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RELEASE DAY BLITZ ~ Love Child by Kat Austen

 

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Abel Lockwood would do anything to become a father—including hiring a company that matches donor mothers with prospective fathers. Love Child caters to wealthy bachelors who’ve been unsuccessful in creating a family through traditional means. Despite Love Child being an unconventional route to take, the conception takes place exactly the way nature intended.

 

Nearing forty and still single, Abel has accepted he won’t meet the right woman to marry and have a family with, so Love Child is his last hope for becoming a father. He’s gone through the files of the potential donors and handpicked one perfect candidate to create his baby with.

 

The moment he comes face to face with Adeline Matthews, Abel knows she’s the one. But not just the one he’s hoping to make a baby with. She’s the one he’s hoping to create a family with.  

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1 Abel

 

I was minutes away from meeting the woman who would become the mother of my child. Rather, the woman who would likely become the mother of my child.

Her file had set her apart from the rest. Adeline Matthews. I felt like I knew so much about her without having ever exchanged a word with her. I felt like I knew exactly what she must look like, though I’d never laid eyes on her.

My instinct told me this was the woman who would be the mother of my baby, so now all it came down to was hammering out the terms and signing the contract. The agency would help out with that, and of course our lawyers would add their expertise into the mix, but if all went well, by the end of the day, I would be that much closer to becoming a father.

Being a father. It would be my most important legacy and my proudest achievement. God knew the journey to get here had been my greatest challenge.

When the elevator doors chimed open on the top floor of one of the high-rises in downtown Chicago, I was met by both my attorney and the creator-slash-CEO of Love Child, Suzanne Reynolds.

Suzanne had stepped back from the successful company she’d grown from the ground up, but I’d heard she made the occasional appearance for a high profile client. I didn’t consider myself high profile, though I supposed my name carried a certain degree of influence in the upper stratum thanks to the generations of Lockwoods building an empire in commercial development.

“Mr. Lockwood”—Suzanne greeted me with a smile—“happy to meet you.”

“Likewise, Ms. Reynolds,” I replied, shaking her hand when she extended it. The woman had one hell of a handshake. “Have you met my attorney, Tom Bainbridge?”

She nodded. “Yes, Tom and I have worked together on several prior matches. He’s a great attorney to have in your corner.”

“That’s what he reminds me of every time he sends me the bill for his services at the end of the month.” I nudged Tom as Suzanne directed us past the front desk. “‘If you want the best, you pay for the best.’”

Suzanne cocked her brow, smiling. “No offense to Mr. Bainbridge, but my attorneys are better.”

Beside me, Tom snorted good-naturedly. The guy had been in the business long enough that insults rolled right over him.

“Keep that in mind, Mr. Lockwood, when and if you meet the right donor today,” Suzanne continued. “Don’t get so caught up in negotiating price and terms that you lose her. You’ve selected a handful of my top donor candidates. Consider that when you make your offer.” Moving up beside her, I made sure she was looking at me when I replied. “I’m not bargain shopping for the mother of my child, Ms. Reynolds. The terms are what concern me. Not the price.”

“Glad to hear it.” She waved at a woman who looked about to have a baby any day now. I could only imagine how ecstatic the father must be. Hell, I was ecstatic at the possibility of having a child soon—I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel days away from the actual birth.

We continued quietly down the hall. There wasn’t much left to say. I knew how this all worked, and I was ready to move forward.

The décor of Love Child’s office was no different from any other prestigious company’s offices I’d been in: modern refinements, piercing functionality, and neutral colors. But hanging from the walls were pictures of past clients with the child or children they’d had with the aid of Love Child. Every single one of those men was not only a client but an investor in the privately held company. After today, hopefully I’d be the newest member. God knew I was ready.

We all believed in the gap Love Child had managed to fill. A woman could go to a sperm bank and have a child all on her own. A couple could have a child through numerous different outlets. But a man—a single man—had limited options if he wanted to become a father on his own. He could hire a surrogate, which wasn’t as cut-and-dried as most people thought; he could try to adopt, which was nearly impossible in the best of circumstances; or he could jump through the legal hoops involved with shared custody. But if he wanted to be a single parent without complications, he had no choices.

Or at least he hadn’t until Love Child’s inception.

That was why every man who became a client agreed to become an investor—because we were all committed to the mission this company embodied. We were just as committed to keeping it a secret from the public eye. The media would have spun the hell out of it until everything about this respected company became tarnished by slanderous labels and lewd accusations.

They’d see us as a bunch of wealthy men preying upon innocent young woman. We’d be painted as entitled bigots, believing the world and the people in it were our ice cream truck to point at what we wanted and hand over the price in exchange.

Society wouldn’t understand. It wouldn’t want to understand. People wouldn’t see that the men who had found their way to Love Child’s door were decent, hardworking individuals who would give every last dime to have a child. People wouldn’t be willing to understand that the women who carried our children weren’t being taken advantage of but were revered and appreciated far beyond any sum of money.

Society wouldn’t embrace Love Child’s mission. And that was why you’d never hear about it on the evening news or overhear someone mention someone they knew having used its services.

People wouldn’t understand. But I didn’t give a shit.

I wanted to become a father, and the traditional way of becoming one had been painful and unsuccessful.

When we stopped outside a closed door, Suzanne paused with her hand on the door. “Adeline Matthews. She has five other interviews with would-be fathers this week. I know you mentioned she was your top pick, but she told me she won’t be making a final decision until she’s met with all of the clients.”

My jaw set. I didn’t like the idea of the potential mother of my child meeting with five other men to discuss the same topic. “If I decide she’s the right one, I think you’ll find I can be quite persuasive.”

Suzanne held her half smile, her eyes suggesting she knew something I didn’t. “You might want to make sure your persuasion comes from the heart in Miss Matthews’s case and not from your checkbook.”

I found myself almost smiling back. I liked Suzanne Reynolds. She was nearing retirement age but still acted like she’d barely entered the workforce. She ran a tight ship, cared about what she did, and worked as hard as I did. That might have explained why we were both single and without children of our own.

The job had become our spouse, the schedule our offspring. At first, it hadn’t seemed like much of a sacrifice to me. Hitting thirty-five had changed my opinion on that though. No job could warm a bed. No amount of money could fill a house with laughter.

No, I’d been a fool to place my career before a family. At least now I had a chance to remedy that.

“Ready?” Suzanne asked.

“Since I signed my name on the application paperwork three months, eleven days, and . . .”—my gaze dropped to my watch—“two hours ago.”

