Tomorrow’s Destiny in Ebook AND Audiobook!

Seasons Greetings!

I’m thrilled to announce that Tomorrow’s Destiny, my beloved Victorian paranormal romance, is out in time for the winter holidays thanks to the good people at Scribd. Even better, the audiobook is narrated by my fellow Victorian ghost-loving author, Leanna Renee Hieber. Having Leanna lend her lovely, lilting voice to my heroine, Fiona is a wee dream-come-true.

A bit about the book:

Approaching her thirtieth birthday on Christmas Day, 1890, bookshop proprietress Fiona MacPherson is in danger of becoming a Scrooge on par with Mr. Dickens’ curmudgeon. With her beloved Da dead, she’s set to lose her treasured bookshop to a mysterious antiquities collector. Fortunately for Fiona, her guardian angel-in-training, Fern, is determined to set her stubborn charge’s life, and future, back on track. Masquerading as the Angel of Christmas Future, Fern has until the final stroke of midnight on Christmas to persuade Fiona to embrace her destiny, and her one true love.

Antiquarian Tobias Templeton has been cursed from birth with an unknown form of albinism, a condition that renders him unable to endure sunlight and overly sensitive to touch. For five years he’s been obsessed with an ancient Aristotelian text on alchemy; Tobias is convinced the book holds the key to his cure. Unfortunately, it was snatched away at auction by MacPherson, a Scottish bookseller and rival collector. Five years later, success is in sight! Tobias has the deed to MacPherson & Daughter Booksellers in his pocket.

When Tobias shows up on Fiona’s doorstep on Christmas Eve to claim his property, will her scheme to save her shop, and his certainty that his condition makes him unlovable, keep them apart? Or will they embrace the magic of the holiday season and accept the destiny that eluded them five years ago?

Not subscribed to Scribd? Not a problem. Click on the link and get a 30-day free trial during which you can savor so many wonderful books including Tomorrow’s Destiny.

Happy Christmas! Merry Hanukah!! Fabulous Festivus!!!

Follow me on Twitter @hopetarr and Instagram @hopectarr.

Tempting back in paperback! Enjoy the first chapter FREE

Just in time for the winter holidays, Tempting is once more available in paperback! Check out the book, which RT BOOK Reviews nominated for “Best Unusual Historical Romance” on Amazon.

Tempting by Hope TarrAnd of course ebook readers can continue to find the Tempting ebook on Kindle Nook iBooks Kobo Smashwords — everywhere ebooks are sold. Meanwhile, enjoy the first chapter, my compliments, here.

Chapter One
London, October 1867

Simon Belleville was no stranger to squalor. He’d passed his first fifteen years in Whitechapel, the worst of the London stews, among the moneylenders, whores, and immigrants of Eastern Europe. The brothel staircase upon which he stood was every bit as narrow, as filthy, as dank as the ones he’d played upon as a child. Only now he was a man of four-and-thirty. A man of property and experience. A man who’d traveled to India and back—to Hell and back—to make his fortune. A fortune he’d doubled, no, quadrupled, many times over since his return. In a country where wealth and position were bestowed by birth or not at all, he was a self-made man, a living legend. At East India Company headquarters in Leadenhall, directors and shareholders and counting house clerks all uttered his name in reverent whispers. When he walked into the Royal Exchange, a hush fell over the central court as investors strained to hear what stocks he would buy, what others he would sell. And now he was poised to realize his next great ambition: a seat in the House of Commons.

Backing his aspiration was the Chancellor of the Exchequer in Lord Derby’s Conservative government, Benjamin Disraeli. When Disraeli had suggested Simon head Her Majesty’s Morality and Vice Commission, he’d had no thought of refusing. Distasteful as his duties were—if women elected to sell their bodies for a few quid and food in their bellies, who was he to stop them?—still the appointment was his chance to prove his worth to Disraeli, to the Conservatives, perhaps even to Victoria herself.

