Tag: Blog Tour

Blog Tour ~ Lucifer’s Sin ~ by ~ Lisa Renee Jones

Haven’t tried Lisa Renee Jones yet and want to get a taste? Read the first eight chapters of her new release, Lucifer’s Sin, FREE in Lucifer’s Beginning! Get your copy here: https://www.lisareneejones.com/lucifers-beginning.html
Title: Lucifer’s Sin
Series: Lucifer Trilogy #1
Author: Lisa Renee Jones
Release Date: March 22, 2022
ABOUT LUCIFER’S SIN
They call him Lucifer for his wild side.
She called him the man she loved, she called him Luke. But then he proved he really is worthy of his nickname. Or so she thought. Nothing is as it seemed back then.
A man with a past. The only woman he has ever loved. Someone wants her dead. That someone is about to find out that yes, he is Lucifer when you dare to threaten his woman. Even if she doesn’t call herself that now. He does. But all he ever really wanted to be was Luke—the man worthy of her love.
EXCERPT

I open the door. Ana’s sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. The instant she sees me, her lips part, and her eyes travel my body before jerking back to my face.

“You have to put a shirt on. You just—have to.”

My cock is pretty damn pleased with this reaction that says she wants me, but my brain is working overdrive, and for once, overpowering that plaything in my pants. “Why, sweetheart? You want to kiss the scar you gave me better? It’s too late for that. Or maybe, you want to lick me all over? You already did that. You don’t get to do it again. Not after trying to kill me.” I walk to the end of the desk where I left my gun, pick it up, and then lay down on the ground at the foot of the bed. My phone goes to the floor. The gun sits on my gut.

Ana moves to the end of the bed, and sits there, staring down at me. “What are you doing?”

I notice she avoids my name when she would normally do otherwise. I guess she just can’t figure out who I am anymore. Well, I know. And Lucifer fits. She knows, too. “I’m catching a few z’s, and protecting you from anyone that comes in the door. If it so much as jiggles, I’ll sit up and shoot.”

“It’s been a hellish night and morning. Lay on the bed. You can have the side closest to the door. Please.”

I glance up at her. “Sweetheart, if I get in that bed with you, I’ll have you naked in about thirty seconds, and while we’ll both enjoy that, you’ll just hate me for it after. Not to mention we won’t get any sleep.”

“I could say a lot of things to that response, but I probably shouldn’t. We’ll put pillows between us.”

“If you think a pillow will stop me from getting naked with you, you might have been right when you said you never really knew me, Ana. That was right before you shot me, right? I told you. I want to fuck you. I don’t want to sleep next to you.”

She buries her face in her hands and groans a frustrating sound and then glowers at me, all sexy and way too damn hot for my own good. “Fine, Lucifer. Sleep on the damn floor. Just do what you want.” She stands up and walks to the side of the bed before climbing on top.

She tosses a pillow down on top of me. I grab it and stick it under my head. “For the record, me down here and you up there is not what I want. It was never what I wanted, Ana. It’s just who we are now.”

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I know. “

That’s all she says and I want more. But then, I’ve always wanted more when it comes to Ana. And more was never enough.

THE SERIES

 

 

Lucifer’s Sin (book one) – Available Now
Lucifer’s Touch (book two) – May 31, 2022
Lucifer’s Revenge (book three) – August 23, 2022
ABOUT LISA
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones writes dark, edgy fiction including the highly acclaimed Inside Out series and the crime thriller The Poet. Suzanne Todd (producer of Alice in Wonderland and Bad Moms) on the INSIDE OUT series: Lisa has created a beautiful, complicated, and sensual world that is filled with intrigue and suspense.
Prior to publishing Lisa owned a multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by the Dallas Women’s Magazine. In 1998 Lisa was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine. She lives in Colorado with her husband, a cat that talks too much, and a Golden Retriever who is afraid of trash bags.
CONNECT WITH LISA

