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RELEASE DAY BLITZ ~ The Reason For Me by Prescott Lane

 

 

 

 

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Holt
 
She likes it quick and dirty.
 
I like orders and rules.
 
She hates small talk.
 
I hate to share.
 
She’s an open book.
 
I’m a closed dresser drawer.
 
She rides a Harley.
 
And that drives me f’ing nuts.
 
Annalyse and I have both lived in our own personal hells for half a decade.  She’s learned to love the warmth, and I’m still consumed.  But my new neighbor is stoking more than my libido these days.  We agreed on only pleasure.  But she changed the rules.
 
And now I’m not even sure what they are.
 
Maybe there’s a reason she found me that night, maybe there’s a reason I can’t stop thinking about her, maybe there’s a reason for the pain.  Maybe not.
 
We all look for reasons in life.  Reasons for death, love, pain.  Why one thing happens and not another?  It’s human nature.  We’ve been looking for the meaning of life since the beginning of time.  But maybe the reason for all of it — life, love, loss, heartache — is the curvy brunette living next door.
 
 
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Holt

I can see the questions in her eyes.  Naked, I get on my knees in the bed, helping her up, her body pressing into mine, and lift her shirt over her head.  I can’t help but grin that she’s borrowed one of mine.  My hands slide down the curve of her waist and under the cotton of her panties, removing them.  Her hand softly strokes my cheek, and like an asshole, I jerk my head back, her soft touch doing damage to the hard defenses I’ve built.  How is that?  How can something so soft, so sweet, be my undoing?  And damn, the way she looks at me.  I can’t have her looking at me like that right now.  In one move, I flip her over and yank her ass in the air.

Her breath catches.  Dammit, sometimes I wish I could be one of those guys that only think about themselves during sex, but I’m not built that way.  Annalyse’s pleasure will always be more important than my own, and that’s just one small fucking step away from all her needs coming before my own.  It’s a slippery slope I’m on.

Using the tip of my cock, I outline her folds, feeling her open, drawing me in.  Running my finger down the curve of her back, her body rolls, her ass pushing against me.  She’s got the best ass, pure white, smooth skin, firm, but enough to hold onto.  

“Holt,” she begs softly.

She’s very impatient when it comes to her orgasms.  That’s a great quality in a woman; she wants what she wants and doesn’t apologize for it.  As I slip myself inside her, she lets out a breathless moan.  It’s amazing how well I know her sounds, her body already.  Holding her hips, I slide in and out, slowly.  Grinning, I know she’s going to hate and love that at the same time.  She likes to come quickly.  It’s almost like she’s afraid there’s not enough time.  She starts to move faster, wanting me deeper, and harder.  And I’m powerless to resist her, incapable of not giving her exactly what she wants.
And when she screams out my name, I follow right behind her.  My body covers hers as we lay collapsed in our orgasmic hangover.  Moving her hair off her face, I look down at her closed eyes, missing seeing the way she looks when she comes.  “Every night,” I say quietly, “I want you in my bed, naked, waiting.”

She doesn’t open her eyes, but a little smirk crosses her lips.  “Orders, orders.”

Kissing her neck, I nibble her earlobe.  “Say you’ll be here.”  She rolls over, her eyes meeting mine for the first time.  A subtle guilt rises in my chest; I just fucked her to feel better, to forget.  And I want to do it again.

 


 


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

 

Author links
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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ Lucky Chase by Milly Taiden

 


Coming November 4th

 

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Event planner for the rich and famous, Lucky Nuñez lives her dream job. But when it comes to love, she’s scraping the bottom of the barrel. She’s dying to have babies, but it seems that’s never going to happen. A chance encounter leads her into the arms of Jared Thomas. He’s a bad boy to the bone. Sexy, seductive, and so domineering, he makes her toes curl. And he’s got dirty talk down to an art form.

Jared Thomas is a ladies’ man, but when he meets sexy Lucky, he knows she’s worthy of more than just play time. Never has he wanted to keep a woman like he does her. He will make her his wife and mother of his children. There’s only one problem: his past is trying to kill his future.

They have more than communication problems playing havoc with their relationship. With trust issues the size of Texas, these two need to open up to each other. That’s if they can stay alive long enough to try.

