Category Archives: Coming Soon

EXCERPT REVEAL ~ Manhattan Millionaire by Jennifer Ann

 


Coming October 24th 2016

 

 

Sinfully attractive playboy Nolan Zimmerman was born into a wealthy family, but maintains grueling hours to keep the reputation of his grandmother’s beloved bar as one of the hottest spots in New York. Sexy and independent Sofia Kendall has made her way to the top as a high powered attorney, and she doesn’t have time for men in general. When Sofia is offered a transfer to Manhattan, she’s eager to reconnect with her family but unprepared for a scandalous love affair.

Upon first meeting several years ago, the circumstances didn’t allow Sofia and Nolan to explore the initial spark of chemistry. And as fate would have it, their chances of starting something doesn’t look too favorable the second time around either. Once they decide they can’t be anything more than friends, is there no going back, or will their unrelenting desire for each other be too strong to resist?

Warning: This book is filled with serious angst and star-crossed lovers. If you’re looking for a sexy tale with steamy love scenes, sit back and enjoy the story.

 

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One




Nolan


The easy-going way the dark-haired, tattooed woman caresses the strings on her blue guitar, it would seem she was born to be a musician. With her eyes closed, her powerful voice rises out in a gentle melody reminiscing of love and lifelong commitment—even citing the sacred Marine Corps motto with the lyrics “semper fi.” Tiny enough to fit in my pocket, the New York native knows her way around an instrument and can sing a ballad even better than the metal tunes she was belting out earlier. The moment her whiskey-colored eyes land on me and she grins, my dick stirs in my jeans even though my brain knows she’s off limits.
I’d first heard of Chloe Cirillo a couple years back through mutual friends in the business and witnessed her rise to fame in the local music scene. Now that she’s released her first album under rock legend Rod Vaghel’s label and recently completed a countrywide tour, I knew I was a lucky bastard when she agreed to come play at my bar in Brooklyn Heights. I’ve seen several videos of her performing, but none of them captured the sex appeal she emits in person.
After playing the last note, Chloe rides out the wild roar of applause before returning to the microphone. The shy smile she flashes the crowd is genuine and cute as shit. “Oh my god, you guys have been amazing! We’re going to take a short break to catch our breaths, and then we’ll be back to rock this place some more.”
With her departure from the stage, the atmosphere shifts as the crowd breaks out in idle chatter and Alice in Chains plays from the speakers. A hot blonde at my side nudges me with her elbow, grinning from ear-to-ear with the most genuine smile. The floral print skirt and off-the-shoulder blouse she wears, tits almost visible behind the white fabric, paired with the way her bangs are braided off to the side remind me of my best friend Sharlo’s boho chic style.
“Chloe’s awesome, right?” the blonde asks.
“I’ve never heard anything like her,” I concede.
When Sharlo told me she wouldn’t be coming up tonight, I’ll admit I was a bit disappointed. Thought I don’t have the biggest circle of friends, I can usually count on her to hang with me, making late nights at the bar less daunting. But between Chloe and this blonde, things—namely my dick—are looking up. I should probably be ashamed of myself for lusting after these women, but I’m not. A guy has needs. It doesn’t take much for me to get worked up these days.
“She wrote that song for my best friend’s wedding,” the blonde tells me.
“Impressive. Does she write all her own music?”
“You bet your ass she does. There’s a big voice and a massive heart stuffed inside that little body. When she comes back she’ll play the song she wrote for her boyfriend. It’ll knock your socks off!”
Just like that, the excited burn in my balls fizzles. It’s not like I could actually act on my attraction to Chloe anyway, but sometimes the fantasy is as good as the real thing.
“She has a bright future,” I say in response, glancing through the impressive wall of fans packed in around the small stage.
Since my grandma Leona passed ownership of the bar along to me several years back, I’ve busted my ass to keep its reputation going as one of the best in New York with a never-ending list of hot acts. Rock and roll superstar Charlie Walker has become a regular after I first hired his girlfriend at he time, and we slowly became friends over time. His presence has become a big boost for business as people tend to come more often, hoping to catch one of his random performances. Pretty fucking ironic considering I once despised the guy for hurting Evelyn when they were first dating.
But I love the hell out of this place. It’s like home. So I don’t mind putting in the extra time to ensure it continues to thrive. My childhood memories are confined to these record-clad walls and pounded copper ceilings as my father was too busy with his high-powered career and my mother was intent on enjoying the perks of a being a loaded wife to give two shits about their unplanned offspring. Grams took me under her wing and taught me how to appreciate good music, taking me to concerts on school nights and introducing me to every band to set foot inside the bar. When her memory started to lapse, it destroyed me to know it wouldn’t be long before I’d lose the closest family member I’d ever known.
“Zimmy?”
The old Corp nickname jerks me back to reality. When I spin back around, I’m face-to-face with one of my Recon brothers. Theo Roberts hasn’t changed much in the time since we finished our tour except for the non-military length of his dark hair. It’s no surprise to find a leggy brunette tucked under his arm since gorgeous women always flocked to the guy like flies on shit.
Theo didn’t fall into the same category as guys like me who initially signed up to get the fuck away from their families. He was born for the military, knowing most his life he wanted to enlist and checking off every box of a stereotypical Jarhead—thick with muscle, ballsy and determined, courageous, dirty-minded, and filled with the highest morale.
The Corp was good to me for the most part. I forged many unbreakable bonds with the guys and gained some valuable life experiences. Some of the shit we saw and the things that happened while stationed in Afghanistan, however, turned into endless nightmares that kept me awake at night for years to follow. When I’m struck with a sickening flash of fucked-up memories by looking into Theo’s eyes, I’m reminded why I’ve purposefully kept my distance from the guys in my unit.
“Jesus Christ, Big Rob!” I step forward as he releases the girl and we clap each other on the back in the biggest bro-hug known to man. “Where the hell have you been hiding, brother? Did you go back to the Bronx?”
“We just bought a place in the Upper East Side.” He steps back to wrap an arm around the attractive woman. “Kel, this is Nolan Zimmerman. We did a tour in the Corp together. You won’t meet a crazier fucker than this one. Son of a bitch is lucky to still have his nuts intact.”
Grinning, the woman offers a small wave of her hand. “Hi, I’m Kelly.”
“My wife,” Theo adds, beaming with pride.
My mouth lags open for a second before I have the presence of mind to snap it back shut. Theo was once the biggest player I knew, so it’s a mind-fuck to hear he’s settled down.
“Good on you, man,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and smirking at the wife. This one is attractive and has a sophisticated aura unlike some of the shallow bimbos he hooked up with the short time we were training in Honolulu. Oorah.
“This place is great.” Theo takes a sweeping glance around the place before his eyes settle on the stage. “When Chloe told me she was playing at Leona’s, I forgot it was your grandma’s bar.”
“Actually it’s mine now,” I say with a shrug, hoping he’ll drop the subject before I have to explain her ailing condition. “So you’re friends with Chloe too, huh?” I tip my head in the direction of the hot blonde still lingering behind Theo and Kelly, giggling with a small group of women. “Do you know her too?”
“That’s my bestie, Jewels,” Kelly tells me with a wave of her finger. “And you can wipe that hopeful look off your face because she’s taken in every sense of the word. Married, kid on the way, the whole nine yards. Don’t worry, you’re not the first guy to ask about her.”
“Aren’t you married?” Theo asks, cocking one eyebrow. “Between that pretty-boy mug of yours and your family’s money, I figured you’d always be the first in the unit to bite the bullet.”
I lift one shoulder and shake my head in response. Thank Christ, I’m far from it. “I’ve dated a few girls. Just haven’t found the right one.”
“‘Bite the bullet’?” Kelly repeats, crossing her arms over her impressive rack and glaring at her husband playfully. “Really?”
Theo pulls her into his thick embrace, chuckling. “Relax, Cavenaugh, you know I’d take a bullet for you any day.”
When she turns into him and he buries his face in her thick hair to whisper something, I look away. I’ve had my share of women over the years, but the closest I’ve had to a meaningful relationship is with Sharlo, and she chose to be with someone else without ever giving me the chance to be something more. The thing is, she’s the only woman who seems to have zero interest in my inheritance since she also came from money and is mostly unimpressed by wealth. And most women who hit on me have the kind of shallow personalities that make me cringe. Sharlo’s the only woman I genuinely enjoy being around. In a city populated by millions, why is it so fucking hard to find another good one?