Blog Tour & Review ~ When I Say Yes ~ by ~ Lisa Renee Jones

Title: When I Say Yes
Series: Necklace Trilogy #3
Author: Lisa Renee Jones
Release Date: January 25, 2022
ABOUT WHEN I SAY YES
I believe that there is one person in this world that can both break us and make us whole. One person who can love us more than life can hurt us. With this comes deep, intense passion, and a burning connection. But in turn, that person can destroy us, cut us, make us bleed in ways no other ever could. They have power over us.
For me, that one person is Dash Black.
He walked into my life in a rush of sunshine, in the darkness of heartache and uncertainty. We were broken apart, and whole together. He healed me. I believed I did the same for him. Until the past became the present, and every moment of suffering in his life consumed him. Instead of seeking refuge in me, he pushed me away. As the famous quote from an unknown author says, “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours; if it doesn’t, it never was.”
I’ve set Dash Black free. Now, I wait.

 

When I Say Yes is the third and final book in the Necklace Trilogy.
 

 

EXCERPT
Dash carries me to the bedroom and lowers me to my feet at the end of the mattress. I reach for him, and I can feel his need to feel my hands on his body, but instead of caving to that burn, he catches my wrists again. “Not until I say you can touch me.”
Defiance rips through my body and my chin tilts. “And if I touch you anyway?”
“Then you won’t feel my hand on your ass, baby. Or anywhere else.” He drags me closer, aligning our bodies. “You know what I want. Tell me. What do I want, Allie?”
“Control,” I say without hesitation, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in my voice that I cannot tame. Just as I know I will never tame Dash. And the thing is—I don’t want to. In fact, I want the opposite. I want him unleashed. I want him wild and free.
“Are you going to give it to me?” he presses. “Can you trust me that much, Allie?”
Trust.
That’s the monster that torments each of us in our own minds and yet, we want it from each other, we demand it be given blindly, irrationally perhaps, but it doesn’t seem to matter. So much about how Dash and I approach each other is irrational and yet somehow, we make sense. And so I say, “I already do.”
He turns me to face the bed, one hand cupping the side of my neck under my hair, the other on my waist, his hard body at my back. Dash leans in close and says, “I can be demanding, Allie.”
My mind flashes to the night of our fight back in Nashville, when my hands had been pressed to the front door of our apartment, his hand on my throat, him behind me, thrusting into me. “I know,” I whisper, my skin flushing with the memory and because it’s the truth, now I dare add, “I like it.”
“Do you?” he challenges.
“Beyond reason,” I whisper.
His fingers flex on my neck, seconds ticking by before he replies with, “I used to think I wanted to scare you off, Allie.”
“And now?”
“Now, I pray I can’t.” His teeth scrape my shoulder, rasping roughly.
I suck in a breath at the rough, erotic nip that borders on a bite. He cups my jaw and drags my head back to his shoulder, just enough to angle my mouth to his and lower his to mine. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t try,” he adds. “Nice guys are gentle, Allie. You need to know that I’m not a nice guy.”
“If I’d wanted nice, I would have walked away before we ever started calling me cupcake which was almost the moment I met you, Dash.”
It’s a joke about the nickname I’ve earned with him, but he doesn’t laugh or smile. He brushes his lips over my lips. “You taste like you don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“And you taste like you talk too much, Dash Black.”
He lingers there a moment, his breath rushing over my lips with a promise of a kiss that doesn’t come. Instead, he says, “No more talking. Knees on the mattress, baby.”
BINGE READ THE SERIES
WHAT IF I NEVER (book one)
$4.99 Audio only on Chirp: https://bit.ly/3GEb5Qu
BECAUSE I CAN (book two)
WHEN I SAY YES (book three)

The conclusion to Allie and Dash’s trilogy. Yes, you need to read books 1 & 2, hence why it’s called a trilogy, in order for this book to make sense. You need to meet Allison and Dash and what they’ve gone through that has taken them this far. Don’t read further if you haven’t read books 1 & 2.

We finally get to know who the other Allison is and how she fits into this story. Her and Allie are definitely different, besides having the same name and kinda looking like each other.

