Monday, March 25, 2019

BOOK BLITZ: Fool's Errand by Ophelia Bell #GIVEAWAY


Fool’s Errand
Ophelia Bell
(Fate’s Fools, #4)
Publication date: March 19th 2019
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance
A lost soul…
You never know what you’ve got until it’s gone. In my case that was literal – I had Ozzie West’s soul and didn’t know it, but now it’s been torn from me and him along with it. I’m afraid I will never get him back.
My heart is broken.
My three mates may try to fill that void, but they don’t understand what he meant to me. They can’t see the memories unlocked by Fate.
Only one man can help, but he’s the one man I’m afraid I can never trust again.
EXCERPT:
“Sing with me,” I whispered as I began to move. I lifted my wet hands from his shoulders to his temples, raking my fingers through his damp curls and holding on, my grip forcing his head to tilt back.
Rohan’s golden gaze fixed on my face, his eyelids fluttering slightly and his breath coming quicker as I fucked him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I want to try . . . ”
He gripped my hips with both hands and took a deep breath. His exhale became a long, plaintive note, his brows creasing with the tension of the first verse of a song to accompany our lovemaking.
The music was the perfect mix of hungry and sweet, and I clung to him as the notes settled inside me. I ached to join in when the tension of the pleasure coiled so tight I needed an outlet before I came too fast, but my voice betrayed me once again. When I tried to sing, the sound just came out as a pitiful croak, so I clamped my mouth shut, focusing on the pleasure to hold back the tears.
I buried my face in his neck, my moan half pleasure, half despair. Rohan stroked the back of my neck, halting mid-verse. “It’ll come back to you, baby. I promise. I’m proof you don’t need a turul soul to sing.”
“Just make love to me,” I whispered, pulling back to look into his eyes. He gazed intently back at me, brow creased and jaw clenched, betraying how my own hurt affected him just as acutely.
I took a deep breath and started rocking my hips again, focusing on the pleasure of our connection as he resumed the song. The music truly helped, even if I couldn’t join in without an instrument.
I let myself get lost in the rhythm he set and the deep notes that rose above the steam. I could draw the pleasure out with him, trusting that he’d let me know when he’d given too much. Rohan urged me on, holding tighter and shifting his hips into mine at a quicker tempo.
The lyrics to the song gave way to his cries of pleasure as we crested together, both of us finding our climax at the same second amid sloshing water and slippery, gasping kisses. Rohan’s strained expression fell into laughter as he relaxed, his skin glowing faintly with my iridescent magic and my own skin glimmering golden and wet.
I sank against him with a sigh, grateful for yet another reprieve from the ever-encroaching threat to my sanity and the added disappointment of losing my voice. Perhaps with enough time and their continued attention, that need would fade and my songs would return. For now, I would enjoy the lucidity when I had it and let them do the singing for me.


Author Bio:
Ophelia Bell loves a good bad-boy and especially strong women in her stories. Women who aren't apologetic about enjoying sex and bad boys who don't mind being with a woman who's in charge, at least on the surface, because pretty much anything goes in the bedroom.
Ophelia grew up on a rural farm in North Carolina and now lives in Los Angeles with her own tattooed bad-boy husband and four attention-whoring cats.
If you'd like to receive regular updates on Ophelia's publications, freebies, and discounts, please subscribe to her mailing list:


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Sunday, March 24, 2019

BOOK BLITZ: Crazy For You by Sophia Henry #GIVEAWAY


Crazy For You
Sophia Henry
(Material Girls, #3)
Publication date: March 21st 2019
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
I’m gonna kill my brother.
I should be in the office keeping our tattoo ink distribution company together. Instead, I’m stuck dealing with a 22-year-old, tatted-up tinkerbell. Em Vicious is a walking, talking contradiction: a sassy, goth fairy with a body inked in flowers, stars, and jewels.
While she’s promoting Ambassador Ink, the flirtatious, free spirit needs a babysitter. And thanks to my brother and his wife who’s about to drop twins, I’m the one who has to accompany her during her tour as a guest artist at tattoo shops across the country over the next four weeks.
Sharing the same space with an immature artist is hard enough, yet something about her has me thinking about my own past.
When the barbs become banter, and desire flourishes from frustration, I should tell her to turn and walk away. I see too much of myself in her–and it scares me. I’m afraid the pressure of money and fame might lead her to the same place it lead me–the peak of a suspension bridge and ready to jump.
CRAZY FOR YOU is a full-length standalone novel in the Material Girls series. Happily Ever After guaranteed. WARNING: Be ready for playful banter, forced proximity, enemies to lovers, and a sexy May-December romance.
EXCERPT:
From Prologue – Emily
Normally, being face-down, ass-up, and waiting to be hand-cuffed would be a welcome Friday night activity.
Too bad it’s Tuesday, and an actual officer of the law is the one doing the cuffing.
Before all the commotion, I’d just fallen into an amazing tranquil lull of relaxation. I barely smoke weed anymore, so I can normally get pretty high off a hit or two, but Fozzie’s water bong has a nasty, dark, film of resin on the inside of the base, which means he barely cleans the thing. I needed four hard hits to get any sensation. A part of me wonders if I’m inhaling black mold instead of marijuana.
Though his couch is probably coated with more disgusting fluids than a motel comforter, I’m sprawled out with my hands clasped behind my head. If I allowed myself to think about how much shit has been spilled and jacked onto this dirty-ass piece of furniture, I’d never even come over, let alone lay on it. But Fozzie’s my oldest friend, and sometimes you suck it up and forget about housekeeping habits for people you love.
Fozzie, or Franklin Thomas the Fourth, which is how our teacher introduced him when he joined our class midway through our third-grade year, sits on the floor sorting packets and counting cash.
“When are you going to stop selling that shit, Foz?” I ask.
“When North Carolina legalizes it,” he responds, holding up a thick stack of bills. “Wanna spread it out on my bed and roll around in it?”
“Nah, we did that last Tuesday,” I tease.
For the record, I have never rolled around in drug money. I may have done it after being paid in cash for the first major back piece I tattooed, but it was totally a joke.
I really wish he’d stop selling weed, but I know he needs the money to make ends meet while his band, Drowned World, carves their place in the music scene. I’ve offered to loan him cash on multiple occasions, but he always turns me down. Stupid male ego shit. Thankfully, they’re climbing the charts fast and getting recognized by more people every day, so he should be able to leave his dealing days behind soon.
I’m not hating on it, because I totally get the hustle. I almost resorted to selling weed back when I first left my parent’s house. But as much as I wanted to piss them off at the time, I knew I’d ruin their reputation if I got busted for something like that and I just couldn’t have that on my conscious. I don’t hate them, I just don’t want to be a part of their lifestyle.
“If you need to use the bathroom, use the one upstairs, okay?” He lifts his head, a shock of bleach blond hair falls, covering one eye. The rest of his head is shaved, except a patch on top that’s been bleached, gelled, and sprayed to stay in place.
“Got it.” I don’t think anything about his request. Fozzie lives with two other guys —and none of them take any steps to keep any of their rooms clean. The bathrooms, especially, are always disgusting.
The electronic, 80’s vibe of Missio’s “Rad Drugz” fills the air, slowing bringing me to another level of relaxation. I’ve almost fallen into a wonderfully hazy state of mind when a booming bang on the door startles me out of my dazed haze. A muffled voice announcing themselves as “the police” calls for us to open the door.
Everything is a blur from there. Probably because my mind immediately switched from a luxurious relaxed state to ultra-paranoid within seconds.
“Fuck!” Fozzie jumps to his feet, kicking the bags of weed under the couch before heading to the door. He glances at me over his shoulder, waiting as I shove the bong between two couch cushions and tug an afghan over it before he opens the door.


