Moonlit Destination Series bundle (ebooks)
Moonlit Destination Series bundle (ebooks)
Buy the full Moonlit Destination series and save!
Moonlit Kiss: A Venice Romance (ebook)
When artist and conservator Gianna Bellini lands a dream job in Venice to restore and complete a century-old fresco painting, she packs her bags and hops the first flight to Italy. But as she walks the cobbled streets with eerie familiarity, she comes to the revelation that she has been to the floating city before—just not in this lifetime.
Handsome Venetian native Sergio Vitale rescues Gianna from a chilling plunge after a misstep at a canal-side café. As their budding relationship deepens, so does her progress on the restoration job—except the fresco painting’s missing a panel. She turns to Sergio for help. The closer they get to discovering the unfinished design, the more Gianna is tormented by vivid dreams and haunting whispers where century-old Venetians have met their end.
In a city where the past and present walk hand in hand, Gianna struggles against destiny while Sergio fights for a future that includes her in it.
* Moonlit kiss is a full novel that can be read as a standalone, complete with an HEA.
Moonlit Whisper: An Irish Romance (ebook)
When Fiona’s dad asked her to tutor one of his footballers—a fourth year transfer student—she agreed. What she hadn’t expected was to come face-to-face with a ghost from her past—the boy who used to climb through her bedroom window. The one who left.
Connor moved across the pond years ago to support his mom. He hadn’t wanted to leave, not really. Now, it’s his turn and he’s back in Dublin, on the football team, and ready to make Fiona his. There’s competition both on and off the field with his former best friend, who has a piece of Fiona’s heart. Not a night goes by that he doesn’t need her in his arms. This time, he’s not going anywhere, and he won’t give up without a fight.
* Moonlit Whisper is a novelette that can be read as a standalone, complete with an HEA.
Moonlit Mirage: A Cook Islands Romance (ebook)
One encounter with her surveillance target was all it took to change the course of Nadia Bennett’s life. It was a once in a lifetime kind of connection and worth the risk—even if the price of saving him was to leave him behind and start anew.
When an underwater angel saves Cade Malone from a car accident, he fears he won’t find her again. Years pass, but he’s still unable to erase her from his thoughts, so he vows that the next time they meet, he won’t let her slip away.
Under the moonlit sky, their paths cross, and the lines of demarcation blur as Nadia takes a chance at love even though a dark secret from her past could destroy their relationship.
* Moonlit Mirage is a novella that can be read as a standalone, complete with an HEA.
Arrowscope Press, LLC
Read a sample chapter.
Read a sample chapter.
Moonlit Kiss
Chapter One
Stepping off the plane at Marco Polo Airport felt like a homecoming so real, so undeniable, that my throat clenched, a mist of tears coated my eyes, and I clutched the arm of a stranger. I’d been there before—just not in this lifetime.
I’d often heard tales of one’s psyche recognizing places, ties from the past, even soul mates. And to me, Venice, Italy, was home.
After all, Mom was from Tuscany. Why Venice felt so familiar was perplexing, but it was surely due to our family’s history in Italy. Mom had immigrated to America with her family when she was young. I’d grown up on Italian food and stories from both my grandparents. I spoke the language fluently and longed to someday visit my ancestral homeland in the rural hills of Tuscany. When I met Francesca, who hired me to restore a fresco painting in Venice, and since Mom’s cancer was in remission, it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.
After leaving the airport, I should have found the villa I would be staying at rent free to unpack and get a good night’s sleep. That wasn’t happening. Wired from the long flight, I decided to experience the floating city under the moonlight. From what I’d read, the winding streets of Venice were safe for a woman at night, so I had no worries. Besides, it was dark, and Francesca Marcello’s mural would have to wait a few hours until daylight anyway.
I was glad it was the fall, the perfect time to visit Venice with its cooler temperatures and the tourist season ending. After a change of footwear then sharing a water taxi, I strolled through the winding streets, my rolling suitcase bumping along behind me, toward Piazza San Marco, or Saint Mark’s Square. The heavy perfume of fall flowers mixed with the salt from the nearby water coated the air. The sky darkened, and the moon cast its rays on age-old buildings steeped in history. My pace slowed to take in the unique gothic architecture, studying its classic beauty.