This story, well really the whole trilogy, was a 3-day read for me. I think I started and finished a book before bed each night – which lead to some long nights. But this was definitely worth it. In reading this story, we learned more about Dash, the other Allison, Tyler and Dash’s big blowup and why they aren’t “friends” any longer. Although I’d probably call them frenemies, of a sort.

Long story short, all 3 books are out, there’s no reason for you NOT to start and finish this trilogy!

5 stars!!

ABOUT LISA
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones writes dark, edgy fiction including the highly acclaimed Inside Out series and the crime thriller The Poet. Suzanne Todd (producer of Alice in Wonderland and Bad Moms) on the INSIDE OUT series: Lisa has created a beautiful, complicated, and sensual world that is filled with intrigue and suspense.
Prior to publishing Lisa owned a multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by the Dallas Women’s Magazine. In 1998 Lisa was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine. She lives in Colorado with her husband, a cat that talks too much, and a Golden Retriever who is afraid of trash bags.
CONNECT WITH LISA

Blog Tour ~ Love Next Door ~ by ~ Helena Hunting

Love Next Door, an all-new sweet and endearing romance from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting is now live!

When Dillion Stitch left her hometown, she had no intention of going back. But when her brother gets into trouble, Dillion reluctantly agrees to return home to take her place at the family business.

Being back in Pearl Lake after all these years feels familiar, but also brings a few surprises. She’s quick to notice that someone new has shown up at the cottage next door. Dillion gets more than an eyeful when she goes to check out the newcomer and meets Donovan “Van” Firestone—her beloved neighbor’s grandson—in all his unclothed glory.

Having gotten off to a rocky start, it’s not long before they begin bickering with each other all over town. All that back and forth inevitably sparks an undeniable attraction. But Dillion’s family has issues, Van’s family resents him, and neither Dillion nor Van feels truly at ease in the small town. For these Pearl Lake exiles, home isn’t just where the heart is—it’s where things get complicated.

Grab your copy today! Amazon: https://amzn.to/3oFVab6 Amazon Worldwide: https://geni.us/LoveNextDoorHH

Add Love Next Door to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2MbXVTP

Excerpt

I turn on the flashlight and trudge through the brush and past the campfire, which incidentally has been left unattended. It’s down to a smolder, but Van has left out hot dog sticks and a bag of buns. I keep going, toward Bee’s front porch and the blinding spotlight. Standing in front of the cottage is Van. Shirtless. Sweaty and shirtless. The bright light shines directly on him, accenting the dips and ridges, the smooth planes of muscle. Van is ripped. Probably because he spends a lot of time at the gym, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. He lifts his ball cap from his head and runs a hand through his deliciously sweaty dark hair before he flips his cap around and replaces it, backward this time. I roll my eyes at myself. What the hell is wrong with me? Deliciously sweaty. “Hey!” I bark. He startles and the hammer in his hand goes flying, but he was on the back swing, so it heads in my direction. I sidestep it, and it manages to miss me by about six inches. He spins around, eyes wide as they land on me. “What the fuck?” “Do you realize what time it is?” “Do you realize that you scared the living shit out of me and I could’ve hurt you, or myself?” He motions to the hammer lying on the ground next to me. “Wouldn’t that have been a pity,” I snap. “What the hell is your damn problem?” “You.” I point a finger at him. “You are the problem. It’s after ten. There’s a bylaw in place around here that stipulates all construction takes place between the hours of seven a.m. and nine p.m. from June to August, and you’re violating that. And for what? It’s not like whatever you’re doing is going to matter when your damn plan is to parcel out the property!” I’m yelling now, and heaving. And my nipples are peaking under the white tank I wore to bed. I hug myself to hide them. “This is the second time you’ve said that. What the hell are you talking about?” “What do you mean, what am I talking about?” I flail for a second and then cross my arms again. “You called me about it. Bee wasn’t gone a couple of weeks, and you were already asking about acreage and subdividing. It doesn’t take a genius to know what your plans are!” “I don’t even know what you mean by subdividing, and I never called you.” “Yes, you did!” He’s just so infuriating. “No. I didn’t. Believe me, I’d remember dealing with someone as hostile as you.” “I am not hostile.” “Really?” Van props a fist on his hip. His narrow hip. I follow the movement, which leads my eyes to his waist, that enticing V of muscle dragging my gaze down farther. Of course, because my brain is a jerk, the image of him naked pops back into my brain. As if he’s reading my mind, his brow arches. “You’re picturing me naked right now. Aren’t you?” “What? No!” My eyes snap back up to his. “Yeah. You are.” His lip curls, somewhere between a smirk and sneer, his tone needling. “You were staring at my crotch, probably thinking about the last time you visually molested my junk. Is that why you stopped by? To check me out again? This whole fake phone call thing is an excuse for you to come back over here and get a look at the goods again.” He runs a hand down his chest. “You’re an egotistical asshole. I realize that this might be some kind of fun holiday for you, and that you’re probably sleeping until noon every day, but some of us have to be up at the crack of dawn. Bylaw hours are seven a.m. to nine p.m. Next time you break them, expect to get a visit from the sheriff.” I spin around and stomp over to the extension cord, find the place where it’s joined to the lamp, and break the connection, submerging us in darkness. “Next time I won’t be so nice about it.” “Hate to break it to you, but you weren’t very nice about it this time,” he calls after me. It drives me crazy how easy it is for him to push my buttons. A few seconds later I hear an oof and a clatter, which means he’s tripped over something in the dark. I smile to myself. Hopefully this time he’ll get the message.