When Suzanne opened the door, she waved Tom and me in first. Two people were already seated at the long table. One of them stood and shook hands with Tom. The other took a few seconds before she stood. It almost looked like she was trying to gather her courage as she sucked in a deep breath.

Suzanne fired off introductions, but her voice disappeared the moment my eyes fell on Adeline Matthews. The breath I’d been in the middle of hitched in my chest, feeling like it was straining against my ribs.

When she stood—her big brown eyes looking straight into mine—it wasn’t only my lungs and heart reacting to her. She wasn’t just the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen—she was the most beautiful thing to have ever been created. Sweet smile, angelic face, innocent demeanor—perfection was hovering ten feet in front of me.

She was petite but had the type of body that was hard to come by in this day and age of size zero clothing and thigh gap goals. She had a woman’s body. Curves, shape, and a soft, feminine quality that was not making me think innocent things about Miss Matthews. All I could focus on was the way her body would feel against mine, the way her curves would look silhouetted against my bedroom wall, the way her light, wavy hair would looked spilled across my pillow as I moved above her, planting my baby inside her.

That was another reason for the clandestine nature of Love Child—the process of actually creating the baby wasn’t done in a laboratory. Conception didn’t take place in a petri dish, and a fertilized egg wasn’t procedurally implanted inside of the mother’s body.

No, the mother became pregnant the old-fashioned way. The way nature had intended. That was the main reason I’d gone with Love Child instead of searching for a surrogate mother. I didn’t want my baby’s moment of creation to occur in a cold, sterile environment. I wanted my baby to be created from warmth and passion. Emotion and feeling. Connection and combustion.

The actual sex had been of less concern to me than the thought process behind it. But now, seeing Adeline, I was looking forward to the sex. I was really looking forward to the sex.

This was her. The mother of my child. My god, I’d never been so certain of anything in my entire life. I was looking at the woman who would bear my child, who would give me the most precious gift of my existence.

The urge to power around the table and wrap her up in my arms or throw myself at her feet became intense enough I feared moving closer. I didn’t want to start off the meeting by making a fool of myself and ruining the entire thing.

I couldn’t ruin this. Adeline would be the mother to my baby. I knew this with absolute certainty.

Now all I had to do was convince her.

“Miss Matthews, thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” When my voice rolled over her, I noticed her hands curl at her sides.

Was she frightened by me? Startled by my voice? I had to be twice her size. I’d been told plenty of times that my deep voice could be on the sharp side of commanding, but couldn’t she tell? Couldn’t she hear it in my voice?

She had nothing to fear from me. My goal, from this moment on, was to protect her. From threats, pain, disappointment . . . from a damn mosquito that dared to get too close. The overwhelming urge to protect her consumed me.

We’d agreed to nothing. She’d barely made eye contact yet. But I already felt savagely possessive of her.

Like hell she was meeting with five other men. If I couldn’t get her to commit to me today, I’d find out who the other five were and have them removed from her schedule. Through whatever means necessary.

Adeline Matthews was mine.

She was about to know it too.

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Kat Austen is the secret pen name of a New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author.
Kat writes short and steamy reads that leave hearts (and other parts) satisfied.

 

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COVER REVEAL ~ Romanian Mob Chronicles Box Set by Kaye Blue


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Coming 4th August

 

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ROMANIAN MOB CHRONICLES BOX SET BOOKS 1-3

When a mobster decides he wants you, you’d better be ready…

For his rough demands.

His dark passion.

And possessiveness that accepts no compromise…

KEEP

HER:

I thought the only thing I feared was living another day in the hell my life had become. But when I looked at his hulking, tattooed body, the icy brutality in his eyes, I realized I was wrong.

HIM:

Familie. My clan.

I’d fight for it, kill for it, die for it. It’s all that matters to me. But her innocence, only barely hidden by thick layers of makeup, the curves that her tight dress can’t hide, calls to me.

So I’ve decided to keep her.

No matter how deadly the consequences.

FALL

HER:

When my best friend fell in love with a mobster, I thought she’d lost her mind. Until I met his brother…

HIM:

Love is a lie, a fairy tale.

In my world, all that matters is staying alive, protecting my clan. There’s no room for normal people. No room for people like her. Especially people like her. She’s pushy, nosy, talks way too much, but I can’t make myself stay away.

But I have to. Because if I don’t, it might kill both of us.

AVENGE

HER:

I’ve infiltrated the Romanian mob.

It’s dangerous, insane, but it’s the only way to get the justice I deserve, the vengeance I’ve dedicated my life to. So I’ve wormed my way in, gotten close enough to strike. Everything is going according to plan.

Except him…

HIM:

I don’t trust her.

She puts on a good face, playing the sweet, kindly nurse.

I’m not convinced.

But not trusting her hasn’t stopped me from wanting her.

Because I do want her.

Badly.

Badly enough to ignore the voice in my head that screams at me to stay away.

Badly enough that I’ll put my honor, my clan, and her life at risk.

 

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Kaye writes hot, gritty, suspenseful romance featuring alpha males and the women who love them.

 

Author Links

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Blog Tour – Scarlet (A Sexy, Modern Fairytale) by Aria Cole

 

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Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon CA  Amazon AU

 

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Beau Loup’s world is taken by storm when Scarlet Fair appears in his life.

Her wild red hair haunts his thoughts and her luscious body makes his blood hum with life. She’s the first woman to break him of his self-imposed seclusion to make him feel things he never dreamed possible. But she’s all wrong for him.

 

Private schools and garden parties fill the world Scarlet lives in, and Beau is a rough man with a craving that consumes. When he realizes she may be the only woman with the ability to soften his hard edges, he’s determined to show her how a real man loves a woman, and then maybe he can convince her to stay for life. He’ll do anything to be her everything and he’s bent on making Little Red his. In his mind she already is.

 

Warning: What happens when the big, bad wolf meets the sweet, redhead of his dreams? Hold onto your panties because we’re about to find out!

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ONE

 

Scarlet

 

I stepped off the train, nerves twisting in my stomach as I looked for a cab. I juggled the duffel on my shoulder and swiped at the sticky heat dampening my forehead. It’d been a few years since I’d been to Gran’s house, summer jobs and studies taking up most of my time these days, but when she’d fallen sick, I knew I had to see her.

