Category Archives: Chapter Reveal

Chapter Reveal: Broken Pieces by Toni Aleo – The Patchwork Series – Book 2

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Broken Pieces

The Patchwork Series – Book 2

Genre: Paranormal

By Toni Aleo

Release Date: January 24, 2017

Pre Order: Amazon  US

 

Synopsis

The rules of The Works have remained unchanged for centuries. There is to be no romantic mixing between any of the five supernatural clans.

But from the moment Oceanus von Stein, second-in-command to the Patchwork family, caught sight of Taegan Conner, daughter of the leader of the Wolves, he knew he would never love anyone else.

Only now, Taegan has been promised in marriage to another, an arrangement to strengthen her family’s alliances—and she gets no say in the matter.

Neither does Oceanus.

While they both know they have their places and responsibilities in their clans, their love is too strong. How can they let go of what they have? Though it is forbidden, Oceanus and Taegan won’t stop until they can have each other. The only problem is that the world is against them, and Oceanus has a threat to his sister’s life to vanquish.

Can they find a way to be together, or will they both always be two Broken Pieces?

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Excerpt

Chapter One

Being the oldest isn’t always easy.

Everyone depends on you.

Looks up to you.

You are the poster child for the family.

Plus, you worry about everything.

Well, at least, I do.

Which means being selfish isn’t possible. Maybe not selfish—that word is harsh and I’ve

never really liked it, but something along those lines. What I mean is that my needs, my wants

are not important when I have three younger siblings and a father to worry for.

You see, I’m a very busy man. I have many jobs. The first and most important being to

protect and love my family. With everything inside of me. It is my job to guide my brothers and

sister in the right direction to be future leaders of our community. The community my family

runs. A community that is unseen to the human eye, which is fine by me. Dealing with witches,

wolves, shifters, and vampires, along with the Patchwork citizens is enough in my opinion. They

cause enough drama for one man, yet I love them. I want to protect them.

They are my extended family.

Even if a faction of our Works—the shifters—wants to overthrow my family and take

over, I still care for their well-being. I have to. It’s my job as a future leader of the Works. When

my father decides to step down, which could be at any moment, it will be my job to step up and

be the king this community needs. Not that my father isn’t doing his job; he is. It’s just…he’s

old-school. Very old-school, and while all his parts are working at their full capacity, he isn’t the

man he used to be. So much has changed. This isn’t the 1800s anymore, but my father apparently

missed that memo. He’s budged a bit, adapted some, but he still has the same notions he had

back then, and they drive me absolutely mad.

Beyond furious, actually.

But what do I expect? He lived in a time where a man was always right and you followed

your father, your leader. After he lost his father to the plague, he became the leader and led his

family. I don’t think my father meant for his life to go where it did, but it all changed when he

found his grandfather’s old lab books.

That grandfather was Dr. Frankenstein.

The guy who made Frankenstein’s monster himself. Yes, the stories are true. But what

the stories don’t tell you is that he had a son, who had four more sons, my father being one of

them. With Father’s grandfather gone, and then his own father dying, I doubt anyone expected

for Dr. Frankenstein’s work ever to surface again. But my father was and may be smarter than

his ancestors. For when he found the books, he became obsessed with them, and soon he

developed a formula that granted a man immortality.

True immortality.

He soon administrated the formula to his brother, Samuel. But after their mother and two

other brothers died when the formula didn’t work on them, Samuel and Father were discovered.

So, of course, they fled. They had no choice. But they did have a choice when they decided to

come to America and make their own clan.

A clan full of immortal people who would follow and bow down to them. Or, really, to

my father. I doubt Samuel had much say in it, but my father, yeah, he was drunk with the power

he had. He knew he was the best, a god in his mind, and people flocked to him. They begged for

the formula, needed it, and soon my father had his clan.

His Patchwork.

You would think that would be enough, but it wasn’t. Soon he reached out to the other

supernatural groups. The vampires were first. The main reason was the simple fact that my uncle

loved to sleep with them. The vampires didn’t need anything from my father, but he offered them

an alliance, a way to get them constant blood since he had turned the owner of the local hospital

immortal. As long as the vampires followed my father, he would be there to help them. As

creatures of the night, and being killed off almost every other night by hunters and humans, they

signed on quickly.

Next were the witches. My father promised to export and import anything they needed or

wanted on his fleet of ships. In return, he would use their spells and rituals for things he was

unable to fix.

The wolves signed on for the money. My father needed lots of guards and security

support, and he paid very heavily for them. At first, it was just employment. But somewhere in

there, my father worked out some kind of alliance. It’s beyond me, but he did it, and now they

are basically eating out of his hand.

No pun intended.

The shifters are a whole other story. The resisted us, only coming to us with offers for the

formula itself. Father denied them, of course, but he did ask them to join us. He offered that we

would protect them and even employ some of them. He wanted to make our community

complete with the five strongest clans of supernatural beings. But the shifters didn’t want any

part; they were independent. That was, until people started dying and they needed the protection

my father offered since no one could catch who was killing off their clan. I believe my father had

a part in it, that he hired people to kill them, but he denies it.

Either way, my father got his underground clan, and soon, the rules were in place.

Do what your clan is expected to do. All of us have a particular job to keep the Works

running. The guard support the wolves offer—along with their construction work. The spells and

treatments the witches provide. The political connections the vampires play a part in. And we

can’t forget the connections on Wall Street that the shifters give us. It’s simple, really. Everyone

plays their part and reports back to Father. Well, the clan leaders do, at least.

Another rule is paying your taxes. For obvious reasons, if my father is protecting your

group, curing diseases, providing good housing, and everything else he does, the least you can do

is pay the monthly tax.

Lastly, don’t mix clans. Father wants to keep the purest of bloodlines, to make the future

children of the Works the strongest and best—my father’s words, not mine. Now, that is the rule

that gets broken the most. Mostly by my uncle Samuel and his obsession with vampires. But

even with his lust for the creatures, he has never fathered a child, mostly because vampires can’t

have children. That isn’t the case for other clans, though. And when it happens, I mean, when a

mixed-clan child is conceived, it isn’t long after birth that the child is killed.

That sickens me and will be one of the first things I change when I am the leader of the

Works.

I just have to get there.

“You’re thinking way too hard for someone who just woke up.”

I smile, my heart filling with such unadulterated tenderness for the wide blue eyes that

soon trap me in their gaze. A grin pulls at my sweetheart’s lips, her long, flowing strawberry

blond hair falling every so delicately along her jaw and onto my chest as she traces the scar on

my stomach.

“I thought you were sleeping,” I whisper, my lips pressing against hers as my hands grasp

the thick globes of her ass. Holding her tight against my side, I kiss her. Softly, ever so slowly,

memorizing every single thing about her lips and the way they make me feel.

Perfection. Pure perfection.

When she pulls back, her eyes darken a bit as she throws her leg across me, straddling me

as her nails bite into my chest. “I’m not sleeping,” she says, her cheeks dusting with color as I

drink in the gorgeous freckles along her body. She is covered head to toe in them, and I swear, I

want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days tracing each of them with my tongue, my

fingers, anything. As long as I’m touching her.

My love.

As she moves her hot center against my growing erection, I smile. “I can see that.” My

hand comes up to cup her full breast. “Whatever are you doing up there?”

She scoffs, her wet core making every single thought from before disappear within

seconds. “If you have to ask, I worry for ya,” she jokes, and I smile, my eyes falling shut a bit.

Her voice, her thick Scottish brogue, does the dirtiest things to my body. Turns me on to the

point of no return.

“I thought you had to leave?”

“I think I have a wee bit of time. Maybe we can spend it?”

Bringing her down by a hand at the back of her neck, I kiss her jaw as her breasts press

into my chest. “I know we can,” I say before rolling her over, my body pressing into hers as I

push her legs back into her chest and enter her quickly. She is hot, accepting me and squeezing

me, making me breathless as I stare down into her beautiful, flushed face.

She stuns me, and I just look at her, my lips curving as my cock throbs inside of her,

begging for release. But I can’t move. Not when she is looking at me like that. She reaches up, a

grin pulling at her lips as she runs her thumb down my jaw.

“Gonna stare at me, my love? Or fuck me?”

“Stare,” I say simply, my body heavy against her legs. “I swear I’ve never seen anyone as

beautiful as you.”

Her grin grows, her body flushing even more, and my heart explodes in my chest.

Cupping my face with her other hand, she threads her fingers through my hair. My body breaks

out in gooseflesh as she holds my gaze. When she looks at me, I know she doesn’t see the scars

or the wounded flesh, the cut marks or the gunshot wounds. She sees me, her lover.

Because that’s all I can ever be.

“I love you, Oceanus,” she whispers, her eyes so dark, so full of lust, and of course, love.

Fuck, I love it when she says those words. Those three words that are ever so beautiful—but

more tragic than one could think. Well, that is until I take over the Works. The moment that

happens, which pray God is soon, I will marry my love. I will make her mine, I will put my child

in her, and together we will lead the Works.

She will be my queen.

I don’t care that she is Taegan Conner, the princess of the wolves, because I don’t see her

faction or even her family name.

I see her heart.

And it’s mine.

All mine.

Moving her hair out of her eyes, I kiss her nose before sliding mine against it. “I love you

too, my love.”

When her mouth captures mine, I lift her up, holding her ass in my hands as I fall back on

my haunches, thrusting up into her. Her breath is harsh against my mouth, her breasts heavy

against my chest, and as I drive into her, I don’t care about anything but her and me.

I’m being selfish.

I’m taking what I want.

And I don’t care one bit.

It doesn’t happen enough in my opinion, but I guess, being me, I don’t get that luxury.

Truth be told, being Oceanus von Stein isn’t easy.

But it’s who I am. And while I lose myself inside of this beautiful woman, I don’t think

of anything but her, and that’s okay for now.

Eventually, I’ll be able to do it for the rest of my days.

I just have to be patient.

Because my time is coming.

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About the Author

 

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?

Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads

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Chapter Reveal: Hate Story by Nicole Williams

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 img_1701Hate Story

By Nicole Williams

Release Date: December 26, 2016

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Nina can’t let herself fall in love with the man she’s going to marry. Both of them have experienced the sting and sham of love and have no intentions of falling victim to it twice. Love is expensive—hate is free.

Three years. A million dollars. A solution to both of their problems. They planned it all, from the story of their first meeting to the date of their divorce. Nothing could go wrong.

But what they didn’t consider was chemistry, and Nina and Max have no shortage of it. After too many near-kisses, Nina convinces herself that hating Max is better than loving him, and the more she gets to know this soon-to-be-husband of hers, the more she discovers just how very much she truly, madly, and deeply . . . hates him.

This isn’t a love story. This is the other kind.

 

 

 

    Chapter One

 

   Second thoughts. I was having them.

   Experiencing these any time before stepping into the lobby of the swanky hotel I was meeting him at would have been helpful.

   “Sure you’re ready for this?” my best friend, Kate, asked, surveying the lobby like he was going to be lurking there with a sign hanging above his head.

   “I’m sure.”

   It was a lie. I wasn’t sure I was ready, but I didn’t have a choice. The bills had gone from a pile to a pillar, and if I didn’t do something soon, I would lose the house. I couldn’t lose the house. Not ever. It was the only home I’d ever known.

   “You don’t have to do this, you know? There are other options. When I mentioned this a few months ago, it was just a far-off suggestion, not one I thought you’d actually run with.” Kate slowed down as we got closer to the hotel lounge where he was supposed to be waiting.

   “There are no other options that include me keeping the house. At least not ones that are any less illicit than this one.” I licked my lips out of nervousness. With the way things had been lately, it was a miracle they hadn’t turned into sandpaper.

   “You know you could go to jail, right?”

   My tongue touched my lips again. “Only if I get caught.”

   Kate shook her head, and her light hair whipped across her shoulders. She was everything I wasn’t. Tall, rail-thin, straight blond hair that cooperated, skin that looked like she’d been gilded in something ethereal, and dressed like life was one endless party. Our personalities were a stark contrast as well. She was effervescent, where I fell somewhere closer to the jaded end of the scale. She wrung the life out of each day, loved like she’d never been hurt, and laughed like she’d never known sorrow.

   What she saw in me that kept our friendship enduring, I didn’t know. I just hoped she hadn’t hung around when others bailed because she felt obligated. I didn’t want to be anyone’s pity penance.

   She snagged my arm when I walked in front of her, braking me to a stop when I was a few steps from the lounge’s entrance. “Do you know what he looks like?”

   I tempered my irritation before glancing at her. She was coming from a place of concern, but I was committed. I just needed to get this over with already. “No.”

   “About how old he is?”

     My armpits were starting to sweat. I hadn’t even seen him yet and I was already pitting out. “No,” I answered, lifting my arms a little for ventilation.

   “Do you know what he’s going to be wearing tonight?” Kate glanced over my shoulder, almost glaring into the lounge.

   “No.” I twisted from side to side to create as much of a breeze as I could. I so should have splurged for the clinical strength deodorant instead of this cheap dollar-store junk that was probably going to give me cancer one day. If my budget hadn’t been worked out to the last quarter, I would have.

   “Do you know anything about him?” Kate sighed, motioning at me like I was the lamb who’d just brayed as the first volunteer for the slaughter. “Other than, you know . . .” She swallowed. “What he wants?”

   My stomach rolled. I definitely knew what he wanted.

   “I know his name.”

     Kate waited a moment. “And his name is . . .?”

   “Sturm.”

   Her nose wrinkled. “What kind of a name is that?”

   “Sturm’s his last name. I don’t know what his first is.”

   Kate’s nose went back to normal, but a high eyebrow took over its job of disapproving. She was especially expressive. That was another way we were different. Kate seemed to have no desire or inclination to hide what she felt, whereas I had every desire and inclination to hide.

   “So what is he expecting you to call him? Mister Sturm? Because this twenty-first-century feminist is so not okay with one of her best friends addressing this guy like that.”

   “Yeah, neither is this twenty-first-century feminist.” I flapped air in the direction of my armpits because they were only getting worse.

   “The same feminist agreeing to marry a man for money?” Kate drew her hand up to her hip and stretched into every inch of her nearly-six-foot frame.

   The word still sucked the air out of my lungs, but it had lost some of its potency. “Exactly—agreeing to marry him for money instead of lame reasons like love or feelings or to grow old together. How much more feminist does it get?”

   Kate looked down at me. “Eh, how about instead of marrying him for money, you could turn him into the authorities for trying to commit green card fraud?” She peeked over my shoulder and craned her neck to look into the lounge. “Besides, what is a million dollars really? That chick in that Indecent Proposal movie got a million and she only had to spend one night with him. Plus if you factor in inflation, since that movie’s almost as old as I am, you are getting the proverbial and literal shaft. In the ass.”