Over the past six months, Simon had led raids on twenty-odd brothels. The present establishment, Madame LeBow’s, was the very last on his list. Like the others, it offered the standard fare of flagellations, deflorations, and fellatio at working-class prices. Patrons liked their sex rough, their wine cheap, and their whores young. The close air stank of spilled seed and stale beer, and at least four of the eight prostitutes incarcerated in the police wagon outside were younger than sixteen.

Stopping on the stairwell, he stripped off his gloves and stuffed them in his coat pockets. Gloves were de rigor, of course, the hallmark of a gentleman, and yet wearing them he never felt as though his flesh could properly breathe. Wrapping one blissfully bare hand about the scarred newel post, he looked below to the four blue-suited police sergeants flanking the first floor entrance. A fifth officer was posted outside to guard the women. Simon had been about to issue the order to pull out when he’d overhead two of the prisoners whispering about the new girl in the attic. He might dislike discharging this particular set of duties, still he was a thorough man. A clean sweep meant just that, and he had no intention of allowing even one rabbit to escape from its warren.

Inspector Tolliver, lantern in hand, walked up the stairs, stopping a few steps below him. “Shall I light the way, sir?”

Simon shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll go alone.” He reached for the lantern, which Tolliver reluctantly handed up.

At the last whorehouse where he’d allowed Tolliver to lead an arrest, the madam had emerged with a blackened eye and split lip. Tolliver claimed she’d tripped and fallen on her way down the stairs. Simon had his doubts.

Tolliver twisted one waxed end of his handlebar mustache. “Are you certain, sir? It could be a trap.”

Unaccustomed to having his judgment questioned, Simon snapped, “I believe I can handle it, Inspector. By all accounts, there’s but one woman up there, and if she’s anything like the others, she’s little more than a child.”

Tolliver shifted his narrow shoulders. “Have it your way, guv. The lads and I’ll be below if you need us.” He patted the club swinging from his belt.

Watching him fumble his way back down in the dark, Simon suppressed a snort. With its bicycles and billy clubs and smart blue uniforms, London’s eight-man detective department fancied itself a force to be reckoned with. But then Tolliver and his men rarely ventured into the East End. Those dark, crooked lanes with their stench of urine, rotting rubbish, and spoiled dreams were a foreign land to them. To Simon, they would always be home.

He continued up the remaining three flights to the attic, rotting floorboards groaning beneath his boot soles. It was nearly twenty years, and yet it might have been yesterday that he’d listened for the landlord’s footfalls on a set of creaking stairs much like these.

“This isn’t a charity house,” the landlord, Mr. Plotkin, had said, after delivering what amounted to a death sentence. The three of them—Simon, his mother, and Rebecca—had twenty-four hours to gather their belongings and quit the premises; otherwise, he’d have them all hauled to debtors’ prison.

It was the first time Simon had seen his mother cry since his father’s death. Wringing her work-roughened hands, Lilith Belleville had looked from one child to the next and then back at the landlord. Then she’d done the unthinkable. She’d sunk to her knees and begged.

“Have pity, Mr. Plotkin. If you turn us out, where shall we go?”

“That is not my affair.” Stepping past her, Plotkin’s shoe had landed on the hem of her worn dress, leaving a dusty footprint on the clean calico.

The scene, like so many painful episodes from his past, remained branded on Simon’s brain. Now someone else, some other cringing scrap of humanity, waited behind a closed attic door for him to deliver the edict that would result in her being dispatched to Newgate Gaol or, worse still, one of the prison hulks moored along the Thames.

Like grinding an insect beneath his boot heel, Simon moved to squash what piddling pity still lived inside him. “That is not my affair,” he said softly, gaining the landing.

The attic door was a narrow planked archway barely broader than his shoulders. He slid back the bolt and the warped wood moaned open on rusted hinges. Ducking beneath the low lintel, he entered.