About Helena Hunting

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She’s writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Connect with Helena Instagram: http://bit.ly/2kN5wdZ Twitter: http://bit.ly/2mloUim Facebook: http://on.fb.me/Zt1xm5 Facebook Fan group: http://bit.ly/2kN5yCD Website: http://www.helenahunting.com/

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Blog Tour & Review ~ Hard Ball ~ by ~ S.A. Clayton

Today we are celebrating the release of the first book in the Stadium Series by S.A. Clayton. HARD BALL just went live and you can grab your copy now. The next book in the series, Curve Ball, will release on June 14th.

Purchase Now:

Amazon | Nook | Kobo | Apple

 

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HARD BALL by S.A. Clayton

Contemporary Romance | Stadium Series, #1

AVAILABLE NOW

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Purchase Now:

Amazon | Nook | Kobo | Apple

About HARD BALL:

Hardball- Noun: A forceful uncompromising method employed to gain an end.

Meeting Harper Stevens was never my plan. She crashed into my life and knocked me on my ass.

The only problem? She wants nothing to do with me.

Josh Anderson is everything I didn’t want in my life. He was persistent, cocky and even worse? The star third baseman for the Hawks.

After my fathers death I swore I’d never be a part of that world again. And yet here I am thinking about a man who lives and breathes baseball. I can’t seem to shake him or the memory of the way his hands felt on my skin.

Can I set aside my fears or will my past ruin everything?

Add HARD BALL to your Goodreads TBR here!

 

 

CURVE BALL by S.A. Clayton

Contemporary Romance | Stadium Series, #2

Releasing June 14th

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Preorder CURVE BALL Now:

Amazon | Nook | Kobo | Apple

 

Add CURVE BALL to your Goodreads TBR here!

FAST BALL by S.A. Clayton

Contemporary Romance | Stadium Series, #3

Releasing in July

————

Preorder links will be available soon!

Add FAST BALL to your Goodreads TBR here!

 

I love me a sports romance – especially if they involve baseball. And I love when a story has me hooked from the jump and reading frantically to figure out what happens! And this book did that! I wanted to know why Harper wasn’t going to date a professional athlete.

I truly enjoyed that Josh wasn’t the cocky, stereotypical, arrogant pro athlete. He knew that there were women who want to be with pro athletes but he wasn’t into them. He was actually into the one woman who didn’t want anything to do with him. But he wore Harper down.

