Daily Archives: 13/09/2017

CHAPTER REVEAL ~ Touched by Mara White

 

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-Does your sister let you touch her, Gemini?

-Barely, but, yes, more than anyone else. I remember even in preschool when the teacher would grab her hand, she’d stare at the spot where their skin connected as if it were an affront to her existence. Just stand there and glare like she wanted to hurt someone.
-Junipera suffers from a rare phobia.
-Please, what does June not suffer from?
-When did she start chasing storms?
-In third grade she started obsessing about the rain. Full blown? I’d say after hurricane Katrina she never looked back. And she didn’t just chase them, June became those wild storms.

Junipera and Gemini Jones, Irish twins born during the month of June, survive a childhood of neglect and poverty by looking out for one another. Destined for a group home, the girls are rescued by a rich aunt and uncle who move them from Northern Minnesota to Fairfield, Connecticut. One sister thrives while the other spins out of control. A violent assault leaves Gemini searching for clues, but what she finds might be questions that are better left unanswered.

 

Coming September 25th

 

August 28th, 2005

June drove almost all night. The farthest south she’d ever been was Oklahoma, going after a tornado, and she’d flown past the Louisiana state line around four in the morning. She wasn’t exactly sure where she would stay since she’d heard on the radio that all of greater New Orleans had been placed under a mandatory evacuation order. Experience told her that there would be at least one hotel open downtown where reporters were holed up. She’d followed their lead before, pretending to be chasing the story and not the storm. They usually had the best intel and she would leech off of them if she could. The storm had been given a name when she turned into a hurricane—Katrina, they called her, and she’d become a category three when she hit land in Florida. But now she had free rein over warm open water. That meant her hunger would gain and when she touched Louisiana, she’d do it with a vengeance. She was expected to hit land around six in the morning, as a category five. June had never actually seen a five before, but she knew roofs, cars and trees would go flying through the air like paper dolls, sucked up into the vortex and spit out indiscriminately.
Traffic snaked away from the Gulf in impossibly long lines of chrome and glass, rubber tires packed full of momentum wishing they could go faster. June had the speed they wanted as hers was one of the very few cars racing in the opposite direction. She came down I-55, and when she hit the I-10 bypass, the seriousness of the evacuation became apparent. Anyone who could was getting the hell out of New Orleans.
Storm excitement felt very much like a hormone—tipsy, punch-drunk and out of control. June got high off the anticipation; she tuned out the radio and the long line of evacuees and listened to the storm. She spoke its language. June lowered the windows in the Beamer so she could feel the pressure in the air. Her blood surged in her body like the ocean tides do in response to its pull. Her extremities tingled; so did her nose. She could taste the storm on the tip of her tongue, like a spike, a live wire, a sharp blade laced with coppery blood. Katrina called to her and June’s thigh muscles quivered.
June laid into the gas. Sometimes municipal law enforcement would block incoming traffic as well. June knew how to pose as a news reporter, but she wasn’t the most convincing candidate. Stringy blonde baby hair, lithe body like a cattail reed, clothing that was two sizes too big for her. She looked more like a painter or a homeless person despite driving a BMW. But her passion was always convincing, and her hope was that if Katrina was as big as she promised to be, whoever was watching would be too distracted to waste precious energy on just one life when hundreds of thousands were at stake.
“You a chaser?” the man asked her. He was a plainclothes officer, or maybe a reporter? She couldn’t be sure. He was the third person to stop her since she’d made it into the abandoned city. Anyone left on the streets was in transit, looking for a way out. More than one person had flagged her down and asked for a ride to the Superdome.
“No, I report to the Weather Channel directly,” June snapped. She stuck her anemometer on top of her small rolling suitcase. “I’ve got a room at the Riverside Hilton,” she said. She’d parked Uncle Ben’s BMW in the closest parking garage, reserved the room with his Mastercard. The receptionist only asked her if she knew there was a city-wide mandatory evacuation in progress. June looked up at her as if she were insulted. She smacked a press card on the desk. It wasn’t hers and the receptionist didn’t check it.
The cop or reporter was sold with the card. He figured hustlers or chasers couldn’t afford digs like hers. She walked briskly past him and flashed him her key card. What was he going to do? Arrest her and take her to jail? They had bigger things to worry about. This city was about to get slammed and everyone who’d stayed knew their lives would be in danger.
There were maybe a hundred or so of them in the Hilton. June recognized all the chasers, and not just because she’d seen them at other storms. It was their wily nature, their eyes holding the spark instead of the dread that was written all over the faces of the real press in the crowd. Some were there for the historic record and others, like Junipera, were there for the fix.
