2/15/2017

By Invitation Only By Kimberley Knight: Cover Reveal

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Genre: Erotic Romance

Release Date: April 4, 2017

Models: Bailey Lee & Amy Reusch

Photographer: E. Marie Photography

Cover Designer: Okay Creations

http://bit.ly/KK-BIO

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Price will increase after release

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About the Book

Sensation.

A sacred place free from judgement or inhibitions.

The only rule: Ask before you touch.

Sensation is an exclusive black-tie party attended by at least one hundred and fifty of the clubs most privileged members, and held once a month at an undisclosed mansion in Beverly Hills.

You may watch.

You may interact.

You can come together or you can choose to come alone.

The choice is yours.

Would you like it rough?

Would you like to be caressed and worshipped?

Or would you simply like to observe?

What do you desire?

About the Author

Kimberly Pix

Kimberly Knight is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the mountains near a lake with her loving husband and spoiled cat, Precious. In her spare time, she enjoys watching her favorite reality TV shows, watching the San Francisco Giants win World Series and the San Jose Sharks kick butt. She’s also a two time desmoid tumor/cancer fighter that’s made her stronger and an inspiration to her fans. Now that she lives near a lake, she plans on working on her tan and doing more outdoor stuff like watching hot guys waterski. However, the bulk of her time is dedicated to writing and reading romance and erotic fiction.

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2/15/2017

Release Blitz for Can't Stop Fate by Debra Kayn.

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Title: Can't Stop Fate

Series: Ronacks Motorcycle Club #4

Author: Debra Kayn

Genre: MC Romance

Release Date: February 14

Mel Davis pledged his life to Ronacks Motorcycle Club as a sixteen-year-old runaway. He's committed his share of crimes through the years as he went from prospect to lifer, but none more dangerous than falling in love with Raelyn and her son, Dukie. Then, one night, he makes a decision that will forever change his life. And, he has no one else to blame but himself.

Five years after the death of her husband, Raelyn Williams has settled into managing the club-owned Pine Bar & Grill. The love, support, and protection she receives from Ronacks while being a single mom raising the son of a deceased Ronacks member provides her with everything she needs. Until, her wild mom, eccentric Grandma June, and her younger brother arrive at the bar out of the blue in a beat-up motorhome, complicating her life and disrupting her safe haven. Maybe their craziness is rubbing off on her because she suddenly finds Mel too sexy, too tempting, too dangerous.

There's no way she'll compromise herself by getting involved with another biker again. The club always comes first, and it only takes one dangerous activity for her to lose another person she loves.

She won't do it.

She can't.

Raelyn glanced at Mel once she sat behind the desk, putting space between her and the biker. Lately, she'd become aware of depending on him too much. The feelings he evoked in her were too appealing and reminded her of how it was to be married. Even the frustration of never knowing when he'd show up. If he'd be late coming home. Or, how he knew exactly how to push her buttons.
At six foot two inches tall, a solid two hundred pounds, Mel had practically grown up with her during her twenties. He was three years younger than her, and during her marriage, she'd viewed him as an irresponsible man who partied hard, wasted his money, and used his status within the club to get his fill of women. But, during the time she'd grieved for Duke, had her son on her own, Mel had stepped forward and looked out for her. Though some days it felt like they'd gone in too different of directions to remain friends.
She became needier. He became more responsible.
Mel sat down on the couch in her office and stretched his legs. She bit her lip taking in his muscled thighs. He'd come back from his run with the club heavily whiskered and even more appealing. If it were only the fact that she was sex deprived and she found Mel sexy, she would've dealt with the problem months ago. Maybe even years ago.
At thirty-one years old, her brain told her she was still young enough to go out and find a good guy to fall in love with, who would be a good father for Dukie and settle down to enjoy a good life as a small family. Her heart told her that she had the best family already and not to wish for more or risk everything she had in her life. The Ronacks Motorcycle Club provided her with everything she needed. If she married outside the club, she'd lose the security they provided.
She shook the hair out of her face. Except, sex. God, she missed sex.

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Debra Kayn is the author of the Bestselling Bantorus MC series, Moroad MC series, Red Light: Silver Girls series, Hard Body series, Playing For hearts series, and a huge backlist of books. She lives with her family in the Bitterroot Mountains of beautiful Northern Idaho where she enjoys the outdoors, the four seasons, and small-town living.

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2/14/2017

Cover Reveal: Rough by Sybil Bartel, book 2 in the Thrust series.

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Rough
Sybil Bartel
(Thrust, #2)
Publication date: March 20th 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Jared

I’m not your boyfriend. I’m not the guy next door. I don’t even play nice.

My hands twisting in your hair, my whispered demand in your ear—I’m the fantasy you’ll wish you never had.

When I’m through with you, every inch of your body will know where I’ve been. You won’t crave more, you’ll beg for it. Because I’m not just the cocky smile with military hardened muscles you paid five grand for—I’m the experience you’ll never forget.

One night with me and you’ll know exactly why women pay me to be rough.

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Author Bio:

Sybil Bartel grew up in Northern California with her head in a book and her feet in the sand. She dreamt of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew her into the world of storytelling. She loves the New Adult genre, but any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful makes her swoon.

Sybil now resides in Southern Florida and while she doesn’t get to read as much as she likes, she still buries her toes in the sand. If she isn’t writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in her backyard, you can find her spending time with her handsomely tattooed husband, her brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer…

But Seriously?

Here are ten things you probably really want to know about Sybil.

She grew up a faculty brat. She can swear like a sailor. She loves men in uniform. She hates being told what to do. She can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaks her out. Her favorite word is desperate…or dirty, or both—she can’t decide. She has a thing for muscle cars. But never reply on her for driving directions, ever. And she has a new book boyfriend every week—don’t tell her husband.

To find out more about Sybil Bartel, be sure to follow her on Twitter (she loves to hear about your favorite book boyfriend!), visit her website, like her on Facebook or join her Facebook group Book Boyfriend Heroes for exclusive excerpts and giveaways.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

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2/14/2017

Park Avenue Prince By Louise Bay: New Release

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Park Avenue Prince by Louise Bay Release Date: February 13th Genre: Contemporary Romance

Park Avenue Prince, an all-new contemporary romance by Louise Bay is now LIVE!!!

THE PRINCE OF PARK AVENUE FINALLY MEETS HIS MATCH IN A FEISTY MANHATTAN PRINCESS.

