One Foot Outside the Door

Book Title: One Foot Outside the Door 

Author: Vina St. Fran 

Genre: Interracial Romance/Multicultural Romance 

Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

Good lovin’ is easy…But true happiness is harder to find…

To anyone on the outside looking in through the door of Cyndarella Worthy’s life, it looks like she’s got it all. At thirty-two, she’s beautiful and successful, with a handsome brother lover, Thad Mitchell. But deep in her heart, she holds a candle for Bashar Bazzi, the Chaldean immigrant she loved ten years ago. Bashar left for Iraq and she never saw him again, and she assumes he made a marriage within his own community without a backward glance.

Cyn’s girlfriends, Tavie, Denise and Vette, know that their sister still carries the scars of Bashar, but they pray she’ll find love and peace with Thad. Anyway, they’ve got issues too: Tavie’s dating smart school principal, Mack Dooley, but she can’t escape the rumors that he’s playing around; Denise’s marriage to Sean is under pressure because she hasn’t conceived a second child; Vette’s dating an older guy, Louis Burns, but wonders if she’ll ever get a ring on her finger.

When Thad proposes to Cyn and she accepts, it looks like this sister’s finally on her way to true happiness. But no sooner are the celebrations done, when there’s trouble—Bashar Bazzi is home, and he’s ready to settle his unfinished business with Cyn…

The passionate, powerful heart-breaking prequel to Betrayal’s Dust
by Vina St Fran

Chapter One

There are men who speak about their penis as if it is an extended member of their family. They damn near burst out of their pants to make the introduction. The thing they fail to realize is that, for most women, inches can’t compensate for character or a man’s worth.

Cyndarella Worthy’s mama always told her how to behave like a lady throughout much of her life. Except when it came to the subject of men. Perhaps had they had such conversations, it would have spared Cyn the consequential heartache she racked up in dating deadbeats.

Hell, Cyn pouted, most women don’t realize they’re dating a fucking’ loser until each layer is peeled back piece by piece like an onion. So much so, it ends up making everything around you tear.

First of all, you got to check off the outer layer. Of course he's dangerously fine, like Terrance Howard. All the way down to that little smirk of a smile on his face that initially drives you wild. This is a man that any mother would pray her daughter would bring home. A well groomed professional man with the material trimmings that would make most women's hearts swoon, and let’s not neglect to mention that big fat bank account.

Accompanying this package are the big boy-toys, you know, the E-Class Mercedes Benz, and perhaps a Hummer or some other luxury SUV parked next to the Benz in his three-car garage. And, imagine, there is an empty spot waiting he’s been saving just for you! He’s a go-getter on the fast track career-wise. Heck, there ain’t anything sexier than a man on a mission!

Three months have passed and by now you’ve discovered the middle layer. Your potential Mr. Right is charming, blends into most social settings and loves to shower you with affection. And yes, you've hit the sheets with him to find he is equipped with a substantial-sized tool to drill you deep in the wee hours of the night.

Women lie when they say size don’t matter, Cyn reasoned.

In her clinical experience, Cyn found fucking men with little dicks required much more work in order for her to achieve an orgasm. God forbid if they suffered from premature ejaculation! For her it wasn’t an option she desired to explore.

Getting to the inner layer some six months later, you find that things aren't quite working out. Mr. Right has fast become Mr. Wrong. He starts calling you less and making excuses why he's unavailable. And when you are together, his cell phone rings all through the night, and he can't seem to keep his lies straight as to who’s on the other end of the phone. It is then you realize the object of your affection has started to show his ass and, of course, it's all because he thinks things are moving way too fast. He needs time to sort things out. Bottom line is, Mr. Lover Man isn't ready to commit and has moved on to his next conquest.

Examining herself, at thirty-two, Cyn was striking in appearance. Yet, she was further from the altar than she’d ever been. Not only that, Cyn had what she called the five Bs: bank, beauty, boobs, booty and brains. And the fact she hadn’t become a member of the single mothers’ club made her stick her chest out even more. But wouldn’t you know, some people viewed her as selfish because of this? That was their problem, not hers.

