Category Archives: Prologue

RELEASE BLITZ – Sticks by T. Gephart

Feb 29

Posted by Book Loving Pixies

Title: Sticks

Series: Black Addiction #2

Author: T. Gephart

Genre: Rock Star Romance

Release Date: February 28, 2016

Blurb

Kenzie Clark had made plenty of mistakes. Who cared? Life was all about the journey, and if you couldn’t enjoy the ride then what was the point. The tough-talking guitarist from Brooklyn, NY worked hard so she could play even harder. But some mistakes weren’t so easy to walk away from. Joey Shaw, drummer for Black Addiction, was exactly that kind of a mistake.

How could one night of fun turn into a life long commitment? That’s exactly what Joey was asking himself when Kenzie showed up a few weeks later—the soon-to-be baby bump with his name written all over it. He could barely tie his shoes; how in the hell was he going to raise a kid?

With neither of them ready to become parents, it was always going to be a difficult, but there was no way either of them were walking away. Come hell or high water, they were having this baby—together.

Hopefully they would both be still standing by the birth.

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Excerpt

Prologue – Kenzie

Oh. Fuck.

Fuck.

F. U. C. K.

That’s exactly what should be displayed in the window of that plastic contraption shaking in my hand instead of that obnoxious plus sign. The bright blue horizontal and vertical line against a stark white background. Taunting me as I stood there hoping it was some cruel optical illusion.

But it wasn’t.

Oh my God, I was going to be sick.

My head spun as I sunk to my ass on the cold tile floor. The stick that ten minutes ago had been so innocent and harmless was still in my hand as I struggled not to hyperventilate. This couldn’t be happening.

I was pregnant.

As waves of nausea rolled through my body—something I’d been experiencing a lot lately—my brain tried to reconcile my new reality. My life as I knew it was well and truly over.

I am going to be someone’s mother.

My hand had barely managed to lift the lid of the toilet as I lost my battle with my stomach. The full body heave expelled not only my breakfast but also my soul into the bowl as the evil EPT wand fell out of my hand and onto the floor. My future—as well as my blueberry bagel—now in the toilet.

I had done a lot of stupid stuff in my time. I’ll be the first to admit that, but Joey Shaw was by far the dumbest.

Unlike most of the girls he seemed to entertain, I’d known Joey for years. Our bands had crossed paths from time to time on the bar circuit, even sharing the stage once or twice. The appreciation we had for each other was mutual, both professionally and otherwise. He was good looking, sexy and had a body built for sin. It was only a matter of time before we ended up doing the in-between-the-sheets tango; I was impressed at how long I’d resisted.

Driven by hormones instead of brains, our little game of flirting came to a very lustful, sexy conclusion last month. That mouth of his wasn’t only talking up a good show, with every single egotistical boast coming out of it not even close to the mind-blowing orgasm he’d given me. His body absolutely delivered on the promise of crazy and unrestrained sex. It had been a night that wasn’t going to be easy to forget. Now it seemed, he had gifted me a permanent reminder.

Fuck.

I was so screwed.

We had barely even spoken since our hook-up, happy for it to be a casual thing between friends. It’s not like I was looking to date him. Ha. Not in this lifetime. I wasn’t that delusional. The man was hot. Not denying that, but I’d had longer relationships with a pizza than Joey had with women. So, I was happy to collect on the toe-curling sex without the side order of is-he-ever-going-to-call-me-again. God damn it. How could I have been so freaking stupid?

Ugh. My stomach churned again as my brain rationalized spending most of the day locked in my bathroom. It seemed like a solid idea, one that would see me postpone the what-the-hell-did-I-do-now that was begging to be dealt with. Ha! As if.

This year had started out with so much promise. The band was doing great. While no record deals had come our way, our song had gotten thousands of hits on YouTube. And there wasn’t a Saturday night where we didn’t play. Not just dive bars but actually great gigs. We were even making decent money too. Life was pretty awesome. Was. Past tense. Now, of course, I was a few months away from hawking my six-string at PawnRUs and getting a day job at Denny’s.

Poor Joey.

The sexy six-foot, dark-haired drummer had no idea that our baby was going to be the first and last child he would father, his balls soon to be hanging from my rearview mirror. I’d be sure to inform him and offer my condolences when I ripped them from his still-breathing body. His dick also at risk of ending up a hood ornament. It was only fair seeing as my body would be waving its red flag of rebellion in the coming months that his should suffer too. Might as well wear my skinny jeans while they still fit me, lord knows I was going to be rocking elastic waistbands and stretchy pants in the very near future. My wardrobe, the least of my worries.

Huh. I was going to have a baby. My hand unconsciously brushed against my flat-for-now belly, the life its dumbass parents created growing inside of me despite my lack of a clue. A missed period and some wicked fatigue the only hint that something was amiss. And in an instant, it had all changed. Knocked up, sitting on my bathroom floor with my head down a toilet, and I had absolutely no idea of how I was going to be someone’s mom.

Inside of me there was a tiny life. A little helpless human who needed my love and protection, who hadn’t asked to be born but had been put there nonetheless. Trusting that I would keep him or her safe until he or she was ready to enter into the world. My baby. Mine.

Great. Now my eyes were leaking. The fucking body rebellion I had expected months from now had already started as tears streamed uncontrollably.

What the hell was happening to me? I wasn’t one of those emotional girls who wept when they lost their favorite purse. I played in a rock band for God’s sake; I didn’t do crying. It was Joey’s fault. Yes. Let’s blame that asshole and his potent freaking sperm. He was the reason I had apparently lost my mind and would soon have a full uterus. And now I was back to being mad again.

Awesome.

This was so going to be fun.

Oh, please let me not kill him.

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Author Bio

T Gephart is an indie author from Melbourne, Australia.

T’s approach to life has been somewhat unconventional. Rather than going to University, she jumped on a plane to Los Angeles, USA in search of adventure. While this first trip left her somewhat underwhelmed and largely depleted of funds it fueled her appetite for travel and life experience.

With a rather eclectic resume, which reads more like the fiction she writes than an actual employment history, T struggled to find her niche in the world.

While on a subsequent trip the United States in 1999, T met and married her husband. Their whirlwind courtship and interesting impromptu convenience store wedding set the tone for their life together, which is anything but ordinary. They have lived in Louisiana, Guam and Australia and have traveled extensively throughout the US. T has two beautiful young children and one four legged child, Woodley, the wonder dog.

An avid reader, T became increasingly frustrated by the lack of strong female characters in the books she was reading. She wanted to read about a woman she could identify with, someone strong, independent and confident and who didn’t lack femininity. Out of this need, she decided to pen her first book, A Twist of Fate. T set herself the challenge to write something that was interesting, compelling and yet easy enough to read that was still enjoyable. Pulling from her own past “colorful” experiences and the amazing personalities she has surrounded herself with, she had no shortage of inspiration. With a strong slant on erotic fiction, her core characters are empowered women who don’t have to sacrifice their femininity. She enjoyed the process so much that when it was over she couldn’t let it go.

T loves to travel, laugh and surround herself with colorful characters. This inevitably spills into her writing and makes for an interesting journey – she is well and truly enjoying the ride!

Based on her life experiences, T has plenty of material for her books and has a wealth of ideas to keep you all enthralled.

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RELEASE BLITZ ~ Autumn’s Rise by R.G.Corr

Feb 28

Posted by Book Loving Pixies

Book: Autumn’s Rise
Series: Haywater Novel #1
Author: R.G. Corr

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Hosted By: Francessca’s Romance Reviews

Synopsis

On the discovery of a family secret and the heart-wrenching events that follow, Autumn Chamberlain has lost what little faith she had in those closest to her. Knowing she can never truly live her life if she remains with her family, and with an abundance of guilt laying heavily in her heart, she escapes the lonely world she felt forced to live in and heads to the seaside town of Haywater. The aim, to look for a new beginning, a fresh start. But she has one clear notion – to never love again.

Talented surfer, Zed Maddison, has always worked hard at protecting those closest to him, until the day he fails. Fighting his own demons, Zed flees his close family; unable to
face them and the remorse he feels before finally arriving in Haywater.

When their worlds collide, Zed has an unfathomable need to protect Autumn and becomes relentless in his fight, forcing Autumn’s defences to the limit.

Can her secrets remain dead and buried?

Or will a revelation destroy everything?

