Upcoming Release Preview - Thursdays with the Author

So my next book, Irish Strength, is scheduled for release Wednesday, January 1, 2014 so instead of my usual Q&A session, I will be giving you all an exclusive preview! 

Irish Strength is the first book in The Irish Treasures Saga. The remaining books are Irish Heart, Irish Sight and Irish Truth. 

Here's the back cover blurb:

Long ago, before men came to the shores of Ireland, there lived a race of gods who fought a great evil to keep their island from sinking into the sea. Knowing men were destined to rule the land they loved, the gods created four great treasures to guard their beloved isle should the great evil rise to destroy it once more. Thousands of years would come to pass before the treasures were needed, before man would have to fight, to save Ireland from destruction.  

Morgan MacQuill flees America with her newborn son, running from an abusive husband. She finds herself in Ireland, with family she never knew existed. She soon discovers a heritage and power kept hidden from her and a destiny that will change her life forever.  

Quinn MacGreen has dreamed of a mysterious blonde woman his entire life. He meets his new neighbor, Morgan, and is shocked to see she has stepped out of his dreams and into reality. He struggles to accept his fate while protecting the woman he doesn't want to fall in love with. Morgan’s estranged husband begins a deadly search for her and Quinn must do everything in his power to keep them safe. 

When an ancient evil returns to destroy the world, Morgan and Quinn must work together to guard a great treasure forged by Celtic gods. Morgan’s past collides with the evil they are battling and the mythical war they are fighting becomes personal.  


With a mix of magic, suspense and plenty of romance, Irish Strength will take you on a journey that turns myth into reality and proves that love really is the most powerful magic of all.


And now, a preview of Irish Strength.

Morgan found the path easily as the sky started to lighten. The mist began to recede as she walked further on. Her breath made clouds of steam, trailing after her as she came closer to the end of MacQuill land.

The empty silence was broken by a quick whack followed by two thuds. Curious, she stepped off the path towards the noise. The closer she got the MacGreen Castle, the louder it became, joined now by a distinct male grunt. Rounding the hill, she found Quinn, chopping firewood in the hazy, pre-dawn light.

Stopping suddenly, Morgan watched as he continued to split log after log in rhythmic precision. She could see his muscles outlined beneath his wool blazer. His breath came in short puffs from sculpted lips. His long legs braced apart, shifted slightly as he reached for another log.

She didn’t understand any of this: why he was here, why she’d dreamt of him for so long. Since the night Braden was born, her whole life seemed to have turned upside down.

Quinn had felt her coming, long before she rounded the bend. He let her watch him as he continued to swing his ax, slightly annoyed at the emotions he sensed from her. Surprise and confusion. But mostly desire; hot, quick and very passionate. He barely had to probe to see it, making his male arrogance swell with pride.

Then he sensed her shame and saw her quick blush out of the corner of his eye. His temper flared with anger. Fate had pushed them together though it seemed it was what neither of them had wanted.

“Top of the mornin’ to ye, Morgan,” he called before swinging the ax again. She jumped when he spoke; clearly unaware that he had seen her.

“Do the Irish really say that?” she asked, stepping closer to him.

“Rarely and mostly for tourists,” he answered, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Yer Uncle Jamie is rather fond of the phrase though. I thought ye’d enjoy it.”

“Thanks,” she answered, a smile threatening on her face.

“Yer out early.” Quinn set the ax against the stump and sat down on a large log.

“Jetlag,” she answered. “And I, uh, wanted to see the sun come up,” she sat down on a log next to him. “It’s the first day of my new life.” Quinn nodded his head in approval at her words. Whatever his feelings against destiny, he was beginning to like this Morgan MacQuill.

“Castle MacGreen sits on high elevation,” he explained, pointing off to the East. “The perfect place to watch the sunrise. Yer more than welcome to stay.”

“Thank you,” Morgan answered. “Are all Irish people so welcoming to strangers?” she asked as the sky became brighter. Quinn just shrugged and looked towards the sky.

In the East, just over the mist-covered hills, the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon. Morgan gasped as the sky became brilliant with oranges, reds and pinks. The dew on the grass sparkled as if each blade had been covered in diamonds. She swore she could feel its warmth filling her up.

“It’s amazing,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her middle. Quinn snorted in response, not wanting to like this woman any more than he already was.

“Come in and have a spot of tea before ye go back.” Quinn stood suddenly, wanting to end the magic that he could feel radiating through the sunrise.

“I should get back to Braden,” Morgan began, standing up next to him.

