BLURB FOR CRASHING THROUGH TIME:
More
than hearts can be broken when you crash through time.
Corrine MacGowan survives a plane crash only to fall down
a hole in time. In 1868 Cornwall she faces the ultimate decision: Let the man
she loves die, or save him and change history forever.
EXCERPT:
“Damn and blast.”
The curse brought her attention to a young man lying on the
ground to her left. He lay flat on his back, his face screwed into a furious
frown. If not for that, he would’ve been pretty hot. Dark brown wavy hair, a
ruddy complexion, and very full, sexy lips sent a little thrill through her. A
typical Englishman, he even had those odd mutton-chop sideburns like Colin
Firth in Pride and Prejudice. Were
those back in fashion over here? She didn’t remember seeing anyone else wearing
them.
“I say, have you seen my hat?”
God, he had a devastating English accent. She could listen
to an Englishman talk all day long. She sighed with sheer joy.
“I beg your pardon, miss, but did you see where my hat has
gotten to?” He sat up, twisting this way and that, searching for it.
“Hat?” Didn’t he mean helmet? No one rode without one these
days. Still, she looked around for the black velvet helmet she remembered from
her senior year P.E. class.
He jerked his head toward her. “You’re American?”
“Yes.” He got that from one word? Must’ve been her southern
drawl. She sat up straighter. “I’m from Virginia.”
“Forgive me. Deuced awkward to make an introduction from the
ground.” He attempted to stand, and grunted in pain as he put weight on his
left foot. “Oh, damn. I beg your pardon. That hurts abominably.” He hopped
about, gingerly trying to step on his foot and failing.
Corrine shot to her feet and reached out to steady him.
“Here, let me help.” Grabbing him around the waist, she then managed to slide
his arm over her shoulders and looked for a rock or stump for him to sit on.
Even the stupid well would’ve been welcome right about now.
She glanced up at him to find his eyes wide, his frown
returned. He must’ve been angry with her for startling his horse. “I’m sorry I
spooked your horse, but I’ve had a horrible day so far. Did you see the plane
crash? I was on that. Is there somewhere you could sit down?” They’d been
turning in circles as Corrine scoured the field for a place to sit him down.
He nodded across the field. “There’s a stile over there and
down the field a bit.”
“Good.” She struck out across the deceivingly smooth
expanse.
“Wait! My hat.”
“Oh. Right.” Corrine swung them back around toward the
woods. “There, I see it. Hold on.” She disentangled herself from him and ran to
a thick clump of bushes near the edge of the forest. A tall black hat lay
propped on its side almost underneath the nearest shrub. She grabbed it and
stopped. Not a normal riding hat. More like a top hat, actually, made of
exquisite black silk, like caviar for the fingers. Very peculiar choice for
riding.
Turning back to him, she stopped, struck by his appearance.
He wore a formal dark blue cutaway coat, white pleated shirt and...was that a cravat tied around his neck? She’d seen
enough portraits during her thesis research to recognize one. His gray trousers
and over-the-knee boots also screamed nineteenth century. Oh, crap.
“I am so sorry, Mr....er, ah, I’m sorry we haven’t been
introduced.”
“Ian Hunterly, at your service.” He shifted his weight and
winced.
“Ian Hunterly? How funny.” Now that was a coincidence.
“Anyway, I just realized that I must’ve interrupted your shoot. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, still looking puzzled. “We weren’t
shooting today, merely out for a ride. Why is my name funny?” He certainly didn’t
look amused.
“It’s just that you have the same name as Sir Robert
Graysill’s nephew.” Her thesis topic and his nephew had become like family to
her during the year of research. And now here she’d met an Englishman with the
same name, although perhaps the name was quite common over here.
He smiled for the first time, and her heart missed a beat.
The smile transformed his face from merely handsome to devastatingly sexy, as
those full lips turned up the corners of his generous mouth and his eyes lit
with an inner warmth they hadn’t shown before.
“That’s because I am Sir Robert’s nephew.”
AUTHOR INFORMATION
Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author of historical and
contemporary romance. She has been
reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, she has always loved a
dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to incorporate all of these
elements into her own stories. She lives in Virginia with her family and a
small menagerie of pets. When not
reading or writing, she indulges her passion for the theatre, working with
local theatres as a director. She often
feels she is directing her characters on their own private stage.
Jenna is a PAN member of Romance Writers of America as well as
President of Chesapeake Romance Writers, her local chapter of RWA. Her debut
novel, Only Scandal Will Do, is the
first in her House of Pleasure series, set in Georgian London. Only Marriage Will Do, the second book
in the series, released June 9, 2015 from Kensington. Her medieval
serial novel, Time Enough to Love:
Betrothal, Betrayal, and Beleaguered,
is a Romeo & Juliet-esque tale, set at the time of the Black Death. The companion
short story, Beloveds, released in early
June 2015. And her time travel novella, Crashing Through Time, released in mid-
June as part of a boxed set about seven plane crashes that lead to love called Crashing Into Love.
She has equated her writing to an addiction to chocolate
because once she starts she just can’t stop.
Find Jenna Jaxon online:
Thanks so much, Melissa, for having me on your blog today!
ReplyDeleteI loved Jenna's story! Thanks for sharing the book bundle!
ReplyDeleteFantastic snippet - could here the accent.
ReplyDelete