I’d dropped everything and cleared my schedule, determined to be there for her all summer. Her frail voice had insisted that she was fine, she didn’t need any help, but I’d refused to hear otherwise. I’d missed her desperately, and I’d let life run away from me, forgetting what was really important. It was time I slowed down, appreciate the old home where I’d spent my childhood summers, and soak up all the love Gran had to give.

 

A yellow cab sped up to the curb, the driver getting out of the cab and coming around for my bags. I rattled off the address of the old estate before sliding into the back seat, the driver packing my bags in the trunk before getting behind the wheel.

 

“We’ll be there in approximately twelve minutes, ma’am.”  

 

I shot him a smile. My whole body was drained, and my mind was exhausted, but still excitement coursed through me as all the joyful memories of childhood started to emerge.

 

My Gran, the greatest woman I know, ninety-two years young and so full of life. Going to her house has always been one of my most favorite summer traditions, but now the idea of going there made me sick with grief and sadness. I was going to my grandmother’s house to say goodbye before the cancer made her too frail and weak. I knew I shouldn’t be so sad⎯she had a full life of utter joy⎯ βυτ at one point, old age can’t be kept at bay any longer. My grandmother was my best friend. She was a sassy sweet soul, and I wanted to spend all the time possible with her before she was gone.

 

I glanced down at my lap, where I held a box of pastries purchased at a small Parisian bakery we both loved. My lips formed a smile as the memories of those Sundays, of spending hours in the kitchen secretly eating all these delicious baked confections, flooded my mind. The various flavors and types of pastry were to blame for the extra twenty pounds around my middle.  

 

The car rolled to a stop, and the cab driver got out, opening my door for me. I stepped out onto the stone driveway and peered up at the beautiful brick building that housed so many of my favorite childhood memories. Large, creamy pillars decorated either side of the two-story entry, a wide wraparound porch inviting visitors to stay and have a cup of coffee while overlooking the beautiful, impeccably manicured landscape. The view was breathtaking. It was like looking at a priceless piece by Monet. It was captivating and breathtaking.

 

“Scarlet!” The excited call from Darla blared from the vast front door. Darla was in her late forties with flawless skin and a soft frame. Her smile was as bright as the sun on a hot summer day, and equally inviting. I ran to her and hugged her fiercely. I had always loved her and her vibrant personality. I had missed her almost as much as I missed Nana.  

 

“Oh, my pretty girl, I have missed you so much. I see you brought some baked goodies. I’ve been watching my figure, but you know how I never could resist those sweets. I swear since working for your gran I’ve gained fifty pounds. She is going to be so happy to see you, darling. I think you are exactly what she needs to lift her spirit.” Darla twisted a lock of my hair between her fingers. “You always had the most beautiful red curls. My sweet girl, how was your trip?”

 

“I’ve missed you, too, Darla. I may have brought some of those apple turnovers you love so much,” I whispered conspiratorially.  

 

“This is going to be such a fantastic summer. Oh, and wait till you see the new looker that works for your gran. If only I was a few years younger.” She chuckled, and her deep laugh bounced merrily off the walls. When Darla laughed, the world took notice. Like Santa Claus at the mall with a young child on his lap, her laugh was pure joy.  

 

I found it a little sad that Gran hadn’t greeted me upon my arrival. That she wasn’t here hugging and kissing me meant only one thing: her illness had gotten worse and now she couldn’t physically afford to disobey her doctor. At least I had Darla to make me feel a little more at home. “How is she, Darla?” My voice was laced with sadness and worry.

 

“She has good days and bad ones.  But she is still just as feisty and fiery.” Darla smiled and winked at me as her eyes twinkled with mischief. Even though Darla was making light of the situation, I knew it was only for my benefit. It was a ruse to keep my spirits up.

 

After putting away my clothes and washing up in the bathroom after the long train ride, I wandered into the large bedroom that was still a shrine to my childhood, Gran had everything from my childhood out for display.  I smiled that everything had remained as I left if the only thing that changed was my single bed was now upgraded to an opulent king sized version.  I smiled, looking at all the trinkets from my childhood. Gran sure was teetering on borderline hoarder. I smiled cherishing all the love and devotion my Gran felt toward me, my whole life she had been my biggest champion and supporter.

 

By afternoon, I was disappointed that I had yet to see Gran, but Darla had told me that she slept a lot now due to the medication the doctors had given her. I decided to take a walk around the grounds to dispel me from my dark thoughts and look at the new beautiful landscaping. Whoever the new landscaper was, he had a very detailed eye. Everything was beautiful and perfectly arranged.  

 

I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn’t seen all this in the past years. My friends, school, and Summer activities became more important at times, and my family took a backseat. You only realize the mistakes you are making when it’s too late. I trailed my fingertips over the perfectly manicured hedge. I turned the corner and ran right into what seemed to be a wall but was in fact a giant, burly man. I stumbled, my arms thrusting out, and was about to fall flat on my behind when suddenly, two strong, rock-solid arms surrounded me. They wrapped around my waist, and stunning green eyes pierced right through me before his lips parted and he breathed, “Are you okay? ” His deep voice pounded through my ears, the sprinkling of an accent registering, and I remembered Darla’s comments about the French landscaper. My heart thundered as I lay speechless in his arms, swallowing the utter shock and surprise I felt. His emerald dark gaze held mine for another long beat, his touch on my body the only thing I could feel. I trembled with the new sensations pulsing through me.  

 

“Wow, your arms are huge…” I breathed and instantly wanted to go back in time a few minutes to erase the stupid words that had raced out of my mouth.  

 

I was unable to say anything else, my eyes still trained on his.  

 

His beautiful mouth curled into a crooked grin before his grip tightened around my waist and he hauled me against his body. “But they sure came in handy, didn’t they?”  

 

His words fell upon deaf ears. All I could think and feel was his body, this giant, stunning man holding me against him. His grip tightened again at that moment, almost taking my breath away. His presence was overwhelming, his broad shoulders and chiseled biceps stretching the thin fabric of his white T-shirt.  

 

I’d never seen a man like this before. He was broad and formidable, and I felt remarkably small wrapped up in his arms. I peered up at his face, which was just as stunning as his stature. A dark, well-kept beard and nearly jet black hair had me aching to feel the strands beneath my fingers.  

 

“I’m Beau Loup,” he whispered as a small smile curved his lips. His words danced around the air between us, my mind too scattered at that moment to say anything profound.  

 

“I am Scarlet Fair. My gran owns the house,” I introduced myself, feeling his gaze flutter across my skin, setting it on fire as he went.  