As if the mere thought of Sharlo conjured her, I spot the top half of her blonde head making its way through the crowd toward the bar. If I weren’t so jealous that she’s starting a family, I’d bust a gut laughing at the way she waddles now that she’s far into the third trimester of her pregnancy.
Nudging Theo’s arm, I say, “I’ll be right back. Stick around and I’ll buy you and your friends a round of drinks while we catch up some more.”
“Alright, brother,” Theo answers, knocking his knuckles against my raised fist.
As I close in on Sharlo, now perched on one of the bar stools, I stop dead in my tracks. Sofia Kendall stands wedged in-between a few guys waiting to put their orders in with one of the waitresses. Navy wool coat draped over her arm, she glances around the bar, her gaze relaxed and curious. With her pale blonde hair swept into a neat knot low on the back of her head, the delicate features of her neck and chin are on clear display. She’s a total knockout.
Not only that, but the woman knows how to dress to impress in a tasteful sapphire dress that showcases her curvy body without being tacky and showing off too much of her tits. In her no-nonsense attitude alone it seems she made the right career choice by becoming an attorney. Her bright blue eyes are as intimidating as the way she carries herself, shoulders taut and chin high, but it seems something about her has changed since I had the pleasure of seeing her last.
Two summers ago, I met Sofia just moments after she arrived at Evelyn and Charlie’s beach house in the Hamptons. We didn’t have the best introduction—not only did I knock her into the bushes, but she insinuated that I was a playboy and gave me a cold shoulder. It was hardly an hour later when Sharlo was struck down by some psychotic driver with a grudge against her father. Sofia was there to witness it happen and somehow took on the burden of the accident, saying it was her fault. I never got all the details even though we spent countless hours together in the ER, waiting for Sharlo to wake from a coma.
Sofia leaned on me both literally and emotionally, but there wasn’t time for any meaningful conversation and it was shit timing to make any kind of move. Her internship forced her to leave before I had the chance to grow a pair and see if there was something between us worth exploring. Of course I would meet someone with potential who lived way the hell down in Texas. Bright, beautiful, no-nonsense, sophisticated, driven, she has the potential to be everything I could want in a woman.
The low burn in my balls from earlier returns when I take another sweeping glance at her figure. How the fuck did I forget that Sharlo told me she’d be coming to visit for the baby shower? But isn’t that in a few weeks? Hell, I don’t know dates without looking at my phone.
Scolding myself to man-up, I finish the distance between myself and the women, stopping to scratch my fingertips inside Sharlo’s thick hair.
“Surprised to see you here,” I say.
“Merely because I’m as unsightly as a blowfish in heat doesn’t mean I’m unable to show my future sister-in-law a good time. But trust me when I say you don’t want to know what I’d do for a shot of whiskey at this point.” My friend turns to me with a sideways smirk before kissing my cheek. With a glow to her cobalt eyes, she taps Sofia on the shoulder. “Love, you remember my mate, Nolan?”
Even though I keep the bar’s lighting dim enough to help everyone relax and unwind, I swear I see a flush fill Sofia’s cheeks when she looks over her shoulder from a few feet away. Not the kind of reaction I’d expect from the hard-nosed law student I met once upon a time.
Fuck. I forgot how irresistible I found her. Her body felt so soft and delicate against mine as she slept in a hospital chair at my side, her silky hair draped over my arm and her jasmine scent driving me wild. It was like having a fucking steak dangled in front of my face. And not just any steak—a filet mignon aged to perfection.
“Yes, of course.” She recovers with a graceful smile. “How are you, Nolan?”
For a split second I consider throwing her the line, “better now that you’re here,” but think better of it. Someone as polished as Sofia Kendall wouldn’t appreciate the lame attempt at humor. She may be the only woman I’ve met who’s completely out of my league for countless reasons.
“I’m doing well,” I answer with a solid smile, jamming my fingers inside my jeans pockets when it’s clear she won’t be offering her hand any time soon. “Welcome back to the city.”
I wave a hand over my head to grab Hope’s attention from behind the bar and point at Sofia, signaling her drink will be on the house. Hope, the bar’s manager Grams hired right before her memory started to fail, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively before dipping her chin with understanding.
I look away, grumbling to myself. It never fucking fails. Whenever there’s a good-looking woman in my presence, I have to endure constant shit from my staff.
“It appears this Chloe has drawn a brilliant crowd,” Sharlo comments, scanning the sea of people. Then her humored expression swings to me as she quirks one brow. “Did you acquire her number?”
One of the biggest problems with having a woman as a best friend? Sharlo doesn’t forget a single fucking thing. When I first caught word of Chloe a while back and looked her up on social media, I had mentioned in so many words I thought she was hot.
Grinding my teeth together, I say, “You know that’s not an option.”
Sofia turns with a martini in hand, beautiful blue eyes wide. “Don’t tell me you’re still single.”
I bristle, not ready to tell her the truth. I’m not even sure I know the fucking truth at this point.
Another dark flush fills Sofia’s face. “I didn’t intend for that to come out as snarky. I simply meant…”
Biting down on my lips, I hold back a chuckle. Even though she irritated me with the single comment, it’s still sexy to see her vulnerable side come out.
“No worries, love,” Sharlo intervenes with a smirk. She leans back on the stool to stroke her swollen belly. “You’re not the first to question how such a handsome bloke has flown under radar for so long without snagging a bird in his undercarriage.” Though I’m subtly warning her with a glance to stop, she continues on. “This bar has become his mistress of sorts. He merely fails to understand that life can exist beyond these four walls.”
Sharlo’s like the little sister I would’ve had if my parents had created yet another inconvenient screw-up, but times like this I wish she’d think before opening her mouth. Resisting the urge to chew her a new one with the familiar “Team Nolan” speech, I stab my thumb over my shoulder.
“I need to head back to the stage before Chloe starts up again,” I tell them. “I was catching up with an old buddy from my Recon unit and said I’d only be a minute.” I offer a friendly smile to Sofia. “It was good to see you again. I hope the city treats you well while you’re here.”
Wow, that was slick. What am I, the fucking ambassador for New York? All I know is the way Sofia looks at me with those sparkling blue eyes does things to my head that I don’t have time for when she’s only in town for a short while. Besides, I have no business thinking about her that way. I need to get the fuck outta here before I say something really asinine that will bite me in the ass later.
“I’m staying in New York,” she blurts. “I mean…permanently.”
When I frown and shake my head, waiting for her to clarify, she simply stares back at me, clearing her throat. I could stand back and watch her squirm all day. Something tells me it doesn’t happen that often, and it’s fucking hilarious.
“Sofia has accepted a transfer with Anisten and Behr to their office in Manhattan,” Sharlo cuts in. “New York just acquired the country’s best up-and-coming corporate lawyer.”
Game. Changer.
“I was under the impression you had an aversion to this city,” I tease Sofia with a quirked eyebrow, hoping she can’t see the excitement I’m trying like hell to contain. “Last time I saw you, it seemed you couldn’t blow out of here soon enough.”
With a coy smile that lights her eyes, she tells me, “I decided there’s no use fighting it. First Evelyn moves here, then James…seems everyone in my family is destined to live in The Big Apple.”
Sharlo throws me a predictable—nonetheless still incredibly annoying—wink. “She’s staying with us until she finds a rental. Perhaps you could help her find something reasonable in your neighborhood. Tribeca is quite lovely. I imagine you’d fancy taking a break one day this week to provide her with a proper tour.”
Hell yes I’d like to give her a tour. The idea of spending time alone with Sofia has me so adrenalized that I stutter on a reply. “I can—I mean, I could—”
“You don’t have to,” Sofia insists, holding one hand up as her shoulders square. She’s so damn sure of herself that it’s easy to envision her taking charge in the courtroom…and in bed. “The firm hired a realtor to assist me. I’ll do just fine on my own.”
“Shar’s right, I could use a break,” I say. “I’ve spent my entire life in Manhattan. If you want someone to show you around the city, I’m your man.”
All at once, slender fingers wrap around my wrist and I’m met with the familiar, peppery perfume that I swear to god I’ve formed an allergy to. I flinch when thin lips press to my cheek. Why did she have to fucking kiss me in front of Sofia?
“Correction, you’re my man,” Avery says possessively. Her intense green eyes immediately narrow on Sofia. “Who’s this?”

 



 


 

Other books in The Kendall Family Series

 

Brooklyn Rockstar The Kendall Family #1

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Midwest Fighter The Kendall Family #2

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Jennifer Ann is the pen name used by Jen Naumann when writing steamy romance novels with complex love stories. Like her characters, she’s in love with the city of New York, rock concerts, and Marines. Sometimes you can catch her driving a tractor alongside her husband in southern Minnesota while trying to keep up with the madness of their four active children.

