Chelle Bliss is the USA Today bestselling author of the Men of Inked and ALFA P.I. series. She hails from the Midwest, but currently lives near the beach even though she hates sand. She's a full-time writer, time-waster extraordinaire, social media addict, coffee fiend, and ex high school history teacher. She loves spending time with her two cats, alpha boyfriend, and chatting with readers.
She grew up with only her father’s love. Dating all through high school she searched for that one true love. Attending school in New York City her life was going great until that one phone call silenced it all.
He swore he would never hurt a woman the way men had hurt his mother. While studying in upstate New York he thought he finally found what he had been searching for that is until he found her in bed with another man and his world is thrown out of tune.
Life is anything but ordinary after they meet for the first time never knowing how close they actually were.
Together they create a perfect melody.
"I loved this book so much I think I need an encore "
~ Jenny W.
"A beautiful union of two souls that meet amongst chaos and loss."
~ Wendy
"It was a sweet beautiful read and incorporating music especially the type of music involved really was music to my soul."
~ Millsy Loves Books
"Melody & Elliot make the beautiful perfect duet!!"
~ Millsy Loves Books
"this book is full of the feels, but it was beautifully written and was a wonderful story."
~ Vicky Wilson
"Elliott and Melody’s story was a sweet romance until it’s all ruined by Elliott’s past. "
~ Wendy P.
"I devoured this book in a day."
~ Sarah P.
“Now boarding Gate Five to Berlin, Germany,” the intercom shouts and I bang on the table to get the flight attendants attention. “That’s where I have to be,” I shout at him to give me back the ticket. “No, you’re on the next plane, that one is overbooked,” he continues to push the keys on board and stare at a screen. “Listen, I’m not actually here to board any plane. I needed a ticket to get back here to stop the guy I love from getting on a plane without knowing how I felt about him. So, I need to go back,” I start to ease away to make my escape when I feel another attendant put a grip on me. “Let go,” I scream. “Listen, do you know how many people tell us this sad love story shit? Plenty. We know the drill and we’re fed up with it. The airport is not a place to confess your everlasting love for someone. Either you board the plane with the ticket you purchased or you leave the airport immediately.” “Let go!” My screams getting louder, “Elliot Harper. Can you hear me? Elliot?” I scream. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to simmer down,” he pulls away nearly hurting my arm with his grip. “Elliot!” I scream, but I don’t see him, I don’t hear him. Silence. And I realize, it might be too late. I lost my chance.
Ava Danielle is a spunky wife of 17 years, a loving and crazy mother of four rambunctious teenagers, and when she's not trying to wrangle them and go from one activity to the next, she's writing hot, steamy, love stories to escape the daily life. Ava currently moved to Nashville Tennessee German/American native Army Brat loves photography, music, and binge-watching old 90's television shows. But awaiting her next big adventure, until then she'll continue to write.
Ava has 10 published novels (look her up on Amazon) and recently became part of an Anthology.
Feeling humiliated after her movie star ex's public betrayal, Stephanie escapes on a spontaneous road trip. She detours for a sexual rendezvous down memory lane with her former frenemy with benefits, attorney Pace Turner.
When Pace gets an unexpected phone call from the one woman he’s never forgotten, his libido slams into overdrive. Steph is the only one who knows everything about the self-obsessed young millionaire, inside the bedroom and out, and his buried desires bubble to the surface.
Over a sex-fueled 24 hours, megalomaniac Pace and sociopath Steph relive their doomed “romance.” Will they rediscover their complicated and gritty connection, or merely pour salt into poorly healed wounds?
Andrea Randall (author of The November Blue series) and Michelle Pace (author of The Sound Wave series) unite their universes in “Something’s Come Up.”
Tourists flock to Jefferson Point for the antique shops and riverboat tours. Everyone knows everyone and secrets are impossible to keep. Or so it seems...
