Shared Redemption-Book One of the Frozen Series
Former slave Nye ended his life in 1859 after losing his love. The angel Gabriel has offered Nye a chance at redemption by hunting demons as a member of the Frozen. With less than seven years left until his salvation, Nye is staying on the straight and narrow – until a woman gets caught in the crossfire during a demon hunt.
After receiving devastating news, Kiriana Kladshon moves across the country, only to get caught up in the world of The Frozen. Nye and Kiriana are pulled into an attraction neither can control. Will it be their ultimate demise or their greatest salvation?
Damarion, is leading a group of female demons on a mission. During his punishment on Earth, Damarion learns of dangers within his coven trying to stop him from returning to his love, still trapped in Hell and A love he was so sure was true...
Chrysalis-Book one of the Chrysalis Series
In the annals of dysfunctional families, the Chisholm’s are working their way to the top. Drug abuse, an unwed mother with multiple fathers, and the questionable cash flow for the 'pretty one'. All this from a seemingly normal, two parent middle class family. But were the choices truly made of their free will?
Bad choices are a Chisholm family trait, one that confounds the youngest child, Ellie, who's trying to separate herself by making smart decisions. And falling for Oscar Jeffreys, the hottest guy at school, would be number one on the list of Chisholm family disasters. Yet the crazy part is it’s not a one sided attraction. Somehow Ellie has caught Oscar Jeffreys’ eye. Sure she could see the barriers between them. Race, age, popularity. They were at opposite ends of the spectrum. But a demon set to destroy her family? She can't see that.
Oscar provides security and acceptance Ellie never imagined she deserved. As the passion of first love grows, Ellie honestly believes she has a chance to beat the odds and live a happy, normal life. Then her world collapses around her. With the help of a guardian angel, Ellie learns of a world that has unknowingly surrounded her for years. And she'll have to find strength buried deep inside to save not only her future, but flush out and stop the demon in her midst.
Ellie will have to learn that sometimes the hardest lesson about growing up is accepting that you're worth more.
Stars and Sparks
A Red Hot and BOOM! Story
Christin Lovell
STARS AND SPARKS
A Red Hot and BOOM! Story
Copyright © 2014 by Christin M Lovell
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This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Stars and Sparks
A Red Hot and BOOM! Story
Plus size journalist Shae Roberts was used to the fast pace of city life, dressing to the nine everywhere she went, and having more than one coffee shop to choose from. When the Atlanta-based newspaper she worked for cut their staff in half, she was forced to branch out. Four months later, she landed in Bear Valley, a small town a hundred-and-twenty-seven miles from familiar.
Barry “Bear” Jacobs has just returned from his final tour after six years in the Marines. He’s ready to move on, but finds his sleepy hometown hasn’t changed nearly as much as he has. With his military career now in the past, he has some hard decisions to make. He’s seen what the world has to offer, and it’s far more than he believes the familiar of home can...until he bumps into a certain sassy, overdressed reporter.
Two people in transition are attempting to find their new place in this world, but, sometimes, it’s not about finding a place, it’s about finding a person, and there’s nothing but stars and sparks between these two.
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Chapter One
Shae
I stared down the main street of town, lost in its quaint beauty. Shops and businesses of varying heights, but the same antique appeal, wove around three restaurants and a lone bakery and coffee house in one, called Butter House. Oversized pastures of concrete didn’t obstruct the view; street parking provided unhindered clean lines. A large center median landscaped with colorful petals and magnolia trees between patches of true green grass kept the stretch of buildings and vehicles from feeling metropolitan.
Bear Valley was untouched by the corporations that controlled the majority of the United States. It was a tiny piece of glory to anyone in need of simplicity in this often-complicated world. And it was my new home.
Clutching my Butter House cappuccino, I yanked open the door to the local press office. It was the smallest building on the right side of the street. A lone window announced its purpose in white letters with a black shadow, if the newspaper rack, still full of this week’s print, wasn’t an indication.
The bell above the entrance chimed, announcing me as I stepped inside, as the air conditioning welcomed me in from the heat and humidity outside. Like most papers, framed copies of their best stories hung on the pale blue walls. Mismatched wooden chairs were lined up on the left, adding to the charm of the space, but taking away from the professional atmosphere.
A petite, extra curvy blonde peered out of an office down the short hall. It took all my years of training to keep my mouth shut as she revealed herself, taking steady strides towards me.
Cotton red capri leggings clung to her thick legs. Had they been paired with black pumps and a vintage dress, I would have breathed easy. Instead, the woman donned an oversized white t-shirt with painted – not printed – strawberries on it and dirty white sneakers. Not helping was the fact that she wore not a smidge of make-up and had only bothered to spend two seconds on her hair by tossing it up into a loose ponytail.
If my old boss, Rick, had glimpsed her attire, she would have been fired on the spot. It wasn’t professional, it wasn’t even business casual, and it certainly didn’t insinuate that she was a journalist of any caliber.
Her brows rose as she halted before me, taking me in. A stunted smile curled her lips as she extended a hand. “You must be Shae Roberts.”
