Wednesday, November 20, 2019

BOOK BLITZ: Back to You this Christmas by S.L. Sterling #GIVEAWAY


Back to You this Christmas
S.L. Sterling
Publication date: November 22nd 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Bah-humbug!
This Christmas, all I wanted was to wallow in self-pity until the woman I thought was the love of my life could explain why she left me at the altar. Instead, my buddy, Zach forced holiday merriment on me. I thought it was going to be a tinsel-laced nightmare… until his sister, Alexa, showed up. Turns out, she grew up into a gorgeous present I was insanely tempted to unwrap. Lucky for me, she shared my desire to meet under the metaphorical mistletoe… and let things heat up from there.
For the first time in months, Laura, my ex, wasn’t haunting my thoughts like the Ghost of Christmas Past. Which, of course, is exactly why she had to pick that moment to call and say she wanted to talk. I could only hope St. Nick had a playbook in his sleigh because things were about to get complicated.
From author S.L. Sterling comes a sizzling holiday romance hot enough to roast your chestnuts!
EXCERPT:
I was still awake at two in the morning. I was now lying in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. I had heard Zach come in around twelve-thirty and heard Mom and Dad come up to bed shortly after that. The house was now quiet, except for the sound of Dad snoring off in the distance. I lay in the warmth of my bed, my mind still reeling with thoughts of Drew, alone, across the hall. Drew had everything: good looks, a great job, he was successful, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why some girl who’d had him would ever let him go. I’d give anything for a chance with a guy like him. Well, not just any guy, and here she was just throwing him away as if he were last night’s trash.
I rolled over onto my side and let out a sigh. I needed to get my mind off him, and knowing he was right across the hall wasn’t helping. The first thought that came to my mind as I rolled back over and stared up at the ceiling was cake. Mom had a coconut cream cake downstairs in the fridge, and the more I thought of it, the more I wanted a piece.
Finally, the craving won and I got up, threw on a pair of socks, and slipped out of my room. The house was silent, and I tiptoed down the stairs, carefully avoiding the creaky steps. I could see a tiny light that we always left on in the kitchen. I came around the corner to see Drew, shirtless, his sleep pants hung low on his hips, standing with his back to me. He hadn’t seen me, or so I thought, and I was about to scurry back up the steps when he spoke.
“Hey, you want some cake?” he asked, holding out a plate with a slice on it. I came slowly around the corner, my eyes firmly planted on his chest and abs. Fuck. The man looked like one of the lingerie models I had photographed. He was so cut and well-defined. When my eyes met his, I saw him take a quick glance down my body, and that was when I realized I was in nothing but a short T-shirt and panties.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked, taking the plate from his hand. My fingers brushed his, the contact sending a jolt through my body.
“No, and I couldn’t get the thought of cake out of my mind either. Your mom makes damn good cake, and this one just happens to be my favorite,” Drew said, watching as I tried to hide my half-naked body behind the counter, a half-smile coming to his lips.
“What’s so funny?” I asked as he turned and cut another slice of cake, placing it on another plate.
He turned around with fork in hand and dug into the soft, moist cake. He leaned up against the counter, his eyes roaming what he could see of my body as he ate. “I just think that it’s cute that you are trying to hide from me. Especially when you don’t need to hide from me, Lexi. I’ve known you pretty much your entire life. I’ve seen you in less clothing than that. We spent many summers all together by the pool.”
I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. “I’m not hiding. I just wasn’t expecting anybody to be up at this time. Besides, I’m not exactly dressed for a friendly chat. You’ve known me all your life, with clothes on,” I said, nervously laughing, and stepped around the corner of the island, setting my plate down.
“So, look at me!” he exclaimed, holding his hands out to the side like he was putting himself on display. “Do I look like I’m dressed for a friendly chat?”
“Yeah, look at you, Mr. Eight-Pack.” I rolled my eyes. “Do you want some milk?” I asked, holding the corner of my shirt down and raising my arm up into the cupboard for a glass.
“Sure.”
I could feel his eyes burning into me as I reached for another glass and got the milk out of the fridge. I quickly poured two glasses and turned around, only to see him still staring at me. I did my best to ignore it and slid his glass over to him, returning to my slice of cake. I tried hard to avoid eye contact with him, but it was almost impossible, and when I checked him out again, I could see the outline of his semi-rigid cock through his sleep pants. I bit my lower lip and ate the last bite of the cake on my plate. Drew was already done with his and had put his plate into the sink. I walked over and put my plate in the sink on top of his while he put the cake back into the fridge.
I was about to turn around to grab his glass when I felt the heat of his body against my back. I could barely breathe and was afraid to move, so I grabbed the dishcloth, preparing to wash up the dishes we had used. I turned toward the sink and was just about to turn the water on when I felt his fingers dance along the edge of my panty-line. Drew was touching me. Drew, the same boy who used to pick on me, was now standing behind me, a man, running his fingers against my bare skin. His touch was almost paralyzing as I struggled to breathe. He was so close to me that I could feel the light puff of his breath on the back of my neck. I could feel myself get instantly wet, and I bit my lower lip and closed my eyes as his fingers tickled along the side of my belly to grip the edge of my T-shirt and pull it down to cover over my ass.
As soon as I was covered, he leaned in, his scent intoxicating, and whispered in my ear, “Thanks for the cake. Good night, Lexi.”
I closed my eyes. His hands were still grazing my skin, and I stood there allowing the room to spin around me. His hands then went to my hips and rested there for a couple of seconds, his warm touch searing into my skin, and then, as quickly as he was there, he was gone. The heat from his touch was gone. I turned around. He hadn’t gone far; he was leaning against the other counter across from me, intensely watching me. I looked into his eyes and caught a glimpse of what I was sure was want.
At first, the look scared me a little because, well, this was Drew. He then stepped closer to me, the closeness of his body making my nipples harden. I watched his eyes leave mine and look down at my lips, the silence around us almost deafening. I was almost sure he was going to lean in and kiss me, but the sound of the house settling caused him to back away.
Without saying a word, he left the kitchen and made his way back upstairs to his bedroom, leaving me alone in the dim light of the kitchen.



