Daily Archives: 16/10/2015

BLOG TOUR – Cherished by You by Steph Nuss

 Title: Cherished by You
(Love in the City #4)
Author: Steph Nuss

Release Date: Oct 7, 2015
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“Move in with me,” he said. 

Being cherished is how Tessa Wilder always imagined falling in love. But for years, she’s always gone for the wrong guys. Now that she’s fallen for one of the good ones, she fears rejection.

“I can’t,” she replied.

Justin Jameson quit looking for a woman after being used so many times for his brains. A bit of an introvert and completely oblivious to women’s advances, he can’t even see that his friend cherishes everything about him.

When Tessa needs a place to stay, Justin’s the first to offer her a room. Hearts are opened; feelings are ventured. They’ll finally know what it’s like to be cherished in the city until one moment threatens the relationship they’ve built.

“I can’t lose you.”

“I can’t believe you agreed to live with a woman,” Cash said, sitting down on the couch in my living room with a beer in his hand.
It was Saturday afternoon, and most of the gang was over at my place, waiting for Tessa and her brother to arrive so we could help move all of her stuff in. Maverick and Harper were at home with their baby girl, Seghen, and Paige had a work function with a client.
I really couldn’t believe it either. I’d never had a roommate before who wasn’t some sort of family member, but I knew I didn’t want Tessa living in some dilapidated hole in Grand Concourse again. Just hearing her talk about growing up there pissed me off.
“Living with a woman isn’t so bad,” Carter stated proudly, with his arm slung over Elly’s shoulder. “They make the place smell good. They’re nice to look at.”
“They cook,” Fletcher added, rubbing Bayler’s thigh. They weren’t living together yet, but they stayed together enough that he enjoyed the benefits of Bayler’s excellent cooking skills.
“Not all of them cook,” Carter retorted, nodding his head toward his wife.
“Hey!” Elly exclaimed, smacking him in the stomach. “I’m cooking your baby right now.”
The room filled with laughter as I paced over to the window and looked down at the sidewalk. I was nervous because I wasn’t sure whether or not Tessa would like living with me. I’d had the place cleaned twice this week in anticipation of her arrival.
“But Tessa loves cooking,” Elly continued, smiling up at me. “You can finally stop eating out every night.”
I scoffed, glancing over my shoulder at her. “I don’t eat out every night.”
Bayler laughed. “All you have in your fridge are takeout boxes and condiments.”
“And beer!” Carter said, clinking his bottle with Fletcher’s.
“Ladies,” Fletcher stated, shaking his head at the women. “Jameson has the necessities. Lay off him.”
“Tessa is going to freak when she sees the fridge,” Elly said, laughing along with Bayler.
I turned to face the gang as anxiety tumbled in my stomach. “What do you mean? Why would she freak out?”
“Because Tessa enjoys cooking,” Bayler explained.
“Yeah,” Elly said, nodding. “She’s used to having a stocked kitchen, especially since she’s cooked for her and her brother most of her life.”
Now I felt bad about not going grocery shopping. The truth was, I did order takeout often, only because it was easier than attempting to cook a meal. I’d grown up with either a maid cooking for me or my grandma, but no matter how many times Janice Jameson tried to teach me how to cook, the meal never turned out the way she made it.  
“You guys can go grocery shopping later,” Cash said, running through the television channels. “That way she can pick out whatever the hell she wants.”
“Maybe she’ll even teach you how to cook,” Elly teased, nudging my arm.
“Yeah,” Bayler continued, pointing her beer bottle at me. “Every guy should know how to cook. Women love a home-cooked meal they don’t have to make themselves.”
“I’m not trying to find a woman,” I stated, furrowing my brows.
The gang laughed at my candid response, despite the fact that it was true. I’d practically given up on finding a good woman during my college years. The girls I seemed to attract back then only wanted my help passing a class. The only date I’d been on since was a few years ago when my grandma set me up with her neighbor, Elly. The chemistry wasn’t there, so we became friends instead, which was perfectly fine with me. She was still in love with Carter, and I’d been a loner most of my life. When Carter moved back to New York, he and Elly started dating, and I gained another friend. Our group of friends continued to grow after that with the addition of Carter’s sisters, Harper and Bayler, falling for two of our own, Maverick and Fletcher.
“I call bullshit, Justin,” Bayler exclaimed, rolling her eyes. She leaned into Fletcher’s side and rested her feet up on the coffee table.
The laughter quickly died down at her blunt retort.
“Excuse me?” I asked, deflecting my surprise.
“All men are predisposed to think with their penises,” she explained, entertaining everyone with her words. “I don’t care how much of a genius you are; you’re still a man, which means that brain of yours down south is focused on sex just like every other man’s.”
Laughter grew louder around me as I stared her down, the smile spreading wide across my face. We got a kick out of giving each other a hard time, and I enjoyed dishing it out just as much as everyone else. Leaning down next to her ear, I said, “No, Bayler, what I meant was, I don’t have to try to find a woman.”
She nearly spit out her beer as she smacked me on the arm and laughed. “See! Just like every other guy! I knew you had a dick in there somewhere, Jameson.”
“Is this the part where I tell you I know how to use it, too?” I asked sarcastically, laughing along with her.
A knock on the door sounded before she could reply, so I walked over to answer it. Opening the door, I found Tessa and a younger guy standing behind her, with three suitcases resting at their sides and a duffle bag slung across his body. She wore an old pair of ripped jeans and a hoodie. Her long brown hair was knotted on top of her head, but it was her light blue-gray eyes smiling back at me that caught my attention the most.
“Hey,” I said, grabbing one of the rollers. “Come on in.”
“Thanks,” she said, crossing the threshold into my apartment.

The Love in the City series is about a group of friends looking for love in New York City. Each book is about a different couple, so they can be read as standalones. The stories are told from both the female and male point of views, and they all end in happily ever afters, no cliffhangers here! Finally, all the book covers are different colors to represent a certain awareness or cause that is referenced in each book. Grab the first book in the series, Wanted By You, for FREE today!


Steph Nuss was born and raised in rural Kansas, where she currently resides with her black Labrador son named Gunner. She grew up with a passion for reading and writing. When she’s not immersed into the land of fiction, she enjoys listening to music that came before her time, watching movies and reruns of her favorite shows, and hanging out with her family and friends. She also has a bachelor’s degree in psychology that she’ll never use…unless she’s profiling her characters of course.


BLOG TOUR ~ Perfection is Just an Illusion by Rebecca Barber





James Thompson is an Olympic swimmer with gold medals, world records, and million-dollar sponsorship deals…
But his fiancée Anna White is just an ordinary girl—or so she believes.
When James takes her home for a visit and encounters her childhood friends and sleazy, jealous ex-boyfriend, Grant, he sees for the first time just how far apart their worlds really are.
Anna’s so-called friends undermine and backstab, but James is up for the challenge…
James is determined to make Anna see that while she might have once been an ugly duckling, she is now a stunning swan, and the only woman for him.
As the London World Championships approach, media scrutiny of their relationship intensifies, and an intimate secret is uncovered…making their promise to each other nearly impossible to keep.
Caught up in a whirlwind of press coverage, and championship competition…
James and Anna find the stress almost overwhelming, and they struggle to maintain focus on their goals. But when victory finally appears certain, an old menace resurfaces and threatens to violate all James and Anna hold dear.
Is it possible to have a perfect life?
A perfect love?

Or is perfection just an illusion…





Rebecca, one of four kids to her parents who are both primary school teachers, was born in Wollongong on the south coast of Australia before moving to the country with her family. After a few years of embracing all that country life had to offer, the family relocated to Port Macquarie with its white sand beaches.
After a brief period enjoying the sun and the surf they finally settled in Canberra where Rebecca still lives today. But all through her childhood a notepad and a book where never far away.
These days Rebecca is an avid reader, and when she isn’t buried in a book or cheering on her beloved football team she’s spending time with her husband Robert and their overly spoilt dog Levi.

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BLOG TOUR ~ A Wicked Truth by M.S. Parker





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I’d thought things couldn’t get any worse, and then I found myself being arrested for murder. And the only person on my side was gone because I’d told him to leave. Everything was spiraling out of control and I couldn’t stop it.

When Shae Lockwood takes evidence to the police, incriminating her new love, Dr. Jasper Whitehall, the last thing she expected was getting arrested for the murder of her late husband. As everything falls apart around her, Shae will have to decide what’s truly important in her life before it’s too late.

Don’t miss A Wicked Truth, the thrilling conclusion to M.S. Parker’s latest erotic suspense series.

