Cover Reveal: Bridge of Hope

Genre: FICTION / Romance / Contemporary
Release Date: August 21, 2014
Digital ISBN 10:163112062X ISBN 13:978-1-63112-062-6
Print ISBN-10:1631120638 ISBN-13:978-1-63112-063-3
 
 
Love is like a snowflake; beautiful but fleeting in its presence…
 
I’ve been in love. But I’ve also been lied to, betrayed by those closest to me and I’ve suffered loss. Sadly it’s those last three things that stick with me the most. The only real constants in my life are music, Angus my dog and Rhiannon; my guitar.
 
But things changed when she walked into my place of work. All blue eyes, curves and a warmth that could melt even my hardened heart. I was taken over by feelings that I didn’t expect so soon. Guilt plagued me and I took my anger out on her.
 
On Mallory.
 
But I fell fast and hard and there was nothing I could do to stop it. When she too became the victim of heartbreak I was the only one who understood her pain but I was the last
person she wanted help from.

Would I ever convince her that we could be friends? And would I ever accept that she couldn’t love me back?

Launch: Crisis of Serenity

Available from 5 Prince
Publishing 
Genre: Fiction, Romance, Suspense
Release Date: July 17, 2014
Digital ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-047-3   ISBN
10: 1-631120-47-6
Print ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-048-0      ISBN 10: 1-631120-48-4

Purchase link : http://www.5princebooks.com/buy-links.html
Crisis of Serenity
Tess Copeland lives a quiet life in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.
Thanks to the government’s witness protection program, she enjoys the freedom
of never having to glance over her shoulder to see if someone is following her.
Life has become safe, serene…and boring. Her heart longs for something more
than just existing…until a ghost from her past shatters her serenity.
Once upon a time, Tess was caught between the FBI and the
men the feds were trying to take down. Jake Coleman is the U.S. Marshal who extracted
her from the jam she was in with the FBI, a man she could have fallen
for…hard…if she had let herself. It’s been a year since she last saw Jake,
and in all the months that have passed, he’s never tried to find her. The
longer he keeps his distance, the more she wonders why his absence hurts so
much.
When a stranger comes to town searching for her, all of
Tess’ old fears are resurrected. Asking Jake for help with her current crisis
might lure him into a dangerous trap involving murder, kidnapping, and revenge.
When Jake and Tess come face-to-face with the past, they will have to use all
their wits to survive.

About the Author:
Denise is a Southern girl. She has lived in
Louisiana all her life, and yes, she has a drawl. She has a wonderful husband
and two incredible children, who not only endure her writing moods, but also
encourage her to indulge her writing passion.
Besides writing romantic suspense, she enjoys traveling, reading, and
scrapbooking.
Accounting is a skill she learned to earn a
little money to support her writing habit. She wrote he first story when she
was a teen, seventeen handwritten pages on school-ruled paper and an obvious
rip-off of the last romance novel she had read. She’s been writing off and on
ever since, and with more than a few full-length manuscripts already completed,
she has no desire to slow down.
Public contact information

Excerpt of Crisis of Serenity
CRISIS OF SERENITY
serenity-n.-the
state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled

Chapter One

It
was seven a.m. and Sadie’s Pancake Kitchen had just hit its peak occupancy. Morning
rush was prime time, but the pace never slowed from the time the restaurant
opened to the time the last customer waddled out the door at night. Sadie’s
served breakfast all day, every day.
As
soon as I walked in the door around six, Wendy, the hostess, didn’t waste any
time assigning me a section on the top floor. She did it on purpose because I
had once complained about the trip up and down the stairs. When I worked the
top, I had to climb those stinking stairs fifteen jillion times a shift. The
owner, whose name was Helen, not Sadie, kept telling us she was going to
install an upstairs kitchen or a food service elevator. Yeah, right. Wendy told
me to suck it up and do my job, as if she were my boss. I called her Princess
behind her back one day and the rest of the wait staff picked up the nickname.
The nasty wench obviously held a grudge.
After
I cleaned the coffee maker and set a fresh pot to brew, I wrapped my apron
around my waist and stuck a pencil behind my ear. Once I entered the dining
room, routine set in. What do you want to drink? What will you have today? Can
I refresh your coffee? Is there anything else I can get you? Slap the check on
the table.
I’d
never been a waitress before, but I found I wasn’t half bad at waiting tables. Sadie’s
wasn’t the best job I’d ever had, at least not since the feds decided my life
would be so much better if I was
placed in their questionable witness protection program, but the steady
paycheck served my purpose. The waitressing gig kept my wallet fed. No extras.
Just subsistence. That’s all I asked. All I needed. Anything more might bring
unwanted attention to my existence. After all, the FBI wanted certain
individuals to think I had disappeared from the face of the planet so the bad
guys would stop searching for me. Because I had dared to testify against Bennie
the Goon in federal court, something that didn’t ensure a
long life, I had to cooperate with the feds. I liked living and I liked living
on the outside. I don’t do well in prison.
Life
in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, had settled into a comfortable pattern. Get up at
five. Take my niece to daycare. Bum a ride to work. Roll silverware. Brew
coffee. Clean teapots. Wait tables until my shift was over at three. Catch the
trolley. Pick up my niece from daycare. Go home. Feed the kid. Stuff a few
bites of food into my mouth. Soak my feet. Put Joyce to bed. Watch TV. Pass
out. Rinse and repeat.
Some
of the patrons at Sadie’s were tourists, but quite a few locals breakfasted
there several times a week, some every morning. After a few months, faces, and
then names had blended into my daily grind. The monotony of the ordinary
promised me safety and few surprises. For the first time in years, I wasn’t
looking over my shoulder every second and wondering who was stalking me. The
sameness of my days appealed to me, better than the life I’d led after I
escaped from the Illinois corrections system and the Fugitive Task Force began
looking for me. There was never a dull moment as a fugitive. By the time I came
out of hiding, the FBI had taken an interest in my case and coerced me into
rolling on Bennie. That’s when the feds immersed me in the witness protection
system.
I
sighed, set Jim Owens’ cup in front of him, and poured coffee from the fresh
pot I’d just made. He smiled at me, revealing a perfectly straight set of
ultra-white teeth. He had one of those symmetrical faces that cameras love. Why
was the guy a cop instead of a movie star? For the first time since I met him, I
smiled back. Just because I felt like it.
After
a year of living—no, more like hiding out—in Gatlinburg, my stomach had stopped
churning every time a member of law enforcement spoke to me. Sadie’s was a
popular cop hangout early in the morning. If I had known, I would have taken
the job at the souvenir store down the street, despite the fact the owner of
that fine establishment couldn’t keep his eyes off my assets. Where his eyes
roamed, his hands were likely to soon follow. I didn’t need that grief.
The
ticket booth position my handler had obtained for me at Zombiemania when I
first arrived in Gatlinburg went away when the attraction went out of business.
After that, I found employment on my own. I figured I could do a better job
hunt than the federal agent that couldn’t care less if I survived or not.
So
I was settled in Tennessee, at least for a while. I gulped down my distrust
every single day and served Gatlinburg’s finest their breakfast, even though I
had certainly had my fill of cops. This particular patrol officer seemed nice, but I swore I’d never trust
a cop again. Ever.
“Thanks.”
Jim flashed his gorgeous smile. “How are you today, Tess?” His eyes gleamed
with expectation.
“Good.
You want the usual?” I asked him the same question every Friday at seven a.m.
He always sat at his favorite table. The one that offered the best view of
Parkway. Jim was predictable. I liked that in a man. My ex-boyfriend Trevor was
anything but.
“Hmmm.
Let’s see… Yeah.” His order never varied. Four buttermilk pancakes. Four crispy
pieces of bacon. Two eggs—over easy.
A
shiver of dread snaked along my backbone. My head snapped up and I peered
through the window. A thin ribbon of sidewalk separated the two-story-high plate
glass from the roadway. The clink of silverware and restaurant grade china clattered
against the background noise of cars stopping and starting. I wiped my bangs
from my eyes and studied the flow of traffic on the street below. Two lines crept
bumper-to-bumper in view of the restaurant, a small percentage of cars making it
through the green light in one cycle. Stoplight #6 was always busy. A patrol unit
had stopped at the signal. The officer turned his head my way. Our eyes met and
held, and then my heart skipped a few beats. What was he doing here in Gatlinburg? I thought I had left him behind in
Colorado.
Nothing
on earth could have dragged me away from his stare. Life as I knew it had changed,
and my monotonous existence didn’t feel so safe anymore. The uncontrollable
urge to escape overtook me…again. I had always been good at running.
“I
was thinking…” Jim’s voice drifted in and out of my consciousness.
“Huh?”
“Tess,
are you all right? You went pale all of a sudden.”
“I’m
okay.” I turned my attention back to him. “I’ll put your order in.”
I
left before he could hint that he wanted to take me out. He was predictable
about that as well. Today wasn’t a good day. There might never be a good
time—not with a ghost from my past invading my newly acquired contentment.