Thad Mitchell, Cyn’s latest flame, was a bit different from the usual targets she dated. He was divorced with a four-year-old daughter. Normally, Cyn didn’t do men with baby mommas because she hated the drama that went along with it. Too many of her girlfriends had suffered just because they made the mistake of falling in love with a man who had dependents. Despite their good intentions, some men never truly, completely made a clean break.

It just so happened Cyn lucked out, because Thad’s ex got remarried overseas to a fellow naval officer, so Thad rarely got weekend visits. It was more of a long- distance phone relationship. Heather, his ex, was great about sending family videos and photos. Thad visited twice a year, which Cyn encouraged because she sure as hell didn’t want anything getting in the middle of quality time with her man, namely him drowning his sorrows because he missed his little girl.

At eight months old, the relationship was still quite fresh and Thad agreed to something most men couldn’t seem to follow through on: courtship. That was the one stipulation Cyn had before she’d accept a single date with a man. And if he wasn’t consistent, forget about it! Three months into their courtship, Thad hadn’t failed her. With a demanding high profile career, Cyn rarely had time for anything more than an occasional fling every now and then. Not that she minded variety at all, but she had to admit, her favorite slogan, ‘A few good men’, was starting to get stale.

Thad was eye candy at its finest. At 6’ 5”, weighing in around 280 pounds, his body was definitely lean and mean. He had fair skin and a strong jaw line, accompanied by keen facial features that appeared like they had been chiseled into place. The thought alone of staring up into Thad’s piercing hazel eyes made her ache to be with him. And being with him felt right. She was satisfied with the way they were progressing. She kept her fingers crossed that they would stay that way.

Lacey Smalton, Reviewer from the Midwest Book Review, Reviewers Choice, March 2015 edition wrote:

“I am not a fan of most debut novels in which I have reviewed. I must warn you in advance that this is not the typical cookie-cutter Contemporary Romance novel you may currently find yourself reading! This is the 1st book installment of a trilogy. One Foot Outside The Door is a story about Cyndarella Worthy, a vibrant and beautiful African-American woman and her three best friends from childhood. They face the trials and tribulations of life, love, and romance, but not without angst. Cyndarella, the heroine of the story is successful in every area of her life, except in the love department, but her luck changes after a whirlwind relationship with Thad Mitchell, a handsome, African-American accountant in that she agrees to marry. However, Cyn's ex-boyfriend, Bashar Bazzi, a Chaldean gentleman of Iraqi descent returns and has other ideas about her new-found pending marital status. This book delves into the heartbreaking arena of the intense scrutiny and misconceptions involved in interracial dating. Yet, it embraces those struggles with such realism, grit and honesty, that this is truly a refreshing read from this new author.
There is a true love story which unfolds here that entertains as well as educates. The storytelling is solid, focused, and downright unpredictable! The supporting cast of characters each with their own distinctive flavoring makes this a must-read book that I would highly recommend. The sex scenes are sensual, passionate, and SO frigging good because they reel you in with each scene from beginning to end. Hotness at the highest level! It is a game-changer! Can't wait to read the next installment!”

Hi. I'm Vina St. Fran, a Michigan native and I write contemporary romance stories for a mature audience. I am also Political Contributor for Examiner.com, which is an online news publication.

Let me expound upon what drives me to write as an author. I like creating stories about powerful, kick-ass women who make it happen in the boardroom and the bedroom without apologies. You will find my novels may contain characters of different ethnic backgrounds who add spice to the plot, and makes for interesting reading.

My female heroines are confident and charismatic, yet they are vulnerable when it comes to matters of the heart. The realism is heartfelt, for to love is to risk. They find certain situations push them to the brink of despair, yet in the middle of it all they manage to enjoy amazing, fulfilling sex lives with their significant others, which is thrilling and downright erotic. The end result is that the characters mature, and develop into stronger women.