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M.S. Parker is a USA Today Bestselling author and the author of the Erotic Romance series, Club Privè and Chasing Perfection.

Living in Southern California, she enjoys sitting by the pool with her laptop writing on her next spicy romance.

Growing up all she wanted to be was a dancer, actor or author. So far only the latter has come true but M.S. Parker hasn’t retired her dancing shoes just yet. She is still waiting for the call for her to appear on Dancing With The Stars.

When M. S. isn’t writing, she can usually be found reading- oops, scratch that! She is always writing.

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PRE-RELEASE TOUR ~ Married by Lola White

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In witching society, magic and politics are the only things that matter, and marriages are arranged for advantage rather than love.

Tulah Ngozi doesn’t want to go home, but she’s being forced to attend the wedding of the man who killed her father years ago. The Ngozi men are determined to use her in their plots against each other, but she takes her future into her own hands when she learns that Adam Davenold will also be in attendance. Adam is a powerful man in a matriarchal Family, used to being seduced by women looking to gain power. He’s good at guarding his heart—until he meets Tulah.

Diplomacy demands that the Davenolds attend the wedding and, in the company of their Matriarch, Adam and Georgeanne travel to the Ngozi residence, where they become embroiled in a frightening power struggle. Georgeanne is grateful for the unexpected presence of her betrothed, Silviu, who arrives uninvited after he learns she will be there. When the groom proves disturbing and the Davenold Mother falls to a suspicious illness, Silviu’s magic is the only thing Georgie can depend on for support.

In witching society, magic and politics are the only things that matter, and marriages are arranged for advantage rather than love. But more than politics is at stake in a minefield of lies and betrayal. Death and dark magic stalk the Ngozi–Levy wedding, and only Silviu and Georgeanne’s Matched magic has a chance of getting everyone out alive.

Reader Advisory: This book is best read in sequence as part of a series.

General Release Date: 20th October 2015

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Chapter One


“Hurry, Tulah! They’re coming up the street.”

“Oh, God, Mama, I know he’s with them. I just know it.” Dread knotted Tulah’s stomach until she could hardly breathe. She came to a dead stop on the claustrophobic stairs and rested her forehead against the wall, trying to soak up the coolness of the perpetually damp plaster as a remedy for the nauseous heat rolling through her.

“Don’t let him see you like that!” Her mother stamped her tiny foot on the bottom step in warning. “You must be strong at all times.”

“Strong?” Her voice was barely a croak, so Tulah tried again. “Strong? He killed Papa.”

“And if you’re not strong, he’ll kill you, too. Get down here. Now!”

It took Tulah another minute to move. Confused and angry, defiant and stubborn, she stared at her mother. Chelsea glared back with the same emotions in her eyes, looking like a little doll whose face was painted to show determination. And fear.


She stepped down and her stomach shriveled. Tulah was beyond fear—there was no name for what she felt. Her legs almost gave out, and she pressed both hands to the walls, grateful—for the first time—to the medieval architect who’d built the cramped house. She usually considered the stairwell to be a horrid, constricted passageway, being no more than two feet wide. Now, the narrowness was all that held Tulah up.

“Listen to me.” Her mother banged on the wall to get her wandering attention. “You get that petrified look off your face, right now!”

The words snapped into her spine. Tulah drew herself up and fought to find a blank mask to slip over her features. Her cheekbones ached with the effort and her teeth sank into her lower lip, but her mother nodded sharply, giving her approval.

“Good girl.”

There was a knock at the door.

Tulah dragged in a deep breath and held it until she was dizzy. Still bracing her hands

against the clammy walls, she descended the rest of the steps. Her mother twirled and reached for the door that nearly pressed against her back in the tiny house.

Fully expecting to see her uncle, Tulah was shocked to find Charles Ngozi standing on the other side instead. The man was big and intimidating, his pale skin a striking contrast to the black braids falling down his back in blatant challenge to any rival. Pull those braids and die. Try to use them to gain the advantage in a fight, and die. People generally died around him—which suited his job for the Family.

He was an enforcer who broke all the rules for his out-of-bounds leader.

His brown eyes found Tulah’s and the sensation of a thousand wriggling cockroaches crawled over her. His eyes brightened and sparked with lust as they made their leisurely way over her body. Both women were forced to ignore the sudden tenting of his pants, though his slow smile prompted Tulah’s mother into a tone that came too close to derision.

“Charles. Why are you here?”

“Come to collect Tulah.” He waved his hand toward the dark car idling at the curb, nearly blocking the traffic in the narrow street. “Graves will explain.”

Tulah’s heart sank. The spell her mother had cast at either end of the street let them know if any Ngozi Family member came close. She’d felt the cold stirring that warned her of the man’s presence, but she’d found a spark of hope when only Charles had been revealed behind the door. He was big, fast and murderous, but not the most intelligent man that ever walked the Earth. She could’ve handled him.

Graves was a different matter, entirely.

She looked beyond Charles toward the car, where another man hopped out of the passenger seat and hurried to open the back door. The vehicle’s tires boasted shockingly green hubcaps, its windows were tinted dark enough to match the exterior paint and tiny green designs trailed down the hood, the roof and the boot, defiling the once-sleek luxury sedan.

It suited the man emerging from its depths perfectly. Tulah swallowed hard, holding tight to her composure as Charles watched her closely. She could do nothing but stare at the man who’d killed her father. The man who had unrepentantly killed his own nephew and tossed his wife and daughter into the streets to fend for themselves.

Graves Ngozi was a monster. Arrogant and cunning, tyrannical and deadly, he was a man who pit himself against the Family Father and stirred the shit everywhere he went. He was on full display today, the darkness of his skin emphasized by a white linen suit set off by a poison green tie and matching green saddle shoes. The white fedora on his head was perched at a cocky angle and he swung a heavy, emerald-tipped walking stick carelessly.

Tulah made a mental note to watch what he did with that stick.

He strolled up the path and into the house as if he owned it, disgustedly peering over dark sunglasses made needless by the thick London fog. Tulah lifted her chin as Graves stopped before her, looking her up and down.

“Well, well,” he purred, “look at what the years can do.”

Tulah couldn’t help herself. “Not enough years, if you ask me.”

Chelsea pinched Tulah’s arm but spoke to Graves. “What brings you to our door? I thought you were happy to see the last of us.”

He licked his teeth in an odd gesture that threatened the impassivity of Tulah’s expression and smirked. He turned in a tight circle to survey the tiny foyer before moving under a low arch into the square sitting room. The women had no choice but to follow him.

He threw himself back onto the fragile sofa, a second-hand piece Tulah feared would crumple under his abuse.

“I’m betrothed.”

“Congratulations.” Her mother’s tone was devoid of any joy.

Graves stretched himself out on the couch, his arms across the back of it, his knees spread wide.

“I’ve always thought it was a marvelous thing that your parents settled in Chelsea when they came to England, rather than, say…Liverpool. What on earth would they have named you then?”

Tulah’s mother took it in stride. “I suppose they would have thought of something.”

“I’ve come for your daughter, Chelsea.”

“For what reason?”

“To take her to her rightful home, of course.”

“Rightful home?” Tulah lifted her eyebrow. “Graves, you sold the Ngozi estate out from under all the Family and bought a hotel, instead.”

“It’s convenient, pet. When the rooms aren’t full of Family, I fill them with tourists. It’s an investment.”

Chelsea took a deep breath. “Why do you want her presence in your…residence?”

Graves dropped his arrogant smirk. “I told you, I’m betrothed. Pay some fucking attention.”

Tulah saw the flash of helpless anger cross her mother’s delicate face and reached out to take her hand. “What she means, is why do you require me to be there? I have been banished from your presence for eleven years.”

Graves stood up and leaned against his walking stick. “I am the head of the secondary branch of the Family. If I require your presence, it is not for you to question me.”

Tulah took a step forward, indiscreet with the anger clamping down around the knots of fear in her belly. “I think it is, you murderous son of a bitch. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The back of his hand slammed against her cheekbone before her words could fully leave her mouth. The crack of his knuckles stilled her, even as fire swept over her teary eye. Her mother grabbed her shoulder and pulled Tulah behind her. Ludicrous, as Chelsea was so very tiny and Tulah had gotten her father’s height.

It had happened so quickly, immediately tossing Tulah back into her childhood. Old fears poured over her, blinding her for an instant as her cheek throbbed, mocking her moment of confidence. It was a brutal reminder of how fast Graves was, how ruthless. Tulah struggled to hold on to her strength and tried to remember how hard her mother had worked to make her into a strong, confident woman.