Author Bio:
S.L. Sterling was born and raised in southern Ontario. She now lives in Northern Ontario Canada and is married to her best friend and soul mate and their two dogs.
An avid reader all her life, S.L. Sterling dreamt of becoming an author. She decided to give writing a try after one of her favorite authors launched a course on how to write your novel. This course gave her the push she needed to put pen to paper and her debut novel "It Was Always You" was born.
When S.L. Sterling isn't writing or plotting her next novel she can be found curled up with a cup of coffee, blanket and the newest romance novel from one of her favorite authors on her e-reader. Her favorite authors include Kendall Ryan, Vi Keeland, Penelope Ward, Lauren Blakely, Alessandra Torre and Willow Winters.
In her spare time, she enjoys camping, hiking, sunny destinations, spending quality time with family and friends and of course reading.

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BOOK BLITZ: Freeing Eden by G.S. Kenney #GIVEAWAY


Freeing Eden
G.S. Kenney
Published by: Soul Mate Publishing
Publication date: May 29th 2019
Genres: New Adult, Romance, Science Fiction

A unique take on the eternal quandary of “good” versus “evil.”
— Joan D. Vinge, Hugo Award-winning author of The Snow Queen

All trader Zara wanted was to help Kell, a clone, retrieve his maker’s memories and discover who he really is. The conflict-torn planet Eden was supposed to be just a stop en route, but Kell begins recalling fragments of memories from Swifthammer, Eden’s now-deceased resistance leader. Despite Zara’s misgivings, Kell assumes Swifthammer’s role, opposing the planet’s foreign warlord Reuel.
But Reuel’s schemes take a dangerous turn when it becomes clear he has tampered with Kell’s programming. Could the memories Kell now begins to experience be . . . Reuel’s?
Kell struggles to bring peace to Eden by uniting his maker’s heritage with that of the planet’s oppressor, but Zara fears she may be losing her heart to the man who is poised to become Eden’s next and most terrible warlord. Can she help Kell find an identity all his own–and a future they can share together?
EXCERPT:
At seventeen thirty local time, a low, melodious chime sounded in the room.
Zara sighed. “Thirty minute warning.”
The clone had his arm over her shoulder, and she rested her cheek contentedly on his chest. She could feel his heart beating, and his light breathing stirred her hair.
“I hope you’ve gotten used to all my talking by now.” She twisted beneath his arm so that she could face him. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could talk, too?” Zara stroked the clone’s cheek, and a slight smile came and went across his lips. “I almost believe you could.” She looked longingly at him. “And then I would say, Hello, my name is Zara. Za-ra.” She pronounced the word carefully. “And you would say, My name is . . . Now, what would your name be?”
“Kell,” said the baseclone.
Zara pulled back, her pulse pounding. “What? What did you say?” The baseclone looked at her with his habitual open gaze, head slightly tilted, as if waiting for something that didn’t really matter. He said nothing.
Zara felt a lump in her throat, coupled with an almost desperate urgency. “Please. Please say it again. What is your name?” He watched her silently and then hesitantly touched her cheek, looking for all the world as if he were trying to comfort her.
Zara took his hand away from her cheek, kissed his palm softly, and then wrapped the hand firmly in her own. She met his gaze and held it. “Tell me your name. Please. I really want to know.”
A tear rolled down the baseclone’s cheek, and then another, and Zara felt that her heart would break. “Why are you crying?” she whispered. “Have I hurt you? I didn’t mean to.” Softly, her fingers traced the track of the tear down his cheek.
Watching her as if mesmerized, the baseclone spoke, slowly. “My . . . name . . .” There was a pause long enough to make Zara believe that he would not speak again. Then he added, “. . . is . . . Kell.”
Zara let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and she allowed herself to fall back against Kell’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her.
“Kell,” she repeated.
The chime sounded two long tones.