   I gave up the armpit sweat battle and hung my arms at my sides. Why did I care if this guy’s first impression of me was as a profuse sweater? I wasn’t asking for his approval or even expecting it. He was a business transaction to me. I was a means to an end to him.

   A case of two people embracing the capitalist spirit of America.

   “Yeah, but she had to sleep with the guy. That’s not part of our deal,” I argued. “But if it was part of the fine print, believe me, I’d ask for a hell of a lot more.”

   We had an agreement. Kind of. It was more a rough draft that had just as many amendments as it had bullet points, but I preferred having everything ironed out in advance. I wanted to know exactly what I was getting into before sinking up to my neck in it, which I was minutes away from doing.

   “So you’re saying you would sleep with him if the price was right?” Kate’s other hand flew to her hip.

   I gave her the most indifferent face I could. I might have been able to look the part, but I certainly didn’t feel the part. “Hey, Morality Police, I’m already agreeing to marry a guy so he can get a green card. Give me a break.”

   Kate’s phone chimed in her clutch. She’d wrangled up a couple of friends to meet her at this lounge tonight so she could keep an eye on me. I guessed she was worried the guy might not be on the up-and-up and might be using a green card as a cover for wanting to sell me off for internal organs or into the sex trade. I wasn’t worried about that, but I was thankful she was here for support if nothing else.

   After punching in a quick text, Kate circled her phone at me. “And what are you wearing? Did you think there was going to be a ribbon handed out at the end of the night for the most colorful outfit?”

   I glanced down at myself. I liked color. Lots of it. Living in a place like Portland, Oregon, a person had to find a way to fight off the perpetual gray. This was my chosen method.

   “I wanted to make sure he knew who I was,” I said, just barely peeking inside the lounge. Dozens of bodies, all of them different shapes, sizes, and colors, and all of them were dressed like they’d conspired to match. “If I’d known everyone would be in some shade of gray or blue, I wouldn’t have dressed in a green polka-dot dress, fuchsia shoes, and a blue checked scarf.”

   Kate bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You’re a fashion intervention begging to happen.”

   I stopped rubbing at a wrinkle in my dress. If an iron hadn’t been up to the challenge of smoothing it out, my thumb wasn’t going to do it. “I don’t care. I’m not here to impress him or earn his approval.”

   “Yeah, that’s obvious,” she mumbled just loud enough for me to hear. When I went to give her a little shove, she slid out of the way. “And if you’re not trying to impress him, why are you wearing the first dress I’ve seen you in since, god, probably when you wore that very one at spring fling of our senior year?” Kate was looking inside the lounge now, her gaze skimming the space like she was looking for something. Her friends must have already been there because she waved at someone before lifting her finger in a just-a-minute kind of way.

   “Because I didn’t think this place was a holey jeans and sneakers kind of place,” I argued, wondering why I was defending my wardrobe choices to someone who dressed by the less-is-more standard.

   “Let’s hope Mister Sturm is fashion blind.” The way she said it earned her another little shove.

   “He’s a single, foreign man who’s paying someone a hell of a lot of money to marry him.” I crossed my arms at her as she kept peeking into the lounge. “I think it’s safe to say I’m not about to come face-to-face with a guy who spends his nights flipping the pages of GQ. And if you call him Mister Sturm again, I’m going to pull your hair.”

   Kate winked at me. “My scalp’s a little sensitive from the hair pulling last night.”

   I rolled my eyes. “Alexander?” The last man du jour she’d mentioned to me.

   “Trenton.” She kind of sighed his name. Actually, it held the hint of a moan. God. I could never imagine sighing-slash-moaning some guy’s name. Ever. The closest I’d ever gotten to a sigh-moan was over the peanut butter pie my grandma had made for my last birthday.

     “Fine,” I said, interrupting the last notes of her moan.

   “Then I’ll slap your ass if you say it again.”

   She flashed a wicked smile my direction before giving her hips a shake. “Just as sensitive.”

   “God, fine,” I groaned. “Just stop. Your sex life nauseates me.”

   “Jealous is not a good look for you. Besides, someone needs to make up for your lack of it.” Kate waved at me like my sex life was visible for all to read.

   “At your rate, you’re making up for the entire city’s lack of sex life.”

   She nodded solemnly. “You’re welcome.”

   “Besides, sex is not all it’s cracked up to be.” At this point, I was stalling, but I was nervous.

   “Believe me, with the right person who knows what they’re doing, it is all, and more, it’s cracked up to be.” Kate bounced her brows. “Some guys just know how to use their dick better than others.”

   I frowned. “Wow. I’m about to orgasm all over the place.”

   Kate laughed as she slid in front of me and teased my hair with her fingers.

   “Oww,” I whined as she ripped and pulled at my hair. “And I hope you washed your hands with bleach after the last dick you touched.”

   She responded by smearing her hands down the sides of my face. “Most action you’ve ever seen.” She scrubbed them down my face one more time. “You’re welcome.”

   I stepped out of the reach of her filthy little paws and waved her toward the lounge.

   “I’ll be right there. Just give the signal if the guy turns out to be a serious creeper, okay?” She waited for me to nod, then she kissed the air in my direction. “Go get him, tomcat.”

   I didn’t know how to reply to that, so I went with an okay signal.

   I waited a minute after Kate had disappeared into the lounge. Then I waited one more before forcing my feet forward. It wasn’t like my dwindling courage was going to find its way back the longer I stalled.

   Taking in a slow breath, I pictured my house. The one I’d grown up in. The one that had housed a Burton for sixty years. The one that would probably be gutted or ripped down and replaced by whatever rich a-hole bought it at the foreclosure sale. I pictured relief from the stack of bills, the freedom to have choices, and a future that wasn’t already painted with bleak hues and dark strokes.

   Then I moved inside the lounge and took my first step toward my future husband.

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4887264Nicole 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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6 Star Review + 2016 Favorite: Between Here And The Horizon by Callie Hart

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Between Here And The Horizon

By Callie Hart

Release Date: October 18 ,2016

Buy: Amazon / Amazon UK / B & N / ITunes / Kobo

Synopsis:

“You think you know me. You think you want to know me. But trust me, Miss Lang. Pursuing me will be the worst mistake you ever make. I’m broken beyond repair…

…and I take great pleasure in breaking everyone else around me.”
Ophelia Lang needs money, and she needs it bad. Her parent’s restaurant is going under, and ever since she lost her job teaching third grade elementary, scraping enough cash together to pay the bills has proven almost impossible. Her parents are on the brink of losing their home. The vultures are circling overhead. So when Ophelia is offered an interview for a well-paid private tutoring gig in New York, how can she possibly say no?

Ronan Fletcher is far from the overweight, balding businessman Ophelia expected him to be. He’s young, handsome, and wealthy beyond all reason. He’s also perhaps the coldest, rudest person she’s ever met, and has a mean streak in him a mile and a half wide. A hundred grand is a lot of money, however, and if tolerating his frosty temperament, his erratic mood swings and whatever else he throws at her means she’ll get paid, then that is what Ophelia will do.

Her new boss is keeping secrets, though. Awful, terrible secrets.

The ghosts of Ronan Fletcher’s past are about to turn Ophelia’s future upside down, and she can’t even see it coming.

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Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

AFGHANISTAN

2009

“Get back, Fletcher! Get back! The tank’s gonna blow!”

I was running. Behind me, seven miles of desert stretched out toward Kabul city, glowing in places where burned out military trucks were being devoured by fire. Twisted metal rained down from the sky, on fire and sharper than a razor’s edge, impacting in the dirt. Thud. Thud, thud. Thud. Shrapnel whistled through the air, striking the ground a few feet away from me as I weaved my way through the wreckage. Smoke was biting at my lungs, acrid and burning, making it hard to breath.

“Fletcher! What the fuck, man!”

Behind me, Specialist Crowe was losing his mind. Alternating between shouting into his radio and shouting at me, he couldn’t seem to decide which course of action to take. I’d ordered him to follow, but I could understand why he hadn’t. The situation was more than unsafe; charging headlong into the fire and destruction was a suicide mission, and I knew it. I also knew that my men were trapped inside the upturned vehicle still a hundred feet ahead of me, however, and I knew the truck was going to blow any second. They were going to burn to death if I didn’t help them. I wasn’t going to abandon them to that fate.

“Captain! God, man, stop!”

My heart was surging, my veins overflowing with adrenalin. My boots hit the dirt, left, right, left, right, left, right, my fists pumping back and forth as I sprinted toward the truck that was laying on its roof up ahead. Through the fractured windshield, I could see Hellaman and Wicks still strapped into the front seats of the vehicle, upside down and unmoving. They were either unconscious or dead. Hopefully they were just out for the count, but there was a lot of blood splattered on the inside of the glass. A lot of blood.

Black smoke curled upward from the underside of the truck, and I could already hear the hissing sound of fuel burning and sizzling somewhere. Groaning. I could hear groaning, too.

I reached the truck just as something inside the engine caught fire, and Hellaman came to. His eyes were wide with pain and fear as I dropped down onto my belly next to the driver’s side window, which was smashed out, small cubes of safety glass scattered into the dirt.

“Captain? Captain Fletcher. Shit, I can’t breathe. I can’t…breathe.” His face was deathly pale, and his hands shook violently as he tried to claw at the seatbelt that was digging into his chest.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Private. We’re gonna get you out of there, okay? Just hold on a moment.” My bowie knife was in my hand. I took it and made quick work of slashing through the webbing holding Hellaman in place. There was nothing I could do to cushion his fall. Slamming into the roof of the truck, Hellaman groaned weakly, and then passed out again, either from pain or from the shock, I didn’t know. I stowed my blade and grabbed him by the shoulders, then wrestled him free through the window. His face was cut; his arms were striped with blood and running rivers of crimson out onto the ground. No time to be gentle, though. No time to be safe. I hooked my hands under his arms and I quickly jogged backwards, dragging him away from the wreckage. Twenty feet was enough.

I ran back to the truck. Flames were visibly licking at the underside of the vehicle now, snaking upward toward the night sky. Wick was still out cold. I ran around to the back of the truck and tried to force the loading doors open, but they were jammed closed, bent and warped, refusing to budge.

“Shit.”

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

There was someone alive inside. Running out of time. Almost no time left. I positioned myself by the truck’s rear right window, thanking god the thing was already splintered. The bulletproof windows on military trucks were no joke. You could take a semi automatic to them and it would take longer than I had to smash them. The impact of rolling three times had obviously been enough to compromise the glass, though.

“Shield your faces,” I hollered. “Glass, glass, glass!” Bracing, I spun around and smashed the sole of my boot against the window as hard as I possibly could. The glass groaned, fracturing some more, but it didn’t shatter. I kicked again, and again, and again. Finally, the window exploded in a shower of bright shards, giving in under the force of my boot.

“Captain, there’s fuel in here,” someone inside yelled. “Get back!”

I ducked down and lay flat on my stomach again, crawling in through the now empty window frame. Inside the truck, gasoline hung heavy in the air, burning my nostrils and my eyes. Next to me, Roberts was dead, his head twisted at an odd angle, eyes staring, unseeing into the abyss.

On the other side of the truck Private Coleridge, Sam, a nineteen-year-old kid from Houston, was lying on his back on the roof, holding his rifle in both hands, his body convulsing wildly. His eyes swivelled to look at me, but his head remained locked in position, his teeth grinding together.

“What…what happened, Capt’n?” he asked. “We were drivin’ along, and then…everything was…spinning.”

“IED,” I told him. “Desert’s full of them. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

“I can’t…move. I can’t feel…anything.”

He wasn’t paralyzed. If he were, he wouldn’t be shaking the way he was right now. He was just in shock. A sharp slap to the face would probably go a long way to getting him moving, but there simply wasn’t time for that kind of motivation. Grabbing him by the webbing stitched onto the strap of his pack, which was still on his back, I hauled him to me and then backed out through the window as quickly as I could. The fire was raging now. I dragged Sam back to where I’d left Hellaman and was about to run back to the truck when a loud metallic crack split the air apart, and then a ball of fire rocked the truck, a wall of heat and pressure slamming into my body, sending me reeling back into the dirt.

“Oscar!” Sam yelled. “Oscar’s still alive in there!”

“Fuck.” I was up on my feet and running. The heat was intense—so intense that I had to shield my face as I grew closer to the wreck. The fire had consumed the underside of the truck, the tires blazing, the gas roaring as the fuel line was engulfed. And I could hear screaming. The kind of blood curdling, awful screaming of a man being burned alive.

My radio headset crackled with static, and then Colonel Whitlock’s voice barked out through the speaker. “Fletcher, do not go back inside that vehicle. Do you hear me? Do not go back inside that vehicle.”

Disobeying a direct order from a colonel was an offence worthy of court marshal. I ripped my headset from my ears and threw it to the ground, ignoring it. Ignoring the consequences. Another blood curdling scream reached me, and that was it. I was on my stomach, crawling into the mouth of hell.

My side pressed up against the frame of the window, and pain tore at me, sinking its teeth into my skin. Heat. The heat was overwhelming, so fierce and violent that there was no oxygen inside the truck. Only smoke and confusion. Only death.

“Oscar!” I called out, reaching with both hands, trying to find him. “Where are you, man?” The truck was only a six-guy transport, but the billowing, rolling clouds of black smoke hid everything. I went by touch until I heard him cry out again, weaker this time, voice riddled with agony. He was at the very rear of the truck. A few seconds was all I had. Any longer and I would either suffocate or burn up myself. My head was pounding, my lungs begging for clean air, and I could feel myself start to drift.

The journey to the back of the truck took an eternity. One hand over the other, I pulled myself around an upturned transport box, and jammed my body in between the narrow gap at the right hand side of the vehicle, reaching out, groping, searching, until I found what I was looking for. A leg. A foot, to be precise. I grabbed hold of it and pulled. An agonised yell filled the truck.

“Ahh, my leg. My leg. It’s fucked!”

“I know. I’m sorry, man. I can’t get you any other way.” I gritted my teeth, and I pulled. In any other situation it would have been a crime that I was handling an injured man this way. The clock was running down, though, and if causing more pain, causing even more damage meant the difference between one of my guys being injured or being dead, then I was going to do what I had to do.

I somehow managed to maneuverer myself so that I was over Oscar—I couldn’t even see his face, the smoke was so thick—and then I started shoving. Six hard pushes and I managed to drive him through the gap in the window frame, out onto the desert floor. His body was ripped away, pulled free by someone else, and then he was gone. I was almost too tired to heave myself free, but I scrounged up my last scrap of energy and I crawled forward, determined to make it out before the entire vehicle was enveloped. Halfway out, my fingers clawing in the dirt, my body lit up with pain. Indescribable. Unbearable. A pain so sharp and breathtaking that I couldn’t even cry out. It felt like something was ripping my body in two. I spun around and looked up to see a burning line of fuel pouring down on me, hitting my side, burning into me. I was on fire.

