Author of the Month #3 - M.A.Grant Sunday Feature: Exclusive + Giveaway!Sunday, January 31, 2016
"Author of the Month" is a feature that I created to honour some of my favourite authors by featuring their works for an entire month!
This feature will:
This feature will:
- Run for entire month.
- On every Sunday of the month (excluding the first week where I will have a blog post introducing and interviewing the author), there will be a blog post dedicated to the author. The content of the blog post is entirely up to the author's choice.
- The "Author of the Month" button will be displayed in my blog's sidebar during the entire duration.
- If you have any questions to ask the author(s), you can leave a comment below the blog post or privately message me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
For the entire month of January, I am proud to feature author M.A. Grant,
Marion Audrey Grant is fortunate to live in the rugged beauty of Alaska's Kenai Peninsula. She's believed in happy endings and true love since she was very young. Later in life, the realization that she had stories of her own to tell would lead her to graduate college with majors in Creative Writing and English. Thanks to her husband’s unending support, she now works as a scribe to the intelligent women and wounded heroes who need their stories told.
Reach her at:
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7141845.M_A_GrantPosted by,
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The Night Before – Maya & Jake
“No, Richard, I didn’t say that we were back together. I said that we could go out tonight and see how it went.”
“But it’s going well.”
I try to shrug his hand from my shoulder, but there isn’t enough space to move. “No, it’s not.”
“Come on, baby,” he whines, moving so he cuts off my escape from the bar. “So I made some mistakes. Who doesn’t?”
“Let’s talk about this later.”
He blinks blearily and I can see those rusted gears turning in his head. “What? Am I not good enough for you anymore?” He clings to the rationalization as only a narcissistic asshole could. “Now that you’re a star, I’m not good enough?”
The party’s loud enough that I don’t think anyone’s overheard his outburst. “Richard, please, not here–”
He puffs at my gentle rebuke, anger distorting his features. “You think you’re so much better than me? I’ll show you who’s better–”
He only manages to stumble one step forward when a hand comes down hard on his shoulder. Richard stiffens, spins, prepares to lay into the person who interrupted our argument, but when he sees the man standing there, he freezes, just like I have.
Tall. Wide shouldered. Blonde. A face so stern it would probably make Captain America look like a class clown.
Of course Jake Jacobs would play my white knight.
His eyes aren’t focused on Richard or on anyone else near us. They’re on me alone. Blue eyes, unflinching and unrepentant. And the rest of the package is pretty damn good too.
“I’m fine,” I say to his unasked question. But surely it’s not my voice that sounds so soft.
His concerns must be somewhat alleviated because he finally looks away and focuses his attention on my skeezy, now-beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt ex.
“Let me call you a cab,” he tells Richard.
Richard sputters indignantly, but the Jake’s fingers tighten on his shoulder. The skin around his nails goes to a pale white from the pressure. Richard winces and mumbles a drunken thanks.
“Come on,” my rescuer says, turning Richard toward the door of the bar. He glances back over his shoulder, fixing me to my stool with those blue eyes. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
A wordless nod is the best answer I can summon, but his broad shoulders and perfect ass are already disappearing into the crowd. Shit, if I’m thinking about Jake like that, I’ve clearly had way too much to drink…
“Mind if I take a seat?” Jake asks when he returns a moment later.
He doesn’t actually wait for an answer. Instead, he slides onto the seat next to me. God, he’s even better up close. All warm and clean shaven, with thick biceps and muscled forearms dusted with light blonde hair. His fingers are blunt, strong, with calluses that show he works with his hands.
“Are you okay?”
His low question forces me to look away from his hands and back to his face. He’s studying me, his mouth set in a firm line. It’s hard to believe that he’s only five years older than me. The fine lines gathering around his eyes make me think he’s older, but his body’s vitality seems to snap and crackle through the air with a young man’s confidence.
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine,” I promise.
“I got him a cab, so he shouldn’t be back to bother you tonight. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
I sigh. “Don’t be. I should have expected it when I agreed to go out with him again.”
At his raised eyebrow I clarify, “We used to go out.”
“But he was with you tonight.”
I gesture to the raucous party around us. “Cast party. I really didn’t want to come alone.”
“So you decided to bring an ex–?”
I raise my hand toward the bartender, who nods in my direction. “Richard happened to call this afternoon and wanted to prove to me that he’s changed. As you saw, there’s not too much to prove.”
“That’s because he’s an idiot.”
His voice is deceptively flat, but I see the spark of anger in his eyes. He’s angry for me. Why is that so dangerously attractive?
The bartender’s almost worked his way back to us.
“Well, Jake,” I say, “what do you want to drink?” He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “You rescued me from what could have turned into a really bad situation, so I’m buying.”
“You’re not buying me a drink.”
“Want to bet?”
The bartender leans toward us, asking, “What can I getcha?”
“A glass of red for me and a–”
“Stout,” Jake finishes for me.
The bartender nods and moves off. I reach for my wallet and Jake places his hand over mine. The contact sends a shiver over my skin, something in my gut tightening from the shock.
His hand is huge, warm, and heavy on mine. He grips me lightly, preventing me from getting my wallet, but in the least threatening manner I could possibly imagine.
“You’re not buying me a drink,” he says again, gentler this time.
I swallow hard. “But–”
He takes a deep breath and his jaw tightens. “I saw you twenty minutes ago and wanted to buy you a drink then. And now that your ex is gone, there’s nothing standing in my way.”
Oh, lordy, there is a rough purr in that last sentence. A promise that sets every one of my nerves on fire.
It’s just a drink, I remind myself as the bartender returns and Jay hands over some money. It’s just a drink with your best friend’s big brother.
He turns to me, raising his beer, and asks, “What should we toast to?”
It leaves my mouth before I can stop myself. “Second impressions.”
The corner of his lips quirks up at that and for some reason I wonder if I’ve just been graced with the closest this man may ever get to smiling. I lightly clink my wine glass against his beer.
“To second impressions,” he murmurs.
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