. However, there is a freighter full of books with this title. My own publisher has a book in their store with this label.

So my editor and I came up with a list of possible name selections.

Here is the excerpt of Last Chance at Love for you, it’ll give you a better idea of what we were considering.

EXCERPT:

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.

“Ma’am?”

“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.

You don’t meet Christina in the excerpt. She’s learning how to cleanse her soul in heaven. Yeah, she was a bad girl and oh so full of character. I can’t wait for you to meet her.

Considering the characters, the plot, and the setting we came up with the title Last Chance at Love, because it might very well be the last chance for Sam and Alyson to rekindle their romance.

Let me know what you think about the title…and the story.

Here’s the cover. Do you think it goes along with the title?

IMG_0373

Where to buy:

Last Chance at Love

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

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Fantasies with spice and humor.

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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.

Last Chance at Love

LatChanceAtLove-150x225

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?

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EXCERPT:

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.

“Ma’am?”

“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.

jj

http://www.jj-keller.com

Fantasies with spice and humor.

TWITTER http://twitter.com/jjKellerauthor

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

WORDPRESS https://romancewithjjkeller.wordpress.com

BLOGSPOT http://jjkeller.blogspot.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

GOODREADS:

https://www.goodreads.com/goodreadscomjj_Keller

Last Chance at Love October 2015

All rights reserved.

An interview with The Romance Studio

jj, thank you so much for talking with us at TRS! Your featured book is Memory of Love is part of your Valkyrie series. What can you tell us about this amazing series?

 

Thank you, Holly and all of the amazing staff at TRS, for inviting me to share information about the Valkyrie series and myself.

 

The series was created as a result of an interview question: What mythological character would I choose to be? A Valkyrie! Valkyries are strong warriors, women who are trained to conquer, find a champion among fallen soldiers and offer the best of the best fighter eternal life serving in Odin’s army.

 

Many of my loved ones joined the armed forces to help make our country safe but safety isn’t guaranteed, so in my imaginative mind I tried to find a way of not losing my family and friends. What better way than to create a series involving Valkyries saving the men they love?

The Valkyrie and the Marine introduces us to Kiara, a Valkyrie striving to be the leader of her own squad, her best friend, Skogul, Harrison and Basil who are Special Ops Marines. In the second book, Pippa’s Rescue, Harrison has disappeared and Basil intends to find him. Memory of Love is the latest story focusing on power, family and loyalty.

 

In the story, Memory of Love, Skogul is tied to a tree in the midst of thieves. Skogul wakes without memory of who she is or of the man she once loved. Using curiously skills, she escapes. Injured and exhausted, a wolf befriends her and leads her to a house where the hunky owner’s eyes look strangely familiar.

 

Enter, Aidan Hall, former guardian of Hell’s Gate, and a shifter who doesn’t trust anyone. When a beautiful amnesia victim appears at his door, why does he feel a connection? Who and what he is, will keep them apart. But when dark magik shows up in his woods, his guard intensifies. Is it Skogul or someone else?

 

When Demons flood through Hell’s Gate, can he stop them, or will the memory of love be the death of him?

 

 

  • What can you tell us about the books that came before it?

The Valkyrie and the Marine. I love the characters in the Valkyrie series. The women are sensitive yet strong. The men are sexy!

Kiara of Asgard must look beyond the man to select only the best warriors to fight for Odin. But all her training deserts her when she sees Special Ops Marine Harrison Lombard. Unable to resist him, she saves his life on the battlefield instead of taking him to Valhalla. For her disloyalty, she’s given five days as a human while Odin decides her fate.

During a mission in North Korea, Harrison’s Force Reconnaissance team is ambushed. Critically wounded, he’s straddled by a magnificent blonde wearing a helmet of feathers who eliminates his pain. Before he can find out who she is, she’s gone. When she turns up in the States months later, he can hardly believe his luck—or the fire burning between them.

But Odin still has a claim on Harrison’s soul. Will his angel of mercy save him again? Or has she come to collect?

 

This is what Romance Junkies had to say about the story: Packed with intrigue, suspense, an enthralling plot, clever repartee and love, this story is a delight. I look forward to reading more by this gifted author. I highly recommend THE VALKYRIE AND THE MARINE. Do not miss it!

Dottie/Romance Junkies http://romancejunkiesreviews.com/artman/publish/paranormal/The_Valkyrie_and_the_Marine.shtml

 

Pippa’s Rescue: Harrison has disappeared and his best friend, Basil, intends to find his brother-in-arms. Basil is a British name and I thought adorable for a secondary character in the first book, The Valkyrie and the Marine. Like the herb he is sweet, beautiful, and with his bold lines—too spicy to handle. He goes to a horse rescue ranch intending to find Wilson, the man who was responsible for their squads’ ambush and Harrison’s disappearance. Semper fi, “always faithful” is the motto of the U.S. Marine Core and Basil honors his code even if justice becomes gray instead of black and white.

Pippa Wilson owner of the horse rescue ranch must find her brother in order to save the ranch. Pippa, short for Phillipa, after the future Queen of England’s sister, Pippa Middleton. The name, Phillipa, means horse lover. My Pippa doesn’t want to act on her attraction to Basil, but love has a way of disrupting life.

Skogul, Valkyrie leader of the first squad in Valhalla, is supposed to offer immortality to former Marine Basil Vanguard. Too bad watching science fiction on the big screen is more fun. But if her assignment slips through the cracks, will Odin himself take a hand?

  • How does Memory of Love continue the series? Legend claims Odin is killed by a wolf during Ragnarok. When a soothsayer warns the great icon of the danger, Skogul, the heroine and appearing in all three books, and a strong and confident warrior, volunteers to lose her memory in order to infiltrate a wolf shape-shifters camp.

