This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Diane Benefiel will be awarding Flash Point + Dead Giveaway to 2 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Giveaway: Diane Benefiel will be awarding Flash Point Dead Giveaway to 2 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
A decade after Logan walked out on Maddy, he returns, and emotions long banked surface, then everything becomes complicated and dangerous.
Thrown together, and neither is happy about it, Meg and Declan navigate their unwanted growing attraction as they fight to keep Meg alive.
Read an Excerpt from Deadly Purpose:
Who was occupying her father’s cabin?
The surly face of a bearded man was not what she expected. Tall and long-limbed, his wide shoulders filled the door. Furrowed brows shadowing dark brown eyes and a scowling expression did nothing to alleviate the feeling that she’d awakened a bear in its den. And a hungry bear at that.
“What do you want?”
About the same time he growled out the question, the warmth hit her. It emanated from inside the cabin and felt like a thick blanket pulled fresh from the dryer and wrapped snugly around her. She wanted to slip past him and find a place to lie down for the next week or so. Someplace out of the way where she could ignore him until she felt better and could deal with his intrusion.
He stepped forward and wariness had her taking a step back before she recovered herself. Grow a spine. Don’t cower. Stand up for yourself.
He stepped onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind him.
Meg suppressed a groan at the loss of warmth. Gathering her resolve, she asked, “Who are you?” At least her voice sounded strong. “And what are you doing in my cabin?”
“Not your cabin. You must have missed a turn. Go figure out where.” He reached back to lay a hand on the doorknob.
“This is my cabin. You need to leave.”
He gave her a once-over before locking his gaze on hers. “I know what the owner of this place looks like, and you don’t fit the bill. Go away.”
“If I go away, I’ll get the sheriff and let him deal with you. I don’t think he’ll tolerate squatters in these mountains. I’ll give you ten minutes to get your things around, then you’re gone.”
“Go for it, lady. We have a police chief, not a sheriff, and cell coverage is spotty up here. By the time you get into town, it’ll be dark. Chief Gallagher is too smart to bother with this right now. He’ll tell you to get a room at a motel somewhere and figure it out in the morning.”
She sized up the man. With his tough build, he wouldn’t be easy to budge. This was not how she envisioned her day ending. She tightened her arms around her middle to stop the shiver snaking up her spine. A glance out from under the porch showed fat snowflakes wafting softly from the sky. She’d never seen snow falling before. Watching the drift of hazy white made her head swim.
“What the hell?” She jerked back when strong hands gripped her elbows, backing up her breath in her lungs. “What are you doing? Let go.”
“Then don’t act like you’re going to pass out.”
“I’m not going to pass out.” She pulled against his hold. “Hands off.”
He released her, putting his hands up like he was calming an emotionally disturbed person. The headache brewing at her temples spiked.
“You on something?”
Either irritation made his voice gruff, or it was his natural tone. She gave her forehead a surreptitious rub, not bothering to verbalize a response.
“Look at me.” He cast his gaze over her face. Only full, sensuous lips softened the rough planes of his face. He raised a hand and she backed up. A fuzzy sensation crowded at the edge of her brain, reminding Meg of when she’d suffered a concussion after being beaned in the head by a softball pitch.
“Steady there.” He held up a finger. “Without moving your head, follow my finger with your eyes.”
She looked him straight in the eye. “You know what you can do with that finger, don’t you?”
Only the slight crinkling at the corner of his eyes gave her any indication that the comment had struck home. He laid the back of his hand against her forehead. She didn’t jerk back this time, but it was a close call.
“You’re not high, you’re sick. Your skin is hot to the touch.”
About the Author:
A native Southern Californian, Diane enjoys nothing better than summer. For a high school history teacher, summer means a break from teenagers, and summer allows her to spend her early mornings immersed in her current writing project. With both kids living out of the house, in addition to writing, she enjoys camping and gardening with her husband.
Diane loves hearing from her readers.