Adriana Kraft

When it's time to heat things up...

Mystery

Out Now! Meet me in Milan, by KD Sherrinford #Mystery #Romance #HistoricalRomance #NewRelease @ExtasyBooks

by Leave a Comment

The deepest secrets are often to be found out in the open
if you only know where to look.

Book Information

Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : K D Sherrinford
100 Pages ~ 29 808 words
ISBN :978-1-4874-3967-5
Publication Date :2023-09-29
Series : Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler Mysteries #3
Category : Historical Romance, Romantic Suspense and Mystery, Romance

Blurb:

While her husband, Sherlock Holmes, is off playing detective in London, Irene Adler finds herself having to play detective when her friend Renata becomes the prime suspect in the attempted murder of her husband, Luigi Amato. How can she refute the testimony of a credible eyewitness, even though her heart tells her that Renata is innocent? She needs tangible evidence, and she’s willing to do what she must to obtain it.

When Sherlock finally arrives on the scene, Irene seeks his counsel, and he agrees to assist with her investigation. However, their relationship is called into question by Irene’s dear friend Sophia, who is not overly fond of Irene’s husband nor approving of the way in which they conduct their marriage. Will Irene be able to prove her friend Renata’s innocence, or is there a more tangled web of deception at play? And will Sophia’s misgivings regarding her marriage bear unfortunate fruit?

Excerpt

Chapter Eight

Luigi turned his attention to my husband. “It is an honour to meet you, Signor Sapori. I have only heard good things about you. But, of course, I have already had the pleasure of meeting your beautiful, charming wife. That engaging smile could cast a spell over any man”. He sighed. “You are indeed a fortunate man. Love is such a wonderful thing, some say the most incredible thing. Don’t you agree?

Sherlock straightened in his chair. I could see this inference rattled him. “I’m afraid I don’t speak as eloquently as you regarding matters of the heart, Signor Amato, neither would I wish to. But I will say this.” He paused to take a sip from his glass, fixing me with his piercing grey eyes. “My wife is not here to decorate the room, Signor Sapori. She is a strong, independent woman of whom I am inordinately proud. I admire many things about her, of course. Her grace, humility and intelligence are just a few of the things that first attracted me to her But, most of all, the fact that she chose me as her husband. Nene does not walk in my shadow. On the contrary, she ploughs her own furrow. I am a better person for knowing her”.

My heart swelled as I stared at my husband in jaw-dropping, incredulous admiration. It seemed unimaginable; this profound seismic moment, Sherlock’s narrative spoken so articulately and hurtled so trippingly off the tongue and spoken with such conviction, was the last thing I expected to hear. Yet his words meant more to me than I could ever express.

Buy Links

https://www.extasybooks.com/Meet-Me-In-Milan

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CJRRSN8B/

About KD Sherrinford

KD Sherrinford was born and raised in Preston, Lancashire, and now resides on the Fylde Coast with her husband John and their children.

KD had a varied career, working with thoroughbred horses and racing greyhounds. She and her husband won the Blackpool Greyhound Derby in 1987 with Scottie. Then to mix things up, KD joined Countrywide where she was employed for over 20 years and became a Fellow of The National Association of Estate Agents.

Retirement finally gave KD the opportunity to follow her dreams and start work on her first novel. She gained inspiration to write “Song for Someone” from her daughter Katie, after a visit to The Sherlock Holmes Museum on Baker Street in 2019. Writing about Irene Adler had always been a passion; she is such an iconic character. The first two books in this thrilling series, Song for Someone and Christmas at The Saporis are available now at all major outlets. Book 3- The much anticipated “Meet Me in Milan”, has just been released at Extasy Books. KD recently started work on the 4th book in the series, Nicco Sapori’s Abduction, which will be available next year.

KD’s short cosy contemporary mystery “A Bit of a Do” will be published as part of Marla Bradeen’s fabulous anthology Malice, Matrimony, and Murder, to be released on the 13th of November.  The anthology is available to pre-order at Amazon. With twenty-four original stories from Derringer and Agatha finalists, Editors Choice Gold Seal recipients, and CWA members, there is no shortage of talent.

You can catch a recent interview of KD at this link:

Depths and Endless Possibilities

If you enjoy KD’s books, she would love you to post a review.