Zara sighed. “Twenty minute warning. I can’t leave you here. In this place. This life. By all of space, Kell, you are not a baseclone. There’s no control unit in your dataport, but you’ve been watching and responding to me. I could begin to believe there might be some kind of advanced baseclone I don’t know about that can do some of that, but you—you have feelings. You were crying! And you understand me and can answer, which means you have some intelligence, even language. You’re not a baseclone, and you don’t belong here.”
She stood up and walked to the mirror that was mounted on the wall opposite the couch. Straightening her hair’s disarray, Zara watched him in the mirror as he watched her in turn.
“The papers attached to my contract show you were discharged as a baseclone, but I can’t believe it.” She took out her comm. “I’ve transported baseclones, so I have access to the discharge database on Bigollo.” She spoke the access code and her password and authenticated her identity with a thumbscan. “I’ll use your ID number from the contract.” As data appeared on the small screen, she frowned, shook her head, and rekeyed the number.
She shook her head again, more stubbornly. “Something’s wrong here. The database on Bigollo says that you died in the tank, and the body was disposed of a month and a half ago.” She rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. “But clearly you’re not dead, because a couple of weeks ago you turned up here on Lesurat as a baseclone with no name and no owner. But that’s false, too. You’re a trueclone, not a baseclone. So what’s going on?”
He watched her openly, patiently.
“I can’t get into the database of creators. There was no need, since I was dealing only with baseclones on that job. There’s no clue in the data I have as to who or where your creator might be.”
The chime sounded several times, insistently.
“Ten minutes. Not enough time to figure this out. So let’s just focus on the urgent question, which is, what are we going to do about it?”
She began pacing up and down the small room. “If the administrators on Bigollo knew you were a trueclone, you wouldn’t have been sold here. So most likely, they don’t know. That means all I have to do is tell the manager, and he will do the right thing, whatever that is. Return you to the lab, I guess, so that your creator can be found and notified.”
She sighed again and turned back to Kell. “On the other hand, this is Lesurat we’re talking about. That man is as greedy as the rest of them. Even if he’s honest, he’ll want very much to doubt me. His purchase papers are in order, and so are the baseclone discharge papers from Bigollo. He’ll rely on them. He’ll ask himself, What would a spacer know? And he’ll answer, Nothing. She’s mistaken.
Zara pulled at Kell’s arm. “Sit up straight, Kell. I’m talking to you. We have to figure this out, and we don’t have much time.”
Kell obeyed.
“If he’s not so ethical, the situation will be the same, or worse. He’ll pretend very graciously to accept my comments and thank me profusely and just continue doing what he’s doing with you.” A shiver ran down her back. “I can’t bear to think about that.”
As if sensing her distress, Kell touched her arm gently.
“Thanks, Kell.” Zara managed a smile that she hoped would pass for reassuring. “You’re so much more than a normal baseclone. But touching is not what I need right now. What I need is an idea. I don’t suppose you would have that?” She looked at him quizzically, not entirely sure that he wouldn’t, but Kell said nothing. He watched her impassively, waiting.
Zara sighed. “No, I suppose not. If you’d had an idea, you would have been out of here days ago, right? I guess I have to figure this out by myself. So, let’s see . . . we aren’t going to get any help from the manager here. That means it’s up to me. Kell, listen. If I can get you out of here, would you want to come with me?”
Zara studied the clone, but his open expression didn’t change, gave no clue to what he might be thinking. If anything, she reminded herself. But he looked so vulnerable that her heart ached. “Now, come on. Answer me. If I’m going to put myself on the line for you, I need to know how you feel about it. Would you want to come with me?”
Those beautiful blue-in-blue eyes studied her, seemed to be giving the question some thought. But he didn’t answer.
What had she expected?
“Yes.”
Zara jumped. “What?”
“Yes,” he said. “With you.”