The wind started to scream at around eleven that evening. June wrapped her camera and her meter tightly in Saran Wrap, then stuck them in Ziploc bags along with her paper and pens. She packed all of the tiny water bottles and soda, peanuts and pretzels from the mini fridge into her backpack. Rolled up her blue tarp, Swiss Army knife, extra pair of underwear, waterproof pants and windbreaker and stowed them alongside the food.
The rain lashed the windows and splashed against them in sheets as if her hotel window were the windshield and she was moving slowly through a vigorous carwash. June stepped outside onto the balcony around two in the morning; the rain seemed to have died down but the wind was picking up, the trees across the way bending and straining, at times leaning almost horizontally. Her anemometer picked up wind speeds over eighty miles per hour. It’s the eastern side of the hurricane that packs the power punch. When that came calling, the hotel would be bending like the trees.
The television in the room blared with the constant evacuation warnings. June watched the Doppler radar image on a loop, circling toward the city like a hanging jaw going from red to purple. Hungry, angry wind and water were coming. June filled the bath tub, reinforced the metal stopper with Saran Wrap, did the same to the sink. She plunked down on the bed, splayed her limbs wide and stared at the ceiling.
The demon bared its teeth, and the windsong progressed from scream to roar, drowning out the warnings on the television. The beast was in the room, she was everywhere, surrounding them. June flinched every time she heard glass pop and shatter.
The window shook with the ferocity of a King Kong tantrum. Junipera imagined the tall Hilton as a toy in a child’s diorama reproduction of the French Quarter. Her fingers dug in and she held tight to the edge of the mattress. The room went black and the television silent when the power failed. The roar got louder, filling up her ears to find a way inside her skull.
At six-thirty in the morning her windows finally burst; the shades flew into the room and danced a madcap jig, wrenching themselves from the sliding track. June watched, eyes wide, as the one on the left took flight, a flash of soaring white in the dark sky before it flew out of sight. She crawled along the carpeted floor that was now soaked in brackish water, rolled to her back and filmed the macabre sky. The center of the hurricane looked like the center of a starfish, opening and beckoning, then folding in on its own hungry embrace. If there were Gods they were angry, monsters immune to the rules of give and take. June’s ears popped with the pressure while debris flew over her head, sometimes inches from her face. Then the rain began to plop down again in enormous drops. She stuck her camera under her shirt.
No sun rose and daybreak came in without color. From white to grey to a drab blue, the subdued tones of pigeons colored the horizon. When the roar finally moved far enough west to quiet, her ears still buzzed with its scream as if it had taken up house in her head. June could hear the beating of propellers—Army, she assumed, and not meteorological. The sound of periodic gunfire she decided to tell herself was exploding transformers and not ruthless people taking advantage of a ghost city with only a weary skeleton crew to protect it. She washed her face and armpits in the water she’d saved in the sink. Brushed her teeth, spitting in the toilet. She drank from the bathwater as if it were a baptismal font. It tasted as warm as the humid air around her.
It was still a good storm raging outside but June figured she’d head to the command center and hang with the reporters, hear their assessment of the damage. Running her fingers through her tangled hair was the best she could do for appearances. Nobody would care. The room, which had probably been a continental breakfast concierge haven, was now buzzing with reporters using an antiquated form of dial-up to communicate with the greater world. With a crashed electrical grid, the means for direct communication were severed. Someone had made coffee from instant crystals and bathwater. June helped herself to two mugs full as she listened to their chatter and took notes. Analog reporting, they were relaying messages like it was 1984. June heard reports of levees breeched, ruptured, possible flooding, but no one seemed to know for certain. She left the command center and went back to her room, pulled on her waterproof pants and rain boots, and put a sweater on under her windbreaker even though the humidity was stifling. She walked out the door with nothing more than her equipment and tiny rations in a backpack.
“Which way is the ninth ward?” she asked the security guard standing by the sliding glass doors. He looked her up and down reproachfully and Junipera tried to stand even taller than her already generous five feet ten inches.
“To your left. It’s a long walk, and believe me, from what they’re saying you don’t want to go there. Head to the Convention Center instead.”
“Thanks,” June said. She stepped out into the dense fog and turned left.
“There’s still debris flying. Hurricane ain’t over yet!” the security guard shouted after her.
She disappeared from his view, swallowed up by the insatiable mouth that wasn’t yet finished feeding on New Orleans



