Blog Tour + Excerpt : BAD AT LOVE By New York Times Bestselling author Karina Halle is LIVE!!!

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Bad at Love by Karina Halle
Release Date: November 16th

 

Bad at Love, an all-new contemporary STANDALONE by New York Times Bestselling author Karina Halle is LIVE!!!

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She’s bad at love, but he’s even worse…

Marina is hot, blonde, and wickedly smart, but when it comes to men? She’s hopeless. Between her quirks and her lack of filter, there isn’t a man in Los Angeles that will stick around after the third date.

Her handsome, charming friend Lazarus has the opposite problem. Everyone wants to be his girlfriend, but he gets bored and moves on quickly.

There’s only one way to figure out why neither of them has cracked this love thing– they’ll date each other. On paper, it’s the perfect experiment. But in reality, things between Marina and Laz get complicated quickly.

They might be bad at love, but they are even worse at being friends.

Excerpt:

The place is called Tanner Smiths and is one of those trendy bars with a prohibition theme. It’s packed and dark and there’s a small dancefloor by the door so that when you walk in, you’re sucked into a group of people grooving all up in your space. Beyonce blares from the female DJ in the corner and everyone is drunk and happy.

“I approve of the vibe,” I say to Laz.

“What?” he yells back mockingly over the noise, cupping his ear. Then he leans in, close. Very close. “What you havin’ to drink, sweet girl?”

His breath is hot on my ear and I momentarily close my eyes, letting the feeling sink along my skin, down my back, all the way to my toes. “Anything,” I manage to say.

I open my eyes and his face is still at my neck, lips at my ear. “I had no idea you were so easy to please,” he murmurs and I swear his lips are grazing my skin. Goosebumps spread and I’m hot and cold all at once.

My throat feels thick as I speak. “Only when it comes to drinks. Anything else, you might have to work at it.”

“Is that so?” he says, pulling back enough to look me in the eye.

There’s fire inside him. God, how I want to burn.

“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” I tell him.

His languid gaze drops to my lips, his nostrils flaring with impatience.

Fuck, do it, just fucking kiss me.

Kiss me.

Kiss me.

He leans all the way back, gives my hand another squeeze before letting go. “Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

“Bossy,” I comment, my stomach summersaulting like crazy.

“You have no idea,” he says. Then he winks, a bit of a smile, and heads down to the bar to place the order.

I watch him. I watch him and I watch the girls in the bar watching him and I know tonight, tonight he’s mine. I have him.

I’ve never felt so alive before, a swarm of electricity underneath my skin, my heart happy, happy, happy with anticipation, knowing what might finally happen between us.
BadAtLove-AN

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Meet Karina:

Karina Halle is a former travel writer and music journalist and The New York Times, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling author of The Pact, Love, in English, The Artists Trilogy, Dirty Angels and over 20 other wild and romantic reads. She lives on an island off the coast of British Columbia with her husband and her rescue pup, where she drinks a lot of wine, hikes a lot of trails and devours a lot of books.

Halle is represented by the Root Literary and is both self-published and published by Simon & Schuster and Hachette in North America and in the UK.

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http://authorkarinahalle.com

CHAPTER REVEAL The Hideaway,A Lavender Shores Novel By ROSALIND ABEL

 

 

A LAVENDER SHORES NOVEL BOOK 5 IS NOW LIVE!

1-Click your kindle Edition FREE with KindleUnlimited.

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THE HIDEAWAY KU PROMO

 

Lavender Shores’s resident tattoo artist, Connor Clark, looks the part—six foot six, musclebound, and covered in ink—and most definitely doesn’t blend in. Grafted into the Bryant family as a teenager to escape his abusive father, the Bryants saved his life, but Connor has never truly felt a part of the founding family royalty. And if his heart’s desire were revealed, it would betray everything the Bryants have done for him.

 

Micah Bryant was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He’s always had everything he ever wanted—save the one he desires most. Even moving to New York City for a few years didn’t dampen his passion. Not that Micah had expected it to. He’s known his destiny since he was nine years old, the moment it had walked through his door.

 

After years of longing, years of secrets and stolen moments of passion and love, Connor weakens enough to allow the town to see how he feels, and let the Bryants know his love for Micah is anything but brotherly. But no sooner had the decision been made than Connor’s biological family returns and shatters it all. Still, Micah holds on to the belief that their romance was written in the stars, but maybe he’d been wrong all those years…

 

the hideaway paperback
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ARE YOU READY TO READ THE STEAMY CHAPTER?

