{New Release Blitz} Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots: A Small Town Romance Anthology

Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots: A Small Town Romance Anthology by Annie Carlisle, CA Miconi, Delta James, Irene Lawless
Series: Pelican Point #1
on March 14th, 2025
Genres: Fiction, Adult, Romance, Contemporary
Buy on Amazon, Amazon UK, Amazon Canada, Amazon Australia, Available with KU Subscription
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Welcome to Celtic Knot Winery, where the lush vineyards are ripe with secrets, and love is as rich and complex as the finest vintage.

In Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots, four intertwined romance stories unfold against the enchanting backdrop of rolling hills and grapevines. Each tale weaves its own unique tapestry of passion, betrayal, and heartwarming redemption, proving that amidst the beauty of the vineyard, anything is possible.

Pour a glass and lose yourself in Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots, where every story uncorks a new journey of the heart. Amidst secrets and seduction, these tales remind us that love is the most intoxicating wine of all.

Included in the anthology:
Love’s Hidden Knot by Annie Carlisle
Love Undercover by Irene Lawless
Love Me, Love Me Knot by CA Miconi
Love’s Twisted Knot by Delta James

👉 Enemies to Lovers
👉 Billionaire
👉 Alphahole
👉 Grumpy/Sunshine
👉 Second Chance
👉 One Night Stand
👉 Love Against All Odds

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Exclusive Excerpts from Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

Excerpt from Love’s Hidden Knot

“Good morning,” they say in unison.

“He’s here.” Brennen says in a panic, his face draining of color. “I’ll go greet him.”

“That’s my cue to leave.” Sophie waves to us as she leaves through the fermentation room door.

“Wait…” I frown up at Brennen. “Shouldn’t Sophie be here for this? She is the winemaker after all.”

Brennen scoffs. “No. Sophia refuses to be part of this because she didn’t make the wine. I think her exact words were that she wouldn’t serve this swill to pigs.”

I roll my eyes – that sounds exactly like Sophie. The girl is great and all, but she is the epitome of an elitist wine snob. But that is why we hired her.

As the actual winery owner, Brennen has taken the reins of our family business and spent years trying to fix what our father did to our family name, not to mention creating a rift between my two brothers with me playing referee.

As the attorney for both, I’m able to keep one business separate from the other — Brennen’s winery and Ryan’s conglomerate. If Brennen ever found out that I was working for Ryan too, he’d disown me just like he has Ryan. Fortunately, he doesn’t know. Thank god for client confidentiality laws.

“He’s been crazy all morning,” Isabella says under her breath.

We can hear as Brennen and the critic enter the front doors, “Here we go.” I say out loud.

I stand beside Brennen, offering a professional smile as the critic approaches. But the moment Mr. Dawson looks up, his eyes meet mine, and the color drains from my face.

No. It can’t be.

No.

No.

No.

His mouth opens in shock, too, his gaze flicking over me as if trying to process what he’s seeing. My heart stutters in my chest, my pulse thundering in my ears.

It’s him.

The man from last night. The one I left sleeping in that hotel room this morning. The man whose name I never got because we agreed there was no reason for names. But I know every inch of his body. And he knows mine.

Mr. Dawson—the world-renowned wine critic Miles Dawson—is my one-night stand.

Excerpt from Love Undercover

My mental pep talk brings a smile to my face, and I inhale the rest of my lunch as I return my focus to the task at hand, hurling another glare at the offending fermentation tank. I’ll get that safety valve replaced today if I have to dismantle the damn tank piece by piece.

Thirty minutes later, I’ve only managed to move the bolt four millimeters. I thought I finally had it on that third turn, but now it’s really frozen. Even the penetrating oil I’ve used has failed to work. Utilizing every colorful curse word I know, I give it one more try, pulling so hard it will be a wonder if my shoulders don’t pop out of their sockets.

Startled by a deep chuckle directly behind me, I jerk upright, smacking my head on a pipe, and curse like a sailor.

“Goddammit!” I yell, throwing the wrench to the floor. I rub the sore spot on my scalp as I pivot to lambaste the idiot who has foolishly decided to invade my workroom and scare the bejesus out of me. But the sight that greets me renders me speechless, and my brain is filled with an appreciative humming sound.

I can only stare at the gorgeous man beaming back at me. Thick brown hair lies in soft, lazy curls around his head; his ridiculously well-lashed, dark eyes twinkle with amusement. His full lips are framed by the most perfectly chiseled jawline I think I’ve ever seen. To top it off, he is tall—easily over six feet—with long legs and a V-shaped torso that most models would kill for. Judging by the way his T-shirt molds to his muscular chest and arms, he is intimately familiar with exercise or some form of manual labor.

Gah! Focus, Sophie!

“That bolt’s giving you fits, huh?” the man drawls in a twang that sends a tingle right through me. There is definitely a southern drawl present, one deeper than is normal in Florida. It is insanely sexy and makes him that much more appealing. Despite being a California girl, I’ve always been a sucker for a southern accent.

Who the hell is this guy?