I’ve made every one of my billions of dollars myself—I’m calculating, astute and the best at what I do. It takes drive and dedication to build what I have. And it leaves no time for love or girlfriends or relationships.
But don’t get me wrong, I’m not a monk.
I understand the attention and focus it takes to seduce a beautiful woman. They’re the same skills I use to close business deals. But one night is where it begins and ends. I’m not the guy who sends flowers. I’m not the guy who calls the next day.
Or so I thought before an impatient, smart-talking, beyond beautiful heiress bursts into my world.
When Grace Astor rolls her eyes at me—I want to hold her against me and show her what she’s been missing.
When she makes a joke at my expense—I want to silence her sassy mouth with my tongue.
And when she leaves straight after we f*ck with barely a goodbye—it makes me want to pin her down and remind her of the three orgasms she just had.
She might be a princess but I’m going to show her who rules in this Park Avenue bedroom.

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$2.99 for Release Week ONLY! Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2lDSn1i Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2kI3Gbk iBooks: http://tinyurl.com/hmv9nu3 B&N: http://tinyurl.com/hwcym3g Kobo: http://tinyurl.com/zabznpu

About the Author: USA Today bestselling author, Louise Bay writes sexy, contemporary romance novels - the kind she likes to read. Her books include the novels Hopeful, The Empire State Series, Parisian Nights, Promised Nights, Indigo Nights and King of Wall Street.

Ruined by bonk-busters and sexy mini-series of the eighties Louise loves all things sexy and romantic. There's not enough of it in real life so she disappears into the fictional worlds in books and films.

Louise loves the rain, the West Wing, London, days when she doesn't have to wear make-up, being on her own, being with friends, elephants and champagne.

She loves to hear from readers so get in touch!
Connect with Louise: Faceboook: https://www.facebook.com/authorlouisebay/ Twitter: www.twitter.com/louisesbay Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8056592.Louise_Bay Amazon: http://amzn.to/1WqwGAf

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2/13/2017

Chapter Reveal: Ripple Effect By Keri Lake.

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Coming February 24th

Ripley

They call me RIP.
I’m a killer. A murderer. A psychopath.
In the eyes of the righteous, I’m a monster, born of sin and depravity.
I want to protect her, but I’m not a good man.
I want to love her, but I no longer feel.
She gets under my skin, though, and has awakened something inside of me.
Something I’d kill for.
I’m not her savior—not even close. In fact, I’m worse than the hell she’s already suffered.
I’m her vengeance. Tit for tat, as they say.
And if she’s not careful, I’ll be her ruin.

Dylan

For months, I’ve watched him.
I’ve fantasized him as my savior, my lover. My ticket out of the hell I’ve lived in for the last six years.
I never dreamed he’d be my nightmare.
Had I known what he really is, I’d have never gotten in the car that night, but life is full of cause and effect.
And sometimes the choice on offer isn’t a choice at all.
It’s the result of something already in motion, and we’re merely left to survive the ripple effect.

*This is an erotic suspense/erotic romance not recommended for readers under the age of 18 due to graphic violence and sex.

