Romantic Suspense and Thriller

Deceptions Of The Heart By Denise Moncrief

Friday, December 21, 2012

My name is Denise Moncrief, and I live in Louisiana with one husband, two children, and one very chubby canine. My family not only endures my writing moods, but also encourages me to indulge my writing passion. An accountant by day and a writer of romantic suspense by night, I lead a very busy and joyous life. I’ve been writing off and on since I was seventeen, and with several stories already published, I have no desire to slow down.

Still Moments Publishing published my first full-length novel in September 2012. Here is the back cover blurb:

What would you do if one morning you awoke in someone else’s body?

Surviving as Jennifer Cristobal isn’t easy for Rhonda Prentiss. Three years ago, a sudden, fatal trauma stripped Rhonda of her middle-class, stay-at-home mom existence. A brand new shock prompts Rhonda’s essence to invade Jennifer’s soul, suppressing the other woman’s memories and replacing them with her own. When Jennifer’s heart transplant surgeon, Dr. Crane, can’t—or won’t—help her understand her unusual body-swapping dilemma, she turns to the only man she can trust. But can she fully trust Jennifer’s husband, Anson? Rhonda’s memory proves faulty—and sugarcoated. Multiple threats from her past shake her fragile hold on mental stability. If one of her enemies succeeds, he will kill Rhonda’s soul… or Jennifer’s body… or both.
Here’s an except from the book…

He hovered near the bed as I feigned sleep. Poised over me for a horribly long time, he never uttered a word. I stifled a flinch when he brushed the hair from my face. The gentle glide of his fingertips across my cheek sent a shock racing through my limbs. He dragged in a deep, ragged breath and then lifted a suit jacket from a chair. After he shut the door behind him with a near silent swoosh, I lowered the bedcovers from my chin and released the breath I’d been holding.

While I waited for my pulse to return to normal, the hum of early morning slipped under the bedroom door—the comforting, everyday noises of a household starting the day.

The drone of conversation ebbed and flowed, floating toward me from beyond the bedroom door. Sounds drifted through the window from outside the house. The churn of a garage door opener. The roar of a high-powered engine. The crunch of wheels on gravel. I leapt from the bed and threw back the heavy drapes. A Jag pulled into the street in front of the house. I stood stock still, breathing in and out.

Hysteria insinuated its warped fingers into the convoluted whorls and ridges of my psyche. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes, but I swiped them away. I clawed at the flimsy nightgown that threatened to slip from my shoulders as if it was eating my skin, pulled the top over my head and threw the offending garment on the floor, leaving my upper body exposed. My eyes traveled down my torso. A rough trail dissected the middle of my chest, right between the ribs. I stared at the oddity, fascinated, horrified, and perplexed. My nail traced the scar. The surgery was months, maybe years, old.

I ripped through the room until I found a huge walk-in closet full of women’s clothing. Row upon row of shoes were arranged neatly on the floor, handbags lined the top shelf. The Fendi I’d been gazing at for weeks lay toward the back of the stack as if it were yesterday’s toy. My shaky hand snatched open the nearest drawer filled with every accessory imaginable. I slammed the drawer shut.

I borrowed a matching shirt and skirt. With another woman’s clothes on my back, I dared to look into the full-length mirror. I tensed. Someone was in the closet with me. I touched my cheek. She touched hers. I blinked, she blinked. The face reflected back at me wasn’t mine, yet there I stood, facing the mirror, gazing at my own reflection.
I stuffed my hand in my mouth and dropped to the floor. Every hard thing I’d endured in the past few months came barreling out of my tear ducts, cascading down my cheeks, falling onto someone else’s expensive couture. I rubbed the unwanted moisture away with the flat of my hand then closed my eyes and forced them open again. Nothing changed in the interim.

I hope you enjoyed this excerpt. One lucky reader who comments on my blog will be randomly selected to win eBook copy of Deceptions of the Heart. Good luck! Deceptions of the Heart can be purchased from Amazon, Smashwords, and Still Moments Publishing’s web site at