My Book of the Month for March is my time-travel romance Crashing Through Time, part of a boxed set called Crashing Into Love. I’ll be running giveaways all month involving Crashing Through Time. For this week there is a signed copy of Ella Quinn’s Three Weeks to Wed, the first book in her The Worthingtons series.
The authors in the set all started out with the premise that the hero and heroine are brought together because of a plane crash. Most couples were in the tropics, however, one was set in the Canadian Rockies, one on a “distant” island. Mine begins with a plane crash in Cornwall, England, where my American heroine soon discovers she’s not in Kansas any more!
The WINNER from the previous contest is
( Ashley, I’ll be contacting you shortly.)
More than hearts can be broken when you crash through time.
Theatre professor Corrine MacGowan is in a sightseeing plane that crash lands in a field in Cornwall. She wanders away from the crash site, led by a strange buzzing in her head that is coming from a black well (think The Ring). She falls down the well and ends up in Cornwall in 1868 at the home of her Master’s thesis subject, playwright Sir Robert Graysill. She immediately meets Sir Robert’s nephew, Ian Hunterly, and once she comes to terms with the fact that she has fallen through time, realizes from her research that Ian is doomed to die within a matter of days. Can she save him and change history? Or let history run its course and lose the man she has begun to love?
“Miss MacGowan, you needn’t have resorted to such subterfuge.” He crossed to her, limping but without his cane.
“You simply could have told me you wanted to audition for my uncle’s next play, my dear, and I would’ve been happy to speak to him for you. He’s in London, mounting his current play, but I will certainly tell him about your splendid performance.” Ian’s kind brown eyes, the color of shelled walnuts, twinkled.
His suddenly friendly look was the one bright spot in this spectacular failure of a plan. He thought she was an actress instead of a spy. So much for helping her with her mission. She’d never been good on stage because she’d always had a tendency to overact. Unfortunately, that was just what the Victorians craved.
Corrine had hoped to stir Ian’s patriotism so he’d take her back to the woods to find that damned well. According to her research, spies and smugglers weren’t common in this area of Cornwall, but they weren’t unheard of. And France and England were always fighting, weren’t they? It wasn’t impossible that someone would have sent her to spy in France. Was it?
“You did have me thinking you quite mad in the beginning, you know.” Ian looped her arm through his and started for the door. An agreeable buzz of warmth, like a low-grade shock, shot up her arm. “I could not imagine a more hare-brained scheme than to send a woman such as you to spy in France.”
“A woman such as me?” The hairs on the back of Corrine’s neck rose. “What do you mean by that?”
“Only that it would be unconscionable to waste the talents of a woman as beautiful and accomplished as you on the French.” He stared into her eyes, the darkness in his transfixing her.
The next thing she knew, he’d drawn her into his arms, his face inches away. Blood pounded in her veins so forcefully, her body shook with each pulse. She couldn’t look away, even as he leaned closer. Her breathing became fast and shallow. The damned corset wouldn’t let her take a deep breath. She gasped for air just as Ian covered her lips with his.
He accepted her invitation, sliding his tongue into her mouth, bringing with it the sweet taste of whiskey and a smell of bergamot that made her think of Earl Grey tea. His masculine presence—so close, so vital, so insistent—stole her thoughts and made her weak in the knees.
He explored her mouth with a tender thoroughness she’d never experienced before, one that seemed to go on forever. The intense kiss melted her inside, leaving her a limp shell clinging to him to keep from sinking to the floor.
At last, he let her go and stood staring at her, brows furrowed in contemplation. “I beg your pardon.” His frown deepened. “I should not have taken such a liberty, Miss MacGowan.”
“Pardon granted, Mr. Hunterly,” she said once she could breathe again. He looked so confused—almost embarrassed—she longed to smooth the deep lines on his forehead away, brush the dark curly hair to the side, and stroke his cheek. If she touched him again, though, she wouldn’t be responsible for what she would do. It certainly wouldn’t be proper by Victorian standards—maybe not even by those of her own time.
REMEMBER! To enter to win a signed copy of Three Weeks to Wed, just comment on this post telling me that you’d like a copy of it.
Want to read more? Crashing Into Love is available at Amazon!
Good luck and happy reading!