 

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CHAPTER REVEAL ~ Engage by Drew Elyse.

 


Coming October 27th

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Once a Disciple, forever a Disciple.

They came for her in the night.
When she wakes, she’s in a cell.
She has no idea if it will help, but it is the only option she has:
She tells them she belongs to the Savage Disciples MC.

A Disciple will fight like a savage when it counts.

Years ago, he lost everything.
Now, the club is the only thing Jager allows himself to care about.
Nothing matters but his Savage Disciple brothers.
At least, until she arrives and he has a decision to make.

This biker has no idea what choosing to engage could mean to a Disciple’s daughter.

 

 


Prologue

Jager


The sound wasn’t what woke me. I had no idea why I’d stirred in the middle of the night. Usually, I was a sound sleeper.
No, the sound came after I’d already started to wake. I lost the seconds I had trying to place it. It came from the hallway, a mix of solid knocking and rattling.
A picture frame, the answer came to me.
It was only that knowledge that had me moving. There was no reason for any of the frames I had hanging in the hall to make that sound. Not unless…
The door to my room flew open. There were men there, three of them. I didn’t waste time staring. Instead, I scrambled to the side of the bed. I just had to get to the nightstand. There was a gun in the drawer—the gun Dad had taught me to shoot and insisted I have.
I got the drawer open, but never reached my only saving grace. One of the men was on me, grabbing me around the chest and hauling me backward. I fought. I kicked and hit at him, my training lost and raw instinct to fight or die kicking in. Another man came close, and I screamed with all I had.
I tried to fight him back, both legs kicking out, but his partner turned me. I felt the sharp prick at my arm. It didn’t take long. Even as I continued to scream, to try to break away, darkness took over the edges of my vision, closing in until there was nothing left.

When I woke, I was facing a wall covered in its own layer of dirt, broken up only by a rust-colored track of water from a leak above.
Where was I?
I tried to remember, tried to fight the fog to grasp onto anything that would tell me how I ended up in such a place.
I was home, in my room. I’d gone to bed…
The picture frame.
Like a dam breaking, it came back. The men, fighting them off, losing consciousness.
My head swam, my vision hazy. I had to figure out where I was, how to get out of here. I moved, feeling an ache like I had never known through every muscle. Then, a stinging pain in my arm. I looked there, seeing the IV. I followed the cord from my arm to a bag hanging on the wall above my head.
It was only then I noticed I wasn’t alone.
I shot to sitting, jerking back to the wall. But what I saw wasn’t a threat. What I saw was three women, all of them frail, malnourished, and dirty. To my left were iron bars. We were in a cell, me and those women. Soon, I would look like they did.
“Where are we?” I found the voice to ask. My throat was dry. So much so, it hurt to speak. That was when I noted how my skin felt like I hadn’t showered in days.
Had it been days?
“We don’t know,” one—she looked to be the oldest—answered. Her voice sounded as rough as mine. When was the last time they’d been given water?
“How…how did we—”
She shook her head sadly. Beneath the grime, I realized she was, in fact, the oldest—maybe five years older than me, no more. Her dark hair was long, matted, her skin pale, her eyes flat.
“Sometimes, they take us, sometimes…” she trailed off, looking to her side. I followed her gaze to the woman next to her. She was blonde like me, and looked to be about my age from what I could see of her face as she peered over her knees. “Sometimes, we are sold to them.”
Oh God.
My eyes moved past the blonde, terrified someone had given her over to this fate. What I saw hit me harder than anything I had experienced since I’d woken up.
The last woman was no woman at all. She was just a girl. She had light brown hair that needed washing weeks ago. Her cheeks were sunken in. She had been down here a while.
“How old are you?” I couldn’t help but ask.
She didn’t talk, just hid her face behind her hands, the woman who had spoken to me already answered for her.
“Fifteen.”
Fifteen. She was still a child. What were they doing with a child?
What were they doing with any of us?

It was hours before the man came down the hall, appearing in front of our cell. I’d long since dealt with the IV. I didn’t have the finesse to pull the needle free without it tugging and scratching beneath the surface, but the discomfort was worth it when I watched a small flood of whatever they were injecting me with escape. Tricia, the woman who had been talking to me since I woke, told me it was a sedative mix. If I left the IV alone, I’d go back under. I’d already been there for three days. How long I’d arrived after they’d taken me was anyone’s guess. The last thing I wanted was to lose any more time in this place.
Tricia also told me the names of the others. Katia, the blonde, and Sarah, the young girl.
“I’ve been here about two months, I think,” she explained. “Sometimes it can get hard to track how long it’s been. They come once a day with food and water. That’s the only real way to tell time down here.” There was something in her expression when she mentioned the provisions they were given, something disgustingly similar to longing.
“But why are we here?” I asked, not even sure if I expected her to have an answer.
She didn’t respond, but I could see in her face that she did know.
I met her eyes and repeated, “Why are we here?”
Her gaze turned sympathetic, as if she weren’t down here as well, as if she hadn’t been here far longer than I had. She felt bad for me because whatever she was going to share was going to make this whole nightmare worse.
“They intend to sell us.”
Sell us. I wouldn’t even let my mind wander to what that might mean. I forced myself to seal off thoughts of who would want to buy us. I had to keep myself together. Letting my mind go there was not the way to do it.
After that, there wasn’t much to say.
Then, the man came to the cell. He was brutish, large, and outright intimidating. He didn’t say a thing as he approached the metal bars holding us captive. He simply inspected the nearly empty IV bag, seeing I’d freed myself from the line attached to it.
I had no idea if what I was about to do was stupid—whether it would get me punished, hurt, or worse. I just knew where I was was about as bad as it could get. I had to try something.
“There’s a motorcycle club, in Hoffman, Oregon. They’ll buy me. They’ll pay whatever you ask,” I practically shouted at him.
He stared at me, not responding.
“The Savage Disciples. They’ll buy me.”
He walked away without a word.

 




 

Drew Elyse spends her days trying to convince the world that she is, in fact, a Disney Princess, and her nights writing tear-jerking and smutty romance novels. Her debut novel, Dissonance, released in August of 2014.

When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found over-analyzing every line of a book, binge watching a series on Netflix, doing strange vocal warm ups before singing a variety of music styles, or screaming at the TV during a Chicago Blackhawks game.

A graduate of Loyola University Chicago with a BA in English, she still lives in Chicago, IL where she was born and raised with her boyfriend and her prima donna pet rabbit, Lola.

 



 

COVER REVEAL – Collecting the Pieces by L.A. Fiore

 

 

Title: Collecting the Pieces
Author: L.A. Fiore
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Design: By Hang Le
Cover Model: Franggy Yanez
Release Date: November 15, 2016

 

Blurb
At fifteen I fell in love. His name was Jake Stephens and he took the abandoned, lonely girl I had been and made me whole. His love was a pure and unconditional love that made every day better than the last…a fairy tale of my very own. But this story isn’t about Jake. It’s about Abel Madden; the man I meet after the fairy tale goes to hell. A cocky, arrogant man who says what he wants, does as he pleases, and makes no excuses for it. He irritates me—downright pisses me off at times—but he also brings me back to life.


My name is Sidney Ellis and this is my story of finding love twice—the first when I needed it most and the second when I never saw it coming.

 

 

Author Bio
L.A. Fiore is the author of several books including: Beautifully Damaged, Beautifully Forgotten, Beautifully Decadent, His Light in the Dark and A Glimpse of the Dream. She’s also the social secretary for her two children, a tamer of ill-mannered cats, the companion to one awesome dog and married to her best friend. She likes her wine red, her shrimp chilled and her social gatherings small and intimate.
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CHAPTER SPOTLIGHT – Touching Down by Nicole Williams

 

 

 
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The whole world might be in love with him. But all he’s ever loved is her.


Grant Turner’s name is synonymous with football. The fans and media can’t get enough of the player known as The Invincible Man, a nickname he earned while growing up in one of the toughest neighborhoods in the country and the nickname he’s kept by being one of the best players in professional football today. No one can take him down. He’s unstoppable.

But even a suit of armor has its weak point, and Grant’s has always been Ryan Hale.
They were a couple of kids when they fell in love, and just when it looked like the happy ending neither expected was within reach, Ryan disappeared. No explanations. No good-byes.

Grant coped by throwing himself into the game for seven years, and he’s finally moved on. Or so he thinks.