 



“Lucky!”
Luciana Nuñez whipped her head toward the familiar voices of Alexandra, or Alex, as family knew her and Sabrina, also known as Nina. She smiled wide when she spotted the two women past the mass of travelers by the luggage pickup, heading in her direction.
She rushed forward and enveloped both in a group hug. “I missed you so much!”
“We missed you, too, prima!” Alex’s soft voice whispered in her ear.
She pulled back. Both women wore fun, colorful outfits and sandals. Like her, they were on the curvaceous side, voluptuous, with full bodies as her mom liked to say. All three also had long dark hair and the cinnamon-toned skin that came from their Latin heritage. Only Lucky had the blue-black hair with skin just a tad more golden than the others. She was also a few years younger than Alex and older than Nina. It made her the center in their chocolate cookie sandwich.
Fascinated with how dazzling both women looked, she gaped openly at them. If they radiated any more happiness, she’d need sunglasses. Alex glowed with her pregnancy. Meanwhile, Nina’s eyes danced, filled with joy. Her heart ached that she’d been missing out on the comings and goings of her best friends.
Seeing Alex pregnant made her want to cry from happiness. Like her, Alex had always wanted children, so this was a dream come true for her cousin. Lucky knew without a man, her chances of getting those babies she’d wanted for years had diminished. She wasn’t at the point she needed to go get a frozen pop, also known as getting artificially inseminated, but she was definitely considering it.
Having children was important to her. She and her sister came from a big family. They loved kids. Lucky’s ovaries were screaming at her on a daily basis to get to work, while her biological clock had started hitting her so hard over the head she was going to get a concussion soon. She smiled wide at both of her best friends. “You look about ready to burst with joy—especially you, Alex.”
Nina laughed. “Not so much what we’re doing, but what is being done to us.” She winked. “Tu sabes.”
Yeah, she knew, all right. Those sparkling dark eyes of theirs told enough of the story for her not to wonder. And if what she’d heard about Alex’s husband and Nina’s fiancé were true, they were both getting done quite well.
Sadly, Lucky had been very unlucky in that side of her life. Her last relationship had gone down the drain when she’d mentioned family and babies to her ex. Her chest hurt whenever she remembered the way things had ended. Shit had hit the fan in the worst possible moment. Shaking her mind out of the pity party it tended to head to, she smiled at the women.
“Come on, chicas. Let’s get out of here so you can both fill me in on the wedding and what I’m supposed to do to make sure it goes off without a hitch.” She tugged on the plastic handle of her suitcase and headed for the exit, zigzagging her way around the bodies rushing to enter the terminal.
Sweat formed and dripped down her spine the moment they hit the outdoors. Having come from Florida and the warm beach weather, it was odd to have a higher temperature meet her in New York.
Nina winced. “I know. This weather sucks.” She slipped on her sunglasses. “I should have just picked a date in the winter to get married, but I really didn’t want to wait that long.”
Alex rolled her eyes and pointed to her protruding baby bump covered by her purple tank top. “You should have. I would have loved to fit into a regular dress instead of a muumuu.”
“Honey, you’re going to look gorgeous in your dress.” Nina grinned.
“Gorgeous?” Alex lifted her brows high, disbelief written all over her flushed face. “I’ll look like the sun—one big yellow sphere.”
Lucky choked on a giggle. “Alex!”
“It’s true.” She pouted. “I don’t care what you say. I look terrible in all that yellow. Big and yellow. Lovely combination.”
“It’s gold, Alex.” Nina’s voice sounded tired.
As if they’d had that conversation multiple times.
“Gold, yellow, does it matter?” Alex frowned as she pulled a bottle of water from her handbag and sipped.
“But, Alex, you can—”
“Stop telling me I can wear it again.” She groaned. “I don’t think I want to look like the sun in the future.”
Lucky grinned. It was nice to be back with family. She was already enjoying the silly banter between her cousins. They made their way to Nina’s navy-blue sedan. She followed behind Nina and Alex. “So, when do I get to meet the groom?”
Seat Belts snapped into place as Nina started the car. “Tomorrow night. We’re having a private party at Come Again. You already met Andrew at Alex’s wedding. This time you’ll meet my honey, Maxwell, and his best friend, JT—who’s also his best man.”
The car took off suddenly, causing Lucky to jerk in her seat. She bit back the usual “slow-down” retort she used on her sister. It wasn’t that Nina was a bad driver. Lucky just didn’t like speed. Or cars.
“Tonight is just us girls.” Nina cheered.
“Ugh…I hate to be the party pooper here, but I am just not up for late nights anymore,” Alex whined. She lifted her long hair into a bun and used a clip to hold it in place.
“Aw. Poor baby,” Nina cooed. “Don’t worry, hon. You are excused and may go home to rest those swollen little feet.”
Lucky sat back and retrieved a notebook. Time to take down notes on her plans for the wedding.
“Oh, Luckyyy.”
She met Nina’s smiling gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Tonight is going to be a super special surprise. I’m taking you somewhere awesome.”
“A club?” She wasn’t sure she was up to the clubbing scene just yet.
“Nope. A private event. And that’s all I’m going to tell you.”
Lucky opened her mouth to ask further questions, but Alex cut her off. “Don’t even bother asking anything, chica. She’s already said it’s a surprise. She’s obsessed with those things.”
“Hey! I will have you know, you all love my surprises.” She clicked on the radio. The sounds of their favorite ’80s salsa songs filled the car and they all sang along, completely out of tune. She amended her previous thought. It wasn’t just nice to be back with her family, it was awesome.