Author Bio:
Award-Winning Author, Sophia Henry, is a proud Detroit native who fell in love with reading, writing, and hockey all before she became a teenager. She did not, however, fall in love with snow. So after graduating with an English degree from Central Michigan University, she moved to the warmth of North Carolina for the remainder of her winters.
She spends her days writing books and tweeting too much. When she's not writing, she's chasing adventure with her two high-energy sons, watching her beloved Detroit Red Wings, and rocking out at as many concerts as she can possibly attend.



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BOOK BLITZ: Cassidy by Ebony Olson #GIVEAWAY


Cassidy
Ebony Olson
(Hotel Series, #2)
Publication date: March 22nd 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
There is no better remedy for a broken heart than a holiday with your sisters. Holly Claire arrives in Hawaii determined to forget Benjamin Henderson. Fate wants her to forget him too. In her first six hours, Holly runs into the same delicious man no less than three times. When she literally runs into him, Sean Cassidy becomes determined to make it more. What harm could a holiday fling do?


Author Bio:

Ebony lives in Sydney, Australia, with her husband, daughter, and six cats. She loves to read fantasy, thrillers, and paranormal romance, spending most of her free time with her nose in a book or writing.
Having always possessed an over-active imagination she spent her younger years regaling friends with fantastic stories, holding her audience captive with the passion and suspense of her characters plights.
Now in adulthood, she has numerous published works and shows no signs of stopping her imagination from spreading across as many pages as it can find.



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Saturday, March 23, 2019

BOOK BLITZ: For the Reign by Debbie Cassidy #GIVEAWAY


For the Reign
Debbie Cassidy
(For the Blood #3)
Publication date: March 19th 2019
Genres: Adult, Post-Apocalyptic, Reverse Harem, Urban Fantasy
It’s hardly a fair race when you’re racing against time.
The Fangs and I have the answers we were looking for, but for me those answers come with a death sentence. But I’ll be damned if I got out easy. I’ll be damned if I go out before I can see our mission through.
Just as I’m coming to terms with my fate, hope drops into my lap like a succulent fruit. But hope can be deceptive, and I’m not one for putting all my eggs into on basket. The mission must remain my focus, but with obstacles stacking up, getting to the finish line may just take some divine intervention, but the cost…The cost might be more than I’m willing to pay.
The Vampire Diaries meets The Walking Dead in this Post-Apocalyptic Urban Fantasy with a slow burn Whychoose Romance


Author Bio:
Debbie Cassidy lives in England, Bedfordshire, with her three kids and very supportive husband. Coffee and chocolate biscuits are her writing fuels of choice, and she is still working on getting that perfect tower of solitude built in her back garden. Obsessed with building new worlds and reading about them, she spends her spare time daydreaming and conversing with the characters in her head - in a totally non psychotic way of course. She writes Urban Fantasy, Fantasy and Reverse Harem Fantasy. All her books contain plenty of action, romance and twisty plots.



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BOOK BLITZ: Just Like Animals by Hettie Ivers #GIVEAWAY


