I can hardly believe that this is the last book in my Wildcat series. It has been a great experience writing this series and getting to know the amazing women that love the Philadelphia Wildcats. I have learned so much from each character and will miss them terribly. Thankfully the Venom will be playing in the same city and stadium, so cameos from the 'Cats and their leading ladies will be frequent, rest assured. I fell in love with this cover at first sight. It captures the mood and tone of the series perfectly yet is sensual and sexy as well!
After the cover and the exclusive excerpt from Final Shifts, I'll be asking a question. If you`d like to enter to win a $20 Amazon Gift Card or a $20 NHL Gift Shop Gift Certificate, all you have to do is leave your answer in the comment section. No leaping through hoops or having to do fifteen different things. Just a reply and your contact information. Easy as pie, right?!
So, enjoy the cover and the excerpt and make sure you find and answer my question to be entered to win! The Wildcats and I thank you for all your support. I hope you enjoy Final Shifts,and getting to hear from each of our starring women one final time, when it releases on March 25th. You can also preorder your copy at the Secret Cravings Store, Amazon, All Romance eBooks and Bookstrand today!
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The only constant in life is that things will change when you least expect it. On the day of Derrick Andersson`s retirement ceremony, a late-season tropical storm parks itself over the City of Brotherly Love. The women who love the Wildcats will not only have to deal with the deluge outside, they will have to struggle through some of the greatest personal storms they will ever weather.
Liz and Veikko receive devastating news, Maggie and Derrick face a shocking announcement, and Isabelle and Philip receive the verdict of Philip's court battle. Can Viviana and Alain work out the problems that have torn them apart? What has life dealt young lovers Petro and Margarite? The answers to those questions, as well as a surprise that will rock the Houseman, are revealed in this final book of the To Love a Wildcat series.
R rated (Mature Language) Excerpt:
The door opened suddenly. I lowered the bread from my mouth. Margarite hustled in, Olaf being dragged along behind.
“Really, Mama, sneaking snacks in the bathroom? You’ll be big as the Houseman by the time Mitchell is born.”
I narrowed my eyes. Margarite’s amber ones moved to the paper bag overflowing the dark brown clutch lying on the shelf above the sink.
“Is good she eats. She is too skinny. I come over in morning, make kasha. Put many pounds on both mama and baby,” Olaf announced, her boisterous voice bouncing off the tiled wall.
“Thank you, Olaf, but I’m trying not to balloon up as I did when I was carrying Margarite. It took me two years to get back down to my regular size.” I shoved the rest of the Nutella fold-over into my mouth greedily. Margarite arched a fine eyebrow at my gluttony. I was quite happy to see Olaf here today. I wished to talk to her. If only Maggie would show up with those contracts I could find an empty courtroom and—
“Pah. What is a little baby fat? Men like meat to hold onto, yes. Making sex with the skinny woman is like poking dick at stick.” Olaf patted her belly. It did not move. The woman was as solid as a granite slab, and just as tactful. Margarite covered her mouth to hide the burble of laughter. I shook my head at the both of them. Then I opened up the sandwich bag that held the potato chips and began eating those as well. My ass would be as wide as the Francis L. Rizzo Sr. Courthouse if I didn’t get this binging under control. Oh look! Mama packed those buttery cookies that I so enjoy.
My daughter clapped her hands. My eyes flew from the cookies to her.
“Yes?” I asked while trying to ignore the Russian woman regarding me like a slab of beef in a meat locker. My daughter launched into a tirade that would have run on forever if not for the fact that my personal assistant came running into the bathroom with a handful of what I hoped were contracts.
“Here you are,” Maggie panted, her eyes moving over all of us quickly. “Why aren’t you in the courtroom? Philip is taking the stand.”
The cookie I had clandestinely snuck out of my purse froze in front of my mouth.
“I’m sorry, he’s what?” I inquired far more shortly than I had intended.