Inside the air was foul as a draining ditch, the heat as stifling as Calcutta at midday, the darkness unrelieved by any light save the one Simon bore. A latticework of cobwebs hung from the eaves, catching on the crown of his beaver hat. Brushing them aside, he held up the lantern and took stock. There was an old seaman’s chest, a slop bucket—full, judging from the stench—and a rope bed wedged beneath the slanted roof, an elaborately arranged pile of rags draped atop.

Securing the door, Simon moved toward the center of the room, his free hand pushing through dust motes, his footfalls on the floorboards sending mice scuttling. As he closed in, the bundle on the bed shifted as he’d well suspected it would.

He centered his light on the bed. “You can come out now.”

A gasp greeted that suggestion. Flinging the bedclothes aside, the girl bolted upright. “Ye keep away from me, d’ye hear?” Wide set eyes of an undeterminable color flashed in warning, the eyes of a wilding.

Simon shone the light on her. “Easy now, no one will harm you.”

She blinked owlishly, her little face puckering. This girl looked to be the youngest yet, but then those in the maiden trade were adept at the art of illusion. The childish night rail she wore, white cotton and buttoned to the neck, made her appear innocent, almost virginal.

Simon knew better.

Whatever her age, she was no beauty. Her eyes were too large, her breasts too small, and her waist-length hair of brownish hue hung in greasy strands about her pinched face. That any man would pay to lie with such a sad little waif was almost impossible to fathom. Then again London was rife with males who found it diverting to prey on the young and innocent. He thought again of Rebecca, and the familiar ache in his chest throbbed.

A few more measured steps brought him to the foot of the bed. She cringed when he closed in, falling back on her hands as though the light hurt her eyes. There was a dark blotch on her forehead that could have been a bruise, a birthmark, or simply more of the same filth that stained the front of her night rail. But there was no doubt that the small reddish crescent on her left cheek was anything but what it appeared.

A freshly cut scar.

Simon’s anger, never far from the surface, surged. No woman, lady or whore, deserved to be so foully abused. Resolved that the manacles he’d brought would remain in his coat pocket, he summoned his most soothing voice to say, “I’ve come to take you away.”

She lifted her face, pinning him with her wide-eyed stare. “Truly?”

Before he could answer, she did the one thing for which he was completely unprepared. She drew up on her knees and hurled herself against him.

“Oh sar, I’ve prayed and prayed that someone would come and just when I were a’most ready to give up, ’ere ye are.” She snatched his hand and pressed the palm to her mouth.

Her lips were cool on his flesh, cool and ever so slightly trembling. Startled, Simon dropped his gaze and quite nearly the lantern. She still knelt before him, thin night rail twisted tight so that it hugged not only her hips and thighs but the mound between. The sudden urge to reach down with his kiss moistened hand and stroke her there, just there, shocked and sickened him. He’d never considered himself a passionate man, certainly not uncontrollably so. Self-mastery was everything to him, the cornerstone of his existence, the bulwark holding back the shadows. He couldn’t afford to lose it now. He forced his gaze back up to her face, safer terrain or so he thought. But the manner in which she met his stare, as though he was her personal messiah, unnerved him even more than his sordid, sensual fancies.

He snatched his hand away and set the lamp down. “How long have you been here, in the attic, that is?”

Kneeling still, she fretted her bottom lip. “A’most a week, I think, though ’tis terrible hard to tell night from day.”

Whoever she was, she was no Londoner. The rounded vowels of the Midlands were plain in her low voice. He looked beyond her to the small sealed casement window, the glass pane painted over with blacking. For a country-bred girl, being shut up thus would be an earthly hell.

Pity pricked his conscience. He fought it back, beckoning a businesslike briskness he couldn’t quite bring himself to feel. “Yes, well, you must dress and gather up your things. The others are waiting for us below. Outside,” he added by way of an enticement.

She beamed at him. “Oh, lovely, are ye rescuing ‘em too?”