KD can be found at her author page https://www.facebook.com/KDSherrinford/Author.co.uk

https://www.facebook.com/people/KDSherrinford/100078319333010

https://www.allauthor.com/author/KDSHERRINFORD

https://www.instagram.com/kdsherrinford

https://www.bookbub.com/profile/kd-sherrinford

https://twitter.com/KDSherrinford

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/23093327

You can email KD-   [email protected]

Out now! Pinned, by Liz Faraim @FaraimLiz #Giveaway #LGBTQ

by

Pinned - Liz Faraim
Liz Faraim has a new lesbian mystery thriller out: Pinned. And there’s a giveaway.

“Rowdy” Randy Cox, a woman staring down the barrel of retirement, is a curmudgeonly blue-collar butch lesbian, who has been single for twenty years and is trying to date again.

At the end of a long, exhausting shift, Randy finds her supervisor, Bryant, pinned and near death at the warehouse where they work. Upon the news of his death, she battles to find a balance between the joys of an exciting new relationship and the struggles of processing her supervisor’s unexpected passing.

The manner of her supervisor’s death leaves Randy unsettled and suspicious as she gets sucked into both a criminal investigation led by the police and an administrative investigation conducted by her employer.

As Randy seeks the truth, trust erodes, key friendships are strengthened, and more loss awaits her.

Warnings: violence, cancer death.

Publisher | Amazon | Universal Buy Link

Goodreads

Giveaway

Liz is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47198/?

Excerpt

“Yeah. You wanna ride the canyon?” Bear asked as she ran her fingers through her wild salt-and-pepper hair. Buck and I both nodded. I stowed my snacks and slid on my helmet.

“Okay. Everybody’s all gassed up, right? Last gas station before the canyon is at the casino.”

“We’re good. Filled up before crossing the causeway. Now stand back,” Bear said as she did a Jackie Gleason style windup before hoisting her short leg over the saddle of her bike.

We’d ridden many miles together and I was happy to see that her bike, a massive 1600cc Road Star, which she had lovingly named Champagne, was still on the road.

Buck fired up her Harley with a bone rattling rumble. I reminded myself to ride in front of her. When I rode behind her the engine noise was too much. I paired up the Bluetooth and Spotify again and picked a 1980s hits channel. Van Morrison sang to me about tupelo honey as I pulled out behind Bear, with Buck taking sweep behind us.

As we rolled slowly by PJ’s, the checker was walking out of the front door, gazing down at her cell phone. She looked up just in time to knock me out one more time with her bright eyes and toothy smile, making my heart race. I had to force myself to focus back on riding as we pulled out of the parking lot onto the main road.

We dodged big groups of college kids on bicycles as we passed through intersections until Dairy Glen turned back into farmland. Long, ramrod-straight county roads that ran between tomato and sunflower fields took us to the next county. The coastal mountains rose in the distance, the only thing to break up the scenery of the flat valley floor except for the occasional barn, well pump, or windmill.

Before long the three of us were weaving our way through the green rolling hills of Capay Valley, the two-lane road gently curving around orchards and dormant row crop fields. I saw some farms with livestock, including a few llamas and emu. We passed through the small towns of Madison, Esparto, and Capay.

Around the bend we got to Brooks, where the small farmhouses gave way to the casino, looming large, overlooking vineyards and the foothills. A massive banner strung across the front advertised an upcoming big-name concert. After the casino we passed through Guinda, and the road narrowed further as the terrain changed from wide-open valley floor to canyon, with steep wooded hillsides. The temperature dropped several degrees in the shade of the hills.

I did my best to stay focused on the ride and the road, but the heart-stopping smile I had gotten earlier in Dairy Glen, those blue eyes locked on mine, were a big distraction. I hadn’t given any woman a second look in years, let alone have one get my heart and mind racing.

Bear cruised along, never in a hurry, taking the curves with ease. I checked my side mirror now and then to make sure Buck was still with us, her aftermarket exhaust pipes echoing through the narrow canyon. There were hardly any other vehicles on the canyon road, though we did pass a few packs of cyclists decked out in spandex, riding fancy road bikes. As we rolled by a group of bikes on a steep climb, I watched one guy’s chiseled leg muscles working hard to pedal. The lady in front of him blew a snot rocket over her shoulder and he didn’t even flinch. I was glad to have an engine between my legs and opened the throttle to climb the last bit of the hill.