Just Like Animals
Hettie Ivers
(Werelock Evolution #5)
Publication date: August 28th 2018
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance
“Hot, humorous, and dirty in the best possible way. Amazingly well written. Highly recommend!!!” —Anna Zaires, New York Times bestselling author
For ten long years, I stayed away to protect her.
I thought I’d successfully subverted my wolf’s instincts where Bethany was concerned.
But when I saw her on that dance floor, my inner beast took over.
I told myself it would be just one dance. One dance and I’d let her go.
I didn’t mean to bite her.
Or f*ck her in the middle of a crowded dance club.
Or kidnap her… again.
NOTE:Just Like Animals is a fast-paced dirty ride” (to quote a reviewer). The romance between the main couple is written to work as a standalone for readers new to the Werelock Evolution world. However, please note that this is book number 5 within the Werelock Evolution series, so it also continues elements of the overarching storyline for the world. 90k word, full-length novel. HEA with NO cheating.
EXCERPT:
“Sir, car’s out front.”
I nodded in acknowledgement, but my feet were rooted to the cement floor of the club, my eyes transfixed by the gyrating blonde, as I tried to determine if I was seeing things.
Nope. It was definitely her. And she was drunk off her ass. Of that there was little doubt. Yet she still displayed an enviable natural rhythm out on the dance floor—with that barely clothed, to-die-for body that I had found myself jerking off to in memory on more than one occasion over the past ten years. More times than was probably healthy given the fact she was strictly off-limits.
More than off-limits. She might as well have been taboo. Maybe that’s what made her so attractive? Or maybe I was just a masochist.
Her girlfriends appeared equally inebriated. Men surrounded her like vultures. Two of them were putting their hands on her. I took a step closer without thinking. Then another.
“Sir?”
I rationalized that I just wanted to confirm it was really her, to see her up close … make certain she was okay and that she had a safe ride home. I told myself I had only pure intentions this time.
I’d checked up on her over the years and knew that she’d completed medical school and was now finishing her residency at UCSF Hospital. And that she was engaged. A fact that came back to me in a blinding flash when she flung her arm up in the air and the enormous rock on her finger caught the flare of the strobe light.
She was engaged to some big-deal society schmuck. Silicon Valley trust fund baby trash. I’d seen their cheesy engagement photo spread all over social media six months ago and had pegged the guy a class A douchebag at first sight.
She’d looked radiant in the photos. Better than I’d even remembered. And happy. So fucking happy. A fact I’d had conflicting feelings about at the time.
She didn’t look happy now, though. And once again, I felt conflicted over this observation.
Sure, she was grinning as if having the time of her life, throwing flirty bedroom eyes at the men dancing with her as if she hadn’t a care in the world. As if she wasn’t engaged to be married. But those eyes were red-rimmed and puffy beneath their well-applied makeup, and lined by dark circles. They looked more green than blue. She’d been crying hours earlier. I was sure of it.
My inner animal took over. Before I knew it, I’d nudged the guy at her back out of my way, my hands had encircled her tiny waist, and I was yanking her lush, round ass into the swiftly growing ache in my groin. Definitely a masochist. I delivered a mental push accompanied by a flash of yellow eyes to the asshole in front of her when he looked up to glare at me in protest. He did a double take and nearly tripped over his own feet trying to back away as quickly as possible.
I felt her body stiffen against me, a trickle of alarm tightening her muscles, a sliver of fear tainting her perfect scent. It only made her smell more edible. I groaned as my jean-encased cock swelled and lengthened against her ass, along with my canines. She attempted to pull away from me. And though it irritated me, at the same time I was quietly pleased. Impressed that even drunk she possessed strong survival instincts.
When I failed to release her, she tried to crane her head back to see who had taken hold of her and had scared off her dance partners, but I hauled her little body tighter in against mine to prevent it, my forearm crossing her chest, my palm caging her throat. I didn’t want her to recognize me.
Not yet. I wanted a moment between us where there was no history to get in the way. Where we could be two strangers dancing in a club, and I could pretend that I had a chance with her.
“Relax.” My thumb stroked back and forth over the rapid pulse beating in her neck. “One dance and I’ll let you go. Promise.”
I’d weighted my words with Alpha energy, and yet they sounded half-command, half-plea to my own ears. Regardless, they seemed to reassure her enough that the tension in her body dissipated. And soon that delicious body all but melted into mine as our hips began to move as one and my roaming hands took liberties they shouldn’t have. I couldn’t stop though. Not when I scented what it was doing to her. How wet she was getting beneath the scrap of material she was wearing.
She had one of those flimsy, strappy dresses on that looked and felt more like a form-fitting slip. Silvery pale grey in color and barely long enough to hit her upper thighs. My hands slid over the silky smooth material like they had every right to, feeling every hard ridge of muscle and soft mound of flesh that lay beneath. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the temptation to explore her breasts—to feel those diamond-hard nipples through the thin fabric of her dress right there on the dance floor—was more than I had strength of will to resist in the moment. Not when all the blood in my brain had already rushed to my cock.
She was tall for a woman. Lean and fit but still curvy where it mattered most. And my God, those fuck-me legs! I remembered the first time I’d really noticed them. She had been fifteen and wearing a cheerleading uniform. And I’d never been able to look at her the same way since.
Those lean, muscular limbs looked about a mile long now in six-inch designer heels that she wore as comfortably as if she’d strutted out of the womb wearing them. I wanted to lick the length of those legs. I wanted to feel those toned thighs locked around my waist.
Clenching around my face.
Christ, I was a liar. There was no way I was letting her go after one dance.
She’d begun making those beautiful moan-y, breathy, I-need-to-come noises that only a woman can make, and I was close to losing my shit, debating whether to teleport us to privacy or sink my dick into her right there on the dance floor and worry about erasing the minds of onlookers later.
I looked down and saw that one of my hands was rubbing her upper thigh.
And it was wet.
Her thigh. Was. Wet.
I told myself it was only sweat from all of the dancing she’d done. And if I’d been human and unable to smell the difference, I might’ve convinced myself. But my other hand had wandered up under her dress from behind and was rhythmically squeezing and exploring the flesh of her thong-clad ass cheek, rubbing its way toward her hot, needy center—where she was dripping wet.
Fuck me, I needed to stop.
We needed to stop.
But instead, I brushed her hair aside with my chin until my mouth found her neck, kissing and sucking her perfect skin. She moaned and arched into me, and then she rubbed her ass up and down along the length of my erection.
Once.
Twice.
I’d been so wrong before. The girl possessed no survival instincts whatsoever.
None at all.
Because she drew my hand that was on the front of her thigh straight up under her dress to her soaked pussy, and she came against my fingers before I had time to register what was even happening.
My mind blanked, retreating to a dark, desperate, possessive place where there was only the sound of her erratic, panting breaths, her frantic heartbeat, and the sensation of her fluttering, wet clit pressed against my fingers, her cum soaking my palm as I sank my canines into her neck.


Author Bio:
Hettie Ivers is an accidental romance author who likes to escape the stress of her workweek with a good dirty book--preferably one that's also funny.