The poor girl must be dim-witted indeed or mad or an opium fiend, perhaps all three. Looking into her dirty face for some sign of derangement, he observed that her eyes—brown, he decided—were clear, her cheekbones high, and her mouth full, the top and bottom lips near mirror images, an unusual and oddly tempting feature. How would it feel to have that mouth moving against his rather than only his hand? Soft, he imagined, and endearingly sweet.

He dealt himself a sound mental shake. Perhaps he was the one in danger of separating from his sanity? This girl was no sheltered innocent but an artful actress, a whore. Her feigned naïveté had likely persuaded a good many fools to part with their coin.

Simon was no fool.

He folded his arms lest she reach for him again. “You and the others will be conducted to Newgate where you will pass the night. In the morning you will be brought up before the Central Criminal Court.”

Her smile flattened and a furrow split her smooth brow. “The Old Bailey! But I’ve done naught wrong.”

Still hoping to take her the easy way, Simon steeled himself to patience. “Prostitution is a serious offense. Still, considering your youth… By the by, how old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

Nineteen was well above the age of consent and yet young enough for Simon to feel sorry for her failed future. He cleared his throat, reminded of how very much older he was than she. “The judges may be prepared to show mercy… provided you surrender yourself quietly.”

Mercy? The workhouse instead of prison? Or perhaps if she were really fortunate, she’d be set free to… starve?

That is not my affair. He had only to carry out this last arrest and write up his report to Parliament, and then his obligation would be fulfilled. And another step—no, giant leap— toward the Parliamentary bench would have been made.

All he need do to get there was to stay strong, stay the course. Determined to squelch any remaining soft sentiments, he unfolded his arms and reached for her wrist. “Come, get up and get dressed.” Beyond all, he desperately needed her to be covered with clothes.

She wrenched free, the fierceness on her face confirming that further kisses were an unfounded fear. “I won’t.”

But she was trapped, and they both knew it. The window, assuming it could be opened, was too small for crawling through and, even if it weren’t, they were four flights above the ground.

Simon reached into the pocket for the manacles, hoping he’d only need them for show. “You are coming with me—now. Of your own accord, clothed or unclothed, matters not to me.”

Her bravado broke. She shrank away. “Oh please, sar, I’ve done nothin’ wrong. Can’t ye set me free?” She folded her hands, lacing the slender, nail-bitten fingers as if in prayer.

With her white clad form and guileless eyes, she was the very image of a supplicating saint he’d once seen in a stained glass window of St. Paul’s Cathedral, a saint with whom mere seconds ago he’d fantasized lying. His conscience niggled anew. Why not simply go below and say he’d found the attic empty?

Doing so would make me a damned fool, that’s why.

Disraeli rewarded those who served him well. He was equally lavish in punishing those who failed him. Without his endorsement, Simon’s dream of holding a seat in the Commons would remain just that, a dream.

“Regrettably I cannot.” Leaning over, he grabbed her sharply boned wrists in one hand, pulling her back up onto her knees, this time taking care to keep his gaze trained on her face.

“I ain’t goin’.” She hesitated. “Leastwise not wi’out Puss.” She swiveled to look over his right shoulder.

“Puss?” Still holding her, he swung around, wondering if she might have a roommate or, worse still, an armed keeper lying in wait.

Then he saw it. A skinny black-and-silver tabby cat slinked out from a wicker basket set in the corner. It stopped to stretch, striped forepaws straining as it regarded Simon with its slanted eyes. Rebecca had kept a cat just like it once. This flea-bitten beast might have been its twin. For the second time in as many minutes, Simon felt the keen stab of unwanted memory, a resurrection of the old soul splitting ache.

Stiffening, he turned back to the girl, her eyes vast and luminous in her thin, pale face. “You cannot keep a cat in a gaol cell.” Self-loathing roughened his voice. “And cease looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Her eyes widened even further, making her look even more guileless if that was indeed possible.

