Blog Tour + Excerpt: THIS TIME AROUND By Bestselling Author STACEY LYNN @staceylynnbooks



This Time Around by Stacey Lynn
A Love in the Heartland Novel
Release Date: April 10th, 2018
Genre: Contemporary Romance


Cooper Hawke was everything I didn’t need. Rich and famous, and a high-profile actor, he lived a life of luxury while my life had always been much more simple.

Yet when he showed up at my cattle ranch in Kansas, he gave me everything I didn’t think I wanted again.

His marriage was over and he was lost.

I was still barely surviving in my grief after my husband’s sudden death.

As hard as I tried to keep him out, he slipped past my defenses, and slowly, a connection grew between us I could no longer deny.

But this time around, we were on borrowed time. Because Cooper still had his real life waiting for him back in Hollywood.


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“What are you doing here?” I wrapped the robe around my waist, tightened the knot.

Goddamn it! He wasn’t supposed to see this.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

That was what he asked. The urge to scream at him, to unleash holy terror for putting the idea into my head and making me feel, clawed at my throat. “No. Why are you in my room?”

“Because I couldn’t sleep on the couch thinking of you and then I started hearing all this racket like the ceiling was going to cave in on my head and thought I should come check on you.”

My brain must have malfunctioned. I must have skipped some words, rearranged them in the wrong order. He didn’t say what it sounded like.


He pinned me with a look. It stole the breath from my lungs. “You heard me.”


“Yeah, shit.”

I slammed my mouth closed. If words were slipping out, when I didn’t mean them to, it was best to be quiet.

“Come out of the closet, Rebecca.”

He held out his hand. I ignored it.

I couldn’t breathe or move or focus.

He was standing outside my closet, and he was naked.

Not naked, naked. Mostly naked. He’d taken off the pants and shirt I’d given him and all he had on was a pair of black boxer briefs.

Skin-tight boxer briefs.

That showed every outline of him. And there was a lot of him to see.

My eyes darted to the side of the closet I’d swiped clean. Tomorrow, I’d bleach my eyes to erase that visual.


“I’m fine here.”

He laughed low and slow, beautiful and over too quickly. I was not moving.

“You don’t come out, I’m coming in there to get you.”

No way in hell was he touching me. Not dressed like that.

I stepped over the bucket of shoes at my feet and stepped into the room. He moved back, giving me space and crossed his arms over his chest.

It hid nothing. I couldn’t find a place to focus on.

I was losing my mind. It had to be sleep deprivation. I looked to my bed and ruffled covers which made me think of…

Nope. Not going there. I stared at the wall. It was cream and void of any decorations or photos. It was safe.

Finally, I breathed. He stood there, watching me, I felt it like I felt my skin crawling from his inspection.

“Want to talk about this?” he asked.

Nope. I didn’t. I didn’t want to say a single word to Cooper Hawke. The man in underwear in my bedroom.

I crossed my arms over my stomach. Uncrossed them. “No.” My hands went to my hair and I untangled my hair tie, shoving my hands back into my hair and re-fixing the messy knot. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I might be able to help, you know. It’s not like I haven’t stood in a closet, wanting to do the exact same thing you’ve just done.”

“You can’t help me.”

He stepped closer. I shuffled back. He moved again. I retreated. He was getting closer when he needed to move back.

“Cooper,” I said, “Please. I need to be alone.”

“I thought we were friends.”

“What?” My gaze jumped to him, fell. Tight, tanned skin and black boxer briefs. A trail of hair from his bellybutton that disappeared beneath those briefs burned into my retinas. I squeezed my eyes closed. A futile attempt to erase that pretty, pretty sight.

“I thought we were friends,” he repeated.

I forced my eyes open and choked out, “We are.”

His full lips quirked into a grin. I knew that look. He had it downstairs. I did not like that look. Not one little bit. “Friends help each other, don’t they?”

“Friends respect what the other person wants and needs.”

I scooted away from him again and bumped into the wall next to my closet.

He took one more step toward me. Slowly. Like he’d done downstairs, allowing me time to move away, allowing me time to see his intention. My head screamed to move out of the way while my body shouted stay right where you are.

My body sucked.

He was in front of me, not touching me. Far enough away where he was in no danger of touching me.

I still wanted him to touch me.

His hand raised and he settled it on the wall above my shoulder. And I could smell him.

“Cooper. Why are you here?”

He didn’t even blink. “Because I want to help you.”

“You can’t.”

“I can try.”

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About the Author

Stacey Lynn currently lives in Minnesota with her husband and four children. When she’s not conquering mountains of laundry and fighting a war against dust bunnies and cracker crumbs, you can find her playing with her children, curled up on the couch with a good book, or on the boat with her family enjoying Minnesota’s beautiful, yet too short, summer.

She lives off her daily pot of coffee, can only write with a bowlful of Skittles nearby, and has been in love with romance novels since before she could drive herself to the library.

If you would like to know more about Stacey Lynn, follow her here:

Twitter: @staceylynnbooks
Stay up to date on Stacey’s latest news! Subscribe to her Newsletter today!

Blog Tour + Excerpt: THE RULES OF REBELLION By Amity Hope @AmityHopeAuthor


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About The Rules of Rebellion:
1. Skinny dip (her idea)
2. Prank someone (his idea)
3. Stargaze (her idea)
4. Kiss someone (his idea)

Leo Zimmerman has had a crush on his curvy best friend Kylie Jenkins since forever, so When he discovers the girl with a flair for baking has a newfound plan to rebel against her overbearing parents, he’s determined to be the one to help her carry it out. Who better than a self-proclaimed rebel like himself to show her the ropes of letting loose?

Sure, taking her to her first high school party, helping her sneak out of the house, or watching a sunset together isn’t exactly a hardship, but much harder is masking his feelings the more time they spend together. And when he suggests adding “kiss a boy” to Kylie’s plan and she accepts…suddenly all his dreams seem to be coming true.

But Leo’s got a secret that could change everything between them, and it’s only a matter of time before it comes to the surface.