AP new -about the author.jpg

 

Mara White is a contemporary romance and erotica writer who laces forbidden love stories with hard issues, such as race, gender and inequality. She holds an Ivy League degree but has also worked in more strip clubs than even she can remember. She is not a former Mexican telenovela star contrary to what the tabloids might say, but she is a former ballerina and will always remain one in her heart. She lives in NYC with her husband and two children and yes, when she’s not writing you can find her on the playground.

 

 
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RELEASE BOOST ~ Lucky Number Eleven (Expose vol 4 2017) by Adriana Locke

 

 

Title: Lucky Number Eleven
Author: Adriana Locke

Genre: Romantic Comedy/Sports Romance
Release Date: September 7, 2017
 
Blurb
People say not to believe the things you read in magazines, but you know what? Most things you’ve heard about me are probably true.
 
I totally banged the reporter in the locker room after the championship game last year.
 
Those pictures in Expose from last summer? Those were not modified.
 
I’m also not really six-foot tall. (But let’s keep that between us.)
 
Now, I know you’re wondering about that last Expose headline—the one about me and my teammate (and ex-best friend) Finn Miller’s sister, Layla James. That one is a little more complicated.
 
Here’s the thing: I’ve played football my whole life. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to adjust when the game changes. And if there’s one thing I always do, it’s find a way to win.
 
Granted, the stakes are higher. The playbook has changed. There’s more on the line than (another) MVP title. But guess what hasn’t changed? Me. I’m still Branch “Lucky” Best and I’m not about to fumble this one.
 
Grab a seat and a subscription to Expose. I’m about to make some headlines. (Again.)
 
A sexy, swoon-filled standalone novel.
 

 


 

 
 
 
 
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Excerpt
 
“One question,” Poppy interjects, looking at Branch. “What position are you?”
“I typically like the bottom so I can watch—oomph,” he says, getting another elbow from Finn. “Wide receiver. Why?”
Looking at
Poppy, I can’t help but laugh as her eyes light up.
“You got a problem with wide receivers?” Branch asks.
“You do,” Finn interjects, giving me a narrowed glare. “They aren’t any better than quarterbacks.”
Branch looks from me, to Finn, and back to me. “Why do we not like quarterbacks?”
“My sister was dating Callum Worthington.”
“No shit?”
His face puckers like he just bit into a lemon. “How in the hell did that cocksucker end up with you?”
“He didn’t. We’re not together anymore.”
Branch’s eyes heat, the look causing my pulse to quicken. “I’m not a bit sorry to hear that.”
“You better forget you heard any of that,” Finn warns. “This is my sister, Branch. Not a cheerleader or reporter or some chick from a dating app. Got it?”
“Finn, relax,” I say, shoving a swallow past the lump in my throat. “I appreciate the big brother spiel, but I can handle myself.”
“I know you can,” he says, pulling his gaze away from Branch. “But you can’t handle him.”


 

 

Author Bio

 
USA Today and Amazon Top 10 Bestselling author Adriana Locke lives and breathes books.
After years of slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys created by other authors, Adriana has created her own.
 
She resides in the Midwest with her husband, sons, and two dogs. She spends a large amount of time playing with her kids, drinking coffee, and cooking. You can find her outside if the weather’s nice and there’s always a piece of candy in her pocket.
 
Please contact Adriana at www.adrianalocke.com. She loves to hear from readers. 