Not a patriarch’s chattel to be abused, or a weakling prone to tears.

Graves tugged at the cuff of his jacket. “There will be a great gathering. Ngozis and Levys both, with a few other guests specially invited.”

Chelsea took an audible breath. “What does that have to do with us?”

Graves took a step forward and both women took an instinctive step back. He smiled.

“Muso Ngozi is coming to the betrothal celebration. He has requested your presence.”

“He’s not coming to England.” Chelsea shook her head. “He swore he’d never return here, after…after…”

She wasn’t willing to finish her thought, and neither was Tulah. Graves was too intimidating to voice the truth to. Even saying as much as she had was enough to have his face closing down, his skin tightening until his cheekbones shone nearly blue. His black eyes became an abyss of rage.

“Well, here he comes, darlings. He wants to meet the bride, apparently.”

“Who?” Tulah managed to ask. Hearing the shakiness in her own voice, she stepped to her mother’s side, unwilling to continue cowering behind her. She needed a greater show of strength than girlish tears and wobbling words.

“Constance Gage-Levy. She’s on her way to London as we speak.”

Tulah shared a look with her mother. This was huge news—not the bride, though Graves’ voice had softened to a surprising degree when he’d said her name, but the Father. This could be a chance to gain his ear, to find recompense for all they’d lost.

Her mother went rigid, eerily calm. “I see. Then we’ll go pack our bags.”

“Oh, no, no, no, darling Chelsea, not you.” Graves smiled wickedly. “Muso didn’t even mention you at all. Just Joseph’s daughter.”

Tulah’s heart stopped. She’d never been away from her mother, not even for the night. It was much too dangerous for them, in the heart of Ngozi territory. Ice clogged her veins but fire licked the inside of her skull. Tulah struggled to keep breathing, ignoring the ragged edge of every pant.

“I’m not letting you just take her!” Her mother’s hands clenched.

“You are.”

Chelsea tried again. “She can’t go without me.”

Graves made a patently false moue of apology. “Darling, you have so many more things to concern your pretty head with.”

“I promise you, I don’t! She’s my daughter.”

“Mmm, but you’ll need to spend time searching for lodgings. Preferably in France.”

Both women stilled. Tulah grabbed for her mother’s hand again, squeezing her fingers as she tried to decipher the cold slide of Graves’ tone. Moving to stand at his leader’s side, his big body blocking the weak light from the window, Charles grinned. Tulah didn’t trust the look in his eye.

“What are you talking about?” she finally asked.

“I am now the proud owner of this tiny little hamlet you’ve found in the back alleys of the city. I bought the whole block, when I learned of your whereabouts.” Graves grinned. “It’s the perfect place for a parking lot, don’t you think?”

Tulah blinked, fought for words. “You bought our building?”

“The whole block, pet. All the buildings.”

Tulah looked around the tiny space, dumbfounded. It was small and cramped, all they could afford on both their meager salaries. Chelsea had been raised in the midst of a patriarchal Family of witches. She hadn’t been taught the skills of autonomy before her husband was killed and she was thrown out of the only protection she’d ever thought she’d need.

She’d scrimped and saved, and had taken her daughter all over the city, from hovels and hotels to rented rooms and dismal flats. Once Tulah had been old enough to take a job as a cashier, they’d been able to save enough to rent the house.

Dingy peeling walls, claustrophobic rooms and cracked window casings aside, it was the first home they’d had since Joseph Ngozi’s death. They’d survived, they’d eked out a life for themselves, and Graves was taking it away. Again.

“But it’s medieval,” Tulah said stupidly, and kicking herself for it. “It survived the Fire.”

“But it won’t survive my wrecking ball.” Graves slid forward, raising his hand. He stroked his fingers over Tulah’s cheek gently, but fresh flames licked over her skin. He’d hit her hard enough to bruise, and now was admiring his handiwork. “I suggest you pack all of your things. You won’t be coming back here.”

“And where do you expect me to go?” Chelsea demanded.

“I don’t give a fuck where you go, so long as it’s out of my country.” Graves flashed her an angry glance that had Tulah squeezing her mother’s hand tighter. “Why don’t you go back to Japan?” he said silkily. “Back to your own Family.”

“I’ve never even been to Japan,” Chelsea grated out. “As you well know, my parents came here before my birth.”

“Perhaps it’s time to see a different part of the world, then. Surely the Shimizu Family will welcome you with open arms?”

Chelsea’s jaw clenched, obviously refusing to give him the words that would prove the statement false. She’d never met the Shimizus. She’d been betrothed to Joseph Ngozi when she was a teenager, her mother dead and her father ill and banished from his homeland. She’d moved into the Ngozi stronghold soon after, never knowing another Family’s customs.

“I have a cat!” Tulah jerked as the words left her mouth, praying she could slide this by Graves. “I’ll need to bring it, if this won’t be my home anymore.”

Graves waved impatiently. “Whatever, pet, just get the fucking beast and let’s go. I’ve wasted enough time on you today.”

Tulah nodded quickly, dragging her mother with her as she turned for the stairs. “We’ll go pack my things.”

“Ten minutes, Tulah.” His hard tone was all the warning she would get. He said nothing else.

Together, the women raced upstairs. Tulah charged into her room, throwing the creaky door open with enough force to send it bouncing against the wall. She let go of her mother and ripped open the door to her pathetically barren closet.

Tulah grabbed everything in a single sweep of her arms and raised her brows at her mother. “Go get your things. Hurry!”

“This isn’t going to work.”

“It will.” Tulah threw everything on the bed and dropped to her knees, blindly seeking the faded old duffel bag stowed beneath. “He won’t blink an eye at two pieces of luggage. He won’t even think about how little we really have, he’s so used to having too much.”

“He might understand, love.”

“Did Graves ever see you—?”

“Absolutely not! Your father never told a soul.”

“Thank God.” Tulah surged to her feet and dropped her voice. “We have to take the chance. All we have to do is get to Muso, then everything will get better, Mama. Please!”

With a growl of surrender, Chelsea moved into her own room. Through the paper-thin walls, Tulah heard drawers open and close, the bed creaking. Her mother was obeying her command.

It had been the same since Tulah had turned eighteen. Chelsea hadn’t been taught to think for herself and had been rabidly protected by her husband. She’d gone from a life where she wanted for nothing, to a nightmare where she had to fight for every gain. She could be a tigress where her daughter was concerned but, out of necessity, Tulah’s self-assurance was much more ingrained than her mother’s, and Chelsea almost always surrendered to her offspring’s determination.

Two minutes later, Chelsea returned with a battered carpet bag containing everything she owned. There was nothing downstairs worth taking. Their furniture was second-hand and there was precious little money for knick-knacks. Their entire lives condensed down into two bags.

Chelsea shut the door as she whispered a spell to hide her magic before letting it flow free. The air around her delicate shoulders took on a wavering quality, like looking through a gentle waterfall. Power flowed out of her skin to wrap her body in a gauzy shroud Tulah could just barely see. It didn’t matter, though, the force behind the magic beat at her skin, a warm pressure tap-dancing over her nerves.

Chelsea was Shimizu, a Family of kitsune witches known for their shape-shifting abilities.

Predominantly taking fox form, the fact that a few could take the appearance of other small animals was a fiercely guarded secret. Her mother’s body dissolved, flowing into the form of a sleek black cat. Black was handy, unexceptional and easily able to melt into the background.

Tulah had inherited the same gift and a similar form.

Tulah scooped her mother up in her arms and grabbed the bags. Chelsea hissed.

“Yes, Mama, I know. He could always remember that you are a kitsune descendant, but he won’t be able to prove anything, so long as we’re careful. And hopefully he’ll think fox, not cat.”

Tulah came down the stairs cautiously, protective of the animal snuggled in her arms.

Charles surprised her by taking the bags.

Graves looked up the stairwell. “Where is your mother?”

“She said she couldn’t bear to watch you take me, too.” Tulah dropped her eyes, hiding the lie and attempting to look demure.

He only laughed before gesturing Charles through the narrow door. “It must be terrible to be in her position. A weak female with so very much to lose.”

Tulah said nothing as she followed the men to the car. Graves forced her into the back seat and the man who had opened his door when he arrived slid in on the other side. Blocking her exit.

Graves saw the look on her face. “It’s time you learned, pet, that I will win every battle.”

He stroked his large hand over Chelsea’s furry head, briefly exerting a pressure that startled a squawk from the animal. “And if you try to fight me, I will take your kitten, too.”