I kicked and jerked myself out of the truck, ripping at my jacket. Tearing at the material, trying to get it off. The fabric seemed to come away in my hands, and then I was shirtless in the cold, cold desert, rolling on the ground, trying to put the flames out.

The world went black. Someone threw something over me, and then hands were beating at my body, slapping and trying to roll me. A strangled gasp worked its way out of my mouth, but that’s all I could manage. The flames were out. The thick, heavy material that had been thrown over me was pulled back, and Crowe stood over me, face covered in soot and grease, eyes the size of dollar coins. I could barely see him properly. Barely hear the words coming out of his mouth.

Colonel Whitlock appeared next to him, and then the sky was filled with the beating thump of helicopter blades. They spoke for a second, and the thundering drum of the helo overhead dipped long enough for me to make out what Crowe said to Whitlock.

“He didn’t stop, sir. He didn’t stop until they were all out.”

Whitlock scowled. “I can see that, Specialist. He disobeyed a direct order in doing so, too.”

“He’ll be reprimanded?” Crowe asked. He was speaking as if I was no longer present; both of them were.

“No,” Whitlock said sternly. “Ironically, I think Captain Fletcher’s more likely to be honored than punished in this particular instance. Now get him on the chopper before I change my mind. The crazy bastard’s bleeding everywhere.”

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6+star

Michel’s Review

*** Spoiler Free ***

As  a blogger and avid reader I consume over 300 books yearly.  I can honestly say that there isn’t much that surprises me at this point.  There are only so many plots, subject matters, and themes to be covered.  What I look for is the creative flare the author brings to the story.  I look for character development, original delivery of the story, descriptive enhancements, and the overall flow of the story.  I want to be taken away, entertained, and experience the story right along with the characters.  Between Here And The Horizon by Callie Hart had all these elements and more.  It was completely original and had two separate  stories going on that came together cohesively and made this book even more spectacular.

The moment I began to read this book I was drawn into the world of Captain Fletcher.  The vivid descriptions made it feel like I was a bystander witnessing the monumental events unfolding on the pages.  I felt the tension, the intensity of the moment, and the fear of the outcome.  By the end of the first chapter my mind formed an opinion of how this story was going to unfold.  Boy I was I wrong.  I am rarely surprised or shocked senseless, but by the time I read a few more chapters I was completely stunned stupid.  The shock factor was riveting!  I kept thinking …. No No No… this didn’t just happen… No way.  Once I accepted that shocking moment my mind fast forwarded and I was thinking, okay Callie Hart is going to fix this.  It going to be some kind of mistake or a life changing monumental moment.  So I was kind of right… it was a monumental life changing moment.  I was also wrong because that monumental life changing moment took the story in a completely different direction.  A direction I did not see coming.

Once the story was on a new path, I became enthralled with the new world that sets the scenes.  Callie was meticulous with her vivid descriptions of life in the coastal Maine area.  Her meticulous attention to details and capturing the stoic New Englanders attitudes validated the direction of the story. It became an integral part of the journey leading all the characters to a better life. At this point the story is on a completely different direction than how it began.  Callie then added another brilliant element, snippets of past lives in a time of war.  These snippets were important in developing two of the leading characters.  The outcome of these snippets tied both stories together and added another twist to the ending.

By the end of the book, everything makes sense in a very different way leaving the readers with different perspectives of each of the characters.

I hung on every single word throughout this book.  I could not put it down.  When I finished this book I felt like I had just experienced an incredible story that I witnessed first hand, up close and personal.  I experienced a multitude of emotions throughout this book.

Between Here And The Horizon by Callie Hart is one of the best books I have read in 2016.

Read Between Here And The Horizon by Callie Hart… it’s an amazing reading experience!

_________________________________

Meet Callie Hart:

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Callie Hart is an obsessive romantic who loves throwing a dark twist into her stories. Her characters are imperfect, flawed individuals who dictate when she eats, sleeps and breathes. Callie’s Internationally Bestselling Blood & Roses series has garnered well over 1000 5 star reviews.

 

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Cover Reveal + Chapter 1: Grand Slam by Heidi McLaughlin – Boys Of Summer Series – Book 3

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Grand Slam

The Boys Of Summer Series – Book 3

By Heidi McLaughlin

Release Date: May 23, 2017

Pre Order: Amazon / B & N / ITunes / Kobo / Google Play

Synopsis

Coming… May, 2017

 

The third novel in New York Times bestselling author Heidi McLaughlin’s Boys of Summer baseball series.

 

A beast at the plate, Travis Kidd is a superstar for the Boston Renegades. But when baseball isn’t occupying his time, Travis – named Boston’s Most Eligible Bachelor – is known as a ladies’ man.

 

Saylor Blackwell knows sports. As a public relations specialists, her focus is on the athletes. The hours are long, the job stressful, and she’s prohibited from dating any of the overly friendly athletes, but the result is what matters – she’s financially able to care for her daughter.

 

When a drunken night spent with Travis threatens that, Saylor knows she’s made a mistake. Unfortunately, when he’s accused of a horrible crime, it causes a PR nightmare and forces Saylor to come to his rescue. But when Saylor’s ex comes back demanding custody, it might up to Travis to save her right back…

grand-slam-teaser

Chapter 1

The one I’m eyeing for the night bends at her waist and lines her pool stick up with the cue ball. She slowly pulls the wooden rod through her fingers, until the felt top finally connects. The hard white plastic ball rolls toward her target, hitting it perfectly and stalling as the blue-striped ball rolls into the pocket. I let out a massive sigh and lean on my stick, waiting my turn. I should’ve known better when she approached me, asking if I wanted to play a game or two of billiards with her. I know better than to let a good-looking woman hustle me out of money but I wasn’t thinking with my right head. I never am, and once again I’m getting my balls get busted, no pun intended, by a pool shark.

“Sweetheart, are you going to let me play? My balls are getting lonely.” If she thinks I’m crude, she doesn’t say anything. In fact, she looks at me from over her shoulder and winks before shimmying her ass toward my crotch. My internal groan is epic. I’ve been watching her bend, lick her lips, show me her ample cleavage, and shake her ass for almost an hour. Not to mention, she brushes against me each time she passes me. And the touching isn’t subtle. I can read her loud and clear, all the way from her tight as-sin jeans to her plunging neckline.

“I can’t help it if you suck.”

“Do you?” I ask, stepping in behind her. My crotch is lined up perfectly with her ass, earning me another hair-tossing look over her shoulder.

She stands and turns to face me, resting her ass on the edge of the table. “What do you have in mind?” Her finger trails down the front of my shirt until she reaches the buckle of my belt. The tug is slight, but definitely felt. Message received loud and clear.

“What’s your name?”

“Are names important?”

“Of course. When I demand that you come for me, I need to know what to call you.”

“Demand?” she questions.

“I’m greedy like that,” I tell her, placing my cue stick against the table as I step closer to her. I lean in and try to get a whiff of her perfume, but a mix between the stale air from the bar and the beer on her breath makes it hard to tell what she’s wearing. I do love a woman who takes the time to dabble the perfect scent on her skin though.

“Blue.”

“My balls aren’t blue, darling, and haven’t been in years.”

“No, my name is Blue.”

“That’s a very unique name,” I say as my hand rests on her hip.

“What can I say? I’m a unique woman, Travis.”

Ah, she knows my name. That’s usually how things go for me. Rarely am I given the opportunity to introduce myself. Everyone knows who I am, and while I enjoy the fruits of my labor, sometimes anonymity would be nice. One day, I’d like to talk to a woman who doesn’t know that I’m Travis Kidd, right fielder for the Boston Renegades and one of the town’s most eligible bachelors. “You know who I am?”

“Doesn’t everyone? I’m a Boston girl; I know my Renegades.”

I nod and reach for my beer. It’s the off-season, and technically I shouldn’t be here. I usually head south for the winter but opted to stay home this time. After a long season, one that saw my former managers die and one of my closest friends on the team become a dad to twins, I thought I’d stay around and see what the winter had to offer. Aside from the cold, I haven’t found much, except Bruins hockey and Celtics basketball. Those games have been the highlight of my time off.

The pickings for women have been slim. Without trying to bag on the female population, it’s evident that they’re seasonal as well. Right now, the puck bunnies, gridiron groupies, and court whores are in full effect, and the cleat chasers are resting like the rest of the baseball world. Maybe I should’ve been a dual-sport athlete. This way I would’ve had the best of both worlds.

“Travis?”

“What?” I ask, mentally shaking the cobwebs out.

“Where’d you go? It’s your turn?” Blue nods toward the table, and I look over her shoulder to see the cue ball sitting there.

“Why don’t you help me?” I know how to play the game of pool, but since she seems to be a pro, why shouldn’t she show me? I would’ve happily slid up behind her and taught her how to handle her stick but she took the fun out of it.

Instead, she’s off to my side and leaning into me, giving me a perfect sideways glance down her shirt. I smirk, ignoring everything she tells me, and watch as her mounds of flesh move each time her hand does. They’re real, that’s for sure. None of that fake silicon shit on this chick.

“And that’s how it’s done,” she says, righting herself. She continues to slightly lean over the table though, jutting her chest out for me to ogle. I cock my head to the side and wink before taking aim at the cue on the table.

My first shot goes in, and the second quickly follows. I line up the third, and that is when I see a raven-haired beauty nursing a drink at the bar.

Saylor Blackwell is off limits to anyone her agency represents. That includes me. Although I wish it didn’t. Saylor is the one I would’ve switched agents for if she told me to, but I fucked that up much I like I screw everything up. When she needed me, I wasn’t there. And I haven’t spoken to her since.

It’s my dumb luck that she’s sitting at the bar with her long, slender legs crossed, and she’s dressed like she recently got off work. Her eyes are set on the television, ignoring the gaggle of men staring at her. I remember that she was a hard nut to crack back when I wanted to know her better. I can’t imagine what she’s like now that she’s more successful.

My last shot is sunk into the corner pocket. “Eight ball, right side,” I say, nodding in the same direction I plan to send the black ball in order to finish this game. I’m in a rush now, eager to speak with Saylor. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help myself.

“Where ya going?” Blue calls out.

“To the bar. Rack ‘em,” I tell her. It’s not a lie. I am going to the bar but with the intention of speaking to another woman. I’m smooth though, and I can easily play it off while I order another round of drinks.

“Two please.” I put up two fingers as I motion toward the bartender. Leaning in, I know I’m blocking Saylor’s view of the television, which is all in my game plan.

“Hey Saylor.”

“Travis,” she says coldly. We have a history. A small one, but it’s there. I often remember the night we spent together and the regret that was on her face when we were done. I had never been kicked out of an apartment before that night. Usually, once I’m satisfied, I leave. With Saylor, everything was backwards. It’s like she used me to scratch an itch, and once I took care of that, she didn’t need me anymore. “What brings you in?”

She looks everywhere but at me. “I’m meeting a client.”

“And nursing your what?” I take her drink from her hand and sniff. “Scotch? When did you start drinking the hard shit?”

That gets her to look at me. Her glare is deadly as her blue eyes penetrate into mine. “As if you know anything about me.”

“I know enough.”

“You don’t know shit, Travis Kidd. Go back to your booty call. She’s looking at me like she’s ready for a cat fight, and I assure you, you’re not worth fighting for.”

Saylor turns, giving me the cold shoulder. If I weren’t so stunned by her outburst, which I did not deserve, I’d tease her. But I have a feeling that there’s something bothering her, and I’m the last person she needs making shit worse.

With the bottles of beer between my fingers, I go back to the pool table where Blue is indeed throwing daggers at Saylor’s back.

“Down, kitty. She works for my agent.” I run my hand down her arm, trying to diffuse the situation. Jealous women usually turn me off, and this should be my sign to hit the road except I’m an idiot and want to stay mostly so I can watch Saylor.

Taking Blue by her hand, I lead us over to the stools, and I sit down, pulling her between my legs. My hand is planted firmly on her leg right under her butt check. It’s a risky move, especially with all the cameras around, but I don’t care right now. It’s the off-season. I’m allowed to have a little bit of fun.

“You have nothing to be jealous over,” I tell her. If anything, I’m trying to appease her.

“Okay.”

“We good? Wanna go back to kicking my ass at pool?”

She looks over at the table and nods. “You rack, and I’ll break.” Blue saunters away, giving me space to watch Saylor, who turns and makes eye contact with me. I wish I could tell what she’s thinking. Is she second-guessing her harsh words? I am. I want to go back over and offer to pick her tab. Or ask how she’s getting home. It’s late, and the roads are shit. If she’s driving, she shouldn’t be drinking. She has a kid that depends on her.

“I’m ready,” Blue says, thrusting the stick in my face. Her words catch me off-guard. Is she ready to play another game or two of pool? I hope so because I have no intention of leaving as long as Saylor is at the bar. Or is she ready for me to fuck her and never ask for her number? Because that is bound to happen as well.

I break, sending the balls off in every direction. Four drop. Two of each giving me the choice of what I want to be. Blue is yammering in my ear about the set-up and which would be the best. Her angles only work for her though, and I see that I can run the table on her if I line up correctly.

“We should’ve bet,” I tell her as I walk around the table.

“I’d hate to hustle you out of your money, Travis.”

I laugh off her comment and proceed to clear the table. She huffs when the eight ball falls into the designated pocket.

“Well would you look at that,” I say, taking a bow. Blue pushes me lightly and falls into my arms. Her lips are on mine before I can push her away, and doing so now would be embarrassing for her so I kiss her back and find myself opening my eyes to watch Saylor watch me.

As soon as I pull away, Saylor is sliding off the bar stool and heading toward the door.

“Be right back. I need some fresh air.” A true gentleman would’ve invited his lady friend outside, but that is not who I am.

“Do you need a ride home?” I ask, as soon as I see Saylor standing near the curb. “And what happened to your client?”

“He canceled.”

It didn’t strike me as odd earlier when she said she was meeting a client, but it does now. I’ve never met anyone from the agency at a bar, let alone this late at night.

“How about that ride home?”

“Travis,” she draws out my name and then drops her head into her hands. Without thinking, I pull her into my side. “Come on, Saylor. It’s a ride. Nothing else.”

“What the hell is going on? I thought you were taking me home?” Blue speaks loud enough for everyone on the block to hear.

My arm drops, and Saylor steps away from me. I turn at the sound of Blue’s voice behind me.

“I’ll be in. Give me a minute.” I smile, hoping to placate Blue but it doesn’t work.

“I see some things never change,” Saylor says as she steps off the curb and waves at a cab only to be passed by.

Shaking my head, I push my hands into my pockets for a bit of warmth. If I knew Saylor would be out here when I returned, I’d run in and grab my jacket. “It’s not like that.”

“What, do you like her or something?” The sound of Blue’s voice grates on my nerves. Saylor looks over my shoulder and rolls her eyes.

“Or something,” I say, without taking my eyes off Saylor.

As soon as a taxi pulls up to the curb, Saylor is sliding in.

