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Marry Poppins -- Beth Ciotta
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No Place Like Nowhere -- Beth Ciotta
No Place Like Nowhere








CB Scott is the published writing team of ...

Cynthia Valero and Beth Ciotta 

In 2000 we finaled in RWA's Golden Heart, a contest for unpublished authors. Soon after we signed with ImaJinn Books, a leading publisher in paranormal romance. Since then we have published three novels with ImaJinn and one short story which appears in an anthology (Dream Quest) for LTD Books. Cyndi also wrote a short story under the Scott pseudonym for the anthology, The Journey Home.

From 2000 -2002 we wrote and directed the Mr. Romance Pageant (a production show in which models compete to win a cover shoot for a romance novel) for the Romantic Times Book Lovers Convention. Talk about a grand adventure!

We're currently focusing on solo projects, but who knows what the future holds!

Voted Best Paranormal Small Press Romance by Romantic Times BOOKclub





Scandalous Spirits

Marcus Van Buren's family has been a thorn in his backside since the day he was born.  Now he's paying someone to get rid of them. Inexperienced ghostbuster Daisy Malone should be ecstatic the ultra-wealthy tabloid darling is paying her big bucks to conduct a sham of an investigation.  The windfall will bail her family out of financial ruin.  According to Marcus, all she has to do is tell the truth.  Sign a document swearing Laguna Vista is 100% ghost-free. The only trouble is Daisy knows otherwise.

4 Stars, Romantic Times BOOKclub

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ImaJinn Books  ISBN#1-893896-23-4  

Amazon | BN | E-book Kindle


Kindred Spirits

The sequel to Scandalous Spirits

Blown back to 1923 to help a wayward flapper find redemption. playboy Rufus Sinclair challenges destiny when he falls for the flapper's best friend, Grace La Rue, a daredevil tomboy raised not to need a man.  Kindred Spirits is a high-flying adventure testing the boundaries of friendship and love.

RT BOOKclub - TOP PICK! - 4 1/2 Stars!

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ImaJinn Books  ISBN#1-893896-34-X

Amazon | BN | E-book Kindle


Knight of my Dreams

Haunted by a recurring dream of a desperate knight and maiden, Sydney Vaughn is convinced she is witnessing a medieval past life.  As history begins to repeat itself, convincing ex-cop and cynic Winn Lacey that they share the souls of ill-fated medieval lovers becomes a matter of life and death. 

4 Stars, Romantic Times BOOKclub

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ImaJinn Books   ISBN#1-893896-85-4

Amazon | BN | E-book Kindle



Dream Quest

Waking in the arms of her favorite medieval film hero, Janie Lane struggles to save a legendary land and to escape her own grim destiny. -- KNIGHT MOVES ( by CB Scott)>

Nine spellbinding short stories packed into one dynamic anthology! We're thrilled to join authors
Megan Sybil Baker, J.C. Wilder, Donna MacMeans, Mary Adamski, Isabo Kelly, Janet Miller, Gail McAbee and Rosemary Laurey in this other-world project.

~ 4 Stars, Romantic Times BOOKclub

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LTDBooks   ISBN#1-55316-494-6  


The Journey Home

The award-winning, best-selling authors of The Journey Home have conjured an inspired collection of stories about this beloved icon whose soul bears the scars of time and fate. In each passionate and magical tale, you’ll meet an irresistible warrior who’s facing the aftermath of a conflict.  You’ll meet, too, the courageous woman who wants to tend his wounds, help him rebuild his shattered dreams, and give him the love he needs and so richly deserves—if only he will let her.

Ten romantic encounters of the extraordinary kind, each proving what the heart knows is true—that the most powerful healer . . . in any time or place . . . was, is, and always will be love.

