Book Tour + Giveaway: PAST PRESENCE, A Novel From NICOLE BROSS! @brossypants @RABTBookTours

Mystery
Date Published: April 1, 2019
Publisher: Literary Wanderlust
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Only by looking into the past can Audrey save her future.
Audrey Eames is happy living the wanderer’s life. After a near-death experience in her teens, Audrey can see people’s past lives whenever her skin touches theirs, and afraid of being labeled delusional, she’s never stayed in one place too long or made any deep connections.
So when Audrey’s estranged aunt dies and leaves her the historic Soberly Inn and Public House on the scenic Oregon coast, Audrey wants nothing to do with it. She’s determined to sell the inn and leave town before someone discovers the power she’s been hiding from the world, but clauses in her aunt’s will seem to block her at every turn.
Yet once ensconced in Soberly’s small town life, the people—particularly the inn’s bartender, Kellen Greene—start to grow on her, and she begins to feel that maybe she’s finally found a place of her own. As accepting as the townspeople seem, Audrey fears their reactions—and Kellen’s rejection—and decides to keep her visions a secret. But all is not well in Soberly. Soon after Audrey arrives, people in town start dying in the same manner as in their past lives—but in this lifetime it’s murder. When suspicion starts to fall on Audrey and Kellen, Audrey vows to use her gift to find the murderer and protect the people she loves—before it’s too late.
 

EXCERPT:

“It’s been nice chatting with you, Miss Eames.” The night coach driver offers me his hand, palm up, as I prepare to step down and off the bus. With a smile, I accept—careful not to put any weight onto his fingers, which look swollen and red with age and the decades he’s been gripping the wheel.
He handed a woman, all swirling skirts, and ruffles, off the carriage-and-four. She was laughing at something her mother had said, but before she stepped up the gravel path leading to the doors of the grand estate, flung open to welcome guests to the ball within, she turned to give him a nod and a half-smile.
“Enjoy your evening, Miss.” He returned her nod as the heat crept up under his stiff white collar, but she had already caught up with her mother, and he didn’t think she had heard him.
The way his hand clasps mine is the same. Some habits carry over from one lifetime to the next, as I’ve learned. The vision lingers in my mind even after I pull away and shoulder my duffel. The manor home looked English, and the woman’s dress was definitely late Victorian.
The sun is cracking the horizon, bathing the village of Soberly, Oregon, all twelve streets of it, in a glow that changes from sepia to marigold. The bus pulls away behind me in a cloud of exhaust and fine yellow sand, off to the next tiny hamlet along the coastal highway, leaving me standing in the empty street.
My destination is clearly visible—there is only one hotel here, the sensible, if unoriginally named, Soberly Inn and Public House. Standing one block away, it faces the sea and even from here I can see how the salt spray has faded the once-cobalt blue paint to a dull cornflower over the years. For reasons I don’t yet understand, the Soberly Inn now belongs to me, and I am here to claim it.
I had no idea my Aunt Roz had even owned the inn. The last time I saw her I was an awkward pre- teen, and she was less than twice my age. I sometimes remembered to email her on her birthday, but not, I’m ashamed to say, every year, although she never forgot mine. Yet despite our distant, superficial relationship, she had left this place to me, rather than the wife she left behind when she died of a rapidly progressing cancer ten days ago. Maybe she was an ex-wife now. I had no idea. We weren’t even Facebook friends. The notification of her death had come via her lawyer, not my father, along with the news that, for the first time in my life, I was a property owner. The news had affected me deeply, more so than I expected. Now, looking at Roz’s prize for the first time, the quiet ache in my chest ramps up to a throbbing spasm before fading again.
This was what my carefree aunt gave up her vagabond life for, and now she wanted me to do the same? I stare up at the building, taking note of the aged wooden siding where the paint has curled away in places, the cracked cedar shingles, and the plain-lettered sign swinging from two chains beside the entrance. ‘Shabby’ was the word that came to mind, and not ‘shabby chic,’ either. I could only imagine the interior was just as dusty and unremarkable as the exterior.
“What were you thinking, Roz?” I say under my breath. My feet are still planted in the same place because I don’t know where to go. There isn’t a soul in sight at this time of day, nor are any of the assortment of shops and businesses that line the main street open. I know there will almost certainly be someone at the front desk of the inn, but although I’ve come all this way, I’m not ready to make an appearance there yet, not without knowing what I want to say, something I’d neglected to plan on the long bus ride. I scuff one toe of my battered Chucks in the sand that’s accumulated along the curb, stalling. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the beach, I decide, as I step into the street with the rising sun at my back. The inn is a problem I delegate to Future Audrey. Right-now Audrey is going for a walk along the coast.
***
As it turns out, the only thing four hours of roaming the beach does is add hunger and the intense need to find a bathroom to my problems. Possibly a sunburn as well, judging from the pinkish hue my skin is taking on. I’ve always felt the injustice of not inheriting the platinum blonde or fiery red hair color that usually accompanies my level of fair skin. There’s nothing even remotely exotic or attention-getting about the flat, medium- brown I ended up with. At least I can be thankful it doesn’t frizz in the humidity, otherwise, I’d look like a positive nightmare right now.
The sun is almost directly overhead when I make my way over the last dune to the boardwalk. Although the village’s one cafe is now open and will serve my requirements, I trudge past it to the inn, standing a bit apart from the businesses surrounding it by virtue of its height, the only three-story building in a two-story town.
Faced with two doors, one into the inn itself and one into the pub, I choose the latter. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness, but my stomach reacts to the environment immediately, growling audibly as the scent of fresh-fried fish greets me.
The pub is classic seaside kitsch, decorated with fishing nets and glass buoys, old traps, and a well-worn rowboat suspended upside-down from the ceiling. Maps of the coastline and faded photographs decorate the walls, as well as other assorted nautical ephemera, and together it paints a portrait of the rich coastal history of the town.
I’m still blinking away the daylight, taking this all in, when someone steps into my field of vision.
“Grab a seat wherever you want,” a guy holding a large plastic tub says. He’s clearing empty glasses and plates as he says it. I nod my acknowledgment because the pair of red Beats headphones he’s wearing will certainly drown out any verbal reply. His head is bobbing in time to music only he can hear as he disappears through a door leading to what I assume is the kitchen.
I duck into the washroom first, eliminating one of my problems. The maritime theme continues, with signs for pirates and wenches on the doors, and mirrors framed to look like portholes. Girls can be pirates too, and I don’t see why boys can’t be wenches. Geez, Roz. Sexist much? She’d been an ardent feminist in her early twenties. Had she stopped caring, or was I reading too much into a couple of bathroom signs?
The only table free seats six, so I choose a high stool at the near-vacant bar instead. I’ve arrived right in the middle of the lunch rush, from the looks of it. I still don’t know what to say to anyone here. “Hi, I’m the new owner,” seems arrogant, especially since I have no intention of keeping the place.
A menu appears in front of me, startling me out of my ruminations. Across the polished walnut bar stands a man whose skin is a shade lighter than the wood he’s resting his hands on. His smile widens as he stares at me expectantly.
“Sorry—what?” I shake my head, flustered. Who has teeth that straight, that white? Self-conscious, I half-cover my mouth with the back of my hand. Mine show clear evidence of my two-pot-a-day coffee habit. I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe someone of the same vintage as the decor, but it definitely wasn’t someone younger than me, although maybe only by a couple years.