When she walks back into his life, all of those feelings come crashing back, despite the warnings in his head that tell him she’ll leave him again. Grant can withstand the league’s toughest defensive line, but he’s always been weak where she’s concerned.

No man can take Grant Turner down.

But one woman certainly can.

One woman will.

 
 
 


   
ONE MOMENT YOU’RE soaring. The next one, you’re touching down, scraping rock bottom.
   I never planned on coming back here. The day I fled The Clink was both freeing and debilitating for a multitude of reasons I had no interest in revisiting. It had been the only home I’d ever known. It had housed the only people I’d ever loved. Still, I knew when I left seven years ago, I’d never be able to come back. That was the way it would have to be.
   So why was I coming back now?
   For another multitude of reasons I had no choice but to respect. That was what I kept reminding myself of as I turned onto the block that had been the one beacon of hope in this urban heart of darkness. Juniper Avenue was the official name, but all of us kids had only known it as Aunt May’s.
   All of us kids who’d grown up in one of the prison-like subsidized housing complexes stretched across the one-square-mile stretch of land known as The Clink. It was one of the toughest neighborhoods in the country—violence the way of the land, drugs the currency of the kingdom. Murder, domestic violence, drug use, unemployment, ex-cons—The Clink was known for every last one of them.
   It was basically a cesspool of humanity. My childhood home.
   If it hadn’t been for Aunt May, I never would have escaped The Clink. If it weren’t for her, none of us would have. That was why I’d come back. For her. To say good-bye.
   But I’d also come back to see him. To say what had been seven years coming.  
   Aunt May’s funeral was my chance to make my peace with the dead. And the living.
   Just thinking about confronting him made my hands tremble, which made trying to squeeze my old Toyota into the parking spot tricky. As expected, the streets around Aunt May’s house were packed. Everyone from the corner drunk to the mayor knew who Aunt May was and would want to pay their respects to the person she’d been.
   The lives she’d saved from these streets couldn’t be counted on a hundred sets of hands. I was just one of those lives. He was one of the others.
   Even though he lived thousands of miles away now, I knew he’d be here tonight. I needed him to be here tonight because I’d run out of options, and one day, I’d run out of time too.
   Typically these streets were not a place a woman wanted to roam on her own at night, but tonight, I wasn’t worried. Tonight, in honor of this woman, the streets would be at peace. Tonight, the gangs would set aside their turf wars, and the criminals would play nice. It was The Clink’s version of an armistice.
   After locking my car, I forced myself to take each step that brought me closer to Aunt May’s house. Each one became harder to take, until the one that would lead me up her front walk felt impossible.                                    
   The sight of her house hit me harder than I’d expected. It looked exactly the same, from the lace curtains hanging in the windows, to the beds where her rose bushes had been put to rest for the season. Flowers didn’t grow in The Clink—mainly because people didn’t have any disposable income to spend on them or any patience to tend to them—but they grew here. They had always grown here, and something about realizing that now that Aunt May was gone, that might change, made my eyes burn.
    The house was packed with so many bodies, people were starting to trickle out onto the front porch. There was music playing in the background, friends were catching up, lovers were embracing, and it looked more like a summer party than a fall funeral. But that was the way Aunt May would have wanted it. She wouldn’t have wanted people to mourn her death—she would have wanted them to celebrate their own lives.
   From the looks of it, she’d gotten her way.
   Despite the dread clawing up my throat, a smile started to journey into place as I watched the scene before me. That first step onto hallowed ground became possible, and before I knew it, I was crossing the threshold of the front door.    
   A few people nodded at me in passing, but it was too dark outside for recognition to settle into the brief exchange. I knew that would change when I stepped into the light of the house.
    How right I was.
   I could practically feel the whoosh of air crash over me as it felt like every head in the room twisted my way when I stepped inside Aunt May’s house for the first time in seven years. Some of the faces I recognized, some I didn’t, but it felt like every person recognized me. I was met with everything from eyes filled with accusation to brows raised in judgment, but I knew I deserved it.    
   I hadn’t just been another one of the many children Aunt May set a warm meal in front of or provided a safe haven when there was no other safe place. I’d been one of her favorites.
   If you asked her, she’d say she loved all of us the same, but certain ones of us had been labeled her favorites. The truth of it was, it wasn’t because Aunt May held any more affection for us than the others; us “favorites” were the ones whose home lives were the most fucked up. The ones who spent more time with Aunt May than the rest because going back to our shithole apartment in one of The Clink’s Tower Apartment Complexes felt like playing a game of Russian Roulette each day.
   So yeah, I’d been deemed one of Aunt May’s favorites because my childhood had come right out of the Fucked Up Guidebook. He’d been one of her supposed favorites too, for the exact same reason. That was a big part of the reason we’d bonded as kids. Our connection had been forged in the fires of a proverbial hell on earth. Our bond built by our shared struggle to survive.
   We’d all paid a price for reaching adulthood. For some of us, the cost had been our innocence. For others, it was our soul.
   My price for being here today was both. And more.
   As my inspection moved from one person to the next, I felt my heart crawl higher into my throat, knowing he was close. Feeling he was close.
   That was when I saw him. He was in the middle of the living room, surrounded by a crowd of people and towering even more above the mob than I remembered. It had been seven years since I’d last seen Grant Turner. An entire lifetime had passed in that time. But instead of feeling the anesthetization seven years should have tempered the pain with, the sting felt seven seconds fresh.  
   Time hadn’t dulled the pain; it had clearly only sharpened it.
   I’d barely had a moment to brace myself for the onslaught of feelings that came at me from seeing him again, before his head finally followed the direction most of the others in the room had taken. Right toward me.
   His jaw set the moment he saw me, his posture going rigid the moment after that. Clearly, time had not eased any of his pain from my betrayal either.
   Then, as quickly as his attention had fallen on me, it fell away. He angled himself so his back was to me, putting up what I hoped wasn’t an impenetrable wall between us. I knew leaving the way I did must have hurt him. I knew it had to have confused and angered and betrayed him . . . but it had been seven years. Grant Turner wasn’t the same boy struggling on the streets of The Clink. His name was known by millions, his life a true Cinderella story. The troubled boy from The Clink became the man whose name was synonymous with professional football.
   His life had gone from microscopic to all-encompassing. I’d assumed he’d buried what had happened between us in some unmarked grave and forgotten about it and me years ago. I’d come prepared to remind him of who I was and then bridge the reason why I was back, but I had not come prepared to take on a scorned lover. I’d come equipped to explain myself, not to defend myself, but from the look on his face just now, I’d have to do both.
   Following his lead, most of the people in the room got back to doing what they had been before I showed up, seeming as content to ignore me as he was.
   My arm curled around my stomach like it was trying to keep me from breaking in half. Too much. Too fast.
   What had I been thinking, coming back after all this time? After the way I’d left? After the way I’d hurt Aunt May and Grant with my abrupt disappearance? What I had to tell him would be difficult to tell a closest confidant—how was I supposed to explain it to someone who clearly couldn’t stand me being in the same room as him? How could I expect him to listen to what I had to say once I worked up the courage to voice it?
   I looked over my shoulder, eyeing the door I’d just come through with a bit too much longing. I couldn’t leave. I’d come to make peace, and I was going to do just that. No matter how much it cost me.
   That was when I felt an arm slide through one of mine, as someone started to lead me into the kitchen. “Welcome to The Pariah Club. Your membership card’s in the mail. Here’s a new member tip—if it feels like everyone in the room is silently judging you, it’s because they are.”
   The voice was familiar, and when I matched it with the equally familiar face, I nudged my fellow pariah in the side. “How much are the annual dues?”
   Cruz tapped his chin a few times as he steered us through the herd of people that had overflowed into the kitchen. “Just your dignity, self-respect, and faith in humanity.”
   I felt a smile surfacing. Cruz’s gift of making people smile had transferred into adulthood. “What a bargain.”
   After Cruz had steered us into a somewhat private spot in the kitchen, he crossed his arms and waited with an expectant look on his face. I wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but that might have been because I was still reeling from being plunged so suddenly into my past.
   “So?” he prompted, rolling his hand a few times at me. “Are you going to explain what happened seven years ago, or are you just hoping I’ll be content to pick up right where we left off?”
   My forehead creased. “Kinda hoping we can just pick up where we left off.”
   Cruz looked like he was considering that for a minute, which gave me the opportunity to catch my breath. Confronting The Clink, Aunt May’s house, and Grant all within the same five-minute span made me feel like the room was spinning. Not to mention the eyes I kept feeling zeroing in on me—everyone’s thoughts were almost as loud as their words.
   At least with Cruz, I knew I was safe from the judgment. Safe because he’d been a lightning rod for it, growing up as one of the few openly gay kids in The Clink. Being one of the only out-of-the-closet gay boys living in a neighborhood where testosterone and overt male bravado ruled the streets hadn’t been easy for him. He’d survived it though, his humor and ability to laugh at himself his saving grace.
   “Lucky for you, I’m one of those people who’s okay with forgiving and forgetting. Even when a good friend bails without so much as a good-bye or an occasional call to let her worried-sick friends know she’s okay.” Cruz’s brow carved higher into his forehead. “But I know someone who isn’t so into the forgive-and-forget philosophy.”
   My gaze followed Cruz’s into the living room, where it was impossible to miss Grant’s imposing frame. His back was still to me, almost like he was acutely aware of where I was and determined to keep his back pointed my way.
   My shoulders fell. Once upon a time, we’d been each other’s everything, and now, I felt as though we had nothing left of what had been so grand and beautiful. “He was really angry with me, wasn’t he?”
   “Oh, cupcake, angry is for guys who wear polo shirts and walk miniature doggies. Angry is not for the likes of Grant Turner.”
   Cruz and I exchanged a look. The realm of average human emotion had never been quite appropriate for Grant Turner. From the time he’d moved to The Clink with his dad all of those years ago, I’d known that. There’d been an intensity about him, a spirit that wound deeper into his core than most.
   “So you’re saying he was really angry after I left?”
   Cruz smiled tightly, patting my arm a few times. “He was the human equivalent of Chernobyl. How about we leave it at that because that’s as fitting of a metaphor as I’m capable of right now?”
   My heart ached as I imagined the pain I’d caused him—for the one-millionth goddamn time. “That was forever ago. He’s moved past it, I’m sure.”
   “Sure, sure,” Cruz agreed, waving in Grant’s direction. “Just look how at moved on past it he is.”       
    My  eyes stung from watching how Grant seemed to prefer the company of everyone besides me. It felt like yesterday when the opposite had been true. I wouldn’t cry though, no matter how badly my eyes burned. I’d dried myself out years ago.
   “I never meant to hurt him,” I whispered. “I never meant to hurt any of you.”
   Cruz wound his arm through mine again. “I know that. Aunt May knew that. Hell, even Grant knew that.” Cruz paused, his face turning toward mine. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt us.”
   My body leaned into his, almost like I needed his support because I was unable to stay upright on my own. It was odd the way our roles had shifted. Back then, it had been Grant and me who Cruz leaned on for support, and now, I was leaning on him.
    “I’m sorry.” My words came out louder than I’d intended, drawing the attention of a few people close by.
   If Cruz noticed my louder-than-needed apology, he didn’t show it. “Apology accepted.” His arm wound around my back when my head dropped to his shoulder.
   “Do you think apologizing to Grant will be that easy?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
   “Has anything been easy where Grant Turner and you are concerned?” I didn’t have to give that a moment’s consideration.
   “No. Nothing ever has been.”
   It never would be either.