At the top of the hill, we zoomed by another gaggle of cyclists, resting after their climb. They were all off their bikes, panting and sweating even in the cold. One lady was throwing up in the bushes. Her jersey said “Veni, Vidi, Vomiti.” The slogan rattled around in my brain, drawing me back to my father trying to teach me Latin as a kid. I figured it meant something like: I came, I saw, I barfed. Another lady stood by, leaning on her bike frame, totally unbothered, sucking on one of those goo energy tubes.

My fingers and toes had started to go numb from the cold despite wearing thick socks and boots, and winter riding gloves. While on a short, straight stretch I took my eyes off the road again to turn on the heated grips. I pressed the button and looked up just in time to see Bear dump her bike over farther than I thought possible. Champagne, nearly on its side, cut over into the opposite lane and back.

I scanned the road for the hazard and had just enough time to register a small rockslide, scree and baseball-sized chunks of rock bouncing down the steep hillside and onto the road. I spotted a small gap and rode straight through, pebbles pinging off my helmet and shooting out from under my tires. I checked my mirror and watched as Buck, who’d had the most time to respond, swung out wide and avoided the whole thing with little fuss. That was Buck for ya.

Bear parked in a turnout a few hundred yards up the road. I pulled in behind her to catch my breath. I yanked off my helmet and pulled the bandana down off my mouth, heart doing somersaults.

Bear slapped her chest and let out a roar that reverberated through the hills and down the canyon.

“Awooo! Jesus Christ! Did you see that, Randy?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t dump it. That was some fine goddamn riding.”

“Wasn’t my first time, won’t be my last.” She gasped and shook her hands out.

“Good thing you’ve been riding since before you could spell motorcycle.”

We laughed wildly, which helped me relax and steady myself as the adrenaline rush faded. Buck pulled in behind us, tires crunching on gravel, and killed her engine.

Author Bio

Liz Faraim
Liz has a full plate between balancing a day job, parenting, writing, and finding some semblance of a social life. In past lives she has been a soldier, a bartender, a shoe salesperson, an assistant museum curator, and even a driving instructor. She focuses her writing on strong, queer, female leads who don’t back down.

Liz transplanted to California from New York over thirty years ago. She now lives in the East Bay Area of California and enjoys exploring nature with her wife and son.

Author Website: https://www.lizfaraim.com

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/liz.faraim.9/

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/FaraimLiz/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20769735.Liz_Faraim

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/?s=faraim&search_type=authors

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Liz-Faraim/author/B092YXBXFV

Other Worlds Ink logo

Available Now! Hiding Place, by Jackie Keswick @JackieKeswick #ContemproaryMM #Mystery #Romance

by

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Hiding Place

Author and Publisher: Jackie Keswick

Cover Artist: Avery Daisy Book Design

Release Date: March 31, 2023

Genre: Contemporary M/M Mystery Romance

Tropes: Opposites attract, hurt/comfort, murder mystery

Themes: grief recovery, letting go and starting over

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 43 000 words

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

 

Buy Links

Universal Link | Author’s Website

 

Can a house with a secret bring two grieving men together?

 

Blurb

Can a house with a secret bring two grieving men together?

After losing his bandmates in an accident, songwriter Zach Hellig looks for a place to hide and a distraction from his grief. He finds both in a dilapidated Pele tower in a corner of Northumberland and in a sexy neighbour, whose smooth facade hides an old, painful secret that appears to be tied to Zach’s new home.

Are the rumours of an unsolved murder the reason for Robert Ludlow’s reluctance to sell Charnbarrow Pele?

Should Zach try to find answers to a thirty-seven-year-old mystery?

And having just experienced the pain of loss, should he risk his heart for a man who struggles to come to terms with his past?

A 43k m/m mystery romance, featuring a neglected old house in need of TLC, an unsolved murder, a grieving musician looking for a distraction, and his stern, intense neighbour who really should smile more.