“Drink?” he repeats, jerking his head at the long row of taps, each with a branded handle. Most of them I’ve never heard of, and I’m not a daytime drinker anyway. “This is a pub,” he adds and winks. The bartender who’s well aware of his good looks. I’m familiar with the type. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it my type, but I’d gone home with enough of them over the years.
“Sweet tea,” I say. “Extra ice.”
“Sure you don’t want a pint? Maybe a cold glass of white?”
I shake my head. “Tea’s fine.”
“G&T? I’ll put lots of ice in it.” He’s polishing up a tumbler, reaching for the bottle of Bombay on the shelf behind him. I roll my eyes, but I can’t keep the side of my mouth from twitching.
“Put that back. I just want the sweet tea. Are you on commission or something?”
“Nah, I just want to card you so I know your name,” he says. Unrepentant, he points to the sign nailed to a pillar that states We ID Anyone Under 25.
“You’re off the mark by a few years, my friend,” I tell him. He’s finally pouring my sweet tea from the soda tap into a massive glass full of ice.
“Bullshit.” As soon as he sets it down in front of me, I’m chugging it back, not breathing until the glass is half-empty. He snags it back and refills it while I wipe my mouth with a cocktail napkin. What I want to do is scoop the ice out and rub it all over my arms and face, which are starting to feel alarmingly hot. From all the sun, I tell myself. Not from the attention of this cocky bartender.
“We ID for all food orders too, you know.”
I lean in close and pause before speaking, making it clear I’m appraising him. “Maybe I’m not hungry.”
“You are. I saw you drinking in the smell of the fryer when you walked in. You got this dreamy smile that said you knew exactly what you wanted. So, let’s see it.” He holds out his hand with a crooked, teasing smile, but I push it away with the menu I haven’t even glanced at. He’s right. I don’t need to look at it at all, but I don’t want to admit that he can read me so well.
“You don’t have to show ID to order food here. You made that up.”
“So what? I can make up the rules if I want.”
“Oh, you must own the place?” I mirror his teasing tone, but I’m watching him closely, seeing how he’ll respond. I expect a smart ass reply in the same vein as our banter, but a shadow crosses his face and the smile slips. Shit. The owner just died, you idiot. As usual, the words spilled out of my mouth before I had a chance to think them through.
“I’m not, actually,” he says.
“I know. I’m sorry, that was stupid of me to say.” I bite my lip and plunge forward. “I’m Audrey. Audrey Eames. Roz’s niece. Umm, I’m the owner, I guess. So, they tell me. For now.” The silence stretches out between us as he takes all this in, frozen in place while I sit there, feeling like an utter moron with my hand outstretched, waiting for him to shake it. I’m just about to withdraw it into my lap when a wide grin cracks his face. He grips my hand so our forearms touch and our elbows rest on the bar, like we’re about to arm-wrestle. I’m drawn forward in the process so we’re almost nose-to-nose.
A gaggle of children ran through the field ahead of her and scrambled over the stile. They were jostling each other and shouting raucously, overjoyed to be free of the classroom for the afternoon. All but one, a small boy whose hand was clasped snugly into hers.
“Look, Miss Dean, a nest. The others missed it.” The boy spoke with a thick country accent as he pointed up at the treetops.
“Good eye, Wil. What sort of bird do you think made it?”
“Something big. A kite, maybe.” She nodded in agreement, and they continued on in companionable silence, following the sounds of laughter ahead.
“You totally played me, Audrey. I thought you were just another tumbleweed. I’m glad you’re not. Kellen Greene. It’s very nice to meet you.” The vision of his past- self fades from my mind, and I wonder what qualities he and the teacher have in common.
“A tumbleweed?” He squeezes my hand before releasing it, the pad of his thumb tracing a line up the side of my index finger like he’s trying to maintain contact up to the last possible second.
“Tourists that roll on through town with the wind, here and gone before you know it. They don’t bring anything with them, and they don’t take anything away either.”
“My bag should have clued you in that I wasn’t just passing through,” I point out, kicking it where it rests at my feet.
“Ahh, but there’s only one place to stay in Soberly,” he nods toward the ceiling and the rooms above, “and it’s full up, at least until Sunday.” Kellen walks over to the door leading into the back and swings it open. “Hey, Ma,” he shouts, drawing the attention of everyone in the pub. “Come meet your new boss.”

About the Author
Nicole Bross is an author from Calgary, Alberta, Canada, where she lives with her husband, two children and one very large orange cat. When she’s not writing or working as the editor of a magazine, she can be found curled up with a book, messing around with her ever-expanding collection of manual typewriters or in the departures lounge of the airport at the beginning of another adventure. Past Presence is her debut novel.
Contact Links
Twitter: @brossypants
 
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Book Tour + Giveaway: HIT ME by PETER J. THOMPSON!@pthompsonbooks @RABTBookTours

Thriller
Date Published: 03/01/2019
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Hitman. Husband. Daddy. Dead man?
Charley Fieldner has everything a man could want: a loving wife, a well-paying job, two great kids, and a beautiful home.
He also has a big secret.
Charley is a hitman with a huge complication—he is his own next target.
The background file contains the sort of details only someone very close to him could know. The suspect list is short but devastating, his wife, father, sister, and best friend. He always thought he could have it all, but the secrets, lies, and betrayals are piling up.
Charley needs time to unravel the mystery behind who wants him dead and why, but time is in short supply. Another killer took the contract. He now has a choice: roll over and die or fight for his life.

EXCERPT:

I step up on the platform as the train pulls into sight. The sun is just starting to rise and it’s still dark. Commuters stand beside the tracks, some strewn out, others in tight clusters. It doesn’t take me long to find my quarry, Alan Silverman. The guy’s exactly where I expected him to be, in a group of commuters at the far end of the platform. He’s easy to spot because first, he is a creature of habit and second, he has a distinctive look.

I’m about average height, five foot nine, but he’s at least a head shorter than I am. In his slick, black Italian suit he looks like an oversized bowling ball with a shiny human head and stubby legs.

The train barrels in and screeches to a halt at the last moment, its brakes squealing and hissing loudly. The commuters bunch up and as the train shudders to a stop they surge toward the doors. I stroll to the far end of the platform and wait in line, well back from Silverman. The doors of the 6:10 inbound to Chicago slide open with a pneumatic whoosh. I move with the crowd as we surge up the few steps and into the train. Silverman turns to the car on the right, as I knew he would.