 

“Mm, glad to make your acquaintance, Ms. Fair.” His gaze finally landed on mine again. His intense stare penetrating me to my very core. “I hope to see more of you.” His words twisted in the wind, his tone and the wicked gleam in his eyes implying so much more. This man had a roguish charm about him, and if I wasn’t careful I would fall as his prey.

 

“Well, if you work here, it seems you will.” I pulled from his embrace and missed the warmth instantly. Beau Loup didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. Something about him was welcoming. Oddly enough, he reminded me of my father− big, rough, but completely kind-hearted.

 

“Work and live.” His words pulled me from my thoughts.  

 

“You live here?” I nearly swallowed my tongue.  

 

His eyes rose in amusement before he answered. “I’ve got a place out back. Ms. Fair sold a corner lot to me a while ago.”  

 

I nodded slowly, my eyes tracing the stark lines of rigid muscle decorating his body. I could feel my face getting flushed. I twisted my hands together, my skin prickling with aroused awareness. “It was nice to meet you, Beau. I hope to run into you again.”

 

“I’m sure you will.” He took my hand in his and lifted it to his lips. He placed a lingering kiss there, his gaze shooting a blaze of fire straight into my core, and his words hung in the air as he winked at me. Why wasn’t he leaving? Shoo, will you? At that moment I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to leave. This man had me trapped, and I needed to get out. “Well, I must be going.” I quickly snatched my hand back from him and spun around so fast that I almost tripped. I noticed him lurch to catch me, and his face had lost that devastating smile, it now seemed to be marred with concern and worry.  Just as quickly as that worry came, it vanished when he saw I hadn’t fallen.

 

I swiftly ran off before I could embarrass myself any further. “Until next time, petite rouge.” As the distance grew between us, I could still hear his laughter following me.

 

Sensations raced across my skin, curling my toes and prickling the hairs on the nape of my neck. The feeling of immediate danger seemed to course it’s way through my body, as if raging and combusting in my bloodstream.

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AC logo.jpgAria Cole is a thirty-something housewife who once felt bad for reading dirty books late at night, until she decided to write her own. Possessive alpha men and the sassy heroines who love them are common, along with a healthy dose of irresistible insta-love and happily ever afters so sweet your teeth may ache.

 

Aria’s new release BLACK is the first in her modern fairy tale series. For a safe, off-the-charts HOT, and always HEA story that doesn’t take a lifetime to read, get lost in an Aria Cole book!

 

Follow Aria on Amazon for new release updates, or stalk her on Facebook and Twitter to see which daring book boyfriend she’s writing next!

 

Author Links

 

Facebook  Twitter  Goodreads  Amazon

 

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RELEASE DAY BLITZ ~ Scarlet by Aria Cole

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Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon CA  Amazon AU

 

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Scarlett.jpg

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Beau Loup’s world is taken by storm when Scarlet Fair appears in his life.

Her wild red hair haunts his thoughts and her luscious body makes his blood hum with life. She’s the first woman to break him of his self-imposed seclusion to make him feel things he never dreamed possible. But she’s all wrong for him.

 

Private schools and garden parties fill the world Scarlet lives in, and Beau is a rough man with a craving that consumes. When he realizes she may be the only woman with the ability to soften his hard edges, he’s determined to show her how a real man loves a woman, and then maybe he can convince her to stay for life. He’ll do anything to be her everything and he’s bent on making Little Red his. In his mind she already is.

 

Warning: What happens when the big, bad wolf meets the sweet, redhead of his dreams? Hold onto your panties because we’re about to find out!



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Aria Cole is a thirty-something housewife who once felt bad for reading dirty books late at night, until she decided to write her own. Possessive alpha men and the sassy heroines who love them are common, along with a healthy dose of irresistible insta-love and happily ever afters so sweet your teeth may ache.

 

Aria’s new release BLACK is the first in her modern fairy tale series. For a safe, off-the-charts HOT, and always HEA story that doesn’t take a lifetime to read, get lost in an Aria Cole book!

 

Follow Aria on Amazon for new release updates, or stalk her on Facebook and Twitter to see which daring book boyfriend she’s writing next!

 

Author Links

 

Facebook  Twitter  Goodreads  Amazon

 


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Save

COVER REVEAL – Kicked by Celia Aaron

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Coming July 28th


Add to your Goodreads shelf now  

 

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Trent Carrington.

Trent Mr. Perfect-Has-Everyone-Fooled Carrington.

He’s the star quarterback, university scholar, and happens to be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. He shines at any angle, and especially under the Saturday night stadium lights where I watch him from the sidelines. But I know the real him, the one who broke my heart and pretended I didn’t exist for the past two years.

I’m the third-string kicker, the only woman on the team and nothing better than a mascot. Until I’m not. Until I get my chance to earn a full scholarship and join the team as first-string. The only way I’ll make the cut is to accept help from the one man I swore to never trust again. The problem is, with each stolen glance and lingering touch, I begin to realizing that trusting Trent isn’t the problem. It’s that I can’t trust myself when I’m around him.

 

This is a full-length, standalone American football romance novel with hot guys in tight pants who really know how to handle their balls.


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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.

 

Author Links

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BLOG TOUR – Cleat Catcher (The Cleat Chaser Duet #2) by Celia Aaron & Sloane Howell

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What happens when an unrepentant Cleat Chaser meets the player of her dreams?

Nikki Graves has a history of going through the baseball roster with an eye for talent–the kind of talent that keeps things spicy between the sheets. But, once she meets Braden Bradford, catcher for the Ravens, her talent scout days are done. He’s the one.

Braden has never met a woman like Nikki, and he can’t get enough of her smart mouth and big heart. But life isn’t always as direct and certain as the connection between Braden and Nikki. When family objections and career trajectories begin to crowd the plate, will Braden be able to keep his catch of a lifetime?

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“This is so not my color.” I spun in the dressing room mirrors, all three reflecting the pink confection of a dress my mother had picked.

Over the years, the Graves had suffered plenty of hardships—when the good caviar was out of season, when that one maid failed to do proper hospital corners when she made the beds, or even that time when Kerfuffles, Mom’s prized Dandie Dinmont Terrier, destroyed my father’s autographed baseball from the ’56 World Series where Don Larsen threw a perfect game. Each time there was a setback, the Graves rallied in the only way we knew how. We shopped.

I wasn’t into it like Mom, but if buying me new clothes got her off my back about Braden—and finally gave me some breathing room—I was all for it. I couldn’t go back to the apartment, not until I knew what my course of action would be. So, a day of shopping didn’t sound so bad while I mulled things over.