For once, I didn’t worry about losing my way. Under the amber glow of streetlamps, minutes dripped by while I feasted my eyes on fresco—or affresco—aka painting into lime plaster, done in brilliant contours. My rubber-boot-clad feet led the way, and I came upon the piazza as if I’d strolled the same path hundreds of times.
Not once had I needed to refer to the map I’d pulled up on my phone. It was as if I’d been there before and walked those streets hundreds of times already. Maybe I had but in another lifetime. How else can I explain my intimate knowledge of the winding streets of Venice when I’d never stepped foot on the floating city?
Enticing notes of music lured me around a corner to an orchestra stand in front of a ristorante. Bright lights reflected in the partially flooded square. My heart kicked up a notch, and my soul sighed as strains of Vivaldi’s renowned summer concerto neared the thunderous pitch of “The Storm” and urged me to stay awhile.
Tourists and locals wandered the outer edges of the square on the passerelle, walkways elevated above the water, and their reflections shimmered in the rippling surface that filled the inner portion of the piazza. The flooding from the Adriatic Sea lagoon was minimal. I soaked up the sights around me, giddy that I was standing amidst such history. My gaze darted from one iconic building to the next. The Basilica San Marco church dominated the east side of the square, flanked by the Campanile di San Marco bell tower.
I ordered wine and cicchetti, Venetian tapas-style finger food, then found a seat farthest from the rising water. Inviting laughter and companionable conversation floated around me as I sipped my wine. The bell tolled nine o’clock. Easing back in my chair, I watched people and snacked as the concerto transitioned to autumn then winter with dramatic and emotional tempo shifts.
My pulse pounded in time with the violin strains as excitement overwhelmed my senses—this is where I’m meant to be. I’d snatched up the offer to work in Venice without a second thought, as the floating city was a place I’d planned to visit someday. Since I was there, I couldn’t imagine leaving when the painting was completed.
There was something so magical about the place. My mealtime in the square passed much too quickly. Ten o’clock neared. I’d promised Francesca, whom I’d instantly liked when she’d first contacted me about the job, a phone call when I arrived. She was in her early seventies, and I worried the hour was too late. Better do that now.
A cool breeze from the lagoon sent goose bumps dancing along my skin, and I tugged my light cardigan close around my body, warding off the early October chill. Digging through my backpack, I found my cell then scrolled through the contacts to locate Francesca’s number. I pressed the button to connect the call then waited. It rang twice before she picked up. I filled her in, sharing that I had arrived and had stopped for a bite to eat.
“I’m so glad you got there safely, Gianna.”
“The flight was uneventful, which is what I’d hoped for. How is your vacation so far?” She wasn’t there to greet me because she was traveling with several close friends.
“It is wonderful.” She sighed. “We arrived in France tonight and then are off to Spain then Portugal. I hope you’ll be all right alone in the villa?”
“Of course.” The final strains of Vivaldi’s winter concerto heralded the end of the orchestra’s entertainment. I chose not to stay until the bell tolled at midnight, when the city would begin to shut down. I stifled a yawn then stood and slung my backpack over my shoulder, my phone pressed to my ear. “I’m looking forward to working on the mural at first light.”
“Oh no. Not tomorrow.” Her voice was warbled. “I’ve arranged for you to take a gondola ride to soak in the atmosphere of Venice during the daytime. Think of it as creative inspiration.”
I attempted to decline, but Francesca wouldn’t take no for an answer. Before we hung up, I agreed to her generous offer. Beneath the glow of the streetlamps, I turned the corner, dragging my luggage through hidden alleys and bridges passing over small inlets. One by one, shadows cast by each gas lamp led me through a dark labyrinth—no map could have guided me so well.
I would be staying in Francesca’s villa for the next few months, working a dream job that I couldn’t believe I’d landed. Francesca was a supporter of a nonprofit dedicated to preserving Venice’s artistic heritage. While I wasn’t a member of that particular organization, she’d sought me out after seeing several of my restoration projects and my own artwork.
I shivered. The night was changing—warm air mixed with the dropping evening temperatures, ushering in tendrils of fog that wafted in long strips along the canal, like eerie fingers seeking something that evaded their grasp. Adjusting my backpack, I again tugged my cardigan tightly around my body and quickened my pace, the map featured on my phone shoved back in my pocket.