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Trade Size Paperback:  0-9759653-5



"Fans of paranormal romances are going to love KNIGHT OF MY DREAMS, a tale of reincarnation that is so compelling that the reader will feel caught up in the drama and pageantry of the tale. CB Scott has the magic touch with words, weaving them together to create a story that is bold and daring. This author should be on every romance lovers must read list..." --Harriet Klausner, The Midwest Book Review

"SCANDALOUS SPIRITS is sassy, spooky, sexy fun--a flat-out great read! You'll enjoy every spine-tingling page! --Stephanie Bond, author of Got Your Number, St. Martins

"I always enjoy the stories that CB Scott creates, but I think I can say with some certainty that KINDRED SPIRITS is my favorite of all.  KINDRED SPIRITS is complex, emotional and adventurous..." -- Thea Candee, The Romance Readers Connection

"...Knight Moves (DREAM QUEST) was exciting, dangerous and it was a thrilling ride...  CB Scott writes an entertaining heroine who proves to be one tough cookie. This is a tale to warm your heart and confirms that if you believe in yourself, you can do anything. --Tracey West, Road To Romance

"A tale of honor, faith, forgiveness, and love, The Sacrifice (THE JOURNEY HOME) engages the emotions and wrenches the heart and is a tale that will be remembered long after it's finished." -- Romance Reviews Today

"Kindred Spirits is an exceptionally imaginative sequel to Scandalous Spirits....  One of those books you want to read in one sitting, yet take time to savor, it is a not-to-be-missed paranormal romance of high order. " --RT BOOKclub, Top Pick 4 1/2 stars!


Rufus opened his eyes and stared up into the clouds.

He’d always thought Isadora Van Buren would be the death of him.

He moved his eyes to the right, to the west tower framed against the blue sky.

Another victim of Laguna Vista’s infamous roof.

He wiggled his fingers then his toes. Good sign.

He must’ve knocked himself out when he hit the ground. He wondered how long he’d been lying here. The day had grown warm. Too warm. He was baking in his leather jacket.

Where the hell was Bookman?

A breeze fluttered his hair, carrying the scents of ripe roses and freshly cut grass.

He bolted upright. Heart thundering against his ribs, he stared at the outer walls of Laguna Vista. White. Pristine white stucco. What happened to the smoker-stain-yellow that left the house so unattractive and easy to despise?

Frowning, he tightened his fists around tufts of soft, lush grass. Last he remembered he was gripping the west tower windowsill. Cement crumbling beneath his fingers. Roof tiles slipping beneath his shoes. Izzy’s disturbing rage lashing him as he tried to climb through the window. Icy winds…

A whirlwind. Some sort of bizarre funnel cloud of bright colors, like an old, psychedelic Sixties cartoon. He’d felt himself falling…then…

No splat. Nothing.

He felt no pain as he prodded for head injuries, broken bones, blood. Nothing. He was one lucky sonuvabitch.

Tires screeched. A car hurtled into the driveway, racing straight for him.

He didn’t have time to react as it squealed to a halt, the steel grill two inches from his nose. The radiator belched scalding hot air into his face.

His second near-death mishap of the day.

His heightened senses reeled. December. It was December. So why did it feel and smell like a mid-summer day?

A car door slammed. “No wonder Jonas never let’s you drive.”

Where the hell was Bookman?

A second door slammed. “I was distracted. Is it my fault Raul prunes the roses shirtless?”

Rufus leaned forward to peek around the car. A broad-shouldered gardener, naked to the waist, tended the giant rosebushes at the corner of the house. In December. An eighty degree day in December. Rufus swiped his hand across his sweating brow, stopping mid-gesture when a very familiar woman stepped into his line of vision.

Isadora Van Buren.

What was she doing out of the house?

He fell back on his elbows and blinked up at the skinny-as-a rail flapper. If she turned sideways she’d disappear. “Turn sideways.”

Grinning, she whipped off her tortoise-shell sunglasses and gave him a lazy once over. “Anything for you, doll face.” She pivoted and thrust out her non-existent breasts. She didn’t disappear. “As it happens I’m free for dinner.”

Rufus groaned.

“You nearly killed him, Izzy. Apologize before making eyes at him.” The passenger stepped around and offered him a hand up. He squinted against the sun as he accepted the hand. A tingling sensation shot from his fingers to his shoulder. He hoped it wasn’t an injury. Standing on shaky legs his eyes finally adjusted and he found himself face to face with Grace LaRue.

Or her twin. Everyone has a twin. So what?

A chill shivered down his spine.

She released his hand and shook out her own. Had his grip been too tight?