I make a split second decision to get in with her, but not before Blue yells at me. “Where the fuck are you going?”

I answer her by slamming the door shut. I have Blue on the outside screaming and Saylor looking at me like she’s going to kill me. She opens the door, and I hear, “Fuck you, Travis Kidd. You’ll pay for this.” And before I realize what’s happening, Saylor is out of the car and the cab is speeding down the road.

 

**Also Available on Heidi’s Website here: http://heidimclaughlin.com/grand-slam-1/**

Enter to Win on Facebook here: http://bit.ly/2eHau86

**Will be live at time of reveal**

 

_______________________________

 

heidi-mclaughlin-bioHeidi McLaughlin

Originally from the Pacific Northwest, she now lives in picturesque Vermont, with her husband and two daughters. Also renting space in their home is an over-hyper Beagle/Jack Russell, Buttercup and a Highland West/Mini Schnauzer, JiLL and her brother, Racicot.

 

When she isn’t writing one of the many stories planned for release, you’ll find her sitting court-side during either daughter’s basketball games

 

Heidi’s first novel, Forever My Girl, is currently in production to be a major motion picture.

 

NYT & USA Today Bestselling Author

 

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Chapter Reveal: A Player For A Princess by Tia Louise – The Dirty Duet Series – Book 2

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We’re just days away from the release of Tia Louise’s A PLAYER FOR A PRINCESS on September 20th and we thought we’d celebrate with a sneak peek at A PLAYER FOR A PRINCESS. You can read the first chapter below – and find out more about how to grab THE PRINCE & THE PLAYER for just .99c for a limited time!

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About A PLAYER FOR A PRINCESS (Available September 20th!)

From the Mediterranean to the Caribbean, the game continues…

Zelda Wilder is on the run, this time from the ruthless assassins who’ve decided she knows too much to live.

“Playboy Prince” MacCallum Lockwood Tate isn’t about to let the beautiful player who stole his heart get away—if only he could decide whether he wants to save her or strangle her for her dangerous choices.

After tracking her down to a casino in St. Croix, Cal follows Zee back to Tortola where he intends to keep her safe. One problem: Zelda’s criminal liaisons are two steps ahead of her.

Lives are threatened, and all of the players’ skills are tested in this plot to capture a killer and save a princess.

Cinderella meets Ocean’s Eleven in this CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE DUET featuring secrets, lies, royal high jinks, scams and double-crosses; breathless, swooning lust, cocky princes, dominant alpha future-kings, and crafty courtiers, who are not always what they seem.

Preorder A PRINCESS FOR A PLAYER now:

Amazon | iBooks | Barnes and Noble | Kobo | ARe

ADD it on Goodreads: http://smarturl.it/PLPgr

LISTEN to the playlist on Spotify: https://goo.gl/lfRGpH

SEE the inspiration board on Pinterest: https://goo.gl/Fyvl58

 

TP&TP with series★★★ Missed Book #1? ★★★

Pick up THE PRINCE & THE PLAYER for just .99c for a limited time!!!

“Tons of laughs, sex, and suspense…THE PRINCE & THE PLAYER had me on the edge of my seat, biting my nails, and blushing like crazy!” – Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads

Let the games begin…

Runaway Zelda Wilder will do whatever it takes to secure a better life for her and her sister Ava. Crown Prince Rowan Westringham Tate will do whatever it takes to preserve his small country.

When Zee is blackmailed into helping a vengeful statesman take down Rowan, she never expects she’ll be pulled into a web of lies and international intrigue–much less that she’ll find herself falling for Cal, Rowan’s “playboy” younger brother.

Ava’s no help, as she finds quiet walks in the moonlight discussing poetry and leadership with the brooding future king irresistible. Even more irresistible is kissing his luscious lips.

They’re in over their heads, and the more time passes, the more danger the sisters are in. Shots are fired, and it’s soon clear even a prince might not be able to rescue these players.

★ GET The Prince & The Player for .99c for a limited time ★

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Chapter 1: Old Habits

~ Zelda Wilder ~

My heart is beating too fast. Glancing down, I see my hands tremble, and I take a few measured breaths to try and make them stop.

I’ve never been this anxious on a job, but everything has changed in the last six weeks. Looking over my shoulder has become a nonstop addiction it seems.

For the first time, I’m alone with Seth, just the two of us. Unknown hit men took out our longtime partner Helen, and we don’t even know how long ago it was. The radio report simply said her body was found in a bathtub in a cheap hotel in Miami. A plastic bag was over her head.

Clutching my black purse, again I look over my shoulder. Through the neon lights and arcade noises of the Divi casino in St. Croix, I see men in black blazers dotted among the gamblers. Men with curly earpieces in their ears, men with dark brows lowered over steely eyes, men sweeping the room for any signs of criminal activity.

I do another quick sweep, and I realize I’m looking for Ava. Stop that, Zee. My little sister is far away from this life, and it’s because I chose to distance us. I decided her safety is more important than keeping our family together.

The last time I saw her, she was wounded and pale, unconscious in a hospital bed. It tore at my heart to leave her, but at least I know she’s okay. Thanks to the Internet, I’ve been able to keep up with the “developing story” of the assassination attempt on the future king of Monagasco and the shooting of his fiancée, a.k.a., my sister. Rowan has taken Ava from the hospital to the palace, where she’s recuperating under the watchful eyes of his royal guards.

With a steady exhale, I release the nerves, reminding myself it’s for the best. She’s with the man who loves her, who promised to take care of her. If a crown prince can’t do that, I don’t stand a chance.

Still… it isn’t me.

I’m not watching out for her.

As the oldest, I’ve always had that job. I’ve taken care of us since our parents died, leaving us at the mercy of the foster system. I’ve protected her ever since that last asshole thought he’d try relieving his sexual frustrations on a little girl entrusted to his “care.” It was me who’d bashed him over the head with the lamp, grabbed her hand, and run us out of there.

We’d hidden all night in the pouring rain in a concrete culvert, and I came up with a plan to keep us out of that life for good. Passing the baton to someone else—even a future king—hits me harder than I thought it would. My throat aches at her absence, my chest heavy. Stay safe, Ava-bug.

Tonight is the first time I’ve ever entered a place like this without her. Ava is the only person I can count on in any situation. Every security guard in this room reminds me of how we’ve always been a team. If anything goes wrong, I grab her hand and we run, just like always. We stay alive.

Only, I made the deal that changed everything. I shook hands with the devil.

I could argue I didn’t have a choice. We were facing jail time, felony convictions in Florida for grand theft, and while I’d be willing to take my chances in jail, there’s no way in hell I’m letting Ava go to prison. So yeah. Agreeing to work with Reginald Winchester might make me a “bad guy,” but I’d do it again in heartbeat.

A heartbeat…

Squaring my shoulders, I slide a lock of jet-brown hair behind my ear and force confidence into my stride. I make my way through the glittering, noisy casino to my target—a shiny brass roulette wheel—and prepare to start the show.

The last time we worked this con in Miami, Helen had been waiting at the table when I got there. I can still hear her gravelly voice and see her “May Contain Alcohol” sweatshirt. Sadness followed closely by fear ricochets through my insides. Whoever killed her is looking for me.

We were on our way to Tortola to hide when Seth said we should stop in here and bank extra cash. As Americans, we don’t need passports in St. Croix, and we can catch a cheap ferry and slip away in the night to our ultimate destination.

Keeping off the radar is the goal—as always. We’ll pocket a few thousand and disappear unnoticed. At least that’s the plan.

“No more bets!” The dealer passes his hand over the wheel just as I arrive, and I quickly assess the table rules. Minimum ten dollar bet. Decent.

Opening my clutch, I remove two hundreds and pass them to the dealer. He quickly exchanges them for twenty pale blue chips. I’ll join the fray next spin.

Tonight the transmitter is hidden in my shoe as opposed to my cuff bracelet. I’m wearing a strappy black dress that stops mid-thigh, and my black heels show off my legs while hiding the device facilitating our winning streak.

I have to sit with my legs crossed and point my toe to activate it. One dainty point, one shiny silver ball drops right in the tray, predictable at ninety percent accuracy. So far the odds have been in our favor.

We’ll play until Seth gives me the signal they’re onto us. Then I’ll calmly cash out, walk away, and meet him at the pier on Grapetree Point. From there we’ll make the forty-mile cruise to Tortola.

An elegantly dressed woman shakes her head and gives me a bitter smile as I sit. “Don’t stay longer than three spins,” she grumbles.

I smile in response. “That’s the rule, isn’t it?”

“That’s the rule.” Her expression tells me she lost a lot tonight.

As a student of casinos, I know how steeply the odds in roulette are stacked in favor of the House—they’re the worst of any game. The longer you sit, the greater your chances of losing, times a million. If I were giving advice to a rookie, I’d say stick to blackjack. At least there you can use strategy and possibly win a little. Walking away is something I learned early on. You can never be afraid to walk away—even when you’re certain you’re lucky. Luck is the biggest liar of all.

I place half my chips on the black rectangle and watch as the wheel begins to spin. The dealer snakes his hand to the side and releases the ball. It flies around the shining wood with a sharp rasp. I need to lose this round. The job doesn’t start until Seth arrives, and I can’t win for longer than a few spins or it’ll look suspicious.

Another glance over my shoulder. He’s still not here. Casting my eyes down, I watch the wheel spinning, black-red, black-red, black-red, flashing brass.

“Have you been here long?” A man in an elegant suit steps into the space beside me and fishes out his wallet as we wait for the ball to drop.

“I just sat down,” I say without making eye contact. I’m not here to make friends.

He passes a crisp one hundred dollar bill to the dealer. “Then we have no way of knowing if it’s a good table.”

“Sorry,” I shake my head. “I play red or black.”

“Not much of a gambler?”

A glance, and I see he’s tall and thick with dark brown hair and a cocky expression like he already knows the answer to his question.

“No,” I say in a discouraging tone.

No, thank you. Even if I hadn’t left my heart in Monagasco, I never let romance interfere with a job. Well, almost never.

“Logan Thomas.” Mr. Persistent sticks a hand at me.

He waits, and I hesitate. Two first names.

“Regina Lampert,” I lie only barely touching his fingers.

“Regina,” he gives me a nod, but that twinkle of knowledge is in his eyes.

A knot forms in my throat. I don’t like this. The ball drops on black seventeen, and a lady at the other end of the table emits a little cheer.

“You won,” Logan’s voice ripples toward me.

The dealer adds more chips to my pile, and I’m ready to hop up and intercept Seth. A swirl of warmth at my side tells me I’m too late.

“Roo-lette!” Seth exclaims in the exaggerated southern accent he reserves for our cons. “Well, I’m as happy as a tornado in a trailer park at this turn of events!” He turns to a man at the table. “You know, I’m a student of Roolette. Only three spins and you’re out.”

Tilting my head so Logan can’t see, I level my blue eyes on Seth’s green ones. As usual, he’s wearing black horn-rimmed glasses.

He ignores my pointed glare, his smile as overblown as his accent. “I hope you don’t mind if I stand right here beside you, Miss—?”

“Lampert,” I say, tightening my jaw. Abort, Seth. Abort!

“Lampert?” He looks up behind me at the big guy getting too close. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that name before. And you are?”

“Logan Thomas.”

The men shake hands, and Seth shakes his head. “It’s sure nice to meet you. I tell you, I’ve met the nicest people in Saint Crow—Ah, Dealer? I need a hundred in tens.”

The dealer doesn’t even look up as he exchanges Seth’s money, and as soon as the chips are distributed, my partner in crime splits his money on two corner bets. I rotate in my chair so I can cross my legs. He’s sticking to the plan, and my insides are quaking.

Logan Thomas is onto us. Somehow we’ve been detected. I’ve been in this situation before, and it cost us a partner, two if you count Ava.

I can only guess the man to my right is another of Wade Paxton’s thugs—or worse. Law enforcement. Perhaps Reggie made good on his promise to expose Ava and me to every casino boss this side of the Atlantic.

“No more bets!” The dealer’s hand passes over the table, and the ball shoots around the spinning wheel.

I sense Seth’s body tense. It’s time for me to do my part. Logan Thomas is probably waiting for this exact moment to arrest me. Five years and a felony conviction.

My breath is coming in short pants. Perhaps I should let it happen. Would I be safer in prison? Seth clears his throat, and I swallow my terror. The slightest twitch of my ankle, the slightest point. The ball stutters and drops… Twenty-nine black.

“WOO HOO!!!!! Well, I’ll be Johnny Mack Brown!!!” Seth explodes with excitement. “I WON! And on a corner bet to boot!”

He grasps the table edge and does a little jig. I can’t breathe waiting to see what our ominous tablemate will do. Will he whip out a badge? Detain us. At least with the device in my shoe they won’t find anything in a pat down.

“Congratulations,” Logan says. “That’s two and oh for me, so I’ll be saying goodnight, Miss Lampert.” He does a little nod in my direction, still with that knowing smile.

I don’t make eye contact, and Seth is busy distracting the dealer. I haven’t touched my chips on black, yet again they’ve doubled in number. One more turn is all I can stay.

“Now this is the hard part,” Seth says loudly, pinching his top lip between two fingers. “Should I leave them there or move them?”

He glances down at me again, a twinkle in his eyes. “What do you suggest, Miss Lampert?”

Shaking my head, I again feign ignorance. “I don’t know. I only play by color.”

He nods looking again at the table. “You know what they say. If everything’s headed your way, you might need to change lanes.”

I move my pile of chips to the red field just as the dealer starts the wheel. Final bets are going around, and Seth stares at the green felt, appearing to be deep in thought. At the very last minute, he reaches out and moves his chips to opposite ends of the grid.

“No more bets!” The dealer snaps just as Seth’s hands leave the area.

He straightens, still doing his very best acting job. His lip is again pinched between his fingers, and now he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I tell you, Miss Lampert, I’m as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers.”

My jaw tightens. That makes two of us… I can’t shake this tension, even with Logan Thomas out of sight. For all I know he’s waiting outside the door.

The ball starts to slow, and I shift on my stool, pointing my toe as I do so. In that instant, the silver ball drops quickly into the tray.

Red Five.

“HOLEE SHIT!!!! I can’t believe it!” Seth shouts, slapping the rubber table-guard. “I can’t believe it, I WON AGAIN!” He turns to me, and I glance up, giving him a little smile. “And look at there! So did you, Miss Lampert!”

“I should probably quit while I’m ahead,” I say, rising from my chair.

Warmth at my back, and a familiar voice clenches my insides. “You shouldn’t break a winning streak.”

Jumping away as if I were electrocuted, I turn to face the owner of that sexy voice. Our eyes lock, and standing here, right at this table, a knowing smile curling his lips, is MacCallum Lockwood Tate, my playboy prince. The one I left behind when I ran.

If I couldn’t breathe before, now I’m about to faint.

