Blog Archives

RELEASE BLITZ – Outlaw by Jagger Cole

 

Amazon 

A savage beast in a three-piece suit.
The streets of London are my empire; my kingdom. Clawing my way to the top of the food chain has been a vicious, brutal affair, and nothing will unseat from my throne.
But there’s a new player in town. A tempting little usurper who thinks she can waltz in and pluck what’s mine from my very fingers. But she’s more wrong than she can possibly know.
The curvy little firecracker is Viviana Amantea—a literal princess who’s got her eye on my empire. Little miss privilege wants to play bad girl. But this is no game, and in my city, I play to win.
It’s time this princess learned who’s king in this town.
They say keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Well I’m going to keep Viviana as close to me as possible. So close that she can never get away.
All’s fair in love and war? Game on.


Jagger Cole likes his romance books like he likes his martinis—extra dirty, with a twist. A reader first and foremost, Jagger got his start with steamy romance almost ten years ago, writing especially dirty and somewhat perplexing Star Wars erotic fan-fiction for online message boards.
After deciding to hang up his writing boots, Jagger worked in advertising for a number of years pretending to be Don Draper. It worked enough to convince a woman way out of his league to marry him, though, which is a total win.
Now, Dad to two little princesses and “Daddy” to a Queen, Jagger is thrilled to be back at the keyboard.
When not writing or reading steamy romance books, he can be found woodworking, enjoying good whiskey, and grilling outside—rain or shine.

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RELEASE BLITZ – Preacher by Madison Faye

Bless me, for I have sinned.
I had impure thoughts—temptations of the flesh. I’ve harbored lust, and for the very last man I should be harboring it for. A man of God, no less.
Except, this man is no angel. He’s no saint. In fact, he might just be the Devil. Only Satan himself could set my very skin on fire, and send shivers and filthy want and carnal desires through my soul. No Godly man would look at me like he wants to devour me whole, or peel my innocence and inhibitions away piece. By. Piece.
He says he’s here in Canaan, Georgia to save our souls. A traveling preacher here to speak the gospel, and deliver us from evil. But a preacher shouldn’t be built for sin, like he is. No shepherd should have lips that make his flock weak, or hands that make me ache, or a body that teaches mine the true meaning of original sin.
Gabriel Marsden is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and he’s leading me astray. He’s leading me into temptation, and I can’t – and I won’t – say no.
But you already know all this, don’t you, preacher man? You already know every detail of this sordid story. Because that man?
That man is you.
The Devil came down to Georgia. And God help me, I think I’m already lost.


USA Today and #1 Amazon bestselling contemporary romance author Madison Faye is the dirty alter ego of the very wholesome, very normal suburban housewife behind the stories. While she might be a wife, mom, and PTA organizer on the outside, there’s nothing but hot, steamy, and raunchy fantasies brewing right beneath the surface!
Tired of keeping them hidden inside or only having them come out in the bedroom, they’re all here in the form of some wickedly hot stories. Single-minded alpha heroes, sinfully taboo relationships, and wildly over-the-top scenarios. If you love it extra dirty, extra hot, and extra naughty, this is the place for you! 
(Just don’t tell the other PTA members you saw her here…)
Madison’s books have also been featured on MTV.com, VICE.com, and (probably) numerous anti-smut government and concerned citizens watch-lists.
TwitterFacebook –  WebAmazon 


RELEASE DAY BLITZ – Forever Hers by Jagger Cole

Aurora
I’ve been saving myself for a man I can’t have.
Carter Holloway was always out of bounds—too old for me, and definitely too gorgeous. He was the crush that crushed me, and then he was gone; presumed killed in action in Afghanistan.
Now with my mother’s illness kicking our butts emotionally and financially, I’m out of options and out of money. The one thing I’ve got left to trade is the v-card I never lost, and apparently, a girl can make a hefty bundle selling it online.
But suddenly, the man I thought I lost is back—hotter, harder, and he’s after what he never took before.
Carter
She was always mine to claim. And I was always hers.
There’s never been anyone for me but Aurora Dawes—never has been, never will be. In fact, I’ve never even touched another woman. But she was always off limits and out of bounds, and so I waited until the day she could me mine.
But war and a roadside IED almost put me in the ground. I survived to find myself a captive—a hostage forced to work for my captors to protect the girl I left behind.
Years later, I’m back and twice as driven to have what was denied me before. I’ve saved myself for her, and now she’s going to get all of me. Now, and always.