“I think you look lovely in it.” My mother walked around, her critical eye examining it from every angle.

“What will I wear it to? My quinceañera?”

“I’m sure you have plenty of weddings to attend next spring. In this, you’ll outshine the bride.” She smiled.

“Yes, Mom, because my goal is always to ruin the bride’s special day by flouncing around in a sherbet-colored dress and flashing my panties at all the boys, including the groom.” I stepped down from the modeling podium and walked into my separate changing area. I didn’t mention that I had, on plenty of occasions, bagged a groomsman or two at my friends’ weddings, often using similar tactics to what I just described.

Mom gave an over-dramatic sigh. “Stop being difficult, and try on the next dress.”

“This one is the newest from the Valentino line.” The snooty shopping assistant reassured my mother that she was, for certain, buying the most expensive shit in all of Saks. “I wish I could have been at the runway show. It was faboosh, beyond transcendentine, positively luxotic.”

“Those aren’t words,” I muttered and fought the zipper on my mother’s next selection. This one wasn’t so bad. It was a sky blue sheath that fell mid-thigh and had an interesting peasant-top ruffle at the bust line.

I walked out and stood on the podium as the assistant—a man wearing more makeup than I owned—flittered about and crowed about the fit.

Mom took a swig of the complimentary champagne. “Cyrano, she looks like a barmaid.”

I smiled at myself in the mirror. “It’s my favorite one so far. Tit-tastic.” If a dress made it look like I had actual breasts that were bigger than a teacup, then I was sold.

“An excellent choice. The bodice is ahead of its time. I have a feeling peasant will be in three years from now.” Cyrano—if that was actually his name—twirled one side of his too-thick mustache and affected a lisp that screamed “flamer.” But he wasn’t fooling me. I’d seen him checking out my tits and ass while I modeled my dresses. He was straight, but likely knew that pretending to like the dick was the surest way to get commissions in a Saks dressing room.

Let’s test this theory. I smirked and headed back into the changing area. After yanking my zipper halfway down, I called, “My zipper is stuck. Cyrano, a little help?”

He pushed through the white curtain and let it fall behind him. His eyes took in my bare back and bra strap.

“I can’t quite get it.” I smiled at him in the mirror.

“Allow me, mademoiselle.” He gripped the zipper and pulled it down easily. “There we are.”

I let the dress fall to the floor and turned to face him. His gaze froze on my tits, then lowered to the lace over my pussy.

I plucked at the edge of my panties, pulling them away from my hip. Then I looked at him through my lashes. “Do you think I’d have to go without panties in that dress. Did you see a line?”

He licked his lips. “I-I think—” His voice had lowered two octaves in the space of ten seconds.

When I saw his boner at war with the front of his skinny pants, I laughed. “So busted. Quit ogling my pussy, and go entertain my mom.”

“What?” He cleared his throat and raised his voice into a nasal pitch again. “Oh, vaginas are so icky. I would never—”

“Tell it to your boner.” I crossed my arms over my chest and gave his crotch a pointed stare.

He dropped the act. “Look, I make good money this way, okay? When I played it straight, women never took my style advice. Style is my life, and this is the only way I can be around it and make money at it. Please don’t say anything.”

Guilt filtered through me, and I dropped my arms. “I’m not judging. Well, I’m not now, anyway. I was just messing with you.”

He smiled a little. “What gave me away?”

“Your roving eye.”

“I’ve been trying to work on that, but when I see a beautiful woman.” He gestured at me. “I can’t help it sometimes.”

An idea struck me like a wild pitch. “You get the inside scoop on designer clothes and what the customers come in here looking for all the time, right?”

He ran his thumbs up and down his bright pink suspenders. “Yeah. It’s kind of my job.”

“I’ll tell you what—wait, what’s your name?”

“Cyrano.”

I rolled my eyes. “No, your real name.”

His shoulders drooped. “Cyrus.”

“Okay, Cyrus. You agree to let me interview you for my magazine, and I won’t tell everyone what a true pussy-fiend you are. Sound like a deal?”

“Magazine?” He twirled his mustache.

“I work for Style and Substance.”

His eyes lit up, and he grabbed my upper arms. “Are you shitting me?”

I shook my head. “Not even a little shitting. Not so much as a shart.”

“Yes!” He nearly shouted. Then he ran his hands down my arms. “Sorry about that. It’s just, that’s my favorite fashion mag. It’s so down-to-earth but also classy beyond belief.”

His enthusiasm had my mind whirling in all different directions, but first things first.

“Good.” I plucked one of his business cards from the front pocket of his plaid shirt. “I’ll be in touch, Cyrano.”



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Celia Aaron

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.

 

Author Links

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Sloane Howell

Sloane Howell lives in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media.
You can almost always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.

 

Visit his web page to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new releases, promos, and giveaways.
Thanks for reading.

 

Author Links

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RELEASE DAY BLITZ – Holding His Forever by Alexa Riley

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Derek aka Phoenix is a New York City firefighter and has dedicated his life to saving people. When he loses two of his men in the line of duty, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to see the light again.

 

However, when an angel in the form of a woman named Fia appears before him, his world as he knows it is turned upside down.

 

Fia has been working hard to make money so she can finish her last semester of school. A fire in her building sets her back to square one, but the fireman who saves her turns out to be more than she ever expected.

 

Once he gets his arms around her, there’s no letting go. Because when you’ve got your forever in your arms, nothing else matters.

 

Warning: This is hot and fast insta-love that ignites the pages. It’s burning heat that combusts into an inferno of lava.
Okay, that’s all the fire words I could come up with.
Now insert a pun about a big hose. It’s quick, dirty, and ridiculously over the top.


 


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Chapter 1 *Fia*

“You finish your shit, Fia?”

Sam’s gravelly voice from years of smoking barks from behind me as I hang up the phone in his back office. A mixture of annoyance and relief fills me. I really didn’t want to have to cover Kim’s shift at the women’s shelter tonight and was thankful she was able to make it in. I would have done it if they needed me; I’d do anything for that place. But I’m dead on my feet as it is. I’ve been on my feet for the past twelve hours and haven’t slept in over twenty-four, and it would be my luck that if I went back to the shelter, it would be a busy night.

“Already clocked out.” I turn to look at Sam, whose eyes are trained on my ass. He slowly pulls them up to my face as a smirk plays at his lips, showing off his yellow-tinted teeth, not a care that he’s openly running his eyes over my body. Sadly, I’ve become used to it. It still creeps me out, but he’s never tried anything.