I follow discreetly behind. He walks halfway up the car and takes an empty seat by the window. The car is already half full and most of the double seats have at least one occupant. The seat next to Silverman is empty and for a moment I consider sitting next to him. What better way to keep track of him and appear innocuous than by planting myself right beside him? But that would be too bold. I work best unnoticed, and, although he probably wouldn’t give me more than a passing glance as I sat down before returning to his paper, it’s not worth taking the chance. I move past him and slide into the seat across the aisle a few rows ahead, making sure I can still see him in my peripheral vision. I don’t even bother looking. The guy’s not going anywhere.

The last few people scurry to find seats as the train starts moving and picks up speed. I slip in my earbuds and settle in for the trip. I have my music on shuffle. The randomness, not knowing what music to expect helps me stay focused on the moment. I close my eyes, lean back in my seat and relax. No need to even think for the next forty-three minutes.

The train starts and stops every few minutes, gathering passengers at stations in Evanston, Davis Avenue, Ravenswood, and Clybourne. Our car soon fills up and the later arrivals have to stand. I mostly keep my eyes shut and focus on the mix. First Wilco, then the Shins, then some electronica. As we pull into Union Station, it’s some bad Gangsta rap I don’t even remember uploading. The train pulls to a stop and everyone rushes out of their seats and herds toward the door. I’d like to hang back, but my seatmate is impatient. He stands and shuffles his belongings around. I take the hint and step into the aisle, even though the doors haven’t opened, and no one is going anywhere yet.

I steal a look back and Silverman is in the aisle, too. We all stand together in a tight scrum. The heady mix of cologne, deodorant soap, sweat, and coffee breath makes me want to gag. We’re much closer together than strangers should ever be. We stand this way for a long minute before the outer doors open and the scrum pushes outward.

Now we are a river, flowing out of the train car, down the steps and into the noisy bustle of the main terminal. The river keeps flowing toward the escalator, which carries us up to street level. I try and slow to let Silverman pass me, but short of dropping down to tie my shoe and risk getting trampled. I’m caught in the flow. Fast food joints and convenience store kiosks line the path. I step off the escalator and duck into one and pretend to scan the headlines of a newspaper. A moment later, Silverman marches past me without a glance. I give him a little space before stepping into the river behind him as we flow toward the street.

The stream of commuters still flows outside as we move along the sidewalk and cross over the Chicago River. The sounds of traffic and the smell of diesel fumes add to the ambience. Now the sun is moving higher and reflecting off the glass of the skyscrapers that line both sides of the street. If I were a tourist, I’d hang back and take in the beauty and energy of the city. But I’m no tourist. I have a job to do. I keep walking.

My job. I consider myself a problem solver. Sometimes the problems are small and require a small
solution, and other times the problems are so big the only solution is drastic. Such is the case with Silverman. Although I don’t know the specifics, Silverman is an attorney, a prominent one. He’s had problems with various groups in the past and isn’t the type who’d win a popularity contest. These aren’t my concerns. I don’t want to know too much about him, good or bad, or it may affect the way I think of my quarry and introduce emotion into what should be a pure business transaction. My employer is an agency that does all the due diligence beforehand. If Silverman’s on the list, he deserves his fate. I have scruples. I trust the Agency to do the research, but I do have my standards.

It’s hard to keep track of Silverman because he is short enough to blend in with the crowd and I’m not tall enough to see over it. No matter. I know where he’s going and how he will get there. I’ve made this same trip four times now—I know what to expect. He works on LaSalle Street, but, by habit, he takes a short-cut through an alley that cuts on a loose diagonal between the two streets, past the trash bins and various service entrances, before connecting back to the main drag. It might save a minute or two, maybe, but it’s part of his daily routine. It’s also the one spot along the way where he is out of the crowd and the most exposed.
Sure, I know where he is going, but I needed to make sure he wouldn’t get sidetracked along the way. Now I know he is on the right path, I want to reach the spot before he does. I adjust my gait and walk a little faster. I weave between the pedestrians and pass Silverman, who is huffing and puffing and doesn’t pay me the slightest attention. I hurry on and, by the time I arrive at the alley, I figure I’m at least half a block ahead of him.

The alley is busier than I hoped. A truck is backed up to a loading dock, delivering supplies, and two young guys are manning their hand trucks while the driver supervises them. A little further on, three Hispanic men stand near a dumpster, smoking cigarettes. One is telling a story, using his hands to sketch out the details, and his buddies laugh. Compared to the street scene this is quiet, but for my purposes, it’s Grand Central Station. I pass the men and turn the curve which leads to LaSalle Street. It’s quieter here. Up on the sidewalk, maybe twenty yards away, the street traffic is a blur of motion. But right here it’s isolated, and this is the place I need to be.

I position myself on the side of the alley and make myself ready. I don’t think he’ll see me until after he turns the corner, and I doubt he’d think twice if he does, but a man standing by himself doing nothing is naturally suspicious. I pull out my cell phone and start an imaginary conversation with myself. Now, I’m perfectly normal and fit in completely.

I’m well into my conversation when Silverman rounds the corner and bobbles into view. He probably hears me talking before he sees me. When he notices me, he swings his head in my direction for maybe a microsecond, long enough to categorize what type of alley life I belong to, and to decide I’m not a threat. Then he is back to his mission. I don’t know why he’s walking but he has plenty of money to take a cab, and the way he is huffing along, he doesn’t seem like he is walking for enjoyment. He must be walking for his health. This strikes me as ironic.

He passes me when I call out his name and take a step toward him.

“Silverman? Alan. Is that you?”

He turns in my direction, a baffled expression creases his face. He stops and gives me the full once over. “Do I know you?”

I take another step forward.

I don’t have the kind of face you’d remember. In fact, there is nothing about me you would find memorable. I’ve been described as doughy, nondescript, a normal kind of guy. I’ve been told I look like an accountant or maybe a truck driver. I’m of average height and average weight. My hair is starting to thin, and I carry a little more around my waistline than I used to, but that’s not unusual for someone in their late thirties. It’s considered ordinary, which I appear to be. And it’s not surprising that he wouldn’t be able to place me, if he ever knew me.

“Alan, remember me? Dick Olson.” I take another step toward him, holding out my hand.

He’s stuck to his spot, but he’s not really buying it. Doesn’t matter. All I need is another few seconds and a few more feet. I keep moving.

“At Gibson’s. You were with Jerry, Jerry Calhoun.”

I’m basically babbling, throwing out names and places I picked up from my research on him. From his expression, I can tell I oversold it. Again, doesn’t matter. This is routine and it will all be over in short order. I am not a big fan of weapons. Guns make too much noise, knives are way too messy. But if you know what you are doing, and I do, hands are all you need. I’m almost within reach.

His hand dips into his pocket and he’s pulling something out. It might be a cell phone, or maybe he wants to give me his wallet. But I don’t think so. The time for subterfuge is over. I lunge toward him.