 



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New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Milly Taiden (AKA April Angel) loves to write sexy stories. How sexy? So sexy they will surely make your ereader sizzle. Usually paranormal or contemporary, her stories are a great quick way to satisfy your craving for fun heroines with curves and sexy alphas with fur.
Milly lives in New York City with her hubby, their boy child and their little dog “Needy Speedy”. She’s aware she’s bossy, is addicted to shoe shopping, chocolate (but who isn’t, right?) and Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.
She loves to meet new readers!

 

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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ Manhattan Millionaire by Jennifer Ann

 


Coming October 24th 2016

 

 

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

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

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

 

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One




Nolan


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

 



 


 

Other books in The Kendall Family Series

 

Brooklyn Rockstar The Kendall Family #1

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Midwest Fighter The Kendall Family #2

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

 

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CHAPTER REVEAL ~ Engage by Drew Elyse.

 


Coming October 27th

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Once a Disciple, forever a Disciple.

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

A Disciple will fight like a savage when it counts.

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

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

 

 


Prologue

Jager


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

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

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

 




 

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

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

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

 



 

CHAPTER SPOTLIGHT – Touching Down by Nicole Williams

 

 

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


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

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

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

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

No man can take Grant Turner down.

But one woman certainly can.

One woman will.

 
 
 


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

 


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

 

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RELEASE DAY BLITZ ~ Roommate by Jenika Snow

 

 

 


Brendan


I’ve done pretty damn well in hiding my feelings for her over the years, but having Meghan under the same roof as me, and only feet from my bed makes it hard to control myself.

The truth is when it comes to Meghan I don’t want to practice self-control. I love her.

Meghan

I’ve known him nearly my whole life. He’s arrogant, gets under my skin, but is gorgeous and caring, too. And as much as I want to say it doesn’t affect me, that Brendan doesn’t affect me I’d be lying.

The truth is I love him, and I don’t know if that’ll end up destroying me.

Brendan

She needed a place to stay, and now she’s got a roommate … me. But I’m about to show her that I want more than a friendly arrangement.

I’ve never been good at sharing, and when it comes to her, she’s mine.

 

Warning: You like short, hot, straight to the point stories?
Do you want drama-free sexiness that leaves nothing to the imagination?
Do you want a story that is pretty unbelievable, but gives you the warm fuzzies at the same time?
Well then, leave your panties at the door because that’s what’s going down in this quickie
.




She was hurting right now. The thought of not being the one to be there for her, and to pick her up when she was down, made me feel like shit.

I wanted to be the one for her always.

Is that your excuse for checking up on her, for driving to her school to make sure she was okay, that she seemed happy? Is that your excuse for pretty much fucking stalking her?

I wasn’t stalking her, or at least I told myself that. I was making sure she was okay. But fuck, admitting that to her felt so dirty, like I was this damn creep.

I just love her.

Said every fucking weirdo on the planet that watched the girl they loved.

God, I could have laughed at my own inner ramblings.

“Thank you again.”

I shook my head. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

This look of gratitude crossed Meghan’s face, and I knew tonight would most definitely be a drunk kind of one.

“I have a bottle of whiskey with our names on it.”

I cared about her like no other—whether she’d ever known that or would ever know it. Keeping my distance, not telling her how I felt, and pretending like she didn’t mean more than she really did, had been the worst mistake of my life.

But she was here now, and I was going to use this opportunity to show her I’d grown the hell up and could make her happy.

But only with me. I only wanted her to be happy with me. Selfish or not, that was the reality.

