Posts Tagged ‘romantic thriller’

The Desert Awakening By Gitanjali Bhagia ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: September 25, 2026 in Excerpt, giveaways, Mystery/Thriller, Romance
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In a semi-abandoned haveli deep in Rajasthan, a woman on a
social work project finds herself drawn into an enigmatic bond with a man — and
into the secrets the ancient walls have kept for generations, discovering her
own identity along the way.

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The Desert Awakening

by Gitanjali Bhagia

Genre: Mystery, Romantic Thriller

In a semi-abandoned haveli deep in Rajasthan, the desert
wind still carries whispers of the family that once lived within its crumbling
walls.

When Soma travels from her life in Mumbai back to the land
of her ancestors, she isn’t looking for love — she’s looking for herself. But
the haveli has other plans. Drawn into an enigmatic bond with a man as guarded
as the house itself, she finds that every question she asks about him leads
back to a secret the ancient walls have kept for generations. As the line
between attraction and danger blurs, and the past refuses to stay buried, Soma
must decide how far she’s willing to go — through Mumbai’s crowded streets and
Rajasthan’s sun-baked silence — to uncover a truth that could unravel
everything she thought she knew about her family, and herself.

For readers of The Henna Artist and The Palace of Illusions,
THE DESERT AWAKENING is a slow-burn thriller-mystery-romance about identity,
inheritance, and the secrets that outlive the people who kept them — written by
a deb.ut author whose own grandmother’s stories from Rajasthan inspired the
novel.

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from Chapter 1
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    The place was picturesque from a distance. Built in the 19th century, the sandstone facade remained untouched allowing it to surrender its grandeur at dusk. Two domed structures at each end of the south side guarded the balconies of the main chambers. The original Indo-Islamic architecture was preserved from the north entrance with its intricate jaal stone gate, arched windows, and floral reliefs flanking the main wooden doors. The two-door access was a towering replica of the original fort-like entryway with a series of symmetrical melon-sized brass knobs accenting the simple wooden frame. Concrete and cement managed to invade the interior of the house after generations of reconstruction. Centrally, a courtyard outlined by a veranda echoed with voices of the past. A step down from the veranda, a garden once flourished intermingling jasmine and rose essence. Now it was diminished to soft desert sand with a few staggered terracotta planters making a feeble attempt to instill life into the semi-abandoned haveli.
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Malti sat on the edge of the veranda patiently with her bare cracked feet immersed in the cool sand. She had aged with the house, transforming her role from an ayah to general caretaker, now bearing the burden of holding the immense gate key. The sole resident of a former bustling household, she sat motionless. Adorned with a turmeric-stained crumpled cotton flowing skirt and tattered brown shawl, she waited for his arrival. Without any sign of anticipation, she rested on the mosaic tile of the veranda staring blankly at the wall in front of her. He mentioned that he would return at the end of the monsoon. It had been 2 days since the last rain.
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Malti looked away from the paan-stained wall and into her past — 26 years ago. She clearly heard him shouting, “Malti-ma! Malti!” He came running straight through the garden toward the kitchen where she was supervising the other maidservants Meera and Radha in sifting lentils and churning fresh cream for the evening meal. “I got first prize in 2 subjects…math and painting!” Avi pulled the bronze Aladdin lamp trophy with its white marble base out of his overflowing backpack. As a fourth-grade student now, he felt bigger than ever. Malti was expressionless as she looked at his mark sheet. “Hmm. I see that you can still do better.” Malti could only understand the numbers on his sheets as she had barely completed elementary school and could only read in Hindi. All his scores were pristine, but he was just shy of honors in his moral science class — a course that he would question throughout life. Avi was far from phased by her lack of enthusiasm because he knew he would be rewarded in due time with homemade kulfi ice cream swimming in rose syrup. Before she could tell him to change out of his uniform, he raced down the long corridor and slammed the door to his room demanding the attention of his two older cousins.
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Malti was jolted by the clanging sound of the wrought iron gate. She knew he had arrived. The iron gates creaked open almost by themselves — welcoming Avi to the ghosts of his past. As much as he tried to ignore the memories of his childhood in the village of Khuri, they kept surfacing and the smell of the damp sand only heightened the queasiness from nostalgia.
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Avi had spent the last 14 years in the States building a separate life. He tried to replace the feelings associated with his native land with new strides of the immigrant dream. It was not bitterness or resentment that caused him to suppress his childhood links… but a true longing for a past that could never be reproduced. The buzz of servants and his cousins and uninvited neighbors dropping in for a cup of tea amidst the morning calls of peacocks on the terrace, the vegetable seller repeating his call for the day, cows and water buffalos calling out to their herd… All of this tumultuous hubbub actually brought peace to his inner being. He was infused with a sense of belonging only to be shadowed by the desire to seek a sense of purpose. Avi was the first in his family to venture abroad; he thought this would be the pinnacle of perfection. Lost in the glamour of this illusion, he discovered nothing but the true meaning of loneliness. The urban landscape of his studio apartment in DC was no sanctuary. Residents in his buildings were like drones programmed to hover back and forth from work to home and home to work with absolutely no break in routine. Colleagues at work would perhaps start a shallow conversation, meet up for the happy hour ritual but always leave with the same cold affection. He felt a disconnect from everyone… including his wife, Anna.
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Gitanjali Bhagia is a first-generation Indian American. She
is not just a dedicated ophthalmologist practicing in Northern Virginia but a
storyteller woven from the threads of her own diverse heritage. She finds
inspiration in the rich tapestry of her ancestry, especially in the legacy of
her beloved grandmother, Vimla Bhagia, whose tales from her family’s home in
Rajasthan, India, ignited her imagination from a young age.