“He’s taking the stand. I was just in there, looking for you. They’re swearing him in as we speak,”
Maggie explained, her blue eyes searching my face. If she were looking for concern, she wouldn’t have to look too hard.
“What in the name of God does that hard-headed buffoon think he is doing?” I threw the cookie into the trash then stormed out into the hall followed by three women who undoubtedly were as flummoxed by me as I was by Philip. We had agreed he would not take the stand. He tends to be a bit, oh shall we say, opinionated? With the help of a few friends and one daughter, I ran the gauntlet of reporters with much less hassle this time. We entered just as the bailiff was putting the Bible away. My half a hazelnut sandwich flipped over inside my stomach. We took our seats directly behind my lawyer.
“Stan,” I whispered at the reedy man in the blue suit. He turned to look at me over the top of his glasses. The man was far from attractive. He had a pasty complexion, thinning hair, and a set of blasé brown eyes that were far too close together, but the man could litigate. Colton used to say Stan Wilcox could convince the devil that he hadn’t really been booted from Heaven, it had all been just a set of tragic circumstances. “What the hell is he doing on the stand?”
“He insisted. I strongly advised against it, but he can be rather stubborn when he wishes to be.”
“Tell me something that I don’t already know,” I said as I sat back in the hard wooden pew.
“Did you eat all my damned Nutella?”
“Can’t have one damn thing, I swear. Now I’ll pass out right to the floor. Won’t that look sweet?” Mother grumbled, crossed her arms over the bright pink jogging top she wore, and then pouted. Margarite lured her out of her funk with a candy bar that she had hidden in her purse. I wondered why Petro wasn’t with my daughter, then recalled that he spent this time of day with his mother.
“Don’t be taking my Nutella again, Isabelle. You’re not too big to be put over my knee yet,” Mom warned then took a bite of her candy bar. Maggie leaned back, preparing for another long day at my side. She looked quite distant, which is unlike the woman. Now that I thought on it, there had been no warm smile, no sunny greeting. Hmmm. If I had more time I would ask what was wrong, but Mr. Dibble’s lawyer was now approaching my lover like a lion with a wounded gazelle in his sights. And things had been going so well too.
Philip, looking sexy as hell in a dark grey suit with blue pinstripes watched his attacker approaching with a look that relayed utmost confidence. Of course it did. Philip Moore was a confident man. After all, he had led my team to the Stanley Cup finals two years in a row. You don’t win championships if you’re not confident in yourself, your program, and your team.
“Mr. Moore, would you please explain to the jury exactly what it is you do.” Philip looked at the portly bald man in the brown suit as if he were an idiot.
“I’m relatively sure everyone in this courtroom knows what I do.”
“Humor the court if you would, Mr. Moore?” Lawyer Edmund Brashworthy smiled. It was a greasy smile that matched his greasy client. Was Dibble wearing a Wildcats tie? He did not have balls that big, did he? Lord, grant me the serenity to not leap over this partition and swat Bert Dibble upside his damn headline-seeking, combed-over, head. Amen.
“I’m the head coach for the Philadelphia Wildcats,” Philip responded, leaning back in his seat then crossing one long strong leg over the other. He exuded cool and collected but I knew better. I knew that under that facade, the man was a bubbling fountain of passion. Anyone who has watched a Wildcat game knows that Philip Moore can only play the dispassionate coach for so long. You piss him off, make a bad call, or cheap shot one of his players, and the man will come unglued. Dear Lord, please don’t let Dibble’s dirt-bag lawyer blindside anyone with tawdry comments. Amen.
I sensed many prayers would be uttered today.
Now for the contest question--
If you could spend the day with one of the leading ladies from the To Love a Wildcat series, who would you choose?
Make sure you leave your answer, your choice of Amazon GC or NHL Gift Shop GC, and your contact information. If you don`t leave your contact info I'll have to pass over your entry. I just don`t have the time to track folks down on the internet, so make sure you leave that contact information for your chance to win! I'll pick a winner Sunday morning. Good luck!
Skate hard and love deeply!