Author Bio:
Author G. S. Kenney started reading early, and never stopped. In kindergarten, drawn in by an interesting book with a picture of three witches at a cauldron, she learned to read by starting with Macbeth. Now she writes speculative fiction. Her science-fiction romance novel Freeing Eden, published by Soul Mate Publishing, was a 2018 finalist in the Golden Heart® contest of the Romance Writers of America. The Last Lord of Eden, the second novel in the Ascent of Eden series, will be published by Soul Mate soon.

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Tuesday, November 19, 2019

BOOK BLITZ: Twisted Surprise by Emery Jacobs #GIVEAWAY


Twisted Surprise
Emery Jacobs
(A Twisted Fate Christmas Novella)
Publication date: November 15th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
It’s the most wonderful time of the year…
Or at least it’s supposed to be. With the holidays quickly approaching, Jovie is looking forward to spending some quality time with her boyfriend Jack.
First a family Thanksgiving in Brownsboro, Georgia with her parents, followed by a magical Christmas with their friends back in Houston.
But Jack’s disappearing act leaves Jovie wondering if their relationship will even survive the holidays.
Ready for a Twisted Surprise? Unwrap this romantic Christmas tale to find out what Jack’s been hiding!
EXCERPT:
“Merry Christmas, baby,” Jack whispers, his warm breath dancing across the skin below my ear.
I rub my eyes, turn my head to face him, and smile. “Merry Christmas.”
His fingers skim across my bare arm then slide in between mine, squeezing my hand gently.
“Did you sleep good?”
I nod. “Yeah, actually I did.” I don’t remember much after drifting off to sleep last night, which I usually equate to a good night’s sleep.
“How about you? Was the couch good to you?” I motion toward the small sofa beside the bed and cringe. There is no way anyone could sleep well on that tiny thing, but knowing Jack, he’ll lie and say he did just so I won’t feel bad that he stayed the night.
He barks out a laugh before rubbing his neck. “I slept better than I have in years.”
“I doubt that.” I hesitate for a second. “But thank you… for staying.”
“You couldn’t have made me leave even if you wanted to.”