Shells are made to be cracked.
I stare down at the tiny white egg, wedged between the ashtray filled with cigarette butts and the empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the balcony. Hardly broken in two halves, the busted center reveals an underdeveloped bird inside, nearly devoured by the bugs that crawl in and out of the shell. I can just make out one bulbous eyeball, surprisingly intact, staring back at me. Mourning Dove, I’d bet. They seem to flock to this shithole every year, for whatever reason.
The nest teeters on the edge of the eave somewhere above me, as if the mother intentionally chose this most dangerous spot to lay her egg then up and abandoned it. Left to the careful watch of carnivores.
Poor little bird.
A tickle hits my arm and I slap a hand to my skin, before scratching at the spot just below a black monarch butterfly tattoo, digging my nails into the place where I’m certain I felt something crawling over me. I hate when my long wisps of hair skim across the surface like a translucent web dancing over my skin. Insects give me the willies. Well, except for butterflies, I don’t mind them so much. My therapist put a name on it once, said I had ento-something-phobia—a fear of bugs. It’s not really the bugs themselves I fear, though. It’s the idea that something could breach the barriers of my skin, and infest, just like the shell that housed that bird. Sometimes I have dreams about them, crawling over me, nesting inside of me.
The very thought casts a shiver down my spine, and I’m grateful for the pane of glass that separates me from the macabre outside my window.
Wind rattles the glass in its frame, the tendrils of late winter snaking their way beneath the thin afghan wrapped around my shoulders. It’s been mild, unseasonably warm enough for bugs and early blooms, but that Chicago wind carries the vestiges of a brutal winter.
The fog of my pills is lifting, making me more aware of the cold, but I’m holding off for something stronger. I’ll need it tonight.
From below, the mumbled shouts of Lady Ortiz, as I call her, push their way through the rotted wood planks that separate our balcony from hers. She and Mr. Ortiz are fighting again, their voices escalating into the crash of broken glass. The Yorkie, three floors below, barks an incessant plea to take a piss outside, and I wonder if his owner, Mrs. Silvia, has finally kicked the bucket. The lady’s pushing ninety, and the pungent reek of ammonia that fills her apartment seeps through the heating ducts of this place sometimes.
Oddly enough, in spite of the noise, the smells, and the crawling bugs, this is my moment of peace. Escape. Freedom.
I must be the only teenage girl on the planet who longs for quiet moments without the gossip, the socializing, and all the damn noise. In a generation of selfies and the desperate need for validation, sometimes I like to slip onto the other side of the mirror and simply watch.
Fringed by the glow of my bedroom light, I study the broken shell, eyeing an ant that marches away with a chunk of something far too big for its size, and I’m reminded that the world takes what it wants even after death.
That’s how I got here, this shithole apartment smack in the middle of Chicago. Just like insects, after my father’s death, the bank took our house, the creditors took our cars, and shame stole our pride as we bounced from shelter to shelter, my mom and me. I was nine years old when he died, and as innocent and vulnerable as a baby bird trapped inside a fragile shell.
Because he committed suicide, my dad’s insurance policy was considered null, and we were left without a pot to piss in. For a while, though, we got by. My mom landed a job dancing, and as a veteran’s widow, qualified for something like Section Eight housing. I was left home alone most nights, but it worked. We survived. Things were okay for a while.
I can’t even remember the moment life changed for us.
Feels like it happened in the span of a year, but I know it only took one fleeting second in time, when she didn’t have to worry about me, when the weight bearing down on her lifted and she felt high as the clouds.
An odd dichotomy, heroin—the way it rolls off the tongue as two completely opposite things—a selfless and courageous woman, and a selfish agent of destruction.
My mom gave up one for the other and that began our descent into some of the darkest days of my life.
My stomach twists, and I curl into myself, bringing my knees tighter to my body.
Almost time.
Two silhouettes hit my periphery, and I turn toward the mouth of the alley, where they move abruptly, limbs flailing, as if they’re in the thick of a fight. I focus on them for a moment, spotting the sag of his slacks just below his un-tucked shirt, and realize they’re not fighting at all. They’re fucking. A prostitute and her John pressed against the dirty bricks of the building, beside the overflowing dumpster. Her dark skin is hard to make out, but his crisp white shirt stands out like a beacon of debauchery.
This alley is a constant stream of slum life stories.
Staring at them drudges a memory of sitting tucked beside a line of garbage cans in the back alley of a bar, watching a rat pick at a maggot-infested chicken leg lying in a toxic pool of wastewater, while the sounds of my mother’s animalistic grunts and moans drifted from the other side. Nothing but meat and the stench of rot taunting my gag reflex. Through a small gap between the wall and garbage, I could just make out a man’s naked ass slamming into her, his dirty fingers curled around her bony thigh. Even then, no more than eleven years old, I knew what she’d become before the word was brutally carved into her skin. Whore. Junkie. A prostitute, always searching for the next high.
The two in the alley stop moving. Only that they’ve begun to pull their clothes back on tells me one of them must’ve climaxed. There is no big finale, or magical moment of ecstasy in the underbelly. It’s all quick and quiet fucks, while breathing in the fog and reek of stale sex and damp garbage. He tugs his slacks over his hips and holds up an object, which I’m guessing is a thin wad of cash. She reaches for it and the guy strikes her with the back of his hand, the echoing smack that kicks her head to the side is the first sound I’ve heard between them.
He’s probably her pimp. If she fights him, she’ll have to drag her ass across the city looking for an unclaimed street corner, and pray some crazy lunatic doesn’t pick her up and turn her into a human skin rug with her head mounted on his wall.
At seventeen, I know more about organizational hierarchy and job security than the average middle-aged CEO, and just like the corporate world, success depends on how many people get fucked.
Wolves and sheep.
For those of us in the flock, survival comes down to how well we manipulate, because a predator’s eyes are naturally drawn to the most innocent. So when my mom’s John started giving me that carnal look, I began carrying a pocketknife, and at thirteen, I once held it to the junkie’s throat, threatening to slice out his voice box if he ever touched me again.
Sometimes the sheep can be cunning, though.
My mom once tried to make me pickpocket—a lesson that landed us in the back of a cop car. Took ten minutes with the cop before we were released with a warning, and it was then I learned a valuable lesson in life: even at a woman’s weakest, sex could be her most powerful weapon.
I glance back at Charlie, my stark white Dogo Argentino, stolen from one of my mother’s back alley conquests. If not for her, I wouldn’t be sitting here, letting the blood-sucking insects feed off of me, after my mother spiraled straight to her grave.
Charlie gives me purpose. If there is a God, I truly believe he put her in my life to keep me from doing stupid shit. That, or to give me a weakness, because Lord knows I’d probably go psycho bitch crazy and end up in a padded cell if anything ever happened to my beloved dog.
Because of her, my heart is a tenderer piece of meat for the insects to tear apart.
At the opposite side of the room is another bed that belongs to my eight-year-old foster sister, Layla. Well, for now anyway. She won’t be here long. This place is a revolving door for foster girls, most only staying a couple months max. I don’t know where they go, and honestly, I don’t care. There’s no point getting to know them. In the time I’ve lived with the Westpricks, at least two-dozen girls have been in and out of here. In some ways, I resent them, getting out and moving on to something else. Maybe somewhere better.
I’m the only one who ever stays. The constant in this hellhole.
Since I was nine years old, I’ve been bounced around from house to house, wishing and hoping for things that just don’t happen to kids where I come from. For six of those years I’ve been lost. The forgotten. The unwanted. I’ve been hurt in ways that have forever changed my landscape and numbed me to future pain.
But now I have Charlie, who’s a reminder that good things can come from bad situations, and that even a beast can penetrate the hardest of hearts.
Charlie makes me think of my mother more than I care to. Perhaps because it was my mother who stole her for me, unwittingly gifting me my own personal guardian angel.
I miss her sometimes, though.
The memories of her are like bent photographs that I pull from my back pocket from time to time, wishing I could set them out on a shelf someday. But life’s too short, particularly in this part of the city, to dwell on what will never be again.
My mom wasted away before I even hit middle school. Police told me it was an overdose, but I think she got a hold of a tainted batch of heroin.
And I’ve been caught up in the system ever since.
A few places worked out okay. They let me keep my dog, which was cool, but people tend to give up on kids who don’t love as easily as others. I acted out. Punched my first foster mother in the face and broke her nose. Didn’t even have a good reason, really, except that she was the first person I had to deal with after my mom died.