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Prologue

“Dreams are not just something you aspire to in an alternative life; they can become a reality. There is one person controlling your dream, Autumn. It’s time to awaken your beautiful soul, and take one step after another, until one day, you’ll find you’ve travelled a journey you had no idea you were capable of. Even the small steps matter.”

I had to remember Mary’s words. I was doing the right thing. I was sure. Definitely. I allowed my eyes to travel around the insanely huge living area of Greyston Manor. A place I should consider as my home but a building I could only look at with empty eyes.

“Hello, Angel. I came to see if the rumours were true.” A biting chill instantly came over me at the recognition of a voice and that name, which I hadn’t heard in two years. I twisted my suddenly tense body and felt the raw hatred flow through my veins at the man standing before me. My hands immediately wrapped around each other, creating a tiny shield that the likes of Brent McCann could destroy with just one look. His gaze moved to my one solitary suitcase near the door, before settling his attention back on me. “You’re doing it? You’re actually leaving?” he said, amusement ringing in his tone.

Face him, goddamn it. I didn’t want him to know I was afraid of him, of the power and control he managed to rule me with. “Yes, I am.” I jolted up my chin, facing him fully.

He took a step towards me. Instinctively, I took one back. A smirk crossed his smug, preened face. “Are you going to tell me where exactly it is you’re going?”

Fighting against the power he’d always held over me, I answered as firmly as I could. “No, I’m not.” I prayed my tough exterior was more convincing than the pathetic waver I’d heard in my voice. The sound of my heartbeat was thrashing in my ears. I extended my palms to try and relieve the dampness my fear was creating.

Brent preferred, not only to be in charge but to control pitiful women like me. I knew my brief responses would cause him annoyance, but I had no choice. I was leaving Brent, my parents and this life behind.

I watched as his jaw hardened before he moved quickly. He grabbed my arm; his fingers wound tightly around me until he could sense my pain. I closed my eyes briefly, accepting my weakness. “After all I’ve done, you selfish bitch,” he spat at me. His grip turned harder. I willed myself not to cry any more wasted tears. “Don’t look at me with those pathetic, tear stained eyes. I was your only out. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” I winced at the screeching noise that flew from my mouth. How dare he? I hated him with every cell of my body. How could he believe I owed him anything other than the dirt under my shoe? “Leave me be,” I pleaded, loathing the beaten sound to my voice.

“Oh, I will, Autumn.” He released his grip, the pain was immediately replaced with a stinging throb that I refused to acknowledge. I watched him, in all of his expensive finery, wander across the room towards the door. Revulsion radiated from inside me. He paused before he turned around slowly and addressed me, “Greyston is in your roots, your blood. You will never be anybody without me, or your parents’ money and their stature. You will fail in this life, Autumn, as you already have.” His dark, callous eyes swept the breadth of my body, “Look at yourself and those damn awful clothes. People will pity you when that isn’t what you deserve. You deserve retribution. You can’t hide. People will see you for what you really are. A cold-hearted failure.”

I jolted at the truth behind Brent’s words. Reaching out, I clutched the dresser at my side tightly, in a bid to still my now trembling body. I despised him and all he represented, but I hated him more for truly seeing me. Underneath my clothes, lay the scars and truths that rendered me as the ugliest of them all. Leaving Greyston and the haunting memories was my only option. It wouldn’t ever take away my guilt or erase my shame. That would remain in my heart until the day my final breath left me, but leaving, was the only way I could continue on this earth.

“I will give you your crazed desire for freedom, for now. I will call you when I’m ready, and you will come running back to me, Autumn, I promise. You have no friends left and your parents… well…” his eyebrows raised in amusement as he chuckled, “…they never really cared about you, did they? That’s got to hurt, knowing you’re not good enough even for your parents. You had to settle for Mary, a housekeeper of all things.” Whoa, one step too far. I curled up my hand and flew at him, the need to defend Mary overruling any self-control I had. But he dodged my fist and burst into laughter as I stumbled for balance. “I made you feel alive for the first time in your lonely, sheltered life, and that sickens you.”

I couldn’t respond. His words were true. There had been a point, in the beginning, when I’d been happy, but slowly over time, he ate away at the smallest parts of self-belief I possessed until I accepted his words as my own.

My shoulders sagged with relief as I spied Mary entering the room, her eyes immediately finding mine. As she registered my upset, her jaw clenched before she shifted her attention to Brent. “Mr. McCann, I wasn’t aware you were visiting, it’s been a while,” she said in a clipped tone. If it was at all possible, she held more contempt for him than I did.

“Why, Mary, you’re making me feel old. What happened to calling me, Brent?” Mary hadn’t referred to him by his first name in a number of years. There had been plenty of curse words aimed at him in private, but certainly not the name, Brent.
Turning her head away from him in annoyance, Mary directed her words to me. “Autumn, it’s time for you to go. The car is ready.” My parents’ driver was to take me to the station, where I would board a train to my new life.

“And where might that be to, Mary? Autumn seems to be holding that piece of information back.”
“I am as uncertain as you, Mr. McCann.” Mary knew exactly where I was heading. She’d helped me. My entire life I had only ever been a puppet on a very rigid, unforgiving set of strings, controlled by my parents. I had adhered to each and every one of my parents’ wishes; achieved the grades they required and lived through the heavy-hearted loneliness of the past three years, the worst three years of my life. Mary had seen me through it all and been by my side, on my brief breaks from Hartshead boarding school.

So I was fleeing, beneath a cloud of my parents’ disapproval, but with a sky filled with encouragement from Mary.
Mary looked back at me, a slight hint of a smile pushed at the corners of her mouth, forcing the last ounce of hope to the front of my heart.

“Goodbye, Brent,” I stated calmly.
He curled his lip in amusement before he strolled confidently out of Greyston Manor.
Mary had somehow made it to my side and had taken my hands in her own without me realising it. “Small steps, Autumn. Remember?” Her eyes glistened with the sorrow she felt. “You got to him. Underneath that arrogant face of his, there was fury.” I didn’t want to get to him. I wanted to forget him.

“My parents, they’re not going to be back today, are they?” I asked with a hint of sadness in my tone. Deep down, I knew they wouldn’t be, their daughter leaving home wasn’t a priority. I should be used to it, but I wasn’t. Mary shook her head informing me I wouldn’t be seeing them.

“You’ve accepted your life for what it was for too long a time. Take back what should have been yours all along. Never settle. Fight for what you desire, what you deserve.” Mary’s focus switched to my suitcase. “How about you take a step, Autumn? Life, it’s waiting.” With a final embrace, I moved and collected my suitcase. With my heart pounding, I walked out of the door.

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What others are saying

This was a beautifully written book, the attention to detail was perfect it really made me feel like I was living the story rather than just reading it. I became totally invested in Autumn’s well being so much so that I didn’t want the story to end. ~ Literary Lust

I loved Autumns Rise, and reading it I would never have guessed that this is a debut. The writing is superb and I was totally sucked into the story. I just wanted to give both Autumn and Zed a huge hug. It’s a heartbreaking story but also a story of hope. ~ Blogging for the love of authors and their books

Deep secrets, hope, heartbreak, survival and twists, laced with humour in between; A BEAUTFUL DEBUT BOOK. The attention to detail and her characters just pulled me right in from the very beginning. ~ Blissfully Bookerized

About The Author

R. G. Corr is a mum of 3 who loves to read almost as much as she does to write. When she’s not working or writing, you’ll find her nose deep in her kindle swooning over her latest book boyfriend.

Having had an overactive imagination for many years, a discussion with a friend at a soft play area, amidst the noise and mayhem of toddlers, finally convinced her to put pen to paper and write her first novel.

Autumn’s Rise, book one in the Haywater series, will be released in February. Book two will follow later in the year.

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COVER REVEAL ~ Illicit Temptations by Janine Infante Bosco

Feb 1

Posted by Book Loving Pixies

ILLICIT TEMPTATIONS
Tempted, #1
by Janine Infante Bosco

Publication Date: July 25, 2015
Genre: Adult, Contemporary Romance

#FREE: Amazon

Synopsis:

Michael Valente…

My father was the Underboss of an organized crime family. He was murdered when I was a teenager leaving me broken. My mother died in a tragic accident, her death annihilated me. My life was in shambles until Victor Pastore, one of New York’s most notorious gangsters and my late father’s best friend, recruited me to work for him.

Everyone expected me to walk in my father’s shadow, to be the prodigal son, the next big thing to hit the mob. I was torn between filling those expectations and walking the straight line my mother wished I had. Nothing made sense and I felt as if I was just passing through life.

