This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Barbara Whitaker will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Recovering from wounds, Ted Kruger wants to forget about losing his closest friends and have fun before returning to danger as a bomber navigator. When Ted recognizes Kitty as the girl who rescued him two years before, he must choose between dating the sexy blonde or pursuing quiet, serious-minded Kitty even though he knows he's not nearly good enough for her.
As the war gears up with the D-Day invasion, will Kitty and Ted risk their hearts as well as their lives?
Read an Excerpt
“Starting Initial Point,” the pilot announced. “McGill take over.”
No dodging it now. The bombardier took the controls for the bomb run.
Seconds ticked away. Ted’s gloved hand clenched the pencil. He forced himself to relax before he broke another one. He couldn’t plot their course on the map without a pencil.
The aircraft reeled from explosions nearby. The bumpy ride made him think of an old truck driving at top speed over a rutted, muddy road in the middle of the night. Unable to dodge the holes, even though he knew they were filled with dynamite. Unable to stop. Just straight ahead until he blew up.
Come on, Come on. Get it over with and get out of here.
“Bombs away.” The beautiful, gorgeous words came through the intercom. The plane lurched upward at the loss of its heavy load. He let out a sigh.
“I’ve got it,” Rollins announced. The pilot took back the controls and maneuvered away from the drop zone.
Ted marked the spot on the map and started his calculations for the return leg.
“Hang on. We’re in the middle of it,” the pilot warned only an instant before an explosion jarred through them.
The plane bounced and shook.
Then another, louder bang.
Ted’s seat collapsed, tossing him to the floor. His head hit something.
Blackness alternated with blurry, bright light.
Fiery pain burned through his thigh. His hand searched for the wound. He gasped for air. His oxygen tube must have pulled loose.
Someone hovered over him. “Kruger’s hit.” It was McGill’s voice. Clutching his tightening throat, Ted watched as Mac stuck the tube of a walk-around bottle into Ted’s mask.
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