Sweet Talk, Sweet Dreams, Sweet Seduction
Boxed Sets
Publication date: May 1st 2015
Genres: Contemporary, Romance, Thriller
Goodreads: Click
Priced at only $9.99, this heart-warming, limited edition collection features ten BRAND NEW contemporary romances by New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors
Sweet Dreams Boxed Set
Priced at only $9.99, this fascinating limited edition collection features thirteen BRAND NEW thrillers by New York Times and USA Today Bestselling authors
Sweet Seduction Boxed Set
Priced at only 9.99, this stunning limited edition collection features thirteen BRAND NEW contemporary romances by New York Times and USA Today Bestselling authors.You can make a difference while you read! All proceeds from the sales of these boxed sets will be donated to the Diabetes Research Institute via Brenda Novak’s Online Auction for Diabetes Research.
Intro for Brenda Novak
I’m
a thriller writer, and a thriller reader, and hence a sucker for the
classic thriller plot, where an ordinary man or an ordinary woman
slowly becomes aware of a looming threat: someone or something is out
there, close by, infinitely dangerous; or perhaps an intruder is
already in the house, mocking, violating a sanctuary, or perhaps –
really creepy – he’s been living in the attic for a couple of
weeks already, camping out, undetected, silent, leaving odd nighttime
disturbances … who moved that chair?
Or
perhaps, for added anguish, it’s not the ordinary man or woman
under threat: it’s his or her son or daughter, their child, their
responsibility, the intended victim, a helpless target. What mother
or father wouldn’t fight to the death? And they do … 400 pages
later, an investigation has been conducted, the bad guy has been
identified, close scrapes have been survived, and finally the family
is sitting together on the bottom stair, stunned but finally safe, as
the bad guy is put in the cop car and driven away. The end.
Diabetes
starts like that. But it doesn’t finish like that.
It’s
a mysterious malfunction. No one knows the cause. Researchers
suspect an element of genetic susceptibility, and in those
susceptible it’s possible the Coxsackie B4 virus kicks things off.
Then a tiny balance among the human body’s billion moving parts
goes slightly out of whack, and the beta cells in the islets of
Langerhans (such an innocent name) inside the pancreas shut down and
stop producing insulin, so the body can no longer deal with the kind
of sugars we crave.
The
intruder is now in the house.
Untreated,
all kinds of complications will follow. Cardiovascular disease, and
stroke, and damage to the eyes, kidneys, and nerves. And more.
Including death. All in store, unbelievably, for the ordinary
parent’s beautiful and vulnerable child. No one’s fault. Type 1
diabetes is unrelated to lifestyle. Most victims are thin or normal,
healthy, well fed, well loved.
The
fight back begins with maintenance. Sometimes diet is enough; more
often, insulin must be provided. An endless round begins: testing
and injecting, testing and injecting. Most sufferers do OK for a
long time, but only OK. Quite apart from the social and
organizational burdens of diet and injection, they can feel under the
weather a lot of the time. But in thriller terms, we can at least
get them barricaded in a safe house, at least temporarily, doors and
windows locked, guns drawn, with the bad guy lurking outside in the
yard.
But
how do we get the bad guy in the cop car?
Research
is the answer, but it’s fantastically expensive. All around the
world, teams of biochemists are working hard, but they have to pay
the rent. And eat. Their funding comes from governments and
institutions and drug companies – but also from hundreds of
thousands of concerned individuals. Many of them are parents of
diabetic children, and it’s easy to see why. The primeval instinct
that makes a mother or father fight to the death is a powerful one –
perhaps the most powerful among our emotional inheritance. But in
the case of diabetes it’s frustrated. There’s no identifiable
antagonist, no role for a gun or a blade. There’s no bar fight to
be had. If only it was that easy. I know of no parent who wouldn’t
gladly smash a long-neck bottle and join the fray. But they can’t.
Such parents have to channel their natural aggression into a long,
patient, endless struggle for progress. They raise awareness and
money any way they can.
This
anthology is an example. It will help fund the search for a cure.
All good. In fact better than good, because whatever else, there are
some great authors and some great stories here to enjoy. So if you
buy it, you’ll get some excellent entertainment – but also you
might just get the chance to be that mysterious character on page 297
of our notional thriller, who contributes the tiny but vital clue
that eventually leads to the big reveal on page 397. Your few cents
could make the difference. You could be the one.
Lee
Child | New
York | 2015
From WANDERLUST by Roni Loren
When the song finished, Lex
sauntered to the edge of the stage to address the audience. “How’s
everyone doing tonight?”
Screams answered him. He gave an
easy laugh, clearly comfortable being the center of attention.
“I’m glad y’all are having
a good time. We are, too. New Orleans definitely knows how to throw a
party.” He put his hand against his brow to shield his eyes from
the spotlights and squinted at the sea of people below him. “Turn
up those house lights. I want to see these beautiful faces.”
Female voices reverberated off
the walls as the lights above the crowd switched on. A redhead a few
steps away from Aubrey lifted up her shirt as soon as Lex’s eyes
traveled in that direction. Nice. What was this? Mardi Gras? Lex
smiled and gave a little nod of acknowledgement to boob-job girl, but
otherwise didn’t comment.
“You know, I’m feeling mighty
thirsty, and I heard a rumor that New Orleans is home of the body
shot,” Lex said, continuing to survey the audience with a sly
smile. “So I’m thinking, that maybe I should try one tonight.
What do you think?”
The shouting of the crowd
increased.
“Now all I need is…a willing
victim,” Lex continued. Bustier girl began her bouncing routine
again and waved her hands frantically trying to catch his eye. Lex
paced across the stage, taking his time, holding his finger up and
preparing to point to the chosen one.
Aubrey put her money on Miss
Augmentation, but he passed that section up without a glance. As he
neared Aubrey’s end of the stage, his eyes landed on her exuberant
neighbor. The girl’s scream turned shrill. “Pick me! Me! Me!”
Lex lowered his hand ready to
point and then shifted his gaze, locking eyes with Aubrey. Her breath
caught. Oh, shit. Seconds seemed to tick by, but she couldn’t pull
away from the stare. She managed to wag her head slowly back and
forth. No. No. No.
He smiled, lowered his finger,
and pointed directly at her. “You. The sexy brunette in the black
t-shirt.”
Her stomach took a nosedive.
“Come on, I won’t bite,”
Lex said, waving her forward. “Unless you ask nicely, that is.”
The girl next to Aubrey shot her
a glare that could have curdled milk. The sea of fans parted as if
she’d suddenly morphed into royalty, and she forced her leaden feet
to cross the few yards to the barricade. Her heart took up residence
in her throat, threatening to jump out. This was a disaster. She
silently cursed the bouncer from backstage. If she had met the band
beforehand, she would’ve never ended up in this position. Building
a professional relationship with the band after this was going to be
next to impossible.
Hands patted her back and
shoulders as the two bouncers flanking the stage helped her climb
over the metal barrier. Lex squatted at the edge of the stage, all
wicked grin and guyliner, and stuck his hand out. He cocked his head,
beckoning her closer in a way that spoke without the words. Come
on over, lamb, said
the wolf. This will
only take a minute.
No comments:
Post a Comment