Four

Connor

 
My entire performance had been rigged, and even so, my heart rate was barely coming down. Fortunately, I’d had the forethought to put all my clothes in a separate classroom from the one all the other guys were using as a changing room. I could crawl under a desk and hide for a few hours and still need to be alone for the next day to recover from having the entire town’s eyes on me. It was proof enough that I wasn’t truly a Bryant. I didn’t have one ounce of my mother’s showmanship and ease in the limelight. Of course, Gilbert didn’t either, and he did share her genes.
I retrieved my shirt that I’d tossed on the teacher’s desk when I’d gotten ready—which had only consisted of taking off my shirt, shoes, and socks and then pacing the room for half an hour, trying to work up the nerve to go on stage. I started to pull on my shirt, then noticed the name at the top left of the whiteboard. Ms. Westfield. Pausing, I glanced around the classroom. How had I not noticed before? I suppose it showed just how nervous I had been. This classroom had been nearly as much my salvation as the Bryant home. School had never been easy—though it became a little less stressful once I lived somewhere I was actually wanted—but here in Ms. Westfield’s English class my future began to fall into place. Instead of taking notes on Shakespeare like the class had been instructed, my pages were full of doodles and designs. That was the case for all of my notebooks, no matter what the subject. When she noticed, Ms. Westfield asked me to come see her after school that day. I’d expected a lecture, additional homework, some sort of punishment. Instead she pored over my drawings with me, going on and on about how amazing they were. I’d looked back at those notebooks since, and most of them were a far cry from amazing, but she either saw something in the work itself or in me, maybe both. From that day on, she figured out a way to incorporate the drawing aspect to every one of my assignments.
Stepping around her desk, I moved to the whiteboard, picked up a black dry erase marker, and began to draw.
I lost track of time, lost track of my nerves and worry, as I transformed the whiteboard into a collage of Persian cats—Ms. Westfield never had less than three living with her at any one time—and tattoo-style script of various Shakespeare lines I recalled. When I was done, I wrote a simple thank-you near the bottom of the board. I didn’t sign my name. She would know.
Standing back, I took in my handiwork, letting the years mingle and dance together. I’d been so grateful for my new life. For my friendship with Gilbert that had led me to being brought into his family, for Ms. Westfield, for the town itself. I’d thought the worst was over, and in many ways, it was. I was away from my father’s physical violence and my mother’s religious mental abuse. I no longer had to hide or worry about who I was. I hadn’t seen my biological family in years and each day that passed made it all that much better. Life could only get better from there on out. But a new sort of complication was headed my way, one that would make the following years incapable of truly being at peace or ever satisfied.
What I would give to be in that sweet spot between escaped abuse and unending guilt and desire.
I needed something nicer for Ms. Westfield than a whiteboard full of Persian cats and fancy lettering. Maybe she’d like some tattoo work done. She had to be in her sixties by now, but she was always a cool lady.
“Ms. Westfield and her cats. She was one of my favorite teachers, but the constant trail of cat hair she left behind drove me a little batty at times.”
I jumped, startled at the abrupt sound of Micah’s voice, but I didn’t turn around. Nor was I surprised. Speak of the devil. “Your ability to walk into locked rooms when people are trying to be by themselves has never been your best quality.”
Micah didn’t answer as quickly as I thought he would, nor with his typical charm or bravado. The pause made me worry I’d hurt his feelings, and I tried to push that guilt away.
His footsteps sounded closer, but I kept my focus on the whiteboard. Desire and frustration left me frozen.
“What do you want me to do, Connor? You’ve been avoiding me ever since Charlie’s.”
“That’s only a week. After being forced to sit and have dinner with you and your boyfriend, I think I’m entitled to a week alone, don’t you?” Goddammit, why was I angry? Even more so, why was I letting my voice betray that fact? I turned and found him sitting on one of the desks, his legs splayed, his hands resting between them, fingers curled over the edge. There were no lights on in the room, but the wall of windows allowed plenty of moonlight in. I’d give anything if I could see Micah just once and he not be the most beautiful man in the world. It would really help.
Actually, it probably wouldn’t.
There was a twitch of a smirk on his lips. Clearly I hadn’t even come close to hiding my reaction to him. “That shitshow at Charlie’s wasn’t my fault. Moses was the one wanting to eat with us.”
I bristled instantly. “Don’t blame Moses.”
“You know what—” Micah started to hop off the desk, temper flashing over his face, but then he shook his head and settled back to his original position. He didn’t finish his thought, but he let out a long breath.
Fuck, I was being an ass. Obviously Micah blamed Moses for lots of things. But I also knew Micah well enough to be certain he fought that impulse every second of every day. We were both aware I was the one to blame. But the minute Moses had walked into my life, I’d latched on to the excuse he’d provided. In my defense, it was the right call. The only call. It still was. “Sorry, Micah. You’re great with Moses, and you’ve done more for him than anybody.”
He didn’t speak, but studied me for a little bit. His gaze traveled from me to the whiteboard, a different sort of smile playing on his lips, and then he sighed, the tension gone. “So, where is the mini-Connor tonight? I figured this would be way too much gayness to throw at him.”
“You think?” I couldn’t hold back a derisive snort at that. “He’s babysitting Shawn Carlisle’s kids.”
“I can see him being good at that. Not to mention, Moses isn’t afraid of hard work.”
“That is true. But yes, he’s still thrown off by seeing two guys hold hands in real life. This would’ve been too much, way too much. Probably enough to send him running back to our stupid family for fear of hellfire overtaking the gym.” I’d had a similar reaction years ago, and I’d been younger, had more of a transition to it all. Moses was nearly an adult and had been plunged in headfirst.
“You know they’re building the youth center close to where Adrian’s and my farm is, right?”
I nodded. Just a little north of Olema, close to Inverness, close to my family—no, not my family, but close to the ones who shared my name and had given me life. The ones I’d managed not to speak to or see for nearly two decades. “Yeah.”
Nothing else needed to be said. Mom’s location choice had been obvious. Choosing the spot right next to the place that had given her me and now Moses.
Silence ticked by for a few moments, and when Micah smiled, a whisper of warning tingled through me. I could never figure out exactly what it was—the way his lips moved, some glint in his eye—even after all these years, but my body had. That switch in Micah’s demeanor, letting me know if I didn’t run as fast as I could, things were going to end up how I didn’t want them to. No… they’d end up exactly how I wanted them to, just not how they should. “So, Pete Marks, huh? I didn’t know you were a daddy chaser.”
Despite myself, I laughed. “I think that would make me a grandpa chaser, don’t you?”
Micah shrugged. “Point taken. Still, you’re not going to find a better guy than Pete Marks. You could do a lot worse.”
How many times had we talked about dating or fucking other people, sometimes to convince ourselves it was over, at other times simply trying to hurt each other. Teasing about dating Pete was ludicrous enough to be pleasant. “Yeah, I was relieved he won.”
“Oh, come on.” Micah rolled his eyes. “We both know you set that up in advance, though I don’t even want to know how many tattoo sessions you are going to have to do to pay for that.”
I wasn’t going to try to deny it. “And every one of them will be well worth it.” Micah’s blue eyes studied me, and though there was Ms. Westfield’s desk between us I grew aware of how close we actually were. There were only two options, and the one I wanted most was to leap over the desk, tackle him, and fall to the floor. I chose the second, allowing a cruel tint to my words. “The guy who bought your boyfriend sure was attractive.”
Micah stiffened.
I could’ve stopped, but I didn’t. If I did, things really would end up the way I wanted them. “Seth with him right now? Getting his time over with?”
“No.” His whisper was cold, angry. “He went home. I told him I was going to help the family take down all the decorations.”
A variety of mean things flitted through my mind. Pointing out that Seth should’ve offered to stay and help—though I knew him well enough to bet he probably had, or asking if there was someone else waiting at home. Instead I chose to attack Micah. “Oh, so you lied to him.”
He didn’t even flinch. This game was an old one, which we both played. “I’ll help. As soon we’re done here.”
It seemed the game wasn’t working as well as it used to. I placed my hand on the top of Ms. Westfield’s desk, more to ground myself and ensure I stayed where I was as opposed to actually providing support. I tried again. “Still, I bet the date he has will be something. The two of them would be quite a pair.”
The second the words left my mouth, I realized why the game wasn’t playing out as I’d intended. Why Micah wasn’t pissed and yelling at me. Reminding me that I was the reason for my own jealousy. That it was my fear and weakness that kept me miserable. Though my words were harsh and accusing, I was tempting him, taunting him.
Fuck.
Even though I knew it, was suddenly aware of it, I couldn’t stop. “Didn’t it bother you, watching him sell himself to the highest bidder?”
Micah slid off the desk and slowly walked toward me. “Did it bother you? Having to arrange for Pete to buy you when it’s me you want?”
He was at the edge of Ms. Westfield’s desk, a couple more steps and he’d be pressed up against me. It was enough to wake me up. Enough to give me the strength I needed. “Don’t do this, Micah. You’re dating Seth. He’s a great guy. He deserves better than this shit.”
“We are open, you know that. Everyone knows that. That’s the only way Seth does relationships.” Micah closed the distance and came to a stop less than six inches from me. “Quit worrying about Seth.”
One more try. “One of us has to.”
“Shut the fuck up, Connor. You don’t get to play this both ways. The only reason I’m with Seth is your fucking fault.”
The anger in Micah’s voice brought a wash of relief and regret. It worked. Crisis avoided.
Micah took the final step, then with a quick motion raised both his hands to my chest and pushed.
I stumbled back, crashing into the whiteboard, dry erase markers and erasers bouncing off their metal tray and falling to the floor. He’d never hit me in anger before, but maybe this was good. The beginning of the end. We could finally finish this. It would be a relief to have it done, a relief to have him take out his fury on me. I deserved it. I’d stolen so many years from him.
He followed me in a rush, and I closed my eyes, preparing for the strike, welcoming it. Micah’s hands smashed against my chest again, but this time they stayed there for a moment and then began to move down my stomach.
I opened my eyes in confusion, not seeing Micah’s furious face inches from mine like I expected. I glanced down, following the feel of his hands over my body, watched in mute surrender as he lowered himself to his knees.
I’d failed. I’d given it my best, the game was over, and I’d failed.
Micah didn’t look up, didn’t hesitate to ask for permission, just unbuttoned my jeans with a flick of his thumb and finger, then pulled the zipper down. In less than a heartbeat, he had my pants around my knees and my cock in his mouth.
The wet heat of him surrounding my hardness was nearly as known to me as my own hand, and the sound of his groan as he tasted me had reached my ears countless times before, and both drove me wild. I clenched my fingers in his silken dark blond hair and held tight, instantly thrusting into his mouth, fucking his full lips hungrily. It had been so long, so very long. Nearly a year since I felt him.
Nearly a year, we’d done so well. And we were fucking it up.
I let go of his hair and sidestepped, pulling free from his mouth, his teeth scraping against my cock at the sudden motion. “No, Micah. We can’t do this. We can stop right now. It won’t fuck up anything.”
As Micah stood, he pulled his polo over his head and dropped it to the floor. “I thought I told you to shut the fuck up.”
As familiar as the feel of his mouth on me, the sounds of his arousal, and the sight of his stunning shirtless body were, the emotion in his words was new, and it gave me pause.
The game had worked. He was furious. Angrier than I’d ever heard. But beneath the growl, his desperation called to me. The hurt he’d endured over our separation screamed out to my own, and I had no choice but to answer.
I crashed into him, wrapping my arm around his neck and crushing our lips and bodies together.
Micah dug his fingers into my back and then managed to grip my skin. It hurt. But God, I didn’t care, I just needed to feel him again. No matter what he was doing to my body, as long as his hands were on me, as long as his lips were on me, as long as his skin touched mine.
There was no clarity in the sensations, everything was a tangle of arms and legs, tongues and lips. In the midst of the chaos, the rest of our clothes disappeared, and then I was the one on my knees, taking Micah’s long thick cock into my mouth and down my throat. The salty tang of him only ignited my suppressed hunger.
Everything vanished, the town, my past, my present, the classroom. Moses and Seth were no more. Micah was no longer my brother. Our matching tattoos identifying us as family faded from our skin.
It was just Micah. Just me.
He was just the man I loved and lusted over for years, the man no one else had ever been able to measure up against. The one who set my heart on fire and my soul at peace.
And I needed him. Needed him to fill me. Feel his release over my tongue, down my throat. To take him inside of me, to own him, possess him.
No impulse of giving him pleasure or making it last cut through my frenzy. I skewered myself over his cock, shoving him deep into my throat, gagging, and then doing it again, never pulling back for breath or thought.
“Oh, that’s how I want it.” His large calloused hands gripped my hair as he fucked into me. “Fuck, yes, Connor. Take my load.” Micah held my head still, stopping my rhythm as he turned loose, causing me to gag more. “Yes. Yes. Take it.”
Then he was spilling down my throat. His cries from above me mingled with the sound of me trying to catch my breath while swallowing him down, refusing to lose a drop of him.
He thrust, and then thrust again. His swollen cock throbbing in my mouth; each surge of come bringing me closer to my own edge, though I hadn’t even touched myself. A final thrust and he pulled free.
I looked up at him from my kneeling position, panting. I expected to see him slack against the desk, spent. Maybe guilt already rising. It wasn’t. If anything, the heat in his expression had become an inferno.
“Stand up.”
I did, gripping the edge of the desk, my legs feeling wobbly.
Micah kissed me, sweeping his tongue over my mouth, groaning at the taste of his release. His hand snaked between us and encircled my cock. He swirled his hand, using his fingers to cover my erection in the slick precome. He broke the kiss, and met my gaze. “Fuck me.”
God yes. Fuck, yes. There had not been a night in the last eleven months when I hadn’t craved being inside of him, when I hadn’t needed his heat, desired the way he writhed against me. Nothing and no one else had been able to come close to satiating that need.
But a blowjob was one thing; fucking was a different thing entirely. “Micah, we—”
“I said, fuck me.” His anger hadn’t abated, though it was overpowered by the cadence of his desire. Micah shoved the rolling chair away and hopped up on Ms. Westfield’s desk. Placing his arms behind him, he supported his weight, leaned back, lifted his leg slightly. “Connor. Fuck me.”
As many times as I’d been inside Micah, as many times as I’d seen his body, explored every inch and crevice of him, this was new. I’ve never seen him take that exact position, and definitely not in this manner. And once again, the years folded together and came full circle. This room where such an important part of my future had been revealed. It only made sense Micah would offer himself to me here.
I attempted to shake the thought away. Micah wasn’t my future. Couldn’t be.
“Connor.” Micah’s sharp cry brought me back to the moment, and I met his gaze. “I need you inside of me. I can’t take it another day.”
Neither could I.
He lifted his legs a little higher, giving me room to step between, but then another thought seeped in.
“I don’t have a condom or lube.”
Micah rolled his eyes. In the middle of his heat and lust, he actually rolled his eyes, causing the love I felt for him to sing even louder than my desire for his body. “Quit acting like you don’t know me, Connor. You know I don’t need lube, especially considering how much you’re already leaking.” I started to speak again, but he cut me off. “And since when do we use condoms?”
The hurt behind Micah’s last words was evident. I wasn’t sure if he’d attempted to hide it or not. He was right. We had never used condoms. Never needed to. We were always safe and protected with everyone else. But things changed in the last year. Neither of us had ever had an actual relationship before.
“What about Seth?”
Micah wrapped his legs around my waist, hooking his ankles behind my back. He almost sounded annoyed. “What about Seth?”
“You guys have been together for months. You’re still using condoms?”
He flinched, and there was another flash of anger mingling in the hurt. “Of course we are. Don’t be an idiot. It’s always been you. It will always only be you.”
Fuck. I kissed him, shoving my tongue deep into his mouth, groaning as his body arched against me, and while one of his arms circled my neck holding me to him.
He was mine. He had always been mine. I wrapped my arms around his back, digging my fingers into him, unable to get him close enough.
Micah managed to reach between us with his free hand, swept the precome over the head of my cock, and lined me up to his entrance.
It was all I needed. Still kissing him, I thrust forward, slowly, just enough that my dick slipped in. He hissed into the kiss and his ass clenched at the head of my cock. I paused for a moment, allowing him to catch a breath through his nose, and then I felt him relax. Slowly, I pushed the rest of the way in. I whimpered at the feel of him, the heat, the tightness, the pleasure as he squeezed his ring of muscle around my shaft. When I was buried deep inside of him, I broke the kiss and began to rock, watching his face, loving the pleasure that washed over his expression as I filled him.
“God, I’ve needed you, Connor.” Micah unhooked his ankles and spread his legs a little farther, giving me more room.
I increased my speed, still holding him tight against me. “I love you.”
He smiled. “Duh, you fucking moron.” His words were staccato, coming out in staggered breaths matching my thrusts.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
Micah’s grip around my neck tightened, and he pulled my head down so his lips were next to my ear, and his stubble scraped against my jaw. “Come in me.” And then he bit my earlobe.
Two more thrusts and I let out a cry of my own, and came. I arched back, pulling my ear from his mouth so I could bury myself deeper inside of him. It seemed I hadn’t orgasmed in decades. Thrust after thrust I came, again and again. Feeling like every ounce of tension and suffocated desire was spilling out of me.
At last I slowed. Micah glanced down between us and chuckled. “Holy fuck, Connor. I could feel that. You’ve been saving up that load.”
I had been, though I hadn’t realized the moment I’d been saving it for.
He looked back up at me, his smile returning. “I love you too, by the way.”
I kissed him, and then slowly pulled myself free, making sure he was steady on the desktop. The desktop…. Somehow I’d managed to forget where we were. I glanced toward the classroom door and through the small rectangular window looking out on the dark hallway. My God, we’d been idiots. Anyone could’ve seen or heard. “Fuck.”
Micah looked over his shoulder, then back at me, his expression serious. “Didn’t think about that. Nobody saw.”
Maybe nobody did, but still.
Micah shrugged. The fucker actually shrugged. “Well, we decided we were going to tell people before Moses showed up. Maybe it’s time.”
He might as well have dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. I took a step away, shaking my head. “No, Micah. This isn’t a joke. We can’t do this again. We’ve never been so careless. And of all times.”
“I don’t think you’re giving your nephew enough credit. Or the rest of our family. It really won’t be the end of the world.”
“You don’t know that.” I did, though. I could feel it. The world would crumble, quite literally. We would lose everything, including each other. I took another step back, then swiped my jeans off the ground and began to put them on.
“Connor, stop.” Micah slid off the desk and touched my arm. “Don’t run. Not this time. Please.”
I managed to get the jeans zipped up but not buttoned. “Sorry. This wasn’t right. Not right at all.” I moved away from him, snagging my shirt, then my shoes and socks before I headed across the classroom. “It was my fault. I’m sorry.” Before I got to the door, I glanced back. Micah stood there beside the desk, beautiful and naked, shoulders slumped in defeat and his expression a cold mask. “I’m sorry, Micah. I really am.”
Then I was out the door and rushing down the hallways of my old high school, away from the gym and the voices of Micah’s and my family as they deconstructed the circus.
 