The only beacon of light in my otherwise dark world was the one girl that was off limits to me. The one girl who could bring me to my knees consuming my mind, body and soul.

She’s the sweetest temptation I’ve ever known and the most illicit.

Nikki Pastore….

My father’s a gangster. My boyfriend’s is the king of New York’s nightclubs. I am often labeled as Vic’s daughter or Rico’s girl, never just Nikki. I struggle for people to acknowledge me for the woman I am and not for the men in my life. I’m fighting a losing battle.

There is only one person who sees me for me, my Mikey.

He’s wild.
He’s reckless.
He’s hot as hell.

He’s completely unattainable, but oh so tempting.

ILLICIT TEMPTATIONS
– PROLOGUE –

Present Day: Michael

It all happened so quickly. I chased the sound of her desperate cries, her dull voice begging for someone to help her. I turn the corner of the abandoned warehouse careful not to make my presence known. I breathe through my mouth because the stench in the air is so vile smelling like piss, death and filth. There is silence. I can’t make out her cry anymore. The only sound I catch is the water dripping from the leak in the roof onto the concrete floor.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

“Help me. Dear God, please help me,” she cries out. Her voice sounds weaker than before, as if she’s giving up, resolving that no one will answer her plea for help.

I step in something sticky forcing me to glance down at my foot that is now covered in blood. My eyes follow the trail of crimson to the dead body that is decomposing in the corner. I want to scream. My gut clenches thinking of all the horrors my girl must have been exposed to and how it’s all my fault.

I failed her.

I won’t fail her now.

Never again.

I take a few more steps, hiding behind a palette of wooden crates, peaking between them, I spot her. My girl. She’s sitting in a metal chair. Her wrists are tied behind her back and her ankles are tied together. Her head is down so I can’t see her face but I notice she’s still wearing the same clothes as she was the day they took her. I silently will her to lift her head. I need to get a look at her face. I need to see she’s okay.

“No one’s here to save you sweetheart.” I hear a taunting voice speak to her.

I’m here to save her you fuck.

His body comes into my view as he stands in front of her, slowly bending so they’re eye level. I watch, struggling not to do anything stupid, hearing Vic’s voice in my head reminding me not to be a cowboy.

Patience.

Her life is at stake.

He cups her face not so gently and forces her to look up at him. He blocks my view of her so I shift to my right hoping to catch a glimpse.

“My father will kill you.” She shouts. “Do you hear me? He will kill you! Just let me go.”

He laughs. “Your father can’t save you little girl just like he couldn’t save his best man. And when you’re dead, he won’t do anything either just like he didn’t after I killed Val. Daddy’s not in control anymore, you’re at my mercy.”

I freeze for a moment at the mention of my father. The man who has his back to me, the man torturing my girl, is the same man who killed my father. I didn’t even have a chance to process the information because his hand reared back and slapped Nikki across her face. He takes a step backward, and she comes into my view, lifting her head slowly. Her eye make up is running down her face. One of her cheeks is red, branded from that son of a bitch’s hand and yet she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Something is triggered inside of me and I know it’s time to end this nightmare. I straighten my posture, my hand securely holding my gun at my side. Slowly I lift my hands, my gun cocked aiming the barrel of it straight at the back of the enemy’s head. I look at Nikki once more, she’s all the strength I need to pull the trigger. She turns her head, her dull brown eyes meet mine and for the slightest moment I see life reborn in them.

I take one hand off my gun and lift a finger to my lips, signaling her to stay silent. I want the motherfucker to be surprised when I riddle him with bullets. I hold her gaze and hope she trusts I won’t let anything else happen to her.

I’m here Princess

You’re safe now.

I gradually step around the pallet I was hiding behind and creep up behind him, keeping a steady eye on my girl. I wrap my finger around the trigger. This is it. I’m about to kill a man. I’m about to put someone else’s blood on my hands. I am about to walk in my father’s shoes.

I avert my eyes to the back of my target’s head, tearing my gaze away from Nikki. I lift the gun and then it happens…

“Mikey watch out!!” She screams.

I pull the trigger.

All of a sudden my gun isn’t the only one going off in the warehouse. The sound of gunfire erupts as I watch my bullet pierce my victim. I turn toward Nikki, hurrying to make my way to her. My victim falls face forward onto the floor, a single shot to the head killing him instantly. Nikki screams out as his blood splatters onto her. She’s shaking her head screaming no as I struggle to make my way to her.

“Mikey Get down!!” She screams through her sobs.

I don’t fully comprehend what she’s saying. I think I’m still reeling from the fact that the man I put a bullet in was about to kill her— just like he killed my old man. All I cared about was taking her in my arms and holding onto her for dear life. I needed to touch her, to feel her, to know she really was okay.

She is shaking her head violently forcing me to focus on what she is trying to warn me of. I glance over my shoulder, eyes wide as I see the ambush Victor and his men are taking part in, guns blazing as they seek revenge on the rival family that held his daughter captive for two days.

They don’t go down easily and men start appearing from all over the warehouse, firing back at Victor and his gang. I lift my gun, ready to help Victor, out of the corner of my eye I notice a man to my left, his gun aimed at Nikki. I keep my gun aimed at the men firing against Victor and look over my shoulder towards my girl. She’s oblivious to the gun pointed at her and there is little she could do to protect herself since she’s still tied to the chair. I walk backwards towards her, debating if I have time to take out the gunman.

I turn my gun towards the man aiming at Nikki but he pulls the trigger.

I’m too late.

“No!” I hear myself cry out as I run, attempting beat the speed of the bullet. I dive on top of her, my body shielding hers, knocking her and the chair she is tied to backwards as the bullet sears through my flesh.

I’m here Princess. You’re safe.

The gun slips from my hand as I roll off Nikki. I stare up at the ceiling. I hear her crying beside me, I try to reach for her hand but I can’t move. The heat sears through my body. I’m trying to contain the blood, but it pours from my wound uncontrollably. There are more gunshots fired. I hear Nikki’s cries become muffled until everything fades to black.

#ILLICITTEMPTATIONS IS #FREE

#AREYOUTEMPTED

#AMERICASNEXTMOBSTER

ABOUT JANINE INFANTE BOSCO

Janine Infante Bosco lives in New York City, she has always loved reading and writing. When she was thirteen, she began to write her own stories and her passion for writing took off as the years went on. At eighteen, she even wrote a full screenplay with dreams of one day becoming a member of the Screen Actors Guild.

Janine writes emotionally charged novels with an emphasis on family bonds, strong willed female characters, and alpha male men who will do anything for the women they love. She loves to interact with fans and fellow avid romance readers like herself.

She is proud of her success as an author and the friendships she’s made in the book community but her greatest accomplishment to date would be her two sons Joseph and Paul.

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RELEASE DAY BLITZ ~ SKETCH by Laramie Briscoe

Jan 21

Posted by Book Loving Pixies

My name is Devin, but everybody calls me Sketch. I opened my own tattoo shop two years ago, and I’ve finally gotten to the point where I’m going to be able to give my wife everything she’s ever wanted. I’m going to be able to take time off and spend a day a week with her. In fact, tonight, I stopped and grabbed some wine, got her flowers, and those chocolates she likes.

What I wasn’t prepared for was to be met at the front door by her carrying her sh*t out.

She loves me, but she’s not in love with me anymore. What kind of bulls*it excuse is that? I’ve left her alone too often, I’ve been completely focused on one goal, and apparently she’s sick of waiting.

So here I stand. Half the man I was, p*ssed as f*ck, because while I was busy making a better life for us, she was under the impression I was leaving her lonely. I know one day she’ll see what I’ve been doing has been for us, and when that day comes… She can damn well come crawling back to me.

A Tattoo Artist – A Husband – An Alpha Male Who
Makes No Excuses

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Laramie Briscoe is the best-selling author of the Heaven Hill Series & the Rockin’ Country Series.

Since self-publishing her first book in May of 2013, Laramie Briscoe has published over 10 books. She’s appeared on the Top 100 Bestselling E-books Lists on iBooks, Amazon Kindle, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble. She’s been called “a very young Maya Banks” (Amazon reviewer) and her books have been accused of being “sexy, family-oriented, romances with heart”.

When she’s not writing alpha males who seriously love their women, she loves spending time with friends, reading, and marathoning shows on her DVR. Married to her high school sweetheart, Laramie lives in Bowling Green, KY with her husband (the Travel Coordinator) and a sometimes crazy cat named Beau.