Tulah wrenched back, gathering her mother closer. She burrowed into the side of the other man, glaring at Graves when Charles’ weight sank the right side of the car as he slid behind the wheel.

“I know what you’re capable of, Graves,” she said. “I’ve seen you in action.”

“Yes, you have, pet. Keep it in mind as you keep your mouth shut. Muso may want to lay eyes on you and see how you’ve grown, but he won’t wish to hear any tales. You know how he runs things in Africa, don’t you? Women have even less power than they do in my house.”

Tulah dropped her eyes and stroked the cat. “I know, Graves. I remember full well what kind of power the women have in the Ngozi Family. It’s why I was happy to have been banished.”

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About the author

Delve into the emotions, dive into the erotic.

An extensive traveler who loves to incorporate various legends from around the world into her tales, Lola White likes to twist reality at its edges in her stories. She likes delving into the emotions of her characters, finding their strengths and weaknesses, and seeing (and showing) how they get themselves out of whatever trouble has found them—if they can.

You can learn more about her at:

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BLOG TOUR ~ R.C. Stephens Wild Cards

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She grew up with love but tragedy took everything away from her.

He was forced into a life that he hated and was drowning in darkness.

They both lost hope…

They both looked for ways to numb the pain…

To him, she was unpredictable and alluring.

To her, he was a dark knight with a shady past.

What happened next was unexpected. Their chance encounter was not chance anymore.

As their worlds collide and their impenetrable walls are infiltrated, these two dark souls are forced to face the one thing on earth that scares them the most…


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Wild Cards Teaser 4 Luc


“Well, let’s go,” he ordered. I looked up to him, knowing that I was giving myself away by the fear that took hold in my eyes. I got out of the limousine, hoping that I wouldn’t lose my lunch on the ground. That would be a sure sign of weakness in front of his men, and my father would make me pay for it, dearly. We made our way into the abandoned warehouse. It was dark except for the rays of sunlight sifting in through the broken glass at the top of the building. The place smelt old and dusty. Remembering the stale smell of urine in the hole caused my heart to hammer in my chest.

As we made our way further into the building there was a group of young men sitting in a line on the floor with two of my father’s goons sitting on chairs in front of them. The men looked like they must be only a couple of years older than me. He clearly brought them here because they defied him in some way, and he was going to show them what it meant to defy Maurice Blanchard. We walked up to the group of men with our own entourage following in the distance. My father’s men were heavily armed because there was always another family or gang trying to get the power or connections my father had.

“So what do we have here?” my father asked. All the men stood and looked straight ahead, careful not to make eye contact or any other wrong move that would result in their death.

“They didn’t follow orders,” my father’s goon, Mauricio, cut in with a twisted smile. “Their idiocy resulted in the Dubois sweeping in and lifting five hundred grand.”

The Dubois family were rivals of the Blanchard’s, whatever gains or whatever money my father made, the Dubois tried to slither their way in and steal. Unfortunately the Blanchard family was also tailing the Dubois. We had spies infiltrated in their organization, and when something big was happening we always found a way to get a nice cut. Too bad for these men that the Dubois swept in and stole a nice chunk of my father’s money. Money was very important to my father. In fact, I think it was the most important thing in his life. To take his money or be responsible for losing it was, to a normal person, equivalent to killing their child. I now understood what I was doing there and my blood simmered to a dangerous level under my skin. I had threatened to walk away again, and my father was about to give me the ultimate initiation into the organization. I had two choices. Do what my father said and kill one or all of these men or get shot in the head myself. I knew which option I needed to take, it was my only way out of this. A bullet between my eyes and my misery was over.

“Okay Luc, you need practice and here it is. Practice shooting and try to hit every single one of your targets.” He nodded his head and urged me on. He was a sick, sick man. These were young guys. They probably came from troubled homes or needed the money to get by and my father was paying well. This wasn’t fair. I narrowed my eyes on my father, wanting to lift the revolver and shoot him instead. For me, for my mother, and my brothers, our life had turned into a living hell, and he was the demon at the root of it all. My father saw my hesitation and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt. I was just as tall as him and my body was strong, but I was still an adolescent and I had not filled out yet compared to his bulky physique.

With his face a mere inch from mine he spat in my face. “You will not shame me in front of my men. You will do as I say, or I will kill those boys at home you call brothers.” My eyes turned wide and I thought my father had completely lost his mind. Those boys, my brothers, were his sons. Did we mean so little to him? Is that all we were, a means to an end? I knew my father. I knew if he made the threat he would follow through. I already had a picture in my mind that he would shoot them in front of me to teach me another one of his infamous lessons. I faced the revolver at my first target. I closed my eyes and opened them hoping at some point to wake up from this nightmare. This was my reality and I was wide awake. I took a deep breath and prayed for forgiveness before pulling the trigger. I shot the poor guy square in the chest. He fell instantly to the ground. I once again felt the need to lose the contents of my stomach, but I did everything in my power to stay standing on my own two feet while I watched too much blood leave his body. If I fell now, it would show weakness in the eyes of his men. After how I felt shooting the first guy I didn’t know if I could go through with it again. My heart turned cold.

Loud clapping pulled me out of my daze, I saw my father smiling bright. He walked over and patted me on the back. “That’s my son. You see this, men? It was his first shot and he killed him spot on. This is a Blanchard.” The pride in my father’s voice was crystal clear and his men stood around grinning. I feared having to do it again. I counted and there were nine more men.

Then my father stood and glared at the nine men standing and waiting for their lives to end. They looked pale and they were shaking just as hard as me, only I was doing my damndest to hide it.

“You men better be careful the next time you are in charge, or else, you will end up the same way as your friend did here. I am sure my son will get you in between the eyes next time.”

I blew out a huff of air, I had the blood of one man on my hands, but I didn’t know that I would have made it through nine more shootings. My father smacked me on the back and I jolted forward. He then ordered his men to take care of things. We entered the limousine and drove for a while, until we stopped in front of a local strip joint he owned. I could barely walk as I made my way inside, my legs felt like they would give out on me. He sensed my unease, got me a drink, and asked one of his girls to show me a good time. I thought I was going to be sick. I wanted to get home to my brothers and my mother and make sure they were okay. I wanted to ensure that my father hadn’t tricked me and ordered their death anyway. I also needed a shower because I felt dirty after I killed that man.

My father never took me on another shooting mission again. He said to leave the shootings for the goons that worked for him. He liked to keep his hands clean, although I don’t know how he could think they were clean. He wanted me to kill the guy to teach me a lesson. I wasn’t leaving. I would never be free and I needed to face that fact.

My last year of high school I spent less and less time in school and I didn’t graduate. I was stuck learning “the business.” I was lucky when my father took notice of my superior computer skills and hired some famous hacker to teach me the trade. It was for the benefit of the organization. I was lucky that I became an asset for laundering international money transfers because it meant no more taking me to beat up men or even worse, shoot them. In my early twenties, I was responsible for transferring money, amounting to hundreds of millions, without a trace.

This is my story, but my words are not proud. Every day I lived with a burden put upon me by a man that I loathed. I lived with PTSD and I had to hide it because the danger of being weak would result with a bullet to my head. My father knew I wasn’t happy, my father knew I didn’t have what it took to run the organization, but he didn’t care.

Henri, my middle brother, grew up and proved to be very brutal. I honestly think he behaved that way to gain my father’s acceptance, which meant the world to him. I didn’t understand it and I couldn’t accept it. My mother got worse and worse over the years. I think it was the thought of her sons being so cruel that sent her off to that dark place where she couldn’t return. My family disintegrated in front of my eyes, and yet I only craved the simple things.

I had women at my beck and call, but I wanted a woman to love and cherish. Two things I knew my father didn’t know anything about and would never let me have. The problem was like a fool I kept hoping…


RC Stephens



R.C. Stephens was born in Toronto, Canada. She graduated from York University with a Master’s Degree in Political Science.
R.C. loves to write about ever lasting love and tortured souls. As a fan of angst and drama she enjoys a good twist.
Her debut novel Bitter Sweet Love has been nominated for a Darkest Romance award. Twisted Love book two of the Twisted Series will be releasing May 31st.
R.C. is an avid reader, so when she isn’t cooking for her clan or on her laptop writing, she’s snuggled tight with her Kindle devouring any romance novel she can. Okay, with the exception of Thursday nights. She makes time for Scandal and Vampire Diaries. She’s a fan of drama and suspense but she’s also a sucker for a happy ending.
Her husband was her first teenage love. They live together with their three children in Toronto. Loving Canadian winters she could never think of living anywhere else.