Lucky for me, my caseworker managed to track down my mom’s sister, Chanel, and her long-time boyfriend, Randy. I’d never met her before, never even knew my mom had a sister. Aside from the fact that Chanel treats Layla and me like her favorite Barbie dolls, the two of them can’t stand us most of the time.
Doesn’t matter, though.
Two more months and I’ll be out on my own.
I close my eyes so tight they ache. Two more months. That’s when I graduate and can get the hell out of this shithole, and away from the shady foster system that threw me into the hands of Randy Westprick, as I like to call him, and my flighty aunt. In a few weeks I turn eighteen and no one will own me anymore. No one.
I could run away now, ditch school and hit the streets, but that would put me on the same path as my mother and I’d rather die in this hellish place than repeat her mistakes.
The neon sign across the alley blinks a mesmerizing repetition of lost hopes that reflects off the patches of water along the pavement.
A shadow slips along my periphery, and I lift my gaze as a dark figure stalks down the alley toward the old fashioned-looking diner that sits across the narrow cross section on the corner. A place that reminds me of the Boulevard of Broken Dreams painting I once saw at the mall.
It’s him.
Head to toe in black, the stranger’s tall frame remains concealed in the leather coat he always wears. I flip open the dull brass pocket watch, the only remnant left of my real dad, and check the time. Ten o’clock, as usual. Churning in my stomach has me hugging my mid-section.
Almost time.
Every Friday I watch the stranger enter the diner, choosing the corner booth beside the window, where he orders a burger and drink. It’s only Friday he orders a burger. Some nights he’ll come in, grab carry-out, and leave. But not on Fridays. On those nights, he stays and sits alone, never seems to make small talk with the waitress—the same lady who waits on him every time he ventures in. Their interactions are brief and as cold as I’d imagine from a man like him. In spite of that, the sight of him makes me dream things. I don’t know who he is, but I fantasize that he’s a deft killer by the way he carries himself with such lethal grace. If he is, then this is the side his victims never get to see—his vulnerability, choosing the same place, the same seat, the same time every Friday night. It’s a sadness that speaks to me, because without fail, I find myself settling in by my window at the very same time.
Occasionally, he goes at different times, on different days, some weeks not at all, which might seem erratic to some, but I’ve watched him long enough to know there’s a pattern. One that I’ve picked up on, because that one week he’s not there, is repeated precisely four weeks later. Perhaps it’s mindless on his part, maybe his visits correspond to events in his life that I’m not privy to, but I’m a creature of patterns, and I’ve memorized his.
From as high as my window, I can see he’s big. A man, not a boy, at least ten years my senior. His bulky frame fills the creases of the leather coat he wears, and he reminds me of something straight out of a comic book—not the hero, but the menacing antihero, the bad guy no one expects to be good.
No, in my fantasy, he’s bigger. Meaner. Stronger. A man who kills on instinct.
Beneath the cover of my blanket, I sneak my hand down inside my shirt, closing my eyes the moment my fingertip makes contact with my hardened nipple. I imagine his lips closing over it, the scratch of his day-old scruff against my skin and his strong hands holding me in place, the gruff in his voice as he says my name like a fervent prayer. I imagine he smells good, not like stale beer and the putrid mix of body odor and bacon grease, but something deliciously masculine.
I shouldn’t want for a grown man this way, but I do, and I don’t even know him.
For months, I’ve held this invisible rendezvous with him, staring down from my perch, imagining him stealing me from this cage. Turning me into whatever he is. Killer? Criminal? I don’t even care, so long as it’s tougher, more wicked than Randy Westprick.
I fault him for my lack of interest in the boys at school. Not that I’m allowed to date them anyway, but I’m certainly not touching myself to any of the guys my age.
Sometimes he stares out the window and I swear his gaze scans up to my balcony. However, if he sees me, he never makes it known. Perhaps to a man like that, I’m nothing but a young girl, hardly a threat for noticing him.
With my bottom lip caught between my teeth, I succumb to the visuals toying with my mind and the soft moan that escapes me has me stealing a furtive glance back at Layla to make sure she’s still asleep.
He takes his usual seat, filling the booth with his bulky frame. Some nights I picture sliding into his lap, his body crushing me against that table, as I straddle his thighs. I imagine his massive arms enveloping me. His tongue across my skin and in my mouth. Sweat dripping down my back, along my spine where the palm of his hand holds me in place. How he’d feel without the pills denying me the sensation of his cock filling me. The edge of the table beating into my back with every punishing drive of his hips, and the tight clench of his jaw in that reckless moment when he finishes inside of me.
My lips part at the vivid imagery, and my belly tightens while I circle my nipple with the pad of my finger.
If anyone were after him, he’d be hard to miss in those bright lights, the way he stands out like a splotch of black paint on a stark white canvas. He hasn’t looked this way once tonight, which allows me to study him intently, admiring his virile features.
He’s beautiful. A sad, but beautiful man.
The click of the doorknob sends a knot straight to my throat and my stomach sinks like bricks in a murky river. The sound alerts my dog, who I can hear rustling in her bed, and a low growl rumbles in her chest.
I slip my hand out of my shirt, straightening myself beneath the afghan.
A beam of new light invades the soft glow of the Christmas lights I’ve strung around the room for Layla, and as my nightmare enters, Charlie’s growl dies to a whimper.
The thud of his boots across the floor sound like the hooves of the devil coming to claim my soul. A scuffling tells me he’s stumbled, but not even that prompts me to turn around.
Drunk again.
The moment I caught him hunkered down in front of the television with a six-pack, I knew he’d come for me. I don’t want to look at him. I hate him. The smell of him makes me sick, like a walking deep fryer.
If not for Charlie, I’d climb over the railing of the balcony, spread my arms, and fly. The police would find a broken shell of me. They’d study me, the same way I studied the baby bird, while the world dissects pieces of my story to suit their curiosities, leaving nothing but a picked over carcass.
All because my mother abandoned her nest.
They’ll never know it was he who gave the final push, and it won’t even matter. Once he injects the drugs, I’ll fall into dissociative bliss, tucked away in the same fog that kept my mother oblivious of the world around her, on rose-colored clouds, and a never-ending dream.
The darkness behind my eyelids is my only refuge from the hell around me, and I’ll willingly climb inside, burrowing myself in that place where no one can touch me. While my body’s propped on the cold metal of the washing machine, I’ll be miles away, fallen deep into the rabbit hole. No one can find me there. Not Randy, nor the men who see the photographs of me that he takes in the dingy laundry room of this apartment complex.
Although he never violates me himself, for whatever reason, he likes objects. The more common they are, the more he gets off. He once had me masturbate the end of a vibrating toothbrush and used it for months after—smiling at me every time he brushed his teeth.
I’ve been defiled in every sense short of rape, stripped and purged of innocence, feeding his disgusting obsession with me.
I often wonder what Chanel’s like when she’s not hopped up on pain pills. If she’d be jealous and accuse me of fucking her man, or if she’d take pleasure in watching him do it. I once tried to tell her about him taking me down there and snapping pictures of me. She offered me one of her pills and asked if I liked the boots her friend had handed down to me.
I can’t blame her too much, though. Randy likes to use her as his personal punching bag, and most days, she’s sporting a bruise somewhere. Even if it’s not always visible. He’s hit me a few times, but unlike Chanel, I hit him back, even at the risk of more pain, because I believe once you show weakness, it’s easier to fall prey to it.
A tug at my elbow and I glance to the side, swatting at his arm. “Don’t touch me.”
Sometimes Randy offers gifts—small tokens that come with his usual pep talk about how it’s not abuse because he never actually penetrates me and the photos don’t show my face. That’s a lie. I once swiped his phone when he passed out on the couch and deleted a good few dozen pictures of me—his little mementos. I couldn’t stand to look at my own face—droopy eyes singed with the apathy toward whatever he forced me to do. I’d hoped to see shame in those photos, but it seemed buried too far beneath the effects of the drugs.
He’s threatened to circulate them throughout the school if I say a word about any of this. Send them to all my classmates on Facebook, as if they’d come from me. Like he’d ever let me have my own account. As far as the world is concerned, I don’t exist.
“C’mon,” is all he says, before walking out of the bedroom.
I give one more glance toward the man in the diner, as he stares off, waiting for his food. Maybe one day he’ll look up and see me.
Maybe he’d want to kill Randy Westprick, if he knew that somewhere close by, a girl was forced to do bad things. Very bad things.
For now, the drugs will put up a barrier, separating my mind from the horrors of my reality, much like the pane of glass that separates me from the insect-ravaged bird outside my window.
Maybe it won’t hurt as much this time, knowing that I do this to keep Randy from slaughtering my dog or taking away the pills that have become as necessary as the air I breathe. A vicious cycle of escaping to survive and surviving to escape.
Because sex is power.
And even the hardest shells are made to be cracked.