Maybe that’s what I was to the Bryant family. The little sideshow freak. The one who’d corrupted the baby of the family.
 
 

 

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THE PALISADE
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THE GARDEN

 

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THE VERANDA

 

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THE SHIPWRECK

 

 
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Rosalind ABEL PROFILE PIC

 

Rosalind Abel grew up tending chickens alongside her sweet and faithful Chow, Lord Elgin. While her fantasy of writing novels was born during her teen years, she never would have dreamed she’d one day publish steamy romances about gorgeous men. However, sometimes life turns out better than planned.
In between crafting scorching sex scenes and helping her men find their soul mates, Rosalind enjoys cooking, collecting toys, and making the best damn scrapbooks in the world (this claim hasn’t been proven, but she’s willing to put good money on it).
She adores MM Romance, the power it has to sweep the reader away into worlds filled with passion, steam, and love. Rosalind also enjoys her collection of plot bunnies and welcomes new fuzzy ones into her home all the time, so feel free to send any adorable ones her way.

 

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Thank you for touring with Love Has No Gender the brighter side of  Jo&Isa♡Books

 

Blog Tour with Excerpt: Temporary Boyfriend, an all-new romantic STANDALONE from Shanora Williams is LIVE!

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Temporary Boyfriend, an all-new romantic STANDALONE from Shanora Williams is LIVE!

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Temporary Boyfriend by Shanora Williams

Release Date: November 9th, 2017

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Piper Madison can only think of one way to get her parents to accept her: hire a temporary boyfriend.

She hires Matthew Cooper, a hot, tall, and wickedly handsome male escort with a set of dimples and charm that will bring any woman to her knees.

He assures Piper they will prove her family wrong – that she doesn’t need to be married to some billionaire in order to be happy – and that it will remain strictly business between them.

But when their strictly business relationship starts to feel a little too real, Piper and Matthew realize hearts are on the line, and that they may be in for much more than they bargained for.

 

Excerpt:

PIPER

I shut off the water but before I can put my toothbrush away, Matthew is standing behind me, pressing his body against me.

His groin pushes into my ass and I realize that through that towel, he’s hard. I look at his reflection in the mirror.

“What are you doing?” I laugh softly.

“Saying good morning the way a real boyfriend would.” He kisses the crook of my neck and I nearly melt inside. The heat travels down, building up in my most sacred area.

I drop my toothbrush and turn in his arms, looking up to meet his honey eyes. “Wait—” I press a hand against his chest. “I thought you said this shouldn’t happen anymore.” I point between us, confused. “I know I got carried away last night.”

“I liked it. Probably a little too much,” he murmurs on my lips.

“I bet you did.”

“Maybe what I meant is this shouldn’t happen…much.”

My eyes widen, and I bite my lower lip, fighting a grin. “You’re serious right now, aren’t you?”

He responds with a kiss on my cheek and a gentle push of his hard cock into my groin.

“But isn’t that breaking all of your ‘escort’ rules?” I make air parentheses with my fingers.

“Possibly…”

“God, you are so confusing,” I whisper, our lips a hair’s breadth away.

“Trust me, I’m confused as fuck about you too.” He looks me over, his tongue running over his bottom lip. “You want to know what I’ve been thinking about all morning?”

He grips my waist and picks me up. My butt lands on the counter, and he steps between my parted legs with a smirk on his lips.

“What?”

“I keep thinking that what happened last night wasn’t nearly enough.” He studies my lips. “The way you rode my c*ck, how tight and wet you were. I need more, Piper. A lot more. I know we only have about twenty-five minutes, but,” he sighs, pulling my shorts down and tossing them in the corner. He takes my shirt off next. “I’ll be quick.” His lips land on the bend of my neck again, and he sucks, causing a tingling sensation to shoot through my legs and hit me right in the core. “I promise.”

TemporaryBoyfriend-AN

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About the Author:

Shanora Williams is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who loves writing about flawed heroes and resilient heroines. She is a believer that love outweighs all, but doesn’t have a problem making her characters fight for their happily ever after.

She currently lives in Charlotte, North Carolina and is the mother of two amazing boys, has a fiercely devoted and supportive man, and is a sister to eleven.

When she isn’t writing, she’s spending time with her family, binge reading, or running marathons on Netflix while scarfing down chocolate chip cookies.

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BLOG TOUR: A Steel Heart, an all-new sexy and emotional standalone from Amie Knight is LIVE!

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A Steel Heart, an all-new sexy and emotional standalone from Amie Knight is LIVE!

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A Steel Heart by Amie Knight

Publishing Date: November 9th, 2017

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Five seconds.

A deafening blast. Pain. Silence.

That was all it took for an IED to end my life as I knew it. The man I was shattered in a hard wave of sound and debris that rained down on me like death itself.

And six months later, after waking up to an inescapable hell, I found myself wishing that death had found me.

Until her.

Miranda Jacobs swept into my life like a cool breeze on a smoldering day.

With her smart mouth and her ridiculous jokes, she brought me back to life one minute at a time.

Turned out time wasn’t on our side.

Five seconds.

Screams. Twisted metal. Silence.

And I’d lost it all again—only this time, I had no one to blame but myself.