“Cal!” It’s a startled whisper, my fingers tightening.

His smoky hazel eyes won’t release me, and all the desire I feel is reflected back at me. At the same time, something new is in his—an edge I’ve never seen before.

“I’m sorry…” His voice is slow, measured. “Have we met? You seem familiar…”

Glancing down, I relax my grip on the chair. I focus on calm, stay in character. I straighten the enormous ring on my hand. It’s costume jewelry—fake yellow topaz set in fake yellow gold. How fitting, considering everything about me is fake.

Still, even in this remote location, wearing this silly dark-brown wig, I feel exposed, laid bare. I can’t do this in front of him. Even if he knows what I am, I’m ashamed for him to see me doing it.

Seth only pauses a hiccup before resuming the act. “He’s right, Miss Lampert. You can’t walk out when you’re winning.”

I want to kill Seth. “I can’t…” I start, but it’s too late.

The dealer only pauses a moment before starting the wheel again. My heart beats too fast. It shoots a pain between my shoulder blades, and I haven’t moved my chips. I haven’t moved anything. I have to sit down if I’m going to activate the switch, but if I sit, I’ll be right beside Cal. Our arms will touch. I’m not sure I can handle that.

“No more bets!” The dealer’s hand passes over my stationary chips.

Seth had moved his a few rows to the left, and I feel his eyes on me watching, waiting to see if I’ll choke. The wheel is slowing. I can hear the noise of the ball decelerating on its track.

Cal’s hazel eyes are like heat against my skin, never moving away, not letting me escape this time. I hear his voice the last time we spoke: I love you, Zelda…

My chest rises and falls quickly. I’m still standing.

“It’s slowing down!” Seth’s voice is eager, but it’s directed at me. He’s trying to snap me out of it.

If I blow this spin, we’ll lose everything. I’m on my own now. I left Cal behind, and even if he followed me, it changes nothing. I have to be able to take care of myself.

“Slower…” Seth says again.

With a blink I break Cal’s spell over me and lean down as if to adjust my ankle strap. A flick of my wrist and a curl of my toe, and the silver ball clatters into red seven.

“OH!” Seth bellows. “I DON’T BELIEVE IT!!!”

He slaps my shoulder, but I haven’t regained my footing. Pulling up quick, I’m slammed into Cal’s chest. My palms are flat against his jacket, and his warm breath skirts across my cheek. Strong hands grip my waist, and his warm-cedar and citrus scent floods my brain.

My insides clench. Whatever made him come after me, it’s certainly over now—unless now he wants to make me pay for what I did in Monagasco, my role in his brother’s assassination attempt. I might not have known what Reggie and Wade were planning, but I helped them get into the country all the same. I lied to all of them.

“Zee,” he says softly, his fingers grazing the skin of my lower back. The tiny hairs on my body rise, and my stomach flips the way it always does when Cal touches me. All the places and all the ways we’ve been together flood my mind.

“I’m sorry,” I manage, pulling away.

I can’t be here with him like this. It hurts so much knowing he knows everything. Everything we had, those moments with him were all stolen. It’s what I am. A thief.

And now he knows.

Seth grabs my upper arm, pulling me to his side. “I say, Miss Lampert, you must be my lucky charm.” The accent is still there, but ice is in his tone.

The muscle in Cal’s jaw moves, and I see his anger flash at my partner in crime.

“Cash me out.” I swipe my black clutch off the table, twisting from Seth’s grip.

My hands shake as I collect my winnings. I don’t even bother to count them. I take the money and run. Seth will meet me at the dock like we planned. Noises are behind me, but I don’t stop. I practically sprint to the doors and out to the line of cabs. It only takes a moment for me to dive into one.

“Grapetree Point,” I say, slamming the door.

I fall back against the cracked vinyl seat as we speed off into the night, tears lurking in the corners of my eyes.

 

 

About Tia Louise

The “Queen of Hot Romance,” Tia Louise is the Award-Winning, International Bestselling author of the ONE TO HOLD series.

From “Readers’ Choice” nominations, to USA Today “Happily Ever After” nods, to winning the 2015 “Favorite Erotica Author” and the 2014 “Lady Boner Award” (LOL!), nothing makes her happier than communicating with fans and weaving new tales into the Alexander-Knight world of stories.

A former journalist, Louise lives in the center of the USA with her lovely family and one grumpy cat. There, she dreams up stories she hopes are engaging, hot, and sexy, and that cause readers rethink common public locations…

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Newsletter | Pinterest | Amazon Author Page

Excerpt Reveal…Chapter 1… Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

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The British are HERE!

Are you ready for Filthy English?

*****

Filthy English

By Ilsa Madden-Mills

Release Date: July 11, 2016

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Synopsis

A smokin’ hot British player…

A jilted girl…

One night of mistaken identity…

 

Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

 

She didn’t plan on attending a masquerade party.

 

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

 

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.

 

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

 

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

 

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*

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Excerpt

Chapter 1

Remi

Plain and simple, this night sucked.

Sadly, it was my honeymoon.

I sighed heavily and gazed around Masquerade, an intimately lit London nightclub where everyone wore black domino masks, some elaborate and some plain, to hide their identity. A few die-hards even sported dark clothing with long, loose cloaks. Not me though. I’d gone modern with a slinky little number and three-inch heels, putting my height at nearly six feet. Yep, I’m the giant in the blue dress, towering over every girl and some guys at the bar.

My top teeth dug into my bottom lip as I gazed around the smoky club, my eyes bouncing off random faces. Even in a room full of party people, music, and strobe lights, I was lonely.

My groom was missing.

That’s right. Hartford Wilcox, Jr., aka Mr. Nice Guy at Whitman University in North Carolina, had jilted me two weeks before the big wedding day as we had dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Mario’s.

And now here I was—on my honeymoon and getting trashed with my best friend Lulu who’d decided to skip her beach vacation and come with me at the last minute.

She poked me with her finger as we sat in front of the heavy wooden bar of the club. “Hey, Earth to Remi, get that glazed look out of your eyes and order a drink already. I’m thirsty.” She fluffed her pixie-cut pink hair and straightened her black tutu, eyes scoping out the club. “Dang, the men in here are hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch,” she said in her honeyed southern drawl.

I half-heartedly agreed, not really caring, more intent on scanning the bottles behind the bar. “I want tequila,” I murmured. “A whole bottle.”

Her face snapped back to me and her green eyes widened. “Uh-uh. No way. I know what happens when you drink that crap. You either eat a ton of tacos and puke, or you wrap yourself around some cocky bastard with a well-developed tush.”

True. I did love a tight muscular ass.

But I wouldn’t get one tonight.

A short laugh burst out of me, one of those I’m-miserable-but-pretending-to- be-okay-laughs that I’d been doing a lot of lately. For the past two weeks, I’d vacillated between a sobbing mess and an angry woman who became so incensed that “fuck” was the only word that seemed appropriate in any given situation. Going to the post office to mail he dumped me, but thank you anyway cards. Fuck. Going to the wedding venue and not getting the ten thousand dollar deposit back. Fuck. Realizing I was homeless fall semester—which was in two weeks—fuck. Listening to my mother tell me it was my fault. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The bartender delivered my bottle and poured me a shot. I sucked the tequila down while Lulu watched me warily. It tasted like bad decisions and gasoline, but tonight was about forgetting. The sooner the better.

A few minutes later, Lulu went out to dance with a British guy she’d been making eyes at. I sat glumly at the bar, fiddling with my diamond tennis bracelet, rubbing it like rosary beads. I needed to forget Hartford, and according to Lulu, that meant hooking up with someone.

Was she right?

Fate answered in the form of a beautiful man—and by beautiful I mean drop-dead sexy with a backside so delectable and muscular my mouth plopped open.

I snapped my lips shut and adjusted my velvet half-mask—the annoying feathery plumes on the sides kept sticking to my red lipstick—and turned ever so slightly to check him out, not wanting to appear obvious. He slid into the seat next to me, tall and broad with rippling shoulders and a massive frame.

I checked my appearance in a mirror behind the bar, mentally analyzing the odds of a girl like me snagging a hottie like him.

Although no one had ever called me beautiful, I did have two—okay, maybe three—things going for me in the looks department. My shiny, golden-brown hair that hung down in waves to my shoulders, my fluffy “pillow lips” as Lulu described them, and lastly, I had an itsy bitsy space between my two front teeth which were otherwise white and perfect. Lulu claimed the gap lent me an exotic look, like Madonna or Sookie Stackhouse. Whatever. I was a True Blood fan. I went with it.

He shifted on the stool, leaning closer to me. His cologne swirled in the air, the smell of expensive Scotch and musk mingling together to create a heady, slightly dangerous scent. I paused, goosebumps rising on my bare arms. The spicy whiff triggered a distant memory just out of reach.

As slyly as I could, I studied his profile from top to bottom. Like me he wore a black mask, although his was more masculine, not hiding his chiseled, movie star jawline. His lips were carnal and luscious, the bottom more plump than the top with a slight indentation in the middle. As I watched, his tongue swept out and caressed it, his top teeth biting it as if he were deep in thought. He raked a hand through his dark, longish messy hair, held it suspended above his head for a few seconds and then released it, letting it swish back into its tousled yet perfect place.

I tore my eyes away.

Something about him sent loud warning bells ringing in every atom of my body.

Danger, danger. Don’t touch that.

But my gaze would not be denied as I took in the tight black shirt and sculpted chest that was obviously used to the inside of a gym, right down to an arm that looked like it could snap a board in half—or me.

Nice biceps, Mr. Beautiful.

The pièce de résistance was the vivid blue and orange dragonfly tattoo displayed on his left arm. It was larger than my hand and took up most of his bicep. My eyes traced the contours of the design from the papery wings to the multi-faceted eyes. A bold black color outlined the insect, giving it a masculine feel.

Gorgeous.

True Religion jeans stretched down long legs and ended in a pair of black Converse without socks, giving him a boyish quality that was in direct contrast to the crazy-sexy-bad-boy vibe he had going on.

Him tonight?

Maybe. He was the polar opposite of Hartford who was blond, lean, and tattoo-free.

I nibbled on my fingernail. How do I get him to notice little ol’ me?

Just then a redhead with fluffy Farrah Fawcett hair strode up to his stool, bold as brass, wearing a tight, white mini-skirt that barely covered her booty. She brought with her the smell of sweet, cloying perfume, the kind I always got spritzed with at the mall.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, casually rubbed her finger down his arm and struck up a conversation. Her fake, black lashes—which she’d somehow managed to get outside the eyeholes of her mask—batted. She puffed out her well-developed chest.

He smiled back at her with a wicked grin, his relaxed body language telling me he was confident when it came to women. She whispered in his ear, boobs right in his face, but whatever he said back wasn’t what she wanted to hear because a few ticks later, she crossed her arms, glared at me, and stalked away.

I blinked. What had I done?

Then he turned and pointed his devastating smile at me.

Shit, he’d made eye contact—as much as you could with a claustrophobic mask on.

But wait…

Was he crazy?

Because if he’d turned down her flirtation, I didn’t have a shot.

I didn’t know how to do the fingers-tip-toeing-up-his-arm-thing and sexy hair flicking. I didn’t know a thing about applying fake eyelashes. I didn’t know how to make my breasts sit up that high. I looked away from him and took another shot, feeling anxious and strangely off-kilter.

Mr. Beautiful ordered a drink from the bartender, his British accent smooth as silk as it washed over me. I froze. I almost knew that voice—deep with soft rounded vowels that made you tingle in your lady parts.

What was it about this guy that had me all jacked up and hot for him?

Hello, tequila, my inner voice said. But it was more than that.

Getting brave, I pivoted on my barstool, and found Mr. Beautiful’s eyes on me once more, searching my face. As if he too recognized the pull between us.

My heart played hopscotch, jumping against my chest. My skin prickled. I shivered.

Did I know him?

It clicked.

Dax Blay?

It was his voice, the same deep quality, the kind of voice that made you want to hop into his bed and ride him like a cowgirl.

My breath hitched, and I swallowed down the emotion that zipped up my spine whenever I thought of him. He was my one mistake, the time I’d tossed inhibitions and carefully laid plans aside and went with my instincts, only to have them tossed back in my face.

But the man next to me wasn’t Dax. Thank God.

Last spring at the campus-wide end of the year fraternity party with Hartford, I’d seen Dax, and he’d had shorter hair, like always, and zero tattoos. Yeah. No way.

Plus, last I heard, he was in Raleigh where his father lived.

Yet…

Dax was British. He could have family here. Maybe he got a tattoo?

Nah. I mean, what were the odds of us both being at the same club on the same night in a country where neither of us lived?

I tore my eyes off Mr. Beautiful and waved at a bartender for more limes, but somehow my tennis bracelet snagged on the bodice of my dress, leaving my wrist dangling like a wet dishrag in a most inappropriate place.

I wiggled my arm.

Jiggled it.

Even went so far as to jerk, but it wouldn’t separate.

Sweat popped out on my forehead. Holding my breath, I twisted and tugged the bracelet, forcing the delicate material in my bodice to stretch beyond normal limits.

“Well, hell,” I breathed, pausing to assess.

Skin-tight with a plunging neckline, the dress was mostly a stretchy fabric held together by sequined straps and a zipper on the side. Slated as part of my honeymoon wardrobe, it was a Tory Burch and had cost four hundred dollars, the most I’d ever paid for a fun outfit, and no way did I want to damage it. I might have to return it to rent an apartment at Whitman.

Lulu. I needed Lulu. She was a whiz with wardrobe malfunctions.

I spun around on the barstool and used my free hand to wave at her, but she was slinging herself around dancing, having a great time and completely oblivious. I resorted to flapping both hands at her, one high and one low. Several people waved back with baffled expressions, but Lulu didn’t notice. Dammit.

I groaned and slumped down in my seat, ready to scream. Now what? Go to the bathroom and repair it there? Good plan.

But the club tilted when I stood, the strobe lights making me squint as they flashed in my face. I wobbled in my leopard print heels—that Lulu had insisted I wear—and grabbed the stool to keep my balance. `

I sucked in a breath to gather myself, but I couldn’t think straight. The room spun, and I was suddenly queasy, and why did I slam all that tequila, and oh my god, my wrist is currently attached to my tit like a T. rex arm.

I had to get out of here before someone noticed what an idiot I was.

Trying to be stealth like, I reached across the bar to get my beaded clutch, but because it was my left hand and not my right that I used most of the time, I got off balance and stumbled—and my ankle folded in on itself. I yelped as my shoe catapulted off my foot and vaulted off toward the dance floor, while I fell forward, straight into Mr. Beautiful’s lap.

