We're happy to have Kathleen Shaputis and her HIS LASS WEARS TARTAN on the blog today! Please leave a comment to let her know you stopped by!
Title:
HIS LASS WEARS TARTAN
Author: Kathleen Shaputis
Publisher: Crimson Romance
Pages: 270
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Author: Kathleen Shaputis
Publisher: Crimson Romance
Pages: 270
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Independent and dedicatedly single, Rogue Bruce enjoys running
Castle Baillie with her Aunt Baillie from America.
They specialize in romantic Elizabethan-themed weddings, complete with resident
ghost, Lord Kai (nothing like a haunted castle to set the mood for love). But
love is something Rogue is not the least bit interested in. Content with her
work and stable of horses, no man is necessary for her happiness.
Matchmaking is in the air, though, focusing on Bruce
MacKenzie, a Thor in plaid and jeans from town, and Jonathan Olson, a snobbish
Rhett Butler type. With two men after her heart (she’d thought safely locked
away), Rogue is torn with confusion. Murder and a psychic yank the soundtrack
of Rogue’s life from romantic to scary, while she has choices to make in this
sizzling triangle.
You can pick up your copy at Amazon.
“Who
created these torture devices for women?” Rogue muttered as the high-heeled
ankle boots her glittery Seattle friend, Rafael, had picked out for her
squeezed her toes. Dashing
around the white-silk-draped chairs inside the reception tent set up on the
castle grounds, she lifted her floor-length emerald skirt of fluff and ribbons
and screamed internally about her aching feet. Her steps made soft clicks on the
temporary polished flooring. “Spike heels make my legs look better, she tells
me. Heels? Seriously? Buried under twenty yards of bloody material, no one will
notice, I swear, and this dress weighs a ton.”
Why must my bloody
underwear be authentic if no one knows or sees it? Seriously, another full day of endless
agony in this restrictive Elizabethan costume of layered torture. You know an evil man must have created the
corset. No woman would have designed something so miserable and called it
fashionable. How many times had she pleaded with
Aunt Baillie to let her wear something soft, something comfortable like pants and a jacket? Her aunt’s normally
sweet face would transform into a stony glare, forcing Rogue to relent and don
one of the many costumes made specifically for her.
“The
Baillie Castle Bed and Breakfast promises a fairy-tale environment for couples
in love and bridal parties and a stop-time fantasy for families and guests,”
Rogue mimicked her American aunt and business partner. “These expensive
weddings pay the taxes and daily upkeep of your renovated castle.”
Rogue
could barely breathe in the tightly wrapped bodice as she rounded out of the
heated white tent, her eyes on the temporary stone path placed in the soggy
Scottish mud. Plowing into something solid, Rogue cursed and frantically
reached out, wobbling on the spiked heels. Grabbing at anything, her fingers
found soft, crushable flannel before warm, strong hands wrapped around her
wrists. Staring at the manly fingers holding her steady, Rogue’s eyes traveled
up the long, chiseled arms of a young man to his concerned face, locking eyes with her.
“Ya
be all right, miss?”
His
baritone voice tickled her ears, causing the breath to catch in her throat as
the heat from his grasp flushed in a wave across her face. All she could handle
was a weak nod while staring at his serious face framed with shaggy blond hair,
a chill breeze lifting the bangs from his ruddy forehead. His oddly green eyes
blinked above a well-freckled nose and broke the spell.
About the Author
Kathleen Shaputis, author/ghostwriter, lives in the glorious
Pacific Northwest with her husband, Bob, a clowder of cats and two pompously
protective Pomeranians with little social aptitude, Brugh and Bouncer. If not
writing, she’s busy reading and watching romantic comedies, her ultimate
paradise.
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