His hand jerks from the pocket, holding a small can. Mace or pepper spray? I grab for his neck and pull him toward me while I reach for his hand. He gasps. His chest heaves. The guy might have a heart attack before I can kill him.

The spray hits me. Sudden pain. Intense, shattering pain. My eyes tear, my lungs burn, and I can’t breathe. Pain is everywhere. My grip loosens and Silverman twists free. I drop to one knee, but I grab for him again, or at least where I think he is, because I can’t see a thing. I grab at the air and his heavy footsteps pound the pavement, running now. His locomotive breath is so loud it seems to echo off the walls.

I lurch to my feet and head after him. He’s heading toward the street. I have to stop him before he
reaches the safety of the sidewalk. This is a disaster, a royal fuck up and I don’t even want to think about what will happen if I botch this job. He’s running, but even in full panic he’s no runner. I stagger after him. My vision’s blurred, and the pain is just as intense as before, but I force myself to run though I can hardly maintain my balance.

I hear him in front of me as much as I can see him. I’m gaining on him, but even as I bridge the gap between the two of us, the street sounds grow louder still. We are nearly out of the alley and close to the sidewalk. The busy street means safety for Silverman. Surrounded by people, I can’t do a thing, and all he has to do is yell and a crowd will form, police will come, and it’ll all be over. If he makes the street— and he’s almost there—the only thing I can do is slink away.

The truth is, I can’t make it. My lungs are stuffed with hot coals and my vision is shot. He’s too far
ahead. If I had a gun I might shoot, but I’d surely miss and only make matters worse. I keep moving but I already know it’s too late. I blink back the tears and I get a cloudy look at what’s ahead. He’s out of the alley and on the sidewalk now. I’ve lost.

Silverman jerks his head back for a look at me. I can’t see his expression, but I’m guessing it’s one of joy, or relief, or maybe even anger. Or is it still panic, and fear? But he turns again and keeps running, bumping into people but still running, past the sidewalk and right into the street.

A screech of brakes.

A loud thud.

A chorus of yells, screams and gasps break through the background hubbub. I slow to a walk, cross the sidewalk and join the crowd forming around the scene.

A lady lets out a wail of lament. The taxi driver leaps from his cab, his hands aflutter. In his thick
Pakistani accent and high voice, he tells the crowd it’s not his fault. The crowd isn’t listening, their eyes are all on the broken body nearly underneath the wheels.

“Call an ambulance!” a woman yells.

“Too late for that,” someone else says.

I push through the gapers for a good look. The last voice was right. Blood is everywhere, and Silverman is not my problem anymore. The lady lets out a wail again, and I try not to smile with relief. I can’t believe my good luck.

Meet The Author:

peterthompsonfull2
Peter Thompson grew up on the east side of Chicago, in the shadow of the steel mills where the air was sooty and smelled of sulfur. His life wasn’t always so gritty, but the grit and realism finds its way into his thrillers. He has always loved stories of every kind, and one of his joys is finding a way to get inside character’s heads, seeing the world as they see it and feeling their triumphs, pain, and fear. He visualizes his characters when he writes, and they are larger than life in the big screen of his imagination.
Before pursuing his passion and becoming a full-time author, he tried his hand at everything from factory work, breaking cement in a construction crew, running his own pizza shop, and he was a well-regarded presence in the mortgage industry for nearly thirty years. When he isn’t writing, Peter loves, spicy food, live music, and exciting and thought-provoking books and movies. He is a fitness buff who loves to spend time with his grown sons and is looking forward to traveling the world and seeking adventures with his lovely partner.
To get in touch, find out more about future projects, please stop by authorpeterthompson.com. Sign up for his reading list to find out about new releases and receive free perks.
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Book Blitz: THREE STAR ISLAND by KAT CAULBERG is Now LIVE!@kat_c_writes @XpressoTours

Three Star Island
Kat Caulberg
Published by: Soul Mate Publishing
Publication date: April 10th 2019
Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance, Time-Travel

Stepping through a time portal into 1716, historian Penny Saunders didn’t expect to get stranded in the past. Five years later, now a pariah to the townsfolk of Three Star Island, she endures solitude and ridicule until a hurricane tosses a dangerous castaway onto her shores.

William Payne’s history precedes him. Pirate, outlaw, and ruthless captain, he’s a monster among men. . . or so it seems. Desperately seeking redemption for his blood-soaked past, he upends Penny’s world by showing her a passion she’s never experienced.

But time is closing in on them; the governor of the Carolinas has rescinded his pirates’ pardon, the locals are growing suspicious of Penny’s new houseguest, and she can’t keep her secrets from William forever. When everything falls apart, she must use both wits and weapons against lawmen and pirates alike to save the one man who would tear down the world for her.

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EXCERPT:

Penelope stood in the crater the time portal had sliced into the tree line. Sheared-off branches sprouted new growth overhead, and grass choked the scorched ground, concealing most of the sand that had been fused into glass globules by the rift. Frowning, she dislodged one of the spheres with the tip of her shoe and kicked it into the dunes. This gate hadn’t opened in months.

Two days prior, a hurricane had ravaged Three Star. Alone on the southern tip of the island, Penny had ridden out the storm in her farmhouse while gales ripped up centuries-old live oaks by their roots and tossed debris through the walls of her outbuildings. She’d seen a time gate’s flicker in the immediate aftermath half a mile from where she now stood on the beach, but there had been no reason to dash out into the dwindling rain in hopes of reaching it before it shut.

None of them would let her go home again.

Grasping her skirts in one hand, she made her way through the oat grass to ascertain what the storm had offered her in compensation. The summer of 1721 had been a blistering one, providing scarcely any rain to offset the heat. With few thunderstorms of much note, ships in the area had enjoyed a season of calm, returning to port with full holds and happy sailors, and Penny’s larder suffered for it. Without wreckage to pick through, she’d survived on meager rations from her garden and the bones of a sloop that ran aground on the shoals to the south.

Yesterday threw one more long, hard bout of rain at the island, keeping her inside until dusk. Now, with the sun a few hours into the sky, she hurried to collect her share of the shattered remains of dead men’s fortunes. This time, she was determined it wouldn’t bother her. She tucked a short strand of hair behind her ear, knuckled her glasses higher, and proceeded to the shore.

The sea mirrored the heavens, flat and tranquil. Whitecaps lapped the sand, pulling back to reveal a stripe of broken shells stretching as far as she could see. Currents funneled past the rock barrier jutting out into the water, and a smattering of planks and splintered crates gathered on the sand bars the rising tide would soon submerge.

Penny stooped to dip her fingers into a mountain of sea foam. Lacework-white and delicate, it dissolved at her touch. A flicker of movement caught her eye. Slanting toward the beach on a downdraft, a laughing gull shrieked its peculiar, broken cry and swooped over a figure lying in the surf.

Her stomach dropped. The waves had disgorged a body.