Born in Pennsylvania and raised in North Carolina, Gitanjali’s cultural roots
became the fertile soil from which her passion for writing blossomed. Her
frequent visits to Rajasthan not only connected her to her familial history but
also stirred a deep appreciation for the mystique and allure of the Indian
subcontinent.

With her enchantment of the tales whispered by the sands of Rajasthan,
Gitanjali weaves narratives that transport readers to captivating worlds. Her
writing carries the essence of her cross-cultural experiences, inviting readers
to explore the intricate nuances of identity, heritage, and the human
connection.

Website * Instagram * Amazon
* Goodreads

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Whisper ~ A YA Romantic Thriller by Tracy Bilen

Posted: May 12, 2021 in giveaways, Romance, thriller, YA
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Whisper
Tracy Bilen
Publication date: May 8th 2021
Genres: YA Romantic Thriller

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Stop him.

After her friend Samantha is murdered, seventeen-year-old Olivia is the only one who still hears her voice.

Years ago, Jacob closed his eyes. In a park. Playing hide-and-seek. His little brother is still missing. And Jacob’s mom is the FBI agent who couldn’t find him.

Now Jacob has dreams he can’t explain. And draws faces of those about to die.

In a town terrorized by a serial killer, Jacob meets Olivia. Sparks ignite.

Until the voice in Olivia’s head echoes the warning in Jacob’s dream…

You’re next.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play

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Enjoy this peek inside:

CHAPTER 1: OLIVIA

My dad used to tell me there are people inside of marbles. They were always talking to him. Whenever I wanted to play a game, he would pick the one with marbles. Only we wouldn’t actually move the marbles. My dad would just stare at them. Finally I stopped asking to play games. But that didn’t matter. My dad would still get out the game with the marbles, and he’d put the marbles in their little resting spots and watch them. And listen.

At Samantha’s house, her three-year-old sister, Cara, is playing a marble game with one of her friends. They’re off in a corner by themselves, probably wondering why all these people are stuffed inside the house, wearing dark clothes, crying randomly, and talking in hushed voices. Cara wasn’t at Samantha’s funeral. Does she understand that her sister is never coming home?

I move away from Cara and fill a plate with cubes of cheese, triangles of salami, and round crackers. I chew, swallow, and make small talk. But mostly I just stare out the window at the pool and remember the last time I was here. Sixth grade. A pool party for Samantha’s birthday. She and I were friends then. We stopped being friends sometime in seventh grade. I think it had something to do with green slime, a ham sandwich, and a guy we both liked, though I’m not really sure anymore. It all seems pretty stupid now, which gives me a lumpy ache in my throat, and makes me feel like a fraud for being here. But the whole junior class was at the funeral, all ninety-eight of us.

Make that ninety-seven.

Plus a good part of the rest of the high school. And although not everyone made their way here after the funeral, the house is still packed, with people spilled out onto the lawn, hovering by the pool, and clutching their paper plates as if they’re life preservers.

My best friend, Julia, slides up next to me. Her chestnut brown hair is arranged in its usual French braid, except a lot of strands that she missed are poking out today. She takes a loose bit and wraps it around her finger.

“Brings back memories, huh?” she says, following my gaze to the pool. “Remember that sleepover in sixth grade?”

“Yeah, that was fun.” Except now my brain jumps right from sleepover to sweet dreams. The Sweet Dreams Strangler.

I shake my head, trying to blot out the images seared into my mind by the news media. Images of Samantha, lying in a field wearing a beautiful dress, her head on a pillow, hair neatly arranged, hands folded.

Beautiful. But dead. Strangled. I don’t know what to say, even to Julia. I look back out the window. A cardinal is perched on the feeder, picking through seeds, scattering debris on the ground.

“It sure is stuffy in here,” Julia says.

I’m about to agree when a wall of cold air hits me. “Mrs. Young must have read your mind. Wow. That feels good.”

Julia scrunches up her face. “What are you talking about?”