Dr. Ryan Harper's brutal slaying stuns the picturesque river town. High school football star, Prom King, and on his way to finishing his residency, Ryan was their golden child.
After a two-year struggle to care for their young son alone, his widow, Nicole, reluctantly returns to Jefferson Point. Her homecoming reopens old wounds, as Ryan's family and friends struggle to adapt to life without his dynamic presence.
The last person Nicole expects to reconnect with is Aaron Foster, Ryan’s best man and reluctant keeper of his secrets.
With opinions circulating on Nicole’s post-Ryan existence, she must maneuver the rapids of past loves, new expectations, and haunting dreams of her fallen husband.
The Perpetual Quest for the Perfect Life is a frank story of questionable decisions, small town politics, and love after loss.
Michelle Pace grew up in small town Iowa jamming out with the local band of misfits. She studied theater and vocal music in college, directing and performing in numerous productions. Eventually she chose to settle down, earning more practical degrees in both liberal arts and nursing.
On an enthusiastic quest to avoid shoveling snow, she relocated to the lonestar state with her husband, author L. G. Pace III. A master of the Irish goodbye and hardcore lover of Texan beer, Michelle enjoys live music and obsessive people-watching. She has two daughters and a son, who provide her endless hours of amusement. Still most at home while entertaining an audience, Michelle feels passionately about writing fiction, not fairytales.
Once back on the sand with my belongings, I turned to face the sea. The moon was closer to the earth than usual tonight—its size dominating the horizon.
I wrapped the shell in one of my clean art cloths and placed it in my bag before undressing. The wet denim fabric of my jeans clung to my legs, and I struggled to remove it. I groaned at my lack of foresight. Why hadn’t I rolled the ankles up before paddling in the water? As I undressed, baring my skin to the night, anticipation about entering the water charged through me. It was a good thing there wasn’t anyone around. They’d think I was performing a strip tease. I grinned at the ludicrous idea as I dropped my paint-splattered t-shirt on the sand.
It was time.
Turning to face the water again, I stood up straight.
My father’s voice filled my head. “Promise me, Estelle, promise me you’ll always do this.”
I nodded to his words, recognizing the seriousness of his tone, so clear, even after all these years. I hugged myself, ignoring the overpowering sensation to cry—I missed him so much, even more so on these nights. Screwing my eyes shut, I forced the tears away. I took several deep breaths and concentrated on calming myself. The sound of the waves sang to me, melodic tones drifting forward on each gentle roll. The fresh, salty smell of the ocean surrounded me. I breathed deeply before strolling toward the water’s edge. My feet seemed to move of their own accord, as if my body was impatient to transport me forward. But I didn’t rush. I wanted to take my time tonight.
When my toes met the swell of a receding wave, I smiled, relaxing at the familiar contact. A beckoning path was lit before me on the water, the brightness of the moon reflected clearly on the surface. The ocean was calm this evening. Many times, when I needed to complete the ritual, it was anything but. On those nights, I stayed in the shallows, completing the submergence ritual in an angry few feet of water. I never dared to venture far into the waves when the sea was violent and forceful. I had an affinity with the ocean, but I wasn’t foolish.
My father had told me never to fear the ocean; it was something magical, and it would never, ever, harm me.
I believed him . . . until the night it took his life.
I missed holding his hand as I walked into the sea, often questioning why I still kept doing this when he wasn’t here. The night he’d drowned was the last time we completed the ritual together. But whatever else happened in my life, I’d always kept my promise to him. Every time I followed his crazy ritual, I somehow felt calmer and closer to him. Had he known what would happen to him that evening? I refused to believe he wanted to end his own life; he’d had too much to live for. He loved my mother and me so much.
Pausing in the water as it rippled at my waist, I rested my hands, palm down, on the surface, speaking the mantra my father taught me:
“I claim the truth of my existence under the full lunar phase, and submerge within these jeweled waters to keep me safe from harm.”