 


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Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.
 
Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.

 

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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ Boondocks by Casey Peeler


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Excerpt

From the first beat of the song, I begin to sing every dang word to her, and she begins to laugh as I put on the bad boy front that everyone already believes. As verse two starts, I move in closer to her, and when he references the bad toy in the parking lot, I point to where my bike’s parked. She takes a step toward me, and I hope and pray that her dad is not looking because it’s about to get hot in here… quick. Chauna begins to sway her hips in rhythm with me and sing right along with me. As the final chorus plays, she looks over her shoulder and smiles as she turns to whisper into my ear.

“Walker, I wanna bad boy,” she says with a slight laugh. When the song ends, we wait for the next, and as I look toward the tables, I see Logan. It’s obvious he’s pissed, which isn’t what I need because I really wanted to be his friend.

As Jackson’s Wheel takes the stage again, we get a drink, and around eleven when the adults begin to show, we decide to head out to our spot. Once we get there, we don’t waste any time getting as close to each other as possible.

My hands find her skin, and she begins to laugh. “What’s so funny?” I ask.

“Nothing, bad boy,” she says.

“Oh, you want a bad boy, huh?” I say roughly.

“Damn right, I do.”


 Boondocks by Casey Peeler releases on October 25th.

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“One twist of the lid changed everything…”

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PRE-ORDER TODAY!

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Blurb

One twist of the lid changed everything…

The devil sat on my shoulder from my first breath, he watched my every move, and with the first strike of lightnin’ I was pulled under.

Walking into Boondocks the voice of an angel called to me and I vowed to live a better life.  She kept me on the righteous path until Satan called one last time.

It was time to take him down or lose my angel forever.

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About the Author:casey-peeler-bio

Casey Peeler grew up in North Carolina and still lives there with her husband and daughter.

Growing up Casey wasn’t an avid reader or writer, but after reading Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston during her senior year of high school, and multiple Nicholas Sparks’ novels, she found a hidden love and appreciation for reading.  That love ignited the passion for writing several years later, and her writing style combines real life scenarios with morals and values teenagers need in their daily lives.

When Casey isn’t writing, you can find her near a body of water listening to country music with a cold beverage and a great book.

 

Connect with Casey

Website: 

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Instagram: @AuthorCasey

Snapchat: @authorcpeeler


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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ The Sexy One by Lauren Blakely


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EXCERPT

“Your language skills are better than your French-braiding skills,” she teases as she shuts her iPad.

I pretend to be insulted. “So not true. I can do French braids with my eyes closed.”

She shakes her head. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“I’ll prove it to you.”

She tilts her head, and her hand freezes on her purse. “Prove it?” she asks quietly.

Somehow I’ve thrown a gauntlet I didn’t realize I was tossing. I do the only natural next thing—follow through. “Sure. Got one of those hair tie things?”

She nods slowly. “Yes, but . . .” Her voice trails off. Then she resumes the thought. “You really learned to French braid?”

I nod. “Hayden insisted on it,” I explain then study her face. Her pupils are dilated, and she blinks. Ah hell, I’ve made her wary with my remark. “I don’t have to prove it. I was just teasing,” I say, giving her an out. Mildly flirty comments are one thing—hands in hair are another.

A small grin spreads on her face, as she dips her hand into her purse and produces a black elastic band. “No, I insist. You were horrible last time. Have at it.”

She drops to the floor, scoots over to me, and with her shoulder, she nudges my right knee.

Hello, slippery slope. Funny to see you again so soon.

Her other shoulder bumps my other knee. There’s no need to think—I widen my legs more and let her settle in between them. I’m seated on the couch, she’s on the floor, and she waits for me to braid her hair.

As I stare at her lush, blond locks, the breath escapes my lungs. For a moment, it’s as if I’m hovering in a state of suspended want. Like this is the real line we’re crossing. Not me bringing her dessert, or touching the corner of her lips, or gazing at her face longer than I should. Not even sending texts about a pair of wild birds or making comments about showers and nudity.

But this.

Touching her hair.

Fuck, I love her hair.

I slide the tie over my wrist, then gather up some strands near the top of her head. “Confession,” I say in a quiet voice. “I watched a few YouTube videos after you taught me.”

She leans back, and I can feel her smile. “Like I said, prove it.”

“It’s on.” I focus on the task of separating her honey-blond hair into three sections, running my fingers through them like a comb. I lift the first strand and lay it over the middle one, then the left, gathering more hair into the next section.

After I failed at her first French braid lesson, I took it upon myself to learn. I don’t like not being able to master basic skills. A man should be able to braid his daughter’s hair.

And his woman’s hair.

“How does it look?” Her voice sounds a little breathy.

“Like it was braided by a man who learned by watching YouTube videos,” I answer.

She laughs lightly and leans into me more, inching closer. My hands still for a moment. I feel like I’m in high school again. Like I have a crush on a girl, and I don’t know what to do, where to go next, what to say.

The thing is, I do know. I just don’t know that I should. But I know what I want. There’s no doubt in my mind. I want to touch her, to kiss her, to feel her body press against mine. Even the chance to touch her like this is intoxicating, a rush of blood to the head. Her waves of hair are soft, and they feel spectacular falling through my fingers. I can’t picture a single thing besides running my hands through these strands as I kiss her, as I touch her, as she moves beneath me.

 


From NYT Bestselling author Lauren Blakely, comes a swoony new standalone romance…

THE SEXY ONE!