“The air. She turned on the air. Don’t you feel it?”

“No. Are you under a vent or something?” Julia peers up at the ceiling.

“Here, switch places with me.”

“It’s just as hot here—”

“It’s just as cold—”

We say it at the same time. “I guess it’s just your wishful thinking.” Julia pats my shoulder. “Enjoy. I’m going to get some more to drink.”

I nod and head across the room, by the TV, where hopefully it’s warmer.

Goose bumps pop up on my arms. I rub them, but it doesn’t help.

Next to me Josh Wallace tosses a cube of cheese into his mouth. Is that sweat dripping off his forehead? Why am I the only one shivering?

I spot a decorative blanket on the couch. Should I? I tap Marcus on the shoulder. “Sorry, could you lean forward? I just need to get something behind you.” I tug at the blanket and drape it over my shoulders.

Julia is back with a drink in her hand. “Why do you have a blanket wrapped around you? Are you feeling okay?”

“Not really,” I answer. “What’s that noise?”

“What noise?”

“That buzzing sound. Is that the TV? Maybe someone turned it on without switching on the cable box.” I fumble with the buttons on the TV. An image flashes across the screen, and a voice blares.

Funeral services were held today for Samantha Young, the fourth victim of the Sweet Dreams Strangler.

Mrs. Young hovers in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. All the color drains from her face.

I can’t seem to move. Julia turns off the TV. The buzzing grows louder, and then I realize that it’s voices I’m hearing, lots of them, all blending together into one big buzzing sound.

And then the buzzing fades away until I hear only one voice.

Olivia.

It’s not real. I know it’s not real.

Olivia.

It’s not real because the voice is Samantha’s, and Samantha is dead.

Olivia!

It’s not real because the voice is not coming from a person. It’s coming from a fricking figurine on the mantel. From a yellow bird with black wings and a black head. I pick up the figurine, and I hold it in my hands. This is what my dad meant when he said there were people living in marbles. And then it speaks again.

Olivia! Stop him!

Even though I’m kind of expecting it, Samantha’s voice scares me all the same. It makes me jump and my hands open up and that figurine smashes on the floor and breaks. And I’m a little glad because maybe now the voice will stop. But suddenly I’m burning up, the salami and cheese rumbles around in my stomach, and before I can sit, the room spins all around me and darkness sets in.

Author Tracy Bilen

Tracy Bilen is the author of What She Left Behind and Whisper. She is a high school French teacher in Michigan where she lives with her husband and children. Tracy studied at the Sorbonne in Paris and taught Spanish at a high school ski academy. She loves biking, traveling, and red velvet cake.

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Barrier by D.C. Renfroe ~ Cover Reveal and Giveaway

Posted: September 15, 2016 in Cover Reveal, giveaways, Romance, thriller
Tags: , , , ,
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barrier-banner

OMG! This cover is spectacular. So pretty and colorful!

What do you think? Let us know.

Make sure you check out the synopsis.

And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!

Barrier

by D.C. Renfroe

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000040_00057]

GENRE: Romance Thriller

RELEASE DATE OF THE BOOK:  October 10th, 2016.

Synopsis

When Claire Luna is kidnapped and taken to a remote island, her predictable life is torn to shreds. She thought she understood grief, loss and loneliness. But nothing prepared her for the island.

Tucker Knight had his world turned upside down when he was a young teen. He’d known love, security and normality. But things changed, and somehow he lost his innocence along the way.

Barrier takes you on a compelling, thrilling and sometimes brutal journey of Claire and Tucker, who in a bid to control their destiny, must learn about trust and submission. And also about love.

The island is under the control of Dr. Stephen Bell, a scientist obsessed with the secrets of humanity through genetic engineering. Claire is part of his obsession, and quickly comprehends Bell’s twisted intentions. She is forced to decide between submission and life-altering consequences. In her desperate attempt to survive, Claire surprises Bell and Tucker with her strength to fight.

But, can she trust Tucker? Is he her enemy or her savior? Claire understands that to surrender means to survive, but can she endure? Tucker can’t help but be enamored by the spirited and determined Claire, but to survive, he must face and overcome his haunting past. Up until Claire’s arrival on the island, he had never thought himself capable, or deserving, but perhaps this was his chance to finally do the right thing.

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Author D.C. Renfroe

barrier-author

I began writing many years ago and put it aside to raise a family. I put myself through college working toward a Bachelor’s Degree in Communication, which I have almost completed. I took every writing class that was offered and finally put pen to paper after dreaming of completing a novel for almost twenty years. In the meantime, I worked as a freelance journalist for a local newspaper briefly and wrote a personal blog while living in south Florida. I currently work as an Instructional Designer based in Austin, Texas. I am a mother of four and truly believe they are my greatest creation! Two of my children inherited my love of writing and I encourage them to write every chance they get!

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