Bending my knees, I sank under the water, ensuring my head was submerged, and paused for a few seconds before straightening back up. Not bothering to wipe the hair from my face, I repeated the phrase.
“I claim the truth of my existence under the full lunar phase, and submerge within these jeweled waters to keep me safe from harm.”
Once again, I dipped below the surface of the water.
I kept my eyes open as I completed the submergences. I never shut out the underwater world that greeted me. It was as if the ocean was a long-lost friend, welcoming me back with open arms every month. The waves were my family, protectingme, caressing my body with their underwater currents.
Repeating the whole routine seven times, I spoke my words to the moon before offering myself to the ocean. After the final submergence, I steadied myself before lifting my arms into the air.
It was done. My promise to my father was complete for this month. I would be back to repeat it at the next full moon.
As I always did on these nights, I executed a perfect dive into the waiting water. The gentle, swirling currents attempted to control me in their evening dance, but it didn’t affect me at all. I was too strong for them to sway me in any one direction. The ritual had renewed my strength and agility in the water. I loved this sensation. It was one of freedom, of complete relaxation, and a primitive force I’d never understood.
Bubbles of air ballooned from my mouth as I pushed off from the seabed, gliding upward to the moonlight filtering through the surface.
For the second time this evening, I was distracted by the sight of something glistening. This time, though, it was in the waters below. I stopped my peaceful journey, suspended in the water as I stared at where I had come from. The sparkling, tiny ball of light moved rapidly in a circle. I frowned, unable to comprehend how something could travel so quickly, and how any form of light could move so precisely. I watched, transfixed with the light’s journey as it moved closer.
My heart raced when I became aware that the glow wasn’t in fact a light. It was the reflection of the moon on a necklace; a necklace that someone was wearing. As the person began to swim toward me at an impossible speed, I momentarily froze with shock. Panic crashed through me. I wasn’t safe—I was alone, swimming in the sea in the middle of the night. Tearing my gaze away from the glinting necklace, I propelled myself toward the surface. I needed to get to land. Determined to outswim whoever this person was, I swam the fastest I ever had. Yet, it wasn’t fast enough. Sneaking a look behind me, I could see the head of the person following. They were getting closer—too close.
With a racing heart and aching limbs, I pushed myself to go faster, but it was pointless.
The silence was suddenly broken by the thud of distant music and the roar of a car engine. I glared at the car as it sped along the road toward the bus-stop, and inwardly cursed the idiot behind the wheel.
My glare turned into a worried frown when the silver car slowed down and stopped at the bus-stop. The dark tinted passenger window slowly hummed down, and the thud of music turned into a deafening roar.
The driver of the car was revealed—Alex Denton.
He raised his eyebrows, before lowering his gaze and taking in the sight of my dress clinging to my legs. I was glad I had a cardigan on, no matter that it looked like a wet sack now. At least he couldn’t see my bright pink bra, one that would be very visible underneath a practically transparent wet dress.
Alex licked his bottom lip as he stared at my legs, and I realised that the relief I had felt that he couldn’t see my bra due to my cardigan, had been misplaced. The modest woollen covering wasn’t long enough to cover my lower half. My matching pink pants would be very visible and I suspected that they were what Alex Denton was looking at.
“You’re wet!” he shouted above the relentless thudding of the music.
“You noticed!” I yelled back, wondering why he hadn’t turned the music down if he wanted to talk. I toyed with the idea of whether to accept a lift or not if he offered me one. The thought of being trapped with him in a car had always been a dream of mine, but after everything else that had happened today, I didn’t know whether I had the strength to spend even one more second in his scintillating company. But I was tired and I wanted to get home as quickly as possible. The thought of racing through London in his very expensive sports car, or trudging through traffic on a crammed public bus for a good thirty minutes made my mind up. I’d accept the lift if he offered. If he was sarcastic with me, I could just ignore him. Maybe he’d even mellow a little and I’d get to see what he was really like when he wasn’t in the same room as Amy.