Filthy English (unedited excerpt)

Copyright Ilsa Madden-Mills

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Briarcrest Academy Series

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Very Bad Things – Book 1

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Very Wicked Beginnings – Book 1.5

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Very Wicked Things – Book 2

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Very Twisted Things – Book 3

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************

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Dirty English

By Ilsa Madden- Mills

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Buy: Amazon  / Amazon UK

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 Author Bio

ilsa madden -millsa

New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

 

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

 

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

 

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

 

Website ~ Facebook ~ Twitter ~ Goodreads ~ Instagram ~ Amazon Author Page

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Chapter Reveal + Giveaway : Cold Hearted by Toni Anderson -Cold Justice Series – Book 6

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COLD HEARTED by Toni Anderson releases May 31st – but we didn’t want you to wait to get a peek at what’s in store for you! Take a look at the first chapter below and enter to win a $25 giftcard!

 

ColdHearted_ToniAnderson_FINALAbout COLD HEARTED

Hunting For A Killer…Who Doesn’t Play By The Rules.

Detective Erin Donovan expects life to quiet down after the arrest and conviction of a serial rapist who terrified her university town last summer. Then two young women are brutally slain and the murders bear all the hallmarks of the campus rapist. Did Erin arrest an innocent man? Now her job is at stake and tensions are high and just when it looks like things can’t get worse, her department gets the help it needs to solve the double homicide–in the form of a man Erin has never been able to forget.

FBI Agent Darsh Singh has no interest in reliving the past. Three years ago, his feelings for Erin Donovan had him breaking all his rules about getting involved. Now his only interest in the former NYPD detective is figuring out if she screwed up a rape investigation and helped send an innocent man to prison. But being forced to work together rekindles their old attraction, and as Darsh and Erin fall for each other, the campus predator fixates on Erin. The race is on to identify the ruthless killer before he makes Erin his final victim.

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Read the first chapter of COLD HEARTED now:

He spotted her across the street, blonde hair shining like polished gold in the sunlight, her lithe body tormenting every Y-chromosome in a hundred yard radius. He pulled out his cell and took a snapshot to immortalize the moment. He’d thought she said she was returning later in the week. Obviously he’d been mistaken. He dialed her number and watched her pull out her phone. He waited for the matching smile to form on her lips, for her eyes to light up. Instead, she checked caller ID, grimaced, and let the call go to voicemail.

Horror rushed through him as she re-pocketed the phone and turned back to her companion. What the fuck? He killed the connection and collapsed to a nearby bench, hidden from sight by a mass of tangled bushes.

He’d thought she loved him. That she wanted to be with him…

God! He’d given her everything she needed, laid it out like a feast on a platter with a fucking apple stuffed in its mouth. She played you, dumbass.

Fury flayed his skin. Rage so hot and pure that the blood coursing his body burned his bones. She thought she could dismiss him? Like he was nothing? Like he hadn’t risked everything for her? His hand strangled his phone as he imagined it squeezing her alabaster neck.

A noise brought him back to himself, and he drew in a long breath.

A laugh.

A giggle.

His head jerked up. Students milled around. They were relaxed and happy after winter break. The monster had been caught. They were safe. Life could go back to normal.

Sheep.

How could they think they were safe when the person they were having coffee with might be a predator dreaming about ripping into their soft, white underbelly? Why were they so willing to swallow bullshit as long as it was confidently labeled “truth”?

The system was broken. Bad guys walked free every single day. Good guys rotted. Innocents died.

Idiots.

A cute freshman smiled shyly at him from the bench opposite. He stretched his mouth into an answering curve that revealed nothing of the shock and disappointment that still rippled through him. Women liked him. So why the fuck did she think it was okay to ignore him?

A plan formed in his brain—a plan that buzzed along his nerves with the blistering speed of electricity.

Should he do it?

It might mess up things, and he didn’t want to go to prison, but it would certainly get her attention. His brain raced over the possibilities. He knew how to do this. He knew how not to get caught. And it might keep things interesting. Life had been pretty fucking boring lately and, as he’d found out last year, there was nothing quite as satisfying as revenge.

The student hiked her bag on her shoulder and got up to leave. He eyed the flirty plaid skirt she wore over opaque black tights and tall black boots, then jogged to catch up with her. Made a joke. Made her blush.

It was almost too easy.

He laughed and realized he was enjoying himself again. The excitement resurrected something inside him that was both heady and familiar. Something that scared him enough to keep it tightly leashed and under control. Something he’d denied himself for ten long months.

He reined in the thrill that fizzed through his bloodstream. He needed to be careful. The memory of the disgraced former quarterback reminded him he couldn’t afford to get cocky. No way in hell did he intend to share the asshole’s shame and degradation. But he knew the system. Knew the flaws. She was going to regret not taking that goddamned phone call for the rest of her life.

* * *

Cassie Bressinger smoothed out the single sheet of paper and read Drew’s small, cramped handwriting for the seventh time that day.

Cass,

I was trying to figure out something interesting to tell you, but after only a month I’m already running out of material. I mean, there are only so many adjectives I can invent to describe the three shades of gray that make up the decor here—snot, Minnesota, and dead rabbit are my newest favorites. I probably wouldn’t win any prizes in English class, but as I got kicked out I guess it doesn’t matter.

Three shades of gray—hmm, there might be a book in there somewhere…

Fifty Shades this place is not. Not to say there isn’t plenty of banging going on from the grunts and groans I hear at night. Someone somewhere is enjoying the fuck out of somebody else.

I think it’s consensual…

An ironic concern for a convicted rapist but, hey, who wants to be predictable?

Honestly, Babe, I’m at the stage where protecting my own ass has become my #1 priority. Luckily, I’m a big motherfucker and spent years on the gridiron, staring down people desperate to drill me into the ground. I could do with my offensive line in here though…

Crap.

I didn’t mean to talk about this shit and I’m running out of writing paper so I don’t want to start over. Plus, my fingers are getting cramps from holding a pen. Yeah, me, former star athlete whose hands were supposed to be his golden meal ticket. Getting cramps from writing a freaking letter! More irony J

Enough about me. How are you? What’s happening with your courses this semester? You said you were going to try and get into law school. Please don’t do that because of me!!! The last thing I want is for you to be stuck in a stuffy courtroom listening to god-awful testimony and watching people’s lives disintegrate. Run away and join the circus. Take a year off and travel the world.

Seriously.

And make sure you write and tell me all about your adventures, okay? I’m living vicariously. And if you want to have sex with other girls—that’s okay. Feel free to write and tell me all about that, too. Kidding! Well…kind of kidding and now kind of horny, which is a pain in the ass. Obviously the DA was right to classify me as a dangerous sex fiend.

Fucker.

Okay, gotta go. Time for me to go line up for sloppy mashed potatoes and sausages that look like severed fingers… Ugh, okay, just grossed myself out.

Don’t worry about me—I got this.

Love you. Miss you.

Drew. X

Someone knocked on the door and Cassie jumped. Tanya Whitehouse sauntered in before Cassie had a chance to hide the letter.

“That from Drew?” Tanya was wearing skinny jeans, her favorite strappy black top, and sparkly earrings. Her lips glowed in glittering magenta. Going out. Doing normal things like a normal person.

Cassie popped a shoulder and nodded.

“He okay?” asked Tanya.

“He’s incarcerated with rapists and murderers for crimes he didn’t commit,” she bit out. “What do you think?”

Tanya placed her perfectly manicured hand along Cassie’s forearm. “You know what I meant.”

Always patient. Always reasonable.

Cassie swallowed the anger. She wasn’t patient, and she wasn’t reasonable. But Tanya was only trying to help. All her friends had been nothing but supportive throughout this entire nightmare.

“He says he’s okay.” Cassie swallowed the knotted lump of grief that had taken up residence in her throat and tried to find her rationality. “I think he just says that to make me feel better.”

“You going to visit him?” Tanya asked gently.

Cassie nodded. “I’m driving over with his dad at the end of the month. Drew doesn’t want me to come, but I—”

“Maybe he’s right.”

Cassie sat up on the messy bed. She knew where this was going. “Please don’t tell me I’m wasting my life. Drew is my life.”

Tanya grabbed Cassie’s hand and squeezed hard enough to hurt. “I just don’t want you to be sad for the next thirty years.”

Her vision blurred, but they both pretended Cassie wasn’t crying. Even she was sick of the incessant tears. “I won’t be.” She was lying. “Anyway, he can still appeal.”

There was an awkward silence when Tanya didn’t say anything. Cassie’s gaze shifted to the image on the front of a magazine. Easier to look at some movie star complaining about her messed up childhood than dealing with the sort of truth that dug holes in your soul.

“Hey,” Tanya said brightly, “there’s a party over at Riddell Hall. Wanna come with?”

Cassie shook her head.

“Come on. It’ll be fun,” her friend urged.

Going to a party would remind her of all the times she and Drew had hung out. She didn’t want to acknowledge the aching void of his absence—especially not in public.

“I have an assignment due tomorrow. I really need to finish it.” She crawled over to her bedside table in search of a tissue.

Tanya lightly flicked the magazine, mockingly. “Well, you better get on with it then.”

Cassie slumped back to the bed, ashamed of how piteous she’d become. “I can’t face seeing people,” she admitted. “Not yet. Maybe coming back to school was a mistake.”

“You did great. Take it slowly. You’ll get there, and we’ll all be waiting for you on the other side of this.”

Cassie nodded. The problem was there was no ‘other side.’ Drew’s loss was like a rip in her chest that got bigger every day. “The world thinks he’s a monster.”

Tanya wrapped her arms around Cassie in a quick hug. “We love him. We know he’s a good guy and would never touch those lying bitches.”

“I don’t know how this could have happened.”

“You can’t lock yourself away forever, Cass.”

But she wanted to.

She didn’t know why she’d come back this term, but hanging around her parents’ house with nothing to do was worse. Christmas had sucked balls. Now she needed to figure out a way to move on without giving up on the man she loved.

She gripped her friend. “I love you, Tan. I’m sorry I’m such a bitch.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

She forced herself to pull away and wiped her eyes. “I really do have an assignment to finish.”

“Then get to it, slacker.” Tanya gave her arm a noogie.

Cassie forced a smile. She’d blown off cheerleading practice earlier today, and if she did it again, the coach would throw her off the squad. She didn’t care, except it would screw with her scholarship, and her parents weren’t wealthy. She couldn’t afford to get thrown out of the program, and she needed a good GPA to have a hope of getting into law school. But every time the football players ran onto the field in their black and gold jerseys, it was like someone was pouring acid in her eyes. Knowing everyone’s life went on while Drew sat locked up in a cell. Her throat constricted. Some days it felt like the pain would consume her whole.

She stood and pushed her friend toward the door. “Go. Have fun. Kiss some hot guys for me.”

“If I can find someone worthy enough, I intend to do a lot more than kiss him. So don’t worry if I don’t come home tonight. I’ll text you.” Tanya grinned. “Mandy’s studying in her room. Alicia is still at the library but said she’d be back just after ten as per usual. She might come to the party later, so if you change your mind…”

“Maybe,” Cassie lied. “You be careful out there. Guard your drink,” she warned. Because if those women had been raped, there was still a dangerous criminal on the loose, and no one knew it.

“I will, honey. Jillian’s going to be here any minute to give me a ride.”

“Go. Have fun.”

Tanya turned and smiled at her sadly, touching her arm. Cassie felt the punch of it near her heart. “You’ll get through this, Cass. You don’t have to forget Drew, but you need to keep living your life. He’d want you to do that.”

Cassie’s lip wobbled as she remembered what he’d said in his letter. She crossed her arms over her chest as she watched her friend jog down the stairs, grab her coat, and race out the front door. She had to believe a miracle was going to happen and that Drew would be freed, but it seemed futile. The judicial process was so slow it took months to even schedule a court hearing. In the meantime Drew was forced to live amongst killers and thieves. Getting raped in the showers wasn’t something anyone should have to worry about. Who could live like that?

That bitch Donovan had a lot to answer for. The blonde detective probably thought this was over.

It wasn’t. It would never be over.

Anger grounded her. Without it she’d be so damn lost.

Across the hall, Mandy turned her music on full blast. Cassie slipped on her noise-canceling headphones and stared at her computer and thought about the paper she needed to finish. Instead she pulled out a pen and notepad and started to write back to the man she loved, stopping only once to wipe away the tears that insisted on falling.

 

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About Toni Anderson

New York Times and USA Today international bestselling author, Toni Anderson, writes dark, gritty Romantic Suspense novels that have hit #1 in Barnes & Noble’s Nook store, the Top 10 in Amazon and Kobo stores, and the Top 50 in iBooks. Her novels have won many awards. A former Marine Biologist from Britain, she inexplicably ended up in the geographical center of North America, about as far from the ocean as it is possible to get. She now lives in the Canadian prairies with her Irish husband and two children and spends most of her time complaining about the weather.

Toni has no explanation for her oft-times dark imagination, and only hopes the romance makes up for it. She’s addicted to reading, dogs, tea, and chocolate.

If you want to know when Toni’s next book will be out, visit her website (http://www.toniandersonauthor.com) and sign up for her newsletter. If you want to read other fascinating stories about life in a city that, during winter, is sometimes colder than Mars, friend her on Facebook: (https://www.facebook.com/toniannanderson).

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Cover Reveal + Sneak Peek…Chapter One: Anti-Romance by Cassia Leo

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We’re excited to share the cover and first chapter of Cassia Leo’s upcoming release, Anti-Romance, with you today! Anti-Romance is NOT a romance. This is a hilariously screwed-up stand-alone novel love story. This is a book you’ll definitely want to grab in paperback; the cover will be completely colorable!

AntiRomance

About Anti-Romance:

Laney Hill is screwed. On the bed. On the treadmill. On the hood of a BMW. And on her boss’s desk. Then she’s screwed again when she steps into the free clinic and finds out she has gonorrhea. That dirty prick gave her gonorrhea! She’s totally going to break up with him…until he breaks up with her…because he’s married!

A night out drinking with friends leads to a fateful–yet awkwardly-sloppy–kiss between her and her best friend George Bratton.

George has been single and pining for his ex-girlfriend ever since their breakup two years ago. When his ex invites him to her destination wedding in London, self-destructive George and gonorrhea survivor Laney make a deal to go as each other’s dates. It will make great material for Laney’s “Anti-Romance” blog and maybe it will help George finally get over his ex. Nothing could possibly go wrong, right?

This is a stand-alone novel.

Add it on Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28260248-anti-romance

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00071]

Chapter One

ANTI-ROMANCE
CHAPTER 1 – EXCERPT

Copyright © 2016 by Cassia Leo.