Excerpt:

“What are you doing today?” my friend Ainsley asked through the cell phone that was pressed to my ear with my shoulder. My hands were busy holding open a piece of the blinds so I could look out the front window.

I gave her a distracted answer. “You know, the usual. Edits and whatnot.” I tilted my head to the side to get a better view out the window and almost dropped the phone. Holy hotness.

“Why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Distracted.” Ainsley sucked in a breath. “Oh my God. It’s nine a.m. Are you neighbor stalking again?”

I snapped the blinds closed and backed away from the window. “No. Of course not. Why would I do that?”

“You told me you weren’t going to do that anymore.”

I thought we’d already established I was a liar.

I stepped back toward the window because I couldn’t help myself, obviously a glutton for freaking punishment. But this was the only time of day I saw him besides when he left in his big, black truck at three in the afternoon on the dot, and I didn’t want to miss a thing. I cradled the phone with my shoulder again, pushed the blinds apart with my hands, and pressed my face to the windowpane like the creepy stalker I was. And there he was. Every gorgeous inch of him.

He walked toward my building from across the busy downtown street like a tall glass of water on a hot day. All swagger and supreme male beauty. The kind of beauty that made a girl’s breath catch and heart pitter-patter. He pushed his dark hair off his tan forehead and the big muscles in his arms bunched.

Goosebumps broke out on my skin and I may have whispered, “Christ on a cracker.” I didn’t know his name, but I knew his schedule like the back of my hand. That wasn’t weird at all.

“You’re a terrible liar.” She giggled. “What’s he wearing today?”

I barely heard Ainsley. Every morning when I watched this man walk down the street and toward our building, it was like just he and I existed. Slow motion. Our own sexy theme music. Nameless, ridiculously hot man and Miranda. He didn’t know it, but there was a world of our own and it was the absolute best part of my day.

“Sunglasses. White, tight, sleeveless T-shirt. Black running pants with three white stripes down the sides. Black tennis shoes,” I said breathlessly into the phone. I left out all the good bits. Like the scowl he was wearing. It was perpetual. I’d never seen the man smile in the month he’d been living next door to me and for some reason that made me all the hotter for him. He owned that scowl. He freaking rocked it. His jaw was square and clean-shaven. His mouth flat. He was a giant of a man. Well over six feet. His chest was wide, his arms thick and imposing. Dog tags jangled from a silver necklace around his neck, letting me know he was military of some sort. I’d never seen his eyes, but I knew they were going to be stunning. Everything about him was. Not even the slight limp in his gait as he made his way across the street took away from his godlike beauty. I could’ve eaten him with a spoon.
ASteelHeart-AN

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About Amie Knight:

Amie Knight has been a reader for as long as she could remember and a romance lover since she could get her hands on her momma’s books. A dedicated wife and mother with a love of music and makeup, she won’t ever be seen leaving the house without her eyebrows and eyelashes done just right. When she isn’t reading and writing, you can catch her jamming out in the car with her two kids to ’90s R&B, country, and showtunes. Amie draws inspiration from her childhood in Columbia, South Carolina, and can’t imagine living anywhere other than the South.

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PROMO Blitz: DAREDEVILS, A Historical Romance set in 1920s By ANNE GREENE!!

 

 

Historical Romance, Women’s Fiction
Date Published: January 2017
Publisher: Forget Me Not Romances, Winged Publications
 
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What happens in the roaring twenties when a daredevil barnstormer falls in love with a wing-walking flapper threatened by dangerous men out to exploit her?
Orphan and wing-walker Gloria needs a job when her boss dies in a barnstorming accident. With no other jobs available, she sweet-talks Rand into letting her walk his wing. Flying Ace Rand fights wartime injuries that hamper his flying even as he works to gain the world-record for solo flight across the Atlantic. He bucks his wealthy dad’s plans for him to settle down, join the company, and marry a socialite.
 
 
Rand falls in love with the courageous, fun-loving, and  daring Gloria. But Orphan Gloria’s experienced too many men who promise love and marriage and instead take advantage of her being alone in the world. She holds Rand at arm’s length. Without her knowledge, Rand protects her and makes sure she doesn’t starve. When Gloria’s offered a movie contract Rand knows he must intervene.
 
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Excerpt
Kill Devil Hills, 1925
Gloria plodded from the bathroom into the bedroom. “Daisy, we’ve no food in the cottage, so I need to have a heart-to-heart chat with Mr. Rand Maitland. He’s exactly the type of older man I prefer to work with.” She bent to pat the blonde puppy’s head. No more fending off amorous bosses. “I need to find another partner like Buzz.” A tear slipped from her eye and wiggled down her cheek. “I miss you, Buzz. If you were still alive, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Thanks to Vincent and his lies, no other pilot will hire me.” 
 
Gloria swiped a fist across her cheek to wipe the tears and snagged her only dress from a hanger, leaving the small closet empty. “I’ll force myself to be amusing and cheerful. Older men like that.” Anything to improve her chance of getting a job. According to Annie, Rand Maitland had been an ace fly boy during the war. She could trust his acrobatics.
She perched on the edge of the sagging bed, pulled shiny, silk stockings just above her knees and rolled in the garters. She stood and slid into the white dress that ended in a shocking way just below her knees. Well, older men liked that too. She’d need every advantage to capture this job.
 
Suited her just fine she didn’t need to flatten her bosom because God hadn’t overly endowed her. In her line of work a voluptuous bust got in the way. She reached behind her back to zip up her dress. Easy, because the fabric draped open to below her shoulder blades in the rear. Scandalous in the daytime, but she only had this one gown or her trousers. “Trousers won’t impress the old man, Daisy, and I can’t wear my costume. Being broke is just tedious.”  She smoothed the drop-waist dress and settled on the edge of the bed to slip on red, high-heeled shoes. She stood and pivoted in front of her blonde puppy. “How do I look, Daisy?”
Though her might-be-new boss lived close, she’d borrow Annie’s Model T roadster. “Rand Maitland’s bound to have his Jenny tied-down near the sand runway, and I don’t want to get grit inside my only pair of dress shoes.”
 
Daisy raised a paw to be shaken. Gloria smiled, bent and shook the furry offering.  She didn’t need the auto since Kitty Hawk wasn’t more than five hundred yards or so from Annie’s cottage near Kill Devil Hills, but Mr. Maitland would be more impressed if she drove. He mustn’t know how desperately she needed this job or he wouldn’t hire her. Her high heels tapped a determined rhythm on the uneven linoleum as she crossed the living room. She shut the door behind her and marched down the rickety wooden stairs to the beach. Stepping carefully to keep loose sand out of her shoes, she tiptoed around the cottage to where Annie had parked her Model T before she left for Europe.  Gloria bent, cupped the crank handle on the front of the car in her palm, pulled the choke wire with her left hand and gave the crank a quick half-turn. The engine sputtered to life. Her shoes slipped on the sandy driveway as she minced on tip-toes around to the driver’s seat and climbed inside.
 
She drove close to the three bi-planes tied down just beyond a cluster of larger cottages on stilts. Too late to turn back. She’d forgotten to apply that new chalk-white face powder that was all the rage. Nor had she painted her lips red. She’d wanted that color to bolster her confidence and hide her pain. She shook her head and shrugged. Well, she had a stiff spine and didn’t need to paint on courage.  She pulled up next to the closest home, stopped the automobile, turned off the ignition, set the brake, and slipped out the door. Just off the road, her red high-heels sank into loose sand. “Ain’t we got fun?” she murmured dryly. Her shoes had survived worse obstacles. These red high heels would outlast this setback too.
 
In the slanting morning light, three visiting biplanes cast long shadows. All the other planes, snug inside hangars, waited for tomorrow’s barnstorming show. A man wearing blue coveralls with his back to her, bent over the engine casing of the middle Jenny. Annie had mentioned Mr. Maitland named his plane Jazzman, so that big fella had to be the man himself, right where she thought she’d find him. Taking giant steps through the sifting sand between her and the hard-packed sand beneath the Jennies, she stopped directly behind him. She tugged her red cloche hat low over one eyebrow, held down the silky skirt flapping in the breeze, and straightened her shoulders.
 
“Hello!” She highlighted her voice to sound perky. Older men liked perky.  The man grunted, tightened a bolt on the engine with a large wrench and then turned. She started, her hands flew up, and she almost lost her footing. Annie hadn’t mentioned her husband’s youngest brother was gorgeous. He flashed a smile. Dimples played around that dazzling grin and found an immediate place in her heart. He stared at her with eyes bluer than the bluest lapis. And he was no older man.
 
Too bad for her. She pressed her lips together. She’d so counted on Mr. Maitland being older. She’d learned her lesson about handsome men.
 
And she better make sure she remembered it.  
 
 
 
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About the Author
ANNE GREENE’s home is in the quaint antiquing town of McKinney, Texas, just a few miles north of Dallas.
 
Her husband is a retired Colonel, Army Special Forces. Her little brown and white Shih Tzu, Lily Valentine, shares her writing space, curled at her feet. She has four beautiful, talented children who keep her on her toes.
 
She’s traveled to every location of each book she’s written, and each book is a book of her heart. Besides her first love, writing, she enjoys travel, art, sports, reading, sailing, snorkeling, movies, and way too many other things to mention. Life is good.
Contact Links
 
 
 
 
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Book Blitz + Giveaway: TEMPTING THEIR BEST FRIEND (No Holds Barred #1) by Madison Blake & Sienna Matthews is Only $.99 for a Limited Time!!


Tempting Their Best Friend
Madison Blake & Sienna Matthews
(No Holds Barred #1)
Publication date: August 22nd 2017
Genres: Erotica, Romance

Things to do on a Saturday night:

Watch National Geographic on TV? Check.