Straightening, she fidgeted with her apron strings. The tide was rising. Soon, the ocean would reclaim the life it had taken, leaving no trace of the drowned man behind. Here, he was alone and unknown. Somewhere else, however, he would be an empty seat at a hearth, a bed half-filled, a promise unkept. Like her, he could never go home again.

Penelope sighed. Unable to bury him, she could at least bear witness to his return to the sea. Keeping close to the water, she trudged toward him.

She stopped when his arm moved. It was a tiny motion she could’ve mistaken for a trick of the wind, his sleeve toyed with by the breeze, yet when his fist clenched the sand, she was certain.

He was alive.

“Son of a . . .”


Author Bio:

For as long as she can remember, Kat Caulberg has been obsessed with history and the paranormal. Somewhat to the dismay of her parents, her interests led her into both museums and graveyards as a child, a trend which has continued into her adulthood. This has influenced her reading tastes and her writing, whether it be a good ghost story, thrilling tales of time-travel, or devouring endless volumes of ancient warfare.

She signed a contract with Soul Mate Publishing in 2018 for her first novel, Three Star Island, a time-travel story set in 1721. She enjoys writing strong, quirky heroines, and has a weakness for cheeky heroes who have as much compassion as they have flaws.

Kat currently lives in North Carolina with her Englishman and a few cats.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

 

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Book Blitz + Giveaway: CAUGHT IN THE STORM,A Romantic Suspense Novel from RACHAEL BROWNELL is Now LIVE!@AuthorRachaelB @XpressoTours

Caught in the Storm
Rachael Brownell
Publication date: April 9th 2019
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense

Love can be blinding and by the time the truth shines through, it’s too late to escape.
Fame.

Fortune.

Success.Is that too much to ask?All I need is to catch a break. To snag the attention of someone important. Someone who can help make my career everything I want it to be.

Joseph was that man. Until the night the lights went out and I left with someone else. Someone who stole my breath and made me want for things I’d never considered before.

I should have known better than to trust a stranger. Especially one of his stature and class. Money means power and power means control.

Over my heart.

My career.

My entire life.

My dreams died the moment I agreed to his terms and a new chapter in my life began. I was blinded by my love for him and thought nothing would ever change the way I felt.

Then I uncovered the truth about him. About the kind of man he really was and the secrets he paid good money to keep hidden from everyone.

Now I’m trapped, with no way out.

Thank you so much for taking the time to consider my book. If you have questions or would like further information, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I look forward to hearing back from you soon.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

“I don’t get you, Johnathan. You’re still a mystery to me, but I must admit, I like it. I like not knowing what will happen next. It’s exciting.”

Leaning across the table and taking her hands in mine, I kiss each of them and then whisper so only she can hear.

“And I like that the sound of your voice just turned me on. We’re going to need another bottle of wine before I can stand up from the table thanks to your dirty remarks, my love.”

A fierce blush spreads across Amelia’s cheeks, and a giggle escapes her. She covers her mouth, but it’s loud, and a few tables close to us turn in our direction.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I was just thinking about your little predicament, and I couldn’t help but laugh.”

“Yeah, well,” I start, releasing one hand and reaching under the table. When my hand meets silk, her laugh comes to an abrupt halt. “Two can play at that game.”

The challenge has been laid on the table, and she’s not backing down, uncrossing her legs for me and scooting closer.

“If that’s how you want to play—”

Amelia’s words are interrupted by a camera flash. I knew things were too good to be true. There are three reporters in the lobby taking pictures as Charles attempts to hold them back.

They’ve killed my hard-on, but that also means we can leave now.

 

Author Bio:

An award-winning romance author, Rachael is a midwest girl (yes, they say she has an accent but no, she doesn’t hear it) who loves to create amazing stories that tug at your heart strings. Keep your tissues handy.

When she’s not writing, you can find her on the golf course in the summer or cuddled up with a cup of coffee and her Kindle in the winter.

To keep up with what Rachael is doing at the moment, follow her on social media (IG is her fav) or sign up for her newsletter. bit.ly/2KDE5dG

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Review Blast: SNITCHES GET STITCHES( Bear Bottom MC #8 ) by USA Today Bestselling Author LANI LYNN VALE!@LaniLynnVale @Danichez75

 

SNITCHES GET STITCHES BC

Good vs Bad.

Light vs Dark.

Right vs Wrong.

There are always two sides to every coin.

Josiah ‘Liner’ Paldecki knew the moment he laid
eyes on her that there was something different about her. Something special.
Something so unique that it practically poleaxed him the moment that their eyes
met.

Except, the next time he saw her, it was like
she was a different woman altogether. There was a blankness to her eyes that
concerned him. An air of menace about her that honestly scared him to death.
He’s more than man enough to admit it.

At first, Liner thinks it’s because she’s
bi-polar, or possibly psychopathic.

Then he realizes the truth.

That there isn’t a single person that exhibits
such different personalities, but two.

Two identical twin sisters, both completely
different, yet exactly the same.

One with a soul, and one without.

One that has his heart, and one that only wants
to destroy it.

AVAILABLE NOW  

Amazon | Amazon AU | Amazon CA | Amazon UK | Kobo | Nook | Apple

T1_SGS Lani Lynn Vale

♥♥♥REVIEW♥♥♥

Well she has done it again; every book blows me away. LLV has excelled in this one, one warning before you start reading get the tissues out, as once tears start it is inconvenient to stop reading as search for tissues.
This is about Liner who is a brother in the MC.  One day at Tara’s house while keeping Rome company so he could have quality time with Matias who was very ill. Liner thought Tara had a personality transplant and so he really looked at Tara and thought she was a different person especially allowing Rome some quality time with his son and not being difficult.

Then later day when he sees her crying through the bedroom window from his patio next door. Liner is struck so much by it, and he realises they must be twins.
Theodora has been a victim her whole life because of her family. When they meet for the first time both are struck with something that makes them immediately comfortable with each other and Liner manages to get Theo to confide in him.

This is in part heartbreaking the way Theo has treated by her family. Then after meeting Liner Theo begins to hope, she has a future she can look forward too.
This is Lani Lynn Vale at her best pulling you into the story and controlling your emotions as you experience what Theo and Liner begin to feel.

This for me is a six-star read I loved it and I want in Audio so I can enjoy it again. This is a keeper and on my reread shelf.

gold-stargold-stargold-stargold-stargold-stargold-star
T5_SGS Lani Lynn Vale



Meet Lani Lynn Vale

LaniLynnVale-225x300

Lani Lynn Vale is a
USA Today Bestselling Author of over thirty titles. She is married with three
children, two dogs, two cats, a donkey, and a couple (a couple also meaning
over twenty) chickens.
 

When she’s not
writing, you can find her curled up in her favorite chair reading.

Lani is married with
three children and lives in the Great State of Texas.