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Friday, March 22, 2019

BOOK REVEAL: Moonshine and Magnolias by Abigail Sharpe


Moonshine and Magnolias
Abigail Sharpe
(Just Add Peaches, #1)
Publication date: June 20th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Hotel executive Wendy Marsh puts her career on hold when she inherits half of her family’s inn. Her to-do list? It’s simple: teach her spoiled cousin how to manage Fountenoy Hall, then hightail it back to her structured, careful life in Atlanta. Romance has never been part of Wendy’s plan – so what is it about the sexy history professor researching the inn that she finds so tempting?
Rob Upshaw would be enjoying his time at the Inn at Fountenoy Hall if he wasn’t secretly hunting for a family treasure lost during Prohibition. Only a few minor inconveniences stand in his way. His uncle’s old journals are cryptic, he has only a vague description of the loot, and the beautiful, uptight innkeeper with a subtle sense of humor might hold the key to his quest. Even though Rob’s career is built on facts, he accepts he might have to lie to Wendy. But falling for her? That’s out of the question.



Author Bio:
Abigail is a Boston-bred Yankee now eating grits and saying "y'all" in North Central Florida. She dreamed more of being a stage actress or joining the CIA than being an author. While she still enjoys participating in community theater productions and singing karaoke, the secret-agent career was replaced by hours at her computer, writing stories of love and laughter and happily ever after.
Abigail lives with her husband, two kids, and one crazy princess puppy. You can keep up with her on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/AbigailSharpeBooks 
or find her on Goodreads.


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BOOK BLITZ: Beneath the Broken Moon by Sarah Makela #GIVEAWAY