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RELEASE BOOST ~ I Want (Enamorado #2) by Ella Fox

 
 
 
 
 
 
Title: I Want
Series: Enamorado #2
Author: Ella Fox

 

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: September 8, 2017

 

Blurb
Billionaire businessman Alejandro Cruz detests the dating process and is perfectly content to stay single. But that all changes the moment the quirky house sitter from next door falls into his arms, and his immediate instinct is to hold on tight and never let go. California girl Kaya Porter has a “just say no” approach to dating. No matter how sexy and irresistible Alejandro is, she vows not to fall for him. Alejandro has other plans. This sexy Spaniard knows what he wants, and there’s nothing he won’t do to make Kaya realize that they belong together. Will Alejandro get the girl or will he be left wanting more than Kaya is willing to give?
 
I Want is book two of the Enamorado (In Love) series. Each book will feature one of the Cruz brothers and can be read as a standalone.

 


 

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AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited


Excerpt

“Climb gates around here often?” he asked, no censure in his voice. I realized he spoke English as fluently as he spoke Spanish.He was clad in navy basketball shorts, a pair of Nike running shoes and he was just sweaty enough for me to realize he’d likely been working out. I swear I was hypnotized by all of his exposed skin, so much so that I could just about remember my own name at that moment. I’d have blamed the fall for my dazed and confused frame of mind but that wasn’t it at all. It was purely because of him—the sexy Spanish-speaking god who’d saved me from certain harm. My eyes trailed along his muscular but lean body hungrily as I catalogued just how ridiculously gorgeous he was. I was hypnotized by his six-pack and the set of V-cut muscles I had an insane urge to trail my fingers over.

I’d have kept right on staring had he not cleared his throat. I cringed as I came back to reality and realized he’d asked a question I hadn’t retained.

“Um, huh?” I asked, perfectly clueless.

“I was asking if you’re a professional gate climber,” he said huskily.

“No, I—”

“She’s really fine after a fall from that height?” the officer asked as he came through the gate.

“She never hit the ground,” my savior said, “since I caught her.”

The cop looked almost as impressed as I felt. I’d have heaped praised onto the stranger who saved me had I not remembered that I needed to be focused on a more pressing concern.

“So now that I’m on this side I really need to get my—”

The officer pinned me with a look that left no doubt that he was in charge. “Miss, please remain silent while I work out what’s going on here.”

I pursed my lips and tried to contain my annoyance. I knew he was just doing his job but all I cared about was finding Elvis.

The officer turned back to the Spanish model—I naturally assumed he modeled because he looked like he belonged in sensual looking black and white ads for men’s cologne. You know the kind of ads I’m talking about, right? There’s always a sexy guy giving you the let’s have all the sex look with a set of eyes that are clearly attempting to hypnotize you into buying something.

He was at least six feet tall and had a head full of thick, dark hair. His face was perfectly proportioned from forehead to chin, and I could find nothing that didn’t appear to be symmetrical. He had a ridiculously sexy closely trimmed beard that I wanted to trace with my fingers and his jaw was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I turned crimson when my eyes trailed up and met his and I realized he was observing me—which meant he knew I’d been staring at him. Again.

I bit my lip and tried not to blush as I blinked like an idiot. I was relieved to have a reason to look to the police officer when he cleared his throat to get our attention. “Are you the one who called about the disturbance down the side of the house?” he asked.

I couldn’t resist the urge to let my eyes wander back to the Spanish god. I knew just enough Spanish to determine that if his looks were rated on the salsa scale he’d be called el más caliente.

His eyes were on me as he answered the cop. “My brother called, yes.”

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Alejandro Cruz.”

Even his name was sexy. My skin felt hot and prickly under his gaze. Anxious for a reprieve, I looked back to the officer.

The cop nodded as he took note of it on his pad. “And your brother’s name?”

“Rafael Cruz.”

“And you?” the cop asked with a head nod toward me.

“Kaya Porter.”

“Can you spell that?”

“K-a-y-a,” I answered.

“That’s a weird name,” the officer said as he wrote it down.

I wasn’t sure if he was being rude or not so I shrugged and said nothing. Alejandro growled something under his breath that I couldn’t understand. A shiver went down my back at the way the words rolled off his tongue. His Spanish accent fascinated me. I’d never been one to care one way or the other about a man’s voice, but his did things to me. I wondered if audio erotica was a thing. If it were, I would pay a subscription fee to hear him talk all day.

“So were you trying to escape or get in?” the officer asked, ruining my good fantasy about an Alejandro Cruz dirty talk subscription service.