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Her dimples popped into place, her smile so bright it about knocked me senseless. She bounced a bit on her tiptoes, and for one hopeful second I thought she’d maybe hug me. Unfortunately, she reined in her enthusiasm.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she said. “I’ve got to run. My sister is probably pacing in front of my car by now. See you later.”
She scurried off, and I was disappointed the conversation had ended so quickly. I didn’t mind watching her walk away, though. I loved how the girl filled out a pair of jeans. She had more bounce in her step than most of the cheerleaders. Kylie was just plain…perky. She always seemed to be happy and smiling. I’d suspected Kylie was one of those rare people who was always fun to be around. Spending time with her these past few months had proven I wasn’t wrong.
She finally rounded the corner, slipping from my view. As I twisted back around, something crinkled beneath my foot. On the floor, directly where we’d been talking, was a pink slip of paper. It looked suspiciously similar to the one that had been sticking out of Kylie’s notebook earlier today.
I swiped it off the floor as I cast another glance down the hallway. It was too late to call after her. I’d have to give it back to her later. I reflexively glanced at the page, assuming it was a recipe, but wanting to be sure it wasn’t something important. Something she might need immediately.
Senior Checklist.
I glanced down the hallway again, confirming that she was out of sight and that she hadn’t realized she dropped the paper and was coming back. The hallway was clearing out, most of us anxious to get out of here at the end of the day.
With no sign of Kylie, I leaned against my locker and glanced at the sheet in my hand again. I was expecting to see items like Choose date and time for graduation party. Or Tour college campus.
I did not expect to see the items that were actually listed.


Senior Checklist

1. Skinny dip (sort of)
2. Sneak out (but don’t get caught)
3. Prank someone (nothing destructive)
4. Go to a party (no drinking)
5. Kiss a boy (finally!)
6. Watch a sunset (so romantic)

If I’d had any idea her list was going to be so private, I wouldn’t have read it. But once I’d seen it, I couldn’t exactly un-see it.
So I read it again.


About Amity Hope:

Amity Hope PHOTO[140045].jpg REBELLION AUTHOR

Amity lives in beautiful northern Minnesota with her two sons, two cats and their Rottweiler.
She has a degree in elementary education and worked in that field for ten years before deciding to self-publish.
Her first self-published novel, Twisted, was listed by Amazon as a Top 100 Kids & Teens Kindle Book of 2012. It hit Amazon’s Teen & Young Adult Contemporary Romance Best Sellers List in several countries. Truths and Dares held the #1 position on Amazon’s Best Sellers in Teen & Young Adult Contemporary Romance eBooks in the UK.
If she’s not writing or spending time with her boys, she’s most likely reading.

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Excerpt Reveal: PSYCOPATH’S PREY By V.F. MASON Will be Arriving April 17th!@Author_VFMason



Psychopath’s Prey by V.F. Mason is releasing on APRIL 17th!
Keep reading for an excerpt!

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Add it to your TBR:
All details here:

Once upon a time she became mine.
Mine to hunt.

A criminal psychologist and a serial killer.
The love between them shouldn’t exist.
Or so the world thinks.
Her mission is to find him.
His single obsession is to catch her.
The hunter and the prey.
Let the games begin, and may the stronger one win.


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Unfamiliar emotions swirl through me; although I’m not sure a euphoric rush of adrenaline at remembering her fear-filled voice could be considered an emotion.

But what brought even more anticipation?

Her mind.

Her desire to catch me is so strong; she sees outside the box and digs into details other people might never notice.

How can I not enjoy playing a game with her?

She would have been a great asset to the team helping catch the likes of me.

Too bad my case will be the first and last she’ll ever have.

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About the Author:

V.F.Mason always loved reading books and had quite a few fights with her momma over the genre she liked (romance, duh!) She studied filmmaking and thought that would feed her desire for stories, but that didn’t happen. Finally, when she was tired of all those voices in her head, she sat down and wrote a book. It was a huge decision to make and she thanks her friends and family for supporting her in it. When she is not writing, she can be found with her friends doing all sorts of crazy things or reading recent romance books that were written by her favorite authors.

Connect with V.F.!


Excerpt Reveal: BLOODLINES ( Sin City Outlaws #5 ) By M.N. FORGY


Bloodlines, an all new Standalone MC Romance by M.N. Forgy is coming April 18th!



I’m Mac, the Intel guy of the Sin City Outlaws motorcycle club. When it comes to technology, there’s no reading between the lines or emotions to decipher. I prefer two interactions with people. I either fuck them or kill them. There’s no confusion between a woman gasping when I thrust into her, or someone gasping for their last breath of air while I squeeze their neck.

Then Simone Ray walks into my life with sad brown eyes, beautiful lips, and pregnant with a child that could possibly share the same bloodline of a fallen brother’s.
I’m the last person that should play daddy. I’m a biker and am no role model, but being with a woman who is anything but basic and far from a club chick, stirs a wind of chaos that I can’t escape.

I was ordered to protect her…

Falling in love with a woman and a child that’s not even mine was the last thing I saw happening.

Add to Goodreads –






Scooting to the side of the bed, I grab an ashtray off the nightstand and waddle to the doorway. There are condiments out of the fridge sitting on the counter, but I still don’t see anyone. Well, if they’re making something to eat they obviously aren’t here to hurt me.

I take a step out, my eyes bouncing all over the room for who might be in here with me. Maybe it’s Jillian again.

“You want one?”

I scream, swinging the ashtray behind me. It thumping as I make contact with the intruder.

“Fucking hell!” A man bends over, grabbing his forehead where I hit him. Gasping, I take a few steps back and drop the ashtray to the floor.

Hissing, he stands up. His blondish colored hair falls in his eyes, intricate tattoos swirl along his arms, and that jaw of his could cut glass.

“You crazy ass bitch!” My eyebrows draw inward at his tone of voice. Our eyes lock for a few seconds before slowly trailing up and down one another. His eyes are the lightest brown I’ve ever seen with a hint of green mixed within. Like a sturdy tree standing in an emerald forest.

He’s taller than me, skin tanned, and holds a softness to his face, but there’s a sharp edge there too. It’s as if Kane and Gatz were mixed into one and made this man.

He glares, pulling his hand away from the bump forming on his forehead.

“Are you insane? My water could have broken sneaking up on me like that!” Instinctively, I place my palm on my belly. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”

Ignoring my questions, he walks back to the counter where the lettuce and bread were left out.

“My name is Mac, and I’m the fucking babysitter.” His eyes slowly rise to mine, a chiseled smile crossing his smug face as he lifts his chin with more confidence than I can handle looking directly at.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I sass.

“I’m here for that, not you.” He points to my pregnant belly, his silver chain-looking bracelet sliding around his wrist. I shift on my back foot, and sigh. Over the past few months, death has not scared me but losing my child has. For Gatz’s club to be here and help protect a fetus that might not even be their own. That stands for something.

“My name is Simone—”

“I know who you are. The chick that got pregnant by two men, from two different clubs.” The coldness in his voice drips like ice. “Are you a biker hopper?” His tone casual as if we’re discussing a movie we just saw.

“A what?” I snap, not familiar with the terminology.