 

Excerpt

“Whoever said that house hunting was fun can’t have done that much of it,” I muttered as another stack of envelopes from my property search agent flopped onto my doormat. Paper slid over paper with a soft whoosh like messages skating in freeform. “Unless it’s the hunting they enjoy, and never mind if they find a house or not.” That’s where we differed, I supposed. I wanted to find a house, not spend my time hunting for one.

Cradling the stack of clammy envelopes I returned to the living room, where property particulars covered the surface of my dining table, neatly sorted into ‘absolutely-not’, ‘no’, and ‘maybe’ stacks. An empty space, the space for the ‘yes’ pile of particulars, glared accusingly from the centre of the table.

Maybe the house I was looking for didn’t exist.

Or it existed only in my mind.

Ever since the night the police had knocked on my door, I’d yearned for a hiding place. Somewhere nobody offered sympathy or told me what I should do next. Where I didn’t have to put on a brave face and be Halcyon songwriter and keyboard player Zach Hellig.

I yearned for a place where I could grieve in private.

There was no such place, of course.

The paparazzi found me sooner or later. As did the fans, though—to my surprise—they’d proved unexpectedly compassionate after that first insane outpouring of grief.

Many expressed the wish I would continue writing the music they had loved us for. Or that I’d start over with a new band. I had no answers to give them, but as I started to process the aftermath of the accident, my need for a place to grieve had turned into a wish to rebuild my life in a shape and form it hadn’t had before.

I’d dissolved my contract and had set about finding a house for myself.

My requirements had seemed simple: a house with a largish garden in a remote location, maybe in need of renovation. I hadn’t expected this to be a challenging brief for any self-respecting property search agent.

Apparently, it was.

In the last four months, I’d seen a score of houses all over the country. On the surface, they all fulfilled my requirements. I just couldn’t imagine myself living in any of them.

“This lot won’t make a difference either.” I settled in the armchair under the window, envelopes in my lap. The agent could have emailed me the particulars, just as I could have spent my days on the various property sites, hunting for suitable houses myself.

It wasn’t how my mind worked, though. I wanted the madness in my life to slow down and I was hoping that doing things the old-fashioned way—hiring an agent to help me find a suitable house and scrutinising potential homes on paper—would help me do that.

Or, as my counsellor had suggested, I was avoiding both people and the internet.

I picked up the first envelope and felt a tiny spark of something bright in the back of my mind. A promise? A touch of hope?

One after the other, I opened the envelopes and scrutinised the contents. One after the other, the sheets fluttered to the floor.

Until the last of the offered properties had me sitting up in my chair.

The brochure described the house—Charnbarrow Pele—as a 17th century farmhouse with courtyard, stables, and walled garden, attached to a 14th century fortified tower.

It fit the list I’d given the agent, but what gave me the fluttery feeling was the photo on the front of the brochure: A house sitting lost and lonely, waiting for an injection of life.

No doubt I was being fanciful. I’d also seen what could be achieved with a few photoshop skills.

None of that mattered. Hopeful for the first time in months, I placed the brochure in the empty space on my dining table.

Then I reached for the phone to call the agent.

 

 

About the Author

Jackie Keswick was born behind the Iron Curtain with itchy feet, a bent for rocks and a recurring dream of stepping off a bus in the middle of nowhere to go home. She’s worked in a hospital and as the only girl with 52 men on an oil rig, spent a winter in Moscow and a summer in Iceland and finally settled in the country of her dreams with her dream team: a husband, a cat, a tandem, a hammer and a laptop.

Jackie loves unexpected reunions and second chances, and men who write their own rules. She blogs about English history and food, has a thing for green eyes, and is a great believer in making up soundtracks for everything, including her characters and the cat.

And she still hasn’t found the place where the bus stops.

For questions and comments, not restricted to green eyes, bus stops or recipes for traditional English food, you can find Jackie Keswick in all the usual places.

 

Blog/Website | Facebook group | Facebook page | Twitter

Instagram | Newsletter Sign-up | TikTok | Patreon

 

 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions


Do you Play by the Rules? #RomanticSuspense #CrimeFiction #Danger

by

Looking for a steamy read full of danger and suspense? Check out my romantic suspense, The Heist.

BLURB

A heist? A murder? It’s villain’s choice.