That means telling her you scared off that asshole that had been hitting on her six months ago at school. That means you’ll have to come clean about why you were there and why you gave a shit if she dated someone.

I was going to make her mine, no matter what.

 



 


Jenika Snow is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the northwest with her husband and their two daughters. Before she started writing full-time she worked as a nurse.

 

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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ The Reason For Me by Prescott Lane

 

 

Coming October 19th

 

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

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

 

 
 

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Annalyse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” I pout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 




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

 

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RELEASE BLITZ ~ The Virgin Cowboy by Alexa Riley

 

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Dolly Jennings has wanted one man since she was sixteen, but he’s kept her at arm’s reach. Time has passed and she’s all grown up now, with a body that he can’t ignore.

Brandon Knight has wanted Dolly for longer than he should have, but he thought she deserved someone better. No longer able to control his desires, he’s giving up on staying away, and claiming his woman.

When Brandon finally gives in, can he prove himself worthy of Dolly? Will Dolly throw sass and southern sayings all over the place?

Absolutely!

Warning: This short story is packed full of big hair, big attitude, and big curves. Dolly holds her own, but the hero always ends up on top. *slow wink* Grab your boots and cowboy hat… We’ve got a couple of cherries to pop!

 



 

 

 

 


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Alexa Riley is two sassy friends who got together and wrote some dirty books. They are both married moms of two who love football, donuts, and obsessed book heroes.
They specialize in insta-love, over-the-top, sweet, and cheesy love stories that don’t take all year to read. If you want something SAFE, short, and always with a happily ever after, then Alexa Riley is for you!
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RELEASE BLITZ ~ Touching Down by Nicole Williams

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Amazon US : http://amzn.to/2dc2IjF
Amazon UK : http://amzn.to/2dVZheE
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/2dDfyai
Amazon AU : http://amzn.to/2dTuLD5

 

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


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

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

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

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

No man can take Grant Turner down.

But one woman certainly can.

One woman will.

 

 

 


 

 


How many men after me?” His forehead creased as he asked his question, setting down his fork.
His question surprised me. “What?”
“How many men have you been with since you were with me?”
I swallowed the bite of onion ring and set down what was left of it. Wolfing down fried food didn’t pair well with this type of conversation. “Like how many guys have I dated? Had as boyfriends?” My weight shifted on the counter stool I was situated on. “Had sex with?”
Grant’s jaw tensed, but he relaxed it right after. He answered me by lifting a shoulder.  
The longer I took to answer, the more he looked like he was bracing himself for a full-on dissertation. Little did he know my answer to his questions could be summed up in one breath.
“I haven’t had any boyfriends since you,” I admitted, feeling kind of silly admitting it. At the same time, I felt strong. I’d never felt the need to fill a void in my life with a man. I’d never needed a man to define me. What Grant and I had had was special, and what we’d created together was even more special. I wasn’t about to let some shmuck looking to get a little piece of ass cheapen my whole experience with relationships.
The corners of Grant’s mouth were twitching, but he didn’t let the smile form. “What about dates?”
I leaned toward him. “Same story.”
He let the smile form then.
“And I thought we’d agreed to move on from the dating topic earlier tonight.” Giving him the look didn’t faze him—it never really had. Even my most impressive Look.
“Fine. No more talk about dating.” He lifted his hands in the air and pretended like he was getting back to finishing up the last few remnants of our gluttonous feast. When he just kept twirling the same fry in a gob of ketchup, I knew he hadn’t moved on yet. “How many have you had sex with?”
“Grant . . .”
“I need to know, Ryan. I know I don’t have any right to know. I also know you had a right to sleep with whoever you wanted.” He paused, his face looking like he was being tortured. “I just need to know.”
My lungs felt like limp bags when I thought about answering his question. Not because I was embarrassed or ashamed or anything like that, but because he’d know once I told him. He’d know the reason why, and he’d know he was that reason why.
He’d know I’d never really moved on from him, and I couldn’t have him knowing that because I needed to keep a careful distance between us. I needed to protect him, not from himself this time, but from me.
But even though I knew all of that, I also knew that the truth had never been optional when it came to Grant and me. Never a choice. The truth wasn’t what we picked when it was convenient. It had been the standard from the beginning, and if I had anything to do with it, it would remain the standard to the end.
The truth. I’d told him almost everything I had to. Almost. The one last thing I was withholding would have to come out soon.
“You were the first person I had sex with, Grant Turner.”
He slowly twisted toward me, his legs spreading wide, tucking around the outsides of mine. His hands lowered to my kneecaps, like he was trying to show me that no matter how I answered, he still wanted to be here with me—eating greasy food in an old diner that had already locked its doors.
One of my hands covered one of his. “And you were the last person I had sex with too.” It came out in one long exhale, my fingers braiding tighter through his with each word.
He was quiet for a minute. And then another. When his silence continued, my eyes lifted to see what was the matter.
His forehead was folded in half a dozen creases, his eyes narrowed in confusion. “Are you saying . . .?” He leaned in closer, confusion settling deeper.
“You’re the last person I had sex with.” I thought I’d spelled it out pretty solidly before.
His face ironed out, blinking like he was just waking up. “Does that mean . . .?”
I sighed. “I haven’t had sex in seven years? Yeah. That’s what it means.”
Glancing behind the counter, I made sure the owner and cook, who’d generously agreed to let us stay late, were still way in the back and preoccupied with something other than the conversation happening at the two end counter stools.
Grant leaned closer, his head moving just outside of mine. His breath was just rushed enough to notice. “Are you saying I’m the last man you’ve had inside you?”
His words surprised me, sending a shiver winding down my spine. I didn’t want him to know that his question or his proximity or his labored breaths were affecting me, but they were. I was feeling very, very affected in certain locations of my body.
“I think that’s the general definition of sex, yeah,” I answered, glancing down to make sure nothing too obvious was showing through the thin material of the dress. Thank god I’d gone with the thicker lined bra, because Grant’s eyes followed mine a moment later.
When my gaze dropped to a certain spot on his body, I found his own arousal not so easily disguised. It made the inhale I’d been taking sound more like more of a gasp than a breath. He knew what I was looking at, he knew what was on display, and he didn’t do anything to adjust or hide it. He wanted me to know. He wanted me to see.
Realizing that sent a rush of pleasure through my body, pooling between my legs.
“I’m going to kiss you, Ryan.” His head nuzzled my neck. “I should probably ask permission, but fuck, I don’t want to, because I have to kiss you. Whether you think it’s a good idea or not.”
My arms went limp, my legs following, from the sickness I had for this man. The one that crippled me. The one that paralyzed me. My eyes squeezed closed when his face came around in front of mine. “You don’t want to kiss me, Grant.”
He pulled me closer. “Like hell I don’t.”