“You know, like a mattress hopper, only you’re jumping from biker dick to biker dick.” He waves around a mayonnaise covered butter knife.

My jaw drops. “That’s not who I am—”

“Are you a prostitute or something then?” His tone serious. My face burns with anger, and the urge to hit him in the head with the ashtray again flares.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

He smirks, and I can tell I’m in deep shit with this guy.

About M.N. Forgy

M.N. Forgy was raised in Missouri where she still lives with her family. She’s a soccer mom by day and a saucy writer by night. M.N. Forgy started writing at a young age but never took it seriously until years later, as a stay-at-home mom, she opened her laptop and started writing again. As a role model for her children, she felt she couldn’t live with the “what if” anymore and finally took a chance on her character’s story. So, with her glass of wine in hand and a stray Barbie sharing her seat, she continues to create and please her fans.

Stalk M.N. Forgy

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Book Tour + Excerpt: XXVXY The Final World War, A Novel by CHRISTINA CIGALA, Story by BOBBY GOLDSTEIN @thechaosmuppet @RABTBookTours


Science Fiction
Date Published: September 5, 2017
Publisher: Post Hill Press
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The Gender Wars won’t be fought with machines—they’ll be fought with people. And when the women of West America wage war with men in the East, it’ll be anything but unimaginative.
In East America, the most fertile women go through excruciating body- and mind-altering training until their identities satisfy that of the State. They are the “Nancys”—white hair, light eyes, and no way to differentiate themselves from their identical “sisters.” Nancy159 is fifteen. She’s auditioning to be the seventh wife of President X, the ruler of the Eastern States. If she wins, she’ll be married to the most powerful man in the world; if she loses, she’ll die.
Avis Baron is the daughter of the Luminary of West America. Recently, she stopped
taking her Amplexus pill, taken by all woman in W.A. to control their emotions. It turns
out there’s a lot she didn’t know a person could feel—especially the way she’s feeling
about her friend Ethan.
What is the source of a woman’s power? Does it come from fertility, like the Nancys suggest? Does it come from brute strength and cold calculation, like the West believes? Or could it just
be the simple beat of your own heartsong?
The world continues to collapse and the Gender Wars loom on the horizon…XX v. XY.


THE OVAL OFFICE IS FULL of rats. Apparently. I overheard Nancy18 say there’s been rats in it for hundreds of years; it’s a very old building. For this third round of the pageant, I have a dinner with President X, alone. I’ve never been alone with him before; we contestants have only spoken to him as a group. That happened when he came backstage during the first round of the pageant, to watch us change into our swimwear. I am nervous, because although the wives seemed to like me, what if they like another contestant better? Would they tell him their opinion? Does he care what they think? Could I lose? My life would be over. I am being quite literal. I have never seen a Nancy that lost a Lady’s Pageant afterwards. I don’t know that they are dead, but it would make sense. Of what use are they to us now?


About the Author

Christina Cigala is a writer and producer residing in the wilds of Los Angeles. She writes and produces television for MTV, Fox, Syfy, Speed Channel, HGTV, VH1, Spike, and TruTV. As a playwright, her work has been widely produced in regional theaters, New York, and LA. She has an MFA in Playwriting from the Actors Studio Drama School in New York and a BA from Baylor University.
Bobby Goldstein is the president of Bobby Goldstein Productions and the creator of Cheaters, one of the longest-running syndicated shows in history, now airing daily in 215 U. S. markets and in over 100 foreign countries. Goldstein has become recognized for his ability to spot cultural trends and capitalize on rebellious ideas.
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Blog Tour + Excerpt: THE TRAITORS BRIDE ( Keepers of Xereill ) By ALIX NICHOLS @aalix_nicholls @Inkslingerpr


Today we have a blog tour for THE TRAITOR’S BRIDE by Alix Nichols! Check it out and grab your copy today!


Author: Alix Nichols

Genre: Scifi Romance

About The Traitor’s Bride:

On her untamed gift hinges the future of a planet—and her lover’s life…

A month ago, ex-army Major Areg Sebi was thrown into prison.

Now he’s on the scaffold, laying his head on the block.

No public trial for the disgraced war hero. No cyborgs from the League of Realms to whisk him away.

No help. No escape.

A priestess chants a prayer for the major’s soul, even as a judge cries out, “Death to the traitor!”

In the crowd below, laundry maid Etana Tidryn stares into Areg’s eyes.

His lips were hot against hers last night. His hands roamed her body, worshipped her, pleasured her.

She’s falling for him, hard and fast.

She’s still hoping, even if he’s given up…

Can Etana transcend everything she knows—transcend life itself—to save him?

Can she rise to meet her destiny?