Every day during release week you will find a new giveaway on Laramie’s facebook page. Be sure to hop over and enter to win any one of the amazing prizes she will be giving away!

>> https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLaramieBriscoe/ <<

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PRE-RELEASE BLITZ ~ Sketch by Laramie Briscoe

Jan 6

Posted by Book Loving Pixies

blitz (2).png

SKETCH
BY LARAMIE BRISCOE

A Tattoo Artist – A Husband –
An Alpha Male Who Makes No Excuses

Release Date: January 21, 2016

BLURB

What I wasn’t prepared for was to be met at the front door by her carrying her shit out.

She loves me, but she’s not in love with me anymore. What kind of bullshit excuse is that? I’ve left her alone too often, I’ve been completely focused on one goal, and apparently she’s sick of waiting.

So here I stand. Half the man I was, pissed as fuck, because while I was busy making a better life for us, she was under the impression I was leaving her lonely. I know one day she’ll see what I’ve been doing has been for us, and when that day comes… She can damn well come crawling back to me.
*****This is a full-length stand alone romance with no cliffhanger!*****

Add it to your TBR lists on Goodreads:

Click HERE for a sneak peak of the Prologue & Chapter 1:

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Laramie Briscoe is the best-selling author of the Heaven Hill Series & the Rockin’ Country Series.

Social Media Links

Website:

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Laramie’s Books

Find all of Laramie’s books here:

The Heaven Hill Series

Meant To Be

Out of Darkness

Losing Control

Worth the Battle

Dirty Little Secret

Second Chance Love

Rough Patch

Beginning of Forever

Home Free

The Rockin’ Country Series

Only The Beginning

One Day at A Time

The Price of Love

Full Circle

Hard To Love

The Red Bird Trail Trilogy

Flagger

Collision

In-Tune

Stand-Alone Romance

Sketch

GIVEAWAY

2 x$25 Amazon giftcards (open internationally)
and a signed copy of SKETCH (US only)

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RELEASE TOUR ~ And Night Descends by Bruce Blake

Jan 1

Posted by Book Loving Pixies

AND NIGHT DESCENDS

Book 3 of the Small Gods Series
AUTHOR: Bruce Blake

GENRE: Epic Fantasy
CONTENT WARNING: 18+

To raise the Small Gods, a Small God must die,
When stars go out, the end is nigh.
One must die to raise them all,
Should Small Gods rise, man will fall,
One can stop them, on darken’d wing,
The firstborn child of the rightful king.

WHEN SHADOWS FALL…THE DARKNESS COMES…AND NIGHT DESCENDS

The moment Teryk and Danya, the royal siblings, spoke the words inscribed on the long-forgotten scroll, they foolishly set in motion events destined to bring about the prophecy’s predictions. Teryk is the firstborn, but why do the words only make sense to his sister?

As they each launch themselves recklessly into a heroic mission to save mankind, it seems inevitable that key elements in this game of the gods would be drawn to one another and collide with frightful and yet-unfathomable consequences.

With a Small God already captured and being dragged to his death by a colossal, bloodthirsty golem, is it too late to turn back fate? Can any of them find a way to resist their destinies?

Intrigue in the court, an impenetrable veil between two worlds, escape, sacrifice, retribution and magic pull the strings of these puppets of destiny on a massive, creation-spanning chessboard hidden in shadow, veiled in darkness, lost in the night.

Prologue

Long ago, blood and anger colored his dreams red every night until the night she came to him.

In his sleep, steel glinted through the haze of crimson, pain flashed. A coppery scent stirred him in his bed, rank bile soured his tongue, and Trenan woke with sweat on his brow and agony tearing through him from an arm no longer there. Every time he awakened, he reached out with a phantom hand, expecting—hoping—for fingers to brush the rough wool blanket or touch his face. But they found nothing because they remained attached to an arm rotting in the bottom of a ditch with the rest of the dead.

“At least the rest of you isn’t down there,” Erral had said with a chuckle one day as he sat beside his bunk, struggling to articulate his appreciation.

Trenan thought lying in the ditch with the dead might be better than losing the arm meant to wield his sword.

What good is a soldier with no hand to hold his weapon?

The one-armed swordsman stared up at the dark ceiling, the muscles in his jaw clenched hard against the throb in his shoulder and the knot clogging his throat. Since the days of his childhood, his life had been based on what that arm could do with a sword. It performed feats others couldn’t, moved in ways and with speed beyond the abilities of but a few men. It took lives, saved lives, helped to put down a rebellion.

But no more. Off it came, a sacrifice to save the king from a blow meant to separate his royal head from his regal body. A more than fair trade in the kingdom’s mind, but a bitter mouthful to a master swordsman left with the wrong arm.

Trenan closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose, filling his lungs to capacity and using the air to squash regret from his chest. Sacrificing himself for the king was expected of him and an honor. But it wasn’t he who’d been sacrificed but his arm, with the rest of him left behind to cope without it.

I’d rather have died.

And they knew it; it was the reason his chambers were devoid of sharp weapons.

“Trenan?”

The whispered word didn’t startle him, but he was surprised by the timbre of the voice speaking it. The doctor assigned to his bedside like a hairy-chested wet nurse would return soon to touch his forehead to gauge his temperature, or give him more of the acrid herbs to hide a pain that would never leave, but the man charged with caring for him didn’t speak with a woman’s voice.

Trenan dragged his lids open, cocked his head. The woman perched on the chair set beside his bunk was the last person he’d have expected to find.

Her hair, which he’d only ever seen her wear up, hung loose past her shoulders in waves the color of honey tinted with a few drops of blood. Her eyes sparkled with the dim light of the taper flickering in the far corner of the swordsman’s chamber, worry plain in their set. Concern tilted the corners of the full lips of her exquisite mouth.

“My queen.”

Trenan scrambled to push himself up on his elbows, forgot he had but one, and tumbled onto his side on the mattress, jarring his wound. He gritted his teeth and pressed his lips together to keep from crying out, but when he found the queen’s hand upon him, he forgot the pain.

“Are you all right?”

He looked into the eyes of the young woman who’d seen the seasons turn eighteen times since her birth and once since she’d become wife to the king. The knot of despair that had choked him dissipated, the pain in his shoulder faded. He nodded.

“Yes, my queen.”

“Ishla,” she said and brushed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “You poor man.”

She settled back on the edge of the chair, removing her touch from his face, but the feel of it remained with him. He struggled himself up to sitting, the wool blanket falling from his bare chest as he stretched to see past the wife of his friend. Behind her, the chamber lay empty.

“Where is Gollard?” He looked to her face, found her still gazing at him, so diverted his eyes. “Where is the doctor?”

“Do you need him?”

She stood, took a half-step toward the door and stopped, awaiting his reply. He’d have answered at once but, when she stood, he saw she’d chosen not to wear one of the elaborate dresses he’d seen her wear every other time he’d been in her presence. Instead, she wore white bed clothes with sleeve cuffs that clung to her wrists and a hem that brushed her ankles.

“N…no. I’m fine, just wondering where he’d gone.”

Ishla clasped her hands in front of her, lowered her chin to regard her intertwined fingers.

“I had him called away.”

Trenan stared at the young woman. Now her eyes weren’t upon him, he let his gaze linger, saw that the taper burning behind her cast her outline in the fine cloth. Trenan swallowed hard.

“Called away? For what?”

She raised her head, making him slip his gaze back to her face, then gestured toward the side of the bed.

“May I?”

Trenan looked from her to the bed and back, uncertain what she meant, at first. He cleared his throat and nodded.

“Of course, my quee…Ishla.”

She alighted on the edge of the mattress close enough Trenan felt her warmth. Her perfume filled his nose—not a cologne she’d put on, but the smell of her hair, the scent of her skin. Apprehension stirred in the swordsman’s chest, excitement, confusion.

Why is she here?

“I’ve come to thank you for saving the king, Trenan.”

It might have surprised him that she read his thoughts, but what else might he have been thinking? Trenan shifted away, trying to quell his excited discomfort.

“There’s no need. The king has conveyed his appreciation with the best surgeons the kingdom can offer and his promise to take care of me as long as I need.”

The words were Erral’s, but this marked the first time Trenan had spoken them aloud. They tasted of vinegar on his tongue, but the queen’s sweetness was enough to overpower the bitter morsel.

Ishla wiggled nearer, closing the distance he’d created, her lithe body making little impression on the mattress. His eyes strayed from hers, fell to her curves beneath the bed clothes before returning to find a smile beginning on her lips.