He stared at her in awe. Maybe he hadn’t survived the fall. Maybe this was some crazy interlude of his last thoughts as life slipped from his body. Or some funky comatose dream as he lied fallow in a hospital bed, nothing but bumps and blips beneath a sheet.

She looked exactly as she had in the photograph. Compact body straining with energy. Wild black curls tamed only by a pair of giant flight goggles atop her head. Eyes that pierced skin, bone, and marrow—and how deliciously blue. He could see that now. Those eyes tearing him down. Prying behind the pupils. Peering into the dark corners.

He shivered again. She looked twenty-three. Not one-hundred-three.

Did he die? Was he in Heaven? No, Izzy wasn’t in Heaven. That much he knew. Hell? It was hot enough. But he didn’t think so.

Grace eyed him. “You look a little green, Ace.”

“Let’s get him inside,” Izzy said. She hooked her arm through his.

Contact. Flesh and bone. Jesus.

“Why were you sitting on the lawn?” Grace asked, eyes sharp for an answer.

Izzy tugged him toward the portico. “Do you work with Raul?”

The front door swung open. A skinny, gray-haired man in formal attire stood ironing-board stiff in the threshold. His eyes remained blank with indifference. “May I be of assistance, Miss Van Buren?”

Izzy tightened her already possessive grip on Rufus. “Thank you, Lincoln. Please set out fresh soap and linens in the downstairs lavatory for our guest.”

Lincoln stepped aside, allowing them access to the grand foyer. “Certainly, Miss.”

“And tell Mrs. Potts to set another place for dinner.”

“You don’t waste time,” Grace said.

Izzy smiled. “It’s the least I can do for almost running him over.”

Lincoln didn’t raise an eyebrow. “I’ll ask Mrs. Potts to make a special dessert.” He strode ahead, disappeared around the corner.

Rufus’s temples pulsed. Lincoln? Mrs. Potts? Who were these people and what were they doing in Marc’s house? He allowed Izzy to tug him toward the living room. Bookman would be there, amidst Daisy’s god-awful furniture. He’d clear this up. He’d perform some ghostbusting ritual. Exorcise Izzy and her ghost pal, Grace. Or at the least, Rufus thought, slap him out of this insane delusion.

But Bookman wasn’t there. Neither was Daisy’s mismatched collection of vintage furnishings. Rufus stood mesmerized in the archway of the spacious living room. The eclectic décor included a scarlet velvet chaise lounge, an indigo and scarlet tapestry armchair, mahogany end tables and bureau, and a huge round table draped with gold and scarlet silks. Vases of red and yellow roses accented the room along with Tiffany table lamps. An Austrian crystal chandelier dripped like melting ice from the vaulted ceiling. An intricate Oriental rug covered most of the marble floor. Decadent. Classy. Meticulously arranged.

Grace passed her hand in front of his eyes. “Helloooo?” She frowned. “I think he’s in shock. Get a cool cloth, Izzy.”

“I’ll get something better.” Izzy eased him onto the plush chaise then hurried to the double-door bureau. Grace sat in the chair next to him.

He stared at the spiral staircase. The staircase that led to the second floor. The floor that led to the west tower. Ghosts. Angels. Reincarnation. “I suspect you’re connected. I think your relationship is rooted in the past.” Bookman had filled his head with a bunch of mystical mumbo jumbo.

He’d fallen. He’d cracked his melon. End of story.

He pinched himself. Nothing happened.

Izzy returned with a silver flask. “Drink this.”

He pinched her.

She giggled. “My kind of man.”

Grace pinched Rufus. “Hands off.”

His arm throbbed. Okay. Not dreaming. Think, man, think. He eyed the black rotary phone, the pre-deco furnishings, Izzy’s shapeless dress, turban-like hat and rolled stockings. It was as if he’d wandered onto the set of The Great Gatsby. He didn’t want to ask, cringed to voice the thought, but he had to know. “What year is this?”

Grace folded her arms, those blue eyes needling in. “You’re kidding.”

“1923,” Izzy said. She felt his head, ran her fingers through his hair. “Did I wing you with the Ford? Do you have amnesia?” She giggled. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“No,” Grace said.

1923. Perfect.