Reverend Goyyem unfolded the light screen they’d used for Etana’s examination.
“Step behind it, undress, and wipe your entire body with these.” Superior Fo handed Areg a humid sponge and a soft towel. “Let us know when you’re done and before you put your clothes on.”
That sounded… worrisome.
Then again, he’d made his choice when he said yes to Etana’s proposal, so he’d better get on with it.
While Areg cleansed himself, Superior Fo said to Etana, “When he’s done, I’ll give him these patience knickers to wear under his nightshirt, and I’ll lock them before I leave for the rest of the evening.”
“Sorry to interrupt, Your Glory, but I don’t have a nightshirt,” Areg said from behind the screen, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Iltaqa inmates sleep naked.”
He hoped his remark hadn’t come across as impertinent. This was Abbess Sannya Fo—a stern priestess his late mother’s age—not the young and jovial Prioress Aynu he’d known since they were children. Respect was in order.
“We have brought clean nightshirts for you and your bride, Lord Sebi,” the abbess said.
“Of course you have.”
Why did he ever doubt the vestals? Hadn’t they brought wafers, honey, cleaning sponges, and towels? Not to mention the famously sturdy patience knickers that many a young couple had tried and failed to rip off before the stroke of midnight.
He lathered his armpits, chest and stomach with the remarkably efficient sponge and moved down to his sex.
“May I continue now, Lord Sebi?” There was an unmistakable note of irony in Superior Fo’s tone.
Ha! So, the solemn vestal did have a sense of humor. “Of course, Your Glory.”
“Etana?” The tinge of irony in the abbess’s tone had grown into a full-blown smile, judging by the sound of it. “May I have your attention, please?”
“What? Oh.” Etana’s voice had a different quality, much coarser than usual. “Pardon me, Your Glory,” she muttered.
Poor thing, she must’ve dozed off on the abbess, overcome by fatigue and nerves. Areg smiled, his heart swelling with sympathy for the girl. She’d had quite a day.
That’s all right,” Superior Fo said, “When you’ve cleansed yourself the same way your husband-to-be is doing now, I’ll lock you into patience knickers, too.”
“Right,” Etana said, her voice still raspy.
“The purpose of these contraptions is to keep the young couple from rushing into carnal love on their wedding night,” Reverend Goyyem said matter-of-factly. “With their sexes inaccessible, they have to spend the first few hours talking. Mild touching and kissing is allowed.”
Sweet Aheya above. It was strange to hear such words spoken by a vestal.
Dabbing the last wet patch on his side, Areg slung the towel over the top of the screen. “I’m finished.”
“Put those on,” the abbess commanded without looking at him and handed him a nightshirt and a tightly woven metal mesh shaped like a pair of cropped breeches.
He slipped his feet into the leg holes of the patience knickers and pulled them up, cringing at the ridiculousness of the contraption. Then he pulled on the nightshirt and walked out.
“Your turn, my child.” Reverend Goyyem waved to Etana to take his place, handing her a clean sponge and a towel.
Superior Fo turned to Areg and held up an ancient-looking key. “Would you lift the hem of your nightshirt, please.”
He obliged.
“Are you comfortable, or is this too tight?” she asked, tightening the waistband of the knickers around his hips.
He stifled a sarcastic smile. “Fits like it was made for me, Your Glory.”
She turned the key, then tugged to make sure the knickers were well secured.
“When Etana is ready,” she said, drawing back, “Reverend Goyyem and I will leave you alone for a few hours, until midnight. You can do what you wish during that time, but we recommend that you talk and get to know each other.”
She went on suggesting various discussion topics, but at some point Areg stopped listening.
More exactly, at the point when his gaze fell on the screen. Lit from behind by the power candles, its fabric had lost its opacity, creating a shadow play effect like the cutout puppet shows he’d seen as a child.
Except, the current show was unsuited for children.
His heartbeat accelerating, Areg feasted his eyes on Etana’s delicate frame, the curve of her pert ass and the swell of her breasts peaking so sweetly into beautifully erect nipples. Nipples that seemed to beg for a gentle rub of his thumbs before he took them, one by one, into his mouth and laved them with his tongue.
Etana hunched her back and kept turning a little awkwardly, as if she knew about the shadow effect and was trying to block her treasures from prying eyes.
“My child?” Reverend Goyyem broke him from his trance. “Are you listening?”
“Huh?” he rasped, barely recognizing his own voice. “Yes. Yes, I am, Your Glory.”
A tiny smile curved the old vestal’s lips just as a realization hit Areg.
Sweet. Aheya. Etana had seen him like this, too, while he stroked and lathered every part of his body, unaware of the backlight. He’d paid particular attention to regions that were now enclosed in metal, wanting them squeaky clean for the occasion.
No wonder her voice had sounded weird. He must’ve shocked the living spirit out of the poor girl. She was an innocent, for Aheya’s sake! If Areg had been the blushing sort, his face would’ve gone up in flames now.
“I will return at midnight,” Superior Fo said, “and unlock both of your knickers. Then you’ll be left alone for the rest of the night.”
He nodded to show he was paying attention this time.
Reverend Goyyem reached behind the screen with a nightshirt and patience knickers for Etana.
“The moment I collect your knickers later tonight,” Superior Fo said, “your marriage will be considered consummated. It will become fully binding in the eyes of the Ra-human law and of Divine Aheya.”
“Understood,” Areg said.
Her face crimson, Etana came out from behind the screen.
Superior Fo locked her knickers and refolded the screen. Reverend Goyyem tucked it under her arm.
“Your next night together will be in a year, my children,” she said in lieu of a goodbye. “Make the most of this one.”




About Alix Nichols:

Alix Nichols is an unapologetic caffeine addict and a longtime fan of Mr. Darcy, especially in his Colin Firth incarnation.

She is a USA Today bestselling (April and June 2017) and Kindle Scout winning (December 2015) author of sexy romance novels that readers describe as yummylicious. According to Romantic Times, her books “will keep you hanging off the edge of your seat”. Kirkus Reviews claims they “deliver pure pleasure”.

At the age of six, Alix released her first romance. It featured highly creative spelling on a dozen pages stitched together and bound in velvet paper.

Decades later, she still writes. Her spelling has improved (somewhat), and her books have topped the Amazon charts around the world. She lives in France with her family and their almost-human dog.

Connect with Alix:

Amazon Page | Website | Facebook | Pinterest | BookBub Author Follow | Goodreads | Twitter | Newsletter Signup (and a free bundle!)


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Book Tour + Excerpt: STARTOUCHER, A Sci-Fi Fantasy From C.J. ODLE @RABTBookTours


Sci fi / Fantasy
Date Published: February 17, 2018
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Humanity is put on trial by the aliens who seeded life on Earth.
After 3.8 billion years, the alien creators of life on Earth return to evaluate the results of their experiment. One species is found to be an extreme danger to itself and others – Humanity. Evidence for the continuation of the species hangs by a thread.
Jake Connolly, talented up and coming LA lawyer, has a hidden psychic side long suppressed. When a series of intense visionary experiences threaten to derail his life, he is dragged unwillingly towards mysterious events deep in the Mojave Desert. What he discovers there changes him forever, and will affect the lives of everyone on the planet.
As the world watches its destiny unfold, humanity is forced to fight for its survival in a Galactic court and justify its existence to far superior beings.
An innovative, intelligent, and mystical novel that asks the biggest questions of all.
Where are we from…where are we going…how much have we truly evolved?…