Sexy times with lover and best friend Ethan Hunter? Check.

Going to a party with other best friend Shelli Madison?

Not if he can help it.

But Adrian Greene doesn’t have a choice, as he’s not the kind of man to bail on his best friend when she needs him. Having Ethan at the same party is his only consolation until a mistletoe-induced kiss with Shelli heats his blood, sends his fantasies rioting and hardens his…body.

And when Ethan expresses the same interest in Shelli? Things get a helluva lot more interesting.

Wicked shenanigans, seduction maneuvers and naked times ensue as the men think up creative ways to tempt their best friend into something more…all without destroying their friendship.

Tempting their best friend has never been so sweet…or delicious.

Tempting Their Best Friend is a sexy and hot bisexual ménage romance with explicitMM, MFM and MMF scenes among best friends. There’s also a guaranteed HEA ending! Though it’s the first in the series, it can be read as a standalone.

Goodreads / Amazon

The Complete Series:

                              

Tempting Their Best Friend is only 99¢ for a limited time!

PLUS grab books 2 & 3 for $2.99 each!

EXCERPT:

“Would you guys like some coffee?”

They exchanged a glance before Adrian answered, “No. We thought we’d go ahead with the game.”

She had forgotten about it. “Okay, what is it?” She wiped her hands on a towel. “I think I prefer some mindless game right now. My brain needs a rest from work.”

“Well, it is mindless,” Ethan answered dryly. “Though there may be some physical activity involved.” At her questioning look, he said, “Chutes and Ladders.”

“Great, nothing more strenuous than rolling the die and moving my token. You’re on.”

“Wait.” Adrian caught her arm just as she was about to leave the kitchen.

She looked at him questioningly.

“It’s…um…a heavily revised Chutes and Ladders—”

“Revised?” She frowned and looked at him skeptically. “I wasn’t aware there was a revised edition.”

“Would you know more than Ethan?” Collecting board games was Ethan’s crazy hobby, or crazy Ethan’s hobby. Whatever. The man was nuts about them. He had every one that came out on the market.

“No,” she had to admit reluctantly.

“Now, where was I?” Curioser and curioser. It was not like Adrian to lose a thought and he was more nervous than he appeared. In fact, the hand holding her own was trembling. She frowned and looked closer at him. His green eyes, so direct, skittered away. “We’re, uh, we’re giving you the option of looking at the game board first before you decide whether you want to play it or not. But once you’re in the game, you have to play it to the finish. That’s the rule. Okay?”

She nodded. “Let’s go to the living room now, shall we?”

Ethan spoke from beside them. “I, uh, placed the board game in your room when you were in the kitchen getting dinner ready. Why don’t we just go there to, uh, save time?”

Save time? What are they talking about?

She opened her mouth but before she could speak, Adrian ushered her up the stairs and overrode her protests. “Good idea.”

They entered her bedroom, with Ethan on their heels. “Okay, where’s the board game?” she asked irritably.

Ethan went to the right side where her wardrobe was located, where she now saw a plastic bag leaning against it. He reached down and withdrew a thin, rectangular box. He took away the top and removed the board from the box. He held it in his hands for awhile, then glanced at Adrian, as if to gather strength and encouragement.

Shelli had never seen such trepidation and breathless anticipation in a man as Ethan handed over the precious game board. It made her own heart beat in triple rhythm as she received it from his hands.

Taking a deep breath, she started to open it, when Adrian shut it with a loud bang. She jumped. “I forgot to say something. Whatever you’ll see in there, Shell, whatever your decision, please promise you won’t let it affect our friendship.”

Disappointment and a certain bittersweet finality weighed like a huge stone in her stomach. She was so right to choose their friendship over lust. Adrian’s words practically confirmed it.

She nodded blindly. Whatever she found on the game board, surely it wouldn’t be worse than the painful certainty that her lust for them was never going to be requited.

Adrian took his hand away and moved to stand beside Ethan. If she wasn’t mistaken, the two of them seemed to be holding their breaths expectantly.

She opened the game board. She stared at the boxes, at the elegantly drawn ladders but she didn’t see anything.

Ethan cleared his throat. “Uh, that’s our version.”

“Your version?” She frowned up at him.

“The messages. We revised the messages in the boxes and for those boxes originally without text, we added one.”

She looked down with effort, knowing now the reason for their anxiety. They must’ve wanted her opinion as a game player on how the revised game would be received in the market. Perhaps Ethan was even thinking of quitting his job and going into designing board games but she was a little bit hurt that he hadn’t seen fit to share the process with her.

Now that he mentioned it, she noticed slivers of paper taped on each of the squares. She read the messages on a few without them penetrating her brain. When some sort of meaning trickled through, she stopped, held her breath and started again from the first square.

French kiss the person to your right.

Do a bellydance while taking off all your clothes.

Go down on the person to your left.

The whole damn board was replete with erotic suggestions and each command was heating her up more and more. She couldn’t stop the pictures from flashing—her going down on Ethan, Adrian going down on her, the three of them locked in a threesome and exploding with the force of their orgasms.

Author Bio:

Sienna Matthews writes deliciously erotic romance romance. She goes wherever the muse calls. Check out her stories which are no holds barred sinful and seductive and where anything can happen. Visit her blog at: http://siennamatthews.com/

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Blitz-wide giveaway (INTL)
$10 Amazon Gift Card
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COVER REVEAL: 2026 AMERICAN REVOLUTION, A New Novel By Amazon Best-selling Author T.T. MICHEAL is Coming Jan 2018!!

 

 

Dystopian, Sci-Fi, Futuristic
Date Published: January 2018    
When Kelvin Hanson is dishonorably discharged from his naval captaincy he doesn’t connect the events to the accession of new President Diego Silva. But as he researches further he finds that Silva isn’t as he appears. Determined to rid the nation of a corrupt president, Hanson plots to assassinate him, but someone else gets there first.
Ashlee Townsend, head of the non-profit Freedom Group is equally determined to get to Silva, and is as surprised as Hanson when someone pips her to the post. Still reeling from the President’s assassination, Hanson and Townsend join forces as a military dictatorship takes over the country.
As rumors of terrorist plots and Mexican invasions fly, Hanson’s journalist wife sets the story straight, finding that it was the military themselves that assassinated Silva. As the truth comes out, California secedes from the Union, and Hanson and Townsend find themselves fleeing to Sacramento to head up a rebellion force.
 
Reuniting the states under a democratically elected President means war. And while Hanson heads up the rebel forces, his wife Kishanna deals with propaganda and information, and Ashlee becomes the center of yet another assassination plot.
This time, however, things go differently. And with a dead dictator, the threat of civil war crumbles. The governor of California becomes the interim President, and Hanson decides to throw his hat into the ring for the coming election. Democracy triumphs, and the United States is united once more.
 
 
 

EXCERPT:

 