Author Bio:
Emery grew up in Southern Arkansas and has lived most of her adult life in Northern Louisiana.
She spends her days working as a Nurse Practitioner in rural health and her nights reading, writing, and occasionally sleeping.
She loves real life romance…lots of angst and heartbreak, but always a happy ending.


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BOOK BLITZ: Two Thousand Lines by Michelle Jester


Two Thousand Lines
Michelle Jester
Publication date: November 21st 2019
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance, Young Adult

Olivia Brooks has been able to keep her life in Sugar Mill, Louisiana held perfectly together, far away from the small town where she grew up. Even though her past still haunts her, she has found a perfect process of surviving, until a string of events brings Luke Plaisance to Sugar Mill and turns her organized life upside down.

While Olivia fights to hold on to the life she’s created, unraveling it may be exactly what it takes for her to truly survive. She must accept her past in order to live, or let it threaten the only future she’s ever wanted. Because some secrets can’t stay buried… and shouldn’t.

An inspiring and heartbreaking tale of abandonment, survival, and purpose. A harrowing journey of self-discovery and perseverance.
EXCERPT:
Luke saw her red face and swollen eyes.
“Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
“No need. Besides, maybe I just cut an onion.”
“I’m not asking you why, Olivia, but also don’t feel like you have to lie to me. It’s none of my business and I know that. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”
“Then why are you here?” she turned abruptly to face him, obviously angered.
“I like cinnamon rolls.”
“You also don’t have to lie either.”
“Mama Gigi,” Luke responded quietly.
“What?” Olivia bowed her head slightly.
“Mama Gigi. She said when I smell cinnamon and baking bread, if I look over here and your kitchen door is open, and I quote, ‘go to her and stay until she’s safe.’”
Olivia looked up with tears welling in her eyes again, “I’ll be sure to close my door next time.”
“No, you won’t. Mama Gigi said you will always have your door open when you make them. She thought whatever you were mourning was pretty strong, ‘cause it obviously made you feel suffocated.”
“I miss her. I miss her so much.”
Luke stood quickly and went to Olivia. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her. But, as he got closer she stepped back, so he stopped.
“I can’t leave until you’re safe.”
“I’m never safe,” she whispered.
“You’ve been safe since I got here.”


Author Bio:

Michelle Jester lives in Greenwell Springs, Louisiana with her husband, high school sweetheart and retired Master Sergeant. Together they have a son and daughter. She is a hopeless romantic and has been writing poems and stories for as long as she can remember.
One of her prize possessions is a bracelet with only a yellow, Rubber Duckie charm on it; which she wears every day to remind her to enjoy the fun and happy things of life!