Beneath the Broken Moon: Season One
Sarah Mäkelä
Publication date: March 18th 2019
Genres: New Adult, Paranormal, Romance
Carmela she struggles to choose between the alpha werewolf she’s destined for and the vampire she’s enchanted by, but the wrong decision could lead to deadly consequences…
Werewolf relationships are all about influence and offspring, especially as the species is becoming extinct. Carmela Santiago resents that type of life. She dreams of falling in love and being happy, not following the dismal example her parents have set.
When sensual vampire Derek Ashmore rescues her from dangerous hunters, she tumbles head over heels for him. Not a wise decision since werewolves and vampires are mortal enemies.
Meeting her caring mate-to-be Brendan Kelly has her further questioning the future. Regardless, her life has forever changed now that she’s met not one, but two men who pull at her heartstrings…
EXCERPT:
Carmela
Bullets peppered the big screen of the Teatro de la Noche. Screams rang out around me, and I dropped to the floor, pulling my cousin Chandra down with me. Tension ached in my shoulders, and my heart pounded in my chest like a trapped animal, desperate to escape.
Gunpowder stung my sensitive nose, but through the overpowering scent, I caught a whiff of a hunter heading our way. “Chandra, we have to move.”
If Chandra and I didn’t get out of here we’d end up dead—or worse, test subjects for the Cazador—human hunters ordered to scour the land of nocturnes by the plutocratic government.
“How? They’re all around us.” Chandra peeked over the seats before dropping back down beside me. “A few of them are chasing down those who ran from the first assault, but two more are heading straight for us.” She ran a manicured hand through her honey-brown hair, which was only a shade darker than my own. “Come on. I have a plan. Let’s try to sneak out the side door.” She crawled in the opposite direction, down the row of seats.
The sight of my cousin’s butt cheeks hanging out of her short skirt filled my vision; some things were better left unseen. I lowered my gaze, particularly since Chandra had forgone panties. She almost always held herself with an air of power and purpose. Perhaps that’s what it took to get attention from other werewolves. Chandra got it in heaps, but her lower social status stopped a lot of relationships.
While it was a horrible time to second-guess my modest fashion sense, I couldn’t help wonder if I should take a lesson from my cousin. My own blouse and dark blue jeans had much less pizzazz. But I doubted my father would allow me to dress like Chandra; we had a privileged image to uphold.
I bit my lip, struggling to turn my thoughts back to the problem at hand. This was all too much. How could we get out of here unscathed when the roar of gunfire continued to close in?
We reached the end of the aisle. Chandra moved to glance over the seat, when a shout came from the opposite end, startling us both.
“Run, Chandra!” I barely kept my voice to a whisper.
She sprinted toward the bright red exit sign at the front of the theater, and I chased after her, trying to keep my pace natural though her long legs made it challenging. Maybe if they suspected we weren’t nocturnes, they’d leave us alone.
The stomping of heavy boots on the theater’s plush carpets said otherwise. Then again, they weren’t opposed to taking their fellow humans down too. The very rich in power thrived on oppressing those less fortunate. What better way to keep the populace down than to have their thugs strike whenever possible.
“We should split up.” Chandra shoved a heavy trashcan in front of the door, but that wouldn’t be much of an obstacle to the pseudo-military bastards.
“What?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “No way. If we do that, we’ll—” The trashcan scraped the cement as the hunters tried to open the door. Maybe she was right. If we were together, there was a better chance of them catching us both. Alone, we might survive the night.
I nodded to her, and we took off in opposite directions down the alleyway behind the Teatro. The door slammed open, smacking the wall hard, as I turned the corner and headed toward the main street. I had to find somewhere to hide out before the hunters spotted me again.
In front of me, another group of Cazador chased a few werewolves down the main road. I slowed to keep my distance from them, but if I didn’t get somewhere fast, they were going to catch me. Ugh. As much as I loved getting out of the house and going to the movies, I wished I’d listened to my instincts tonight and stayed home.
Two sets of feet pounded the sidewalk behind me. Perhaps they’d spotted me before I reached the corner.
I picked up speed a little, pumping my arms as I struggled to keep to a human speed while staying out of range. The temptation to race through the streets nearly drove me to action, but I glanced back, seeing my pursuers for the first time.
One of the men had greying hair and a rounded belly, which explained the slower, heavier footfalls, while the other guy appeared younger and super-athletic. No wonder I was having trouble getting away. If he hadn’t been so scary, he might’ve been attractive. Pure masculine aggression raged through him, tensing his shoulders as his gaze focused solely on me, his prize. Each man carried a large-caliber handgun. I was just glad they were too busy running to try to shoot me…for now, at least.
My sandal hit an uneven patch of concrete in the sidewalk. My body lurched forward, but I caught myself before I could go down. I should’ve been paying more attention to the street. Up ahead on the opposite side of the road, I spotted a dark alleyway running alongside a row house. If I cut through, I could safely turn up the speed without exposing myself, and lose them.
The older hunter slowed; his breathing had become increasingly labored. He cocked his revolver’s hammer, and I darted across the empty road, making a beeline for the alley. The last thing I wanted tonight was to see Dr. Matthews. Just a little bit farther. A bullet smacked the ground at my feet, hitting me with fragments of pavement. I bit back a yelp, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing my fear.
“I got this one, old kook,” the younger hunter grumbled, and his footsteps slowed too.
Another gunshot pierced the hazy night air. White-hot pain rocked my shoulder, nearly toppling me to the ground. I screamed, unable to hold it in, and picked up speed, no longer caring if I appeared human or not. The faint creak of a door barely registered before a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, jerking me inside the dark row house.
My rescuer softly shut the door, careful not to make a sound, and shoved a hand over my mouth. “Sshhh,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. You’re safe.” His voice was deep, with an English accent. He pulled me away from the door and hunched down in the darkened room, holding me close, waiting and listening.
Agony clouded my thoughts, but I couldn’t let myself lose focus.
Footsteps thundered through the side alley. I stiffened at the sound. The hunters’ harsh voices and the clanking of metal were the only differences between them and a herd of cattle. They made no attempt to disguise themselves, taking delight in the fear they provoked. The Cazador weren’t true predators, but they held power over their fellow humans and the weaker of the nocturnes.
I stayed silent in my mysterious savior’s arms. Thoughts of my cousin Chandra sparked inside my mind. She was still out there. What if the Cazador found her and killed her as they’d tried to kill me?
This man had saved my life. I needed to do the same for my kin.
His large hand flexed slightly, crushing my mouth. I placed my hand against his wrist, hoping he’d release me, since I no longer heard the disgusting Cazador who hunted me like an animal. How had I gotten myself into this mess?
Shifting my weight, I groaned as my shoulder brushed against his smooth chest, my arm hanging limply by my side. The bullet must be impairing my movement. I doubted even shifting into wolf form would fix this right now. What was I supposed to do? Not even my people were immune to blood loss.
The scent of death crept into my nostrils, which could only mean one thing: my savior was a vampire. In this weakened state, he could easily end my life, and I wouldn’t be able to stop him.
But why would he save me? Maybe he required his next meal. An icy shiver slithered down the length of my spine. For the first time, I felt real fear.
If only I’d insisted on returning home from the Teatro sooner instead of catching the night’s second movie, we wouldn’t have been there for the raid. Already my energy waned due to the rocky power of the three raging moons. The added exertion of running from the Cazador and getting shot strained my body even more.
Somehow, the Cazador had known nocturnes frequented the Teatro. Who would give that kind of information away? Wolves wanted the same pleasures in life that humans desired.
My savior readjusted his grip on me, brushing against my upper back. I swallowed a scream, unwilling to alert anyone who might be listening outside this man’s home. This vampire’s home. Clenching my teeth, I pulled at the vampire’s wrist. I would not be his victim.
He remained steadfast, proving my weakness. “Don’t scream. Don’t run. Don’t do anything that would force me to hurt you, because I’ve had a lot of practice.” His crisp voice caressed my ear, and his breath moved tendrils of light brown hair, tickling the flesh on my neck. “Do you understand?”
While he meant the words as a threat, I couldn’t help the way my body responded to his intensity. I nodded, forcing my thoughts back into place. If he attacked, I needed to remember my Militia training.
The vampire released me, but he stayed still, as if waiting for my next move.
Slowly and carefully, I scooted away and turned to face him. My eyes had gradually adjusted to the darkness, allowing me to see more clearly in the dimly lit room than a human would. What a sight he was. I brushed my fingertips over my sore lips.
Crouching in the shadows, he wore a navy-blue dress shirt with the buttons undone to show off his pale, sculpted chest, and dark jeans that snugly fit his long legs. I’d only seen a few vampires, and none of them had looked this exquisite.
My eyes widened as he ran a hand through his shoulder-length black hair. His gaze had dropped to my lips, and I lowered my hand. Hunger burned in his deep blue eyes; I prayed it wasn’t bloodlust.
What was I thinking? Our species didn’t see eye to eye on anything except survival. The Feud between vampires and werewolves had raged on for centuries now, since well before bickering humans shot the moon with a nuke after a resource dispute and nearly killed the world’s population. Little did my ancestors know just how much and how fast the world would change. Instead of bridging the gap, vamps and wolves had grown even further apart. No one remembered what or whom first started the divide, but neither race spent any effort on diplomatic relations.
Kill or be killed.
I took a deep breath and sat a little straighter. With space between us, my fear lessened. The Militia had taught me to defend myself against hunters and other nocturnes. They made sure I wouldn’t be easy prey for the enemy. Of course—they preferred to have my womb protected, since it ensured our race would live on.
Bitterness soured my taste buds, and the urge to spit overwhelmed me.
Admittedly, vampires were the hardest foes to defeat, and I couldn’t practice my skills much these days. Not with Father keeping me almost literally a prisoner in my own home.
But if I had to fight this vampire, I would go out having inflicted a lot of pain.
“Why did you help me?” I asked, keeping my gaze on the wall near his head. No way would I look into his eyes. While I was strong, I wasn’t stupid. His kind could easily manipulate, and I had no idea what he had in mind.
“I think it was your caramel-brown eyes, love.” He leaned into my line of sight, but I looked away. Instead, he closed the space between us in a heartbeat and gently stroked his index finger along my jaw.
The sudden intrusion on my personal space had me jerking away, but with my back so close to the wall, I had nowhere to run. “How could it have been my eyes?” I crossed my good arm under my breasts, but that drew his attention down to my chest. Not what I’d intended. “I’m sure you couldn’t have seen them while I was running from the hunters.”
With a sensual swipe of his tongue, he licked his lips. His gaze lifted to meet mine, but I quickly averted my eyes. “You caught me.”