 
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | BookBub

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Book Blitz + Giveaway: SEER, A Paranormal Romance From HETTIE IVERS is Now LIVE! @hettie_ivers @XpressoTours

Seer
Hettie Ivers
Publication date: April 7th 2019
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance

Ten years ago, seers across the globe were wiped out, thrusting the supernatural world into figurative darkness.

When word spreads that the first new seer in a decade has been found, powerful forces will hunt her.

The dead will unite to defend her.

And a repressed sadist werelock will abandon his century-long vow of celibacy to claim her as his own.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

LAUREN

He cleared his throat. “I want to ask a favor of you.”

Here we go. He suddenly looked nervous, which made me nervous. I fiddled with the strap of my bag, readjusting it on my shoulder. “So ask it.”

“I want you to stay away from the man you walked home with this afternoon.”

Of all the everloving—“You mean Michael?”

He nodded slowly. “He isn’t who he seems.”

“I only just met him today. We share a class.” Why was I on the defensive explaining myself? “With all due respect, it’s none of your business who I spend my time with.”

“I know,” he acceded after a pause, his jaw tightening. His hand clenched into a fist at his side.

He wanted it to be his business. The confirmation sent an unwanted thrill through me. I squashed it. He was moving away. He thought he was too old for me.

I should’ve just said goodbye to him and entered my suite then, but I didn’t want my time with Kai to be over—forever. Plus, I wanted to see how far I could push his jealousy buttons.

“There a particular reason you want me to stay away from Michael? Something you know about him you’d care to share?”

He hesitated before saying, “Michael works for someone I know. Someone I don’t trust.”

This was getting weird. Go inside, Lauren. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Nothing on the surface. But I believe you understand more than most that life is greater than what we often see on the surface.”

What did that mean? A nervous, scornful chuckle escaped me. “Next you’re gonna tell me that you and Michael are rival international spies, I’ll bet. Wait, let me guess: you’re here on a high-stakes espionage mission that somehow involves taking turns playing mind games with an unsuspecting college student.”

The mocking smirk slipped from my lips when the light above us began flickering like crazy again—as if Casper was trying to tell me something.

Kai spared an exasperated glare at the ceiling before returning his gaze to me and lecturing, “Lauren, there are limits to what spirits can know. Much like the living, spirits see what they want to see, fear what they want to fear. Always trust your own instincts and your own analysis. Otherwise, your abilities will prove worthless to you in life.”

My cheeks flooded with heat at his sharp—and most unexpected—words. My throat felt irrationally tight.

Kai wasn’t the first to call me out on my fledgling supernormal awareness. My grandmother, of course, along with her close group of seer friends, had known. A few random strangers had picked up on something different about me and had made comments over the years. Heck, a wacky gypsy woman had even approached my mom in the grocery store once when I was six and had tried to buy me off her for the future potential the woman had glimpsed in me. But somehow Kai knowing about my abilities and thinking me ill-equipped to navigate them felt humiliating.

I’d never asked for this. Never wanted it. It wasn’t my fault I’d inherited it—and that there were no great seers left alive to teach me how to use it.

But beyond the initial, knee-jerk embarrassment I felt at Kai possibly knowing my secret, there was also fear. Every muscle in my body had tightened with it. Because more than anything else, the one rule Granny Nina and my mother had always instilled in me was that it was dangerous for the wrong people to find out about my abilities.

Who constituted “the wrong people” was something Granny Nina had never been clear about, though. Which made it near impossible to gauge whether Kai was among them. Based on the frantic flickering and increased humming of the light bulb above, Casper sure seemed to have determined Kai was a danger to me.

“I’m losing studying time,” I made myself say. “I—I gotta go.”

I heard Kai sigh my name and then curse as I spun toward the door to make my escape. I didn’t even get the key up to the lock this time before he was on me, grabbing me from behind and turning me in his arms. Divested of my bag and keys so fast it was as if they’d vanished, I felt my feet come off the ground and my back hit the door. In a flash, it registered that he was actually finally going to kiss me!

No one had ever swept me off my feet to kiss me before. I was so overcome by the sensation of his strong hands digging into my ass and sliding down the backs of my thighs as he maneuvered my legs around his waist that I didn’t have time to get nervous as his mouth descended.

His irises were neither blue nor brown but a dynamic, coalescing mix of the two as they captured my gaze. His lips brushed once. Then he paused for half a breath and pulled back until the tip of his nose was barely touching mine.

No way were we stopping this time.

My fingers slipped into the thick, soft hair at the back of his head, my nails raking against his scalp, pulling him closer as I leveraged my upper back against the door and pressed myself into him.

He reacted by growling and squeezing my ass hard enough to leave bruises before grinding his erection so forcefully into my center I thought I might fly apart on the spot.

At my gasp, his tongue filled my mouth, stroking deeply, claiming it completely.

And I was lost.

My arms wound about his neck and my thighs seized around his waist, my pelvis arching and rocking into him, seeking as much delicious friction as I could get as his tongue plundered my mouth and his hands punished my ass, squeezing and rolling the fleshy cheeks in his powerful grip like he was angry with them—with me.

I couldn’t bring myself to care what he might be so angry about. I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything for that matter—except for how good he felt devouring me.

I sucked hard on his tongue as it stroked inside my mouth, letting him know exactly what I wanted. Needed.

Boy, did I need it. Suddenly, I needed to feel the full breadth of him pushing inside me where I was so wet and desperately empty, the full weight of his body bearing down on me, every ounce of his strength crushing me, every inch of him filling me. And I needed it now like I needed air—like I’d never needed anything before.

The current of energy flowing between us was crazy. It felt just like … well, magic.

It was like the buzz of energy I often felt in my hands when I awoke in the middle of the night. Like the sudden push of otherworldly clarity I felt whenever I was about to get a strong vision or message.

And then it happened. Foreign images—disjointed at first, then more coherent—began flashing through my mind’s eye. Images that made my blood run cold and my state of arousal screech to a halt.

They were visions of a little white puppy being attacked by a pack of full-grown dogs. No, not dogs—wolves. Vicious adult wolves were tearing a little baby wolf apart.

Literally, tearing him apart. His bones were being crushed between their much larger jaws. His fur ripped open, his limbs torn asunder, his blood and innards splattered onto the otherwise pristine snow-covered ground as his shrill caterwauls of pain met the merciless growls of his attackers.

I could hear the horrific sounds as clearly as if I was there, witnessing it.

For a moment, it felt like I was. Instinctively, I knew this wasn’t a vision of the future I was seeing. It was the past.

The torturous attack seemed to go on forever. And yet it was all over so fast—the pack of wolves leaving the broken white wolf pup to die alone on the frozen ground.

Only he didn’t—because he couldn’t die for some reason.

He couldn’t die.

It made no sense, yet somehow I knew that gruesome scene wasn’t the first or last time a pack of wolves had tried to end that poor little white wolf.