Or maybe my luck is about to change, I think, as he shuts the door to his office, trapping me in. The door is always open. The waitresses here at Moe’s always keep our stuff stored back here, where we clock in and out for our shifts.

“You think about my offer?” He cocks his head to the side like he’s giving me the world, not a management position at the diner. I’d stay later after waiting tables and help with paperwork and orders and get a raise, but I think Sam has a few more strings he wants to add to the position, things I want no part of. I’ve turned down the offer twice now, but he keeps telling me to think on it.

Normally I just mumble a, “no, thanks,” on my way out the door, but now it’s closed and I’m trapped. Trapped with a man twice my age, maybe even pushing three times my age. It’s hard to tell with his shaved head. He’s double my size, and I don’t mean in muscle or height. No, there’s a lot of gut on old Sam.

“I really don’t have the time.” I tell him the same thing I’ve said every time it’s been brought up. At least, not without giving up my shifts at the shelter, and that’s not something I’m willing to do, even if the pay is way worse over there. I love that shelter. I owe them so much after what they did for my mother and me. I’m just thankful they pay me at all, because I would do it for free. I hope that one day I can do it for free, but at the moment that just isn’t possible if I want to keep a roof over my head and food on my plate.

“We’ll cut your serving time,” he suggests, taking a step towards me. I try to match his in retreat but only hit the desk. I don’t want to cut my serving hours only to spend more time with him in his cramped little office alone. Hell, I’ve been in here for two minutes and I feel like I’m having a panic attack. I can feel my heartbeat pick up speed. My anxiety grows with each pull of my breath. I know all too well how men act when they don’t get the responses they want. I’ve seen it for years with my own father and how he treated my mother.

I just shake my head again, trying to push the words past my lips. “I really” My words are cut short when Tracy throws open the door.

“Who in the hell put the” She stops abruptly when she sees us both standing in the tiny office. Her eyes narrow, going back and forth between us. Tracy has been working at the diner for years. She trained me a few months back, and many might even think she owns the place by how she pushes everyone around. And I’m pretty sure she and Sam have a thing. I stay out of her way. I want my tables and tips and nothing more from this place. It’s a means to an end. A slow means, but I’m getting there, dollar by dollar, and this place has the best tips I’ve come across so far, so I put up with it.

“I’m having a meeting.” Sam turns to look at her. Tracy purses her lips at him, clearly not liking what he’s saying.

“No, it’s fine. I really should be going. I’ll miss the bus,” I lie. I always walk home. I grab my purse and coat and don’t even bother to put them on. I just hold them close to my body over my cheap polyester uniform that fits a little too snuggly on me. “Maybe Tracy would like the manager position,” I throw out.

“What!” Tracy half-screams, her face scrunching up. I steal the moment to slip past them both as fast as I can and out the side door of the diner, into the chilled night. The street is empty now that it’s almost midnight on a Tuesday.

I slip my coat on and make the half-mile walk to my apartment, which sits over an old laundromat. Locking the door behind me, I waste no time pulling my uniform from my body and tossing my tips from tonight on the table before jumping into the shower. I have to get the smell of grease off my hair and body. I let the warm water run over me, relaxing my muscles as I wash away the day’s work.

When I’m done I grab a shirt and a pair of panties and pull them on. I sit at the small fold-out table in my half kitchen, if you can call it that. It doesn’t even have a full refrigerator, just one of those tiny ones you find in a hotel, which is probably where it came from. There’s a small sink and microwave, and that’s about it. My exhaustion outweighs my hunger as I count my tips. A hundred dollars on a double shift for a Tuesday isn’t too bad. Every dollar counts at this point. I’m so close to being able to pay for my last semester of college. Twelve more credits and I’m done, I remind myself. I can do this.

I grab the money and place it carefully, along with yesterday’s money, between the pages of a book I keep on the table. I still need to go to the bank and deposit it. After that, I walk the few feet to my bed in the corner of the room and fall face first into the cushioned surface.

“I miss you, Mom,” I whisper into the pillow before sleep takes me.



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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 ~ Cleat Catcher (The Cleat Chaser Duet #2) by Celia Aaron & Sloane Howell

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What happens when an unrepentant Cleat Chaser meets the player of her dreams?

 

Nikki Graves has a history of going through the baseball roster with an eye for talent — the kind of talent that keeps things spicy between the sheets. But, once she meets Braden Bradford, catcher for the Ravens, her talent scout days are done. He’s the one.

 

Braden has never met a woman like Nikki, and he can’t get enough of her smart mouth and big heart. But life isn’t always as direct and certain as the connection between Braden and Nikki. When family objections and career trajectories begin to crowd the plate, will Braden be able to keep his catch of a lifetime?

 


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I shot back against the cushion, doing my best to act normal. Nik pushed the door open. “Hey, babe. I was waiting for my dessert course.” I made a show of scrubbing my hand across my mouth and face like I was clearing her a space.

“I’m good.” Her tone was flat, and she didn’t even look at me.

What the hell?

Her usual spark was gone. She sauntered over to the side table, and dropped her keys and bag on it.

I glanced down at the laptop screen full of porn. Fuck! I’d been researching some new shit to try out with her, but there was no way she’d believe me. My gaze drifted to the mouse way up under the table. There was no chance I could get to it without giving away my knee situation.

Using my good leg, I tried to gently kick the computer screen closed, and, of course, it only opened wider.

“Have you moved from the couch all night? Did you even shower?” She sighed, still facing the wall like she had no interest in looking at me.

“What’s wrong, babe? What happened?” My mind raced. A lot could have occurred at Estate de CuntMuffin that would set her off. I’d been worried the whole time she was gone.

“I’m fine.” She turned around, and I watched her eyes dart straight to the computer screen. Her brows pinched together and her hands went to her hips.

Fuck me. This won’t be good.

“Nice, Braden. Real fucking nice.”

“It’s not what you think. I don’t look at porn.” I stared in the other direction and mumbled. “Often.”

“Your fingers slip and accidentally type in ‘fuckmedaddy.com?’” She scowled and began to pace back and forth.

I’d expected her to be upset about the porn, but not this much. I was halfway hoping she’d want to look at it with me. “No. I was trying to find new stuff to try out on you. If you must know.”

Her lips curled like she might smile, and then they mashed back into a thin line.

So close.

“Have they said if you’re going to be traded or not?” She took another step toward me, ignoring all of the pussy acrobatics flashing on the laptop.