The villa was a few blocks away and across the canal. A sense of déjà vu nipped at me as I made my way down the meandering streets, which I didn’t seem to need my map for. How is this familiar? There will be a bridge not too far ahead, where I will cross. On the other side will be the Marcello home. I was to have the first of four floors to myself, and Francesca said no one else would be in residence for a couple of weeks. A wave of fatigue swept over me as I walked through tufts of mist. It was late, and I wanted to find my room.
The fog thickened, and icy awareness tiptoed along my spine, feeling a sense of familiarity as I passed the stretch of cafés and shops. The old-world charm of the buildings played an enticing game of peekaboo through the haze. I wanted to stop and study their exquisite designs before I lost sight of them altogether.
It was after ten, and a hush had descended over the city of canals, and I felt history’s presence acutely. I rubbed my arms as I frowned at the eerie, heavy clouds affected my sense of well-being. My ears played tricks on me, and I swore the deep timbre of a man’s voice echoed through the dense air. I tried to shake the unease that scratched along my skin. I must have been having an auditory hallucination—maybe it was a weird trick of the fog.
Time stilled as a cloudlike mass tumbled through the streets, distorting my sense of direction. An anguished cry echoed around me. I stumbled before catching myself, the feeling of déjà vu so strong that I questioned my reality.
“Sophia!”
I gasped. His deep baritone made it feel like a vise circled my heart. I paused as chills erupted over my body. I know that voice. Anguish dripped from his voice, and my feet remained rooted in place.
His desperate bellow spurred me to action, and I raced blindly through the dense haze, running to him instead of away.
My footsteps thudded on the pavement, my luggage careening precariously behind me. A minute passed then another. He continued to shout, the tormented sound echoing along the canal and bouncing off the residences that flanked it. A flash of light danced across the water’s lapping surface. I skidded to a halt, mere steps from plummeting in.
A scuffle sounded to my left, and I turned. There, not more than a foot away, the fog parted to reveal an imposing man, perhaps a few years senior to my twenty-five, dressed in black trousers and a worried white button-down shirt.
His haunting gray gaze collided with mine. My heart swelled, its tempo increasing to alarming rates. And I drowned in my own pain, gasping through my intense agony.
Even if only in a dream, I’d seen him before and hadn’t needed to look to recognize those gray eyes, how they’d once unnerved me, and how they still could. Wavy dark-mahogany hair that tended to defy all attempts to tame it brushed the edges of his collar. My fingers curled, and a desire to touch the soft strands beat in my chest.
How I knew him, I didn’t fully understand. Nothing made sense, not my reactions or my actions since I’d set foot in the floating city. Tears rolled unchecked down my face, and my eyelids drifted shut. Time stood still. It was impossible, but… I knew the man, somehow. Tremors shook my hands until I clasped them together.
I sensed his approach. My body responded—it always had and always would. I felt a cool, featherlight touch on my face as he swept back a few strands that had fallen from my messy bun, as if he’d done it a thousand times before. My lips tingled as his brushed across mine in the lightest of caresses.
The spicy tang of leather and whiskey teased my awareness, and I opened my eyes. What am I doing—allowing? The deep sense of longing continued to suffocate me. I dropped my gaze to his lips and swayed. Forbidden. I wanted to bargain with him, with fate. One taste was all I wanted. He’s not real.
“I’ve missed you.” His husky voice wrapped me in a drugging desire. “Every night, I’ve searched for you, Sophia.”
With a deep inhalation, I forced myself to face what I feared wasn’t really there. Tilting my head to meet his gaze, I felt an icy chill on my cheek before his hand fell away. I blinked up at the stunning man towering over me. Arresting, chiseled features complemented a well-built frame that looked as if he could carry the weight of the world. It was an illusion. Neither of us could.
I’d dreamed of him, but I hadn’t imagined him to be real. “I’m not—”
“Shh, my love.” His eyes misted. “It’s my fault. All of it.”
I had to get away from the madness. Maybe it’s the wine. I tore my gaze from him and looked around. The fog coated everything in each direction—I could only see a foot in front of me on all sides.
I was impossibly turned around but not alone.
Seconds ticked by as we stood before one another. I had no choice. “I’m afraid I’m lost.”
A sad smile curved his lips. “As I’ve been, my sweet.” He moved to stand beside me. “Come. I’ll walk you home.” A fierce frown marred his face, and I took a step back. “But not there… not to him.”