Harper knows a lot about the professional athlete’s life and wants NOTHING to do with it. She doesn’t want publicity, she doesn’t want anything to do with Josh. But Josh just wears her down with his consistency and caring.

There is a cliffhanger and so I’m DYING for the next book!

 5 stars!

About S.A. Clayton:

 

S.A. Clayton lives in a small town outside of Toronto, Canada with her husband and her scary large collection of books that seem to take over every room.

She has worked on both sides of the publishing industry, both in a bookstore and for actual publishing companies. Although she loved both for different reasons, she found that writing was her true passion and has spent the last few years breaking into the industry as best she can.

She is a lover of all things romance and began her writing journey in her late twenties. Since then, she has immersed herself in the romance genre and couldn’t be happier.

When she’s not writing or reading, she enjoys binging a great Netflix show (Stranger Things anyone?), baking (because who doesn’t love cookies!), and spending time with her family.

Connect with her:
Website | Facebook | Instagram | Goodreads | Bookbub | Reader Group | Amazon

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Blog Tour ~ Island Heir ~ by ~ J. Haney & S.I. Hayes

 

 

Island Heir by J. Haney & S.I. Hayes
 
Genre: Contemporary Romance
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J. Haney
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S.I. Hayes
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Left at the altar on her wedding day, Autumn Elizabeth Ashley, angry and broken hearted takes off on what should have been her Honeymoon with her Maid of Honor and best friend Nadia Havarti.
 
Autumn tries to just drown her sorrows, but Nadia won’t stand for it. Instead, she helps Autumn to remember what single is supposed to feel like. So, when a strapping mountain of unidentified local man shows interest, Autumn takes a cue from her BFF with the repercussions to match.
 
Dalian Emeterio grew up between worlds. His family moved from their Pious and beautiful home in Georgetown, Cayman Islands to the United States when he was just a boy. Memories of his birthplace lead him to dream of one day opening a place on the island letting him take care of the parents that worked so hard for him.
 
One winter night while working at a Rum Point Hotel he meets Beth and the sparks fly leading to an explosive New Year. Waking along on the sand he thought he’d never see her again.
 
Ten years have passed, he is now the owner of The Georgetown Heirs, a chain of intimate hotels along the most popular Port of Calls in the Caribbean, Bahamas and the Western Atlantic.
 
Faced with the woman who left him on the beach, he’s about to find out that getting what you wish for always comes with strings.

 

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Blog Tour ~ Bad Luck Club ~ by ~ A.R. Casella & Denise Grover Swank

Can two broken people grow together, or will they tear each other apart?

Bad Luck Club, an all-new, not-to-be-missed, opposites attract standalone romance in the laugh-out-loud Asheville Brewery Series by New York Times bestselling author Denise Grover Swank and A.R. Casella is available now!

A grumpy man. A recovering people-pleaser. And the secret club that brings them together.

Lee Buchanan is a hot mess.

Turning one’s father in to the feds can do that to a man.

He had nothing to do with his father’s Ponzi scheme, but he’s blacklisted from commercial real estate all the same. Which is how he ends up in Asheville, working at the brewery he inherited with his siblings. He’s salty as hell, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

Until the gorgeous, intriguing Blue Combs issues the most peculiar invitation he’s ever received: Come to the Bad Luck Club. We can help you.

It sounds like a cult or, worse, a group of Mary Sues, but Blue is different from any woman he’s ever met. For better or worse, he’s drawn to her.

Just like she’s drawn to him, even if she has no intention of going all in with another man. She’s been there, done that, twice, and the life she’s built for herself is too important to risk.

What starts as one person’s desire to help another turns into a connection too powerful to be denied—but can two broken people grow together, or will they tear each other apart?