Jagger Cole likes his romance books like he likes his martinis—extra dirty, with a twist. A reader first and foremost, Jagger got his start with steamy romance almost ten years ago, writing especially dirty and somewhat perplexing Star Wars erotic fan-fiction for online message boards.
After deciding to hang up his writing boots, Jagger worked in advertising for a number of years pretending to be Don Draper. It worked enough to convince a woman way out of his league to marry him, though, which is a total win.
Now, Dad to two little princesses and “Daddy” to a Queen, Jagger is thrilled to be back at the keyboard.
When not writing or reading steamy romance books, he can be found woodworking, enjoying good whiskey, and grilling outside—rain or shine.
WebsiteFacebook –  Email  


NEW RELEASE – Forever His by Jagger Cole

Sienna
True love is a fairy tale. Real life is cruel and unforgiving. Trust me, I know.
I lost my prince charming years ago, when he went off to war in the desert. Luke Crow was forever off-limits and so beyond my league anyways. He was only ever a crush, but I’ve been ruined ever since.
Now, I’m being married off to a man I hate to settle a debt. I’m terrified of spending the rest of my life as a cruel man’s pretty little bird in a cage, until the very last ghost from my past I’d ever imagine steps in and changes everything.
Prince charming is back, and this time, he’s playing for keeps.
Luke
She’s always been mine. 
But before, when we were young, Sienna Holloway was untouchable. She was off-limits, and out of bounds. So I ran off to the Marines and fought in the sand until an ambush put my squad in the ground and me in chains. 
But now I’m back, and twice the man I was before. I’ve built an empire—a kingdom. And all I need now is my queen.
Tonight’s supposed to be her wedding night. She still getting married, but trust me, it ain’t gonna be to the prick who thinks she’s his.
I’ve waited years to claim what’s mine. And tonight, I’m taking her all for myself


Jagger Cole likes his romance books like he likes his martinis—extra dirty, with a twist. A reader first and foremost, Jagger got his start with steamy romance almost ten years ago, writing especially dirty and somewhat perplexing Star Wars erotic fan-fiction for online message boards.
After deciding to hang up his writing boots, Jagger worked in advertising for a number of years pretending to be Don Draper. It worked enough to convince a woman way out of his league to marry him, though, which is a total win.
Now, Dad to two little princesses and “Daddy” to a Queen, Jagger is thrilled to be back at the keyboard.
When not writing or reading steamy romance books, he can be found woodworking, enjoying good whiskey, and grilling outside—rain or shine.
WebsiteFacebook –  Email  