Balancing my structured bag and cappuccino on one side, I pressed my palm to hers. “Yes, I am.” I slapped on a polite grin, the one I used with most of my interviewees. “Are you Mary Ann Gibsey?”
“Yeah.” She broke away, frowning. “Honey, mind if I ask what’s going on with this outfit?”
I looked down at my matching navy skirt and blazer. My hot pink button up shirt contrasted perfectly, adding an unexpected pop of style to the otherwise boring suit. A classic pearl necklace and patent nude pumps completed my ensemble.
Pursing my lips, I narrowed my gaze slightly. “Is there a problem?” I sent up a silent prayer for patience.
Her cheeks colored just enough to show her discomfort. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure this was a wonderful work outfit in Atlanta, but, honey, you aren’t in Atlanta anymore. The folks of this town are simple, not stuffy. You walk into their home or business like that and they’ll think you’re an uppity city snob who doesn’t deserve answers.”
I knew my brows had risen as she spoke. As much as I hated to admit it, though, she was probably right. Over half my wardrobe would be useless in Bear Valley, if the people I’d seen in Butter House were a good representation of the majority. There would be no converting them; I had to be the one to change if I wanted any amount of success here.
“I know I probably look frumpy to you, but this makes me approachable to them,” she continued. “Now, I know it’s quick, but you’re going on your first assignment with me this afternoon. Half the town is going to a barbeque to welcome Barry Jacobs, known to all of us here as Bear, back. He’s been serving in the Marine Corp the last six years.”
That last sentence peeked my interest as a slew of story angles cluttered my mind. “Did he serve overseas at all?”
She expelled a small, wistful sigh. “Two tours, and, let me tell you, the added danger only upped his sex appeal to every single woman in town.” She spoke as though the information was an extra juicy slice of peach gossip.
I was disillusioned. “My experience has been that the story is always better than the sex, which means, sex appeal or not, Mr. Jacobs will be all business for me.”
Mary Ann gave me a broad, smug smile. “That’s because you haven’t met him yet.”
Her confidence had me hesitating for one brief moment. “Perhaps.”
She laughed. “Alright. You go home and change into something more casual and meet me back here in an hour. We can ride out to the Jacobs’ ranch together.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she raised a hand to silence me.
“Before you argue, no GPS will lead you to their address. Trust me, this is the best way to ensure we both arrive for work.”
I bit back my amusement. “I was just going to say that if you’re that attracted to the man, you might want to jazz yourself up a bit. Any man who hasn’t seen you in six years will need a reminder of why he should be interested.”
It was her turn to open her mouth and have me hold her off.
“That wasn’t meant as an insult, merely a word of encouragement.” I winked, taking a sip of my swiftly cooling cappuccino.
She considered me for a long minute. “Hint taken, but I don’t have much to work with in my closet I’m afraid. As you know, this town pays peanuts for their newspaper.”
I assumed it was because the town had a population of less than three thousand people that my salary was cut in half. No one else had responded to my resume, though, and I was nearing the end of my severance pay. The largest print in Atlanta cut their staff in half when they weren’t prepared to go digital before their competition. That left nearly fifty journalists seeking employment in an already competitive market. I was forced to look elsewhere. And, after four months of non-stop applying, I received the call I’d been waiting for. Two weeks and a hundred-and-twenty-seven miles later, I arrived in Bear Valley.
I studied Mary Ann’s more than generous curves; they mimicked my own in many ways. “What size are you?”
“I didn’t know spandex came in sizes.” She feigned surprise, letting down her guard for one split second.
For the first time, I laughed, relaxing into the moment. It was then that I knew I had made my first friend. “It’ll be breaking your current enforced dress code, but I believe I have a vintage summer dress that might work.”
Hope brightened her expression. “You think it’ll look good on me? We’re so different.”
In Atlanta, that would have been an insult, but in Bear Valley, particularly coming from a woman dressed in a strawberry shirt, I knew it was innocent. “I may be mocha to your vanilla, but fashion is fashion. It looks good on every skin color when done right.”
She squealed, leaping in a way no mature woman pushing thirty ought to. “This is so exciting.”
I felt my brows furrow. “If getting all dolled up is a cause for excitement, sweetie, you’re not doing it often enough.”
She scrunched her nose. “Maybe I have been in a bit of a rut. I took casual to a whole new extreme when Bear’s brother, Brent, started dating Molly, a.k.a. Miss Pert and Perky.” She peered around conspiratorially, as if to check for listeners, before refocusing on me. She leaned in and whispered, “The woman is nearly twice his age with three children from three different fathers, and all out of wedlock.”
It was only by a miracle that I kept my opinion to myself. First, no one is perfect. Second, and most important, no one should ever compromise how he or she represents themself, particularly in their career field, because of a personal issue. Most stood firmly behind separation of church and state, but I fully backed separation of personal and professional. “Every woman deserves to feel beautiful, regardless of their profession. I think it’s time the people of this town got used to seeing the press in business casual, as opposed to...” I struggled to find a word to describe the atrocity Mary Ann wore. I ended up settling on, “...that.” I waved my pointer finger up and down in her general direction.