EXCERPT REVEAL : The Fall Up by Aly Martinez

the fall up excerpt reveal


Chapter One


It was raining. Isn’t that the way all great love stories start? And also usually end? The midnight air was cool against my skin as I stared off that bridge. My blond wig was secured in place by a headband, and chunky sunglasses covered my whiskey-colored eyes. I didn’t look like myself any more than I felt it. Bruises from the night before painted my legs while fresh scabs covered my knees, but it was the hollowness in my chest that hurt the most.
Yep. Still me.
Which was exactly why I was standing on that bridge, wishing for the mental fortitude to hurl myself off.
A man’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “You finally gonna do it tonight?”
I instinctually smoothed my fake hair down and pressed the bridge of my glasses closer to my face, sealing out any possible glance he could catch. I stared ahead as I snapped, “Excuse me?”
“I’ve seen you here three nights in a row now. I was just wondering if tonight was going to be the night you finally jump.”
My eyes flashed wide, but since they were covered by the dark glasses, my reaction remained hidden. “I just like the view. That’s all.” What a load of shit.
I watched him nod out of the corner of my eye. “Yeah me too. It’s gorgeous up here.”
Shuffling my feet to the side, I attempted to slip away as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered it my way.
“You want one?”
I shook my head and then crept down a few inches to put distance between us.
“Suit yourself.” He used a hand to shield the lighter from the wind, but the constant sprinkle of rain made his task impossible. “Damn it,” he cursed with the cigarette tucked between his lips. “Little help?” he asked, swinging his gaze to mine.
Arching an eyebrow, I asked, “With what?”
“It’s raining…and windy…and I’m trying to burn one.” He tilted his head, equally as incredulous.
“You want me to call God? We had a bad breakup recently, but he might be willing to do me one last favor.”
He breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. “That would be fantastic. What’s the big guy’s response time like these days? Last time we spoke, it was”—he paused to look at his watch—“oh, twenty-seven years.”
A soft laugh bubbled from my throat, and one side of his mouth lifted in a gorgeous grin.
“I’m not exactly in the mood to wait that long, so maybe you could just block the wind with your body?” His smile spread as he stepped toward me, forcing my gaze to nervously bounce away.
“Sorry. Can’t help you there. Lung cancer and I broke up too.” After gathering the back of my wig into a ponytail, I pulled it over my shoulder and turned away from him. The chill of the wind blasted my face and roared over my ears as it rushed past me.
I went back to staring out at the dark, choppy water, becoming lost in the idea of how cold it might be.
Is tonight the night?
My feet would more than likely never leave the edge of that bridge, but there was a definite reason why I was imagining ending it all. Exactly zero other people in the world would understand why. I had it all, and I dreamed about losing it all—more often than I would ever admit, even to myself.
After stepping out of my heels, I slipped my foot between the bars on the railing. The wind slammed my bruised leg against the metal. “Shit,” I hissed as pain shot through me.
“You think that hurts? Imagine falling twenty-five stories then crashing into the water, which might as well be concrete, at speeds upward of seventy miles per hour,” the man said, leaning on the metal railing next to me.
“Wow. Someone’s done some research,” I said sarcastically, barely sparing him a glance.
“Daily,” he responded frankly, causing my surprised gaze to swing to his. Simply shrugging at my reaction, he turned his back to the railing and propped himself up on his colorfully tattooed forearms. “You forget I’ve been here the last three nights in a row too.” He smirked, lifting the cigarette up to his lips for a deep inhale.
“Listen, I’m not going to jump if you’re some kind of caped crusader on a mission. I just needed some fresh air.” I pointedly glanced at his cigarette.
A laugh escaped his mouth in a grey puff. “Fresh air is overrated. Especially given the reason you’re standing here.” He knowingly arched a dark-brown eyebrow.
“Riiiiight,” I drawled, rolling my eyes behind my glasses. “Okay, well, I was just heading out anyway.”
“Then my work here is done.” He bowed, and the corner of my mouth lifted in a smile as I stepped back into my shoes and walked away.
I shook my head at the random stranger. Then, a thought struck me, stopping me only a few feet away. Spinning back to face him, I asked, “Wait. Were you reaching out to me as a cry for help?”
“Oh look. Designer Shoes has a conscience!” He dropped his cigarette to the damp ground, stepping on it with the toe of his well-worn, black boots. Bending over, he picked the butt up and tucked it in his pocket.
At least he didn’t litter.
“Oh look. Tattooed Stalker has jokes!” I smarted back.
He smiled, pulling another cigarette from his pocket and then pausing just before guiding it between his lips. “Were you judging me based on my tattoos? I’m offended.” He feigned anguish then laughed while lifting his lighter to once again battle the wind for a nicotine fix.
I wanted to walk away, but he wasn’t wrong. I did have a conscience, and right then, I was worried that it might really be his night to make good on his apparent numerous visits to the bridge.
With a huff, I headed back towards him, praying that I could wrap it up as quickly as possible then head back to my house for a few hours of sleep. Or, more likely, lie awake while staring at the ceiling and crying.
“Are you planning to jump for real?” I asked.
His smile fell as he focused on the water. “Nah. I don’t have the balls to do something like that. Talking to you wasn’t a plea for help or anything. You just look worse than usual tonight.” His gaze slid down to my battered legs.
“Oh!” I exclaimed in understanding. “That’s not at all what you’re thinking. I fell down some stairs.”
He quirked his lips in disbelief.
“I’m serious!”
“I’m sure you are,” he told the wind. “You can go. I’m good.”
I could have walked away, but for some reason, I pulled my jacket tighter around my shoulders and silently stood there while he finished his cigarette.
After a final deep inhale, he flicked it over the railing of the bridge.
Apparently, he does litter.
Turning to me, his face became serious. “You need to call the cops before he makes the decision to end it all for you.”
“Who?” I asked, watching the burning ember hit the metal column then explode in a million different sparks before disappearing down to the water below.
Lucky cigarette.
“The stairs…and whatever inanimate object you’re blaming for those bruises you’re hiding behind sunglasses at one in the morning. You should call the cops before…” His voice trailed off, but his dark gaze narrowed on mine. His eyes bored into my hidden stare, combining with the rain and wind to send chills down my spine.
I took the moment to secretly assess him. He was insanely sexy, but nothing like the men I was accustomed to. His chin was the kind of scruffy that made women weak, but it was obvious he didn’t pay four hundred dollars for his personal hairstylist to shape it. Judging by his shaggy, brown hair that begged for me to thread my fingers in it, I wasn’t sure he was even a barbershop kind of guy. He stood a few inches taller than I was in heels, so I pegged him at around six one. And while his tattooed forearms were deliciously sculpted and his shoulders were notably defined, his body didn’t appear to be swollen with muscles from hours spent at the gym. By the aura of bad boy he gave off, I would have expected him to be a self-consumed, arrogant prick.
He wasn’t though.
He was just an average guy worrying about the well-being of an average girl.
Only he couldn’t have been more wrong, and a pang of guilt hit me hard.
Just not hard enough for me to do anything to correct his assumptions about who I was.
Very softly, I attempted to put his fears to rest. “I promise it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“Okay,” he responded, unconvinced. He nodded to himself before dragging another cigarette from his pocket.
I watched him struggle for a second before I scooted towards him, using my body to block the wind.
Biting the cigarette between his straight, white teeth, he smiled devilishly around it. “Thanks.” Flicking the flame to life, he hunched over until a stream of smoke swirled up from the red tip.
“You should stop smoking.”
“Noted.” He exhaled through his nose.
We went back to silently staring over the side of the bridge. The familiar lights of the San Francisco skyline danced all around us. And, even as tourists and locals alike passed by us, I felt an odd, and unbelievably comfortable, isolation standing there with him.
When my teeth began to chatter, his attention was drawn my way. “I’m not here to jump. You really can go.”
I nodded but didn’t move away.
He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest and rubbing his biceps for warmth.
“How are you not frozen?” I asked, taking in his thin Henley for the first time since we met.
Shrugging, he dropped his cigarette, answering as he bent to retrieve it. “Thick skin? I’m used to it? I come here a lot? I’m half Eskimo?”
I eyed him suspiciously. “You’re cold, aren’t you?”
“Fucking. Freezing,” he admitted, tucking his arms close to his body and blowing into his hands. “I just came up here for one smoke. Then I saw you. Now, come on. Be a lady and loan a man a jacket,” he joked, tugging on the edge of my coat.
I laughed, hugging it even tighter around my body and stepping out of his reach. “How about we both just leave? Then neither of us have to worry about the other plummeting to their death.”
“Sounds like an amazing plan.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of the tattered jeans riding low on his hips. As we began the hike back down to the foot of the bridge, he asked, “You have a name, Designer Shoes?”
I smiled and shook my head, not willing to lie—or divulge the truth.
“Yeah. Me either,” he replied.
I bit my bottom lip to suppress a laugh.
Side by side, we trudged the rest of the way in silence.
When we got to the foot of the bridge, he turned to face me and sighed. “Well, I genuinely hope I never see you again.”
My head snapped back in shock, and maybe a little hurt.
But he quickly corrected himself. “No! I just mean… Shit.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair while I watched, amused. “I just mean, given the way we met… I…um. I hope you never have a reason to go back up there.”
I teasingly tipped my head to the side. “But I really like the view.”
He cleared his throat. “Right. Of course, the view. Okay, well, have a good night.”
“You too.” I smiled tightly, but my feet didn’t budge. I told myself that it was because I didn’t want him to see my car or the bodyguard waiting for me behind the wheel. But, in reality, I just wasn’t ready to leave. Home wasn’t where I wanted to be. I didn’t actually want to be anywhere.
Not even standing at the foot of a bridge, talking to a witty and sexy man.
Okay, maybe I wanted that a little bit.
“Yep. Have a good night,” he repeated, shoving his hands inside his pockets and slowly backing away.
I gave him a quick wave, which he returned before he jogged in the other direction.
I smiled to myself, shaking my head at the entire interaction—secretly lamenting that it hadn’t been longer.