Jake Connolly slept in the middle of his king-sized bed, the sprawl of his lean frame the sole point of untidiness in his penthouse. Pristine and spacious, the apartment’s empty walls and sleek furniture had bold, clean lines. The exclusive designer called the style Minimalist Plus, and when awake, Jake found the effect calming. Now, though, he tossed and turned, his dark hair awry as he kicked the blue satin sheet from his body.
The display on his charging phone read four a.m., but in downtown LA, true darkness lurked only in pockets. While an eerie wind gusted outside, ambient light seeped into his penthouse from cars, from neon signs, from the nocturnal beat of a city that had long since abandoned the normal rhythms of sleep.
Sweating, Jake continued to twist and kick, gasping like a free diver surfacing for air. When the lull did finally arrive, it brought no solace. Eyelids tightly shut, he lay rigidly on his back, fists clenched, face pointing toward the ceiling.
Suddenly, he sat bolt upright as if waking from a nightmare, except that he didn’t wake up. His body relaxed while his eyes pinged open, dim with a far-off glaze. He swung his legs out to the side, standing up in a trance, oblivious to the feel of the hardwood floor as he padded along.
The open layout of the penthouse allowed Jake to cross it without the obstruction of doors. In boxer shorts he sleepwalked his way through the living room area, around the Italian couch; the TV and sound system; and the pyrite cube display, the fool’s gold glowing softly as he passed.
He padded silently into the kitchen area, all gleaming chrome and imported granite, a stark, spare space, the worktop uncluttered except for the microwave and coffee maker. To this Jake approached, taking out a cup and putting it in place. He turned the machine on, the soft hum as it warmed up the only sound in the apartment.
Still between worlds, Jake left the kitchen and retraced his earlier route. On reaching the bed he sat back down, closed his eyes, and reclined on his side. In an instant he was tossing and turning again.
By the time his alarm went off at six thirty, the satin sheet had spilled onto the floor. He felt groggy and ignored it, instead walking slowly to the front of the penthouse to take in the sweeping view from the floor-to-ceiling windows. As dawn broke, the city opened up to the horizon, sunlight washing clean all traces of the night. Traffic already dotted the roads, and Jake could see tiny figures scurrying to work along the sidewalk far below. He yawned and grabbed his phone, checking his messages automatically as he stretched out.
Due in Burbank court at nine a.m. for the water rights case, Jake hesitated before changing into his running gear, tired and for once sorely tempted to let discipline slide. But no, he’d do his usual few miles, forcing himself to stay in shape, his body just as much a project as his career. Aged thirty-one, he hadn’t become such a rising star by lacking grit. Tough local university, scholarship to Harvard, then slogging his way up Goldstein and Baker, one of the top three law firms in LA.
But even rising stars needed coffee. Jake walked over to the kitchen, while around him the city continued to come alive. The apartment benefited from the best soundproofing Jake had been able to buy. Even so, the buzz of it filtered through as he strode across the floor…
And found the steaming cup waiting. It sat in the coffee maker, hot and ready even though he couldn’t remember setting the machine. It was an accusation, as clear and damning as any piece of evidence or contractual clause. As hard as Jake tried to come up with an explanation for it, only one really made sense. He glanced back across the apartment toward his bed, then again to the cup.
“Not again. Fuck.”

Jake ran the way he did every morning, with a focused determination to shut out the world. Everyone he had to pass was an obstacle, every moment of interaction a delay. He kept the earbuds from his phone in, music drowning out the sounds of the city, blocking even the echo of his own breathing from intruding. When traffic forced him to pause on the edge of the sidewalk, he jogged in place, impatient for the opportunity to hurry on.
Grand Park was nearly empty as Jake set off on his second circuit. Normally, he barely noticed the scenery around him, but today one sight stopped him. An elderly Chinese couple was doing tai chi in the shade of a tree, the two of them flowing with such ease and power, Jake pretended to stretch so he could watch. Every light movement of their hands was rooted to the ground below. They stepped forward in perfect unison, lifting up onto one leg and extending the other as their arms spread wide. It was more graceful than anything Jake could have managed, even though he had to be thirty years younger.
The woman took up a pose with her hands out in front of her while Jake waited for her to do something, but she didn’t. The man, meanwhile, started walking in circles, faster than typical tai chi, but with the same sense of wholeness. His movements turned sinuous every time he switched direction, his body seeming to fold and unfold as he did.
Jake remained transfixed until the bleeping of his phone’s alarm shattered his absorption as neatly as a dropped vase. “Damn it,” he muttered. He’d now have to sprint back to the apartment to make it in time for the case.

Jake had bought his Porsche Cayenne Turbo SUV for its spirited driving along the dirt tracks of California’s mountains. Out there, it charged its way around with enough speed to make him feel totally alive. Stuck downtown in traffic en route to the Golden State Freeway, it was simply an expensive frame for his frustration.
“Come on,” he said as another light turned red. He resisted the urge to slam his hand against the wheel. It wasn’t bad luck—luck only existed for those who believed in it. If plans went wrong, you worked harder, you didn’t whine about it. Although exactly how hard work could make traffic lights turn green, he didn’t know.
He sighed and looked to his right at the graffiti-covered wall painted with strings of signature tags, odd-looking scrawls, and occasional attempts at real art. One piece of graffiti caught his eye, mostly because of the blank border around it. Elsewhere, the lines and tags swirled over one another, claiming and reclaiming space, an argument in spray paint. In this one spot, those painting around it had conceded.
“History is myth,” Jake read aloud. “What does that mean?”
Before he could ponder the answer, his phone rang, loud and insistent. The display showed the name of his boss, Giles Bennett.
Jake glanced at the clock on the dash: 8:31 a.m. Steeling himself, he took the call.
“Jake, where the hell are you?” Giles demanded over the car’s speakers. It was always a demand with Giles. His voice was too loud, too bluff, for anything else.
“I’m stuck in a jam.”
“That sounds like an excuse, Jake,” Giles said. “When are you going to be at court?”
“I’ll get there soon,” Jake promised, although he couldn’t see how.
“Well, hurry,” Giles said. “There’s plenty of meat on the table, and I’m ready to start carving.”
Giles cut off without the niceties of a goodbye. Clenching the wheel, Jake spied a gap ahead and darted forward into it, doing his best to ignore the blaring horn of the white van behind.

When Giles had talked about carving he hadn’t been joking. Their client, a multinational water bottling business, was paying them top dollar to defend a test case against a crank organic almond farmer. Jake’s firm had advised the water bottlers on ways to establish their right to use the stream on the farmer’s land, playing a slow, patient game for the eventual payoff. Picking the right grower had been a big part of it. One who paid attention to every aspect of his farm would have been a problem. One like Henry Rinder, however, the too-rich son of minor British aristocracy, regularly in and out of rehab…that was easier.
A sensible man would have settled a long time ago, but this one wanted his day in court, presumably hoping if he could get his story plastered over enough newspapers he could at least win the PR war. Jake’s clients were naturally concerned about their brand. After spending millions marketing the purity and honesty of their water, they didn’t want their image tarnished. And that was the real challenge. The case itself presented no difficulty other than their clients coming out of it looking like the good guys.
This didn’t concern Jake now as much as getting to the courthouse. After leaving the freeway and making his way through the suburban streets of Burbank, he raced up East Angelino Avenue, and then turned into the courthouse garage. With three minutes to spare, he screeched around the first two levels before spotting a space on the third. Jake swung his Porsche into it, his front bumper scraping the car on the left. He jumped out and fished his briefcase and a bulging plastic bag from the passenger seat, straightening his suit before taking the elevator to ground level and jogging the short distance to the main entrance of the courthouse.
The low-rise concrete building of Burbank Courthouse looked as though it had been carved out of a huge brick. As he approached the front, he could see a group of protesters jostling outside, monitored by two policemen. An occupational hazard these days; people thought if they shouted loudly enough they could change the law. The media were also out in force, an unexpected bonus. Jake had banked on phones being pointed at him when he solved his clients’ PR issue, but actual news cameras were much better.
“Time to play,” he said and pushed his way through.