She straightened, turning her nose up slightly. “Careful, Shae. I am still your boss, no matter how I’m dressed.” There was no bark in her tone, merely good natured humor.
“Noted. Now let’s go. I’m going to need all the time I can get to work any degree of magic on you.”
She was practically glowing already. “Wait until you see those hunks. You’ll understand why we drool. Bear, Brent, and Brock are-” She blew out a harsh breath, fanning herself with her hand. “You just wait.”
Her insistence usually would have strengthened my resolve, but, for some reason, it was rattling my nerves. Maybe it was that I was surrounded by strangers and I couldn’t predict what was around the corner, or, in this case, who. My stomach was a mess of knots, as if my core knew there was some truth to her words, and I didn’t want to fall prey to them. I prided myself on being an extra curvy, confident, and, most notably, independent, African American woman. No man had brought me to my knees.
But, the journalist in me knew statistics, and they weren’t in my favor. My day was coming. I knew it was. I didn’t know whether to run to it or from it. Life would be much simpler if hormones had no influence on us.
Alas, my amended declaration would be: no man had brought me to my knees yet.
Yet.
Chapter Two
Barrath
Six years had passed and yet nothin’ had changed. The town was the same; everyone worked in the same places, hung out with the same people and told the same stories. Despite fashion’s progress in the time I was gone, the folks of Bear Valley wore the same clothes, had the same hairstyles, and, overall, lacked style.
When you travel the world, you realize a lot of things you never noticed before, like how you really do talk with an accent. I realized Bear Valley, to put it bluntly, was simple and boring. There was nothing fancy about it, and no one fancy within its lines. Much to my disappointment, it wasn’t one of those Southern towns with Southern Belles flittering about in fancy dresses, perfectly curled hair and flawless make-up. Most of the women of Bear Valley wore jeans, cowboy boots, ponytails and chapstick instead of lipstick. I supposed the practical ranchers in and around town preferred a down-to-earth woman who didn’t bother with excess and fuss, one not afraid to get their hands dirty.
Something else I realized in my time away, after being exposed to the women of my fellow soldiers, I preferred my girl all dolled up. I wasn’t sayin’ she couldn’t wear sweats with one of my shirts and not look gorgeous, but I was a cocky bastard. I wanted all the men to see my woman and stop what they were doin’ to pay attention, just so I could rub it in their faces that she was mine. That was impossible when your woman blended in with the rest of the lot in a small town. It was probably why no woman around here had ever snagged my attention for longer than a night.
“What was it like over there, Bear? You kill any fuckers?” Weasel took a hearty sip of his beer.
“Yeah, man. Give us the dirt,” Gator said, gallantly coercing me with a jab of his elbow to my side.
Less than half-an-hour in and they were already on their way to wasted. I gave them a disapproving glare, shakin’ my head. Would these two ever grow up? Shit. We were all pushin’ thirty. “You ever heard of don’t ask, don’t tell?”
They exchanged confused glances. “Ain’t that for the queers?” Weasel sounded just as muddled as he looked.
I didn’t bother standin’ up to their stupid. You had to pick and choose your battles as a Marine. These two weren’t worth one. “Apply it here and now. Don’t ask, cause I ain’t gonna tell.”
“C’mon, Bear. I know you’ve seen some shit.” Gator elbowed me yet again.
“And?” I c
rossed my arms over my chest, scowlin’ at the pair.
“Damn, man. Must have been some hard shit. You never used to be this uptight.” Gator was only slightly impressed.
“Hell yeah he has.” Weasel waved a shaky index finger in the direction of my face. “Look at those baby browns.” He puckered his bottom lip and feigned sadness.
“Really, Weasel?” These two hadn’t changed a lick since high school. Over a decade and they were still tryin’ to be the comedic version of the three musketeers with me. “Why don’t you take that sappy shit over to LuAnna? Rumors say she’s still gotta thing for you.”
He immediately perked up. “Ya think?”
It was my turn to exchange looks with Gator. How could one man be so blind to the obvious?
“No, I know.” I glanced across the yard to where the petite blonde stood chatting half-distractedly with Courtney. Every few seconds she looked our way, but her focus was on Weasel when she did. The two had dated for all of a week in high school. It was only a week, but Gator and me knew it was serious. She was the only woman Weasel didn’t mouth off the details of to the football team. If you asked him about her now, he still wouldn’t blab, even shit-faced drunk.
“What other woman you gonna find that thinks your skinny ass is full of golden nuggets?” Gator scrunched his nose.
I snickered, as all three of us stared LuAnna’s way.
The girl’s cheeks turned three shades of red as she immediately jerked her head away, returning her attention to her conversation with Courtney, tryin’ to pretend like she was oblivious to us.
“You should go talk to her before you’re too drunk to be smooth.” I slapped his shoulder, givin’ him a push in her direction.
Gator sneered. “Weasel is as smooth as a jagged rock anytime.”
“Don’t be jealous of my game, fucker.” He shoved Gator in the chest. The bulky male merely leaned back, his stance unbothered.
Red Hot and BOOM! A Sizzling Hot Collection of Stories from the Red Hot Authors Page 57