“That is Erral’s way of thanking you, not mine. And I suspect his method may be more hurtful than fulfilling.”

She lifted a hand and touched her palm to his cheek. Trenan nearly jerked away out of sense of duty to king and kingdom but didn’t for fear of offending the queen. And because he liked the way her warm flesh felt against his.

Ishla moved closer and leaned in, leaving a hand’s-breadth between the tips of their noses. Her breath touched his lips, her gaze found its way inside him.

“It is my thanks I bring tonight.”

“And Gollard?”

“Won’t be back until morning.”

“Who else knows you had him called away?”

She shook her head. “A queen can be discreet.”

Trenan licked his lips, resisted the urge to close the space between them. A plethora of furtive smiles returned to his memory. From the first time he’d seen his friend’s wife—the queen of the kingdom—they’d been there, finding their way to her lips whenever their eyes met. As much as he wanted them to be for him, about him, he’d convinced himself her nature and her youth brought them forth, convinced himself the tingle-inspiring smiles and gentle blushes weren’t meant for him.

Now he didn’t know if he should be elated he’d been wrong, or fearful.

His gaze slipped form her eyes to her mouth. He imagined his lips pressing against hers, their tongues finding each other, until the king’s angry visage intruded on his thoughts.

“Erral—”

“Is your friend,” she finished for him. “And my husband, but he isn’t here. There is you and me, and no one else knows I’m here.”

Her hand left his face, fell to rest on his upper chest. The tight thrill swirling beneath his ribs expanded, flowing into his stomach, lower, stirring other things. Ishla held his gaze but moved no more, staring into his eyes with her lips parted, her head tilted.

This is wrong.

Trenan’s mind continued to resist even as he leaned forward and their mouths came together.

***

Ishla ran the tip of her finger along the swordsman’s breast bone, tracing a line through the cooling perspiration. The ache in Trenan’s shoulder he’d forgotten as the queen expressed her appreciation crept back as though someone pressed the tip of a stick into his wound.

The queen peered at him and he held her gaze. Though neither spoke, words swam through his mind—things to say, plans never to be executed, the vision of an impossible life. He thought he saw the same shining in her eyes, hidden behind a mix of nurturing care and sadness.

After a moment, the breathtaking young woman climbed off him, her weight lifting from his hips as another palpable one settled into his chest.

“I must go before I am missed,” she said, one corner of her mouth lifting in a lopsided smile.

She bent and retrieved her nightgown from the floor. Trenan watched as she shook it out, revelling in the way her muscles moved beneath her porcelain skin, the tremor shaking her breasts. She stretched her arms toward the ceiling and slipped her hands into the sleeves, let the nightshirt fall around her like the curtain falling at the end of a masterful play.

A performance Trenan never wanted to end.

The gown fell into place and she smoothed the front with her palms. The swordsman reached out, a jolt of pain shooting along the right side of his chest, and grasped her wrist, coaxed her back toward the bed.

“When will I see you again?”

She looked at him, the smile still on her face, but he watched the sliver of sadness in her eyes overtake it. The queen said nothing in response; she didn’t need to. He’d already known the answer before his lips spoke the words—this was a dangerous game they shouldn’t play again.

Dangerous, but worth the risk.

Ishla leaned over and put her lips to his, the passion and longing of their earlier kisses usurped by regret, mourning. The touch lingered, and he thought to grab her, pull her to him, but the moment passed and she moved away. Trenan released his hold on her wrist and watched her stride across the room to the chamber door.

She let herself out without a backward glance.

***

“I’ve seen the seasons pass nearly fifteen times,” Dansil mumbled under his breath as he stalked through the castle halls. “I’ll be a man soon enough; bitch can’t tell me what to do.”

His cheek still stung in precisely the shape of his mother’s hand, but her punishments didn’t hurt like they did in his youth. Then, they’d caused him more than physical pain; it was as though she’d struck his soul.

But if something gets beaten enough times, it toughens.

He came to a corner and slowed his pace, peeked around before continuing. Getting caught wandering the halls wouldn’t get him killed, but none of the king’s men would be impressed should they discover him. Even with the red haze of anger at his mother hanging around him, he knew better than to be careless—he’d crept these halls enough times.

Dansil followed the hall and went up the next staircase, avoiding the routes the guards followed when patrolling in the evening. At the top of the stairs, he paused a second time, checking both ways along the corridor. Thick carpet in a shade of deep red covered the floor in both directions; portraits of people he neither recognized nor cared to recognize lined the walls.

On a whim, he took a right and maintained a slow but steady pace, the muscles in his thighs tight and ready to hie him away should one of the many doors lining the hall open and a visiting noble step out. He figured none would this late at night, but better ready than caught.

The end of the hall intersected another; here he stopped again and found himself rewarded for his care. Halfway along the corridor, a door opened. A woman clothed in white bedclothes emerged, the wall sconces behind her illuminating the outline of her body through the cloth.

Dansil sucked a sharp breath at the sight and his hand darted to his groin. The woman stood for a short time, hand on the door’s handle, her head hung. Her long hair caressed her arms and shoulders, the light highlighted the shape of her breasts, the curve at the small of her back. After a moment, she raised her head, glanced along the hall away from where Dansil peered around the corner, then swivelled her head toward him. The young man faded back from the corner before she saw him, a silent curse on his lips.

He waited, breath held, resisting the urge to peep around the corner again. If he did, and she was walking away, the wall sconce’s light might shine between her legs, outlining the most secret of places. But if she headed toward him, he’d be discovered.

The whisper of footsteps padding on the rug interrupted his thought.

She’s coming this way.

No time to hurry back the way he’d come; if he tried, she’d see him, even if she didn’t turn his direction. Lips squeezed hard together, he pressed himself against the wall and hoped she’d continue straight along the corridor.

A moment later, she passed by and Dansil saw her face. His eyes widened and his grip on his half-swollen man thing released.

The queen!

As she hurried down the corridor, Dansil stepped out from his hiding spot to watch her go, forgetting the possibility she might glance back and see him. She didn’t and, instead of admiring the swing of her hips, the shape of her body hidden beneath the bedclothes, the young man wondered why she’d be out alone at this time of night. When she disappeared around the far corner, he peered back toward the door she’d exited.

The curiosity was too much for Dansil. He crept along the corridor in the direction from which the queen had come, his hand extended and fingertips dragging along the rough stone wall. Every door appeared the same as the others, but he’d noted the one from which she’d emerged: the third on the left. A moment later, he stood in front of the plain wood slab, staring at the handle. After a quick survey of the empty hall, he leaned close, pressed his ear to the door, but heard no sounds within.

Excited saliva filled his mouth. He swallowed hard, raised his hand and rapped his knuckles against the wood.

The knock garnered no immediate response so Dansil assumed the chamber empty until a man’s voice spoke a single word.

“Ishla?”

The curiosity burning in his brain tingled into his chest and along his limbs. The hand he still held raised after knocking fell to the door handle, gripped it. He didn’t recognize the voice or know who might reside within, but was aware he shouldn’t enter any room in the castle without invitation. He also knew no invitation would come if he waited for one, and he’d never discover who the door concealed.

Dansil set his jaw and pushed the door open.

A musky odor filled the air in the room, one he recognized from the occasions when his mother came home with a man and sent him off to his chambers. The furnishings were sparse and a man lay upon a bed to the left, one shoulder wrapped with a pink-tinged bandage where his arm was missing. The tender expression on his face went stony when he spied the lad.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Beg your pardon, m’lord swordsman. Wrong chamber.”

Dansil backed out of the room and closed the door behind him, a wicked grin creeping onto his lips as he went. The door clicked shut; he hurried away along the hall lest the man rise and come after him.

Trenan and the queen. The king’s friend and his wife. Together.

He rounded the corner and hastened to the staircase, the path of his future falling into view.

Sometimes, one unexpected turn of events can change a boy’s life.

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OF THE SMALL GODS SERIES

A hundred hundred seasons have turned since the Goddess banished the Small Gods to the sky, leaving the land to mankind alone.

For Prince Teryk, life behind the castle walls is boring and uneventful until he stumbles upon an arcane scroll in a long-forgotten chamber. The parchment speaks of Small Gods, the fall of man, and the kingdom’s savior—the firstborn child of the rightful king. It’s his opportunity to prove himself to his father, the king, and assure his place in history. All he needs to do is find the man from across the sea—a man who can’t possibly exist—and save mankind.