“I was trying to get in,” I answered stiffly, annoyed that the officer had already forgotten everything I’d said, “I told you—”

“No, no, she is not the disturbance,” Alejandro interjected. “My brother thought someone was trying to steal God only knows what from the exterior of the house. He was asleep and heard something outside his bedroom window and panicked. He shouldn’t have called the police—it’s animal control that we need. Some dickhead bird went through the trash that my brother forgot to secure and he’s been leading him on one hell of a chase around the yard.”

My eyes narrowed and my hands went to my hips as I stared down the model. “Don’t talk about my little buddy like that,” I snapped.


 

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Author Bio
 
 
 
Ella Fox is the USA Today Bestselling Author of The Hart Family Series, Consequences of Deception, The Catch Series and The Renegade Series. When she’s not writing, Ella indulges the gypsy in her blood and travels the country. Ella loves reading, movies, music, buying make-up, reading Tmz, Twitter and pedicures… not necessarily in that order. She has a wild sense of humor and loves to laugh. Her favorite thing in the world is hanging out with her family and watching comedy movies.

COVER & BLURB REVEAL ~ The Hunt ( A Hard Love Romance) by Monica James

 

THE HUNT
Series: A Hard Love Romance
Monica James

Genre: Rom-Com, Erotica
Release Date: October 30th 2017

Book 1: Dirty Dix 
Book 2: Wicked Dix 
Book 3 (Spin-Off): The Hunt

Pre-Order Now:

Kindle: 
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BLURB:

My name is Hunter O’Shea and I have a confession to make…I’ve met a girl who consumes me. I know that makes me sound completely whipped, but Mary “Lamb” Mitts has the power to bring me to my knees…it’s just too bad she hates my guts. But that’s okay, because I hate hers, too. The fiery redhead stirs something in me that I can’t explain.
This temporary insanity could be due to the fact my best friend, who used to be a bigger player than me, is getting married. That must be it. I’m caught up in an Oprah moment.
The only solution is to get back in the game and forget she exists. That theory is great—too bad I don’t want anyone else.
I…just…want…her.
I’m so screwed.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:Monica James

Monica James spent her youth devouring the works of Anne Rice, William Shakespeare, and Emily Dickinson.
When she is not writing, Monica is busy running her own business, but she always finds a balance between the two. She enjoys writing honest, heartfelt, and turbulent stories, hoping to leave an imprint on her readers. She draws her inspiration from life.
She is a bestselling author in the U.S., Australia, Canada, France, Germany, Israel, and the U.K.
Monica James resides in Melbourne, Australia, with her wonderful family, and menagerie of animals. She is slightly obsessed with cats, chucks, and lip gloss, and secretly wishes she was a ninja on the weekends.

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SNEAK PEEK ~ DEAR BRIDGET, I WANT YOU by Penelope Ward & Vi Keeland

 

 

Dear Bridget,

I’m writing this letter because it’s highly doubtful I’ll ever garner the courage to say this to your face.

So, here goes.

We’re totally wrong for each other. You’re the proper single mum with a good head on your shoulders. I’m just the carefree British doctor passing through town and temporarily living in your converted garage until I head back to England.

But here’s the thing… for some bloody reason, I can’t stop thinking about you in very inappropriate ways.

I want you.

The only reason I’m even admitting all of this to you right now is because I don’t believe it’s one-sided. I notice your eyes when you look at me, too. And as crass as I appear when we’re joking around about sex, my attraction to you is not a joke.

So, what’s the purpose of this note? I guess it’s a reminder that we’re adults, that sex is healthy and natural, and that you can find me just through the door past the kitchen. More specifically, it’s to let you know that I’m leaving said door cracked open from now on in case you’d like to visit me in the middle of the night sometime.

No questions asked.

Think about it.

Or don’t.

Whatever you choose.

It’s doubtful I’ll even end up sliding this letter under your door anyway.

–Simon

ADD TO GOODREADS


Dear Bridget, I Want You will be available on all platforms on September 18th!

