COMING FRIDAY 7 PM PST. J.M. DAVIES AUTHOR OF: FORGOTTEN LOVE (SEE EXCERPTS)


COMING FRIDAY
7 PM PST.
J.M. DAVIES
AUTHOR OF:










Summer Hamilton smiled at Betty Boop as she shimmied around the black retro wall clock and screeched Boop-Oop-a-Doop. Her scratchy voice announced eight o’clock, and right on cue, the roar of a motorbike engine growled outside.


Moments later, the doorbell tinkled, and in swaggered a broad-shouldered man at least six foot in height, wearing a worn, black leather jacket, faded jeans, and a white Henley shirt. Taking long strides, the sexy Viking with his back-to-front baseball cap strolled with a determined, yet natural, swagger that made everyone stare as he headed to the back of the diner.

For the past several weeks, Rafe Bryant visited Betty’s every morning like clockwork, driving the young and old waitresses wild. Rumors flew around about the mysterious customer who caused heartbeats to soar and glances to linger over his impressive biceps, but as Summer collected her notepad and pen, she was business as usual as she strolled toward him. Standing there, soaking in the freshly ground coffee and bacon fragrance of the diner, she waited.

“Morning, Sunshine.”

His deep honeyed voice created an outbreak of shivers that skittered down her spine, knocking her off balance. Those two ordinary words embraced her in a peculiar fuzzy warmth. But as she met the wide ice-blue eyes that stared hard into hers, the sensation receded, and she regained her composure.




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This is the Haunting Prequel to The Rise of Orion series.

As Miss Elizabeth Marshfield, I’ve never had a choice. My marriage to Sir Charles Dempsey is arranged. Love plays no role in this, but my sizable dowry does. On my eighteenth birthday, as I promise to honor and obey, eerie voices unlock a curse and ancient magic I didn’t know I possessed, and they won’t rest until I answer them.
My husband suspects, I ‘m mad—and mad, I may well be. But this cold-hearted brute cares naught for me as his mistress warms his bed.

I don’t know who I am anymore. Even the blacksmith, Barnaby, can’t disguise his contempt, despite saving me from a fall from my horse. So why does this insolent man affect me so? He reveals he’s a Roma called Raven, and the birthmark of the moon I have branded on my wrist proves I’m entwined in his destiny. Even talking with him could mean the hangman. But my heart has spoken, and I know nothing will ever be the same.

For once—I will choose my fate, even if it leads to a noose around my neck. 








All she could do was stare at the most striking man she had ever seen. His charcoal-black eyes burned right through her and matched the color of his shoulder-length wild hair. His classical rugged features reminded her of a dangerous highwayman. Captivated, she watched as he wiped the back of his hand on dark breeches before he extended it toward her. Like a goose, she continued to gawp and panted to catch her breath, lost for words. Who is he? Is he one of the guests? She didn’t think he could be, judging by the manner of his worn clothes.
“Are you all right, madam? Did you hit your head, or do you enjoy the view from down there?” He smirked at her.
She stared at his square jaw, arrogant cheekbones, and lips that teased, upright at one end. His barbed comments registered, heating her cheeks further. Ignoring his hand, she pushed herself to stand and brushed down her now dirty dress.
“You should be more careful about where you are going, sir. I could have been injured and my dress is ruined.”
Elizabeth studied the mud that stained the material, annoyed with her careless behavior more than his, but she wouldn’t admit that to him. Returning to examine him, she caught the handsome man narrows his eyes and he arched a thick, dark brow, as his smile faded.
“It was you, miss, who ran into me, not the other way around.”
She couldn’t believe the audacity of the man. No one spoke to her in such a familiar, uncivil way. “Well, even so—a gentleman would not have pointed that out. He would have taken it upon himself to ensure the lady was indeed all right.”
The devil of a man rolled his sleeves up and reached forward. Shocked he might grab her, she retreated, and he smiled, pointing at her with his finger.
“I do believe you have a cobweb in your hair, madam. I was simply going to remove it for you, but if you like the creepy crawlers, I’ll leave well enough alone. I hear they’re meant to bring luck.”
She gasped and darted at him, falling into his chest. “Oh, get it out—now please,” she cried.












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