He slowly lifted his hand, curling his finger to beckon me toward the car.
I took one step forward, stopping abruptly as he held his hand up in a halt position. Now what was he doing?
“You really are very wet!” he said before reaching forward and flicking a small silver switch on the central console. The music died, leaving the sound of the engine idling.
“No shit, Einstein. It has just poured down,” I said, my voice edged with sarcasm.
His jaw tightened at my response, and his eyes drifted down my body again.
“Hot pink?” he said, although it sounded more like a question.
I knew exactly what he was referring to. My cheeks heated as I pulled at the front of my cardigan, but it was no use. It wouldn’t stretch to cover my lower body. Knowing there was nothing I could do about my see-through dress, I gritted my teeth and offered Alex a stony stare. One that dared him to continue with his next response.
“I like it,” he said. “Not as slutty at red.”
My body tensed. My nostrils flared as more heat flushed my face. Did he just refer to me as being slutty?
He smiled before pulling a sudden poker face. I was so wrapped up in thinking of a response to his somewhat undisguised insult that I didn’t see the bus approach.
“Shit,” I murmured, as it rumbled past Alex’s car. The next bus wasn’t due for another hour.
Alex watched the bus as it disappeared down the road and then turned to face me.
“See you tomorrow, Work Experience Girl.”
He grinned and winked at me as the car window hummed shut. The loud music started again and the engine revved several times before he sped off in the same direction as the bus.
Phillip Kersey finds himself and his hotheaded girlfriend, Stephanie, at a crossroads. He's the singer of the chart-topping rock band, Fury, and they're forever in the studio laying down tracks for their third album. Steph's photography career has exploded. She's always on location and out of his grasp. Tired of Skype dates and stolen weekends, Phillip makes plans to whisk her off to Ireland so he can pop the question.
When Steph returns to the U.K. for the birth of their friends' baby, Phillip finally gets his chance. He's down on one knee when tragedy strikes. Aching hearts cause tempers to flair chaotically out of control. Phillip feels pushed aside and vanishes. Assumptions and accusations follow, and the public fallout between them becomes the stuff of legend.
When fate brings both Fury and Stephanie to a remote Brazilian paradise, the former lovers have no choice but to face each other head on. Will their wildfire chemistry burn down the wall between them, or will the tumultuous pair simply go up in flames?
After dropping out of law school, Sam Beaumont fears coming home will either be like sucking poison out of snakebite or drowning in a bathtub of gin. He dreads the whirlwind of being a blue-blood in Savannah, and between his mother and his brother a peaceful existence is out of the question.
Miles away from her ugly past, Annie Clarke is thriving in pharmacy school. Uncomfortable with her own success, she begins to fall back to her self-sabotaging ways.
Then along comes Trip Beaumont, a hot, edgy artist. Every instinct in her says run, which only makes him that much more tempting. The day she finally agrees to go out with him, his younger brother, Sam, shows up. Sam’s first words about Trip chill her: “Don’t be fooled by the act. Prince Charming is a toxic monster.”
Annie soon sees that Sam’s callous exterior is a direct result of coping with a family as dysfunctional as her own. Could love shield them both from spiraling into madness, or will their crazy worlds collide like renegade storm fronts leaving devastation and destruction in their wake?
Michelle Pace grew up in small town Iowa jamming out with the local band of misfits. She studied theater and vocal music in college, directing and performing in numerous productions. Eventually she chose to settle down, earning more practical degrees in both liberal arts and nursing.
On an enthusiastic quest to avoid shoveling snow, she relocated to the lonestar state with her husband, author L. G. Pace III. A master of the Irish goodbye and hardcore lover of Texan beer, Michelle enjoys live music and obsessive people-watching. She has two daughters and a son, who provide her endless hours of amusement. Still most at home while entertaining an audience, Michelle feels passionately about writing fiction, not fairytales.