Keri Lake is a married mother of two living in Michigan. By day, she tries to make use of the degrees she's earned in science. By night, she writes dark contemporary, paranormal romance and urban fantasy. Though novels tend to be her focus, she also writes short stories and flash fiction on the many occasions distraction sucks her into the Land of Shiny Things.

For news, updates and sneak peeks at the sexy cover model candidates for her annual Cover Model Contest, subscribe to her newsletter: http://eepurl.com/HJPHH

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2/13/2017

Park Avenue Prince, an all-new contemporary romance by Louise Bay is now LIVE!!!

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Park Avenue Prince by Louise Bay Release Date: February 13th Genre: Contemporary Romance

Park Avenue Prince, an all-new contemporary romance by Louise Bay is now LIVE!!!

THE PRINCE OF PARK AVENUE FINALLY MEETS HIS MATCH IN A FEISTY MANHATTAN PRINCESS.

I’ve made every one of my billions of dollars myself—I’m calculating, astute and the best at what I do. It takes drive and dedication to build what I have. And it leaves no time for love or girlfriends or relationships.

But don’t get me wrong, I’m not a monk.

I understand the attention and focus it takes to seduce a beautiful woman. They’re the same skills I use to close business deals. But one night is where it begins and ends. I’m not the guy who sends flowers. I’m not the guy who calls the next day.

Or so I thought before an impatient, smart-talking, beyond beautiful heiress bursts into my world.

When Grace Astor rolls her eyes at me—I want to hold her against me and show her what she’s been missing.

When she makes a joke at my expense—I want to silence her sassy mouth with my tongue.

And when she leaves straight after we f*ck with barely a goodbye—it makes me want to pin her down and remind her of the three orgasms she just had.

She might be a princess but I’m going to show her who rules in this Park Avenue bedroom.

Read Today!

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iTunes: https://goo.gl/tzJHJw

Nook: https://goo.gl/Y8vZKm

Kobo: https://goo.gl/OewH97

About the Author:

USA Today bestselling author, Louise Bay writes sexy, contemporary romance novels - the kind she likes to read. Her books include the novels Hopeful, The Empire State Series, Parisian Nights, Promised Nights, Indigo Nights and King of Wall Street.

Ruined by bonk-busters and sexy mini-series of the eighties Louise loves all things sexy and romantic. There's not enough of it in real life so she disappears into the fictional worlds in books and films.

Louise loves the rain, the West Wing, London, days when she doesn't have to wear make-up, being on her own, being with friends, elephants and champagne.

She loves to hear from readers so get in touch!

Connect with Louise:

Faceboook: https://www.facebook.com/authorlouisebay/ Twitter: www.twitter.com/louisesbay Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8056592.Louise_Bay Amazon: http://amzn.to/1WqwGAf

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2/12/2017

New Release: Sweet Valentine By Aria Cole.

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Three things sum up Valentine Marsden at this moment: she’s got a sweet tooth so deep she opened her own bakery; she hates the holiday that is her namesake; and she just might be charged with murder tomorrow morning when she strangles the contractor next door banging on the walls during the busiest week of the year. Valentine finds herself bumping into the completely sexy and totally cocky stranger more and more often. So often she’s beginning to think he’s a working man with a serious sweet tooth...

Ford Knox has spent almost twenty years secluding himself from the public, retreating to his mountain cabin after work everyday without a second thought for complicated things like women and relationships. But when the syrupy sweet and dangerously curvy bakery owner next door seems to fall right into his lap this Valentine's Day, he winds up drunk on her and desperate for more. Knox is a real man with a wicked appetite, and Valentine is the only thing he can see.

Warning: Sweet Valentine is cocky, blue-collar alpha goodness with a dash of sweet candy hearts, lush chocolate-dipped strawberries, and sawdust-scented first kisses. Grab a chocolate martini because Knox and Valentine are about to melt your insides!

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.

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!

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2/12/2017

This is Me, Baby by K Webster Book Blitz

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This is Me, Baby

by K. Webster War & Peace Series Publication Date: February 7, 2017 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Dark Romance

***This is the fifth book in the series. First four books must be read first in order to understand this story line.*** The game was over and they stole the victory away from ME. Cheating. Lies. Corruption. Death. This pawn never stood a chance. But then he came for ME. He plucked ME from my nightmare and kept me safe. My heart was in tatters and my soul was lost. Until the beast in ME woke up. She was hungry and furious and didn’t play by the rules of their game. We were a vicious team. And we changed the game altogether. I took what was theirs because they took what was mine. ME against them. That is…until I had someone else with ME. Someone who vowed to fight alongside ME until the very end. I don’t want the love he has for ME. But the beast in ME still craves to take everything she deserves. He should run far away from ME. Instead, he runs straight for ME. This is ME, baby and I am going to ruin them all. ***Warning*** This is Me, Baby is a dark romance. Strong sexual themes and violence, which could trigger emotional distress, are found in this story. If you are sensitive to dark themes, then this story is not for you.

About K. Webster

K Webster is the author of dozens romance books in many different genres including contemporary romance, historical romance, paranormal romance, and erotic romance. When not spending time with her husband of twelve years and two adorable children, she’s active on social media connecting with her readers. Her other passions besides writing include reading and graphic design. K can always be found in front of her computer chasing her next idea and taking action. She looks forward to the day when she will see one of her titles on the big screen. You can easily find K Webster on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and Goodreads! Website: www.authorkwebster.com Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bllgoP

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2/12/2017

Release Day: Valentines Rose By Dani Wyatt.

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It only took Tanner Valentine one look at her to know this rare Rose was his one and only. Growing the world's rarest and most coveted roses is this mountain man's obsession until he walks into her flower shop and his new obsession takes over. There's just one thing holding him back from staking his claim, that ring on her finger.

Rose Everhart spends her days arranging flowers. On this valentine's day, she let's it slip that although she's send out thousands of arrangements to other lucky recipients, she's never been the receiver of flowers herself. What she doesn't know, is wearing her grandmother's scratched and worn rose gold wedding band has kept the hulky flannel wearing rose grower that's filled her fantasies for months at a distance for too long.

Will these two unlucky at love introverts finally discover what it's like to discover your one and only? Only, will someone from Rose's past force her to retreat back into her solitary world just as she's beginning to understand the power of true love?

Dani Wyatt loves her alpha men; make them military, cowboys, MMA -- any uber alpha with a wicked possessive streak and an insatiable libido. Receive a free exclusive unpublished title when you join Dani's private readers group for updates, free chapters and discounts.

http://eepurl.com/bubxzz

She's a 40 something regular lady who just happens to love badass alpha males who pull your hair and love their women with a lethal passion.

When she's not writing (which is not often) she is probably laughing about some irony (like A-1 Steak Sauce is vegan), riding her horse, wondering why The Walking Dead can't have a new episode every night, or looking cross-eyed at some piece of technology sent to ruin her day.