RELEASE BLITZ – Doctor Hero by Madison Faye



Two previously released books (Doctor Babymaker & Doctor O-Maker), and one brand new one (The Hitman’s Doctor), altogether in one spot for the first time! Obscenely OTT, alpha af, and smutty to the max!
**100% OF PROCEEDS FOR THIS BOOK WILL BE DONATED TO DIRECTRELIEF.ORG**, an organization dedicated to making sure medical responders in crisis areas get the PPE, tools, and resources they need to keep us safe and fight COVID-19. 
*Doctor Babymaker:*
The doctor is in. Every inch of him…
I’m not supposed to touch her, at least, not in the way I want to. She’s off limits in so many ways. Too rich. Too innocent. Too never-been-touched.
…Too much my patient.
The sheltered young heiress is in my office so her rich, shitty family can see if she’s capable of bearing children. And I’m supposed to examine her – every inch of her sweet, tempting body –to check.
Fuck the medical code of conduct, forget professionalism, and damn the consequences.
Oh, Ada can bear children alright.
…so long as they’re mine.
*Doctor O-Maker:*
No O? Come and meet your cure.
He’s gorgeous, dominant, panty-meltingly hot, and looks at me like he wants to tear my clothes off and fulfill every single filthy fantasy I’ve ever had.
The only problem? He’s my doctor. Oops.
I’m seeing him to fix “my problem” – my big “no O” problem. Yeah, you see, I’ve never had one.
Doctor Aiden Owenson – “Doctor O” – is supposedly the man who can help, but I’ve got my reservations. That is, until he puts his hands on me. Until he looks at me like he wants to devour me. Until he tells me I’m his, and his alone.
I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to fall for your doctor. I’m pretty sure we’re breaking every rule, and I’m pretty sure I don’t care.
Doctor O is supposed to show me the O. Now the only problem is, I never want him to stop.
*The Hitman’s Doctor:*
The doctor will see him now…every freaking inch of him.
He’s gorgeous, cocky, tattooed, and hung like a freaking horse. On paper, he’s a the dreamboat I’ve been waiting my whole life for. There’s just one teeny, tiny problem:
…He’s also currently bleeding out from two bullet wounds on my operating table that he’s handcuffed to.
Yeeeeah. 
It turns out, my dream guy is a mob hitman on the run. Turns out, he’s dangerous, deadly, and has everyone from the FBI to the mob he ran from looking to ask him some questions or put him in the ground.
It also turns out, I turn to fucking mush when he looks at me like I’m already his. It turns out, I can’t say no to him, at all.
Dangerous, off-limits, inappropriate, and completely freaking irresistible. It’s my job to save his life. But it might just be his to save mine…

USA Today and #1 Amazon bestselling contemporary romance author Madison Faye is the dirty alter ego of the very wholesome, very normal suburban housewife behind the stories. While she might be a wife, mom, and PTA organizer on the outside, there’s nothing but hot, steamy, and raunchy fantasies brewing right beneath the surface!
Tired of keeping them hidden inside or only having them come out in the bedroom, they’re all here in the form of some wickedly hot stories. Single-minded alpha heroes, sinfully taboo relationships, and wildly over-the-top scenarios. If you love it extra dirty, extra hot, and extra naughty, this is the place for you! 
(Just don’t tell the other PTA members you saw her here…)
Madison’s books have also been featured on MTV.com, VICE.com, and (probably) numerous anti-smut government and concerned citizens watch-lists.
TwitterFacebook –  WebAmazon 


NEW RELEASE – Hard Screw (Tuff Built #2) by Jagger Cole





Sometimes, it takes a firm grip and a big wrench.
Scarlett might be Hollywood’s hottest young talent agent, but when a fixer-upper out in Colorado near her top client goes on the market, she trades glitz and glamor for quaint and rustic.
But there’s nothing quaint about big, hard, buff, and in the buff Sean Tuff—the gorgeous and built local construction foreman she walks in on “testing out” her outdoor shower. Scarlett’s hired Sean to do some renovations on the new house. But his skilled hands and big…tool have a different job in mind.
Rough, driven, and hard as nails. Sean Tuff put love in his review mirror years ago when he moved back home to start his construction business. He’s not exactly thrilled to be working for the client who out-bid his dream house out from under him. But the second he lays eyes on Scarlett, he knows exactly what else is about to be under him.
She’s all curves, sass and vinegar; he’s all muscles, growls and a walled-off heart. It’s a match destined for a tear-down, but sometimes, all it takes is a firm grip, a little sweat, and a big wrench. Sean’s about to show Scarlett he’s every inch the man for the job.


BLP REVIEW – Tracy

Hard Screw was another fun read from Jagger Cole. After reading Big Deck I was looking froward to Sean and Scarlett’s book.

While it was as entertaining, hot and dirtily sexy as the first book in the Tuff Built series, it didn’t grab my attention quite the same as Hollis & Heather’s story did, not sure why, but nevertheless, I still enjoyed this romp.

I did like how Sean dealt with the issue that came up between them and the problems that it could have caused. I’m looking forward to more from Mr Cole and hope this isn’t the last in the Tuff Built books.