Prologue


The absurdly large clock above the television clicked as its minute hand pushed past six. A little after half past midnight. The room was smaller than he’d imagined. Not his choice, but that of his ultra-efficient campaign manager. Not that there were that many places in Wyoming large enough to hold the small crowd that currently surrounded him. The air smelled of sweat and fear and elation, a bitter, sour smell that reminded him of the taste left in his mouth after eating only candy for hours. He was half listening to the chatter around him, the other half of his attention on the television screen.
It was odd, he thought, to be sitting down, to be inactive. For the last few months he felt that he hadn’t slept, had barely eaten, had done nothing but smile until his face ached and shake hands and speak and then smile again. And now nothing. The speech was written. The campaigning was done. There was just a vast empty swath of nothingness, and all he could do was sit and wait. This wasn’t quite as odd, however, as seeing his name flash up constantly on the TV screen.
Diego Silva. Billionaire, businessman, father, candidate. But still, always, the big-eared, buck-toothed kid of a single mom who’d raised him on rice and beans and not much else. Maria Silva was gone now. Pancreatic cancer a decade ago. It was a shame, really—she’d have been good for a slew of photo shoots, and probably a daytime TV interview or two. Silva grunted as he shifted position on the couch, his full belly pressing against the Armani belt on his slate-gray pants.
“It’ll be in soon.”
Mike Callahan perched on the edge of the sofa. His wiry body was like a coiled spring, ready to jump up at a moment’s notice. But Silva knew Callahan well enough to see the man was exhausted, close to the edge. Not that it mattered now. After the next few hours, Callahan could snap like a twig if he wanted to. His job would be done by then. One way or the other.
“What will?” Silva asked, not turning his eyes away from the television.
“Vigo County.”
Silva eyed the clock thoughtfully as the minute hand clicked again, then nodded. Vigo County, Indiana, had voted for every US presidential election winner since Eisenhower. The seemingly prescient county was his good luck charm. Silva had been quite clear on his orders. He wanted no disturbance from interns running in every few minutes, trickling down results that hadn’t been fully counted. Not until after Vigo County had announced. Once he knew that, he’d know. Everything else would just be noise, would be air inflating the balloon until it exploded. One way or the other.
“Coffee?”
Silva shook his head. His stomach was already sour from too many cups. And God forbid he’d be taking a piss when the result did come in. Thinking of hearing the news as he stood up against a bleach-smelling urinal, dick in hand, made him grin.
“It’s not a guarantee; you can’t afford to make Vigo the be-all and end-all,” Callahan said, turning bright blue eyes to him. “I’ve said it before, Silva, and I’ll say it again: there has never, ever been a candidate with your ratings. Ever. You’ve broken the damn polls. You’ve had the counters checking and double checking their math, convinced they’d fucked up. Whether you get Vigo or not . . .”
He trailed off. Silva grunted again. Callahan was confident, but not quite confident enough that he was willing to jinx the whole thing by saying it out loud. A good old Boston boy, Callahan’s accent had grated on Silva’s ears when they first met. Then he’d ceased to notice it. Only now did those flat vowels again bother him. But he didn’t respond. Had no time to respond.
“Mr. Candidate, sir.”
She was tall and blonde and big breasted, just as he’d liked them when he was a kid. That flawless white all-American girl with enough fat on her bones to have curves. The ideal. Almost as hot as his first wife. Almost, he thought, studying the snub nose sprinkled with light freckles. A slim strip of white paper was trembling in her hand, and Silva nodded at Callahan to take it.
The campaign manager looked at the black print, dismissed the girl, turned to Silva.
“Vigo,” was all he said.
And Silva knew, knew as he’d always known he’d know. His heart hammered in his chest but he didn’t let it show. In a corner of the room on blue plastic chairs, his two sons were playing poker, oblivious and uncaring as to what was happening around them. His two daughters were nowhere to be seen, but they were around somewhere. Sitting alone, her eyes downturned, demure and silent, Min-Seo, his wife, could have been asleep. He had a flash of gratitude that he’d made such a good choice. Neither of his previous wives would have been silent. Both would have been screeching, complaining, thrusting themselves into the midst of things, eager to be the center of attention.
Callahan was talking; the noise level was growing. The television screen blinked as an infographic appeared. Kentucky had declared. Indiana too. The US map filled the screen, the two states bright, bold blue.
Silva felt Callahan clap him on the shoulder, felt, rather than heard, the cheers around him. He looked again at petite, quiet Min-Seo, her eyes now turned to him. She gave a small smile, unsure, and he gave a short, sharp nod in response. And he saw the weight settle on her shoulders. He hated that she was smarter than he, but knew it to be true, though he’d never even hinted that he knew. But now he was glad. Glad because she’d be a far finer First Lady than either of his ex-wives.
President. He allowed himself a smile and stood, turning to face the others in the room, lifting his hands in a sign of victory.
“The numbers aren’t all in yet, Silva,” Callahan warned him in his ear.
But Silva didn’t care. He knew now that he’d won the lot, and he accepted the cheers and congratulations, allowing them to wash over him. He’d done the impossible. The first non-politician, the first non-military man to hold the presidency of the United States. And the first Hispanic leader.
“All right, all right, calm it down.”
Callahan’s voice was a hell of a lot louder than his small frame indicated.
“We’re not out of the woods yet, people.”
There was grumbling, but the motley assortment of interns, advisers, family members, and hangers on quieted. Callahan turned and began giving orders.
“I want the unofficial numbers from West Virginia, and why the hell hasn’t Vermont reported in yet?” he barked at the same blonde girl who’d brought the news of Vigo County. “Hey,” he said, noticing Silva walking away. “Where are you going?”
His tone irked Silva. Like Callahan had any control over what he was going to do now. The man knew every detail about his life, every minute indiscretion. Hell, he knew every place his hands had been, every dime he’d stolen, every lie he’d told. Part and parcel, Callahan had told him when they had first met.
“I can’t cover up something I don’t know about,” he’d said. “And that means I need to know you better than you know yourself. I don’t give a fuck how small, how irrelevant, how minor something is—I need to know.”
Silva had looked him in the eye, debating whether or not to bluff, determined that this man wouldn’t know half the things little Diego had done to get to the top.
“Don’t bother,” Callahan had said in a bored voice. “I’ll find out anyway. And don’t kid yourself. No one’s clean. No one. I could dig up dirt on the pope himself if I had to. And if I can do it, so can anyone else. You get a choice. Trust me to hide your failings, or trust the press not to find them. Up to you.”
And if Silva had had any doubt, if there had been a moment of indecision, Callahan had sealed both their fates with his next words.
“They call me the kingmaker,” he said quietly. “The kingmaker.”
Silva had almost laughed, but then he hadn’t because Callahan had been serious. And because the tiny Irishman had never worked on a losing campaign. In thirty-five years of politics he had never backed a losing horse. Not once. And Silva knew that. Hell, it was the reason he’d chosen the man. If he was having anyone, it would be the best. And Michael Callahan was the best.
Now Silva surveyed his campaign manager for a moment. His time was almost here. But not quite. As much as the guy pissed him off, now wasn’t the time to do anything about it. So he shrugged.
“Just hitting the can,” he said.
But Callahan wasn’t listening anymore. He was back to giving orders, and Silva walked away from him, ignoring those who called out to him, leaving the room.
The bathroom was cool and quiet after the waiting room, and Silva took his time washing his hands. Despite all the coffee, he didn’t have to piss. When his hands were thoroughly clean, he looked up, examining himself. All he’d wanted to do was look at himself in the mirror. He wanted to know if he looked like a president yet. If he had that aura of greatness and power. But all he saw was little Diego, Maria Silva’s son with his teeth fixed up and his ears pinned back and his expensive suit and blue tie.
Fuck it. He smoothed back his black hair. The jet would be on standby. It was time to go. He’d been firm on the fact that he would break with tradition. Wyoming might be his home state as far as politics was concerned, but Washington was where he belonged. And Washington was where he would accept the presidency. Little Diego looked back at him from the mirror. No. President-Elect of the United States Diego Silva looked back at him from the mirror. It was time to get out of Wyoming for good.
***
Callahan insisted they hold off on the flight until the Texas results were in. And Silva eventually conceded to his demands, though he thought them ridiculous.
“It’s the one state that’s vacillated,” Callahan reasoned. “You get Texas, we can take the jet.”
Silva clenched his teeth but sat again on his couch. Callahan was wrong on this, he knew. True, the Lone Star State was traditionally Republican. But Silva was Hispanic, and with the huge Mexican immigrant population of Texas, he knew he was going to take it. And yes, Callahan was right about the polls. But the problem with polls was that the men in suits asked other men in suits how they were going to vote. No one bothered to ask Juan the gardener where his vote was going. But still, Silva waited patiently as the results from Texas came in, county by county.
By two o’clock they had the result. The infographic of the United States appeared again on the screen. And for the first time anyone could remember, Texas was colored in blue. Better still, all signs from Florida indicated that they too would be blue. Silva had spent long nights making speeches in Spanish, long afternoons doing meet-and-greets in bodegas and churches. He’d expected nothing less.
He stood as the cheers from his supporters at the Texas result still rang through the room.
“Let’s go.”
Callahan nodded, and Silva turned to his sons.
“On the plane, boys.”
They shuffled up their cards and grabbed their jackets from the backs of their chairs. His daughters, seeing their brothers move, gravitated toward them. Safety in numbers. Or safety in familiarity, perhaps; none of the four was much used to being surrounded by politicos. Looking at them, Silva wondered again at the miracle of genetics. While the two girls had the angular, blonde good looks of their mother, his second wife, the two boys were mirror images of himself. Dark haired, dark skinned, they were the product of his first marriage. The only right thing his first wife had done was to give him the heirs he wanted. Other than that, all she’d done was cost him money. A lot of it.
Callahan was already collecting together tablets and papers and issuing instructions, and Silva was turning to discuss orders with him before he remembered his wife. Min-Seo remained seated in her chair, still silent. It wasn’t until he gave her the nod that she stood, prepared to follow him. When she came to his side, he smelled the flowery scent of her bespoke perfume, saw the flawless glow of her skin. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. She had been a good choice. A wise choice. But he didn’t take her hand. And when they left the building, Min-Seo walked a comfortable two steps behind him.
***
“They’re calling it the biggest landslide since Reagan,” Callahan said, unbuckling his seatbelt and stretching out his legs.
“Screw that,” Silva said, not turning from his tablet. “It’ll be the biggest since FDR.”
“Perhaps,” said Min-Seo. “Even the biggest since Harding.”
She did not often speak out of turn. Maybe it was the late hour, or the thin air in the plane cabin.
“FDR,” Silva said, the warning tone already in his voice.
“No, she’s right,” said Callahan, popping open a can of Red Bull. “Harding versus Cox, 1920, the biggest-contested election result in US history. A 26.17% margin. Now that was a landslide. Get California and you’ll beat it.”
This pleased Silva, though no one would have known by looking at him.
“Dad, I’ve got Agri-Com on the line. They’re willing to come down to fifty; what do you think?”
Jake, his older son, leaned over, across the aisle, mobile dangling from one hand. Silva frowned at him.
“No, no, Jakey,” Callahan said immediately. “No dice. He gets no input, no say. You know the rules.”
The younger man scowled at the campaign manager but settled back into his own seat. As the rules dictated, Silva had divested himself of all business interests in the run up to the election. Silva Eco-Energy Solutions, the green energy company that had made his fortune, had been handed over in full to his older son. Silva waited until Callahan’s attention was diverted back to his tablet before catching Jake’s eye and briefly shaking his head.
“Nah, I’m afraid that’s not going to fly,” he heard Jake say into his phone before he turned his head away.
Jake—a nice, wholesome American name. Jake, followed by Andrew, followed by the two girls, Madison and Nicole. He hadn’t lumbered any of them with loaded names like Diego. Silva was enough of a blight for them to carry. And those good, solid American names now graced the boardrooms of some of the largest and most successful corporations in the country. A job well done. Silva beckoned over a staff member, allowing himself another coffee before settling back to see just how blue that US map infographic could get.
***
They were still in the air when the call came. At 05:27 a.m. on November 9th, Harrison Foster-Bright, esteemed Republican candidate for the US presidential election, conceded defeat. The call was later than they had expected, though earlier than most other historical concessions had come. It had been clear for far longer than an hour now that there was no way Foster-Bright could catch up. And as Silva watched the tall, thin figure take the stage in his home state of Mississippi, a state that Silva had won hours ago, there were shouts of jubilation from the back of the plane. Silva put his tablet down on the table, clicked open his seatbelt, and stood.
“Congratulations,” said Callahan, rising to his feet. “Congratulations, Mr. President.”
And despite the number of times Silva had wanted to punch that smug Boston smile off the man’s face, and despite the number of threats he’d made and promises he’d sworn to himself, he found himself embracing his campaign manager.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said.
It wasn’t politeness. It wasn’t a token gesture of appreciation. It was simple, bold truth. Without Callahan he’d have been lost, trodden underfoot and laughed off the stage. With him, he’d won. Simple as that.
“I know,” Callahan said.
And it wasn’t boastful. It wasn’t immodest. It was clear, simple truth. And they both knew it.
Silva gave him a nod before turning to his children first to be congratulated, then the campaign workers on the plane, and then, finally, his wife. It wasn’t until a half hour later that he again spoke to Callahan, this time in the small galley of the plane, and in private.
“You are my golden goose,” Callahan said bluntly. “And I won’t disrespect you by sugar coating things. I’ve done the impossible. And I will be rewarded.”
“You’ve been paid,” Silva said.
“Handsomely,” said Callahan, leaning back on the metal service cart. “But I will have more. You will appoint me in an advisory capacity for as long as you remain in power, with a hefty paycheck at the end of every month. And after that, you will grant me an honorary position in one of your companies for just long enough that no one’s surprised when I retire with a very healthy retirement package.”
Silva hadn’t gotten to where he was by bowing to threats. “No.”
With a smile, nonthreatening and light, Callahan leaned forward. “But I know everything, Diego. Everything. The companies, the affairs, the money. All of it. It would be very dangerous indeed to grant me my freedom. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer and all that.”
“And is that what you are: my enemy?”
“I don’t have to be,” said Callahan, leaning back again. “I don’t even particularly want to be. I am simply a man with a price, as we all are. I know what I want, and I will have it. I know you can understand that.”
Silva considered this, put his anger to one side. He was angry. Furious. But he couldn’t afford to be, and he knew it. He hadn’t gotten this far by bowing to threats. But he also hadn’t gotten this far by acting on impulse. He as much as anyone knew that prices needed to be paid.
“No,” he said again. But not quite as firmly, allowing room for persuasion, for negotiation. He wasn’t convinced yet that Callahan had what it took to follow through on his threats.
“I told you when we met that they call me the kingmaker,” Callahan said, quite calmly. “And thirty minutes from now, the door of this plane will open and you will greet the world as the president-elect of the United States. I am the kingmaker.”
Silva said nothing. There was no dispute to what Callahan said.
“But I can also be the kingbreaker,” continued Callahan. “With all I know, I could destroy what I have created.”
“And destroy yourself at the same time,” Silva pointed out. “You’d never work again if you leaked information about me.”
“True,” Callahan said. He didn’t seem disturbed by this. “But who has more to lose here? This is a small price to pay, Diego, and you know it.”
It was. However much Callahan might want, it would be a mere grain of sand in comparison to all Silva had. And perhaps the man did have a point. Given all that he knew, it would be foolish to release Callahan back into the wild. And he might prove useful. Finally, Silva nodded.
“On one condition,” he said.
Callahan raised an eyebrow.
“You never call me ‘Diego’ again.”
“As you wish, Mr. President,” said Callahan, smiling.
***
Half an hour later, the plane touched down at Ronald Reagan International Airport. There was shuffling as everyone gathered their belongings. The campaign staff was ushered toward the rear of the plane, while Silva, his children, his wife, and Callahan prepared themselves by the front door. Outside, Silva knew, waited the world’s press, and his chosen vice president. Jane Reynolds had opted to stay in DC in preparation for the victory party she knew would come. Tall, and attractive in an intimidating way, she was a three-term senator from Ohio and the reason Silva had clinched the swing state so early in the game. She was also his legitimation. “Reynolds” was a name held in great esteem in political circles. As Callahan had joked when he had introduced them, it wouldn’t be a senate without a Reynolds in it.
But Jane would be the first Reynolds to make it to the cabinet. Silva had been dubious about the choice at first. She had been Callahan’s choice, obviously. But as it turned out, having a woman on side had only bolstered his votes. And having a serious politician on side hadn’t hurt either. Surprisingly, he found over time that he actually liked the woman. He didn’t want to fuck her, which was relatively unusual for him. What was more unusual was that he took the time to interact with a woman he didn’t want to fuck. But Jane had proven to be a firm and solid ally. And perhaps, though he’d never have used the word outside of a political speech, a friend.
“Ready?”
Callahan stood one step behind him to his right. Two steps behind him to his left stood Min-Seo. The children were arrayed behind his wife. Callahan looked to Silva for permission. Silva took a good, deep breath. He set his shoulders, checked his tie one more time, and then nodded. He wasn’t nervous. He’d never been nervous in public. It wasn’t his style. Callahan nodded to the staff member by the door, and Silva painted on his campaign smile for the last time.
The door opened, and he was blinded by the photographic lights and flashbulbs. But he remembered to keep his eyes wide open. If he didn’t, the shots would be useless in the morning’s press. He took a large step, clearing the threshold of the plane, and then stopped. His smile was no longer painted on; it was genuine as he raised his hand and waved to the crowds threatening to burst out from behind the control barriers. Below him, Vice President-Elect Jane Reynolds waited, a small oasis of perfect calm in the middle of the roaring, cheering, waving crowd. Silva felt her eyes on him, and he maintained eye contact as he slowly began to walk down the red-carpeted stairs.
He was home, and he felt it. And in those few seconds it took to reach the tarmac, he was determined that he’d never leave Washington again. They’d have to drag him away kicking and screaming from this, the center of the world. The steps leveled out, but the red carpet continued, leading him to his running mate.
“Madame Vice President,” he said, extending his hand to Reynolds.
“Mr. President,” she responded, shaking his hand.
The crowds roared, helicopters buzzed overhead, and fireworks exploded from somewhere, flashing in the sky. Silva smiled. Little Diego had made it. And little Diego was about to pull off the greatest coup in political history. A camera flashed, and President-Elect Silva grinned a bit wider.
About the Author