Sixty minutes later, Henry Rinder and his attorney were back outside, keen to take the
fight to the media. Jake followed closely behind.
The noise of the protestors hit them like a wave.
“No water, no life!”
“Drought means death!”
“Corporate scum!”
Obviously, news of the result had already gotten out.
Henry stepped up to the microphones and cameras being held by the assembled reporters.
The shouting stopped.
“I promise you, even though this has gone against me today, I will continue to find ways to fight for farming in ethical, meaningful ways!”
Jake stood to the side, waiting to catch the crowd’s attention. His eyes alighted on one girl who seemed determined to rewrite her message to reflect the day’s events, her placard running out of space. She spotted Jake and pushed her way forward, shoving a leaflet into his hands that explained in small writing everything the evil water bottlers would do to LA’s environment.
“You’re killing our planet,” she insisted.
Jake smiled. “Me in particular, or just my clients?” He delivered the line not for her, but for the reporters, willing them to take notice as he spoke.
They spotted him soon enough, turning their cameras to him in a ring of expectation. They knew when they were going to get a better quote than anything offered from an old-money farmer.
“Do you have any idea how much water they’re wasting?” the girl asked.
Jake reached into the plastic bag he’d taken from the car and pulled out an empty gallon water bottle. Or almost empty. He held it up to let the cameras focus on the contents. A single almond rattled inside, clear and easy to see. Jake had originally been going to use a whole bagful, but one made for a better image. One would be something the watching public could remember, put up on its social media feeds, talk about.
“Water is our most precious resource,” Jake said. The cameras closed in to get a clear shot of the almond. Hopefully, they were also getting a good view of his face. He wanted them to recall who had done this. “It is always regrettable when we can’t solve our disputes outside of a courtroom, but water is a resource worth fighting for.
“But what are we really fighting about?” He paused for emphasis, hoisting the bottle higher. “Henry Rinder will tell you it’s about heritage, or the environment. About a big company coming in and stomping all over the little guy. It’s not. It’s about this. An almond.”
Jake tipped the bottle and spilled the almond onto his palm. “One almond takes a gallon of water to grow. California almond farmers like Henry Rinder use 1.1 trillion gallons of water each year. That’s enough water to supply all homes and businesses in Los Angeles for three times as long. And yet the government urges us to take less showers and not water our plants.” He let the figures sink in, then clenched the almond in his hand and held his fist up. “That’s nuts!”
There were sniggers from the media and cameras flashed in front of him.
“Almonds are a luxury product, and over 70 percent of our almonds are exported overseas, mainly to China. The prosperous middle classes in other countries benefit while we suffer.
“The organic almonds from Henry Rinder’s farm cost fifteen dollars a pound. He wants you to believe my clients have been criminally wasting his water. The truth is this—almond farmers like him criminally waste your water.”
He looked toward Henry and his attorney and then back to the cameras.
“Would you rather be clean and have fresh, safe bottled water, or be dirty and thirsty but have plenty of expensive almonds? My clients tried to work with Henry Rinder to find a way to share the abundant water around his farm, but he was never there.”
Jake didn’t give the reason. It would look better if the news people found out about the farmer’s time in rehab for themselves. He looked around at the crowd again. He’d won and they knew it, even if he’d taken some liberties with the facts. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the story people would repeat, a story where his firm’s clients triumphed as the good guys.
Jake’s eyes met those of the girl who had given him the leaflet. He could see the contempt in them, almost pity, and although it shouldn’t have disturbed him in his moment of victory, it did. He’d had clients to protect. The rest…well, that was somebody else’s problem.


About the Author

C.J. Odle is an author and ayahuascero (works with medicinal plants) living in a small conservation and healing center in the Peruvian amazon.
Born in 1961, from an early age he developed an interest in science fiction and fantasy. Around the age of 17 he began to study divination, which led to a career of over 35 years working as an astrologer and psychic. He has written four previous books, all non-fiction and mind body spirit titles.
In his early forties he experienced a psychic crisis, which led him to Peru to complete a 6 year apprenticeship in Amazonian shamanism. He still lives in the jungle in Peru with his wife. Startoucher is his first novel.
Contact Links
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Excerpt Reveal: REBEL HEIR ( Rush Series Duet Book 1 ) By VI KEELAND & PENELOPE WARD @ViKeeland @PenelopeAuthor



RebelHeir_FrontCover_LoRes[140206].jpg BC

How to kick off a great summer in the Hamptons:

Snag a gorgeous rental on the beach. Check.

Get a job at a trendy summer haunt. Check.

How to screw up a great summer in the Hamptons:

Fall for the one guy with a dark leather jacket, scruff on his face, and intense eyes that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the tony looking crowd. A guy you can’t have when you’ll be leaving at the end of the season.

Check. Check. Check.

I should add—especially when the guy is your sexy, tattooed God of a boss.

Especially when he not only owns your place of employment but inherited half of the town.

Especially when he’s mean to you.

Or so I thought.

Until one night when he demanded I get in his car so he could drive me home because he didn’t want me walking in the dark.

That was sort of how it all started with Rush.

And then little by little, some of the walls of this hardass man started to come down.

I never expected that the two of us, seemingly opposites from the outside, would grow so close.

I wasn’t supposed to fall for the rebel heir, especially when he made it clear he didn’t want to cross the line with me.

As the temperature turned cooler, the nights became hotter. My summer became a lot more interesting—and complicated.

All good things must come to an end, right?

Except our ending was one I didn’t see coming.


Rebel Heir is the first book in the Rush Series Duet. Book Two, Rebel Heart, will release six weeks later on May, 22, 2018.


Add to Goodreads ➜ Rebel Heir (Book One)

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Note: No Amazon ebook pre-order. Will be live on release day.

Rebel Heart Pre-order links ➜



“All done.” I found Gia in the yard sunbathing. Of course, she had to be lying on her stomach so I could get a closer look at her ass. It was fucking phenomenal. Like a chubby, upside-down heart from where I stood. I’d spent the last hour pretend fixing her car and picturing her riding me reverse cowgirl, those ass cheeks jiggling like fucking Jell-O while she rode me hard. I had to force my eyes to her face and clear my throat to continue. “Here are your keys. Your rotors were shot, too. In the future, don’t ride on bad brakes. It just turns a little problem into a big one.”

