Tuesday, February 3, 2015

Diamond Rings Are Deadly Things by Rachelle J. Christensen - Blog Tour and Giveaway



About the Book

Adrielle Pyper knows how to plan a wedding, and she is especially good at pleasing bridezillas. But when her biggest client and best friend is murdered just three days before the wedding, Adri’s world falls apart. She moves to the resort town of Sun Valley, Idaho, and starts from scratch. Thanks to Adri’s impeccable taste and unique style, she lands two celebrity clients, and her business seems headed for success–that is, until someone vandalizes the specialty wedding dresses she imported from overseas. The race is on to uncover a secret hidden within the yards of satin and lace before Adri becomes the next victim. With a delightful blend of mystery, toe-curling kisses, humor, and spine-tingling thrills, Diamond Rings are Deadly Things is a romantic suspense novel that will keep you turning pages long into the night.






Praise

“I love Rachelle J. Christensen’s stories and characters, and Diamond Rings Are Deadly Things is another thrilling mystery to add to my collection. Don’t be surprised if you have to stay up all night to finish he book!” ~Rachel Ann Nunes, author of Before I Say Goodbye

Diamond Rings are Deadly Things pulled me right in from the first page and held me captive until the very end. Great characters, a compelling plot, a surprising twist at the end … Rachelle Christensen knows how to craft a great mystery. ~Tristi Pinkston, author of the Secret Sisters Mysteries

A cunningly crafty mystery with just the right mix of romance. Readers won’t be able to get enough of Adrielle Pyper, stunning party-planner turned heroine. ~Nichole Giles, author of Descendant

Excerpt

     The bike paths of the Sun Valley area were never lonely, and the paved trails topped my list of reasons to live there. With the ski slopes in view and the lush scent of evergreen forests filling my nose, it didn’t take long for my sluggish body to feel energized.
     As I neared the first mile of my run, I couldn’t help but wonder if I might see him again today. I chided myself. Several times in the past few weeks, I had sprinted past “the hottie”—as Lorea had named him. She had been teasing me mercilessly since I told her about my encounter with the sexy, sculpted runner. Denial was my best defense when Lorea asked me why I had been so diligent in my running lately, but I found myself looking for him more than I cared to admit.
     And there he was, rounding the next bend with his hat on backwards, chrome sunglasses reflecting the fading light. Maybe he was bald. I had never dared turn around and look for fear he might catch me ogling him, but I secretly hoped he used the hat to keep the sweat out of his eyes instead of to prevent sunburn of a shiny scalp. As he drew nearer and I watched his delts flexing in tandem with his six-pack abs, I decided baldness would be just fine.
     When I first mentioned him to Lorea, she said she might have to take up running, if only to stop me from making a fool of myself. Three or four runs a week was enough for me, but I wondered how many nights found him pounding the pavement. Bright yellow running shorts with a black racing stripe sans shirt revealed his muscular body. So hot. My heart sped up as the distance between us disappeared.
     I tried to suppress the goofy grin threatening to cross my face by reminding myself that my cheeks were flushed dark red and I hadn’t shaved my legs for two days. Who was I kidding? I was a sweaty mess. All the same, I couldn’t resist staring at those chrome sunglasses as he ran past, wondering what color his eyes might be.
     “Great night for a run,” he said between breaths.
     “Yeah, it is.” I lifted my fingers in a wave. Inside I screamed, He talked to me! You idiot, all you could say is, yeah, it is?  Oh well, he had initiated conversation. I couldn’t wait to tell Lorea.
     I wondered what the chances were that I might bump into him somewhere else in town—fully dressed. The Ketchum/Sun Valley area wasn’t a metropolis—the population was less than four thousand—so it could happen. Calm down, Adri.
     I thought about my own appearance. The large black sunglasses I wore covered one of my best features. People always commented on my dark brown eyes, remarking how they contrasted nicely with my honey blonde hair. My soft curls were hidden when I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. There was a chance he would recognize me, but could I pick him out of a lineup? I hoped so. I found myself smiling for the rest of my run.
     When I returned home and showered off, my thoughts strayed to Dallas versus “the hottie.” It was nice to think of something besides wedding dresses and I didn’t need to make a decision yet, especially since I’d only been asked out by one of the guys. All the same it was fun to imagine possibilities. The pillow on my bed looked so inviting, but I knew I needed to start unpicking that hemline. Instead of sleeping, I washed my hands thoroughly, gathered my seam ripper, and lifted Natalie’s heavy dress.


About the Author

Rachelle J. Christensen is a stay-at-home mom of four cute kids. She has an amazing husband, three cats, and five chickens. Rachelle was born and raised in the small farming town of Rupert, Idaho which is adjacent to the setting in her latest mystery Diamond Rings Are Deadly Things due out this July. Her new website www.mashedpotatoesandcrafts.com partners with the characters from the novel to bring readers an interactive look into the mystery of crafting and wedding planning.

Rachelle graduated cum laude from Utah State University with a degree in psychology and a music minor. She enjoys singing and songwriting, playing the piano, running, motivational speaking, and of course reading.

Rachelle’s first novel, Wrong Number was awarded Outstanding Book of the Year from the League of Utah Writers and was also a 2010 Whitney Finalist. She is also the author of Caller ID, a nonfiction book Lost Children: Coping with Miscarriage for Latter Day Saints, and a novella with a Timeless Romance Anthology, Fall Collection.


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