But ancient magic has been put in motion by a mysterious cult determined to see the Small Gods reborn. Powerful forces clash, uncaring for the lives of mortals in their struggle to prevent the return of the banished ones, or aid in their rebirth.

Named in a prophecy or not, what chance does a cocky prince who barely understands the task laid before him stand in a battle with the gods?

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When shadows fall, the darkness comes…

A disgraced Goddess Mother wanders blind and alone, praying for her agony to end. When a helpful apostle finds her, could it truly be salvation, or does worse torment lie ahead?

A sister struggles to understand a prophecy that may not be meant for her while her brother fights for his life. If the firstborn child of the rightful king dies, will it spell the end for everyone?

Darkness and shadow creep across the land in the form of a fierce clay golem animated by its sculptor’s blood. It seeks a mythical creature whose sacrifice portends the return of ancient evil banished from the world long ago. With its return will come the fall of man.

As the game unfolds, the Small Gods watch from the sky, waiting for their time to come and their chance to rise again. They wait for the fall of shadows, the coming of the darkness.

They wait for night to descend.

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Bruce Blake lives on Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada. When pressing issues like shovelling snow and building igloos don’t take up his spare time, Bruce can be found taking the dog sled to the nearest coffee shop to work on his short stories and novels.

Actually, Victoria, B.C. is only a couple hours north of Seattle, Wash., where more rain is seen than snow. Since snow isn’t really a pressing issue, Bruce spends more time trying to remember to leave the “u” out of words like “colour” and “neighbour” than he does shovelling (and watch out for those pesky double l’s). The father of two, Bruce is also the trophy husband of a burlesque diva.

Bruce’s first short story, “Another Man’s Shoes” was published in the Winter 2008 edition of Cemetery Moon. Another short, “Yardwork,” was made into a podcast in Oct., 2011 by Pseudopod. Bruce’s first Icarus Fell novel, “On Unfaithful Wings”, was published in Dec., 2011 while the follow up, “All Who Wander Are Lost”, came out in July, 2012. The third in the series, “Secrets of the Hanged Man”, came out in July, 2013. The first part of his Khirro’s Journey epic fantasy trilogy, “Blood of the King”, was released Sept., 2012, book 2, “Spirit of the King,” in Dec., 2012, and book 3, “Heart of the King,” in Feb., 2013.

The two books in the Small Gods series, “When Shadows Fall” and “The Darkness Comes”, were released in 2013, after which Bruce took a year out to concentrate on his family and career. Book three in the Small Gods series is Bruce Blake’s current project.

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BLOG TOUR ~ Surviving You by Dawn A. Keane

Dec 10

Posted by Book Loving Pixies

Book: Surviving You
Series: Shameless Series #2
(Can be read as a standalone)
Author: Dawn A Keane

Genre: Dark Suspenseful Thriller
Hosted By:Francessca’s Romance Reviews

Synopsis

“Thou shalt take the boy out of Manchester, but you cannot take Manchester out of the boy.”

Lee – I’m a killer, a hardened criminal born into the underbelly of an unlawful world that my father crafted, and I am to be crowned the next King. I used to covet the dark; it has forever been my friend and forgives me my sins. A slither of light has dared me to hope, it has my house of cards tumbling all around me. From the moment I saw her I knew she would be my downfall, for how can something that shines so bright not burn?
Yet, she is my salvation and I gladly walk the path that I have chosen….

Rose – I cringe at my own shadow; dark corners of my mind forever torment me. I have yet to escape from my demons; they beseech me with every turn of my head. Yet lurking is a promise, a promise of things to come. It has my heart in a vice; squeezing the last dregs of a love I never thought I could feel again. From the moment I saw him I knew he would be my downfall, for how can something that smolders so dark not singe?
Yet, he is my redemption and I gladly walk the path that I have chosen….
“Thou shalt always protect the family.”

******

Loyalty doesn’t come much richer than family so when Lee Young decides to hang up his gun and head north he sets in motion a chain of events that cause murder and mayhem with every step closer he takes to walking. When two worlds collide, it forces Rose to meet her demons head on and has Lee frantically trying to keep both Rose and her daughter safe. The road they travel together will be their greatest challenge and their most dangerous yet. With so much to lose but everything to gain, Lee and Rose become embroiled in a game of cat and mouse as they try to confront the threats surrounding them. Running to keep one step ahead of everyone else, can these lovers climb out of the dark that they find themselves in and bathe in the light their love promises before the fire burns to embers and their world is snuffed to smoke?

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Excerpt

Prologue
Twelve years earlier

I drain the cold liquid from my glass and tip the remaining ice cubes into the wastebasket. Placing the glass against my bedroom wall, I listen closely to the loud noises coming from the next door neighbour’s bedroom. My lungs begin to fill with much needed air, the muffled ringing in my ears beginning to dull. Closing my eyes as tight as they can go, I gasp, trying to control my breathing, not wanting to make a single sound. My heartbeat thunders a hundred miles per hour inside my chest, and I attempt to slow it with deep, calming breaths. I cover my other ear with my free hand in hopes that the sounds will come through the glass pressed against the door a little clearer.
It sounds like people are shouting; a woman and a man. They’re arguing about something, screaming at the top of their lungs. She’s crying now, hiccupping with each sob. I can’t hear anyone else in the room with them, just those two unfamiliar voices.

Standing here on the chair in my pink nightgown in the dark, I see him: a boy standing against his window. I jump with fear, startled. What is he doing? I move my head closer, squinting my eyes together. He’s crying. I think he is hurt in some way. I can see his hands; his palms are flat against the window pane. The tears are streaming down his face, soaking his cheeks like the heavens have just opened and poured down around him.
I step off the chair slowly, not taking my eyes off this boy whose skin is stained with blood and tears. Placing my glass on the nightstand, I move slowly over to the window to get a closer look. I want to go to him, ask him why he is in so much pain, but I don’t want to scare him. A dull ache settles in my chest—my heart hurts for him.
As I lean against the cold glass, my heart breaks a little bit more. I watch hopelessly as his pain unfolds in front of my eyes. Each tear falling from his beautiful, dark eyes pierces my heart, sending a wave of pain through me. I press my palms and cheek against the glass, my breath steaming up the window.
I want to help him.
He might be hurt.
Someone else might be hurt.
But I can’t do anything but reach out to him. I push from the window with my hands—my back hitting the wall to the side of me—and slide slowly down the wall to the floor while my eyes remain glued to the figure before me. Tears roll down my cheeks, my own fear matching the beautiful boy.

Purchase Links

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Author Bio

I was brought up in Manchester and I am now living in the beautiful Scottish borders with my three children.

I have enjoyed writing my story as I had a pretty hard upbringing and have suffered like everyone does over the years in different situations, but everyone has a story to tell.

I just hope my story can help someone out there who is, or has been through the same sorts of situations as myself.

Stalker Links

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Book One
Surviving Him
Shameless #1

Amazon UK
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Tags: @DawnAKeane, @Francesscas_rr

BLOG TOUR ~ Tainted Love (Sinful Souls MC Series) by Amo Jones

Dec 3

Posted by Book Loving Pixies

Book: Tainted Love
Series: Sinful Souls MC #3
Author: Amo Jones

Genre: MC Romance
Hosted by: Francessca’s Romance Reviews

Synopsis

*You do not need to read the other books in this series before reading this one, recommended though*

Kalie-Rose is that girl.
She’s that girl who calmed the storm within Ade Nixon.
She attained the unattainable.
She silenced his demons with her innocence.

Ade Nixon is the Vice President of Sinful Souls MC. His Hulk-sized body covered in tattoos and piercings – along with his don’t give a fuck attitude – screams, “I’ll suffocate you in your sleep”. And he would.

Kalie-Rose is a popular dancer living in Hollywood Hills, she dances for some of Hollywood’s elite. After giving Ade her viginty on a silver platter two years ago, a wedding brings them back together. Even if only for a short amount of time.

*This book contains upsetting content, which may set of triggers.