The tip of his erection was pressed firmly against my opening, a rock hard promise of the pleasure to come. This was the way he loved to tease me, right after making me come with his masterful tongue. He knew I needed him inside me. Needed to feel his girth stretching me. Needed to feel the closeness of his sweat-dampened skin pressed against mine.
But he wasn’t going to give in so easily.
First he would draw out the anticipation, until I was begging for him to fuck me. He would kiss and caress my body until I was forced to beg for it, until I reached the point of no return, where even the slightest touch would set off a chain reaction inside my body; a domino effect of nerve endings firing through every inch of my body, cascading uncontrollably toward my center, concluding in a mind-numbing, thigh-quaking, chest-rattling climax. Then, and only then, did he plunge into me with the force of an armada crashing upon the shores, ready to plunder the land for all its riches. I, the willingly-pillaged maiden, could only cry out in unbridled ecstasy as he took everything I had. Every moan. Every scream. Every drop of passion coursing through me.
When he finished inside me, his dying erection still twitching in its final death throes, he draped his body over mine as I lay back across the hood of his BMW. Mouth slightly hung open, his breathing heavy on my damp skin as his lips pressed against my neck. Each breath he exhaled sent a gentle shiver coursing through me; goosebumps sprouted over my skin as he lightly stroked my outer thigh with the backs of his fingers.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he murmured in my ear.
Though Rick had said these words a thousand times since we began dating two months ago, I still reminded myself not to believe them. I wasn’t gorgeous—not by his standards or anyone else’s. Maybe I could be described as “cute…if she lost a few pounds, got lip injections, and used a curling iron on those limp locks every once in a while.” No one—other than Rick—had ever called me, Laney Hill, gorgeous.
But what I lacked in the looks department, I more than made up for with a firm grip and a “fiery spirit,” as my former women’s studies professor used to call it; or, as my best friend liked to call it these days, my “unbridled cynicism.”
My best friend, George Bratton, was a serial monogamist and—God help him—a hopeless romantic. His shortest romantic relationship lasted more than a year. My longest relationship lasted ten months, and that ended a few years ago when I decided to change careers. Since then, I’d plowed through more men than Al Capone’s Tommy gun.
Of course, most of my romantic misadventures had been undertaken in the name of research for my blog, lovingly named Anti-Romance: The seedy parlor where romance goes to get a happy-ending before it dies. At least, this is what I had convinced myself of. I only entered dead-end relationships for my job. It certainly wasn’t because I was screwed up in any way. Nope. Not me. I was just an artist willing to live my art. I entertained the world—well, my 257,000 subscribers—with my cocked-up love life. I was the canvas and my choice of medium was unavailable men.
“I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow after the rally?” I asked the question in a breathy murmur, trying to make my minuscule request sound even less demanding.
He blew out a deep breath as he stood straighter. “I can’t. I’ll be flying to D.C. to play preschool teacher to some women’s rights groups. I have to coordinate the announcement of their endorsements on social media. I’ll call you to set something up when I get back.”
I forced a smile as his green eyes locked on mine. “Of course. If you need any help,” I replied, tracing the tip of my tongue along his sharp jawline, savoring the salt of his efforts, “I’m great at kissing up to disillusioned constituents.”
He chuckled heartily as he pulled away and reached for his waistline to button his slacks. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I think the candidate would rather I tackle this alone.”
The candidate.
Three months into our smoldering farce of a courtship and Rick still felt the need to call Senator John Grossman—the Republican presidential candidate he worked for—“the candidate.” As if I were too stupid to know he was referring to Senator Grossman.
I may not have graduated from Harvard, but I was not stupid.
In fact, I graduated in the top two percent of my class with a degree in psychology and a minor in women’s studies. Our country, on the other hand, was circling the Idiocracy drain. As evidenced by the untethered enthusiasm for reality TV—and, in my case, reality blogs—it was only a matter of time before we Americans would go sliding down a sludge-filled drainpipe and end up sloshing around the intellectual sewer system. The way I saw it, if our ship was going down, I wanted to go down in a yacht, not a life raft.
I adjusted the crotch of my panties, all the while ignoring the burning itch that always followed rough sex with Rick. Though, it did seem to be getting worse lately. Must be a slight feminine “imbalance.” Nothing a little over-the-counter ointment wouldn’t fix.
I smoothed down the skirt of my dress as Rick pulled up the zipper on his trousers. He wore that sly grin that communicated one of the following: a) He could go for another round, or b) He was quite pleased that he had conquered me in yet another public forum. The first time we had sex in public was on my third day working undercover in Grossman’s Austin headquarters.
I thought seducing a Republican would make a great story for my blog followers. Rick thought having sex on his desk would be a great stress reliever. I knew we would make a great team.
Actually, Rick was the first guy I’d considered letting in on my secret. Since I started my Anti-Romance blog four years ago, I’d told zero men that our relationship would be used for entertainment. Online, I went by the pseudonym Amber F. Thus far, none of my male companions had linked me to Amber. But Rick and I had been working together and fucking each other for almost three months. Somehow, this felt different.
And, technically, I hadn’t written about Rick on the blog yet. I usually journaled about my relationships in a private app on my computer until we broke up. Then I’d go back and embellish my journal entries wherever necessary and upload each entry to the blog. My followers didn’t know if my dating life was happening in real time or past tense. Part of me did this because I was fastidious about never publishing a first draft, even if it was a first draft of a real life event. Another part of me hoped that when I found the right guy, my followers would never know anything about him, because our relationship would never end so I’d never have the opportunity to blog about it.
Stranger things had happened.
The look in Rick’s green eyes was breaking me down brick by brick. I felt myself blushing from the top of my head to my nether regions. I had to tell him about the blog.
He reached up and cupped my face, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. “I can’t wait until the primaries are over and I can take you away with me for a few days.” He brushed his lips over mine and the pulsing ache between my legs returned, which only accentuated the burning itch. “Where do you want me to fuck you next? Under a waterfall in Hawaii? In front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris?”
“Benghazi!” I blurted out and his face hardened as he pulled away. I delivered a playful shove to his solid chest. “I’m kidding. Paris sounds magnifique.”
The sound of a car door opening startled us both. I whipped my head around to find my young and surly-in-a-hot-way neighbor stepping out of his pickup truck, which was parked right next to Rick’s BMW.
He was sitting in his truck this whole time?
My face flushed with heat as my neighbor attempted to keep his head down while passing us, but he couldn’t hide his smirk. Oh. My. God. The poor guy was trapped in his car this whole time because he was too afraid to disturb our public fuck-session.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured as he passed.
His head twitched in my direction, but he didn’t dare make eye contact. “No worries, ma’am,” he muttered as he continued toward our apartment complex.
It was about 60 degrees in January, but I could swear it was summer in Austin as a searing warmth crept up my cheeks.

About Cassia:
Cassia Leo Bio Pic

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cassia Leo loves her coffee, chocolate, and margaritas with salt. When she’s not writing, she spends way too much time watching old reruns of Friends and Sex and the City. When she’s not watching reruns, she’s usually walking in the rain or reading.

Come chat with her on
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authorcassialeo
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/AuthorCassiaLeo
You can also follow her blog at http://cassialeo.com

Blogger HTML:
We’re excited to share the cover and first chapter of Cassia Leo’s upcoming release, Anti-Romance, with you today! Anti-Romance is NOT a romance. This is a hilariously screwed-up stand-alone novel love story. This is a book you’ll definitely want to grab in paperback; the cover will be completely colorable!

About Anti-Romance:

Laney Hill is screwed. On the bed. On the treadmill. On the hood of a BMW. And on her boss’s desk. Then she’s screwed again when she steps into the free clinic and finds out she has gonorrhea. That dirty prick gave her gonorrhea! She’s totally going to break up with him…until he breaks up with her…because he’s married!

A night out drinking with friends leads to a fateful–yet awkwardly-sloppy–kiss between her and her best friend George Bratton.

George has been single and pining for his ex-girlfriend ever since their breakup two years ago. When his ex invites him to her destination wedding in London, self-destructive George and gonorrhea survivor Laney make a deal to go as each other’s dates. It will make great material for Laney’s “Anti-Romance” blog and maybe it will help George finally get over his ex. Nothing could possibly go wrong, right?

This is a stand-alone novel.

Add it on Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28260248-anti-romance

ANTI-ROMANCE
CHAPTER 1 – EXCERPT

Copyright © 2016 by Cassia Leo.

The tip of his erection was pressed firmly against my opening, a rock hard promise of the pleasure to come. This was the way he loved to tease me, right after making me come with his masterful tongue. He knew I needed him inside me. Needed to feel his girth stretching me. Needed to feel the closeness of his sweat-dampened skin pressed against mine.
But he wasn’t going to give in so easily.
First he would draw out the anticipation, until I was begging for him to fuck me. He would kiss and caress my body until I was forced to beg for it, until I reached the point of no return, where even the slightest touch would set off a chain reaction inside my body; a domino effect of nerve endings firing through every inch of my body, cascading uncontrollably toward my center, concluding in a mind-numbing, thigh-quaking, chest-rattling climax. Then, and only then, did he plunge into me with the force of an armada crashing upon the shores, ready to plunder the land for all its riches. I, the willingly-pillaged maiden, could only cry out in unbridled ecstasy as he took everything I had. Every moan. Every scream. Every drop of passion coursing through me.
When he finished inside me, his dying erection still twitching in its final death throes, he draped his body over mine as I lay back across the hood of his BMW. Mouth slightly hung open, his breathing heavy on my damp skin as his lips pressed against my neck. Each breath he exhaled sent a gentle shiver coursing through me; goosebumps sprouted over my skin as he lightly stroked my outer thigh with the backs of his fingers.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he murmured in my ear.
Though Rick had said these words a thousand times since we began dating two months ago, I still reminded myself not to believe them. I wasn’t gorgeous—not by his standards or anyone else’s. Maybe I could be described as “cute…if she lost a few pounds, got lip injections, and used a curling iron on those limp locks every once in a while.” No one—other than Rick—had ever called me, Laney Hill, gorgeous.
But what I lacked in the looks department, I more than made up for with a firm grip and a “fiery spirit,” as my former women’s studies professor used to call it; or, as my best friend liked to call it these days, my “unbridled cynicism.”
My best friend, George Bratton, was a serial monogamist and—God help him—a hopeless romantic. His shortest romantic relationship lasted more than a year. My longest relationship lasted ten months, and that ended a few years ago when I decided to change careers. Since then, I’d plowed through more men than Al Capone’s Tommy gun.
Of course, most of my romantic misadventures had been undertaken in the name of research for my blog, lovingly named Anti-Romance: The seedy parlor where romance goes to get a happy-ending before it dies. At least, this is what I had convinced myself of. I only entered dead-end relationships for my job. It certainly wasn’t because I was screwed up in any way. Nope. Not me. I was just an artist willing to live my art. I entertained the world—well, my 257,000 subscribers—with my cocked-up love life. I was the canvas and my choice of medium was unavailable men.
“I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow after the rally?” I asked the question in a breathy murmur, trying to make my minuscule request sound even less demanding.
He blew out a deep breath as he stood straighter. “I can’t. I’ll be flying to D.C. to play preschool teacher to some women’s rights groups. I have to coordinate the announcement of their endorsements on social media. I’ll call you to set something up when I get back.”
I forced a smile as his green eyes locked on mine. “Of course. If you need any help,” I replied, tracing the tip of my tongue along his sharp jawline, savoring the salt of his efforts, “I’m great at kissing up to disillusioned constituents.”
He chuckled heartily as he pulled away and reached for his waistline to button his slacks. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I think the candidate would rather I tackle this alone.”
The candidate.
Three months into our smoldering farce of a courtship and Rick still felt the need to call Senator John Grossman—the Republican presidential candidate he worked for—“the candidate.” As if I were too stupid to know he was referring to Senator Grossman.
I may not have graduated from Harvard, but I was not stupid.
In fact, I graduated in the top two percent of my class with a degree in psychology and a minor in women’s studies. Our country, on the other hand, was circling the Idiocracy drain. As evidenced by the untethered enthusiasm for reality TV—and, in my case, reality blogs—it was only a matter of time before we Americans would go sliding down a sludge-filled drainpipe and end up sloshing around the intellectual sewer system. The way I saw it, if our ship was going down, I wanted to go down in a yacht, not a life raft.
I adjusted the crotch of my panties, all the while ignoring the burning itch that always followed rough sex with Rick. Though, it did seem to be getting worse lately. Must be a slight feminine “imbalance.” Nothing a little over-the-counter ointment wouldn’t fix.
I smoothed down the skirt of my dress as Rick pulled up the zipper on his trousers. He wore that sly grin that communicated one of the following: a) He could go for another round, or b) He was quite pleased that he had conquered me in yet another public forum. The first time we had sex in public was on my third day working undercover in Grossman’s Austin headquarters.
I thought seducing a Republican would make a great story for my blog followers. Rick thought having sex on his desk would be a great stress reliever. I knew we would make a great team.
Actually, Rick was the first guy I’d considered letting in on my secret. Since I started my Anti-Romance blog four years ago, I’d told zero men that our relationship would be used for entertainment. Online, I went by the pseudonym Amber F. Thus far, none of my male companions had linked me to Amber. But Rick and I had been working together and fucking each other for almost three months. Somehow, this felt different.
And, technically, I hadn’t written about Rick on the blog yet. I usually journaled about my relationships in a private app on my computer until we broke up. Then I’d go back and embellish my journal entries wherever necessary and upload each entry to the blog. My followers didn’t know if my dating life was happening in real time or past tense. Part of me did this because I was fastidious about never publishing a first draft, even if it was a first draft of a real life event. Another part of me hoped that when I found the right guy, my followers would never know anything about him, because our relationship would never end so I’d never have the opportunity to blog about it.
Stranger things had happened.
The look in Rick’s green eyes was breaking me down brick by brick. I felt myself blushing from the top of my head to my nether regions. I had to tell him about the blog.
He reached up and cupped my face, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. “I can’t wait until the primaries are over and I can take you away with me for a few days.” He brushed his lips over mine and the pulsing ache between my legs returned, which only accentuated the burning itch. “Where do you want me to fuck you next? Under a waterfall in Hawaii? In front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris?”
“Benghazi!” I blurted out and his face hardened as he pulled away. I delivered a playful shove to his solid chest. “I’m kidding. Paris sounds magnifique.”
The sound of a car door opening startled us both. I whipped my head around to find my young and surly-in-a-hot-way neighbor stepping out of his pickup truck, which was parked right next to Rick’s BMW.
He was sitting in his truck this whole time?
My face flushed with heat as my neighbor attempted to keep his head down while passing us, but he couldn’t hide his smirk. Oh. My. God. The poor guy was trapped in his car this whole time because he was too afraid to disturb our public fuck-session.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured as he passed.
His head twitched in my direction, but he didn’t dare make eye contact. “No worries, ma’am,” he muttered as he continued toward our apartment complex.
It was about 60 degrees in January, but I could swear it was summer in Austin as a searing warmth crept up my cheeks.

About Cassia:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cassia Leo loves her coffee, chocolate, and margaritas with salt. When she’s not writing, she spends way too much time watching old reruns of Friends and Sex and the City. When she’s not watching reruns, she’s usually walking in the rain or reading.