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All the Little Moments

Book Title: All the Little Moments 

Author: G Benson 

Genre: Lesbian Medical Romance 

Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

A successful anaesthetist, Anna is focused on herself, her career, and her girlfriend. Everything changes abruptly when her brother’s and sister-in-law’s deaths devastate her and her family. Left responsible for her young niece and nephew, Anna finds herself dumped and alone in Melbourne, a city she doesn’t even like. She tries to navigate the shock of looking after two children battling with their grief while managing her own.

Filled with self-doubt, Anna feels as if she’s making a mess of the entire thing, especially when she collides with a long-legged stranger. Anna barely has time to brush her teeth in the morning, let alone to date a woman—least of all one who has no idea about the two kids under her care.

Just when Anna finally starts to feel as if she’s getting some control of the situation, the biggest fight begins and Anna really has to step up once and for all.

 

Benson spent her childhood wrapped up in any book she could get her hands on and—as her mother likes to tell people at parties—even found a way to read in the shower. Moving on from writing bad poetry (thankfully) she started to write stories. About anything and everything. Tearing her from her laptop is a fairly difficult feat, though if you come bearing coffee you have a good chance.

When not writing or reading, she´s got her butt firmly on a train or plane to see the big wide world. Originally from Australia, she currently lives in Spain, speaking terrible Spanish and going on as many trips to new places as she can, budget permitting. This means she mostly walks around the city she lives in.

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Dead Girl Running

Book Title: Dead Girl Running 

Author: Ann M. Noser 

Genre: Dystopian, YA/NA Crossover 

Release Date: October 26, 2015 

Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

Eight years ago, SILVIA WOOD's father died in an industrial accident. After suffering through years of Psychotherapy Services and Mandated Medications for depression and multiple suicide attempts, she longs to work in Botanical Sciences. When the Occupation Exam determines she must work in Mortuary Sciences instead, she wonders if the New Order assigned her to the morgue to push her over the edge.

To appease her disappointed mother, Silvia enters the Race for Citizen Glory, in an attempt to stand out in the crowd of Equals. After she begins training with "golden boy" LIAM HARMAN, she discovers he also lost his father in the same accident that ruined her childhood. Then Silvia meets and falls for Liam's older cousin, whose paranoid intensity makes her question what really happened to her father. As the race nears, Silvia realizes that she's not only running for glory, she's running for her life.

CHAPTER -- HAPPY BIRTHDAY

My tenth birthday was the worst day of my life. Dad had to work late because his replacement didn't show up on time. Mom and I waited for him to come home.

Eight years later, we're still waiting.

Most kids would've requested a Vacation Pass for their eighteenth birthday, but not me. I'd rather forget the whole thing and help Gus prepare the chilled bodies in the hospital mortuary. Dragging myself out of bed and pulling on teal scrubs, I fumble for socks and shoes, as a ray of early sunlight glints off my dad's picture hanging on the gray wall across the tiny room. Once again, his blue eyes capture mine as if he needs to tell me something important. On the floor, beneath the photo, sits a memory trunk full of how things used to be. But I won't open it today. I just can't.

Dishes clink in the kitchen. Mom calls out, "Hurry up, Silvia. I've got a surprise for you." She sounds happy, but I can't tell if it's real.

Since Dad's death, both of us have done a lot of pretending. So far this year, we've been able to avoid Psychotherapy Services and Mandated Medications, but sometimes I wonder if I was sent down to Mortuary Sciences to push me over the edge. Fortunately, I find autopsies intriguing, not depressing. And since I never got to see Dad's body after the accident, caring for other people's dead soothes the empty ache inside.

My boss, Gus, is an excellent teacher and the closest thing I have to a best friend. He always knows what to say to me and what not to say.

Too bad Mom doesn't have a clue.

Mom glances up from her green tea as I enter the copper-colored, modular kitchen. "I planned a big surprise for your birthday."

I tense. "What is it?"

Mom slides over a bowl of organic oatmeal topped with raspberries, normally my favorite. "I got us Park and Art passes today."

"I'm not hungry." I shake my head. "And Gus is expecting me."

"No, he's not. He knows all about it. I told him weeks ago."

"Really?" I cross my arms, not sure if I believe her. "He must be good at keeping secrets. Gus didn't even mention my birthday yesterday."