Maybe there’s only one direction to go when two people fall  in love at rock bottom—up.

the fall up teaser 2

the fall up cover ebook

Add The Fall Up to your TBR list on Goodreads!

RELEASE DATE: October 26th

Sensual woman kissing her handsome husband


I wanted to jump.

He made me fall.

As a celebrity, I lived in the public eye, but somewhere along the way, I’d lost myself in the spotlight.

Until he found me.

Sam Rivers was a gorgeous, tattooed stranger who saved my life with nothing more than a simple conversation.

But we were both standing on that bridge for a reason the night we met. The secrets of our pasts brought us together—and then tore us apart.

Could we find a reason to hold on as life constantly pulled us down?

Or maybe there’s only one direction to go when two people fall in love at rock bottom—up.

the fall up teaser


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:aly martinez

Born and raised in Savannah, Georgia, Aly Martinez is a stay-at-home mom to four crazy kids under the age of five, including a set of twins. Currently living in South Carolina, she passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a glass of wine at her side.
After some encouragement from her friends, Aly decided to add “Author” to her ever-growing list of job titles. Five books later, she shows no signs of slowing. So grab a glass of Chardonnay, or a bottle if you’re hanging out with Aly, and join her aboard the crazy train she calls life.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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BLOG TOUR ~ The Position by Dahlia Salvatore


Title: The Position

Author: Dahlia Salvatore

Genre: Erotic Romance

Publisher: Entice by Booktrope




Dylan Farrow puts on his pants every morning one leg at a time, just like everyone else at the Kerrigan Advertising Agency. He handles high-pressure projects with a fast turnaround. He’s prized for his keen intellect and admirable performance. But how did he get where he is today—to the level of Junior Executive of Design Production?

Well, that involves how he takes his pants off…

And for whom…

  Hoping to break through the glass ceiling under which she’s been trapped for years, Valerie Caplan picks up her life and moves to Seattle. After hearing about the position of Senior Executive of Design Production from an art director at Kerrigan, she decides to apply. When she lands the big interview, she never thinks for a minute that she’ll have any serious competition. She assumes that she has the job in the bag…until she discovers that the only competition has something she doesn’t have—the willingness to go outside the office to impress Danica Stewart, their uptight female boss.





Amazon | B&N





 My hand swept everything off her desk, sending pens, papers and files into the floor. I shoved her over the leather desk-mat and maneuvered between her legs. “Keep going,” I commanded as I slid her skirt up over her ass. She was wearing a pretty satin and lace pair of panties, something that both amused and aroused me. She knew very well that she didn’t need to bother with pretty formalities. I was going to fuck her regardless of what she wore. 

 “Oh, God,” she muttered under her breath. “I—I can’t … Don’t make me wait, Dylan. Please!”  “Not yet. I want to hear it all,” I whispered in ear. 

 “The p-position entails … entails …” 

 I tugged the panties down until her she was spread out in front of me. Her entire body was begging me to make her come, but I held back to make her beg again. I loved hearing those high-level executives beg. 

 “What’s wrong, Jan?” I growled against her shoulder. “Forget how good this cock was yesterday? Don’t you want it up to the fifteenth floor all the time? Make me believe you want it. ”

 “Please!” she begged again. “Please Dylan!” 

 I reached down and slapped her wet pussy with the flat of my hand. She squealed and wiggled; she did that every time. I pinched, tickled and teased her, from her clit to that soft, inviting hole I was going to fill up. I knew she was close to the brink, driven crazy with lust for me. I’d brought her to this point many times, turning her into no more than a slut addicted to the dirty things I did that she never got anywhere else.

 “ … position entails … overseeing—fuck—Jesus!” she cried. My fingers were dripping before I could slide two of them into her. I reached until I found her g-spot. I’d practically memorized where it was. She moaned loud and long at the contact, then gripped the edge of her desk as a third finger joined them. She bit her lip as I drew circles over the tender flesh. I thrust my fingers deep and fast, massaging until she came all over my hand.

 “Yeah … That’s the way Mrs. Janice Cooper likes it, isn’t it?” I taunted, punctuating the sentence by giving her another good few slick finger-lengths.

 “Yes!” she moaned.

 “What’s that? I didn’t hear? Do you talk that quietly to your husband when he fucks you?” She wasn’t answering me, so I brought her to the edge, then retracted my fingers suddenly. “I can’t hear you, Jan. I can’t.”

 “That’s how I like it,” she groaned.



Oregon-born Dahlia Salvatore lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington. When not surrounded by stacks of books, she's furiously writing her own. She enjoys writing and reading romance and erotica. Among her Indie peers are also some of her most powerful influences, and without their encouragement, she would not be where she is today. Dahlia loves hearing from her readers and critics alike. To contact her, follow this link or send her an email at authordahliasalvatore@gmail.com. Thanks for visiting!
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Oregon-born Dahlia Salvatore lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington. When not surrounded by stacks of books, she’s furiously writing her own. She enjoys writing and reading romance and erotica. Among her Indie peers are also some of her most powerful influences, and without their encouragement, she would not be where she is today. Dahlia loves hearing from her readers and critics alike. To contact her, follow this link or send her an email at authordahliasalvatore@gmail.com.



RELEASE TOUR ~ In Denver Series by R. Colora

In Denver Series

AUTHOR: R. Colora


GENRE: Contemporary Romance
COVER DESIGINER: The Graphics Shed

Warning: These books contain several erotic love scenes, strong language, violence and are intended for adult readers only.
Book 2 may also contain triggers for abuse survivors.




Kennedy Brennan was just about to start her life after graduating from the Barton Music Conservatory. She and her three best friends decide to have one last night out before the graduation ceremony the next morning. 

Accepting drinks from a secret admirer brings her life to a screeching halt. After waking up from a coma and facing her attacker during a trial, she changes her identity and starts a new life in Denver. Finding an old run down building across the street from her favorite bakery, she plans to start a Music Conservatory of her own. 
The only thing standing in her way is Billionaire Real Estate Developer and One of America’s Most Eligible Bachelors Easton Kerrigan. 
Kennedy and Easton’s Story is the beginning of a six book series involving The Kerrigan Siblings and Friends. 
All books are standalone and have a Happily Ever After for the main characters. 
These books will contain extremely dark subject matter and the couples face a lot of hardships before they find their HEA. 