“Like you’re some damned… innocent.” Maddened by the skill with which she worked her ruse, he seized hold of her upper arms, his fingers biting into flesh-veiled bone.

His manhandling won her wince. “But I am innocent! And I won’t go to gaol or anywhere else without my cat.”

Gentling his grip, he said, “You’ll go and do as you’re told from here on.”

She glared. “Your arse I will.” She turned her head and suddenly his left hand sang with pain.

Releasing her, he jerked back and stared down.

By God, the little bitch had bit him!

Pinpoints of blood welled where her teeth had torn. He reached inside his breast pocket for a handkerchief, allowing that shucking off his gloves had been an exceptionally bad idea. Wrapping the linen about his throbbing palm, he fumbled in his other pocket for the iron cuffs.

But when he turned his attention back to the girl, he saw the restraint would not be needed after all.

She’d fainted.

Holding his bleeding hand aloft, he ran his gaze down the length of her, doing his level best to observe her with a dispassionate eye. She was skin-and-bones to a shocking degree, shocking for all that Simon full knew what it was to hunger.

Feeling awkward, he gave her shoulder a sharp poke. “Girl, wake up.” Belatedly it occurred to him he hadn’t thought to take down her name.

He brushed a tickling finger across the bottom of one long, slender foot. She still didn’t stir. Satisfied she wasn’t feigning, he straightened, wondering what the devil he was to do. When she’d been awake and fighting him, the path had seemed so clear, but now… She was completely senseless, completely vulnerable, completely at his… mercy?

His gaze settled once more on the raw mark marring her cheek. He’d spent years armoring his soul until he’d satisfied himself it must be as callused as once his hands had been. But somehow this slip of a girl seemed to have located a heretofore hidden chink.

But it wouldn’t do to let Tolliver and the others see the damage his foolish dallying had wrought. He took a moment to pull on his gloves, wincing when the tight leather rolled over his swelling skin, the hand she’d bit as any cornered animal would do. Try as he might, he couldn’t hold it against her.

He slipped a forearm beneath her limp form and lifted her against him. She was so slight he might have held a bale of feathers in his outstretched arms rather than a woman grown.

Simon let out a curse from his dockyard days. “Whoever you are, girl, you’ve shown yourself a more formidable foe than the entirety of the Liberal Party leadership.”

Newgate Gaol would have to make do with one fewer inmate.

********************************************************************************

BUY THE BOOK:

‘Tis the Season

It’s beginning to feel A LOT like Christmas here in New York City. The windows of Macy’s, Saks, Bergdorf’s and other grande dame department stores are done to dazzling perfection and our humble abode is likewise decked out. Christmas tree trimmed – check. Stockings hung by the fire – check. Gift shopping finished — er, still working on that one.

Whether you’re looking for a feel good gift for family and friends or a fun, bubble bath read to kick off holiday self-care, I hope you’ll check out my following two books:

Magazine managing editor and unapologetic Scrooge, Starr Starling is just as happy to sleep through the holiday. On Christmas Eve Starr is visited by the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future—all in the form of Matt Landry, the hot new art director she’s secretly crushing on.

“Award-winning author Hope Tarr’s A Cinderella Christmas Carol presents a different kind of Dickens story — one with a hunky Ghost of Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Be.” – Joyce Lamb, USA Today

Twenty-eight bestselling romance and women’s fiction authors, including Deanna Raybourn, May McGoldrick, Lisa Renee Jones and Yours Truly, share their real-life love stories in this wholesome, heart-warming anthology perfect for the winter holidays. Net sales benefit the formerly homeless moms and kids of Women in Need, Inc.

Patricia M. 5.0 out of 5 stars Loved this book! Some of the stories are funny, some are romantic, some are cute, some will break your heart but all are wonderfully true stories of love. I read anywhere from one to four stories a night. Enjoy, while you help a charity.

Amazon Nook Kobo Smashwords

Wishing you a holiday season brimming with fairy tale dreams come TRUE.
Hope

Happy Ween!