Excerpt from Love Me, Love Me Knot

Joselyn:

As I exit the other end of the garden, I realize I’m not alone. Looking back at me is the face that’s been etched in my memory and in the forefront of my dreams for the last nine years. But it’s an older, more mature face. Although his expression is neutral, like a mask, he can’t hide his features. His dark brown eyes are simmering and the beard scruff on his tanned face causes a fire within me that I haven’t felt in a long time—the burn of desire.

When he speaks, his tone is just as bland as the expression on his face. “What are you doing here?”

Does he mean here in Pelican Point or here in the garden? I suppose it doesn’t matter; I don’t think he’s happy to see me. But what did I expect? “I… I—”

He cuts me off with a curt wave of his hand. “Save it. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying it.”

His hand motion reveals a hint of emotion. The mask is slipping. If I leave now, I don’t think I’ll have the courage to come back and face him again. This is my only shot. “Brennen, please. I’m here to make amends. I’m tired of running from my past.”

He’s silent for a moment. Then the mask drops from his face completely. He barks out a laugh. Not because what I’ve said is funny. I’ve hit a nerve, and he’s not hiding it. “Tired? Let me tell you about tired. I’m tired, too. Tired of trying to figure out why my fiancée left me as soon as times got tough. Tired of trying to save my family’s business and the legacy that my father tried to burn to the ground.”

He’s right. Why did I think this was going to be easy? I should turn and run, but my feet are stuck like they’re sinking in mud. A tear trickles down my cheek as I whisper, “I’m sorry. For everything that happened to you. All of it. Including what my father did. That’s why I had to leave. I felt like I was responsible for the sins of my father, and I thought I’d be blamed, too, because my last name is Vargas. I know it was a foolish, knee-jerk reaction, and I’ve spent years dwelling on it. Wishing I’d done things differently. But at the time, I did the only thing I could think of—run.”

He responds through gritted teeth, his words burning me like acid. “You aren’t responsible for anything your father did. But you are responsible for not sticking by me. For not trusting me. For not believing in me. You, of all people, should have known what that would do to me. You should have remembered that loyalty and trust are sacred to me. Now I don’t trust anyone, including my own family. So don’t be surprised when I say I don’t trust you. And I don’t know when or if you’ll ever win back that trust.”

Without another word, Brennen stalks away, taking with him any semblance of hope I had that I would be forgiven.

Excerpt from Love’s Twist Knot

“Hello, Candace,” he says, his voice smooth and infuriatingly calm. I can feel it wash over me—just the way it used to. I loved his voice. The man could have read a dictionary, and he would have had my rapt attention.

“Long time, no see,” he continues, unperturbed by my silence. “You’ve been busy. Sapphire Development, right? You’ve had some success, but not in Christmas Valley. I hear you’re planning to turn my family’s vineyard into a resort.”

I stab at another piece of steak, my grip on the fork tightening. My heart thunders in my chest, but I keep my face impassive, my expression cool. Let him talk. Let him say whatever he wants. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“You know, I didn’t think resorts were your thing,” he adds, leaning a hand against the edge of the booth. “But I guess people change.”

“Still not talking to me?” he asks, his tone light, teasing, as though this is a game to him. “That’s fine. I’ve got time. I’ll just keep guessing. Let’s see… maybe this isn’t about the vineyard at all. Maybe it’s about me?”

That one lands like a blow, and I grip my fork harder, the metal biting into my palm. My pulse quickens, my skin heating with the anger I’m desperately trying to suppress. Of course, he thinks this is about him. It always comes back to him.

The fork in my hand clinks against the plate, my movements growing more forceful as his words sink in. My thoughts spiral, unbidden, to the reasons I’m here—the heartbreak, the humiliation, the years of rebuilding myself after he walked away. The memories crash over me, sharp and cutting, and my resolve starts to crack.

He doesn’t stop. “You know, I’ve been thinking… maybe this isn’t about revenge. Maybe it’s about closure. Is that it, Candace? You need closure? I was hoping we’d get that the last time you visited the club. It’s been a while since you’ve been to Leathers.”

I freeze, my hand gripping the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turn white. The heat rising in my chest boils over, spilling into my veins like fire. Every word he says chips away at my restraint, his tone so calm, so maddeningly confident, as though he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

And maybe he does.

“Nothing to say?” he presses, straightening slightly. “I guess that’s fine. I’ve always been better at doing the talking.”

That’s it. That’s the push too far.

I stand abruptly, the sudden motion knocking the table slightly and rattling my plate. My purse is in my hand before I realize I’ve reached for it, and I drop a fifty onto the table with shaking fingers. My resolve hardens with every passing second. No more games. No more letting him or any Murphy push me around.

Picking up my scotch, I look at him for the first time since he came over, my glare sharp enough to cut glass. His smarmy smile falters slightly, and for one satisfying second, I let him see the fire burning behind my eyes.

Then I throw the scotch in his face.

The liquid splashes, dripping from his jaw as he recoils in surprise. A stunned silence falls over Jumpin’ Jacks, the quiet so heavy I can hear my own breath.

I don’t wait for his reaction. I push past him, out of the booth, turning on my heel and walking out, my steps quick and deliberate. The door jingles behind me as I leave, but I don’t look back.

Outside, the night air is cool against my flushed skin, and I take a deep breath, steadying the wild storm of emotions coursing through me. He doesn’t get to win. Not this time.

I’m done playing nice, and this time he is not going to win.