Perhaps you wouldn’t characterize the Finance Manager of your local automobile dealership as an Amazon best-selling author—until you get to know T.T. Michael. He has worked for the past decade at a Toyota Dealership in Illinois, but he is in the driver’s seat as the writer of, Fire War, a political thriller set in the year 2076. See what happens when the United States, Canada, and Mexico all join forces to make one super country. See more about him and his book Fire War at www.ttmichael.com
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Release + Giveaway: The Right Kind of Reckless By Heather Van Fleet!!

Title: The Right Kind of Reckless

Author: Heather Van Fleet

Genre: NA/Contemporary Romance

Release Date: November 7, 2017 

 

                                    

 

I’m in love with a woman I can’t have, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop myself from falling.

The problem? Her brother’s my best friend.

I shouldn’t want her this much. Not when it goes against the bro code. Not when I’ve never been able to commit to a woman for longer than a night.

But one look into her eyes and I’m a mess for her. She’s my everything. And I have to walk away with nothing.


Addie and I watched the guys play round after round of Skee-B all, while Chloe jumped and cheered and stole the occasional ball from each of their rows. No matter what my state in life was, I was happy the three of them had found one another.

 


 

“Here, let’s get our picture drawn.” Knocking me out of my woolgathering, Addie guided me toward one of the caricature sketchers who sat just outside the carnival gates. The man had a unibrow the size of Lake Michigan’s shoreline, and his mustache was curled at the end, handlebar style. But his work was amazing. Charcoal sketches with colored eyes, balloon- shaped heads with movie-s tar hair.

 