Author Bio:
New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Sarah Mäkelä loves her fiction dark, magical, and passionate. She is a paranormal romance author and a life-long paranormal fan who still sleeps with a night light. In her spare time, she reads sexy books, watches scary movies, and plays computer games with her husband. When she gets the chance, she loves traveling the world too.
Want to learn about new releases? Sign up for my newsletter! http://bitly.com/SarahMakelaNewsletter


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BOOK REVEAL: Ben by C.M. Marin #GIVEAWAY


Ben
C.M. Marin
(The Chaos Chasers MC, #3)
Publication date: May 2019
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense
A biker. A gorgeous, sexy, charming biker. In other words, the kind of guy I swore I wouldn’t even glance at again a long time ago. No, scratch that. Ben is worse than the kind of guy I swore I wouldn’t even glance at again.
He’s everything I don’t want to want. A carefree bad boy with an irritating grin, who thinks he has me all figured out. And… he’s right.
Damn sexy biker.
There’s only one possible explanation for fate to have put him in my path. I’m cursed. I must have been an awful person in a past life, and Ben has been sent to make me pay for my sins. The worst part? I’m too weak to resist him for long. The only thing that keeps me from completely falling in love with the guy is the several thousands of miles that separate us.
But that was before his enemies try to get to me.
Now, all I want is to go to him, and let him hold me. That’s when I realize that I’ve already fallen in love with him.
Damn charming biker.
Previous books in the series:


Author Bio:
C.M. Marin fell in love with books a long time ago. She's a small-town girl who loves all things romance. Steamy contemporary romance and romantic suspense are her guilty pleasures, so when she's not writing away new fictional characters, you can find her with a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.



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BOOK BLITZ: Built by Maggie Marr #GIVEAWAY


Built: An Enemies To Lovers Second Chance Bad-Boy Billionaire Alpha Romance
Maggie Marr
Publication date: March 19th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
I hate Jake Warner. Loathe. Can. Not. Stand. No matter how sexy he looks in his jeans with that low-slung tool belt. He had his chance with me and he blew it Big. Time. He’s not getting a second-chance no matter how long I stare into this ice-blue eyes and think about those full lips or his dimples when he smiles. We may have to work together, but that absolutely doesn’t mean that we’ll get back together. Nope. No way. No matter what my heart says, this time I’m listening to my head.
EXCERPT:
“I hate you, Jake Warren. Loathe. Detest. Can’t stand to be around you. I—”
A wicked-slow smile spreads over Jake’s face. A smile that I’m almost willing to risk losing my job over to wipe from his smug mug.
Almost.
One of the reasons I hate that face so damn much is that Jake’s face is perfect. Not perfect in the sense that it’s got nothing wrong with it, because there’s that tiny scar that cuts through his right eyebrow from when he fell out of the tree in Mrs. Gibson’s front yard trying to get my cat, Mr. Biggles, down from the maple tree. Jake was ten and I was seven. That moment, in my childhood, when Jake played Prince Charming to my weeping Damsel in Distress resulted in four stitches, a broken arm, and a saved Mr. Biggles.
But none of that matters now. None of it.
That was twenty years ago and ever since I returned home and took the job at Ryan & Sons Construction, my Dad’s construction company, there’s been nothing, and I mean nothing charming about Jake Warren. In fact everything about him has been downright loathsome.
I. Hate. Jake.
I should get a tattoo. Or maybe a t-shirt.
No matter how perfect his face and body are—those two things don’t matter because I can’t stand his full, cupid-bow lips and indented cleft chin, and I definitely detest his square jaw with high-cut cheekbones. And his dark brown, curly hair and ice-blue eyes that seem to see right through every part of me.
Like this very moment, he’s standing so close to me that I can practically feel his muscles pulsing beneath that sweaty white Stanford t-shirt he’s wearing.
Show off.
So what if you went to Stanford and have perfect biceps and work with your hands and wear a tool belt slung low on your hips.
So. What.
Jake stands in front of me with his hands on his hips, with those lips—those damned pillow-cushion lips—nearly even with my eyes, like he’s some kind of crown prince because he can lift a two-by-four, swing a hammer, and hang drywall…he stands there in his dirty Levi’s with that hip cocked, staring right at me. Knowing full well that he was the boy that saved my cat, kissed me when I was twelve, and saw me naked at sixteen.
And broke my heart at twenty-one.
Well, I’m not naked today. Nope, today I’m pissed. I stand in front of him just back from an afternoon meeting with a Chinese investor who may or may not want Daddy’s company to build two hundred new homes, with my hand on my hip, my tablet in my hand, ready to tell Jake Warren why he should never, never, never speak to a client because that is my job as the front-facing newly minted sales team at Ryan & Sons Construction, and while I’m deadly serious, Jake’s eyes are…are…wickedly playful.
Asshole!
His damn ice-blue eyes are wickedly playful in this completely inappropriate way that causes my nipples to harden and my lady-bits to tingle like they do nearly every day that I work with Jake. Which for the last ten months has been every damn day.
Nope. I hate him. Loathe. Detest.
“Becca”—he lifts an eyebrow and his gaze streaks up and down my body—“you know you love me.” His words are honey. Sweet and slow and slick and sticky and they pull me to him almost as certain as if he’d taken that big strong arm of his and snaked it around my waist and pulled me close.
Which he didn’t do, and in fact hasn’t done in what seems like nearly a lifetime, and another reason why I absolutely can’t stand this man.
“Love you? Ha! I just told you I can’t stand you. Do you even listen to me Jake Warren? Do you listen to anyone? Ever?” I wave the tablet for emphasis because the email I just got from a client—a very important client—proves yet again to me that a) Jake Warren never listens and b) he should be fired so that c) I can run Daddy’s construction company like I was meant to do without any interference from this clown.
“Oh, I hear you, Becca,” Jake says, those ice-blue eyes gazing right past me and toward the open doorway and the construction office filled with support staff and other guys that work for Daddy on various construction crews, all of which Jake Warren heads up. “I think everyone in the entire firm hears you too.”
“Fuck you,” I silently mouth. I take two steps backward, and press my stiletto to the office door, between us and the rest of the company and kick the damn door closed. “Private enough for ya?”
“Guess it depends on what you have in mind, Tiger.”
Heat floods my neck. No one. No. One. calls me Tiger—or no one has since Jake did all those years ago and there have been a whole lot of years, plus one college degree, an MBA, and a failed (very public) engagement since the last time Jake stood this close to me and called me Tiger.
“Becca,” I say between gritted teeth. “That’s Becca to you. Or, if you prefer, you can call me Ms. Ryan,” I say.
“Riiiiiight.” He takes a step closer. “And what if I prefer Tiger?”
I swallow and don’t move because deep down inside as much as I currently hate Jake Warren, I actually, if I’m honest, prefer him calling me Tiger too.