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2/8/2017

Cover Reveal: Mr Wrong By Nicole Williams.

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Coming Soon

Cora Matthews grew up with the Adams boys, twin brothers and best friends who wouldn’t let anything come between them except for one thing—her. One of them became her best friend, the other, her fiancé.

She always knew she’d wind up marrying one of them, and Jacob Adams is the very epitome of Mister Right. At least he is up until he fails to show up for their wedding day. Not that Cora realizes it. At first.n

As Jacob’s best man, and identical twin, Matt makes a split second decision, but one that will affect the three of their lives forever—he steps in to take his brother’s place. In front of the altar, exchanging vows with the woman he’s secretly been in love with for years.

Cora eventually finds out about the groom swap. The morning after the wedding. As if realizing she just slept with her fiance’s brother wasn’t disturbing enough, she’s forced to confront her feelings for Matt Adams she thought she’d buried years ago.

Matt’s wrong for her. In every way. But through the course of her real honeymoon with her fake husband, she starts to uncover truths both Adams brothers were hoping to keep hidden, for opposite reasons. One to protect himself, the other to protect her.

She married the wrong brother, but what if he’s been the right one all along?

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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2/7/2017

Cover Reveal: Delayed Call By Toni Aleo.

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Coming March 20th

Vaughn Johansson is the Nashville Assassins' star player. He's brash, cocky, and talented. And he isn't afraid to let anyone know it. He lives his life on his own terms, never forming romantic attachments, and only allowing his very closest to see his true, caring self.

Brie Soledad has the weight of the world on her shoulders. As the staff reporter for the Assassins, she balances a high-profile job and its heavy travel schedule with being the sole provider for her adult brother with Down syndrome. Sure, she'd like to find love. But who has time for that when there are bills to pay?

Brie has been the match to Vaughn's gasoline since the day she first held out her microphone to him. They strike sparks off each other, keeping their friends, the team, and the Assassins fans in stitches. Brie’s refusal to fawn over Vaughn sets his teeth on edge and his blood boiling. Especially in that body part...

Brie's been let down by love before, but she knows she deserves nothing less than real, forever love. Vaughn's past has left deep, hidden scars, and there are some secrets he cannot bear to reveal. As much as Brie wants him, Vaughn may be too big a risk for her wary heart to take. But he’s is at his best under pressure. When the delayed call is in effect and he has no choice but to score, Vaughn always delivers.

My name is Toni Aleo and I’m a total dork.
I am a wife, mother of two and a bulldog, and also a hopeless romantic.
I am the biggest Shea Weber fan ever, and can be found during hockey season with my nose pressed against the Bridgestone Arena’s glass, watching my Nashville Predators play!
When my nose isn’t pressed against the glass, I enjoy going to my husband and son’s hockey games, my daughter’s dance competition, hanging with my best friends, taking pictures, scrapbooking, and reading the latest romance novel.
I have a slight Disney and Harry Potter obsession, I love things that sparkle, I love the color pink, I might have been a Disney Princess in a past life… probably Belle.
… and did I mention I love hockey?

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2/6/2017

MACK DADDY By Penelope Ward: Excerpt Reveal

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From New York Times bestselling author, Penelope Ward, comes a sexy, STANDALONE second-chance romance.

They called him Mack Daddy. No, seriously, his name was Mack. Short for Mackenzie. Thus, the nickname. Perfect, right?

So was he: perfect. The perfect physical male specimen.

At the private school where I taught, Mack Morrison was the only man around in a sea of women.

Everyone wanted a piece of the hot single father of the sweet little boy.

I was riddled with jealousy, because they didn’t know that—to me—he was much more.

They didn’t know about our past.

He’d chosen my school for his son on purpose, because Mack and I, we had unfinished business.

As my friend Lorelai so eloquently put it: “Unfinished business between two people who are clearly attracted to each other is like an eternal case of blue balls.” And I was suffering in pain from my case.

I was still intensely attracted to Mack. I tried to resist him, immersing myself further into a relationship with another man just to protect my heart.

Not to mention, getting involved with a parent was strictly against school rules. But seeing Mack day in and day out was breaking me down.

And soon I might be breaking all the rules.

Author's note – Told in alternating points of view, Mack Daddy is a full-length standalone novel.

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MACK DADDY EXCERPT

Penelope Ward

It was the evening of our monthly PTO meeting. On the agenda was to designate the volunteers for several fundraisers that would take place in the spring. Setting up the refreshments and a coffee urn in the hallway outside of the classroom, I couldn’t wait to get this over with so that I could go home, get into my pajamas, and relax. It was always exhausting to have evening commitments when the workday ran so late to begin with. A deep voice from behind startled me. “A keg would be much more fun, wouldn’t it?” I turned around to find Mack standing there, holding a box of chocolate chip cookies from the supermarket. “What are you doing here?” He placed the cookies on the table. “This is the parent and teachers meeting, isn’t it?” “Yes, but…” I hesitated, not even knowing what to say. He finished my sentence. “But I’m not supposed to be included in that group?” Mack snapped his finger. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought PTO stood for ‘pissing teacher off.’ My bad.” “Well, if that were the case, you might be in the right place.” “This is the right place for me tonight.” “This meeting is for serious participants.” “I’m serious about the teacher. Does that count?” “No.” “Actually, in all seriousness, I’d also like to help. It’s the least I can do after crashing your school year. I really would like to be as involved as I can in Jonah’s education. That’s the truth, okay? Getting to spend time with you is an added benefit.” What could I say? He had just as much right to be here as anyone else. “Just be aware that this isn’t the right place to be joking around or distracting the other attendees, for that matter.” “I don’t plan on distracting anyone but you.” “Yeah, well you have quite the fan base here. We have a very strict agenda to adhere to.” He moved in closer and just stared me down for a bit. The contact caused my skin to prickle and my nipples to harden. “Don’t worry,” he said as he looked down, seeming to notice that my nipples were piercing through the fabric of my shirt. “Your points are well noted, Miss O’Hara.” He wriggled his brows. “I’ll see you inside.” I hated that he knew he was having an effect on me. If my body had this kind of response now, what would have happened if he’d actually done more? Spontaneous impregnation? Some things just never change, and my reaction to this man was an example of that. A long table sat in the middle of the spare classroom where we held the meeting. There wasn’t a single man in the room besides Mack. He was like the centerpiece. I took my seat at the end of the table. “So, shall we get started?” Looking down at my list, I said, “First on the agenda is the book fair. We need to elect someone to be in charge of it and coordinate the volunteers.” Mack raised his hand. “Yes?” I asked. “That sounds like it’s right down my alley. I’d like to volunteer to run the book fair.” “What makes you want that task? It’s a lot of responsibility.” He thought about it for a moment then said, “I write children’s books. I think I’d be a perfect fit.” “That’s a good point,” one of the women said. “He might be the perfect fit.” I’m sure you’re thinking he’d be the perfect fit, alright…in your vagina. “Okay…but I hope you know that there is a tremendous amount of work that goes into organizing that particular event. It takes place over the course of an entire weekend. You have to place orders with the bookseller, do inventory, delegate tasks, and arrange for an onsite food vendor because many people just come for the food. Ultimately, the food is the bait.” “I can bait people. I’m a master baiter.” He paused. “I mean…I can handle it. I’ll get a shitload of people to sign up.” An attending nun gave him a dirty look for his use of foul language. He cleared his throat, seeming to regret his choice of terminology. “I’ll get people to attend. Don’t worry.” “I’ll put your name down as a possibility. We’ll take a vote at the end.” “Thank you.” Looking around the room, I asked, “Is there anyone else here who is interested in taking the reigns on the book fair?” Not a single person budged. One woman said, “No, but I’ll be happy to help Mack with whatever he needs.” I’m sure you will. Mack nodded then offered a smug smile. “Thank you.” He then took a bite of his cookie and winked at me. Jeans Teaser

Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. She’s a fifteen-time New York Times bestseller of twelve novels. Having grown up in Boston with five older brothers, she spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor, before switching to a more family-friendly career. She is the proud mother of a beautiful 12-year-old girl with autism and a 10-year-old boy. Penelope and her family reside in Rhode Island. Connect with Penelope Ward Facebook Fan Group | Facebook | Website |Twitter | Instagram

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2/6/2017

Cover reveal Damnable Grace by Tillie Cole.

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Releasing April 18th

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2/6/2017

Embody By SE Hall: New Release

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Title: Embody Author: S.E. Hall Genre: New Adult Romance

My world changed when I met Bellamy Morgan. Just one problem — she's my little sister's best friend.

I'm not "damaged." No horrible childhood or demons in my past I'm trying to outrun. In fact, my family is ideal — funny, supportive and filled with couples that all follow "our" golden rule: Find her. Protect her. Love only her, with everything you are, every day, for the rest of your life. So why is it the mere thought of a monogamous relationship, more than one night with the same woman, sends me bolting in the other direction? Because I hadn't met Bellamy Morgan yet. When I do cross paths with her, everything starts to slowly make sense. Why men change overnight — suddenly blind to all women but her, happy to hold her purse and watch corny movies. Just one problem — she's my little sister's best friend. Embody is a spin-off, STANDALONE novel from the bestselling Evolve Series.

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AU iBooks | B&N

JT Going to fucking attack her. In the nicest way possible of course, but attack nonetheless. She expects me to sit still, way over here, when I could be on her in one move? Sliding my tongue over the firm swells about to topple out of her top. Inching those little panties down her long, smooth legs to sink my face into her sweet, bare pussy. Yeah, this isn’t gonna work for me. My baby’s smokin’ hot body is barely hidden, a few teasing strips of lace the only things standing between me and fucking nirvana. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t show her, Right. Now. How good I can make her feel? And what has gotten into her? My sweet, shy, virginal Bellamy has gone all wildcat on me…not that I’m complaining, just wondering is all. She knows I’m looking my fill; her cheeks flushed a beautiful, innocent pink, her chest rising and falling with her shallow breaths. God, I want her. Want to devour every single part of her, slowly the first time—memorizing all the trembles, whimpers and soft moans I know she’ll give me. Then start over, like a fucking savage—biting, sucking and tasting until she begs me inside her, never to leave. I hear my own deep, frenzied breaths as I adjust my rock-hard cock, threatening to bust out of my zipper. Feeling the leak of pre-cum, the deep, pulling ache in my balls. “Jefferson,” she purrs my name, uncrossing her legs only to sexily cross them again. “I see I have your undivided attention, so there’s a few things we need to discuss.” “Do I want to eat you out? Yes.” She gasps, as though offended, but the sheer lace betrays her, showcasing her nipples that harden into sharp little points, begging for my mouth. Her lids droop lazily and a desire, need, matching my own shapes her raspy voice. “No, and don’t be so vulgar. We already talked about lying, so we won’t rehash that. We will, however, move on to other behaviors that need rectified. I believe in positive reinforcement and since you speak Mars and I speak Venus, we’re gonna learn to meet in the middle and speak Earth. Thus, my risqué ensemble.” “I don’t care if we talk in Neptunish, so long as you keep wearing it. Or let me take it off you,” I practically howl, nearing my breaking point. “The car,” she breezes right over my reasonable request and states in a no-nonsense voice. “I didn’t want it, and don’t feel comfortable having it forced upon me. Jefferson, what you need to learn is how to harness your protective, alpha instinct in a way that makes me want what you want. It’s called finesse. The fine line between turning me on so much that I can’t wait to make you happy and pissing me off so bad I want to slap you, again. Now, tell me what would be a better way to approach that type of thing next time.” She brushes her long, auburn locks behind her shoulders, giving me an unencumbered view of her chest and beautiful, mouthwatering cleavage. And I’m supposed to think? “Baby,” I try not to whine like a virgin with the tip already in, “I don’t know the answer. Help me out here, I’m dying.” “Why did you insist on the car?” She may be trying to pull off “emboldened,” but her hand trembles as she lowers one thin strap of her top a few inches off her shoulder, baring just a hint of one swollen, dark pink areola. I groan in actual pain, shifting again to give my swelling cock some room to suffer. “Because I care about you, very much, and the thought of your long bus rides with God only knows how many horny, ill-mannered men makes me crazy. With a car, you can sleep in, sit down and have a decent breakfast, toss your books in the backseat and give us more time to spend together. Time we currently spend chasing each other around town because of bus schedules, my job and miscommunication.” “That’s what you should have said, discussed with me before pulling into the dealership. Do you see the difference?” “I see part of your nipple.” I scoot to the edge of the couch. She shakes her head with an exasperated tsk and no, God, no…pulls the strap back up. “Okay, I get it! Pull it back down, baby.” “Try it. Pretend it’s yesterday and talk to me about your car idea.” She grins, thriving on my torture. Any thought I’ve ever had about luring Bellamy out of her shell, building her comfort level to be physical with me…this is not what I had in mind. Leave it to my feisty lil’ woman to switch up the plans on me. I begin to recite the same speech I just gave her, inserting a “please,” “whatever you want,” and “totally up to you” as often as I can. When I’ve said all I can possibly think of in a deep, sexy voice, I wait. “Very good, babe. Remember that though next time you get some crazy idea on rearranging my life or bossing me into something. I don’t want lip service. I want mutual respect, and sexy assertion that I can’t resist, even when I’m clothed.” She dazzles me with a disarming smile…and lowers the left strap all the way down. Fucking beautiful. Real, round, high, firm and topped with a rosy nipple of the perfect size. My chest vibrates with my approving rumble, my lips and fingers both twitching for a sample. “Bellamy,” I warn her, feral and untamed, scooting closer, the very edge of the couch quickly disappearing. “Stay put, Jefferson. I mean it. We’re not done. I’ll be paying the sales tax and the fee to register the car. And if things between us don’t work out, I’ll be giving it back.” Precious. But wrong. So wrong. “The sales tax was paid as part of the deal. If paying to register it makes you happy, fine. As for the other,” I slowly inhale, weighing the consequences, and decide to go on, “I don’t want to think about us not working out.” “I don’t either,” she smiles sweetly. Glad she agrees because not working out simply isn’t an option. “You’re quite the quick study, Jefferson.” Her hooded, jade eyes hold my gaze prisoner as she slips the right strap down over the tan slope of her shoulder. Her whole, gorgeous chest is bared to me now, skin flushing under my unwavering, lascivious stare. My girl is stacked. If I wasn’t a “boob guy” before…I sure as hell am now. “Baby, damn. I have to touch you,” I growl, starting to rise.