Pre-orders are available at the following:

iBooks | B&N | Kobo | Google Play | Amazon paperback

There is no Amazon eBook preorder. Will go live on Amazon on release day.
Sign up for mailing list now and be the first one notified when it goes live


Every time I considered leaving my room, I would grab the framed picture of Ben and stare at it. The urge to go to Simon was so strong; I basically hadn’t put down the framed photo of my deceased husband in an hour. I was lying in my bed, holding a picture of a dead man while fantasizing about one who was very much alive and in the other room. With the door cracked open waiting for me. There was one part of Simon’s note that I just kept reading over and over.

I want to make you come. Hard. I want you to get lost in me and I want to hear you say my name over and over while we fuck.

While we fuck.

While we fuck.

I was pretty sure that Ben had never used the word fuck like that before. Did we even fuck? We made love, sure. Our sex life was normal—at least, I think it was normal. Don’t get me wrong, the passion wasn’t the same as when we first got together. But after ten years, both of us working full time and raising a child, it was normal to have some of the desire dwindle, wasn’t it?

While we fuck.

I looked at the picture of my husband and sighed. We didn’t fuck. Not even in the beginning. And I felt guilty for that now. Maybe we should have been fucking. I certainly didn’t do anything to entice him to want me the last few years. Was it my fault our sex life had gotten boring? I rested the picture of Ben over my heart and laid my hand over it. I could feel my heart beating out of control beneath my fingers.

Shutting my eyes, I tried to force thoughts of Simon from my mind. But it was no use. Visions of his hard, sculpted body hovering over me had infiltrated my brain. So, here I was, a thirty-three-year-old, single mother lying in my bed all alone with a picture of my dead husband held to my heart while I visualized fucking another man.

Fucking.

Not making love.

I needed my head examined.

After two hours and no sleep in sight, I decided the only way I was going to be able to get any rest was if I got everything I was feeling off of my chest. Flicking on the light, I carefully set the framed photo of my beloved Ben on my nightstand and then opened the drawer and dug out a pen and piece of pretty stationery. I would write down my thoughts to clear my mind. I had no intention of actually giving the letter to Simon, so there was no reason to filter anything I said.

Dear Simon…

 

★★★★

We hope you enjoyed this preview!


Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today, and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling author of thirteen novels. With over a million books sold, her titles have placed on the New York Times Bestseller list seventeen times. She is the proud mother of a beautiful 12-year-old girl with autism (the inspiration for the character Callie in Gemini) and a 10-year-old boy. Penelope, her husband, and kids reside in Rhode Island.

Facebook Fan Group | Facebook | Website |Twitter | Instagram

Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times Bestselling author. With more than a million and a half books sold, her titles have appeared in over eighty Bestseller lists and are currently translated in seventeen languages. She lives in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.

Website | Facebook Fan Group | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram


Other books from Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward:

Cocky Bastard
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1LfN3fc
iTunes: http://apple.co/1PffE2J
B&N: http://bit.ly/1EjxNpY
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1UxCSUO

Stuck-Up Suit
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1S3LnpZ
iBooks: http://apple.co/1Qbwy57
B&N: http://bit.ly/29vrQhV
Kobo: http:// bit.ly/1RJdUif

Playboy Pilot
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2d5I5rS
iBooks: http://apple.co/1Wb06Cf
Nook: bit.ly/2caXPEK
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2cJDXO1

Mister Moneybags
Amazon http://amzn.to/2oTaaHf
Barnes & Noble http://smarturl.it/kx7h8m
iBooks http://smarturl.it/3y1tuq
Kobo http://smarturl.it/qqf5ho

Other books from Vi Keeland:

Standalone novels

Beautiful Mistake
Amazon eBook http://amzn.to/2uoeoJN
iBooks http://smarturl.it/20x53a
B&N http://smarturl.it/n8jey6
Kobo http://smarturl.it/1btxsz

Egomaniac
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/b1gi74
iBooks: http://apple.co/2fIsmvC
B&N: http://smarturl.it/t4ohsv
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/azmhq9

Bossman
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2a8D5B6
iBooks: http://apple.co/25x2jyX
B&N: http://bit.ly/29sL4H2
Kobo: http://bit.ly/29lW19I

The Baller
Amazon: amzn.to/1PBF2hG
iBooks: http://bit.ly/iBooksBaller
B&N: http:// bit.ly/BarnesBaller
Kobo: http:// bit.ly/KoboBaller