“How much for both of us?” Addie asked, fishing through her purse. We sat on the stools, as directed, our shoulders touching.
“Thirty- five,” the guy said, his fake French accent too thick to be believable.
I groaned and looked at my friend. “Seriously? That’s too much.”
“Seriously. We have to do this.” Addie mocked me. “Look at how cute those are.” She pointed to a couple with a heart surrounding their heads. Little doves swooped in the air around them, carrying heart balloons in their beaks. Had to hand it to the guy. He was talented.
“I’ve got this, ladies.” I looked up at the sound of Max’s deep voice, finding him searching through his wallet. He pulled out the money, handed it to the artist, then lifted his gaze to meet mine. A soft smile covered his bow-shaped lips, and everything inside me stirred to life at the view.
Addie faked a cough, then pressed a hand over her stomach. “Oh…oh no. I don’t feel very good, guys.”
I faced her and narrowed my eyes as she stood. Don’t, I mouthed, already knowing her game.
Ignoring me, she looked at Max and said, “You’ll take my place, won’t you, Max?” She batted those brown eyes and twirled a lock of her dark hair. No doubt her way of getting anyone and everyone to say yes to her. “Lia here was dying to get her picture drawn.”
Oh, the little liar…
Max nodded, immediately taking her empty seat to my right. With an extra hop in her step, Addie walked away, her ponytail swinging back and forth more the closer she got to Collin and Gavin and Chloe. I wanted to pull it out of her head.
“All right, look this way.” I blinked at the sound of the artist’s voice, my body far too aware of Max’s heady scent.
God, why did he have to smell so good? Fit so perfectly against me?
“You’re much too stiff.” The artist tsked from behind his easel. “Here, wrap your arm around zee pretty lady’s waist, like so.”
I sucked in a breath as Max’s hand was guided along my back, ending at my side with his fingers tucked just under the edge of my T- shirt. I swallowed, shifting in my seat and instantly remembering our kiss— the way he’d moved his mouth over mine.
Warmth pooled low in my stomach, drifting in between my thighs. His touch was like adrenaline, kick- starting my orgasm-starved body to life.
“Chin on her shoulder, lips close to her ear…” I shuddered as Max followed the artist’s directions to a T, the stubble on his chin igniting a stormy thunder inside me. Max seemed unaffected, his chest rising and falling at an even rate, while mine was suddenly in asthmatic mode.
“Relax,” Max whispered in my ear, his warm breath grazing my neck. “I’m not gonna bite ya.”
I shut my eyes and shifted once again, the ache between my thighs becoming unbearable. “I didn’t want to do this,” I finally murmured, refocusing on the artist.
Max laughed softly, his chest vibrating against my back and shoulder. “I know you didn’t.”
My eyebrows pushed together in annoyance. “Then why did you agree to sit here?”
“Because Addie wouldn’t give up until I did.” He sighed, far too relaxed compared to me.
I was jumping, itching, crawling with…something, yet he was unaffected. Which only further emphasized that he didn’t want me the way I did him.
“Plus, she folds my underwear, remember? Gotta make sure she doesn’t stick ants in them or something.”
“Yeah, like Addie would ever stoop to your level.” I couldn’t help but grin, my nerves easing slightly.
He squeezed my ribs. “You would.”
I turned to face him, our noses inches apart. “Damn right I would.”
A slow nod later, he moved even closer, our bodies in sync…
My smile fell away. “Maxwell,” I whispered, so lost in his dark eyes that I couldn’t concentrate. The apology was there on my tongue like earlier, but the need weighing me down was even heavier. How could I ever be just friends with a guy who was likely to break my heart, no matter what we were to each other?
“Tell me why you kissed me that night.” He looked at my lips, a serious glint in his eyes.
Blood rushed to my face at his out-o f- the- blue question. My composure slipped as confusion took its place. Why was he asking me this?
“Because I…” I gulped. “I owed you, remember? For bailing me out and for keeping me safe from those guys.”
Something shifted in his eyes. Disappointment? I squeezed my eyes shut at the thought. When I looked back at him, I knew I was imagining things, because flirty, fun Max was back, winking at me. “Well then.” He cleared his throat. “That’s good to know.”
“What’s good to know?” I frowned.
“That you still owe me.”
Heather Van Fleet is a stay-at-home-mom turned book boyfriend connoisseur. She’s married to her high school sweetheart, a mom to three girls, and in her spare time you can find her with her head buried in her Kindle, guzzling down copious amounts of coffee.

 

Heather graduated from Black Hawk College in 2003 and currently writes YA, NA, and Adult contemporary romance. She is published through Sourcebooks Casablanca with her Reckless Hearts series. Along with being an author, Heather also serves as a foreign rights assistant agent through Inklings Literary. She is represented by Stacey Donaghy of Donaghy Literary.
 

 

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Can you risk it? RISK ME by Bella Love-Wins & Shiloh Walker IS NOW LIVE!

good looking man wearing a black hat in a smoky textured background

Can you risk it? RISK ME by Bella Love-Wins & Shiloh Walker IS NOW LIVE!

risk me - FINAL

 

LeVan

She was mine before I ever laid eyes on her.
It took an instant to know we were meant to be.
She wanted an escape and my arms were wide open.
She endured a life of pain. I could give her solace.
She saw baggage. I saw hope and connection.
But most of all, to her, I was forbidden.
I wanted her more because of it.

And just when I thought I had her, we were ripped apart.
One innocent act to escape forced our families onto a collision course.
I was fooled into believing she could risk everything for me.
Her hands were tied.
She was more of a prisoner than I’d even thought possible.
She was just out of reach.
And watching, waiting and wishing wouldn’t bring her back to me.
But people like us never got lifetimes of happiness.
Moments, maybe.

We didn’t get fairy tale endings.
Our love story was destined to end in tragedy.

 
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Grab the FREE prequel NOW!
 
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RISKME_TEASER3

EXCERPT:

Everything happened in the blink of an eye.

Less than a week after LeVan and his mother walked into the boutique where I worked, he and I were together.

A couple.

In secret.

Although there were few secrets in this small town, we tried. And probably failed. It could’ve been that the rumor started right there in the boutique when I took his hand and held on for too long. It didn’t matter. For one week, I spent every spare moment with LeVan. I’d sneak out of the house every night Mother was on one of her continual drunken benders.

The cat was away, so this mouse got out, and boy did I ever play.

But it was more than that.

What LeVan and I discovered was that we weren’t just playthings to each other.

We were in love.

Love at first sight.

Love at first touch.

And our first kiss was nothing but magic. Then I gave myself to him completely. And he did not take the gift for granted. LeVan treated me like a princess.

Tonight, it was our one-week anniversary since the day in the boutique.

“Pretty lady.”

I loved it when his voice got all rough like that. LeVan Vanderbilt had a voice like sweet cocoa, thick and rich, almost excessively so. It only got rough like this because of one thing…me.

I absolutely loved what I did to him—and what he did to me.

I loved him, period.

The weight of his dreads fell toward me, rubbing against my bare chest as he kissed a path lower, lower, lower…

When he pressed a kiss to the short, neatly-trimmed hair at my mound, I closed my eyes with a moan and reached for him.

“Not yet, pretty lady,” he said, nuzzling me.

“You’re a tease.”

“And you love it.” He bit my clit. I shivered at the sensations, hot and cold chills licking their way up my spine as he licked his tongue straight into my core.

He growled against me and I knew—I knew—that if I could just touch him, he’d stop this and put his hands, his weight on me, thrust inside me and put an end to this never-ending ache.

But he’d pinned my wrists to the bed and now, as I arched my hips up to meet his mouth, I moaned again, need driving me to the edge.

“Come for me, baby doll. Come on, Thea…let me feel it.”

I came. It wasn’t like he gave me a lot of choices.

When it came to my body, he owned me completely and there wasn’t anything he couldn’t coax out of me.

And just when I thought I had everything I could ever need, we were ripped apart.

RUIN ME is on sale for only $1.99! Start the whole series today!

Amazon → http://amzn.to/2vOVZat
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About the Authors:

BELLA LOVE-WINS is a Wall Street Journal (Begging for Bad Boys, April, 2017) and USA Today (Begging for Bad Boys, Alpha for the Holidays, Shifters in the Snow: Bundle of Joy, Shifters in the Shadows) Bestselling Author.

She loves reading and writing steamy, high-action romance stories about firefighters, billionaires, and alpha males who know what they want and aren’t afraid of laying claim to the women who catch their interest. She loves a happy ever after ending. She enjoys reading, hiking, the countryside, and traveling to destinations unspoiled by commercial tourism, like Las Vegas… 🙂

Like so many characters in her novels, she enjoys action, romance and unexpected love connections that take your breath away. For the next while, you’ll find her plotting and writing about my latest stories on my Macbook.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BellaLoveWins/
Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/bellasbabesandbadboys/
Website: http://bellalovewins.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/BellaLoveWins
Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2wvTrya

SHILOH WALKER is an award-winning writer…yes, really! She’s also a mom, a wife, a reader and she pretends to be an amateur photographer. She published her first book in 2003. Her latest suspense, The Right Kind of Trouble, released in August 2016 from St. Martins.

She writes romantic suspense and contemporary romance, and urban fantasy under the name J.C. Daniels.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorShilohWalker/
Website: http://www.shilohwalker.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/shilohwalker
Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2wEPXVg

BLOG TOUR: ORION, A Constellations Novel Book 1 By Allie Juliette Mousseau writing as Raeah Wilding

Title: Orion

Series: A Constellations Novel Book 1

Author: Allie Juliette Mousseau writing as Raeah Wilding

Genre: Military Romance

Release Date: November 7, 2017 

Photographer: Michael Stokes Photography

Cover Designer: Perfect Pear Creative Covers

 

 

 

 

When U.S. Marine Corp Sgt. Orion MacKinnon loses both his legs in the bloody sands of Afghanistan, he forsakes his soul along with them. After retiring to a remote location in the snowy mountains of Alaska with his Special Forces canine companion—a German Shepherd named Zeus—he becomes a recluse and vows never to wear the prosthetic legs he keeps buried out of sight…
until a lone hiker becomes trapped beneath an avalanche on his mountain.

The woman Orion calls Hope can’t recall a shred of her former life. As he tends to her wounds she slowly begins to unravel the tight seclusion he has wrapped around himself.

She can’t remember her past. He only wants to forget his.

However, the two have more in common with the forces that brought them together than they realize, including the sinister presence that will threaten their very lives.

When their pasts collide, will they survive the future?
 

I sleep on the floor in the bedroom now. I need to be there if she wakes up choking or gasping for air or for any number of other dangerous complications that could arise through the night.As I drift off tonight, something happens. Something new. Almost immediately, I’m dreaming.Dreaming of Hope.Some part of me remembers and knows she’s injured and in a coma—but here in my dream, she is very much awake.Very much alive.Reality and the dream morph together until I can’t quite tell them apart. Soon, the dream is as lifelike as anything.

 
Raeah Wilding (also writes as Allie Juliette) writes sexy, emotionally charged New Adult and Adult Romance.

She can usually be found daydreaming and writing about sexy, heroic, alpha males and strong-willed, intelligent women and plotting ways to make them
fall in love.

Allie is the USA Today Bestselling author of the
Brothers of Ink and Steel series and
the Amazon Bestselling True North series.
 
 
 
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