October is my hands down favorite month and not only because it’s the host month for my birthday, October 2nd, which I share with Mahatma Gandhi, Annie Leibovitz and Donna Karan! PSL (Pumpkin Spice Latte) and crisp autumn air, candy corn and boot shopping (finally!) – what’s not to love!?

In the midst of savoring all that’s ghoulish and garish, I hope you’ll check out my article on a rare and wonderful opportunity I stumbled upon: spending the Day of the Dead, or El Día de los Difuntos, at Cementerio de la Almudena, Cusco, Peru’s oldest and largest ossuary. Tradition holds that on this day the souls of our ancestors return to earth to visit with their loved ones. The eve of November 1st through sunset on November 2nd finds Peruvian families flocking to cemeteries to honor their dearly departed with music and dancing, picnics and toasts. What a privilege it was to join them!

Photo by Hope C. Tarr.

OPERATION CINDERELLA featured in THE NEW YORK POST!

NY Post iPhone pic

Sometimes Christmas–or in this case, Valentine’s–comes early! Check out the article featuring me in today’s New York Post and find out how data science, a divorce–and a seriously awesome 1860’s “fainting couch”–led me to NYC where I wrote OPERATION CINDERELLA and found my very own Happily Ever After!

(Author photo by Anne Wermiel for the NY POST).

Operation_Cinderella_cvr_RV_July 2013Operation Cinderella_cvr_500

 

Get Tempting for FREE at Ever After

Ever After Romance LogoTEMPTING_New Cvr_Pink Pearls_Final_12-9-11

 

February is the official Month of Hearts and Flowers, the host month to Valentine’s Day, a (mostly) stress-free holiday centered on that most elevating–and essential–of emotions: LOVE. To kick off the celebration, I’ve partnered with Ever After Romance, the awesome new **FREE** e-book app devoted exclusively to romance fiction. Now through February 10th, Ever After is giving away my Victorian romance, TEMPTING **FREE** to new users! Just download the app, create an account in two seconds, and voila, the book appears in your library. Already have the app? Even better! Use Code htfree and you can get Tempting free, too.  Below are the links:

 

 

 

 

‘Tis the Season: OPERATION CINDERELLA for FREE

Operation_Cinderella_cvr_RV_July 2013The winter holidays are the perfect time to press pause on busy lives and say thank you to the people (and pets!) who make our lives brighter every day of the year, not only December 25th. To show our appreciation to YOU, my Dear Readers, we’re offering OPERATION CINDERELLA, the first book in my Suddenly Cinderella series, FREE across platforms now through January 11.  Below are the links to download the title.

Kindle edition from Amazon.com
Nook edition from Barnes&Noble
Kobo edition
iTunes edition

Wishing you a holiday season and New Year brimming with fairytale dreams come true,

Hope

 

Rounding Out the Holidays, Ringing in a New Year

A Suddenly Cinderella Christmas Carol_cvr_FinalAs I write this, we’re just about a day and a half away from 2013. That feels hard to fathom. I’m not much for making resolutions, but at the advent of every New Year I try to find a few quiet minutes to reflect on the prior twelve months. What were my triumphs? What were my challenges–and most importantly, what lessons have I learned to carry into the coming year and hopefully make it that much kinder and gentler?

I also use this time take stock of my blessings. Leading the list for 2012: we survived Sandy with our health and home intact. Many of my New York and New Jersey neighbors were far less fortunate. My heart goes out to those who are still without homes at the holidays.

For those who feel you can afford to give, The Red Cross continues to accept donations for Hurricane Sandy survivors here.

On the career front, I embarked on an exciting new contemporary fairytale-themed Suddenly Cinderella series with Entangled Publishing. Just over one year old, Entangled has taken the romance industry by storm, challenging often outdated conventions and even rattling a few cages, all in the very best of ways. I am blessed to be writing not one book but four for this forward-thinking and creative team.