In the Valkyrie series, the villain, first appearing in The Valkyrie and the Marine and Pippa’s brother, is finally caught.

A constant in all three books, the women who love their men go to great lengths to save them, while remaining loyal to their own true selves.

 

4)   What do you like best about Skogul and why will readers identify with her? Skogul’s continued faith in her skills, and her unshakeable hope are present in each of us. People need hope to conquer all of the missteps and barriers in life. Skogul, despite her strength of character, wavers when her memory is stripped from her and she’s dropped into enemy camp. While searching for any sign of her past, she never gives up hope and continues to strive to be the best warrior—her true self. Readers might identify with their own struggles in life and the amount of hope needed to survive and conquer.

5)      What do you like best about Aidan and why will readers love him? Aidan gives up all in order to pursue a life as a Vet healing animals instead of guarding hell’s gate, his family tradition. Readers will admire his undeniable strength of character and his love for Skogul and his kind. He will invade your dreams with his sexy gorgeousness.

6)      Will there be more to come in this series? Maybe. As long as there is war, there will be Valkyries searching among the fallen, the few, the brave–the chosen champions.

7)     What else do you have in store for readers and fans?

I adore my fans, current and future readers. With them in mind, I’m currently writing a story of a healer who has been exiled from her small town due to a stalker upsetting the businesses. Also on the horizon is a mega-sized book, working title Spiritual Gifts. It’s a fascinating story of people adjusting to the supernatural gifts given to them. I’ll keep you updated. http://www.jj-keller.com.

8)      What do enjoy when you’re not writing?

I love learning. I try to learn something new everyday, so I read a lot. Gardening is one of my spring and summer past times. I was an organic gardener before it became a trend. Herbs are my focus. I use them in cooking, and I practice using herbal remedies for health and beauty.

Also I teach writing at a local community school. I enjoy engaging novice writers and helping them get their stories on paper. My secret pastime is guzzling a bottle of water and eating a slice of dark chocolate.

9)      What are you reading now?

I’m reading Chicken Soup for the Soul, inspiration for Writers. The motivational stories are thought-provoking.

10)   Where can readers find you online?

 

Twitter ID: http://twitter.com/jjKellerauthor

 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jj.keller.58

 

 

blog links:

 

https://romancewithjjkeller.wordpress.com

 

http://jjkeller.blogspot.com

 

 

Website link: http://www.jj-keller.com

 

goodreads author page:

https://www.goodreads.com/goodreadscomjj_Keller

 

 

Bio: jj inherited her name and creativity from her grandmother. A love of reading and adventure took her to many wondrous places. Studying literature provided a solid foundation in which to express her ideas and storytelling became a part of her world. She wants to share with you all of the magic, so please enjoy pieces of her life through her tales.

You can discover more about the author at her website:

http://www.jj-keller.com

 

 

Excerpt: Memory of Love

Every step she took on her lacerated feet stung, yet she forged ahead. If she stopped, rested even for a moment, she wouldn’t be able to pull herself up again. Dizzy and unbalanced, she stumbled into the clearing. The glow from one single lit window cast four squares on the ground in front of a Greek revival house.

Please let someone be inside.

A few staggering steps later, she climbed onto the portico and pounded on the door. Seconds later and no response, she rested her head on the mahogany panel and crab-crawled her fingers to the brass rectangle at the side and pressed the button until chimes played an odd old-fashioned tune. Relief from escaping danger had her impotent body near to collapsing. The adrenaline that enabled her to fight and run eventually lost out to shock and exhaustion. Yet, she had to alert someone to the men in the woods.

Where had the wolf gone? There wasn’t any doubt he’d led her to this house. As of today, she had a greater appreciation for wildlife. Footsteps approached the door from inside. She stood straight, finger-combing her hair to flatten the spiked strands. As her fingers pulled the short ends, she had a distinct impression her hair was typically long, beyond her shoulders. Had her kidnappers cut her hair as some sort of sick joke?

She jerked at her blouse and the cotton tee underneath. Blood had crusted on her upper arm. By the looks of the small stripes, a mere scratch, but it burned like hell. Her jeans, stiff and spattered with dirt and grass, made it obvious she’d been in contact with the ground. There wasn’t a way to improve her poor appearance. The door pulled open. Odin willing, the person would know her.

The barefooted man standing in the doorway, with his jeans unbuttoned, was six foot of pure viewing pleasure. He had ordinary facial features, not broad, not thin. His nose, just the right size, separated his prominent cheeks. His eyes were gray, the color of polished silver. His hair looked soft, reminding her of turned soil on the mountain range of Asgard, deep reddish brown that reached his broad neck.

Her gut tightened. Soil? Asgard?
She shook her head. Having barely escaped the despicable trio, why would she desire one of the same gender? How

messed up was she really?
Unsteady, she gripped the doorpost.
He reached around the door and held her arm. “May I help you?” His voice was low. Sexy.

“Yes, I’m sorry to wake you, but I was…do you know me?” Calm and relaxed her breathing steadied. Birth, death, and rebirth, the idyllic ratio of Norse religion, had she died and been reborn? Was she having an out of body experience? Did she rise above and look down on a bloodstained, dirty, disheveled stranger posing questions to, hopefully, a half- dressed sexy friend?

At least two of her kidnappers were alive and kicking and, no doubt, looking for her. Knees weak and ready to crash, she exhaled. “I don’t think I have a car. Forest. Men…tied.” She fell forward.

http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/maincatalog_v151/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers _id=450&zenid=9495bea283e9022039d63f57a4579636

http://www.jj-keller.com

Memory of Love 8/2014 The Wild Rose Press
Trade Agreement, LASR Best Book, Prop in the movie RED.

http://www.thewildrosepress.com print ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

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