4*



Jagger Cole likes his romance books like he likes his martinis—extra dirty, with a twist. A reader first and foremost, Jagger got his start with steamy romance almost ten years ago, writing especially dirty and somewhat perplexing Star Wars erotic fan-fiction for online message boards.
After deciding to hang up his writing boots, Jagger worked in advertising for a number of years pretending to be Don Draper. It worked enough to convince a woman way out of his league to marry him, though, which is a total win.
Now, Dad to two little princesses and “Daddy” to a Queen, Jagger is thrilled to be back at the keyboard.
When not writing or reading steamy romance books, he can be found woodworking, enjoying good whiskey, and grilling outside—rain or shine.

WebsiteFacebook –  Email  


RELEASE BLITZ – THRUST/THROB (Lost Devils MC) by Madison Faye

Lost devil. Ruthless savage. Broken beast.
Years ago, I died. A black night and a hail of bullets stole the life I knew and the brothers I loved. But heaven spit me back out, and I wound up in hell.
“Hell” in this case is the fighting pits of Jorge Del Campo, head of Mexico’s most brutal cartel family. In here, they call me Hush Hush. I don’t speak, I don’t dream of a life outside of these bars. I fight, and I kill, like the beast they say I am.
Until an angel visits hell. She’s a rose in the desert. A bloom in the burnt, charred remains of a life ripped from me. A softness in a cruel world of pain and death. She’s Catalina Del Campo—Jorge’s daughter.
Wanting her is forbidden. Touching her could mean death. Love is something I forgot I could feel, but loving her might just be my salvation.
Years ago, I died. Heaven said no. But the devil? Well, in this hell, I am the devil. But last night, this devil saw an angel. And now?
Heaven help them all…


USA Today and #1 Amazon bestselling contemporary romance author Madison Faye is the dirty alter ego of the very wholesome, very normal suburban housewife behind the stories. While she might be a wife, mom, and PTA organizer on the outside, there’s nothing but hot, steamy, and raunchy fantasies brewing right beneath the surface!
Tired of keeping them hidden inside or only having them come out in the bedroom, they’re all here in the form of some wickedly hot stories. Single-minded alpha heroes, sinfully taboo relationships, and wildly over-the-top scenarios. If you love it extra dirty, extra hot, and extra naughty, this is the place for you! 
(Just don’t tell the other PTA members you saw her here…)
Madison’s books have also been featured on MTV.com, VICE.com, and (probably) numerous anti-smut government and concerned citizens watch-lists.
TwitterFacebook –  WebAmazon 


EXCERPT REVEAL – The Best Man by WInter Renshaw



I didn’t know her name, but I heard her laugh, tasted her lips, felt her warm skin as I held her in my arms. Together we watched our young children playing in the sand, the warm ocean lapping the shore behind them as the setting sun painted the sky. She was my soulmate and this was our life, our beautiful forever … 
Then I woke up—alone in a hospital room, connected to wires and machines. 
There was no wife. No kids. Not a single soul waiting for me. That life I dreamt of … never existed.
I’d been in a devastating wreck, a nurse told me when she rushed in. Comatose for weeks. I’d have a long road to recovery, but I was going to make it. 
From that moment on, the dream haunted me. I saw that woman’s face every time I closed my eyes, searched for her in every crowd, ached to be with a stranger I felt I’d known my entire life … and I swore that if I ever found her, I’d do anything to make her mine. 
Anything.
Then I found her.
And it was both the best and worst day of my life because the woman of my dreams … was about to marry my best friend.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: No cheating, no love triangles. That’s all I’m going to say … 😉

Cainan

Beep … beep … beep … beep …

I wake to a steady sound, slamming into an unfamiliar shell of a body, which as it turns out is mine. A dreamlike haze envelopes me, and when my surroundings come into focus, I’m met with white walls, white blankets, white machines connected to white wires leading to a strip of white tape on my wrist holding an IV in place.

I’m in a hospital.

I try to remember how I got here, but it’s like trying to recall someone else’s dream—an impossible task. And it only makes the throbbing inside my head intensify.

“My wife …” My words are more air than sound, and it’s painful to speak with a bone-dry mouth and burning throat.

“Mr. James?” A woman with hair the color of driven snow leans over me. So much fucking white. “Don’t move. Please.”

