Genre: Romantic Suspense, available as ebook; paperback coming out in June 2009
Publisher name : Cerridwen Press
Review Your Book Review, 4 Stars Mona Risk, author of French Peril, offers her fans another great read. In French Peril, she creates a swirling air of mystery around the excavation of a chapel ruin. Murder, mystery, and intrigue seem to follow Cheryl as she assists Francois on his project…. Risk has a talent for character development. Cheryl is a multitalented, impetuous person. Francois is harder to define. He is romantic, determined, and very protective. French Peril is a great contemporary romantic read.
4 stars This is a wonderfully exciting romantic suspense novel. The characters are appealing and the setting is very romantic, a chateau in the Loire Valley. The plot is full of action and the reader is never sure who is on the side of good or evil. As a matter of fact, very few are who they appear to be. The love story between Francois the Comte and Cheryl is very engrossing all on its own. The various plotlines converge into a very exciting climax that will surprise the reader.
TWOLIPSREVIEW 4.5 lips Mona Risk brings old-fashioned romance back into style with French Peril. French Peril is full of mystery and intrigue. I loved Ms. Risk’s injection of humor into the story. The ending was every romance readers dream! I love happily ever afters! Pick up French Peril, a sweet mystery romance you’re guaranteed to enjoy.
Night Owl Romance Book Reviews Recommended Read Mona Risk will pull you in with her amazing characters and in-depth twisting suspense. She takes armchair travel to whole new heights as her characters travel to their heart wrenching and spine tingling doom. Mona Risk’s characters will enthrall you as they all dance to their own personal tunes.
What could be more exciting for an American architect than to live in a chateau owned by a young count and to work on the restoration of a French chapel?
But when her professor is killed and Cheryl’s summer job changes into a dangerous treasure hunt for a priceless statue, Count François has his hands full trying to protect the impetuous young woman who's turned his life upside down.
Video trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBVTnTfOGkE&feature=channel
Standing on the platform near the station exit, François de Valroux scowled at the train jolting away toward the balmy fields of la Vallée de la Loire.
Where was Professor Howard? He’d postponed his arrival twice and promised there would be no more delays. The last time he’d talked to François he’d seemed eager to start on the restoration of the chateau’s chapel and the search for the missing statue.
But he hadn’t even called to explain his absence. Totally out of character for the mild-mannered professor, unless he’d e-mailed at the last minute. François hadn’t checked his e-mail since yesterday morning. As he surveyed the few passengers rushing toward the exit, François sincerely hoped nothing serious had detained the professor.
An elderly couple passed by, followed by a woman holding two small children. “Bonjour, Monsieur le Comte,” they all shouted.
He absently returned the greeting, “Bonjour. Bonne arrivée.”
The sun glinted off a mane of chestnut hair and drew his attention to a young woman striding toward the gate, a tote bag in hand and a backpack hanging from her shoulders. The afternoon breeze blew some curls across her face. His gaze lingered on the red t-shirt molded over high breasts and a narrow waist, then moved to the jeans hugging long legs and round hips.
François forgot the professor for a moment. His problem seemed less vital as he focused on the pretty face. Prominent cheekbones, a straight, lovely nose. Not a resident of Valroux. He would meet her, eventually, in the small village. Everyone knew each other in Valroux.
“Count François. Hi.” The young woman waved and hurried toward him.
She knew him?
His memory raked the long list of pretty women he’d dated in recent years. He couldn’t place her, though her smile dazzled him from across the width of the platform. Of all the embarrassing situations.
Rooted in place, he studied her as she came closer, her eyes hidden behind thick-lensed glasses.
His innate courtesy kicked in. “Bonjour. Bonne arrivée.” He stepped forward to grab her luggage. “Allow me.”
“It’s nice to see you again,” she said in French tinged with an American accent. He arched his brows, appreciating the lead. His thoughts galloped back to his trip to Boston, three years ago. He’d gone out with two or three ladies, not as tall, and certainly more blonde and more sophisticated.
Not a man to lose his cool under any circumstances, François deposited her tote bag on the floor and greeted her with the French welcome of three kisses, one on the right cheek, the left cheek and the right again. He inhaled the scent of jasmine with pleasure. Holding her shoulders at arm’s length, he gazed through the thick glasses at blue-violet eyes full of merriment.
Who was the pretty girl he’d just kissed?
“Did you have a good trip?” he asked, hoping and praying her name would pop into his mind.
“Wonderful. Everything’s gone perfectly.”
Lucky girl. In contrast, his life seemed to be a non-stop roller-coaster ride.
“When did you leave America?” He was fishing for details that would help trigger a name. He could always call her chérie. The French endearment had saved him on several occasions. No woman ever resented him for calling her darling or sweetheart.
“My plane left Boston last night. I landed this morning and went straight to Gare St. Lazarre for the train to the Loire Valley. And here I am.”
“And here you are, chérie. Hu…” He cleared his throat. This was going nowhere.
“You haven’t changed a bit since I last saw you in Professor Howard’s office,” the young woman blurted.
Professor Howard’s office?
Of course. The professor’s graduate student. The nice girl who’d gone out of her way to retrieve reference books and photocopy documents. Shirley. No, maybe Charlene. Something like that. He got it. Sharon. He exhaled. Yes, Sharon.
“And you, Sharon, are as pretty as I remember.” He grinned with relief.
Merde. He cursed inwardly.
“Count François, you’re confused. My name is Cheryl. Cheryl Stewart. You had it right the first time.”
He knew it. The endearment always worked. Relieved, he nodded, ready to offer her a ride.
Suddenly, his smile caved in and his back stiffened. Why…was…she…here? He was almost afraid to guess.