Suddenly Cinderella Book #1, OPERATION CINDERELLA released in mid-October and the feedback from reviewers and readers has been overwhelmingly positive. For the most part, people seem to really like my opposites’ attract love story with elements of Cinderella and “Revenge” interleaved against a “Sex and the City” backdrop. Two more full-length novels, PROJECT CINDERELLA and THE CINDERELLA CAPER will release in 2013.

With so many people hurting financially and struggling to afford a nice holiday for their families, price point is more important to me now than ever before. When I agreed to add a winter holiday novella to the series, I asked the publisher to please consider pricing it at under a dollar. The fine folks at Entangled agreed and A CINDERELLA CHRISTMAS CAROL, a fun flirt holiday read, is available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble for just 99 cents.

Many of the stops on my holiday blog tour offer either A CINDERELLA CHRISTMAS CAROL or OPERATION CINDERELLA as giveaways. I hope readers will take advantage of these chances to win free copies of my books as well as chime in and chat about everybody’s favorite topic: romance. Below are a few places to find me:

More stops coming through January 9th!

Lastly but far from least-ly, now that the holidays are (almost) over I hope you’ll take two ticks and give a listen to my interview with Romance Radio Network. A few weeks ago, I had the honor of being host Desmond Haas’ 100th interview, quite an honor indeed! Please take a moment to stop by and congratulate Desmond on his achievement.

SD_Coronodo Beach_Sand Sculpture_Nov_30_2012With warm wishes for a New Year brimming with bright new beginnings and fairy tale dreams come true,

Hope

 

 

Entangled Under the Mistletoe Blog Hop

Don’t forget to check out what the other authors participating in the hop are giving away!
 

In celebration of the Season of Ho-Ho-Ho, I am one of 50 Entangled authors participating in our first annual blog hop. The hop starts today and runs through December 14th, so plenty of time to visit some fab authors and win goodies and prizes.

For the Entangled Hop, I am giving away one copy of my Suddenly Cinderella Series winter holiday novella, A CINDERELLA CHRISTMAS CAROL. Christmas curmudgeon, magazine managing editor, Cynthia “Starr” Starling has reason to bah humbug the holiday, especially since it’s also her birthday–her 35th. Sexy seven years’ younger Matt Landry, the new art director, senses Starr may well be The One but getting her to give in and go out with him will require some serious Divine intervention–a pair of vintage red Cinderella slippers once belonging to a legendary Hollywood starlette and a Christmas spirit guide who happens to look, sound, and smell exactly like him!

Readers first meet Starr as Macie’s boss in OPERATION CINDERELLA, the series launch, available on Amazon Kindle and Barnes&Noble Nook Stores.

And while you’re visiting me, please take two ticks to enter my other two giveaways, independent of the Blog Hop. Prizes are: a Cinderella-themed gift basket (one winner) and three Amazon gift cards (three winners).

Wishing you a holiday season brimming with fairytale dreams come true!

Celebrate the Season with A CINDERELLA CHRISTMAS CAROL

A CINDERELLA CHRISTMAS CAROL, my Suddenly Cinderella winter holiday novella, released a few days ago, huzzah!

Think Cinderella meets the Dickens’ classic, with several storyline twists, notably the heroine, Starr, is Cinderella and Scrooge!

Many of you have met Starr, Macie’s magazine editor boss, in the series launch, OPERATION CINDERELLA. The holiday novella gives Starr her own shot at Happily Ever After with sexy seven years’ younger art director, Matt Landry–assuming she’ll set aside her Scrooge-like ways in time. Fortunately she has a visiting Christmas Spirit on her side as well as a great pair of traveling–and possibly magical–vintage red shoes.

I hope readers will enjoy A CINDERELLA CHRISTMAS CAROL, available at the Amazon Kindle Store and Barnes & Noble Nook Store for just 99 cents.

Wishing you a holiday season brimming with fairytale dreams come true!

Hope