Author Bio:
Maggie Marr is the USA Today Best Selling author of hot contemporary romance. She spends her days working in entertainment and her nights writing. Maggie loves all things pop culture and when she isn't writing, she's reading or binge-watching Netflix. Never miss a new release, sale, bonus content, or extras by signing up for Maggie's newsletter here:
maggiemarr.net




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Thursday, March 21, 2019

BOOK BLITZ: Jules by Giulia Lagomarsino #GIVEAWAY


Jules
Giulia Lagomarsino
(Reed Security, #12)
Publication date: March 18th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Julian swore he would always love her. He said he would never leave her. He’s about to break that promise. If only she would listen. If only she would trust him. But how much crap can one man take? It’s time to move on.
Ivy wants Julian more than anything, but she’s won’t trust anyone with her secrets. Now it’s too late. He doesn’t want her, but she needs him more than ever. If only she could make him understand. If only she had told him sooner how she felt, but that train has left the station and her life is going to hell. She should have told him she loved him when she had the chance.

EXCERPT:
“You really are f@&king stupid,” Ice sneered. “Why don’t you just kick her puppy while you’re at it.”
“She doesn’t have a puppy.”
“That was sarcasm, a$$hole. Getting your brain scrambled has made you a real dumb f@&ker.”
“What was wrong with what I said?”
“You just reminded her that you still don’t remember her after you kissed her.”
“Yeah, it’s true. That’s why I said it.”
“Well, f@&k. There’s your first problem,” Ice grumbled. “You never tell the truth.”
“I thought honesty was always best.”
“Nooo. No, no, no.” Chris agreed with him, which I found a little odd, which meant it was probably the right answer. “How’s dinner?”
“Fantastic,” Ice said. “Never had a better steak.”
“Honey, did you put that bill in the mail?”
“Of course, honey. I know that bill was important,” Ice smirked.
“Was it good for you?”
“Best head of my life.”
“That’s an important one,” Chris said urgently. “Never forget that one. She wants to know that she’s the absolute best and you’re never thinking about any other woman going down on you.”
“You lie to her about sex?” I asked incredulously.
“They do it too,” Ice shrugged. “You’re the best I’ve ever had. You made me come so hard. Your dick doesn’t fit. All of those are lies they tell us to make us feel ten feet tall. You know for a fact that they still think of past f@&ks because we do it too. And then there’s that lie about coming so hard when you know they were faking it. And come on, we all know that a dick can only be so big and it’s definitely going to fit because they can squeeze a baby out of their vaginas.”
“Lies are a healthy part of any good relationship,” Chris agreed. “They’re for your benefit and hers, so use them, but use them wisely.”
“Well, I’m glad that you gave me this advice now, after I already f@&ked things up. What the hell do I do now?”


Author Bio:
I'm a stay at home mom that loves to read. Some of my favorite titles are Pride and Prejudice, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and Horatio Hornblower. I started writing when I was trying to come up with suggestions on ways I could help bring in some extra money. I came up with the idea that I could donate plasma because you could earn an extra $500/month. My husband responded with, "No. Find something else. Write a blog. Write a book." I didn't think I had anything to share on blog that a thousand other mothers hadn't already thought of. I decided to take his challenge seriously and sat down to write my first book, Jack. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed writing. From there, the stories continued to flow and I haven't been able to stop. I hope my readers enjoy my books as much as I enjoy writing them. Between reading, writing, and taking care of three small kids, my days are quite full.


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BOOK BLITZ: Climbing the Walls by Sacha T.Y. Fortune #GIVEAWAY