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Want a romance guaranteed to make you melt? Get ready to fall in love on October 17th!

Pre-Order NOW!

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Blurb

Let me count the ways why falling into forbidden love is not my wisest move…

  1. She works with me every single day.

Did I mention she’s gorgeous, sweet, kind and smart?

  1. She works in my home.

Playing with my five-year-old daughter. Teaching my little girl. Cooking for my princess. Which means…

  1. She’s the nanny.

And that makes her completely off-limits…But it doesn’t stop me from wanting her. All of her.

***

The other nannies in this city don’t call him the Sexy One for nothing. My boss, the amazingly wonderful single father to the girl I take care of every day is ridiculously hot, like movie star levels with those arms, and those eyes, and that body. Not to mention, the way he dotes on his little girl melts me all over. But what really makes my knees weak are the times when his gaze lingers on me. In secret. When no one else is around.


I can’t risk my job for a chance at something more…can I? But I don’t know how to resist him much longer either…

**The audiobook will release the same day as the eBook on October 17th and will be narrated by

Sebastian York and Andi Arndt!**

 


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About the Authorlauren-blakely

Since self-publishing her debut romance novel CAUGHT UP IN US three years ago, Lauren Blakely has sold more than 1 million books. She is known for her sexy contemporary romance style that’s full of heat, heart and humor. A devout fan of cake and canines, Lauren has plotted entire novels while walking her four-legged friends. She lives in California with her family. With eleven New York Times bestsellers, her titles have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Lists more than sixty times. Her bestselling series include Sinful Nights, Seductive Nights, No Regrets, Caught Up in Love, and Fighting Fire as well as standalone romantic comedies like BIG ROCK, MISTER O and WELL HUNG, which were instant New York Times Bestsellers. In the fall she’ll release THE SEXY ONE, a swoony contemporary romance. To receive an email when Lauren releases a new book, sign up for her newsletter at laurenblakely.com/newsletter.

 

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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ The Reason For Me by Prescott Lane

 

 

Coming October 19th

 

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Holt
 
She likes it quick and dirty.
 
I like orders and rules.
 
She hates small talk.
 
I hate to share.
 
She’s an open book.
 
I’m a closed dresser drawer.
 
She rides a Harley.
 
And that drives me f’ing nuts.
 
Annalyse and I have both lived in our own personal hells for half a decade.  She’s learned to love the warmth, and I’m still consumed.  But my new neighbor is stoking more than my libido these days.  We agreed on only pleasure.  But she changed the rules.
 
And now I’m not even sure what they are.
 
Maybe there’s a reason she found me that night, maybe there’s a reason I can’t stop thinking about her, maybe there’s a reason for the pain.  Maybe not.
 

We all look for reasons in life.  Reasons for death, love, pain.  Why one thing happens and not another?  It’s human nature.  We’ve been looking for the meaning of life since the beginning of time.  But maybe the reason for all of it — life, love, loss, heartache — is the curvy brunette living next door.

 

 
 

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Annalyse

There’s just something about being wrapped up in the right man’s arms that makes your heart believe anything is possible.  

But the heart is a liar — a cruel, vicious liar.  

It’s making me feel things that my head knows I shouldn’t.  Holt told me he can’t love me.  It was the first thing he said to me, so why is my heart telling me to believe the opposite?  

Abruptly, I sit up and wipe water on my face before covering my chest with my hands.  He simply leans up and gently rubs my back.  “Cold?” he asks.

I nod and get to my feet, his hand running down my butt cheek as I step out of the tub and reach for a towel.  Holt darts up and stops me, his fingers circling my hips.  

“You have bruises,” he says, causing me to look down.  He’s right.  A couple tiny bruises grace my hips.  He lightly grabs my hips, his fingers lining up with the marks on my flesh.

“Doesn’t hurt,” I say, reaching out to him, but he steps back.  

“You’re hurt because of me.”
I can’t explain it, but I can see darkness cascade over him, like a storm you see coming over the horizon.  His eyes get darker; his body seems heavier.  The weight this man carries — whatever it is — is so huge, even the air in the room seems to change.  I should be scared, but I’m not.  I can see it in his eyes — the pain, the regret, the guilt.  

“I just want to protect you,” he says, his voice low.

“Holt, I would tell you if you were too rough,” I say, stepping closer to him and stroking the stubble on his face.

His eyes spark, and he falls to his knees, kissing each bruise softly.  “Think I need to show you how good gentle can feel,” he says, standing and picking me up.  He carries me to the bed and lays me down, kissing my hair and whispering, “I want every inch of your body to remember me.  Remember the pleasure I give you.” A little moan escapes, and he chuckles low in his throat.  “I’m going to make you wait this time.”

“No,” I pout.

He raises his head and stares down at me.  “You like it quick and dirty, don’t you?” he asks.  Before Holt, I waited five years to have sex again, so my body must think it’s going to be sex deprived again, because he’s right.  “Say it.  Tell me what you like.”

“Quick,” I beg.  “I need to come — now!”

“Demanding,” he smirks at me, pinning my arms overhead.  “I’m the one who gives the orders, remember?”

I actually show my teeth.  It’s like I’m a wild animal in heat.  You know, the kind you see on Discovery Channel when sex looks more like a fight?  He just leans down and kisses the tip of my nose.  I wiggle my hips, grinding into the length of him, hoping I can catch just the right angle to push him inside.  His tip lingers at my entrance — Yes!  But just as I start to push into him, he lifts his hips up.
I actually show my teeth.  It’s like I’m a wild animal in heat.  You know, the kind you see on Discovery Channel when sex looks more like a fight?  He just leans down and kisses the tip of my nose.  I wiggle my hips, grinding into the length of him, hoping I can catch just the right angle to push him inside.  His tip lingers at my entrance — Yes!  But just as I start to push into him, he lifts his hips up.  

“Bad girl.”  Then he lifts his eyes to mine and says, “I told you, no quick and dirty this time.  This is a sweet fuck.”

Sweet fuck?  Those words do not go together, but something about them makes my body relax.  And Holt feels it too, releasing my wrists, his tongue finding mine and slowly exploring my mouth.  This is the way he kissed me that first night on his patio — softly and sweetly.  He’s winning me over already.  There’s definitely something to be said for a patient man.  

“Christ, you are so beautiful,” he whispers between kisses.

“Holt,” I say, my voice cracking.  It’s much easier to have him talk dirty to me than to hear him say sweet things.  Dirty talk equals fucking, not making love.  At least, it’s easier to fool myself into believing that.  I guess dirty talk happens when you love someone, too.  But sweet talk doesn’t happen when it’s just sex.  It means something more.

His head lowers to my breast, his tongue circling my nipple, and then I feel it a whole lot lower, my legs clenching together.  His hand goes to my other breast, lightly pulling up the nipple while he sucks, licks, and circles the other with his warm mouth.  A tightness builds in my thighs, and a wave of heat flashes over my body.  I don’t know how, but I know I’m close.  Another wave comes over me, and I say a few dirty words in my head.

He keeps his eyes locked on mine as he slides down my body.  Clearly, he hasn’t given up on taking his time.  He kisses my folds gently, like he’s kissing my face, and my legs push together, but he brings my thighs to his shoulders and lightly runs his tongue across me.  “Don’t hold back,” he says.  “You know I love it when you talk dirty.”  His eyes close, and he moans, sending this incredible vibration through me.  He’s being so gentle, so slow.  It’s making me lose my mind.

“Fuck me with your tongue!”  My eyes flash open.  The whispered dirty words in my head have flown out of my mouth.  His eyes catch mine, and he does exactly what I asked, slipping his tongue inside me.  Oh, I like this game.  Ask and I shall receive.

 




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Prescott Lane is the Amazon best-selling author of Stripped Raw. She’s got five other books under her belt including: First Position, Perfectly Broken, Quiet Angel, and Wrapped in Lace, and her new release, Layers of Her. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and holds a degree in sociology and a MSW from Tulane University. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life.

 

Author links
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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ Marry Me Mad by Katy Regnery

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Marry Me Mad is one swoonworthy read!

You don’t want to miss it on October 21st!

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PREORDER NOW:

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Blurb:

Did you fall in love with The English Brothers? Were you hot for the Winslows? Katy Regnery’s New York Times bestselling Blueberry Lane series continues with The Rousseau siblings in 2016!