Download your copy today, or read for FREE in Kindle Unlimited! Amazon: https://amzn.to/37MWJh8 Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/badluckclub

Add BAD LUCK CLUB to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/3bDx8Zm

Excerpt

She turned into Bear’s long drive, and Lee cursed a little under his breath. “We’re here, aren’t we?” “This is it. You’re looking at the Cluster.” There was plenty of parking for everyone, thankfully, but the people who lived closest to each other usually carpooled for meetings. That made it hard to tell who’d already arrived, but it looked like they were among the last. She couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing. She parked the car and turned to Lee, who was giving her a pointed glance. “Cloister? That isn’t helping dissuade me about the whole cult thing. The whole cabin in the woods thing doesn’t seem like a great sign either.” “Not cloister. Cluster, like cluster…fudge.” A smile played on his lips. “Let me guess, your father didn’t like it when you swore.” “Of course not,” she said, smiling back. “It wouldn’t be ladylike.” “And why, may I ask, do they call their own house a cluster—” he gave her a wicked look, “—fudge?” “I guess you’re about to find out.” They both unbuckled their seat belts, but he made no move for the door. Gazing at her, the gold flecks in his eyes like mica, he asked, “Blue, what part of last night convinced you to break things off with Dan?” She didn’t answer right away, her heart still choking her, and he smiled at her—a sexy, unreserved smile—the kind that made her wonder how many people he’d looked at this way. “Radical honesty, remember?” Her whole body hummed like a tuned instrument. It hadn’t been like this since the beginning with Remy. And if that wasn’t a thought to wake her up . . . Except it didn’t jar her enough. Because she found herself leaning toward Lee a little, as if caught up in a whirlwind of his making. As if those vines were cinching their very bodies together. “Because I wanted you to kiss me,” she admitted. She silently added, Because I felt more connected to you in one night than I did to him in two months… But Lee was reaching for her then, his hand weaving into her hair, pulling her to him, and those lips that had driven her to distraction the night before, the ones that had hovered over her neck, were suddenly on hers. They were warm and commanding, and Blue felt lost to the longing that unfurled within her, to the heat that ignited in her core. He’d probably meant it to be a soft kiss, exploratory, but his hand burrowed deeper into her hair, pulling her closer, and she found herself moaning as his tongue swept into her mouth. She wrapped her hands around his arms, mindlessly trying to bring him closer, needing to feel him against her like she had last night, like she’d dreamed of, and suddenly he was lifting her up onto his lap. They were facing each other this time, and she had a flash of what it would have been like if they’d talked like this last night—looking into each other’s eyes, bodies locked together—and the intimacy of it was more arousing than anything she’d ever experienced. She was the one who kissed him this time, reveling in the fact that he’d given her control by pulling her on top of him, until she caught a glimpse of the bench Cal had made, beneath the willow tree in the Cluster’s back yard, and oh God, what the hell was she doing?

About Denise Grover Swank

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Denise Grover Swank was born in Kansas City, Missouri and lived in the area until she was nineteen. Then she became a nomadic gypsy, living in five cities, four states and ten ho uses over the course of ten years before she moved back to her roots. She speaks English and smattering of Spanish and Chinese which she learned through an intensive Nick Jr. immersion period. Her hobbies include witty Facebook comments (in own her mind) and dancing in her kitchen with her children. (Quite badly if you believe her offspring.) Hidden talents include the gift of justification and the ability to drink massive amounts of caffeine and still fall asleep within two minutes. Her lack of the sense of smell allows her to perform many unspeakable tasks. She has six children and hasn’t lost her sanity. Or so she leads you to believe.

Connect with Denise Facebook: https://bit.ly/3gLPdF2 Instagram: https://bit.ly/31QjfmL Twitter: https://bit.ly/3gOHyFR Stay up to date with Denise, join her newsletter: https://bit.ly/3gLPtnu Website: https://bit.ly/3hRjcNl

About A.R. Casella

A.R. CASELLA is a freelance developmental editor by day, writer by night. She lives in Asheville, NC with her husband, daughter, two dogs, and a variable number of fish. Her pastimes include chasing around her toddler, baking delicious treats, and occasional bouts of crocheting. Any Luck at All, co-written with New York Times bestselling author Denise Grover Swank, is her first book.