When the doors open, I see a giant of a man occupies it. He’s easily six foot five and takes up most of the height of the elevator. He has the same blue eyes and raven colored hair as Stacy. He looks up from his phone, and our eyes lock. A slow smile spreads across his face.
“Going down?” he says with a grin on his face as if he knows he is God’s gift to women.
“I will catch the next one.” I answer sarcastically. 
He nods then lets the doors close. I finally take a breath. Holy shit! It’s my dream man, the lumberjack version of Ian Somerhalder. My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. The man in the elevator must be another figment of my imagination. Yes, that’s it. It’s just like when I saw the girls in the theatre. After a few minutes the door dings and opens, I step forward but stop. The man is still in the elevator. I step back from the door. Nope, it wasn’t my imagination. He’s real, and he seems to like riding on the elevator. I look right then left for the staircase. This man makes me nervous.
“Are you going down, sir? I don’t like being in confined places with strangers. Can you please just take the elevator down and get out. I will take the next one.” His gaze travels from my head to my feet and then back up.
His voice is deep and seductive. “Get in the elevator,” he says in a husky voice.
I take another step back as he takes a step forward.
“Easton.” I hear a voice behind me call. While he is distracted, I barely make it into the elevator as the doors close.
“Fuck!” he shouts, but it’s too late. The elevator has already started its descent. Out on the street, I let myself feel discouraged. I pictured exactly what I wanted, but now that’s not an option. Okay, Kennedy, time to put your thinking cap on.
I make it into the parking garage when I feel a hand grab my shoulder. On reflex I slide my foot back, knock him off balance, then grab his hand and bend it back, applying as much pressure into his pressure point as I can before taking him to the ground in an arm bar. I hear footsteps, and I look up to see a security guard with a perplexed looked on his face.
“Mr. Kerrigan, are you ok, sir?” I release his arm and stand up brushing myself off. 
“I don’t like being touched. You shouldn’t sneak up on women in parking garages.” Easton looks more angry than embarrassed. “I’m going now. Don’t follow me.”
“Sir, do you want me to detain her?” the security guard asks.
“If either of you take a step toward me, I will snap your neck before you ever lay a hand on me!”
I turn around, get in my truck and gun it out of the parking garage.







Left for dead…how do you come back from that? You don’t. Estelle has no choice but to start over. 

Enrolling in school for the first time in her life, and working for her best friend Kennedy is the start to her new life. 
She and Rhydian Kerrigan have been flirting for the last couple months. 
Rhydian tempts Estelle to forget the danger. Only with Estelle’s past, things are never that easy. 
Her father wants the flash drive she carries around her neck the information on it could put him and his associates away for the rest of their lives. 
If it comes down to it, can Estelle kill her enemy before he kills her? 
After spending more than a year getting ready, Estelle is ready for anything that comes her way. 
Once things are settled, will she be ready to heal enough to learn to love and be loved in return? 
Estelle and Rhydian’s Story is book two of a seven book series involving The Kerrigan Siblings and Friends. 
All books are standalone and have a Happily Ever After for the main characters. 
These books will contain extremely dark subject matter and the couples face a lot of hardships before they find their HEA. 
Some Scenes in Estelle’s story maybe hard to read for abuse victims.




“Momma, can we go to the park tomorrow?”
Mon trésor, I shall even buy you ice cream!”
“Really, Momma?”
“Yes, my love, now close your eyes and remember, my heart. Il n’est rien de réel que le rêve et l’amour.”
“I love you, Momma.”
“I love you too, Estelle.”
Momma and Papa are yelling again.
“Please, Edwin, this does not have to be our life! We can go to France, or to Argentina, and have a life away from these men you have gotten involved with. Please, Edwin! I beg you, do it for me and Estelle.” I hear Momma say.
“You don’t understand, Celine. I have power here—money and wealth! What, you think I will go back to Argentina to work for my father? Working in his fields, harvesting grapes? These are the hands of a businessman, not a farm hand. We can’t go back to France! You have no family, you will never dance with the Paris Ballet again, what would you have us do, Celine?” he yells.
“Anything but this, Edwin. You are becoming someone I do not even know! You come home with blood on your clothes, or smelling of liquor and cheap perfume. This is not a life to raise a child in.”
“Celine, you see this beautiful mansion you call a home and the fine clothes you wear, the people that clean this house for you and cook your meals? Next time you go to your fancy shops you remember the blood on my clothes put that money in your hands.”
“Edwin, please!” Momma says. I hear noises, Papa is hurting Momma again. I hear her begging him to stop, so I get out of bed and tiptoe out of my room. I see him hitting Momma with the belt. Papa turns around and I run back to my room.
Mon trésor, wake up my love.”
“Momma?” she has her coat on.
“I’m sleepy, Momma.”
“I know, my love, but we must go! Come quickly!”
I take my Momma’s hand, but when we step out of my room, I see my Papa; he looks angry. “Celine, where do you think you are going?”
“I’m taking Estelle and we are going away. You can live in this giant house with your secrets and your whores, but my daughter will not be raised like this.”
Mon trésor, I want you to sit on your bed. I will come to collect you as soon as possible.”
Momma closes my door and I hear the shouting, so I open the door and look. Papa grabs Momma by her coat and throws her down the stairs. I hear Momma scream, then I hear nothing.
I make my way out of my room to the stairs. I see Momma laying at the bottom of the stairs; she isn’t moving and her eyes are open. I know she isn’t asleep. I see my Papa on the phone, and a few minutes later two men come in with a blue plastic sheet. They put Momma on it and carry her out. Papa follows them out the door. I wait on the stairs for Momma to come get me, but she never comes back.


Katie Blackwell loved Michael Kerrigan from the first moment he stopped her at an outdoor festival. She was fourteen and he was sixteen. For two years Micheal and Katie were inseparable; they were each others first loves. They experienced all their firsts together. 
Finding out she is pregnant at sixteen was not part of Katie’s plan. When she tells Michael, he informs her that he has been accepted to an ivy league school; he has no intentions of staying in Denver to play the role of teen dad. 
Scared and alone Katie has to decide if she is going to terminate her pregnancy or keep the baby she already loves. 
Nine years later Katie and Micheal will cross paths and past secrets will come to light. Can mistakes be forgiven? Can first love be rekindled, or will past heartache and betrayal be to much to overcome?




“Please come this way,” the nurse says. “We need to do an ultrasound to determine how far along you are. If you’re under nine weeks, you can choose to take the abortion pill but if you’re over nine weeks, then you need to have an in-clinic surgical procedure.” I can feel the panic starting to set in. The nurse takes my hand.
“Listen, you haven’t made any decision yet. You can walk out of here right now if that’s what you want.” I nod but don’t respond.
I just sit on the examining table in silence. The nurse instructs me to pull my shirt up, and she squirts some kind of gel on my stomach; it’s really cold. Slowly, she moves the wand around.
“You look to be about sixteen weeks so if you wanted to proceed today it would have to be a surgical abortion. I can explain the procedure, we have a coach that can come in and hold your hand while you have the procedure,” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
I look at the small dot on the screen and then she turns a dial, and I hear it: I hear my baby’s heartbeat and everything becomes so clear to me.
She goes to turn it off when she sees the tears running down my face, but I grab her hand. “Please, I just want to hear it a little longer.” I reach my hand out and touch the screen. She is clicking buttons, and I see pictures coming out the side of the machine. I don’t even ask for them, I just snatch the pictures from the machine and grip them for dear life. I want to remember this moment; I want to remember the moment I stopped living for me, and I started living for my child. I look at the nurse and start getting off the exam table. “I’m not doing it, can I please go?”
She smiles. “Yes, let me get you cleaned up and you can go. You have a few more weeks if you change your mind,” she adds.
“No, I know I want my baby even if no one else does. Thank you for being so nice,” I say before running to the waiting room.
Writing a book takes a lot of energy not just the energy of the person telling the story, but the Editor, Proofreader, Beta Readers, ARC Readers, Cover Designer, Formatter, and bloggers or Promotional Team. You can’t write a book for free an author has to pay for those words in a Plain Document to become something on your Kindle App or in your Hand.
As a writer, you don’t expect everyone to LOVE or even LIKE what you write, but writers don’t write to be praised they write because they enjoy it and it’s satisfying. when your see something that was in your head transformed into an actual book the feeling is indescribable. I remember when I was young I use to think I would be a writer when I grew up up like most adults learn, Life happens and you have to put aside your childish dreams and work, provide, sacrifice. I live in this real world where every day is is struggle, so I made up a world of Billionaires and Superstars, in my books with all these characters beauty and charmed lives they still face semi-real life situation that is why I write fiction, it suppose to be over the top and unbelievable, if anyone has found any real life Werewolf or Bear shifters let me know!!!!
So with that said no matter how many one star reviews I get I will still keep telling my stories, you don’t have to love them and you don’t have to like them and I might be the worst author in the history of Amazon, but that’s okay because I’m doing what I told my younger self I couldn’t do.