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Monday, November 18, 2019

BOOK BLITZ: Begin with Me by Claudia Y. Burgoa #GIVEAWAY


Begin with Me
Claudia Y. Burgoa
(Chaotic Love #1)
Publication date: July 24th 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
From the outside, Abby’s life looks like a fairytale.
Loving family, wealthy lifestyle, education at a prestigious university. The truth? She’s barely managing to survive. Few know the nightmare she lived before she was adopted. And no one knows the secret agony that still haunts her nightmares.
With a degree from Berkeley, she could have gone anywhere, but she’s back in Colorado. Not for a fresh start—fresh starts are only an illusion—but for Wes Ahern. Her protector, who throws around words like “therapy” and “talk to me.” Her brother in every way but blood. The one man she wishes could be so much more.
Maybe, just this once, she can stop running from her demons.
But does she dare let Wes see inside the darkest closets of her pain…or will love be the biggest mistake of her life?
Only 99¢ for a limited time!
EXCERPT:
I can pinpoint the moment when Abigail Lyons lost her optimism. It was the day her grandmother died. That’s when I began to talk about myself in third person, imagining the worst that could happen and learning to dissociate when my brain couldn’t handle the input.
It was the same day I stopped laughing with ease and speaking my mind confidently. At sixteen though, that’s when I went quiet for good. The day I lost all hope, became swallowed by loneliness—leaving nothing more than a scared bundle of nerves who wanted to jump out of her own skin. At twenty-three not much has changed. But I try to hide my flaws and fears. Somedays I’m brave enough to fight against my mind to conquer the latter. Other days, I’m not so lucky.
Like my fear of flying with a bunch of strangers. As the plane takes off, I close my eyes, hold onto my bracelet, and count the crystals. I’m not a fan of airplanes. They’re too small, there are too many people on board and anything could happen during the flight. Though, according to my best friend, Wes, the probabilities of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million. He once explained to me that it’s more likely to be hit by a meteorite, drown in my own bathtub, or get mauled by a bear in Yellowstone than die in a plane crash.
He might be right about those statistics. But logic doesn’t apply to my phobia. Every time a plane takes off, my heart beats faster than a cheetah hunting for her next meal and sweat drips down my back. Honestly, I’m not afraid that the plane will lose altitude or collide with another aircraft. I fear that I’ll crash emotionally during the flight. The question for me isn’t whether or not the pilot loses control. My mind is asking, what if I have a full-blown panic attack in an environment where I don’t have control or any means for emotional release?
When the pilot announces that we’re allowed to turn on our laptops and move around the cabin, I put on my wireless headphones and turn on my music. If I’m lucky, the two glasses of wine I downed before boarding, plus the one I drank before takeoff, might help me sleep during the almost three-hour flight. If I’m asleep, I won’t have to think about the people around me. Or the possibility of him finding me once I’m back in Denver.
My throat tightens at the mere thought of seeing him again. I shut my eyes, squeezing them hard. My body trembles. It’s been so long that he shouldn’t have any effect on me. I count, controlling my breathing. But it’s impossible to calm myself when the images of what happened that night come back. The voices are back too. My heart beats wildly.
Please, God, help me.
Not now.



Author Bio:
Claudia is an award-winning, USA Today bestselling author. She lives in Colorado, working for a small IT. She has three children and manages a chaotic household of two confused dogs, and a wonderful husband who shares her love of all things geek. To survive she works continually to find purpose for the voices flitting through her head, plus she consumes high quantities of chocolate to keep the last threads of sanity intact.

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BOOK BLITZ: Alee by Nicole Loufas #GIVEAWAY