I was jolted back to present reality when Kai growled against my mouth and abruptly dropped me. Unable to regain my footing quickly enough, my back slid down the door and my ass collided with the hard floor—just as the light bulb flickering and humming above burst, sending shards of glass raining down.

Pale blue eyes were glaring down at me in disbelief. No, it was worse than that. Kai’s eyes were accusing, regarding me like I was some kind of a monster—like I’d just committed the most unspeakable sin.

Crap. What had I done? Sometimes I got so caught up in visions I lost track of what was happening in the present. I’d clearly done something to offend him. Then I noticed a tinge of blood staining his lip.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to … bite … you?” My statement of apology ended as a question when I tasted blood in my own mouth and felt the sting from a fresh gash as I ran my tongue over my lower lip.

I was the one bleeding. He’d bitten me.

“Have to go.” His tone was emotionless, his piercing eyes dazed. “You won’t see me again.”

KAI

A few months ago, I could’ve easily dismissed Lauren’s vision in the hallway as false retrocognition. Memories of my formative years in wolf form had always been hazy at best, consisting of nothing but a blur of endless incomprehensible pain, deep-seated shame, pervasive loneliness, and sorrow.

They were my wolf’s memories—not mine.

Since finding my human form at sixteen, I’d largely blocked out all years prior—for over four centuries. But ever since first encountering the little seer nine weeks ago, strange memories—each one more disturbing than the last—had begun to surface.

Yet nothing I’d remembered on my own in recent weeks had prepared me for the graphic vision of my past that I’d just unwittingly glimpsed through Lauren’s mind.

It couldn’t be real. I never would’ve survived.

Werewolves were born in human form, and most shifted into wolves for the first time upon reaching puberty. But I was the great anomaly of my species—even within my werelock subspecies. A freak among freaks. As far as I knew, I had been born in wolf form—not human form as all others of my species were.

I had no recollection of my parents. My earliest memories were of being alone in a frozen world, craving contact and connection—and of enduring agony far worse than the isolation and rejection I’d sought to vanquish each time I’d encountered other beings and attempted to connect with them.

I remembered being ostracized as a pup. I remembered being repeatedly mauled within an inch of my life by the very packs I’d sought acceptance from. But Lauren’s vision had presented a bird’s-eye view into one of those brutal attacks that was simply unfathomable. It couldn’t possibly have happened that way. Despite the shocking clarity of her vision, it must’ve been distorted somehow—exaggerated by her emotional response to what she was witnessing.

I’m in charge.

I’m in control.

With each step I took, I fought my inner wolf. With every step that took me deeper into the woods behind Lauren’s dormitory—closer to the scent of Mike Salvatella—it became harder to subvert my inner animal and maintain that control.

His scent was all over her, the arctic beast within me raged. He touched what’s ours!

I sensed my eyes shifting, my claws extending. I was losing control already. Lately, it had been happening too quickly, and far too frequently. With each passing day, my human self remained in the driver’s seat less and less. I could no longer deny the reality I was facing: I was devolving—regressing to my original, primal self. After four centuries of suppression, my true monster nature was reemerging, and he was swiftly regaining control.

It had started nine weeks ago—the moment I’d first scented Lauren. For the past one hundred and eight years since my mate Maribel’s passing, I’d been celibate. After one whiff of the human seer, my wolf had demanded we mount her on the spot. That we devour her utterly.

I’d denied him. Since then, my thoughts had been overrun by the beast’s need to taste the seer’s blood, to tear into her throat and unleash our venom into her bloodstream as our seed flooded her womb. Day and night, he howled for her blood and sex, clawing at me to claim her. It was as if I were sixteen again, fighting the seemingly insurmountable battle to subjugate my dominant wolf nature and accept my new and awkward human form.

Mike came into view. He was waiting for me in the clearing up ahead, leaning against a tree, a lazy grin on his face.

Kill him! Eliminate the threat.

I pushed my wolf down, forcing his claws to retract as I reminded him—and myself—that no one could claim a seer. She wasn’t ours. We couldn’t protect her by attempting to lay claim to her. Staying calm and acting smart about this was the only way to safeguard Lauren.

Mike greeted me with a smug raised brow. “That was quite an intense first kiss for a guy long renowned for the nickname ‘pack priest.’ ”

I snapped in an instant, my eyes shifting, my claws coming back out. “Stay out of her head.”

“Easy.” He held his palms up. “Wasn’t in it. If you don’t know by now that I can keep tabs on people without listening to their thoughts, then your boy Kaleb wasn’t doing his job very well.”

His dig at Kaleb, my Reinoso pack’s deceased head of security detail, did nothing to cool my beast’s ire. Mike served Kaleb’s role within his own pack—the Salvatella pack. While it was a critical role within any pack, it was a tedious task that should’ve been beneath Mike, given his birthright. Many of us had assumed for years that it was a role Mike’s former Alpha and late second cousin, Gabriel Salvatella, had forced upon him. Yet now, with Gabe gone, I wondered if it wasn’t more of a choice Mike had made for himself—in an attempt to retain behind-the-scenes control over everything involving his own pack as well as their rivals. Mike had always been far more powerful and cunning than he preferred to let on.

Still, he was also young and foolish—much like his new Alpha, Raul. Because his next jab went too far.

“Maybe it was a good thing Maribel took Kaleb out before she left the ether, huh?”

Mike’s bloody, cleanly severed left arm was in my grasp before either of us had processed what my wolf had done.


Author Bio:

Hettie Ivers is an accidental romance author who likes to escape the stress of her workweek with a good dirty book—preferably one that’s also funny. Her current career does not allow much time for creative smut writing, but she loves to write after hours and on weekends and strives to publish one to two books per year, as life permits.

To learn more about Hettie and the books she has written, please feel free to visit her website at http://www.hettieivers.com, sign up for her Newsletter, friend her on Facebook, or join her Facebook Group to keep in touch.

Please feel free to follow/connect with Hettie via any of these platforms as well:

Website / Goodreads / Facebook Page / Facebook Group / Twitter / Instagram / Bookbub / Amazon

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 $100 Amazon gift card
a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Release Blitz: KINGS HORSES ( Savage Falls Duet Book 2 ) by LANA SKY is Now LIVE!@rrrpromotion @readreviewrpt @lanasky101

KINGS HORSES BY LANA SKY

Series: Savage Falls Duet; Book 2

Genre: Dark Romance


AMAZON 

US | UK | CA | AU
 
 
savage falls
The harder they fall …
 
Ten years ago, Snowy Hollings betrayed the love of her life …
Or did she?
Blake Lorenz has finally broken the Hollings heiress but revenge doesn’t taste quite as sweet as he’d hoped. And as the murky depths of his past begin to come to light, the more he’s forced to realize that he may have made a grave mistake. 
 
… the more brutal the redemption.
 
Destitute and disillusioned, Snowy is trying her best to piece her broken heart back together. But Blake isn’t the only man on her trail, desperate to claim her.
 