“No.” I tilted my head to my lap and ground my teeth while I tried to compose myself. I’d been trying to forget about that shit all day, but the pain in my knee kept it front and center in my mind.

She made a pfft sound and threw her arms in the air.

“Babe, I’m sorry. I know I’m supposed to have a clue what you’re upset about. I just don’t.”

A million things rocketed through my mind at once and brought my entire thought process to a crashing halt. My brain buffered slower than the inverted cowgirl pussy nomming scene I’d attempted to watch earlier.

Nik scowled, and then folded her arms across her chest. She stared me down like a closer in the ninth inning. “Think really really hard about the problem we have.”

My eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. “Uhh, your parents?” I glanced back and tried to judge her reaction.

She made a loud sound like a buzzer that startled me.

“Fucking hell. I mean, umm, me being traded?” I held my hands up and shrugged.

“Warmer.” She took another step toward me.

I hated this fucking guessing game. Why couldn’t she just say it? Heat rushed into my face, and my body tensed.

“Can you just tell me? Please. Stop fucking around with me.” I smacked my hand against the back of the sofa, and Nik jumped.

“Maybe my parents were right. Maybe you do have anger issues.” She stomped off a few steps and whipped back around. “Easton!

“Take that shit back. You know I don’t. Maybe your goddamn family just brings it out of everyone. Maybe you’re more like your mo—” I froze stiff on the couch, and my eyes bugged out. I held up my hands. “I stopped myself. You heard me. I did not say it.”

It was too late. I thought my head was going to explode the way Nik glowered in my direction. Her hands were squeezed into fists at her sides, and I could see all the whites of her knuckles. She started toward me like a possessed demon. “Did you say what I think you said?”

Do not answer, Braden. That shit is rhetorical. Adapt and survive.

I shook my head quickly and braced myself in case she resorted to physical violence.

 


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Celia Aaron


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.

 

Author Links

Twitter  Facebook  Web  Goodreads  Amazon page   Instagram

 

 

Sloane Howell


Sloane Howell lives in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media. You can almost always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.


Visit his web page to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new releases, promos, and giveaways. Thanks for reading.

 

Author Links

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Excerpt Reveal – Blood to Dust by L.J Shen

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Coming July 18th

Add to your Goodreads shelf now.

 

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His name is Beat, and I should hate him.

 

Bound, blindfolded and bruised, I’m tied in his basement, waiting for the men who stripped me from clothes and humanity to collect his debt to them. Me.

 

His name is Nate and I should hate him, but I don’t.

 

I’m not supposed to know his real name, even worse, I’m not supposed to care. He is nothing to me but means to an end.
The plan is simple: break free, collect the pieces of my broken soul, kill the bastards and run away.

 

His name is Nathaniel Thomas Vela, and I’ve never seen his face, though I hear that it’s beautiful.

 

Behind the rugged and handsome exterior, there’s a quiet murderer, a killer who thinks guns are for pussies and ends people with his bare hands.

 

His name doesn’t matter, neither does his face, but what does matter is my heart. And right now, sadly, it’s his.

 

Blood to Dust is a standalone, full-length novel.
It contains graphic violence and adult situations some may find offensive.

 


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I wolf down my dinner before he grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs. He stalks closely behind, and even though it’s taking me forever to climb up the narrow staircase, he keeps his grunt-count to a respectable minimum.

Leading me to the bathroom by the arm, he throws the door open and we both gait into the tiny room. Still blindfolded, I feel the cold sink stabbing at my lower back, but the warmth of his proximity keeps me from shivering.

“I need my privacy.” I lick my lips, feeling him everywhere. Not only is Beat physically big, he is also somewhat of a human furnace. I swear he radiates enough heat to photosynthesize a whole forest. I guess it’s good, because I always know when he’s around. But also bad, because why would it matter? It’s not like I can fight him in any way.

“Dream on, Country Club.” Another grunt.

“Please.” My voice breaks. Usually, I’m counting on my caramel blonde hair and big Disney-animal eyes—which he unfortunately can’t see right now—to get me out of trouble. I have a feeling this guy is harder to crack. “Just lock me in and stand on guard outside. What can I do? Arm myself with a bar of soap? Try and break free through the sink’s hole?”

Is he going to buy it?

Is he sensitive?

Is he hard-nosed?

Maybe he’s both. He’s got some serious codes going on—no beating women, no manhandling your victim, yet he essentially agreed to lock me in here. Then there’s his tone and body language. Peaceful. Like he hasn’t got a care in the world, which couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve known him for a few short hours and I’m already privy to the fact that he was an inmate in San Dimas, has killed, owes Godfrey a favor and has the Aryan Brotherhood on his tail.

“Be warned”—his peachy breath tickles my nose—“when people are bad to me, I’m worse. Don’t tempt my demons.”

Beat takes off my blindfold, but he’s not as thoughtless as to show me his face. His black tee is pulled over his head, revealing a tattooed six-pack. Even his fingertips are full of blues and blacks. Yet, one side of his body is completely ink-free. Massive, menacing…and as much as I hate to admit it, attractive.

Sweet Statute of Liberty, if I need to screw one of them in the name of freedom, please let it be him and not the chunky tattooist.

Beat can still see me through the fabric of his shirt, but before I get the chance to make out his face, he dashes out of the bathroom and locks the door from the outside with a key.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes to do everything. Pee, shit, shower, get dressed. Starting now.”

I don’t argue or waste a second. I jump into the shower and pee as the stream of gurgling water splashes over my body. My bladder is burning with release, and so are the blistering fresh wounds Seb decorated me with. Slowly, I’m starting to feel a little better, think a little clearer.

The water is hot and violent against my strained muscles. There’s only one bar of soap—I’m pretty sure Beat and Ink are sharing it (I’m guessing they’re roomies by the two worn-out towels on the rack). Not very sanitary, but hygiene is a luxury I cannot afford right now.

I scrub my body and keep the water running as I try to pry open the overhead rust-stained window next to the showerhead. I stand on my toes, peeking outside, blinking away disbelief as the sight in front of me registers. A teenager with a beanie zig-zags his way on a bike in the middle of the road, the electric wires above his head tangled with shoelaces and sneakers. Beyond the sight of shotgun houses, wilting porches and the echoes of desperate, barking dogs…a Taco Bell.

Taco Bell!

I recognize the branch. I’m in Stockton. Whose streets I know, whose crack heads I studied, whose language of hardship and adversity I speak fluently.