“Bridget will look after him,” he answered gruffly. “Ye look pale and ye probably haven’t eaten yet, eh?”

“No, I…”

“And ye just walked a mile in the cold and dark in an unfamiliar place.”

“Yes, but…”

“No buts,” he interrupted again. “Come, have some tea.” He turned towards the castle and began walking away, smiling to himself when he heard her follow behind him.

They'd no sooner taken two steps before a big, dark shape came rushing around the corner, straight towards Morgan. Seeing it, she squealed in terror, freezing in the middle of the path. Quinn shouted for the animal to stop but it was too late. The mass of fur and muscle was already leaping towards her. The last thing Morgan saw was large, yellow eyes locking onto hers before slipping away into blackness.

“Morgan,” the Irish lilt had become rough with concern. “Open yer eyes.” Her eyes fluttered open and locked with golden ones, full of worry.

“Are ye hurt?” Quinn asked softly. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Morgan struggled to sit up.

“I don’t think so,” she mumbled, brushing a few clumps of grass from her hair. “What the hell was that?”

“My damned dog, that’s what,” Quinn growled, pulling Morgan to her feet. “Bloody wretch does’na listen to a word I say.” The dog in question, huge by anyone’s comparison, chose that moment to come trotting up to Morgan. Her face paled slightly at the size of the animal but she bravely reached out a hand for it to smell. Slowly, the dog stretched its nose towards her hand, sniffing furiously.

“Hello there,” Morgan whispered, smiling at the dog. “You gave me quite a scare. But you didn’t mean to, did you?” The dog cocked his head and stepped closer to her. “You’re awfully handsome.” It woofed in response. “And you know it too,” she giggled.

“Welcome, Morgan of the MacQuill’s.”

The voice in her mind was loud, strong and utterly canine. Morgan shook her head, wondering if she’d bumped it harder than she’d thought. The dog simply stared at her with an expression that closely resembled a smile. Quinn had heard the welcome and ground his teeth in frustration. Even his dog liked her.

“I do believe you have yourself a wolf instead of a dog, Quinn.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Quinn answered, finally smiling. “He’s an Irish Wolfhound.”

“Of course he is,” Morgan answered, dryly.

“Merlin, meet Morgan. Morgan, this is Merlin.”

“Merlin?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The mutt does’na live up to the name,” Quinn answered, smiling broadly. “But he’s usually a good dog. Just wanted to come say hello to ye.”

“By knocking me off my feet?”

“Aye well, he needs some work on the finer points of greeting a guest,” Morgan wobbled on her feet as she tried to laugh. Quinn reached out to steady her before she fell. “Ye all right, lass?”

“Mmm, yes. Just a little dizzy.” Before she could object, Quinn swept her into his arms and began to walk towards the castle. “Quinn, put me down,” she growled, pushing against his solid chest.

“Don’na need ye going into a faint on my land,” he answered, not listening to her orders. He tried not to think about how light she was in his arms or how sweet she smelled. Like lilacs and spring. “Bridget would have my hide,” he complained, trying to distract himself.

“Really, Quinn,” she protested. “I’m fine.”

“We’ll see,” he answered, easily opening the large oak door with one hand. He unceremoniously dropped her down in a kitchen chair and went to pull a kettle off the hearth. Coming back to the table, he poured her a cup of tea and sat down opposite of her. “Try it,” he told her when she didn’t move. Sighing, she reached for the cup and took a tentative drink.

“It’s delicious,” she admitted, taking another drink.

“Tis’ one of Bridget’s concoctions,” he told her as she drank more of the steaming tea. He realized he was smiling at her and quickly dropped the grin. He wouldn’t allow fate to push him into something that he wasn’t willing to do. Wanting her to dislike him, he decided to be blunt with her.

“So, did Clare tell ye that yer a witch?” he asked, calmly. Morgan spluttered into her tea and coughed to clear her throat.

“Excuse me?”

“She did’na tell ye?” He kicked his feet up onto the table. Morgan stared at him, unsure if she should be laughing at an attempt at a bad joke but he just stared at her with no expression at all.

“That’s not funny, Quinn,” she said, carefully.

“Of course it is’na,” he answered. “She should’a warned ye about who ye are,” he raised an eyebrow as confusion ran across Morgan’s face. “She should’a warned ye about all of us.”

“Warned me about what?” Morgan asked, fear trickling down her spine.

“That we’re witches too.”

Irish Strength will be available through Amazon and CreateSpace (print) and the Amazon Kindle Store (eBook) starting Wednesday!