Him who? No one was supposed to be in the house. “I’m staying across the river, at the Marcello home.”
A dazzling smile curved his kissable lips, and my body melted—the moment of wariness fled. “That’s where I’d planned to take you.”
I was a fool to do it, but I walked with him anyway. We fell into a companionable silence, our shoes scuffing along the cobbled stones. By his side, I felt safe. I wanted to learn more about him. The streets of Venice weren’t known to be dangerous, and I didn’t have a lot to lose.
The haze that encased the island had somehow soaked into my brain. I shook my head, trying to rid my mind of the hold the man seemed to have over me. “Who are you?”
He paused and turned to look at me. I mirrored his movements. Alarm briefly lit his eyes until sadness darkened them from gray to obsidian. “Giovanni. I am yours, Sophia, and you are mine. I’ve waited so long… now that you are here, I must confess my deep regret for putting you at risk for a foolish day by the shore.”
This has gone on long enough. While I wanted to cling to every word he said, I was an imposter to his memory, his damaged mind. He needed to know. My conscience couldn’t carry the weight of leading him on. Something was wrong, and I didn’t want to contribute to his pain. “I’m sorry, Giovanni, for whatever happened to Sophia.” My fingers stretched out to touch him before I thought better of it. “But I’m not her.”
He gestured for us to continue down the walkway. “I will forever envision you in the arms of the gods,” he purred sensually, as if I hadn’t spoken to deny his delusion. A frown pulled at his lips. “Perhaps if we’d tossed them a coin, they would have watched over us, and we would have encountered only tame waters.”
I couldn’t follow his riddles and chose to let them roll off me. We turned. Nausea punched me in the gut as we traveled between two houses and stepped onto a bridge that spanned the distance over the canal. The swift jolt of sickness left me as soon as we arrived on the other side. Weird. The entire encounter had been odd. He paused, and I followed his gaze.
My breath caught from the impact of the astonishing fresco painting, and I hungrily devoured the moonlit sight before me. The mural. I was intimately acquainted with it, as I had been commissioned to work on it. Giovanni’s voice jolted me back to the fact that I wasn’t alone.
“My second-greatest regret is that it wasn’t finished in time, and as such, I could not leave.”
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Moonlit Kiss by Amy McKinley was a wonderful quick read with vibrant descriptions and likeable characters. Sergio and Gianna seemed to just fit right together and made for a sweet romance. Set in Venice, I could easily picture what the author was writing about and I enjoyed the "scenery". This is the third book I've read as part of the Moonlit Destination Series and of the three is by far my favorite.
OMG!! I really loved this book. It was such a beautifully written story! I was so enriched with the story, I couldn't stop reading until finished. Love love love!! Oh and the setting of Venice was perfect too! Really love this author's writing style and this book is now one of my faves from her! If you're a lover of enriching romance I highly recommend this story. So go read it NOW!
I'm not usually a fan of love triangles, as those types of storylines often involve characters that are prone to infidelity and lead to broken hearts. However, Moonlit Whisper by Amy McKinley was something pleasantly different. The characters, Fiona, Connor, and Lachlan are well developed, despite this being a short novella. You truly get the sense that things worked out the way they should have in the end, without feeling guilt for the third party. I would love to read sequels to this short story and get to know these likeable characters even more.
Moonlit KissByAmy MckinleyAuthor Amy Mckinley is one of my favorite authors, she always takes us places we all want to be in such detail. Not all of us get the chance to visit other countries and reading is one of the easiest ways to do that. This is why I like authors that can transport us there without much effort. It is one of the reasons why I love to read, she gives us such a sense of being there and adding great characters along the way just add to our enjoyment.
After finishing Moonlit Kiss by Amy McKinke, I couldn’t help but be a little shocked that I haven’t heard of this author before. I am so happy that I’ve discovered her, and I cannot wait to delve into more of her work.The author has a gifted way of developing the characters, without losing focus of the story with unnecessary details. The main characters, Gianna and Sergio, pull the reader right into Venice with them. Their love story might have a tragic history, but that doesn’t stop them from fighting for their love and using that history as fuel to make their love burn even stronger. Don’t pass this story by!If I could make one suggestion, I personally would love to have seen some more French and Italian language squeezed in there, given the character’s lineage, but that isn’t for everyone.