She shielded her eyes from the sun and twisted her neck to look up at me, still not flipping over to her stomach. “Oh. Okay. Thanks. Can I make you some lunch? It’s the least I can do to repay you for hours of working on my car.”

Is that ass on the menu?

“No. I have to get going.”

She lifted from flat on her stomach to on her knees in a yoga-like pose, taking her sweet ass time before turning over.

“Are you sure?” She bit her bottom lip. “You’ve had to have worked up an appetite.”

Is she fucking with me? I had an appetite alright. “I gotta run.”

I sounded like a broken record, yet here I still stood. My head wanted to get the fuck out of that yard, but my traitorous feet wouldn’t move. Not even when she stood up, turned around and practically rubbed her ass against me as she held up suntan lotion. “Could you rub some sunscreen on my back before you go? I don’t want to burn.”

No. “Sure.”


I took the sunscreen and squeezed a glob of creamy white lotion into the palm of my hand. Swallowing hard, I began to rub it into her back. Her shoulders were warm and soft with the tiniest little layer of fuzz on it. It reminded me of a peach. My mouth salivated at the thought of biting into her.

“Could you do a little lower?”

My breathing became labored and my cock swelled as I lowered my hands and rubbed into the middle of her back. I was breaching into dangerous territory.

“Lower” she said. I knew from her breathy voice that I wasn’t the only one aroused.

I lowered to just above her bathing suit bottom and rubbed lotion all over.

When I finished, she turned her head so I could see the side of her face and closed her eyes to whisper, “lower.”

Fuck me.

I couldn’t stop myself. I reached for the creamy sunscreen and squeezed enough into my hand to cover a large person’s full body and then began to rub it into her ass cheeks. She had the most unique heart-shaped mole on her left side that was perfectly symmetrical. I ran my fingertips over it. When I trailed a pool of lotion to the top of her ass crack, and slowly rubbed it in tracing the material of her bathing suit in between her cheeks, she let out a low moan.

More. Make more sounds like that.





Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles have appeared in over ninety Bestseller lists and are currently translated in twenty languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.

Website | Facebook Fan Group | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram







Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author.

She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son and beautiful daughter with autism.

With over a million books sold, she is a seventeen-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over fifteen novels, including RoomHate which hit #2 on the New York Times bestseller list and #1 on the Wall Street Journal bestseller list. Other New York Times bestsellers include Stepbrother Dearest, Neighbor Dearest, Drunk Dial, Cocky Bastard, Stuck-Up Suit, Playboy Pilot and Mister Moneybags (the latter four co-written with Vi Keeland).

Connect with Penelope Ward

Facebook Fan Group | Facebook | Website |Twitter | Instagram



Other books by the authors:

Cocky Bastard

Stuck-Up Suit
Kobo: http://

Playboy Pilot

Mister Moneybags
Barnes & Noble

Dear Bridget, I Want You
Amazon: ➜
iBooks: ➜
B&N ➜

Other books from Vi Keeland:

Standalone novels
Sex, Not Love
Amazon ➜
iBooks ➜
B&N ➜
Kobo ➜
Google Play ➜
Audio ➜

Beautiful Mistake
Amazon eBook



The Baller
B&N: http://
Kobo: http://

Left Behind (A Young Adult Novel)

First Thing I See

Life on Stage series (2 standalone books)


MMA Fighter series (3 standalone books)
Worth the Fight

Worth the Chance

Worth Forgiving

The Cole Series (2 book serial)
Belong to You

Made for You

Other books from Penelope Ward:

Gentleman Nine
Google Play:
Audio :

Drunk Dial

Mack Daddy:


Stepbrother Dearest

Neighbor Dearest

Sins of Sevin

Jake Undone (Jake #1)

My Skylar

Jake Understood (Jake #2)


Audiobook Blog Tour: ACCEPTABLE RISK By CANDACE BLEVINS, Narrated Noah Michael Levine



Author: Candace Blevins

Narrator: Noah Michael Levine

Length: 2 hours 57 minutes

Publisher: Candace Blevins

Released: Feb. 21, 2018

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Bethany has joked for years that if she ever settles down, it’ll be with a harem of men, only it isn’t a joke anymore.

Mac is a new werewolf, and still must be watched at every moment to be sure he stays in control. His kink has always been ménage, so when he overhears the beautiful redhead at the bar wanting to take on not only him, but also the werewolf and wereleopard chaperoning his night out… he has to convince them to let him take her home. He might not be trustworthy with a human woman alone, yet, but with two powerful shapeshifters in bed with them, what could go wrong?

Previously published in the Every Which Way Anthology.


Candace Blevins has published more than thirty books. She lives with her husband of twenty years and their two daughters. When not working or driving young teens all over the place, she can be found reading, writing, meditating, or swimming. The family’s beloved, goofy, retired racing greyhound is usually at her side as she writes, quietly keeping her company.

Candace writes Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Contemporary BDSM Romance, and a kick-ass Motorcycle Club series.

Her urban fantasy series, Only Human, gives us a world where weredragons, werewolves, werelions, three different species of vampires, and a variety of other mythological beings exist.

Candace’s two paranormal romance series, The Chattanooga Supernaturals and The Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club, are both sister series to the Only Human series, and give some secondary characters their happily ever after.

Her contemporary Safeword series gives us characters who happen to have some extreme kinks. Relationships can be difficult enough without throwing power exchange into the mix, and her books show characters who care enough about each other to fight to make the relationship work. Each couple in the Safeword series gives the reader a different take on the lifestyle.

You can visit Candace on the web at and feel free to friend her on Facebook at and Goodreads at You can also join to get sneak peeks into what she’s writing now, images that inspire her, and the occasional juicy teaser.

Stay up to date on Candace’s newest releases, and get exclusive excerpts by joining her mailing list at

Narrator Bio

Noah Michael Levine is an Audie Award-Winning audiobook narrator and producer living in beautiful Nyack, NY. His over 180 titles include almost every genre. While he loves his work completely – and collaborating with all kinds of different authors, he does not love writing about himself in the third person.




Acceptable Risk was originally from an anthology, but now has been released as a novella. The Audiobook is quite short only 2hrs 57mins, so this t is a peek into the one of Candace’s kinky worlds. This one is like most women’s dreams. There you are sitting with your best friend and 3 gorgeous men walk into the bar and you turn to your friend in this case its Jenny. “I wouldn’t mind those three in my harem,” not expecting the men to hear what I said. One problem they are all shifters and they heard, and volunteer for the harem. This is an entertaining story with plenty of sex and kink, but I found it funny in places. The narrator was faultless, a good narrator for me is someone that does multiple voices, that when you’re in the story without thinking the accent on that one is dodgy. The guys were individual, and it was like listening to a group of guys chatting.