I study my surroundings. The house I’m trapped in is a simple one-story, and the house right in front of it is probably an identical bungalow. It looks deserted, so yelling will get me nowhere other than on Beat and Ink’s shit list.

But I’m guessing by the sound of traffic and the location of the fast food restaurant that we’re close to El Dorado, one of Stockton’s main streets.

Knowing where I am will work in my favor when I run away.

And I will run away. One way or the other. With or without Beat’s help.

I always land on my feet.

I broke free from Callum, Godfrey and Sebastian. Getting rid of these two should be a walk in the park.

Beat’s fist slams against the door three times, then unlocks the door from the outside.

“Yo, Silver Spoon. Your time’s up.”

“Just one second,” I call, turning off the faucet and stepping outside. I reach for one of the manly dark towels and cover myself up as I squat down to pick up my gray dress.

Hold on a minute.

Manly…Dark…Towels.

They might have a shaving razor. Holy hell, they might have a weapon in here.

I start flinging drawers open, still wrapped in a towel, desperately trying to find something to injure Beat with. I don’t even care if he hears. Give me a razor and I will dice this 6’5 Goliath to pieces the size of Barbacoa. Talent can be outworked and rage can outweigh size. That’s the motto I live by.

Beat bangs on the door again, and it wails on its hinges.

“Hey…you,” he grunts. He doesn’t even know my name. “If you make me open this door myself, you’ll be fucking sorry.”

I ignore him. He can’t rape or harm me. Godfrey made that clear. Honestly? I’m not scared of him that much. He’s been nothing but compassionate to me so far, in his own, angry, Stockton way. Damn it, though. They have absolutely nothing in these drawers. Empty, empty, empty. What’s wrong with these men? Do they not live here, or did they think about this scenario beforehand? Probably the latter. I’m just about to turn around and pick up my dress when the door swings open and Guy Fawkes’s face greets me again, bat-shit crazy galore. The drawers are all open. I threw most of their contents on the floor in my desperate search for a weapon.

This is not looking good for me.

This man is going to kill me…and for once in my life, I don’t feel like putting up a fight anymore.

 


 

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L.J. Shen is a best-selling author of Contemporary Romance novels. She lives in Northern California with her husband, young son and chubby cat.

 

She enjoys the simple things in life, like chocolate, wine, reading, HBO, spending time with her girlfriends and internet-stalking Chris Hemsworth. She reads between three to five books a week and firmly believes Crocs shoes and mullets should be outlawed.

 

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BLOG TOUR- Sweet Alibi by Adriane Leigh

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From USA Today Bestselling author Adriane Leigh comes a passionate contemporary romance about giving in to desire so sharp and sweet it threatens to consume…

Georgia Montgomery is desperate for an escape from the life she’s been leading. The perfect job, the perfect apartment, the perfect boyfriend—all are on the cusp of driving her over the edge. On a whim, she buys a beach house on the North Carolina coast, eager to spend a summer with her college friends. She thinks she’s found the perfect balance, until one pleasure-seeking playboy turns her world on its axis. Georgia tries to ignore the tornado of emotion that sweeps through her system whenever Tristan Howell is near, but just like an addiction, one look, one taste, one touch is never enough.

The chemistry is scorching and it isn’t long before the slow burn ignites into a full-blown wildfire that threatens to consume anything in its path. But Georgia and Tristan can’t shelter their love from the outside world, and the moments of exquisite passion they share aren’t enough to sustain the relationship. When scars from the past resurface–will their hearts meld together as one? Or will outside forces tear them apart, leaving an empty shell where love and passion once thrived?

 

*Note: The characters in Sweet Alibi are real and flawed–they make bad decisions and learn hard lessons. It contains a love triangle, a sweet alpha-male with a broken heart, and a leading lady that doesn’t always know what she wants. If you love a character-driven romance with a hard-fought happily-ever-after, Sweet Alibi is for you. (Formerly published as The Morning After and Light in Morning duet, now with more than 10,000 words of never-before-published BONUS content!


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“You’re getting wet.” Tristan lifted a finger and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I licked my lips nervously, my eyes locked with his. His touch set my skin on fire. I held my bottom lip between my teeth painfully, willing myself to feel anything other than my stomach rolling and the arousal throbbing between my thighs. His eyes darted down to watch my mouth as his lips parted lightly with his breath.

“Georgia,” he whispered as he leaned into me. His lips grazed mine and my eyelids fluttered closed.

Why wasn’t I pulling away?

God, I needed to be pulling away, like two minutes ago.

I should have moved my chair away from his when I sat down. Being in Tristan’s space did things to me, delicious things like the hair rising on the back of my neck and goosebumps dancing across my skin. My stomach flipped, my breathing hitched, and a slow ache settled between my legs.

“Tristan,” I breathed as he brought his hand to my jaw in a light caress, just like he’d been doing a minute ago to the weathered wood of the deck chair. I parted my lips and the air escaped my lungs in a rush.

“I don’t know what this is between us, Georgia, but I want to find out,” he said on a breathy exhale.

“Me too,” I whispered and pressed my lips to his. His soft, slightly salty lips tasted heavenly as I ran my tongue along them. He opened his mouth and our tongues brushed together as his hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers threaded in my hair, thumbs brushing my cheeks. He pulled me closer to him and before I knew it I was adrift in the heady sensation of Tristan.

I lost myself for those few blissful moments attached to his lips. I knew there was a reason I shouldn’t be doing this, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what it was. I ran my palm up his arm and over his shoulder to tangle in his hair.

But the hair was too long. It didn’t feel right. It was foreign, and yet the pull I felt to continue to kiss and caress was undeniable.

“Kyle.” I pulled away quickly, mumbling the name. I licked my lips where Tristan’s salty-sweet taste lingered. The feelings that were swirling inside my body and filtering through my head were terrifying and new and right all in the same breath. Tristan watched as my thoughts aligned.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what just happened or why I said what I did, but it can’t happen again.” I rushed back into the safety of the house, leaving Tristan alone in the rain.

 


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Adriane Leigh was born and raised in a snowbank in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and now lives among the sand dunes of the Lake Michigan lakeshore.

She graduated with a Literature degree but never particularly enjoyed reading Shakespeare or Chaucer.

She is married to a tall, dark, and handsome guy, and plays mama to two sweet baby girls. She is a voracious reader and wishes she had more time to knit scarves to keep her warm during the arctic Michigan winters.

 

Author Links

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