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Prologue

I attempt to open my eyes, but they refuse to open. All I feel is the pounding in my head.
Boom, boom. Where is that sound coming from? Where am I?
I try to open my eyes again, this time succeeding. Everything is black.
“What the fuck,” I mumble.
I think over my jumbled thoughts, trying to think of the last thing I remember.
“Vicky’s wedding,” I whisper.
“Kal? Kal, is that you?”
“Alaina?” I gasp in shock.
“It’s me, babe,” she quietly replies, her voice hoarse and dry.
I attempt to move off the bed, but I feel like an anchor is weighing me down. Using all my strength, I push myself up and stand off the bed, only to fall to the ground when my legs give way.
“Fuck!” I scream out in frustration.
“Shhh Kal, if they hear you they’ll come back.”
I begin crawling across the cold hard concrete floor.
“Alaina? How long have we been here?”
“I don’t know. You’ve been out for a few days. I lost count. I’d say a week, maybe more.”
I pause my shuffling. “How have I been asleep for a week?”
“They’ve been drugging us with something. More you than I. They found me fascinating, being Zane’s old lady.”
Continuing my shuffling, I keep my hands feeling around in front of me. Feeling cold chains, I follow them up until they lead me to one of Alaina’s hands. They are cold and stiff, she feels like death. I keep feeling around her until she winces.
“What did they do to you, Lain? Who are they?”
She pulls her arm out of my grasp. “It’s going to be okay, we just have to be strong until the boys arrive.”
The metal door swings open and a dark shadow looms. I swallow down and look at Alaina. Now there’s light shining through the doorway, I can see her.
I wish I didn’t.
I wish I never looked her way.
My stomach coils over, as little more than bile spews out of my mouth.

Purchase Links

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What Others Are Saying

Holy man tattoos – first if you can stop licking the cover then you can move onto the story. I clicked this one up because it was free on Kindle Unlimited and now .. I will be clicking up the ones I have missed. ~ Goodreads Review

I really enjoyed the twists and turns. I was surprised when the danger turned dark. The suspense had me tense with worry as I anticipated the outcome. I got attached to the support characters too, especially Carter and the girls. I was very invested, rooting for Ade & Kalie, spouting my relationship advice in their deaf ears. ~ iScream

favorite MC book, this book has by passed my favorite all time MC books and book boyfriends, (Good bye Horse, good bye Ruger, and good bye Scott Cole) Ade is my main man, and I’m sure I will not be alone in this once it is out. ~ Goodreads Review

This is the first book I have read by Amo Jones and it absolutely will not be my last. It’s definitely an exciting ride from start to finish. The book is a stand-alone, even though it is part of a series, and you do not have to read the previous two to understand and enjoy the story being told. ~ Goodreads Review

About The Author

A little bit about me: I ‘m the mama bear to four little kiddos, two girls and two boys. I’m also a wife-to-be to my partner of ten years (We were high school sweethearts, without the high school). My little (Big) family are my rock, and I am so lucky to have them with me through it all. I am from New Zealand! Born and raised in a small town called Rotorua. It’s a beautiful city, just smells a little. I’m currently living in Australia on the Whitsunday Coast (Great barrier reef) where we hope to settle down for a long time. I love the beach, and margarita’s and wine. Don’t forget the wine. Chinese food is the best food. And one day I hope to travel the world, preferably the US, because I’m obsessed with it. I would travel now, but my bank account is like… “Dude, no.” So I’ve put that in the goal bucket.
I also like to think of my self as a professional Cinderella. The type who wears Nike’s, reads erotic novels, and writes about total bad ass men covered in tattoos.
I love all my beautiful readers, you have kept me going. You are my inspiration to keep writing, with all your kind words and reviews. You are all amazing, and I write for you.
That’s enough Yap’n from me. See you all in Wonderland x

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Perilous Love
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Intricate Love
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BOOK TOUR: All That’s Left to Hold Onto by Ella Fox

Dec 1

Posted by Book Loving Pixies

Letting go is all Ronan’s ever known.
Will he realize a life with Keely is something
he should hold onto at any cost?

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Find out in All That’s Left to Hold Onto by Ella Fox!

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AVAILABLE NOW!

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Blurb

When Ronan Sharpe unexpectedly left Colorado for parts unknown, he took a piece of Keely Carmichael’s heart with him.

After leaving his hellish roots behind him, Ronan found contentment when he started over. Thoughts of the past had been pushed down for so long; he hardly thought about it at all.

He intended to keep it that way.

When unexpected circumstances force Ronan to return to Colorado, the Keely he finds is no longer the adolescent girl he remembered. Torn between desire and fear, Ronan struggles with his feelings for Keely and his need to escape the town that scarred him so deeply years ago.

Letting go is all Ronan’s ever known. Will he realize a life with Keely is something he should hold onto at any cost?

PROLOGUE

There were nasty looking bruises on his cheek and jaw, his lip was swollen and his knuckles were scraped and bloody. The instant I got a good look at his face I knew something was horribly wrong. It only went downhill from there.

My attempts to contain my panic weren’t working. Choking back a sob I blubbered, “Why do you have to go?”

The anger was all but pouring off of him. Not toward me—he’d never once been angry with me. I knew anger though, and it was more than obvious he was furious about something. A permanent grimace seemed to have set up camp on his face. For him, it was highly unusual. Even in the toughest of times, he kept his cool.

Suddenly, he wasn’t calm at all. He was angrier than I’d ever seen him. It was obvious he’d been in a fight, but it didn’t change his status as the most attractive guy alive, in my opinion.

I saw his jaw clenching and unclenching which I figured meant he was trying to control himself.

“Because this piece of shit town is like a fucking cancer,” he spat. “I’m so done with the crazy assholes around here. People like us aren’t normal—we’re the freaks for trying to be good people.”

I didn’t know how to argue with his words. He wasn’t wrong—there was a lot wrong with many of the people in our town. Most of the crazy people were either my family members or his. I knew it and so did he. There wasn’t a response to erase the reality of the kind of people we dealt with.

“Are you going alone?”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he nodded stiffly. “Yes.”

“Even though you live with—”

His hand shot up into a stop gesture to keep me from finishing the sentence.

“Don’t say her fucking name. If I never hear it again, it’ll be too soon. I don’t live with that crazy bitch anymore.”

I couldn’t stand her so it wasn’t like I was going to push. She was an evil troll. If he had to go, I was glad he wasn’t taking her with him. It would’ve made me ill. She pretended to be sweetness and light when he was around but it was nothing but a charade. She was terrible. I was glad he wasn’t taking her, but the fact he wouldn’t say her name told me his leaving was somehow her responsibility. I hated her more than ever.

“Where will you go?”

He gestured back over his shoulder toward the street with his thumb.

“Wherever my car takes me once I pull out,” he said.

I couldn’t imagine life without him, nor did I want to. Not only had he been my crush for as long as I could remember, he was the only person who ever really listened to me.

“Will you ever visit?” I asked hopefully.

He was shaking his head in the negative before I’d even fully finished asking the question. I knew he wouldn’t. The bone-deep hatred he had for everything about where we lived was stamped all over his face. I wanted so badly to know what, exactly, had sent him over the edge, but when I asked, he’d refused to tell me.

It sucked being fourteen because he treated me like a kid. My age said I was a child, but I was so different than any of my peers it wasn’t even funny. Because of this, they teased me often, referring to me as Granny Carmichael. I hated it. It wasn’t as though I’d had a choice. My childhood was over the moment my mother got sick.

His expression softened when he looked me over. “You need to get back inside before you get pneumonia.”

The frigid Colorado air wasn’t even making an impression on me until he pointed it out. I realized my tears were leaving cold trails on my face, but I couldn’t walk away. All I cared about was how much I didn’t want him to leave.

“I don’t care about the cold or getting pneumonia. I don’t want you to go!” I cried anxiously.

He hugged me then, his strong arms wrapping around me to give comfort. I hadn’t hugged him since I’d been much younger—probably five or six. Those hugs had mostly involved me wrapping myself around one of his legs. This was different. I wrapped my arms tight around him and cried against his chest, holding on for as long as he allowed me to.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he ended the embrace and stepped back. “I have to leave.”

Knowing my denial and resistance weren’t going to make any difference, I swiped at my tears as I nodded.

“I’ll miss you,” I said on a choked sob. “Take care of yourself.”

“I’ll miss you too,” he replied softly. “You’re one of the few good people here.”

My heart galloped in my chest. I loved him for saying what he did—but hated that it came at such a horrible price. Losing him was unbearable.

He turned as if to leave, then stopped. Spinning back my way, he stared at me intently for a few moments before he spoke again.

“You’re so much better than any of these people. Don’t ever let them change who you are. The world needs a lot more you and a lot less them. No matter what anyone tells you—you’re perfect. Got it?”

I nodded as I wiped at the tears running unchecked down my face.