She’s a calm kind of rushed, hurried but not frenetic as she makes her way around the room, pressing buttons, paging for assistance and adjusting machine settings.

The room fades in and out, murky gray to pitch black, and then crystal clear before disappearing completely. The next time I open my eyes, I’m fenced by three more women and one white-coat-wearing man, all of them gazing down on me with squinted, skeptical expressions, as if they’re witnessing a verifiable miracle in the making.

I’m certain this is nothing more than a bad dream—until my head pulsates with an iron-clad throb once again, accented by a searing poker-hot pain too real to be a delusion.

“Mr. James, I’m Dr. Shapiro. Four weeks ago, you were involved in a car accident.” The doctor at the foot of the bed studies me. “You’re at Hoboken University Medical Center, and you’re in excellent hands.”

They all study me.

I try to sit up, only for a nurse to place her hand on my shoulder. “Take it easy, Mr. James.”

Another nurse hands me water. I take a sip. The clear, cold liquid that glides down my throat both soothes and stings. I swallow the razor-blade sensation and try to sit up again, but my arms shake in protest, muscles threatening to give out.

“Where’s my wife?” Each word is excruciating, physically and otherwise.

She should be here.

Why isn’t she here?

“Your wife?” The nurse with the water cup repeats my question as she exchanges glances with the dark-haired nurse on the opposite side of my bed. “Mr. James … you don’t have a wife.”

I try to respond, which only causes me to cough. I’m handed the water once more, and when I get the coughing under control, I ask for my wife once more.

“Has anyone called her?” I hand the cup back. If I’ve been out of it for weeks, I imagine she’s beside herself. And our kids. I can’t begin to imagine what they’ve been going through. “Does she know I’m awake? Have my children seen me like this?”

“Sir …” The nurse with the dark hair frowns.

“My wife,” I say, harder this time.

“Mr. James.” Dr. Shapiro comes closer, and a nurse steps out of the way. “You suffered extensive injuries in your accident …”

The man rambles on, but I only catch fragments of what he’s saying. Shattered pelvis. Spleen removal. Internal bleeding. Brain swelling. Medically-induced coma.

“It’s not uncommon to be confused or disoriented upon awaking,” he says.

But she was just here …

She was just with me …

Only we weren’t in this room, we were at the beach—the little strip of sand beyond our summer home. She was in my arms as we lay warm under a hot sun, watching our children run from the rolling waves that rolled over the coastline, leaving tiny footprints up and down the shore.

A boy and a girl.

My wife smelled of sunscreen, and she wore an oversized straw hat with a black ribbon and thick-framed cat-eye sunglasses with red rims that matched her red sarong. I can picture it clearer than anything in this damn room.

I can hear her laugh, bubbly and contagious.

If I close my eyes, I can see her heart-shaped smile—the one that takes up half her face and can turn the worst of days completely upside down.

“We’re going to let you rest, Mr. James, and then we’ll order a few tests.” The doctor digs in a deep pocket of his jacket, and then he sneaks a glance at his phone. “I’ll be here for the next eight hours, if you have any additional questions. The nurses will ensure you’re comfortable in the meantime. We’ll discuss your treatment plan as soon as you’re feeling up to it.”

He tells the nurse with the dark hair to order a CT scan, mumbles something else I can’t discern, and then he’s gone. A moment later, the room clears save for myself and the third nurse—the one who’s done nothing but stare at me with despondent eyes this entire time.

“There must be a mistake. Someone needs to call my wife immediately.” I try to sit up, but an electric intensity unlike anything I’ve ever experienced shoots up my arm and settles along my back and shoulders.

The thought of her not knowing where I am sends a squeeze to my chest. What if she thinks I left her? What if she thinks I disappeared? What if she has no idea what happened? And what was I doing in Hoboken when our life is in Manhattan?

“What’s her name?” Her question comes soft and low, almost like she’s trying to ensure no one hears her. “Your wife?”

I open my mouth to speak … only nothing comes out.

I can picture her as vivid as still blue waters on a windless day—but it’s the strangest thing because her name escapes me.

Nothing but blank after infuriating blank.