A special-order art theft? Tedious, but seamless – until small town museum director Kara Daniels calls in the experts. Furious her favorite trio of priceless impressionist paintings has been stolen from its traveling exhibit on her watch, Kara is determined to save not only the paintings, but her future in the art world. She’ll stop at nothing to entrap the thief.

Ted Springs knows the underbelly of the criminal world a little closer than he might like—but he’s turned it to good advantage, first as a police officer, and now as detective for the Upper Midwest Arts Council. His job? To guarantee the security of the valuable paintings in the Council’s traveling exhibits.

Heat sizzles when Ted and Kara collide—can they work together, before it’s too late?

EXCERPT

Set Up: Embarrassed from an earlier encounter where she literally bumped into detective Ted Springs, Kara is cautiously bantering with him as she drives him from the airport to Elk Grove.

“If you ever get to know me, you’ll find there’s nothing unreal about me.”

He exhaled slowly. “And do you think I’ll ever get to know you?”

She giggled softly. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” She thrust out her chin. “At least not while you’re working this case.”

He took his time to chew on that information. “Fair enough,” he said. He wished he knew what he’d done or said to disarm her. Maybe it had been the memory of their brief encounter. “Not that I need more incentive to wrap this museum situation up quickly.” He paused. “Do you suppose we’ll be able to hug now and then like friends, now that we’ve cleared the air? Shaking hands seems so stodgy.”

Kara laughed quickly and then peeked over at him with a devastating smile. “As long as you don’t paw my boobs.”

Smiling, he didn’t miss a beat. “How about your rear?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “That is a different matter. Your large hands did leave a pleasant impression on my ass.”

So she didn’t mind a little flirting even while he worked the case. “Good. I believe in first impressions, and I always like to be clear about the rules of the game. Now maybe you should tell me how you think one or more people entered the museum supposedly without a key.”

She scrunched her mouth. “So do you play by the rules?”

“I didn’t say that. I just like to know what they are.”

BUY LINKS

Available in e-book and print

https://books2read.com/u/4D65wD

Always free to read at Kindle Unlimited

If he looked at her with bedroom eyes… The Heist #Excerpt #KU #steamy #RomanticSuspense

by

Looking for a steamy romantic suspense?

The Heist, by Adriana Kraft

BLURB

A heist? A murder? It’s villain’s choice.

A special-order art theft? Tedious, but seamless – until small town museum director Kara Daniels calls in the experts. Furious her favorite trio of priceless impressionist paintings has been stolen from its traveling exhibit on her watch, Kara is determined to save not only the paintings, but her future in the art world. She’ll stop at nothing to entrap the thief.

Ted Springs knows the underbelly of the criminal world a little closer than he might like—but he’s turned it to good advantage, first as a police officer, and now as detective for the Upper Midwest Arts Council. His job? To guarantee the security of the valuable paintings in the Council’s traveling exhibits.

Heat sizzles when Ted and Kara collide—can they work together, before it’s too late?

EXCERPT

Set up ~ the museum has just been broken into for the first time, but nothing’s been stolen. Even so, the Arts Council is sending out a detective to improve their security.

The entire day had cast a pall of suspicion over Kara and her staff. Even the police had discounted the entire unforced entry as a likely prank by an insider.

Would Ted Springs want to talk with everyone? Talk. She remembered Sasha’s expression when she’d used that term. They both knew Springs would be more into interrogating than talking, even if this was supposed to be a consulting trip. He’d have to gather information in order to give them the best advice he and the Council could offer.

Clearing her desk, Kara smiled at Sasha’s chauffeur-babysitter reference. Springs might need someone to drive him about, and she’d probably get Irving involved in that, but it was definitely her job to meet him at the airport and to see that he was dealt with professionally. He wouldn’t want or need a babysitter.

She allowed her mind to wander to their first meeting in the Council’s Chicago offices. It had been a random event, an embarrassing experience. She’d barreled into him while exiting Alice Erikson’s office. Coming along behind her, Alice had made the introductions, saving an awkward moment as Kara disentangled herself from Ted’s arms. She’d never given their meeting much thought, other than to be aware he’d taken more time than needed to free her. She’d never expected to see him again.

Did he remember their brief encounter? Given his reluctance to let go of her quickly, she surmised he was a boob man. She had no difficulty recalling his firm chest as she’d crushed into him, or his strong arms keeping her from falling or retreating.