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COVER REVEAL ~ Men of Mayhem : A Mafia Anthology

Sometimes the line between good and bad simply depends which side you’re on…
Good guys can have unsavory secrets, while so-called criminals can live by a code of ethics rivaling that of any law enforcement agency. Bending the law for money, power, or revenge is one thing, but what if you’re bending it for your family—for love?
Who would choose to become involved with a man who walks on the dark side…
Some men will go to any lengths, legal or not, and make no apologies to protect their way of life and all they hold dear. But you don’t always choose who you love, and sometimes you just have to decide if you’re bold enough to risk it all and go along for the ride.
Thirteen masterful authors come together to present Men of Mayhem.
Compelling stories of loyalty and passion, love and lust, in which the moral and ethical lines are blurred, and call into question the notions of right and wrong.
What could be more exciting than taking a leap of faith…and landing in the arms of the last man you’d expect—but the only one who truly makes you feel alive?
What if your road to happiness leads to…
 Men of Mayhem

Amy Rachiele – “Enforcing Fate”

Amy Rachiele is a widowed military spouse who spent many years volunteering and on staff for the Army National Guard and Department of Veteran Affairs with family support, family readiness, as well as, families of the Fallen. Amy devoted 10 years to teaching at-risk students in the Providence School System. She holds a Master’s degree from Rhode Island College in English and Secondary Education. Besides writing, she is a reader, tea-er, shifter-lovin’, Sci-fi junkie, who enjoys scrapbooking, sewing, and traveling. Amy lives in Massachusetts with her son.

Ashlee Taylor – “How We Came To Be”
Ashlee Taylor has always loved to read. She was practically born with a book in hand. She even wrote short stories and vignettes for fun at age eleven. 


As she grew up reading was put to the side but the book Fifty Shades of Grey brought back the love of the written word. Swallowing every book she could get her hands on while befriending authors. Eventually becoming a beta reader and helping authors work out critical scenes and plot progressions. 
Through this process, Ashlee decided to write the stories in her head.


Douglas Esper – “A Late Night Bang”
For a man as nonathletic as Douglas Esper is, he sure enjoys juggling. Well, juggling projects anyway. Writer, blogger, musician, producer, and scotch drinker, Douglas always has something to do. His recent publishing credits include a novel, A Life of Inches (Limitless Publishing), a short story, My Wife’s Favorite (Scout Media), an essay, It’s Just a Bag of Peanuts (AHTI publishing), and a collection of songs with the band Indoria titled, There’s a Gleam (ApproachingStorm records). Douglas is currently ghostwriting a book with rock vocalist Chuck Mosley and editing his second novel, a suspense thriller titled, In the Watershed.




EJ Fechenda – “Drago”

E.J. Fechenda has lived in Philadelphia, Phoenix and now calls Portland, Maine home where she is a wife, stepmom, and pet parent all while working full time. Crazy is how she likes it. She has a degree in Journalism from Temple University and her short stories have been published in Suspense Magazine, the 2010 and 2011 Aspiring Writers Anthologies, and in the Indies Unlimited 2012 Flash Fiction Anthology. In addition to writing The New Mafia Trilogy, she is working on The Ghosts Stories Trilogy. E.J. is a member of the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance and co-founder of the fiction reading series, “Lit: Readings & Libations” which is held semi-quarterly in Portland.

Ginger Ring – “Madison’s Mobster”
Ginger Ring is an eclectic, Midwestern girl with a weakness for cheese, dark chocolate, and the Green Bay Packers. She loves reading, traveling, watching great movies, and has a quirky sense of humor. Publishing a book has been a lifelong dream of hers and she is excited to share her romantic stories with you. Her heroines are classy, sassy and in search of love and adventure. When Ginger isn’t tracking down old gangster haunts or stopping at historical landmarks, you can find her on the backwaters of the Mississippi River fishing with her husband.

JL Drake – “Code of Silence”

J. L. Drake was born and raised in Nova Scotia, Canada, later moving to Southern California where she lives with her husband and two children. 
When she’s not writing she loves to spend time with her family, travelling or just enjoying a night at home. One thing you might notice in her books is her love for the four seasons. Growing up on the east coast of Canada the change in the seasons is in her blood and is often mentioned in her writing. 
An avid reader of James Patterson, J.L. Drake has often found herself inspired by his many stories of mystery and intrigue. 
She hopes you will enjoy her stories as much as she has enjoyed writing them.

JL Beck – “Infringe”

J.L. Beck is the best selling author of numerous books including Indebted, Inevitable, Invincible, and The Bittersweet Series. She’s best known for weaving a tale, that ends with your mouth hanging open, and your hands gripping the edge of your seat.
She’s a no holds bar author who enjoys spending time with her husband of seven years, three year old hellion, and Hatchi the fur baby. She calls Wisconsin home, but loves to travel. In her free time you can catch her watching bad reality tv, cooking, reading books, or spending time outdoors.

Elle Raven – “Calabrese”

Elle Raven is an Aussie author who lives in Adelaide, South Australia with her husband and three young children. Elle can usually be found with her iPad or laptop computer permanently glued to her. She began writing from a very young age. In fact Elle used to write plays and musicals when she was in high school. Having such a flamboyant personality she even performed in them herself Always an ‘actress’ and always the star.
Elle loves reading and writing about an alpha-male hero. If she can’t read about one that is alpha enough to suit her she will take it upon herself to write one.

Elle’s books will feature an alpha-male hero who will come tumbling to his knees in lust and love when he finally meets the heroine of his dreams. Rest assured that in an Elle Raven book, the hero will never cheat.

Elle would love to hear from you. Please email her or visit her Facebook page. She loves connecting with people and having a chat with the readers about her books or any other books you may have in common.


Lisa Cardiff – “Gian”

After spending years practicing law and a million other things, Lisa decided to pursue her dream of becoming a writer and she must confess that inventing characters is so much more fun than writing contracts and legal briefs. A native of Colorado, she lives with her husband and three children in Denver. When she isn’t managing the chaos of raising three children and owning her own business, she can be found reading or writing a book.

Marita Hansen – “Vincenzo”

NATIONALITY AND CULTURAL CONNECTIONS: I’m a true blue Aucklander, born and bred in New Zealand. I tend to write about cultures I have connections to, such as Croatian and Maori. I would love to visit Croatia again as I have family there. At the moment I’m living in Singapore, but will be back in New Zealand next year, possibly earlier.
SPORTS: As a teen my favourite sports were karate, badmington, and running. I also did unarmed combat and played in a touch rugby team (my gym teacher made me do the last one!) Now I stick to running and have completed a marathon.
CAREER PATH: I started off as a Graphic Designer, then went to Auckland University, where I got a BA degree in Art History and Italian Studies and a post-graduate Honours degree in Art History. I worked in the Art History field, then became a full-time artist, doing commissions. I eventually lost all of my senses and gave it up to be a poor, starving writer, smh.
FAVOURITE FOODS: I’m vegetarian. I love pasta based foods, tofu, chocolate mousse and golden queen peaches.
BAD HABITS: I’m a major procrastinator that can’t seem to earn money to save myself!
STATUS: Married to my high school sweetheart (which he hates me calling him). We have two kids.

Mia Hoddell – “One Shot”

#1 Amazon bestselling author, Mia Hoddell, lives in the UK with her family and two cats. She spends most of her time writing or reading, loves anything romantic, and has an overactive imagination that keeps her up until the early hours of the morning.
Mia has written over ten titles including her Seasons of Change series, the Chequered Flag series, the Elemental Killers series, and her standalone novels False Finder and Not Enough.
Her favourite genres are contemporary romance or romantic suspense, and with an ever growing list of ideas she is trying to keep up with the speed at which her imagination generates them. She also designs book covers on her website M Designs.

Sara Schoen – “Fatal Attraction”

Sara Schoen is 20 years old college student studying biology and environmental science. She started writing in middle school, but didn’t dedicate to it until high school. She published her wattpad book, Amber Alert, at 19 in November of 2014. She’s spent years prior writing a spy series which released the first book in July, and many stand alone books, but for now school is a main priority. You can still find her on wattpad account under xxnightstripexx communicating with fans and other young authors on the site. She hopes to inspire others that dreams can come true at any age, you just have to chase after what you want.

Soraya Naomi – “For Cesare”

I was born in South America in 1984 and raised in Europe where I presently reside with my fiancé.
I read many genres but favor intense, dark, seductive, and provocative novels where the male character loves fiercely, without remorse or boundaries. I also adore forbidden love tales and have an odd fascination with kidnapping romances. No, I don’t secretly want to be kidnapped, though!
I have a passionate obsession with the written word and indulge in chocolate pastries much too often.
My debut novel For Fallon (Chicago Syndicate, #1) was released on July 26, 2014. I’m honored that For Fallon won “Best Breakout Novel 2014” in the Novel Grounds Semi Annual Literary Awards.




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