Which proves he knows me better than Mom does.

She frowns. "At least eat the raspberries, even if you're not hungry. I had to barter for them. And if it makes you feel better, we can pretend it isn't your birthday. It's just some other day instead."

I want to protest more, but there's a determined gleam in Mom's brown eyes¾one that hasn't been there for a long time. And I don't want to be the one to snuff it out.

I half-heartedly take a few bites of breakfast, swallow my eight prescribed supplements, and then return to my bedroom to change into jeans and a long-sleeved, green T-shirt. All my clothes are soft and plain, without decoration, made by hands like my father's. Only Dad proved himself to be Gifted, so he didn't make Basic Worker Level clothes for long. Instead, he got promoted to Government Level clothing production¾a promotion which cost him his life.

"Hurry up!" Mom calls from the front door of our small apartment.

We clamber down six flights of whitewashed cement steps, the stairwell so brightly lit with safety lights that one almost needs sunglasses. Once we arrive on the main floor, we push out into the swarms of people flooding the streets. Dashing across the busy bike path and two empty car lanes, we reach the closest walkway heading toward the park.

Traffic is orderly today. No bikers stray across the wide, white painted lines separating their lanes from ours. Men and women wearing blue scrubs of various shades hurry toward the hospitals and medical facilities. Those in green coveralls rush toward the monorail station to speed off to one of the numerous Plant and Protein Production Facilities.

I glance back at a beautiful, dark-skinned woman, trying not to feel envious of her green uniform. Normally, I don't mind my job. In fact, I feel more at home in Mortuary Sciences than anywhere else. But part of me still longs to spend all day surrounded by plants. Nothing can be done about it now. The Occupation Exam is over, and I've been placed where I'm most effective.

The streets are crowded this time of day. People whoosh past us on bikes as those on foot press constantly forward. Only the car lanes remain vacant. Flapping flags in the New Order colors of red, white, and blue crack overhead. I shiver a little in the cool morning breeze.

We march past rows of tall silver-gray buildings¾offices on the first two floors and apartments up above. We make good time until we hit the Citizen Family Planning and Reproductive Services Building. Traffic stalls. A tall man ahead of us shifts from side to side, waiting.

"What's going on?" Mom cranes her neck and rises on her toes. "Can you see?"

Indistinct voices argue up ahead. Strangers murmur but avoid making eye contact. After a long pause, the people in front of us begin to shuffle past the building. A few cast furtive glances over their shoulders. Everyone's in a hurry to get somewhere. Now I see who is causing the fuss—a red-haired girl, who looks to be about my age, shoves an orderly away. The crowd behind us pushes forward. Tears stream down the girl's pale face. She backs away from the building and turns as if to run before doubling over. She cries out in pain and clutches her swollen belly, breathing hard.

In her moment of weakness, the Suits surround and restrain her.



"I won't do it! I won't do it!" the pregnant girl screams as they drag her away.

My to-do list dictates that I attempt to cram forty-eight hours of living into a day instead of the usual twenty-four. I’ve chosen a life filled with animals. I train for marathons with my dog, then go to work as a small animal veterinarian, and finish the day by tripping over my pets as I attempt to convince my two unruly children that YES, it really IS time for bed. But I can’t wait until the house is quiet to write; I have to steal moments throughout the day. Ten minutes here, a half hour there, I live within my imagination.

Like all busy American mothers, I multi-task. I work out plot holes during runs. Instead of meditating, I type madly during yoga stretches. I find inspiration in everyday things: a beautiful smile, a heartbreaking song, or a newspaper article on a political theory. For example, a long drive in the dark listening to an NPR program on the SMILEY FACE MURDERS theory made me ask so many questions that I wrote HOW TO DATE DEAD GUYS to answer them to my satisfaction.

I’d love to have more time to write (and run, read, and sleep), but until I find Hermione Granger’s time turner, I will juggle real life with the half-written stories in my head. Main characters and plot lines intertwine in my cranium, and I need to let my writing weave the tales on paper so I can find out what happens next.

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