He hugged me again, very briefly. My heart skipped a few beats when he dropped a kiss on top of my head.

“Don’t ever forget your worth—not even for a minute,” he murmured.

When he let go, he said nothing else. He just turned and walked to his car. As he went, the chill in the air suddenly took hold of me. Hugging my arms around myself, I watched as he got into the car, turned it on and then pulled out of my driveway. He looked at me one last time before putting his hand up in a goodbye gesture. I did the same. A few seconds passed before he put the car in drive then sped off into the night.

I stayed outside for two or three minutes, hoping against hope he would change his mind and come back.

He didn’t.

Hours later when I got into bed, I prayed fate would bring him back one day. I said the same prayer most nights for a long, long time. Eventually I had no choice but to accept reality.

Hell would freeze over before he returned.

About the Author:

Ella Fox writes like a woman possessed whenever she gets the chance! She is the author of The Hart Family Series, The Renegade Saints Series and The Catch 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.

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BOOK BLITZ – The Lost by Cole McCade

Nov 11

Posted by Book Loving Pixies

Title: The Lost

Series: Crow City #1

Author: Cole McCade

Genre: Erotica

Release Date: August 25, 2015

Blurb

There’s something wrong with Leigh.

She’s known it her whole life. She knows it every time she spreads her legs. Every time she begs for the pain, the pleasure, the heat of a hard man driving deep inside. She’s a slave to her own twisted lusts–and it’s eating her alive. She loves it. She craves it. Sex is her drug, and she’s always chasing her next fix. But nothing can satisfy her addiction, not even the nameless men she uses and tosses aside. No one’s ever given her what she truly needs.

Until Gabriel Hart.

Cold. Controlled. Impenetrable. Ex-Marine Gabriel Hart isn’t the kind of man to come running when Leigh crooks her pretty little finger. She loathes him. She hungers for him. He’s the only one who understands how broken she is, and just what it takes to satisfy the emptiness inside. But Gabriel won’t settle for just one night. He wants to claim her, keep her, make her forever his. Together they are the lost, the ruined, the darkness at the heart of Crow City.

But Leigh has a darkness of her own. A predator stalking through her past–one she’ll do anything to escape.

Even if it means running from the one man who could love her…and leaving behind something more precious to her than life itself.

TRIGGER WARNING: 18+

This book contains material that may be triggering or deeply disturbing to some readers, including scenes discussing or detailing rape, physical and emotional abuse, and incest. Please focus on self-care and, if this book is triggering to you, do not be afraid to put it down and walk away, or skip certain chapters. Be good to yourselves. -C

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Prologue

“STATE YOUR NAME.”

Cold, clipped words, blending into the noise of the police station. Leigh lifted her head from a fixed study of her clenched fingers. Colors whirled around her in a lurid carnival nightmare, too bright, too blurry. On a bench on the far side of the room, a wasted and broken scarecrow woman picked at a scab on her wrist with a certain habitual listlessness, oozing diseased red-brown blood over liver spots. Her tendons were rails under her skin, and the dull gleam of cuffs chained her to the bench. She raised her head and stared at Leigh with yellowed eyes that captured her with a sort of empty, terrifying promise.

Across the desk a policewoman waited, with that compassionate impatience only a half-step from pity and shoulder-to-shoulder with disgust. Her flat blue eyes said she’d been trained to care, but couldn’t be bothered anymore. Leigh swallowed and tugged her hoodie close against the tinny air-conditioned chill. Her mouth had dried to a tacky, sticky mess, gummy pills of lipstick beading on her lips, and her tongue was a bloated and useless organ, this swollen pink thing pushing pointlessly against her teeth.

“Leigh,” she ground out. “Clarissa Leigh…” Her married name scratched sandpaper syllables against her throat. “…van Zandt.”

“And Miss van Zandt, do you know why you’re here?”

She nodded, her neck a creaking wooden puppet-hinge. “I do.”

“Your family’s been worried about you.”

“I know.”

She knew what she should do here. Bow her head in shame and contrition, maybe even sniffle. But she looked for the emotions and they weren’t there; just scraps and tatters, clinging to the empty place where they belonged. She had no feeling left, hollowed out and lost and wondering how she’d ended up here. This didn’t feel real. Instead it was a dream where everyone leered in fisheye close-up, their smiles all teeth and stretched red lips and manic glee. She wanted to run, but somehow she’d gone too numb to do anything but sit here surrounded by the stink of fear-sweat, stale beer, and that particular police-station smell of urine soaked into concrete for decades on end.

“What happened to you?” the officer asked. Leigh didn’t answer, and the officer’s pen tapped against the forms on her desk, rat-tat-tat, rat-tat-tat, Morse code for I’d rather be anywhere but here with this spoiled little runaway princess. “It’s been four years. You were declared legally dead.”

“That’s all right.” She closed her eyes with a laugh that ripped her guts up into her mouth, and buried her face in her hands. Dead. Dead.

Yeah, that was about right.

“Miss van Zandt?”

Stop calling me that.

“Miss van Zandt. I need you to focus on my voice.”

Stop calling me that!

Leigh took a measured breath and opened her eyes. Her shoulders squared. The bolts on the back of the hard, ass-biting chair dug into her shoulder blades. “I am focused. I can hear you just fine.”

“Eyes are dilated.” The officer—her nametag read Maroni, could there be a more clichéd name for a Crow City cop—leaned across the desk, peering at her face. Then she beckoned to the aide hovering over them like a mannequin. “I’ve seen this too many times. Drugs and prostitution.” She talked about Leigh like she wasn’t even there. “We’ll have to clean her up before her husband gets here.”

“I’m not on drugs. I’ve never been on drugs.”

Maroni’s pen-clicking stopped. Her disbelief was a heavy thing, push-push-pushing until Leigh nearly laughed.

“You’re not on drugs.”

“No.”

“Then what happened?”

There it was. The first hint of exasperation. Of frustration, stitched into knitted brows and the purse of lips in just the right shade of I can’t be a woman, I’m a cop mauve. Because like anyone normal, anyone who wasn’t fucking broken to pieces and liked being that way, Maroni needed to make sense of this. Needed to quantify it in a world where the rules worked as normal and everyone wanted to chase that dream of happiness that wasn’t anything but desperation painted over of a frantic tally of things. Things of plastic, things with value created by people whose upper lips curled when they looked down at little girls like Leigh, and demanded she account for herself in sane, rational ways that made proper sense.

Sorry, Officer Maroni.

I’m not the kind of thing that makes much sense.

Maroni pushed a harsh sound through her teeth. “You had a job, a husband, a newborn son. You had a life other people would kill for, and we find you here on the streets. Were you pressured? Kidnapped?”

“No. None of that.” Leigh shook her head.

“You’ll have to explain, then.”

“I left.” She trailed off, lips parted; no words came for long seconds, until she managed, “I…I was afraid.”

“Of what?” Maroni tried to catch her eye, but Leigh looked down at her hands, at her chipped pink fingernails dipped in the sparkles of shooting stars. “Miss van Zandt. If someone was hurting you, you need to tell us now so we can take appropriate steps to protect you.”

“No. No one hurt me. Not like that.”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to be more clear. What were you afraid of?”

“Of…”

She struggled for an answer. Struggled for something this woman would accept, something that would make her sigh with sympathy and pity and relieved disdain that said there, but for the Grace of God…

But again, she found nothing. Nothing but the truth, and Leigh shrugged as she looked up at the policewoman and wondered if she had daughters who might one day be like Leigh, daughters who would cut stark red lines of fingernails in the walls of flesh that caged her in the shape of pop culture’s perfect woman.

“Of the inevitable monotony of it all,” she said.

And smiled.

Author Bio

COLE MCCADE IS A NEW ORLEANS-BORN SOUTHERN BOY without the Southern accent, currently residing somewhere in the metropolitan wilds of the American Midwest. He spends his days as a suit-and-tie corporate consultant and business writer, and his nights writing romance novels when he’s not being tackled by two hyperactive cats. And while he spends more time than is healthy hiding in his writing cave instead of hanging around social media, you can generally find him in these usual haunts:

• Email:

• Twitter:

• Facebook Profile:

• Facebook Page:

• Website & Blog:

• Tumblr:

He also runs an advice column called Dammit, Cole, where he occasionally answers questions about everything from romance and dating to the culture of hypermasculinity, from the perspective of a male romance author:

Looking for more? You can get early access to cover reveals, blurbs, contests, and other exclusives by joining the McCade’s Marauders street team.

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