Cover Reveal – A Painted Room

A Painted Room is my second book and will be released on 7th August. I’m excited to be able to reveal the cover!

 

Genre: Fiction, Family Life

Release Date: August 7, 2014
Digital ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-055-8 ISBN 10: 1631120557

Print ISBN 13:978-1-63112-056-5 ISBN 10: 1631120565

A Painted Room
 
The best day in a parent’s life turns into the worst.
 
For expectant parents, the origins of a new life are usually accompanied by excitement, anticipation and just a touch of anxiety about the future. There are classes to attend, prams to buy, and of course, the baby’s room has to be painted.
 
This description fits Gary and Melinda quite nicely – except Gary hasn’t painted the baby’s room yet. He finally gets around to starting the job, but Melinda’s water breaks before he finishes the first coat.
 
From there, the situation rapidly deteriorates. Their baby, Justin, is born via caesarean. Shortly after the birth Justin experiences breathing difficulties and is transferred to intensive care a few hours later.
 
The story follows Gary over a tumultuous few days as Justin undergoes emergency treatment. Gary and Melinda quickly discover that when a baby’s life is on the line, it doesn’t really matter whether or not you have a painted room.

Launch of The Porcelain Child

Available from 5 Prince
Publishing www.5princebooks.com  books@5princebooks.com
Genre: Fiction,
Alternative History, Romance, Historical, Family Saga
Release Date: July
3, 2014
Digital ISBN 13:
978-1-63112-058-9   ISBN 10: 1631120581
Print ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-059-6      ISBN 10: 163112059X
Purchase link : http://www.5princebooks.com/buy-links.html

 

 

 

The Porcelain Child
With less than a decade of stable rule behind them, Lord
Protector Richard Seymour has passed away leaving the country once again in
turmoil. With her connection to the old regimes, seemingly on all sides thanks
to her mother, Adela, Mary might find herself pulled into the heat of battle
whether she wants it or not.

 

Book 2 of The Broken Line Series, The Porcelain
Child
 picks up with the next generation thrown into the mix.
About Jessica Dall

Jessica Dall finished her first novel at age 15 and been
writing ever since. She is the author of such novels as Grey Areas and The Bleeding Crowd, the Broken Line
Series, and a number of short stories which have
appeared in both literary magazines and anthologies. When not writing, she works as a freelance editor and creative writing teacher in Washington, DC.