For as long as Madeleine “Mad” Rousseau can remember, she’s been the “sweet” twin to her sister Jax’s “sassy.” But after an especially painful break-up, Mad decides she’s had enough of being sweet. Children’s librarian during the day, she begins visiting Philly’s seedier nightspots on a quest for adventure. When Cortlandt “Cort” Ambler, the ex-boyfriend of Mad’s sister, Jax, saves her from disaster on one such evening, an unlikely friendship is born between the rebellious librarian and the moonlighting pianist…and two broken hearts begin a journey toward being whole again.

Get to know the families of Blueberry Lane!

 

*All books in The Blueberry Lane Series can be enjoyed as standalone novels.*

 


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Excerpt:

Baby, you’re music.
Like rain in the desert.
Like sweet after bitter.
Everything she needed in that moment rolled up into three words she never saw coming. She couldn’t help herself. With one step, her chest was flush against his, and with her eyes, which felt wide and hot staring up at him, she gave him unspoken permission.
His lips were soft as they landed on hers—tentative, almost like he couldn’t believe what she was offering. Her breasts pushed against his chest, their softness crushed against the solid wall of muscle that she’d felt before when they’d danced on the sidewalk. They stood like that for a moment: their lips and chests touching, barely breathing, almost motionless…until their minds and bodies registered what they were doing. And then?
A chemical reaction.
Explosive.
Hungry.
Demanding.
Now.
With a roar of want, Cort jerked her impossibly closer, his hands palming her ass as he lifted her effortlessly onto the countertop. Mad moaned with pleasure as his tongue invaded her mouth to slide against hers. She pushed the towel off his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind his back so she was pinned against him. One of his hands wound into her hair, twisting the strands until he held it back tightly, keeping her face upturned as he devoured her mouth with long, insistent strokes of his tongue. Mad arched against him, desperate to feel more of him, and he obliged her, stepping as close to her as he could and gently thrusting his hips so that the hard ridge of his erection massaged the tender, throbbing nub between her outstretched legs.
She wiggled closer to him, her fingers dropping from the back of his neck to smooth down his back. Desperate to feel his skin under their tips, they slid under the hem of his T-shirt to land on the hot, bare muscles of his lower back, her nails curling into his skin to elicit a hiss from his lips, which she greedily swallowed. The hand in her hair slackened in surprise, and she leaned her head forward, kissing her way to the lobe of his ear, which she took between her teeth and bit just hard enough for him to groan and grab her chin roughly, demanding her lips once again. His hand grasped her hair, harder now, his tongue seeking hers with blind determination. She melted against him, into him—breathless, straining, and out of her mind with longing.
In that moment, he owned her.
And until that moment, Mad had never been owned.
She had been kissed and she had had sex, but never with this sort of rawness, never with this sort of vulnerability. And instinctually she knew why.
Underneath that perfect exterior, I think you’re a little dirty too.
From the moment they’d reconnected tonight, he’d seen through her bullshit veneer of perfection, and it had opened a long-sealed floodgate, making her want to bound forth in a wave of reckless abandon. For the first time in years, she had a glimpse of freedom—freedom from her buttoned-up boyfriend and the predictable future she’d convinced herself she wanted. Fuck pearls and heels; she felt like a goddess in flannel and cotton. And she reveled in the guttural, low-toned sounds of their moans and sighs, the smacking of their lips, and the licking of their tongues. It was a filthy melody she wanted to play on repeat forever.


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About the Author:

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New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Katy Regnery started her writing career by enrolling in a short story class in January 2012. One year later, she signed her first contract and Katy’s first novel was published in September 2013.

Twenty-five books later, Katy claims authorship of the multi-titled, New York Times and USA Today Blueberry Lane Series, which follows the English, Winslow, Rousseau, Story, and Ambler families of Philadelphia; the six-book, bestselling ~a modern fairytale~ series; and several other standalone novels and novellas.

Katy’s first modern fairytale romance, The Vixen and the Vet, was nominated for a RITA® in 2015 and won the 2015 Kindle Book Award for romance. Katy’s boxed set, The English Brothers Boxed Set, Books #1–4, hit the USA Today bestseller list in 2015, and her Christmas story, Marrying Mr. English, appeared on the list a week later. In May 2016, Katy’s Blueberry Lane collection, The Winslow Brothers Boxed Set, Books #1-4, became a New York Times E-book bestseller.

In 2016, Katy signed a print-only agreement with Spencerhill Press. As a result, her Blueberry Lane paperback books will now be distributed to brick and mortar bookstores all over the United States.

Katy lives in the relative wilds of northern Fairfield County, Connecticut, where her writing room looks out at the woods, and her husband, two young children, two dogs, and one Blue Tonkinese kitten create just enough cheerful chaos to remind her that the very best love stories begin at home

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PROMO/BOOK TOUR ~ Four Letter Word by J. Daniels


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Fate. Hate. Love. Lies.

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Which four letter word will change their lives forever?

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Blurb

Sydney Paige was never so mortified to hear the words “wrong number” in her life. She meant to tell off the guy who broke her best friend’s heart, but unleashed her anger on a perfect stranger instead. And now her world is turned upside down by the captivating man who wants to keep her on the line.

Brian Savage is living a life he’s quickly come to hate-until Sydney’s wild rant has him hooked and hungry for more. Soon the sexy woman on the phone becomes the lover in his bed. But Brian has secrets, and the closer he lets Syd get, the harder it is to shield her from the devastating mistakes of his past . . .

 


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Excerpt

The sun burned across a cloudless sky. I felt the intensity of it bake into the skin of my bare shoulders.

Waves crashed against the shore, some carrying surfers with them in the distance. A few feet ahead of me, a small child kicked a sand castle and giggled with his father.

I sat down on a step and slipped my sandals off.

The sand was warm underneath my feet as I dug my toes into it, staring out at the world in front of me. I rubbed a shell between my fingers as I watched a couple walk hand-in-hand toward the pier.

They looked happy. I tried to remember the last time Marcus held my hand, or even reached for it.

My chest burned when I couldn’t conjure up an image in my mind.

I looked down at the faint line marking my left ring finger. The token I was left with now that I no longer wore my ring. It was subtle, thanks to my naturally pale skin, but to me it stood out like embers glowing in the dark.

I hated it. I didn’t need a reminder of how I’d failed as a wife. Or how Marcus stopped seeing me as one.

Maybe I could coat my entire hand in sunblock except for that thin strip. Burn the memory away.

The idea seemed promising enough to consider.

From my back pocket, my cell beeped with an incoming message.

I wiped the tear from my cheek as I stood and palmed my phone, expecting to see Tori’s name lit up on my screen.

I froze on the step, my free hand on the railing as I stared curiously at the message and the number it was sent from.

 

Wild Girl. Eaten any innocent men alive today yet?

 

My lip twitched, the hint of a smile.

I sat back down, reading the message a second time as I remembered my conversation with this stranger yesterday.

My accidental verbal beat-down.

Jesus. I really let him have it.

I couldn’t think of the last time I was that embarrassed.

I told the guy to remove a dildo from his mouth, for Christ sakes.

All in all, whoever this was seemed to be a good sport about it. He could’ve laid into me and cussed me out. Made me feel even more like a complete shit for dialing the wrong number and not confirming the identity of my intended victim before I tore into him like he owed me money.

He was more than decent about the whole thing. Easily forgiving.

And now he was messaging me out of nowhere and striking up conversation.

Wild.

He wanted to talk to me.

Huh.

I tapped my thumb on the edge of the phone case, then hovered over the letters of my keypad as I stared at the message.

Did I even want to talk to this guy anymore? Wasn’t this weird? We didn’t know each other. Our encounter was a mistake. A one-time mishap, never to be repeated.

Right?


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Author Information

  1. Daniels is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Sweet Addiction series, the Alabama Summer series, and the upcoming Dirty Deeds series.

She would rather bake than cook, she listens to music entirely too loud, and loves writing stories her children will never read. Her husband and children are her greatest loves, with cupcakes coming in at a close second.

J grew up in Baltimore and resides in Maryland with her family.

 

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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ Irresistibly Undeniable by Zoey Derrick

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Title: Irresistibly Undeniable

Author: Zoey Derrick


Genre: Romantic Comedy

Release Date: October 10

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Synopsis

From Best Selling Author, Zoey Derrick, comes a brand new standalone novel about getting a second chance.

She was his best friend’s chubby sister.
He was the star football player.
It never made sense that he would want her, but he did.

It’s been ten years since Dyson Cole walked out of the barn after taking Ireland McKidd’s innocence with him.

Another notch in his belt.

Then he was gone.

Ireland has lost everything she’s ever cared about. She’s trying to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart, when the last person to obliterate it barges back into her life – literally.