Climbing The Walls
Sacha T. Y. Fortuné
(Hart & Cole, #1)
Publication date: July 28th 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
***Real emotion. Real life. Real love. This is NOT a glossy love story. But if you’re looking for a romance read that will rattle you… characters that will change you… and love that will last in your mind long after you’re finished…
THIS IS THE ONE FOR YOU.***
Kris fell, head over heels over hormones, for the damaged b*tch who became his power-woman sex-goddess wife.
All Nicole wants is to be a better mother, and a wife more worthy of the husband she loves with every fibre of her body, but she is constantly yanked away by her job and her overbearing boss Darren Hart.
But Darren has marital problems of his own – and, when he confides in her, Nicole realises just how easily a happy marriage can crumble.
…Can she keep her own from doing the same?
Told from both points of view, “Climbing The Walls” explores the fibres that hold a marriage together – love, trust, forgiveness… and of course, the earth-shattering sex that will not be denied.
More books in the series:
EXCERPT:
(KRIS)
“Whose fault is it that she doesn’t have a husband and kids to go home to?”
“That’s by choice.” I shake my head vigorously, turning on my heel again. My tone drops as I walk into our bedroom. “And to tell you the truth, I’m beginning to see why she made that choice.”
Remembering that the kids are sleeping, I resist from slamming the door. I yank off my tie, almost choking myself in the process. I’m more gentle with my belt, pulling it out and flinging it on the bed with the tie. I throw my shirt into the dirty clothes hamper, sit on the bed and kick off my shoes, pull off my socks, step out of my trousers, pull off my briefs. I hang up the belt and tie on their respective hooks, fling the rest of my dirty clothes into the hamper and head for the adjoining bathroom.
I’m in the shower four minutes later with the steaming hot water coursing over my body when I hear the door creak open. My back is turned in the direction of the door, but I can picture her standing there, the stretched-out neck of my old t-shirt hanging off one of her shoulders, her arms folded across her chest.
“What do you want?” My voice is choked and thick, and the words barely come out. The shower’s doing a magnificent job of sweeping away the tears that would have been gathering at the corner of my eyes. Big boys don’t cry. Men don’t cry. No matter if they feel like shit and want to relive an entire day because they just completely fucked it up and to top it off they just said the stupidest thing they could have possibly ever said in the six long years of marriage.
The shower door slides open, and she steps in. I can feel her magnetic presence there behind me, but it’s not until her arms circle my waist and her breasts press into the centre of my back that I am fully aware that she’s naked, not in my t-shirt like I had previously assumed.
She lays her head there against my back for a moment, and then answers: “You.”
I’ve forgotten the question. It doesn’t matter.
I turn around, lift her up and let her legs wrap around my stomach, her arms around my neck and my hands supporting her weight effortlessly under her ass. She leans her forehead against mine, so that her long wild curls makes a curtain on either side of our faces as we kiss, gently at first and then deeper, with some pressing urgency neither of us can understand.
Her hands clutch at my hair, she’s nibbling my lower lip, I’ve been feeling myself getting hard since her nipples kissed my back but I’m rock hard now and can’t help it, can’t stop it, can’t turn back. She’s always had that effect on me, pushing me to the breaking point before I even realised I stepped into the proverbial door and it slammed shut behind me.
Our relationship has forever been a seesaw of raw emotions, of arguments and bitterness and bitchiness and anger and pain and screams and frustration, fused with the smiles and love and tenderness and sweetness and of course the earth-shattering sex. The more severe the argument, the more powerful the sex. That’s how it always has been.
Not to say that we haven’t had sex when we weren’t spitting mad at each other. No, not at all. Of course not. Christ, no. Just that the post-hatred sex has always been more intense, more passionate. More nerve-wrecking.
The more severe the argument, the more powerful the sex – and we’d just endured two of the most tumultuous weeks of our marriage. So go figure.
And there are no sorrys, no apologies, no retractions of previously yelled insults and jabs, no promises that it won’t happen again because we both know it will. And most likely, pretty soon.
There’s just sex: pure, unadulterated and unprotected sex. There’s arms and legs and water and tile and wall and hair and chests and lips and eyes and bodies clinging together like there’s no tomorrow. My entire universe gets trapped in this bubble of ecstasy; my whole world is the slickness in the steamy little room as our bodies mesh. It’s just us; Kris and Nicole and Nicole and Kris and Kris and Nicole and Kris.
In the midst of it, Kris’ little warning bells shriek, telling him that it’s not healthy to use sex like this, not healthy to quell the argument with sex. It never has been healthy.
But it’s always worked.
And he’s tired of fighting, tired of the stress, tired of the lack of sleep because whether or not he is willing to admit it, Nicole is responsible for his sanity as well as his insanity and his ambition and his drive and every raised pore in his body. He can’t get by in life unless he’s getting along with her because he falls apart and crumbles, crashes and burns out quicker than the shortest fuse. She crawls under his skin, eats away at his insides like acid, and has the power to reconstruct him with the merest hint of a vague smile. She’s always had that effect on him.
And his anger surges and subsides repeatedly as she melts away his rage with her body, as her lips and her tongue and her fingertips work their magic along the hard ridges of his body.
He doesn’t know what to do with her, not sure how the hell he could manage a day without her.
And he’s fully aware that having sex would only be a temporary patch to their relationship, but what the fuck. He hasn’t had sex in three and a half weeks. The Friday night she’d convinced him to let her go to Kiki’s meeting alone, they hadn’t gotten around to the having sex part of the seduction, although Nicole had achieved her goal anyway.
Three and a half weeks. Almost a month. If the cold war had continued another week or two he would have found himself jacking off to a porno. Which he hasn’t done since his early college years. Honestly. Since Nicole, he’s never needed to. And never has. He doubts any other man could honestly say that but he’s honest and he’s a man and it’s not his fault that most other men don’t have Nicole the bitch nymphomaniac for a wife.
And he’s fully aware that sex is not going to cure everything. It’s basically just a first aid kit. The actual process of curing would take ages upon ages, and time was something the Gellars have never been profusely blessed with. So this is the shortcut.
And he’s fully aware that taking this shortcut is absolutely wrong.
But, of course, it’s always the wrong things that feel so damn good.


Author Bio:
Sacha T. Y. Fortuné hails from the twin islands of Trinidad and Tobago in the Caribbean, and she considers herself a “citizen of the world” [Read her “30 Day Truth Challenge” here – go to Day 16].
Her passion for writing began in her early childhood, when she channeled her active imagination into writing short stories, poems and full-length novels for her friends.
The winner of several writing awards during her childhood, she became the President of the Writers’ Guild at Lancaster University in Lancaster, UK, where she contributed some poems and short stories to Lancaster University’s Writers’ Guild Anthologies during 2005-2007.
With her BA in Media & Cultural Studies under her belt, she went on to complete her MA in International Journalism at the University of Westminster in London, UK.


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