 
How to contact Jessica Dall
Website: jessicadall.com
Twitter: @JessicaDall
 
Facebook: facebook.com/jkdall
 
Excerpt of the Porcelain Child
 

Chapter One

The porcelain a little chipped, Mary still recognized the woman in the miniature. There were
enough pictures of her around, after all. Mary supposed she shouldn’t be
surprised to find it amongst the small box they had sent her of Richard
Seymour’s affects—even as the parliamentarian he was. Queen Adela wasn’t a
symbol of monarchy, after all. Even after everything, she was still the
romantic heroine.
And Mary supposed it likewise wasn’t surprising the surviving Seymours had sent it to
her. Mary hadn’t received much from Richard Seymour’s estate—she hadn’t
expected to—but it seemed to be the logical conclusion for someone going
through Richard’s things to send a picture of Adela Tilden to her daughter.
Mary couldn’t imagine the remaining Seymours would have much love for Queen
Adela themselves.
It was likely they would send it to Aberfirth or use it for target practice.
Touching the gold filigree around the little portrait, Mary finally set it down. Of all the
portraits Mary had seen, this one didn’t look the least familiar. Adela
couldn’t have been much more than fifteen in it. A rare portrait from before her short reign as queen, when she had been baron’s daughter living so far north she was barely on the map.
Still, looking down and off to the side, as if the viewer were below her
interest, the picture still seemed bizarrely fitting—as though she already
considered herself the viewer’s better, far before she had the right to.
The door opened, then slammed shut. William rested back against it, breathing heavily.
Mary frowned, attempting to recover from her thoughts. “What…?”
Motioning for her silence, William winced as someone knocked. He looked at her, mouthed, Help me.
Giving him a suspicious looked, Mary moved forward all the same, letting him hide behind the
dark wood as she pulled the door open.
Mr. Johnson, red-faced and soaking wet, looked up at her, puffing. “Where is he?”
Mary blinked, could feel William tense through the door. “Who?”
Him,” the tutor seethed. “Lord Kedington. I heard him come this way.”
“He must have gone further down the hall, then.” Mary glanced out the door as though looking
where William might have gone. “I haven’t seen him.”
Mr. Johnson didn’t move, hands clenched. A head shorter than her and red as a beet, he
still somehow remained intimidating. Even while dripping on the hardwood.
Mary looked at him, unmoving, daring him to call her a liar.
Mr. Johnson didn’t answer.
“If you’re wanting to catch him, sir, you should likely keep looking,” Mary finished.
Another tense breath, and Mr. Johnson bowed shallowly at the waist, stalking off as his wet
shoes squeaked after him.
Waiting a moment, Mary finally shut the door, looking at the smiling man still pressed
against the wall. She crossed her arms. “Aren’t you getting a little old for
these pranks, Will?”
“It wasn’t meant to be a prank.” The smile grew. “Just a happy coincidence.”
Mary sat at her desk, shaking her head. “I doubt Mr. Johnson will believe you.”
William shrugged, seeming less than bothered as he moved to the box on the bed. “This
the Seymour stuff they sent you?”
Mary looked at it silently, allowing William to change the topic.
Peering over the side, William pursed his lips slightly. “Not much, is it?”
“More than I was expecting, honestly,” Mary answered. “You know what the rest of the
Seymours think of me.”
William just nodded, poking through the few things left in the box. “Should I assume you
aren’t planning on going to the funeral?”
Mary frowned, watching him closely at the change of tone. He hadn’t asked what he’d meant.
She shook her head. “If my mother can’t be bothered to come back from abroad at
all in light of recent events, I see no reason why I should make the effort go
to Carby.”
“He’s your father.”
Mary snorted.
“And who knows,” William continued over her justified skepticism. “It might be exciting.
Getting out of Aberfirth for a bit? Seeing Carby?”
“I really can’t think of a place I’d rather not see, Will,” Mary droned, picking up the
miniature before he could argue. She tossed it to him. “He had that apparently.”
William caught it easily, eyebrows rising as he looked at it. “Very nice.”
Mary frowned deeply. “Could you please refrain from salivating over my mother while I’m
still in the room?”
“I wasn’t salivating.” He smiled, tossing it back to her before he sat. “It’s just a nice
picture. One of her queen portraits?”
“Not one I recognize at least.” Mary set it down without looking. “Do you find it strange
that he had it?”
“Well.” William took a moment, shrugged. “Your mother is a beautiful woman.”
Mary made a face, standing to pick up the box.