 


 

 


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

Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.

 

 


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RELEASE DAY BLITZ ~ The Reaper’s Mate by Celia Aaron

 

 

 

 
 
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This job. Boring is too colorful a word for it. I’ve been escorting humans to the afterlife for millennia. I’m over it. But when you’re the son of the two greatest reapers of all time, reaping is in your blood. My latest appointment is with one Annabelle Lyric, a twenty-eight year old New Orleans party planner. Snoozefest. But there is one bonus to this assignment: it’s Halloween night. In New Orleans. And she’s attending a posh party whilst unaware of her impending demise. I’ve been tasked with taking Annabelle’s soul right after the masked ball. The good news? I’ll fit right in with all the costumed partygoers. The bad news? That hits me when I realize Annabelle is much more than my next victim, she’s my fated mate.

Note: This is a short, sexy Halloween tale of true love.

 


 


 

“I’m going to claim you now, angel.” He pushes back from the bed and stands. With his gaze firmly on me, he unbuttons his black pants, revealing more of his pale skin and the tantalizing trail of dark hair. When he pushes his pants to the floor, my eyes grow wide. His cock is thicker than anything I’ve ever had before. A swirl of fear is tempered by the rush of desire his naked form creates in me. He is a living statue, perfect, hard, and masculine. And I’m just … me.

I glance down at my body, and the difference hits me hard.

“What is that?” He stares at the air around me. “Why are you unhappy?”

“How?” I cock my head at him. “How can you tell?”

“Your aura changes. Have I displeased you?”

“Displeased me? No. You were, that was … you were amazing. It’s just that I’m not…” I can’t figure out how to say what I’m feeling, and I start to slide my legs closed as embarrassment creeps in.

He’s on top of me before I move an inch. “I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you right now. You are my beautiful, perfect angel.”

I see no duplicity in his eyes, only warmth. His words instill a confidence in me that I’ve never experienced. I run my palm down his cheek and press my lips to his. He kisses back with so much emotion that I can’t catch my breath. Goodbye heart.

“I want you, too.” I close my eyes and try to inject confidence into my words. “I want you to claim me, like you said. Make me yours.”

 



 

 

 

 


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Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.

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