[embed]https://open.spotify.com/user/evolveauthor/playlist/2qLBr8Qn9OrXHVmz2n6s4e[/embed]

S.E. Hall, lover of all things anticipation and romance, is the author of The Evolve Series: Emerge, Embrace, Entangled, Entice, Endure and companion novellas Baby Mama Drama and Guide for Tools Looking to Date My Daughter by character Sawyer Beckett. S.E. also wrote the standalone, Finally Found novels Pretty Instinct and Pretty Remedy and her latest release, standalone, contemporary romance Unstable. Her co-written works include The Provocative Professions Collection: Stirred Up, Packaged and Handled 1&2, One Naughty Night and full-length, standalone novels Matched and Filthy Foreign Exchange with Angela Graham as well as Conspire, a romantic suspense, written with Erin Noelle. S.E. resides in Arkansas with her husband of 20 years and 3 daughters of the home. When not writing or reading, she can be found “enthusiastically cheering” on one of her girls’ softball games.

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2/6/2017

Release Blitz: WAR POPPY by Nicole Lynne!

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War Poppy by Nicole Lynne is LIVE!

Stevie J. Cole & LP Lovell have come together to bring an emotional book that you will not forget!

BUY NOW!

US: http://amzn.to/2jPtT8T
UK: http://amzn.to/2hTX9dY
CA: http://amzn.to/2jdyDV4
AU: http://amzn.to/2jdz168

Blurb

Poppy

Love and war. Two words that should have little association, but to me the two go hand in hand. Both are a tragedy. They rip you open and spit you out. The war killed my husband, Connor, shattered my will to live, and took my best friend. Brandon may not have physically died in that war, but his soul did. And now we're left to pick up the wreckage. Expected to move on when all that is left is the ruins of a life we once had.

Brandon

War. It took everything from me, even myself. When you're only able to exist, death seems like a blessing. Pain...a welcome distraction. I ran from everything associated with my past, and then she found me, fighting, drowning myself in whisky, trying to forget. She reminds me of Connor, of what I've lost—what we've lost. In the midst of destruction, she's a salvation I don't deserve.

I shouldn't love him.

I shouldn't love her.

Love is a war we never should have fought.

ADD TO GOODREADS: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33132474-war-poppy

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Book 2, War Hope is releasing May 2, 2017

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AU: http://amzn.to/2k7owOH
AUTHOR BIOS AND LINKS

STEVIE J. COLE

Stevie J. Cole lives deep in the woods of Alabama with her husband and two precious daughters. She studied Epidemiology concentrating on cancer research but has always had a passion for writing. Some of her stories will strip you bare, some will give you nightmares, but the one thing she can promise is that she will always give you stories that make you feel.

Raw. Gritty. Love.
Because sometimes characters need to be flawed.

P.S. Stevie's greatest fear is the impending zombie apocalypse. Think about it: swarming armies of decaying, oozing corpses stumbling around with clicking teeth, trying to eat your face. Nothing about that is good. NOTHING!

Website: http://www.steviejcole.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/StevieJCole
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorsteviejcole

LP LOVELL

Lauren Lovell is an indie author from England.

She suffers from a total lack of brain to mouth filter and is the friend you have to explain before you introduce her to anyone, and apologise for afterwards.

Lauren is a self-confessed shameless pervert, who may be suffering from slight peen envy.

LP loves to hear from readers so please get in touch.

Website: http://www.lplovell.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Authorlplovell
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lplovellauthor

GIVEAWAY

There is a giveaway for 20 signed paperbacks (selection of Stevie J. Cole’s and LP Lovell’s books), $50 Amazon gift card & 2 x $25 Amazon gift cards
Direct Link:http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/cd3f44667

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Park Avenue Prince by Louise Bay Release Date: February 13th Genre: Contemporary Romance

Park Avenue Prince, an all-new contemporary romance by Louise Bay is now LIVE!!!

THE PRINCE OF PARK AVENUE FINALLY MEETS HIS MATCH IN A FEISTY MANHATTAN PRINCESS.

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This is Me, Baby

About K. Webster

From New York Times bestselling author, Penelope Ward, comes a sexy, STANDALONE second-chance romance.

They called him Mack Daddy. No, seriously, his name was Mack. Short for Mackenzie. Thus, the nickname. Perfect, right?

So was he: perfect. The perfect physical male specimen.

At the private school where I taught, Mack Morrison was the only man around in a sea of women.

Everyone wanted a piece of the hot single father of the sweet little boy.

I was riddled with jealousy, because they didn’t know that—to me—he was much more.

They didn’t know about our past.

He’d chosen my school for his son on purpose, because Mack and I, we had unfinished business.

As my friend Lorelai so eloquently put it: “Unfinished business between two people who are clearly attracted to each other is like an eternal case of blue balls.” And I was suffering in pain from my case.

I was still intensely attracted to Mack. I tried to resist him, immersing myself further into a relationship with another man just to protect my heart.

Not to mention, getting involved with a parent was strictly against school rules. But seeing Mack day in and day out was breaking me down.

And soon I might be breaking all the rules.

Author's note – Told in alternating points of view, Mack Daddy is a full-length standalone novel.

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MACK DADDY EXCERPT

Copyright © 2016 by

Penelope Ward

Title: Embody Author: S.E. Hall Genre: New Adult Romance

My world changed when I met Bellamy Morgan. Just one problem — she's my little sister's best friend.

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Author: Janice

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