Come chat with her on
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authorcassialeo
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/AuthorCassiaLeo
You can also follow her blog at http://cassialeo.com.

New Year’s Day Ch 1 Exclusive: F*ck Love by Tarryn Fisher

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F*ck Love by Tarryn Fisher

New Year’s Day Ch 1 Exclusive

Synopsis:

Helena Conway has fallen in love.

Unwillingly.

Unwittingly.

But not unprovoked. Kit Isley is everything she’s not—unstructured, untethered, and not even a little bit careful.

It could all be so beautiful…if he wasn’t dating her best friend. Helena must defy her heart, do the right thing, and think of others.

Until she doesn’t.

Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25828204-f-ck-love

 

HNY FL

Chapter One

#wtf

“You are supposed to be with me.”

What words are these? They startle me, and at first I think I’ve heard him wrong. He’s leaning across the table while our significant others are twenty feet away, waiting in line for our food.

“You and me,” he says. “Not us and them.”

I blink at him before I realize he’s making a joke. I laugh and go back to looking at my magazine. Actually, it’s not really a magazine. It’s a math journal, because I’m super cool like that.

“Helena…” I don’t look up right away. I’m afraid to. If I look up and see that he’s not joking, everything will change.

“Helena.” He reaches out and touches my hand. I jump, pull back. My chair makes a horrid scraping sound, and Neil looks over. I pretend that I dropped something and reach under the table. Under the table are our shoes and legs. There is a blue crayon lying at my feet; I pick it up and resurface.

Neil is at the front of the line ordering our food, and my best friend’s boyfriend is waiting for my response, his eyes heavy with burden.

“Are you drunk?” I hiss. “What the fuck?”

“No,” he says. Though he doesn’t look so sure. For the first time, I notice the scruff on his face. The skin around his eyes is sallow. He’s going through something, maybe? Life is being bullshit.

“If this is a joke, you’re making me really uncomfortable,” I tell him. “Della is right there. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I only have ten minutes, Helena.” His eyes move to the blue crayon, which is resting between our hands.

“Ten minutes for what? You’re sweating,” I say. “Did you take something, are you on the crack?” What type of drugs make you sweat like that? Crack? Heroine?

I want Neil and Della to come back. I want everything to go back to normal. I spin around to see where they are.

“Helena…”

“Stop saying my name like that.” My voice shakes. I make to stand up, but he grabs the crayon, then my hand.

“I don’t have much time. Let me show you.”

He’s sitting very still, but his eyes remind me of a cornered animal: frightened, panicked, bright. I’ve never seen that look on his face, but since Della’s only been dating him for a few months, it’s a moot point. I don’t really know this guy. He could be a druggie for all I know. He turns my hand over so it’s palm up, and I let him. I don’t know why, but I do.

He places the crayon in my palm and closes my fist around it.

“You have to say it out loud,” he says. “Show me, Kit.”

“Say it, Helena. Please. I’m afraid of what will happen if you don’t.”

Because he looks so afraid, I say it.

“Show me, Kit.” And then, “Should I know what this is?”  

“No one should,” he says. And then everything goes black.

FL jacketFL teaser 2tarrynauthorpicupdatedTarryn Fisher’s Bio

Tarryn Fisher is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of seven novels.  Her newest novel, F*ck Love, will release in early 2016 and she is currently working on the third installment of Never Never. She is the co-founder of Clothed Caption, a fashion blog she runs with her friend, Madison Seidler. Tarryn resides in the Seattle area with her family. She loves rainy days, Coke, and thinks Instagram is the new Facebook.  Tarryn is represented by Amy Tannenbaum of the Jane Rotrosen Agency.

Author Links:

Website:  www.tarrynfisher.com

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/authortarrynfisher

Instagram:  https://instagram.com/tarrynfisher/

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/Tarryn__Fisher

Teaser Excerpt…Prologue and Chapter One… Priceless Treasure by Melody Anne

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51EpwHWE1rL._SX318_BO1,204,203,200_Priceless Treasure

By Melody Anne

Synopsis

Ashton Storm had always possessed a sense of humor, but he tended to be more thoughtless and self-absorbed than his other siblings. He skated along through life, enjoying the finer things. That was until one day his father had enough and gave him an ultimatum. He either did his father’s bidding, or his ride on easy street came to an instant stop.

Though Ashton fought against doing what his father demanded, he finally caved in and took the small boating company his father gave him and made it a multi-billion dollar corporation. Now, he’s back on easy street and he’s alone – but for how long?

Richard Storm was disappointed when his matchmaking plans for his son Ashton and the very sexy, smart, somewhat clumsy, Savannah Mills didn’t work out. But no other woman seemed to be catching his son’s eyes.

Fate has a funny way of working out though, and maybe, just maybe, Richard hadn’t been wrong about Ashton and Savannah being the perfect couple. Because they’re about to finally meet.

 

Buy: Amazon / B & N / ITunes / Kobo

 

 

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Excerpt

Prologue

“Have we pushed Ashton too far?” Richard Storm took a large gulp of good scotch and looked toward the ceiling as he thought about his words.

“What do you mean?” Joseph asked.

“He’s not the same man he was a few years ago,” Richard said, a heavy sigh showing the even heavier heart inside.

“But the goal was for him to grow up,” George pointed out.

“Yes, to grow up, but not to turn into this hard-nosed robot he’s become. I barely even recognize him anymore,” Richard pointed out.

“I hate to admit it, but I agree. I feel like we all have pushed him too hard,” Joseph said.

“He’s been busting his ass for four years now trying to prove that he’s not just another trust fund baby, that he is worthy of the Storm — and of course Anderson — name. But in that battle he’s been waging, a piece of his soul has been chipped away,” Richard said.

“I love that he wants to make you proud, Richard,” George said.

“He wants to make all of us proud, but this isn’t what I want. Yes, I want him to marry and produce kids, but above all, I want him to be happy,” Richard said, then realized his glass was empty. The stress was almost more than he could bear.

Richard’s two brothers stared at him in concern. The two Anderson patriarchs had been separated from him at birth, and they’d only met decades later, but his pain was their pain. After all, their DNA was almost identical.

“You should look on the bright side, though,” George said. “He used to be a devil- may-care bartender, but now he’s running a wildly successful business.”

Joseph piped in. “And didn’t you tell us that he used to be Mr. Playboy, just tomcatting all around both coasts? And now he’s engaged to be married. That’s another step in the right direction.”

“You’ve met his fiancée,” Richard snorted. “Yes, she has a fancy-schmancy name, and makes regular appearances in the society column. But she’s really nothing but a gold- digger out for alimony. Wouldn’t give him the time of day until she found out about his net worth. Sure, she bats her tinted eyelashes, but she’s no prize — unless you want to call her a prize bitch. … Excuse my French.”

“But what can we do?” George asked.

“I did what I could. I found the perfect match for Ashton. I gave a card to that lovely woman I mentioned before, Savannah Mills, but she never applied for the job I set up. That was two years ago, and now she has a master’s in oceanography. I can’t see her taking a job down at the docks after that.”

“Oh, yes, I remember that now,” Joseph said. “We’ve been so busy with the other kids, I’d temporarily forgotten. I’m not getting any younger, I’m afraid.”

“Do you think we move on from this Savannah?” Richard asked. “She really seemed to be The One, so I hate to give up.”

“No,” Joseph boomed — that’s what he always did. BOOM. “When love is meant to be, it’s meant to be. If she just finished her master’s and she’s set her sights on a PhD, you still have three months before the fall semester starts. Maybe now is the perfect time for her and Ashton to finally meet up.”

“But he’s still got that fiancée of his,” Richard growled.

“She won’t last,” George said. “Think about it. If Ashton sees Savannah, he’ll have to make comparisons, and the gold-digger will flame out. Your son isn’t that stupid, is he?”

“I wish I could be sure,” Richard replied, and a frown took over his face. “As I said, Ashton’s track record with women isn’t the best. And now, with him trying to prove something to himself or to us, he’s making bigger mistakes. Some young men never learn until it’s too late.”

“Ah, those boys, all of them, know how to put on a mask. I know Ashton has a heck of a lot more soul and a lot more character than he’s letting on. Somewhere inside, the real Ashton still resides,” Joseph assured them.

“I hope so, brother, because I’m beginning to think that son of mine won’t figure it out until it’s far too late,” Richard said.

Joseph threw him a determined look. “We never give up on the people we love. Sometimes we just have to bring out the electric cattle prod.”

Richard finally had a ghost of a smile. “Then let’s start planning. I happen to know that Savannah is more intrigued than ever before over sunken treasures. If she can get some free boat rides out to a site where a ship full of treasure is rumored to have sunk, I can see her finally taking that job down at the docks.”

“Hmm. Good thing Ashton does private cruises, isn’t it?” George said with a laugh. The three men bent their heads together.

Chapter One

A breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean glimmered before her as Savannah Mills stood at the top of the private docks and gazed at another spectacular sunset.

The scent, sounds, and sights of the West Coast had always filled her with joy. It was unlike any anything she’d ever experienced in the whole United States — heck, the entire world, for that matter. Okay, dammit, she’d never traveled beyond these stupid western states, but who was counting? Completely beside the point. She’d looked at the photos on the Internet, and that had to count for something.

When she began moving, she stumbled on the dock, nearly face-planting before she managed to get her balance back. Being a first-class klutz wasn’t what she prided herself on, but nobody’s perfect.

When she reached the gates barring the way down to the docks on the beautiful Orcas Island outside of Seattle — one of the San Juan Islands — Savanna pressed in the code she’d been given. The gates opened without a hitch.

Maybe Savannah loved the ocean because it was endless. If you were on it, you could run away from the rest of the world, never to be found again — unless you wanted to be. That freedom was priceless to her.

She’d been in school for what felt like forever, so this summer was her break. She was going to resist cracking a single book … nah. She knew herself better, and she wouldn’t last two weeks on that mission. But still, she was going to make it at least a week. Plus, she was about to begin a dream job for the summer before she was locked away again in the classroom, the lab, and the library.

Yes, she loved school, obviously, or she wouldn’t have a bachelor’s in biology and a master’s in oceanography, and she wouldn’t be pursuing a doctorate once three short months had passed. But in the summer all she wanted to feel was fresh wind on her cheeks and seawater lapping over her feet. Did that make her a bad person?

Nope. It made her free. Free of classes, free of homework, free of late night studying. Free!

She made her way down until she was standing before the boats. Some were smaller than others, but they all were well taken care of, and they all had Sea Storms Enterprise in bold letters across them.

This was a business that catered to those who wanted anything from private boating adventures to a smaller cruise line experience. And she was now going to be a part of that world for the next three months. She reached out to caress one of the boats when she was nearly startled into face-planting again.

“Care to tell me what you’re doing on these docks?”

A shiver rushed down Savannah’s spine at the sound of a deep, dark voice behind her. But immediately after nearly jumping out of her skin, she wanted to kick herself for her fear. Emotions would no longer hold her back, not in this lifetime. She’d had enough of all that.

When she turned, she faced a muscled chest barely hidden from her view underneath a tight button-down white oxford shirt. It took her a little while to lift her head and look into this man’s bright blue eyes. Along the way, she hadn’t missed his lips, still compelling even if they were pressed together in a scowl.

“Are you mute?” he had the effrontery to ask.

She was instantly ticked off.

“Whoa. That was rude,” Savannah said, finding her voice. One hand on her hip, she sent this man a look that had made other males cower before her. No man would speak to her this way again, not as long as she was breathing.

“I’m generally rude to anyone who trespasses on private property — even a woman who obviously thinks that because she’s pretty, she can go wherever she damn well pleases.”

“I was invited here,” she said. “I don’t think your boss will be too happy with you when he finds out how you’re treating his other employees,” she told him with a mocking grin. There was the attitude she’d been searching for.

She refused to let this man belittle or intimidate her. No freaking way. Yeah, he had shoulders that seemed to go on and on, plus a chiseled jawline, and she was more than sure he was aware of all that. Why was it that great-looking men thought they owned the whole damned world and could treat other people like dirt? Whatever. His attitude was greatly reducing his attractiveness in her eyes.

His lips turned up as he took a step toward her, and Savannah felt her heart slam against her rib cage. She stumbled backward a few inches, but she was able to stop herself. Dammit. She wasn’t going to retreat.

“And please tell me who hired you. I’d like to pass the information along,” he said, stepping even closer, way too far into her personal space.

“Mr. Storm,” she said. In your face, asshole!
“Oh, really? You spoke to Mr. Storm in person?” the man asked. What a strange thing to say.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. He approached me at my university and said I was a perfect fit.” She felt good in her righteousness. This man was obviously a disgruntled worker.

“What did Mr. Storm look like?”

“Why all these questions? I’m sure you know what the boss looks like,” she told him.

“I assure you that I do know what the boss looks like. But I’m not so sure you know how to speak the truth.”

Ugh! “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Isn’t that clear?” he said, and he didn’t even try to hide the arrogant smile spreading across his lips. “I think you’re a liar. I don’t think you’ve talked to Mr. Storm.” He took another step closer. “I also can’t figure out what you’re doing on the private docks.”

“I told you I was hired. Why else would I be here?”
“Because you’re after something,” he said.
“Do you think I plan on taking off with one of the boats?” she asked him. “Maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried.”
Damn he was an arrogant ass.
“I’ve never been so insulted in my life,” she snapped.
“I find that hard to believe.”

His smirk was insufferable. Savannah decided that working on the ocean, as much as she loved the idea, wasn’t worth dealing with this monstrous man. She glared at him before taking a calming breath. She wouldn’t yell. That would give him too much satisfaction.

“I assure you,” she said, “that Mr. Storm is going to have words with you.” The man she’d met would never want men like this to be the first face a new employee saw. No way. Mr. Storm had been kind and enthusiastic.

There was also no use in continuing this conversation. The man was obviously convinced he was king of the docks. Something he would be assured soon he was not.

“I somehow doubt that Mr. Storm will be quite pleased I’m escorting you from here,” he almost purred. He then reached for her. Hell, no!

Savannah panicked. She didn’t want this man to touch her. Taking a step backward, she pressed down. She quickly realized her mistake but it was already too late.

It was funny how she noticed the man’s eyes widen. There was no more dock behind her. She was going down — and it was going to be cold.

________________________________________________

5192439About Melody Anne: Melody Anne is the author of the popular series, Billionaire Bachelors, and Baby for the Billionaire. She also has a Young Adult Series out; Midnight Fire and Midnight Moon – Rise of the Dark Angel. She’s been writing for years and published in 2011. She hold a bachelors degree in business, so she loves to write about strong, powerful, businessmen.

When Melody isn’t writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, friends, and pets. She lives in a small town that she loves, and is involved in many community projects.

See Melody‘s Website at: www.melodyanne.com. She makes it a point to respond to all her fans. You can also join her on facebook at: www.facebook.com/authormelodyanne, or at twitter: @authmelodyanne.

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