We have winners!

won a copy of

Paris Runaway cover

Paris RunAway

(women’s fiction)

Release date: June 30, 2016
at Lulu.com

ISBN: 978-1-365-18923-4
220 pages

SYNOPSIS

When divorced mom Sadie Ford realizes her 17-year-old daughter Scarlett has run away to Paris all she can imagine are terrorist bombings and sex slaves. After learning her daughter chased a French exchange student home, Sadie hops on the next plane in pursuit. She joins forces with the boy’s father, Auguste, and the two attempt to find the missing teens before they can stumble into more trouble. The chase takes Sadie and Auguste to the seedier side of Marseille, where their own connection is ignited. Since the divorce, Sadie has devoted herself to raising kids and putting her dreams on hold, but when her daughter needs her most, Sadie finds that concrete barrier to life beginning to crack. In her journey, she learns the difference between watching the hours pass and living.

EXCERPT

I sank to the floor with my back against the wall, like the little table. I would be able to hear or see either door on the landing if it should open. I might as well rest my tired feet. I debated undoing those ankle straps. But I decided to simply rub at the sore spots while leaving the sandals buckled. Who knew when I’d have to make a dash to catch someone?

I sat where I could gaze at the fish, and his endless rounds made me feel calm. I could feel my breath becoming slower and deeper. I knew I’d find Scarlett today; I just needed to be patient. Slow and steady, I told myself as I became more mesmerized with the striking orange fish.

Suddenly the fish ducked inside one of his faux coral hiding spots. I hadn’t moved or startled him. I glanced around, moving only my eyes, and I saw the reason for the fish’s abrupt disappearance. A handsome black-and-white cat crawled stealthily up the stairs. His front paws perched on the top step, and his nose and eyes just peeked between the paws. The rest of his body must be poised on the stairs below, ready to pounce on the table and snatch up the fish.

The cat moved only his eyes too, but they found me, and he froze. I was going to ruin his attempt at breakfast. I smiled. I missed my own cat Puck. His warmth on my lap, the way his purring could put me into a trance of well-being. This cat on the stairs seemed to have accepted the fact that an actual person sat in the stairwell. His eyes locked with mine, and I saw his body relax. He would not need to pounce after all. He turned to look at the fish bowl, but the wise goldfish remained hidden.

“It’s okay,” I said. I held out my hand, palm up, toward the cat. “Here, kitty. Come see me.” I didn’t have anything to offer him, but if he smelled my hand, he might let me pet him, rub my hand over his soft fur, gain some sort of relief from contact with another living creature.

“Come on, boy,” I said, making an assumption about his gender. It didn’t matter because the cat probably didn’t understand English anyway. My voice was soft and soothing as I tried to coax him. Suddenly, a desire overwhelmed me to hold a cat on my lap, stroke his soft back, and feel his purr kick in and vibrate against me. Even a cat that didn’t understand English must sense distress and want to comfort a human. To feel some sort of release from the past two days would be such a respite.

“It’s okay; you’re safe,” I said. “Come on.” I had moved from sitting on the floor to perching on my knees as I held my hand closer to the cat. Suddenly, the cat streaked past me. I expected it to stop abruptly at the closed door of the apartment, but it continued to zoom through the legs of a man and down the hallway beyond. The door stood open now when it had definitely been closed the whole time I waited.

I looked up from the floor, drinking in the man whose brown leather Lacoste shoes stood before me. The little alligator near the heel marked them as Lacoste, and I couldn’t decide if I would adore or detest the pomposity of the shoes.

Brown jeans encased the man’s long legs, and he wore a white broadcloth shirt unbuttoned at the top. A loose cotton scarf with blue and gold draped loosely around his neck.

“Are you trying to seduce my cat?” The timbre of his deep voice, still thick with sleep, mixed with the French accent on the English words sent a quiver through me. His words sounded like a promise and a warning.

“Seduce?” My voice rose at the end of the word and came out like an irritating crow’s caw, in comparison to his smooth accent.

I jumped to my feet, feeling the blush rise from the v of my t-shirt up my neck to my face. “Bonjour,” I mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes. I couldn’t believe he’d seen me talking to the cat – so naked and vulnerable. This man observed me being, well, me.

I remembered why I sat on his doorstep as I turned toward him. “I’m looking for Monsieur Rollande.”

“That is me,” he said, in his slight French accent. A little thrill and relief suddenly washed over me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Paulita Kincer
has an M.A. in journalism from American University.
She has traveled to France 11 times,
and still finds more to lure her back.
She currently teaches college English
and lives in Columbus, Ohio,
with her three children, two cats and one husband.
Visit her website www.paulitakincer.com and her blog at http://www.paulita-ponderings.blogspot.com
or follow her on Twitter @paulitakincer
Like her Facebook page at Paulita Kincer Writer.
Email paulita@paulitakincer.com