William caught her wrist. “Don’t give me that look, May.”
She just flicked her eyes over him, pulling herself free before she moved the box to the
ground. A well placed kick and it slid out of sight.
He watched her carefully. Took his time before speaking. “They’ve asked me to go.”
She looked back up, a low level of panic starting deep in her chest though she wasn’t sure
why. “They who? Go where?”
“Who, parliament,” he said, running a hand through his short blond hair. “Where, the
funeral.”
Mary pulled her eyebrows together. “Why? You’re no one important.”
He laughed. “Thanks, May.”
“It’s hardly a bad thing.” Mary pressed her lips tightly together.
He took her hand, swinging to face her. “I’d like you to come with me.”
“To Carby?”
He nodded, his blue eyes drilling into her.
Her grey ones looked back. “Are you feverish?”
The smile returned. “Carby can’t really be as bad as you think, May.”
“I can’t get within thirty miles of the place without someone trying to draw me into a
royalist plot. I would think especially now.” Mary glanced at the window, the
rolling green hills of Aberfirth seeming to be a false shield from everything
else waiting out there. “Anyway, I haven’t gotten marching orders from my
mother yet. If she thought there were any benefit in me going she would have
already ordered me there. This is Adela Tilden we’re talking about.”
William nodded, glancing out the window himself as if checking she didn’t see anything
before he looked back at her. “When was the last time you heard from her?”
Mary shook her head. “Years? What has there been for her to write about?”
“I would think there’s plenty lately.”
“She’s probably still figuring out her next move. His death was recent enough.” Mary
sighed, brushed it away. “I don’t have her mind. Don’t ask me to try to
understand her actions.”
“I still think you would have made a great queen, May.” William smiled.
Mary’s stomach clenched, her face turning deadly serious. “Don’t even joke like that.”
William’s eyes stayed on her, but he didn’t argue. Fair and tall as he was, Mary had to admit
William had grown into a handsome man from the gangly ten year old that had
shown up to stay eight years ago. She froze, the nature of the thought
registering, making heat rise to her cheeks.
“You are beautiful, you know that, May?” his voice cut in before she could recover.
Mary’s body tensed, the odd sense he had read her mind too jarring.
“Don’t look so shocked.” He rested back on his hands, easy smile unsettlingly handsome now
that she thought about it. “You are your mother’s daughter, after all.”
“And I would give anything that I weren’t.” She rubbed the side of her face quickly,
dropping her eyes.
His eyes stayed on her another moment before he stood, holding her chin.
She looked up, breath catching in her throat as he held her eyes.
“You still have this house, May. You still have your life. I don’t think you have
weathered everything too poorly, all things considered. Many lost much more.”
There was enough to set her head right again. Mary’s jaw locked as she pulled back.
“Thank you, Will, but I hardly need you to remind me.”
He touched her hair gently, pushing a dark auburn strand behind her ear. “Please come, May?
You can’t spend your entire life afraid out here.”
Mary shook her head. “You shouldn’t go at all, Will. Not now.”
William looked at her another moment, finally sighed. “I have to. Anyway, you’re Mary Seymour. I imagine people would leave you alone at Richard Seymour’s funeral.”
“Not when they believe I’d be Mary Claybourne had the old king not lost his head.”
“Seymour claimed you as legitimate,” William argued.
“Words.” Mary slipped away from him, sitting on the bed. “Oaths and proclamations and edicts.
They’re all just words. People hold them cheap these days.”
“I don’t know if I’d say that.” William turned to face her.
Mary looked down at her hands, back up. “Do they know who will be the new lord protector?”
William cocked an eyebrow but let her change the topic. “I think they’re still discussing it.”
“So there’s no one in charge?”
“Well, parliament is.” William laughed. “They won’t allow the country to enter a state
of anarchy just because one man died.”
“We’ll see,” Mary mumbled.
He shook his head, good natured as ever. “No one wants another war, May.”
“Every royalist who lost the last one does,” she returned, face serious.
“We aren’t going to war.”
“Are you certain of that?” She held his eyes.
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Would you like to place a bet?”
Her frown only deepened. “This isn’t funny, Will.”
William sat next to her, placing an arm around her shoulder before he kissed her forehead.
“You’re always so serious, May.”
“Life is serious.” She didn’t look at him.
“It can also be fun,” he said.
“So you always think,” she said, knot still tight in the pit of her stomach.