I received this audiobook as part of my participation in a blog tour with Audiobookworm Promotions. The tour is being sponsored by Candace Blevins. The gifting of this audiobook did not affect my opinion of it.

Q&A with Author Candace Blevins

  • Was a possible audiobook recording something you were conscious of while writing?
    • Not at all. I wrote this for an anthology years ago, and published it as a novella when the rights returned to me. It’s a nice entry into both my Chattanooga Supernaturals series and my Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club series, so it seemed the perfect choice for my first foray into audio. When I eventually look for narrators for Only Human, my urban fantasy series, I’m going to want a male and female working in tandem, but for my first venture, I thought I should keep it as simple as possible.
  • How did you select your narrator?
    • I have the most awesome reader group ever (Candace’s Kinksters, feel free to look us up on Facebook and come play with us!), and I asked them to tell me their favorite narrators. I listened to the top ten men they listed (with three men and one woman in the menage, it seemed logical to hire a man), and I loved Noah Michael Levine’s voice.
  • How closely did you work with your narrator before and during the recording process? Did you give them any pronunciation tips or special insight into the characters?
    • Noah is a dream to work with. I told him where each character was from, a little about their personalities, and how I envisioned they sounded. It was important we didn’t get a caricature of a southern accent for Jonathan and Bethany, and I think he did a great job.
  • How do you manage to avoid burn-out? What do you do to maintain your enthusiasm for writing?
    • I have so many stories in my head, and I write in several different genres, so burnout isn’t a problem for me. My bikers let me play with antiheroes, my urban fantasy series lets me move away from romance, and my dark series lets me get down and dirty. And of course, I have some romance series where I can let people find their happily ever after. Also, if I tire of writing werewolves, I can switch to vampires, or lions, or even ravens or grizzly bears.
  • Is there a particular part of this story that you feel is more resonating in the audiobook performance than in the book format?
    • Noah Michael Levine’s voice is melt-in-your panties good, especially when he goes all Dom as Ranger. Yummm.
  • What do you say to those who view listening to audiobooks as “cheating” or as inferior to “real reading”?
    • I don’t see it that way at all. Some people learn by seeing, others by hearing. It only makes sense that the auditory crowd would prefer to listen rather than look. All the words are the same — it’s the same book, no matter which format you choose.
  • In your opinion, what are the pros and cons of writing a stand-alone novel vs. writing a series?
    • I’ve only written one stand-alone, and it’s currently banned on Amazon. My publisher is fighting it, but in the meantime, you can find Absolute Power Exchange at Kobo, Apple, Smashwords, BN, and other vendors. The con, obviously, is that once I was done with the couple, I’ll never have an opportunity to visit them again. In a series, I love revisiting couples after their book’s complete, seeing them through the eyes of others, and watching them live out their happily ever after.On the pro side, it was so much easier to write a book without having to constantly stay on top of how the events I was writing would impact the timeline of the rest of the series, or to make sure I stayed true to the rules and personalities of characters from other books. I have four series in one universe, and while I love being able to swap characters around, it takes a lot to keep everything straight.
  • What’s next for you?
    • The eleventh book in my motorcycle club series just released, and I’m so excited to finally be able to share it with readers.I’ve been working on an epic Faerie story on and off for over five years, and last year I put it on Radish, so I was kind of forced to finish it since I had to write to keep up with the chapter releases. It’s currently going under massive revisions, and will be released as four books, titled Slave, Lady, Consort, and Queen. I don’t have release dates yet, but I’m hoping to be able to release each book a month apart.



Acceptable Risk Giveaway: $30 Amazon Gift Card

Mar. 27th:

Page Princess

The Book Junkie Reads . . .

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Bookworms Corner Blog Spot

T’s Stuff

Mar. 29th:

Notes from ‘Round the Bend

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London’s Scribbles

Audiobook Romance

Mar. 31st:

Jazzy Book Reviews

Lynn’s Romance Enthusiasm

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Book Addict

The Book Addict’s Reviews

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Blog Tour + Excerpt: SAVAGE PRINCE By New York Times Bestselling Author MEGHAN MARCH @Meghan_March @InkslingerPR


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Who knew things could get even darker and dirtier in New Orleans? New York Times bestselling author Meghan March introduces the Savage Prince of the city, the man you never want to meet.

I do what I want and who I want. I don’t follow anyone’s rules—even my own.
I knew I shouldn’t touch her, but it didn’t stop me.
Didn’t stop me the second time either. Only made me want a third.
My lifestyle suits the savage I am, and she doesn’t.
But Temperance Ransom is my newest addiction, and I’m nowhere near ready to quit her yet.
I’ll have her my way, even if it means dragging her into the darkness.
Hopefully it doesn’t kill us both.

Savage Prince is book one of the Savage Trilogy, set in the same world as Ruthless King, however you do not need to read the Mount Trilogy to devour this scandalously hot new story.


Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | iBooks | B&N | Kobo





I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Friday night, and not just because I can feel him with my every step. No other experience in my life comes remotely close.
And I have absolutely no idea who he is or how to get in contact with him.
That’s probably a good thing. Right?
He’s still on my mind when I walk into the distillery on Monday morning. As soon as I turn the key, the heat, humidity, and scents wash over me. This is familiar. Sane. Not impulsive and crazy.
I’ve made a career for myself. A name for myself. Within these walls, I have respect, and no one questions that I deserve it. I’m not some girl from the bayou, running wild and trying to survive despite the shitty hand life dealt me.
As my heels click on the old concrete floor, I remind myself that even though whiskey isn’t my passion, this is the right path for me. It doesn’t matter that I spend more time here than I do in my own apartment. This job is a privilege that I’m doing my best to prove I deserve.
Going off the deep end and letting my wild side come back to life isn’t going to help me prove a damn thing except I’ve lost my mind. I have to put him out of my head.
No more club.
No more beautiful tattooed man.
No more getting off track.

SavageTrilogy banner


A New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of over twenty novels, Meghan March has been known to wear camo face paint and tromp around in woods wearing mud-covered boots, all while sporting a perfect manicure. She’s also impulsive, easily entertained, and absolutely unapologetic about the fact that she loves to read and write smut. Her past lives include slinging auto parts, selling lingerie, making custom jewelry, and practicing corporate law. Writing books about dirty talking alpha males and the strong, sassy women who bring them to their knees is by far the most fabulous job she’s ever had.

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