Dyson has everything – money, power, sex appeal – a real life Adonis and women line up outside his door. But he’d gladly give up his whorish ways for the one woman he walked away from.

She’s wrecked, broken, a shell of the girl he once knew.

He’s incapable of ignoring what she means to him.

She’s irresistible.

He’s undeniable.


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Excerpt

PROLOGUE

IRELAND – AGE 18

The Sound of Silence – Disturbed

 

I remember it like it was yesterday. March 31, 2006.

It’s hard to forget something that happens right after your birthday. At barely fifteen, the only things that mattered to most girls was attracting the boy of their dreams, shopping and sleep overs.

To me, what mattered most was the boy. But he wasn’t just a boy. He was older than me by two years, a junior, the star football player, and my brother’s best friend.

He was everything to me; the reason I got up in the morning, the thing I thought about when I went to bed at night. It was always him.

From the moment he stepped inside our little school, I knew he would be everything to me one day. Over the years, we didn’t grow apart, no, we grew closer. My brother became his best friend and there was hardly a day that went by that I didn’t see him, usually at my house playing with Dusty.

As I got a little older, my feelings for him grew and morphed into something different, something unexpected and something…more.

I remember how our relationship changed, but I also remember how he changed too.

When he wasn’t spending time with my brother and me, he would spend it with some random girl I usually didn’t know. I remember Dusty would get butt hurt because his friend would ditch him for whatever girl he was wasting his time with.

I paid attention, listening closely to Dusty’s ramblings about how his best friend ditched him, but it quickly became apparent that his best friend wasn’t seeing just one girl, no, he had an entire harem of them. One day or week it would be one chick, then it would be Dusty, then it would be another chick, then another and another.

The summer before my freshman year that all changed. He seemed to ditch the girls in favor of my brother and they hung out all the time, which of course, meant I was around too.

I’ll never forget the day he was here, playing video games with my brother and he was getting bored. He’d said to my brother, “Let’s get out of here.” I was disappointed.

I had always sat on the couch, usually pretending to read, secretly watching him. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the smile I loved or his gorgeous violet eyes. I didn’t want them to leave. It had disappointed me enough that I remember fighting back tears. I don’t know why, but I’d come to expect him to be here every day, and on the rare day that he wasn’t, it was awful.

They’d turned off their video game and gotten up to leave.

Then the smile had come.

He had stared down at me over my book and I had looked up at him through my eyelashes. He had the most beautiful smile on his face. God, my heart had stopped in my chest. His violet eyes had sparkled in the sunlight coming through the window and I had quit breathing.

“You coming, VeeVee?”

I was so shocked that he had asked me that I sat there gaping at him like a fish. He raised an eyebrow at me; it was quite possibly the cutest thing I’d ever seen.

My brother had tried to argue with him and I remember him saying something about it not being fair to leave me alone in the house. In that moment, I felt protected, cared for even, and it made me smile.

That day started it all.

That was the day Dyson C. Richards noticed me.

That was eight months before he’d shatter my heart into a million tiny pieces.

 

It’s become abundantly clear that I need to let this go.

That day, the day he noticed me, was four years ago today.

It was the beginning of what would become the ‘summer of my life’. The only summer, really.

Being fifteen, I didn’t know what I had, not until eight months later when he said all the right things, had all the right moves, and I caved.

It was the night of March 31st.

I had been barely fifteen and not in the frame of mind to make this kind of decision, but I couldn’t help myself.

Despite my innocence, even I knew that Dyson was sex on legs. The girls knew it, I knew it. But Dyson and I had something special, something more than anything he’d had with any of the other girls I’d seen him with. I was the only girl, besides his mother, who had been in his life for more than five and half seconds.

I was special.

So was my innocence.

Only I didn’t know it at the time.

I handed it to him without a care in the world. Desperate to feel him, and be that close to him for reasons I didn’t understand at the time.

I will never forget the look in his eyes when he slid inside me the first time. His violet eyes had seemed to grow darker and his gaze had burrowed straight into my soul.

I was scared as hell, sweat had glistened over my skin, shivers from the coldness of the air and the desire I was feeling for the boy above me had racked my frame.

It had felt amazing.

It was everything to me.

I watched our relationship shift and morph in his eyes. I could feel it; every ounce of what I felt for him was poured back at me.

Then it was gone.

Shattered into jagged pieces that I would be forced to walk on for the next four years.

He left that barn after saying some devastating things to me and I had tried to tell myself it was because we’d connected, I knew it, and he knew it.

I didn’t know what I was going to say to him the next day. Talking to Dyson was nearly impossible to do because he always managed to muddle my brain. He’d had an uncanny ability to make my mind go blank. But I was determined.

I had marched the three blocks to his house. My determination was only sidetracked by the fear of what I would find when I got there. Both emotions rolled through me like waves in the ocean, bringing with it a fight or flight decision.

As I drew closer to his house, something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t- my heart dropped to my toes as it hit me. Everything that I’d noticed and dismissed in the couple weeks leading up to this came crashing down on me. His absence from school and my house. Dusty’s piss poor attitude about everything, and even the way my mom behaved, but no one had bothered to tell me. The house had stood there empty.

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, my already broken heart was crushed.

He was gone.

He didn’t say good-bye.

He never even told me he was leaving.

Happy fucking April Fools’ to me.

 

I’ve held on to this for way too long. Four years too long.

I’m back, standing in front of the house that held so much promise that April morning. I was going to tell him everything, but I never got the chance.

I never got to give him a piece of my mind and most importantly, I never got to say good-bye.

I never told anyone what happened in the barn that night.

I went through it all, all the stages of grief. First, denial. I was convinced he would show up at school. That he’d just moved across town, that he wasn’t gone. After about four days of him not showing up, I got angry as hell. That was the longest phase. I was mad at my mother. She was friends with his mom, how could she not tell me they were moving? I was furious with my brother. He’d argued that Dyson swore he was going to tell me himself, that’s why he was here alone that day. I didn’t believe him.

I had tried to convince my brother to let me talk to him, but he refused, denied even knowing where he was or how to reach him.

That’s when the depression finally set in. I didn’t eat hardly at all, I barely got through school, though my grades never slipped, and I guess I’ve been living in that depressed little bubble for the last four years.

I knew somewhere, deep down in my gut, that he would come back for me.

After Dusty graduated – Dyson had too – I thought maybe he’d show up back in Joplin, but he didn’t. Dusty had made remarks the last couple of years about missing his friend or bitching that everyone in school seemed to have it out for Dyson. He’d rumble on about how it was unfair the way they were treating Dyson. Just because he’d moved away, people needed someone to blame, but I think most of the girls in our school just needed someone to hate. Dyson was a player, but every girl seemed to think they were in love with him. I was no different. Then the summer ended, Dusty went off to college in Chicago, leaving me to finish high school. Alone.

When I graduated from high school a month ago, I’d hoped he would show up, like Dusty did, and surprise me, but he didn’t.

And now, I stand here in front of what was his house. Twirling the rock in my hand. Consumed with the memories of the man I loved, the man I desperately wanted to talk to, the man who would never come home again.

It was an acceptance I was unwilling to face, but I had no choice.

The rock in my hand grew heavier by the minute. It was the last thing connecting me to him. It was the sister to the rock I’d given him on his first day of school in Joplin.

“He’s never coming back,” I said through tears. “You don’t know where he is or what he’s doing, but obviously, you aren’t part of that plan.” The pep talk I gave myself worked. The tears streamed down my face as my new reality washed over me and I threw the rock at his house. It pinged off the door. That rock was my heart that rock represented everything about the man I loved and it landed on the steps, where it would stay, forever.



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About the Author

 

Zoey


Best Selling Erotic, Paranormal and Contemporary Romance author Zoey Derrick comes from Glendale, Arizona. Zoey, was a mortgage underwriter by day and is now a romance and erotica novelist full-time. She writes stories as hot as the desert sun itself. It is this passion that drips off of her work, bringing excitement to anyone who enjoys a good and sensual love story.

Not only does she aim to take her readers on an erotic dance that lasts the night, it allows her to empty her mind of stories we all wish were true.
 Her stories are hopeful yet true to life, skillfully avoiding melodrama and the unrealistic, bringing her gripping Erotica only closer to the heart of those that dare dipping into it.

The intimacy of her fantasies that she shares with her readers is thrilling and encouraging, climactic yet full of suspense. She is a loving mistress, up for anything, of which any reader is doomed to return to again and again.

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