Alee
Nicole Loufas
Publication date: November 19th 2019
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Young Adult
With just weeks left before her high school graduation, Alee dumps with her sunshine stealing boyfriend in epic fashion – by sleeping with his best friend.
Since bad things happen in three, becoming the school slut is just the beginning.
A mass shooting steals the life of Alee’s Olympic-bound best friend and a homeless drug addict turns out to be the father who abandoned Alee as a child.
With a backpack full of daddy-issues and a bucket list of broken dreams, Alee searches for light at the end of a very dark tunnel.
Will the man who broke her, be the one who saves her life?
EXCERPT:
Funeral food is like every other party food. Pinwheel sandwiches, mini-meatballs in a brown sauce, wilted salad, and an assortment of cheese and crackers. Laine plucks a cucumber from the tray. He dips it in ranch then shoves it in his mouth with an inappropriately timed sexy smile.
“Bryn hates baby carrots. She said there was something unnatural about them.”
“Toss them.” Laine points to the trash receptacle. “She’s right, they look like fat little baby fingers.” He inspects a dried out digit shaped carrot.
I pick up the tray and carry it to the trash. “This is for Bryn.” The carrots make a raucous as they spill into the bin. A few people glance my way, not for long. Too much eye contact and they’ll have to acknowledge me, speak me, console me.
Laine tosses his carrot in from a few feet away. “Bryn for the win.” He holds pose a few seconds the way Steph Curry does when he hits a three.
We return to the buffet where Frances is speaking to Bryn’s English teacher. She was an honor student so we never had classes together.
“Bryn was smart,” I tell Laine because he’s the only one here who will listen. “She had a 4.0 for, like, ever.”
I remember watching her study, wondering where all that information went. She was like a sponge, absorbing everything around her. Bryn immersed herself in life. She was always moving, always busy with practice of some kind, volunteering, studying, me. I was a project too. She tried like hell to get me involved, get me out of my shell. My spirit animal is a crab; shells are my thing.
Laine and I move to the stage on the other side of the room. A bunch of unattended kids run back and forth squealing like baby pigs. Laine knows a couple of them. They jump on him as soon as he sits down and beg for piggyback rides. He obliges. Laine is a nice guy. I like Laine. That’s probably why I fucked him.
“Are any of these yours?” It’s a joke, but you never know. “That one kind of has your eyes.” I point to the little girl clinging to his back. He gently lets her down and she runs off.
“I volunteer at an after-school program at the rec. At first, it was just something to add to my college applications, but I liked it so I stayed.”
“You really are a good guy, aren’t you?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I owe you an apology, for that day. For sucking you into my shit show. You didn’t deserve that.”
His shoulder leans into mine. “No apology necessary. Honestly, I could tell you and Benny weren’t gonna make it.” Laine is Benny’s best friend, he knows all about Benny’s side chicks. Maybe that’s why he did it. I wonder if Bryn knew it too.


Author Bio:
Nicole was born and raised in California. She claims to be a San Francisco native, however she's lived in both Northern and Southern California. She credits her creativity to the fact that she attended 12 schools between kindergarten and her senior year in high school. Her nomadic childhood allowed her to reinvent herself often. Some might say she was a liar. While others see the stories she told as a coping mechanism. Twelve schools, in six cities, in twelve years - give her a break. Today she channels her storytelling ability into writing novels. Long story short - kids that lie become writers.