No good deed goes unpunished, after all.
 
And the truth has a way of destroying even the most resilient of hearts …
 
Also Available for 99 cents!

 

King’s Men; Book 1

 
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About the Author
 
Lana Sky is a quirky writer from the US who dabbles in dark, paranormal and contemporary romance. Her stories aren’t always typical, contain a little something for everyone.
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Release Boost: THE MACHINE (Redtails Hockey ) by New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author STEPHANIE JULIAN is Now Available!@StephanieJulian

 

The Machine by Stephanie Julian is available now!
He’s cool as ice and hot AF…

Amazon https://amzn.to/2BKyaBA
Applehttps://apple.co/2NfzzEV
Nookhttp://bit.ly/2TZW0jU
Kobo http://bit.ly/2BLjDFP

He’s cool as ice and hot AF.

Jake Mozik has fought his way back from a possible career-ending injury and has returned to the Redtails focused and ready to reclaim his former glory as half of the best defensive duo in the league. But his attraction to the fierce Faith is unexpected and distracting.

Faith doesn’t usually fall for overly confident, uber sexy jocks. But when she does, apparently she falls pretty damn hard. Jake is so not her type. Or so she thinks. Until he shows up to volunteer at the alternative school where she works and she sees a different side of the normally cocky athlete. He’s kind and patient and— Damn it, she is not falling for this guy. She’s rebuilding her life after a near-fatal accident and there’s no room for a man.

Jake is determined to make room in Faith’s life. And once he sets his mind on something, he doesn’t let go until he gets what he wants. And he wants it all…

About the Author:

Stephanie Julian is a New York Times and USA Today best seller who writes sophisticated, sultry romance for adventurous readers.

Her books include sexy heroes (sometimes two!), smart heroines and emotionally engaging love stories. Her series include the best-selling Salon Games, Indecent and Magical Seduction.

Stephanie is a slow runner, a reluctant cook, a lover of all things Joss, JJ and Disney. She’s happily married to a Springsteen fanatic and is the mother of two sons who introduced her to the joys of Slipknot, Warped Tour and never-ending headaches.

Connect with Stephanie!

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/author.StephanieJulian/
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2M2Yj0J
Twitter: https://twitter.com/StephanieJulian
Newsletter: https://stephaniejulian.com/
Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2M4vd0R

Release Blitz: MY BEST FRIEND’S MARDI GRAS WEDDING ( Boys of the Bayou Series ) by New York Times Bestselling Author ERIN NICHOLAS!@ErinNicholas

 

BBFMW - RB banner

 

My Best Friend’s Mardi Gras Wedding, an all-new sexy standalone in the Boys of the Bayou series from New York Times bestselling author Erin Nicholas, is available now!

MyBestFriendsMardiGrasWedding300

 

Josh Landry is one of the hottest bartenders in New Orleans. He’s shown many a female tourist that things are definitely big and easy down here.

And he’s now been celibate for a year. Because he finally met her.

Yes, her. The One.

But, after nothing more than a hot goodnight kiss and a promise to meet up again next year if they’re both still interested, she went home to Iowa.

It’s been a long year.

But now it’s Mardi Gras again and he’s ready for his happily ever after.

If she shows up.

***

Oh, she shows up. For her best friend’s wedding.

But Tori is a terrible bridesmaid because all she can think about is her knight-in-shining-Mardi-Gras-beads from last year.

Well, and because she accidentally lays a hot kiss on her BFF.

Aka, the groom.

Unfortunately, no one believes that it was a case of mistaken identity. So, now she has to convince everyone she has no intention of ruining the wedding. She’s going to need a crazy-about-her boyfriend ASAP. Even if he’s just faking it.

Well there’s only one other person she knows in Louisiana…

Josh is all in. In fact, he’s thrilled. And he’s not faking anything.

But the groom isn’t faking his sudden case of cold feet either.

And now Tori might have a choice to make.

BBFMW - AN

Download your copy today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2UBLtPk

AppleBooks: https://apple.co/2VkWIZ4

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/MardiGrasErin

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Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2WWEVIT

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2BRrdPo

About Erin Nicholas

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Erin Nicholas has been writing romances almost as long as she’s been reading them. To date, she’s written over thirty sexy, contemporary novels that have been described as “toe-curling,” “enchanting,” “steamy,” and “fun.” She adores reluctant heroes, imperfect heroines, and happily ever afters.

Erin lives in the Midwest, where she enjoys spending time with her husband (who only wants to read the sex scenes in her books), her kids (who will never read the sex scenes in her books), and her family and friends (who claim to be “shocked” by the sex scenes in her books).

Connect with Erin

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Release Blitz: CHASING VENGEANCE (A Redemption Harbor Series ) by New York Times Bestselling Author KATIE REUS!@katiereus @InkslingerPR

We are thrilled to be bringing you the release of CHASING VENGEANCE by New York Times bestselling author Katie Reus. CHASING VENGEANCE is the latest book in the Redemption Harbor romantic suspense series – be sure to grab your copy today!

 

About CHASING VENGEANCE

From USA Today bestselling author Katie Reus comes the final story in the explosive Redemption Harbor series where sparks fly and so do bullets…

Wanting her means putting a target on her back…

Layla’s taste in men runs toward the epic side of awful. With one murderous ex-fiancé already behind her, she’s attempting to start over in Redemption Harbor with the help of her bestie, Nova. And wine. Lots of wine. The very thing that helps her make another epic mistake—trying to kiss Xavier, one of her newest friends. So what if he’s sexy, funny, and has completely taken over her fantasies? Relationships and Layla don’t mix. And Xavier is clearly not interested anyway.

But it’s too late to walk away…

Any good hitman has no business forging a personal life…no matter how great the temptation. And Xavier is an exceptionally good hitman, with a long list of enemies. Even if Layla could somehow look past his profession, he’d never put her in jeopardy. But everyone has their breaking point—and when Layla accepts a date with someone else, Xavier’s possessiveness is unleashed. The greater the risk, the sweeter the reward…until Xavier’s sweet Layla is used against him by someone from his past. Now he’ll do whatever it takes to protect her from the enemy hunting her from the shadows.

Add CHASING VENGEANCE to your Goodreads TBR!

Get your copy of CHASING VENGEANCE today!
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About KATIE REUS


Katie Reus is the New York Times, USA Today, and IndieReader bestselling author of the Red Stone Security series, the Moon Shifter series and the Deadly Ops series. She fell in love with romance at a young age thanks to books she pilfered from her mom’s stash. Years later she loves reading romance almost as much as she loves writing it.

However, she didn’t always know she wanted to be a writer. After changing majors many times, she finally graduated summa cum laude with a degree in psychology. Not long after that she discovered a new love. Writing. She now spends her days writing dark paranormal romance and sexy romantic suspense. Her book Avenger’s Heat recently won the Georgia RWA Maggie Award for Excellence in the fantasy/paranormal category.

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