It was his booming laugh that stuck with her most. “We ought to try that again sometime,” he’d chortled, settling her back on her own feet.

He’d acknowledged the introduction by shaking her hand and jesting, “Too bad I have to rush off.”

Kara rapped her fingers on the desktop, not pleased with the burning embarrassment she still harbored from that initial meeting. That was one of the reasons she had to drive to Lincoln to pick up Ted Springs at the airport. If he looked at her with bedroom eyes, she’d straighten him out immediately.

BUY LINKS

Available in e-book and print

https://books2read.com/u/4D65wD

Always free to read at Kindle Unlimited

Thoughts of a full-bodied heroine… The Heist, by Adriana Kraft #RomanticSuspense #KU #ArtTheft #IndieAuthor

by

Looking for a sizzling romantic suspense?

The Heist, by Adriana Kraft

BLURB

A heist? A murder? It’s villain’s choice.

A special-order art theft? Tedious, but seamless – until small town museum director Kara Daniels calls in the experts. Furious her favorite trio of priceless impressionist paintings has been stolen from its traveling exhibit on her watch, Kara is determined to save not only the paintings, but her future in the art world. She’ll stop at nothing to entrap the thief.

Ted Springs knows the underbelly of the criminal world a little closer than he might like—but he’s turned it to good advantage, first as a police officer, and now as detective for the Upper Midwest Arts Council. His job? To guarantee the security of the valuable paintings in the Council’s traveling exhibits.

Heat sizzles when Ted and Kara collide—can they work together, before it’s too late?

EXCERPT

Set up ~ the museum has just been broken into for the first time, but nothing’s been stolen. Kara is meeting with her curator, Sasha, as they prepare for the detective being sent by the Arts Council.

Kara turned back to Sasha. “You’ve triple and quadruple checked the exhibit areas? Nothing is missing or damaged?”

Sasha nodded. “That’s right. Irving and David have checked everything over and over, too. You walked through the entire building yourself. Nothing is missing. Nothing is damaged. That’s what’s crazy about this. Why would anyone go to the bother of disabling our computers and alarm system and steal nothing?” She paused. “And the creepy thing is we know they were in the building. The two soda cans on the floor in the vanPatten room didn’t just walk in on their own.”

Chuckling, Kara agreed, “No, I do believe they were carried in. Maybe someone wanted us to know just how vulnerable this place is.” She scowled. “But who, and why? I thought we were supposed to have a fairly sophisticated computer system.”

“Not sophisticated enough,” Sasha huffed. “Maybe it was some computer geeks at the college trying to show off.”

“Maybe. I hope Ted Springs will be able to shed some light on those questions. Doesn’t look like the cops are going to do much. No theft, no damage. They have more significant crimes to deal with.” Kara checked her watch. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t you head out when you’re ready? I’ll walk around through the place with David while we close up. Thank god it’s a Monday and we didn’t have to be open to the public. I’ll check with you in the morning after I get back from the airport with Springs.”

Sasha smirked. “At least I don’t have to be his chauffeur-slash-babysitter. See you.”

Kara smiled watching her curator saunter out of the office. Monday was their dress-down day, and Sasha was clad in overly tight work jeans and a tank top. For someone who wanted to maintain her privacy, Sasha seldom hesitated to dress provocatively.

Sasha could get by with tight jeans, or slinky outfits, or minis, with her petite frame. Heaving a sigh, Kara tried to keep her envy in check. Petite was hardly a word anyone would use to describe her. Full bodied, perhaps. Voluptuous, if one was trying to be kind. At least she had the strength to help David and Irving unload shipping crates. Some of those weighed three hundred pounds or more, depending on the size of the painting and its frame, requiring dollies and the greatest of care. Sasha usually stood by recording and documenting crate numbers and contents.

Maybe it was their age difference. At twenty-six, Sasha could get by with most any fashion. Seven years older, Kara had fewer options. She shook her head, trying to refocus. It wasn’t age that made the difference—it was the difference in skirt and sweater size. Kara exhaled, letting go of fruitless comparisons.

BUY LINKS

Available in e-book and print

https://books2read.com/u/4D65wD

Always free to read at Kindle Unlimited