“I … I can’t remember.” I lean back, staring into the reflective void of a black TV screen on the opposite wall.

The nurse’s gaze grows sadder, if that’s possible. “It’s okay. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

She doesn’t believe me.

“Would you like me to call your sister?” she asks.

My sister … Claire.

If I can remember my sister’s name, why can’t I remember my own wife’s?

“Yes,” I say. “Call Claire. Immediately.”

She’ll be able to sort this out, I’m sure of it.

“Would you like me to adjust your bed?” The nurse straightens the covers over my legs. “I’m Miranda, by the way. I’ve been assigned to you since you arrived. I can tell you just about anything you need to know.”

“Just … call my sister.”

“Of course, Mr. James. Can I grab you anything while I make that call?”

I lift my hand—the one without the IV—to my forehead. “Head’s pounding like a goddamned jackhammer. Got anything for that?”

“Absolutely. Be right back …”

Miranda hurries out the door, and I’m alone.

If I close my eyes, the room spins, but I can picture my wife with impeccable lucidity—the square line of her jaw, her heart-shaped lips that flip up in the corners, the candy-apple green of her eyes.

My heart aches, though it isn’t a physical pain, it’s deeper.

More profound.

Like the drowning of a human soul.

I remind myself that the doctor’s said it’s normal to be disoriented, and I promise myself everything will come back to me once I get my bearings.

The clock on the wall reads eight minutes past seven. The sky beyond the windows is half-lit. I haven’t the slightest clue if it’s AM or PM. I couldn’t tell you what day it is or what month it is for that matter.

“Mr. James, your sister is on her way,” the nurse says when she returns.

She hands me a white paper cup with two white pills.

So much fucking white.

If I never see white again after this, I’ll die a happy man.




Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi. 
And if you’d like to be the first to know when a new book is coming out, please sign up for her private mailing list here —> http://eepurl.com/bfQU2j


BLOG TOUR – The Trophy Wife by Sunday Tomassetti

Amazon  

“I’ve done something terrible.” 
On a foggy Palm Beach morning, Cate Cabot waits at a local cafe to meet her best friend for coffee—and a confession. At least that’s what Cate assumes based on the frantic voicemail Odessa left her earlier that morning. 
Only Odessa never shows. 
And when Cate drives to her home she finds no trace of her. In fact, Odessa isn’t just missing—it’s suddenly as if she never existed in the first place. Even the staff who run her palatial home in the gated Paradise Cove community are claiming Cate must be mistaken, confused. 
As Cate searches high and low for her friend who vanished into thin air on the cusp of a mysterious admission, the only thing she finds … is that the truth might be more terrible than she ever could have imagined. 
Liking Odessa was easy. Admiring her perfect life, easier so. But finding her? It’s going to be downright impossible without untangling the cryptic web of lies the missing trophy wife left in her wake.

It’s late, and Mrs. DuVernay is in a mood again.

She steps out of her heels as if they disgust her, kicking them askew as she makes her way to her dressing room on the other side of her bedroom. I scramble to grab her shoes, waiting for her to peel out of the day’s clothes and emerge in her favorite silk robe with her initials monogrammed over the right breast.

She’s taking longer than usual to undress today, nothing but huffs and sighs coming from the other side of the doorway. If I had to guess, she’s gained a few pounds. That always seems to send her into a quiet fit when she’s changing. I imagine her examining her tall, thin body from the three angles of her mirror, hugging the shoes against my chest as I wait to go in.

Mrs. DuVernay sighs when she finally comes out a minute later, bare feet covered in red markings from the day spent out and about in killer heels. Markings, I’m convinced, she no longer feels. I tried them on once, when she wasn’t looking—her favorite pair of shoes, the black ones with the teal bottoms. In less than ten steps, I swear I had a blister forming on the back of one of my heels.

“My drink, Zsofia,” she says, hands on her hips as she peers around her bedroom with raised eyebrows and flattened lips.

I nod toward her vanity, where her usual—a dry white wine with a splash of organic pineapple juice—rests on a vintage coaster made of rhinoceros ivory.