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Sunday, November 17, 2019

BOOK BLITZ: Season of '72 by Karen Tomsovic #GIVEAWAY


Season of ’72
Karen Tomsovic
Publication date: October 14th 2019
Genres: Adult Retro Romance
A standalone romantic saga full of angsty emotion that spans the years. If you remember the 1970s or just wish you’d been there, you won’t want to miss this story!
Everyone wants of a piece of Robin Stewart. As he blazes a path across the pop culture landscape of the 1970s, from television sex symbol to rock superstar, he’s the ultimate picture of cool and the romantic fantasy of women everywhere, carrying the hopes and burdens of his show business family on his sexy shoulders. But nobody knows how much alcohol it’s taking to keep up that image, or how terrifying groupies can be. All Robin wants is to claim his own identity. To be loved for himself.
Quietly at his side, Robin’s co-star Christine Keithley is his groupie kryptonite, shielding him from rabid fans. She’s the one person who’s always honest and direct with him. But a dark secret from her past keeps her from giving her heart and soul to him. When Robin walks away from stardom, it means leaving Christine in the past as well.
Years later, they are reunited when an old foe comes to claim all Robin holds dear. Is life giving them another chance? The television season of ’72 is part of their past. After a lifetime apart, do they have the courage to rediscover their love?
EXCERPT:
1972
Robin Stewart had never seen the inside of Christine Keithley’s trailer before. Throughout most of the first season of Golden Gates Mysteries, his costar had barricaded herself inside, drinking gallons of orange juice and pleading a headache. If someone had asked Robin for his diagnosis, he would have said that Christine Keithley was the headache.
A small electric fan ran to dispel the midday heat. The whir provided a backdrop of sound, like a chorus, a running commentary on the undercurrent of awkwardness.
He was pretty sure he’d lost his pursuers somewhere around the three-tiered fountain in the old town square. But to be safe, he would stay with Christine until he was needed on camera or until the commotion died down. At the rate things were going in his life, that probably wouldn’t be until he turned thirty, another eight years—if he made it that long.
Christine looked him over. She had big blue eyes, the watery kind of blue, like an aquamarine. They were so vast and expressive, they seemed capable of holding a sea of pain, not to mention sympathy.
“Girls again?” she asked.
“These weren’t girls.” They definitely weren’t girls in the sense of twelve-year-olds. Teeny-boppers were Jay’s department. Robin’s little brother had a fan club full of them.
“Oh?”
“These were women.” From the looks of their flower-power boutique dresses and teased, sprayed hairdos, they were Beverly Hills types, wives or mistresses of important executives. And they most likely found the prospect of chasing after Robin Stewart more exciting than a sale at Bonwit Teller. They sought out the same thing every other member of the fairer sex did who camped on the streets outside his house or lurked beyond the barricades of Monument Studios: Robin Stewart’s—ahem—corduroys.
“Naked again?” Christine asked.
It wasn’t like Robin had anything against women, naked or otherwise, though of course he preferred the former.
He shook his head. “Not this time.” Robin gave a slight shudder. He’d finally gotten that little intrusion from last week out of his head, and Christine had to go and bring it up.
He’d had a lot of explaining to do that day to Judy, the girl he’d been seeing and had high hopes for. He had just so happened to be giving Judy a tour of the set, along with that week’s guest star, a Tricia Nixon lookalike fresh from Ohio. When Robin had opened his dressing room door and found two strange – and unclothed—women there, he heard a loud scream—he was pretty sure it had come from him.
Robin was jolted out of the memory by Christine holding out her pack of cigarettes. “Here.”
He glanced at the pack with its painted design of a woman in a field of flowers. “Eves? You smoke Eves?” They were one of those brands “for women,” full of long, graceful one-hundreds that had pretty flower-painted filter tips. As if he didn’t feel silly enough, now he would have to smoke those.
Even so, Robin lit up, took a long, refreshing drag, and exhaled. “That was close.”
It wasn’t that Robin had no interest in sowing wild oats. It was just that he wanted to have some say in the matter. And he preferred to be the one doing the pursuing.
As much as he didn’t want to be out there, mobbed by strangers, he also didn’t want to be in a trailer with Christine, who clearly was repulsed by him. No, all he wanted was to play the field with his choice of typical, usual fast girls, like Judy.
“Can you imagine if they found me?” he asked.
“Yes,” Christine said, pressing two fingers to her lips, which he assumed, was a gesture meant to hold back laughter at his expense. “They might have tousled you to death.”
Robin winced. Very funny. “For your information, I happen to have sensitive skin.”
Magnetism or no, he hated being manhandled, or in his case, woman-handled. He was sensitive to the touch, ticklish even, especially to the touch of strangers.
He wriggled in his corduroys at the thought.
“Let me guess.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “The heartbreak of psoriasis?” She put one of the Eves to her mouth and lit up. Her lower lip—full, plump, and practically bee-stung—jutted out in a pout. The effect was quite sensuous. He’d never noticed it before.
Christine tilted her head back and blew. A long plume of smoke shot upward toward the ceiling. The movement gave her an air of self-assurance and maybe projected some French-style ennui and a certain sophisticated pissed-offishness. But if she was aiming for sexy, she had a long way to go.


Author Bio:
Karen Tomsovic writes contemporary love stories that aim for the funny bone as well as the heart. She lives in the Pacific Northwest, where she likes to look out the window from her kitchen table and find new ways to describe clouds. Her two pet parrots, Teddy and Daisy, interrupt her as often as possible.
Like her owner, Daisy loves to devour books. However, she does so in a more literal sense. Teddy makes a great muse. He thinks Karen should include a bird in every book. Karen says she'll try.

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