Leslie
Tentler is back with another story of romance and suspense…this
time in a small Southern beach town called Rarity Cove. What happens
when a woman on the run has her dangerous secrets finally catch up
with her? Find out in Before the Storm by Leslie Tentler…
Six
years earlier, Trina Grissom disappeared, on the run for her life.
Now living under an assumed identity—as Samantha Marsh—she still
struggles with the dark secret she harbors and the fear she might one
day be found. When she moves to the coastal town of Rarity Cove,
South Carolina, to open a café, a handsome widower begins to chip
away at the walls she’s built to protect herself.
Mark
St. Clair lost his wife two years ago in a tragic accident. Head of
the grand St. Clair resort, he distracts himself from his lingering
grief by running the family business and caring for his troubled
young daughter...until a beautiful restaurateur sets up shop in town.
Before meeting Samantha, Mark was convinced he could never be drawn
to another woman. But as his attraction to Samantha grows, the
mystery surrounding her deepens.
As
the two begin a hesitant courtship, double perils emerge. Someone
from Samantha’s lurid past comes calling, threatening to expose
her. And a powerful hurricane is forming in the Atlantic with the
small beach town in its path. Trapped in the storm by the brutal man
who wants vengeance on Samantha, she and Mark must fight for their
lives.
On Sale in Digital and Print: October 20, 2015
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BEFORE THE STORM to your TBR pile on Goodreads!
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Leslie
Tentler is also the author of FALLEN as well as the Chasing Evil
Trilogy (MIDNIGHT CALLER, MIDNIGHT FEAR and EDGE OF MIDNIGHT). She
was a finalist for Best First Novel at ThrillerFest 2012, and is a
two-time finalist for the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in
Mystery and Suspense. She is also the recipient of the prestigious
Maggie Award of Excellence.
Leslie is a
member of Romance Writers of America, International Thriller Writers,
and Novelists, Inc. A native of East Tennessee, she currently resides
in Atlanta.
“Emily?” Mark
St. Clair looked around crowded Main Street. She
had been right here,
watching as a clown with a painted face and red wig twisted balloons
into barnyard animals.
He scanned the
street vendors hawking pecan pralines and tourist souvenirs. But
there was no sign of a blond, pigtailed almost-five-year-old. He had
turned his back for what? Ten seconds? On the street in front of him,
the parade continued. An open convertible rolled past, a smiling Miss
Peach Blossom waving regally from its backseat. He tamped down a
surge of panic.
“Mark St. Clair,
as I live and breathe!” A heavyset woman wearing too much perfume
stepped into his path. He recognized her as head of the Junior
League. “Happy Founder’s Day! I do believe your
great-great-great-grandfather would be so proud of our little town.”
“Thanks. Nice to
see you, Mrs. Botwin.”
“I was just at the
hotel last weekend. Tell your chef the pork tenderloin was out of
this world—”
“I’m glad to
hear it.” Mark smiled thinly, and with a polite excuse, he
shouldered past, peering down the sidewalk for his daughter. As he
searched, he tried not to think about the child-abduction stories
that scared the bejeesus
out of him, but he still couldn’t keep his heart from racing. It
was early August, the humidity high, and his Ralph Lauren sports
shirt stuck to his back. In the balmy afternoon breeze, the cloying
aroma of cotton candy mingled with the briny sea air.
Don’t
panic,
he told himself. But if Emily...if anything happened to her...
He wouldn’t
survive another loss.
A break in the
parade allowed him to catch a glimpse of the town square with its
ancient live oaks and garlands of Spanish moss. A number of vendors
had booths set up there, a banner overhead proclaiming The
Perfect Summer in Rarity Cove.
Relief washed
through him. Amid the throngs of people, he spotted a small red skirt
and sandals, then flaxen pigtails reflecting sunlight. Emily stood at
one of the cloth-covered tables. What had he told her about crossing
the street? He waited until a squadron of Shriners from the Masonic
Lodge marched past in their red fezzes, swords drawn, then went after
her.
“Emily,” he
called, catching her attention. She turned, beaming as he approached,
and Mark felt his anger evaporate. He knelt in front of her. “You
scared me to death, sweetheart. You were supposed to be watching the
clown make balloon animals. Didn’t you want one?”
Instead, Emily
pointed at the table, bouncing with excitement. An impressive
assortment of pastries was enticingly arranged, and not of the Ladies
Garden Club bake sale variety. Sophisticated tartlets held jewel-like
curds, and an arrangement of buttery linzer cookies and shell-shaped
madeleines filled a silver platter. Decadent lemon bars and rich
cream puffs looked nearly too perfect to eat. But most notable were
the cupcakes. Each was a work of art, with thick caps of buttercream
frosting and edible flower decorations.
“I told her she
could have one, but she needed to get her parents’ permission
first.”
Mark looked up at
the comment. A slender, dark-haired young woman in a sleeveless white
blouse stood behind the table. Doe-like brown eyes complemented
delicate features. She was attractive—beautiful, actually. As he
stood, he caught a glimpse of her long, tanned legs in faded jean
shorts.
“She doesn’t say
much, does she?” She smiled at Emily. “I asked her name, but she
wouldn’t tell me.”
“She doesn’t
really...talk,” Mark explained, his chest tightening. “Her name’s
Emily.”
The woman nodded as
a faint frown creased her forehead. “I see. Can she have a
cupcake?”
“Sure. Which one
do you want, baby?”
Emily pointed to a
rich-looking confection, causing the young woman to laugh. “A girl
after my own heart. That’s the devil’s food. It’s
chocolate-filled. The little purple flowers are lavender.”
Mark noticed one
with a deep red base and pristine white icing. A miniature rosebud
sat on its top. Seeing that it had caught his attention, she said,
“That’s red velvet, of course. A Southern favorite.”
“We’ll take that
one, too.” Their eyes met briefly, until the woman lowered her
thick lashes and busied herself with placing the two large cupcakes
in a white cardboard box. She tied the package with a blue satin bow
and presented it to Emily, who practically danced in delight.
Mark reached for his
wallet. “How much?”
“No charge. I
promised one to Emily.”
“How about mine,
then?”
“All right.
That’ll be three ninety-five.”
He shook his head
good-naturedly. “Four bucks? That must be one heck of a cupcake.”
She grinned as he
handed her the bills, his fingers briefly brushing hers in the
process. Mark experienced a small thrill of attraction, followed
nearly as quickly by a sharp stab of guilt that made it hard to
breathe. His eyes fell to the printed sign in front of the table.
Café Bella.
The place must be
new; he’d never heard of it, and Mark could count the better
restaurants in the small coastal town on one hand. He’d never seen
the woman before, either. He realized that he should introduce
himself, ask her name or at least the location of the eatery. But
instead, he murmured a hoarse thank-you and took Emily’s hand. They
made their way across the street after several more parade floats
sailed past.
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