Mrs. DuVernay swipes her drink off the table, taking it with her into the master en suite. I carry her shoes into the closet, praying I can locate the correct place for them before she yells for me to fetch her a heated facial towel from the warmer in the spa.

This past Friday, she had two professionals come and sort through her closet—a stylist and an organizer. One helped her create toss/sell/donate piles and the other reconfigured the rest of her things to the point where I can’t find half of what she sends me to retrieve now.

An empty red shoebox with its top misaligned is situated in the middle of the closet. Dropping to my knees, I place the heels neatly inside, fasten the lid, and find the proper spot for it amongst the others along her expansive wall of designer shoes.

“Zsofia,” she calls from the next room, her tone flat and void of emotion.

I leave the closet to find her at the vanity, the day washed off of her face and a thick mask of rosehip stem cells and sea kelp on her face, sinking into her pore-less, ageless, glass-like complexion.

“I’ll be right back with a towel.” I head to the spa room at the end of the hall.

Mrs. DuVernay prefers to have her facialists, masseuses, and manicurists come to the house so she can beautify in private, though I believe it has more to do with the falling-out she had with her group of friends a few years back. They always used to schedule their pampering appointments together. After the squabble, Mrs. DuVernay couldn’t bear to be seen alone and friendless in her favorite beauty haunts, so she persuaded Charles to turn one of the spare bedrooms into a home spa. Not that it took much convincing—Mrs. DuVernay controls the purse strings around here, as much as she prefers to flit around like a Palm Shores trophy wife.

It’s just another act of hers.

Like everything else.

I tiptoe down the hall to the spa room, retrieving a couple of damp wash cloths from the towel warmer on the back counter, and I bring them to her, stepping a few feet back as she breathes in the soft, lavender-scented steam and wipes away the exotic remains of her skincare routine.

When she’s finished, she hands them off, reaches for her wine, and shuffles to her bed, her snow-colored silk robe billowing behind her with every leggy step.

“That’s all for tonight, Zsofia.” She waves me off as she climbs beneath a mountain of high-thread count bed coverings. “Oh. One more thing. Tell Charles it’s time to come to bed on your way out.”

“Yes, Mrs. DuVernay.” I shut the door behind me without making a sound so as not to wake Aviana down the hall. Lord knows teenagers need their rest, and she can be a bit of a bear to deal with in the morning. As her human alarm clock, I prefer that she not be overly tired come six AM. It certainly makes my job a lot easier.

I run my palm along the polished banister on my way down, careful not to make a sound this time of night, when the house has quieted and settled and every footstep or cleared throat reverberates. Once I arrive on the main floor, I head for Mr. DuVernay’s study—a room placed in the farthest reaches of the house, so Charles can play his jazz music and strum on his prized collection of rare guitars without disturbing his headache-prone wife.

Rapping on the outside of the door, I wait for him to answer.

The other side is quiet tonight. No jazz records. No clumsy, six-string chords.

I knock once more, holding my breath as I wait in silence.

Perhaps he isn’t in there?

Twisting the door knob, I crack the door a few inches to check. “Mr. DuVernay?”

With no response, I push the door wider, peeking my entire head in to look around. The room is dark save for the floor lamp in the corner, and the curtains are open, showcasing a view of the water from the floor-to-ceiling windows on his east-facing wall. Boat lights sparkle, their reflections swaying in the distance on the buoying Atlantic. I’ve always thought it seemed dangerous to boat late at night. Then again, I’ve never boated in my life. What would I know?

Peering around the room one last time, I draw in a sharp breath when my gaze comes to him lying on the sofa, still as a statue, fast asleep. Peaceful because he’s anywhere but here.

Padding across the room without a sound, I make my way to him, a slow smile bending my mouth as I watch him sleep.

Charles is an impossibly handsome man; generous brown hair with salt-and-peppered temples, chiseled chin, sun-kissed complexion, runner’s body much younger than his physical age. When he isn’t having an ‘off’ day, he’s a force to be reckoned with, a personality much larger than the room Mrs. DuVernay keeps him confined to most of the time. Charles’ smile alone has turned some of my worst days into some of my brightest, and I live for his eyes—ocean blue on the outside with a ring of hazel in the middle—like they can’t decide what they want to be.