Left Behind (A Young Adult Novel)
http://www.amazon.com/Left-Behind-Vi-Keeland-ebook/dp/B00OJM92LI/

First Thing I See
http://www.amazon.com/First-Thing-See-Vi-Keeland-ebook/dp/B00AWXY3HG
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/first-thing-i-see-ms-vi-keeland/1114703332

Life on Stage series (2 standalone books)

Beat
http://www.amazon.com/Beat-Vi-Keeland-ebook/dp/B00ZOMUV12/ http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beat-vi-keeland/1121715501 https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/beat/id983959123 https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/beat-5

Throb
http://www.amazon.com/Throb-Vi-Keeland-ebook/dp/B00SS2RYBU
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/throb/id948747986
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/throb-vi-keeland/1121112695
https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/throb-4

MMA Fighter series (3 standalone books)

Worth the Fight
http://www.amazon.com/Worth-Fight-Vi-Keeland-ebook/dp/B00FLG5B9S
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/worth-the-fight/id805540252
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/worth-the-fight-vi-keeland/1117014180
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/worth-the-fight

Worth the Chance
http://www.amazon.com/Worth-Chance-Vi-Keeland-ebook/dp/B00I2UKQOK
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/worth-the-chance/id813714461
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/worth-the-chance-vi-keeland/1118634058
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/worth-the-chance

Worth Forgiving
http://www.amazon.com/Worth-Forgiving-Vi-Keeland-ebook/dp/B00MWL78EG
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/worth-forgiving/id906130022?ls=1&mt=11
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/worth-forgiving-vi-keeland/1120173153
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/worth-forgiving

The Cole Series (2 book serial)

Belong to You
http://www.amazon.com/Belong-You-A-Cole-Novel-ebook/dp/B00BUTCXLE/
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/belong-to-you/id639401754
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/belong-to-you-vi-keeland/1114962845
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/belong-to-you

Made for You
http://www.amazon.com/Made-You-A-Cole-Novel-ebook/dp/B00DPWVKS6
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/made-for-you/id84550637
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/made-for-you-vi-keeland/1115883225
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/belong-to-you

Other books from Penelope Ward:

Drunk Dial
Amazon http://amzn.to/2fXfzKn
iBooks http://apple.co/2tq7dRz
Nook http://bit.ly/2xeEH2H
Kobo http://bit.ly/2ihXnMD
Audio http://amzn.to/2fWnsQg

Mack Daddy:
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2kWzE1S
iTunes: http://apple.co/2iNrIPj
B&N: http://hyperurl.co/aiypfj
Kobo: http://hyperurl.co/r3hv19

RoomHate
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1TksrpE
iTunes: http://apple.co/1PgsvE7
B&N: http://bit.ly/1PLGnSL
kobo: http://bit.ly/1POvSnW

Stepbrother Dearest
Amazon http://amzn.to/1mFNMeg
ITunes: http://bit.ly/YER0mT
B&N: http://bit.ly/1taMFjG
kobo: http://bit.ly/1fJaaBs

Neighbor Dearest
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2aS8BPa
iTunes: http://apple.co/29mC6L8
B&N: http://bit.ly/2akQ2aq
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2axt1SY

Sins of Sevin
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1F9tbc3
iTunes: http://apple.co/1K8mzGg
B&N: http://bit.ly/1hTKAKE
kobo: http://bit.ly/1OaGY3D

Jake Undone
(Jake #1)
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1dJrHBC
iTunes: http://apple.co/1fJayQ8
B&N: http://bit.ly/1obAwJ6
kobo: http://bit.ly/1SPKl0M

My Skylar
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1obOG2F
iTunes: http://bit.ly/SLNOTR
B&N: http://bit.ly/SLO1qi
kobo: http://bit.ly/1kNrtAB

Jake Understood
(Jake #2)

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1GFdves
iTunes: http://apple.co/1DQQwgC
B&N: http://bit.ly/1FwJC0z
kobo: http://bit.ly/1LQ7Fvk

Gemini
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1vgk1SE
iTunes: http://apple.co/1QTaONj
B&N: http://bit.ly/1KfmLHD
kobo: http://bit.ly/1BGJ2wu


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