A man like this is wasted on Mrs. DuVernay.

He deserves better.

She deserves worse.

“Mr. DuVernay,” I say his name on the breath of a whisper before placing my fingertips on his shoulder, giving him three light taps. “Mrs. DuVernay would like you to come to bed.”

His dark lashes flutter as his eyes open, and then he squints, focusing on me.

“Ah. It’s you,” he says, placing his hand over mine, gentle and unrushed. “Is my wife asleep yet?”

I swallow the rigid protuberance that has suddenly found a home in my throat. “No, sir.”

Charles pulls himself to a standing position, his gaze never abandoning mine, not for one second. “Well, that’s a shame, isn’t it?”

Our eyes hold for a moment, and I stifle the knowing smile that threatens to curl my lips. He and I both know that the DuVernay household is a serene place when the missus is sleeping—or better yet: off on one of her solo vacations. There are more smiles when she’s away. More laughter. Less tension. More living. Less silent suffering.

We’re both prisoners of circumstance.

Prisoners with very different privileges.

Prisoners of Mrs. DuVernay.

“Goodnight, Zsofia,” he says before striding to the door. “Get some rest.”

I wait alone in his study for a beat, and then I shut off his lamp and close the door on my way out. He’s gone by the time I reach the hall, leaving nothing but the faintest trail of his posh Italian cologne.

Tiptoeing through the darkened DuVernay residence, I make my way to the apartment above the garage—the only home I’ve ever known.

Home sweet prison cell.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sunday Tomassetti is the pseudonym of a Wall Street Journal, Washington Post, Amazon Charts, and #1 Amazon bestselling author who wanted an outlet for her passion projects. A thirty-something married mother of three, Sunday resides in the midwest where you can always find her hard at work on her next novel.
Sunday is represented by Jill Marsal of Marsal Lyon Literary Agency.



RELEASE BLITZ – Filthy Bastard by Madison Faye


Stealing her was never part of the plan.
Now keeping her is my only obsession.
There’s no reason our worlds should have ever mixed. She’s an angel, I’m a fucking beast—a rebel, an outlaw, a Bastard. I was born on the blood-soaked streets of Belfast, and reborn again on equally bloody ones of Boston.
But Nicole’s my addiction, my everything—my red-haired, blue-eyed, freckled skin, killer-curved obsession. And I’ve been watching her for months—hungry, hard, and aching for her.
It’s her father I’m supposed to take. The crooked, mob-bought Boston District Attorney has been pinning the crimes of his masters on my brothers. I was supposed to take him, to teach him a lesson. Except, he’s not there when I come calling.
But she is.
Like I said, our worlds should’ve never mixed—the innocent, brilliant, pre-law college girl and the filthy-talking rough and tumble biker. But now, they’re forever tangled. Because now that I’ve gotten my filthy hands on my firecracker of a captive, and gotten a taste of those sweet lips and smart sass, there’s no fuckin’ way I’m letting her go.
The mob wants to kill us both. There’s betrayal in my own ranks. It’s us against the world.
The thing is, they want Nicole? They’re going to have to come through me. And if they want to try that, they better bring a goddamn army.
From captive to my Queen. Nicole’s mine, and I’ll never let her go.



USA Today and #1 Amazon bestselling contemporary romance author Madison Faye is the dirty alter ego of the very wholesome, very normal suburban housewife behind the stories. While she might be a wife, mom, and PTA organizer on the outside, there’s nothing but hot, steamy, and raunchy fantasies brewing right beneath the surface!
Tired of keeping them hidden inside or only having them come out in the bedroom, they’re all here in the form of some wickedly hot stories. Single-minded alpha heroes, sinfully taboo relationships, and wildly over-the-top scenarios. If you love it extra dirty, extra hot, and extra naughty, this is the place for you! 
(Just don’t tell the other PTA members you saw her here…)
Madison’s books have also been featured on MTV.com, VICE.com, and (probably) numerous anti-smut government and concerned citizens watch-lists.
TwitterFacebook –  WebAmazon 


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