Connect with A.R. Casella Facebook: https://bit.ly/3gOsV5v Website: https://www.arcasella.com/

Blog Tour & Review ~ Waiting For Someday ~ by ~ M.M. Koenig

Today we have the blog tour for M.M. Koenig’s Waiting for Someday! Check it out and be sure to order your copy today!

Title: Waiting for Someday

Author: M.M. Koenig

Genre: Contemporary Romance

About Waiting for Someday:

Danger is nothing new to Bri McAndrews. After an accident that almost took her life, Bri has to mourn the loss of a relationship that should’ve been forever. Trey Donovan broke her heart and moving on has been nearly impossible, especially when threats start piling in. Bri has an idea of who’s pulling the strings, but finding the proof is presenting to be a whole new set of problems.

The guilt of risking Bri’s life is a living entity in Trey Donovan’s gut, eating away at him with every forbidden word, touch, emotion. But that isn’t enough to keep Trey from having Bri any way he can—even if it means causing her a world of hurt in the process.

Trey will stop at nothing to keep Bri safe, but he’s already taken a gamble with her heart. When push comes to shove, will Trey and Bri rise from the ashes of everything they’ve become, or will they continue Waiting for Someday?

Order Your Copy:

Amazon

US | UK | CA | AU

B&N | Kobo | iBooks | Google Play

 

Catch up with Fighting for Someday:

Amazon | B&N | Kobo | Google Play | Itunes

 

Review Coming Soon!

About M.M. Koenig:

M.M. Koenig enjoys being active and has a variety of interests that coincide with her passion for life. Always one to try new things, she has acquired a variety of skills. Her sarcastic nature and multitude of experiences tend to find their way into her novels.

 

When she has free time and isn’t writing, she spends as much time as she can with friends and family. To fuel her soul, she is constantly looking for new music, movies, and books to keep the writer’s block at bay.

 

 

Connect with M.M.:

Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Amazon | Goodreads | Pinterest

 

Blog Tour ~ Swimming in Sparkles ~ by ~ Debra Anastasia

“Debra Anastasia’s writing is imaginary, dark, comedic, and the perfect sexy.” — Tijan, New York Times Bestselling Author

Swimming in Sparkles, an all-new not-to-be-missed, New Adult romance that brings you a modern day Robin Hood tale filled with emotion from Debra Anastasia is available now!

My name is Ruffian. To remember my mom, I want to change the world.

I’m going to do things wrong to make things right. That’s okay, because I’m going to jail. I know it. I’ve planned for it. I was always going to end up there.

For now, I need a cover story. A cover family. A way to hide from the suspicion that always finds me.

Teddi Burathon is the perfect shield. Popular, friendly, sassy. Good. She’s everything I’m not. And I’ll use her as a pretty distraction so no one sees me coming.

My heart is dead and I’m a bomb waiting to detonate. Most people want to build a future.

Me?

I’m going to rob a bank.

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Excerpt

I flopped around until I really, really wanted a glass of water. Or a bottle. Just anything to get me hydrated. I stood and went to my door, squeaking it open slowly. No one told me I had to stay in my room, but that was a sense I was getting. I should be settled for the evening. Rocket the dog was nowhere to be found, so I assumed she was with one of the family members. The young cat that Gaze and Pixie had claimed was theirs was on the couch and covered his eyes with his paws when I walked past him. In the kitchen I had to open three different cabinets until I found some glasses. They were all special liquor glasses. Wine, rocks, beer glasses—they would suffice, but their normal cups weren’t in an obvious spot. I went to the fridge and skipped the ice so I wouldn’ make a racket. When my glass was halfway full, a person lurking in the doorway caught my eye. I started and my hand jumped, the glass shooting up out of my hand. Teddi lurched forward and put out her hand. I did the same. I managed to get a grip on the glass as Teddi’s arm swung wildly and she poked me in the eye with her pinkie. “Oh shit.” I slapped my left hand over my throbbing eye while catching the glass with my other hand. “Oh my God. I am so sorry. Are you okay? It felt like I stuck my finger in Jell-O right then.” She shivered and closed her eyes. I opened my other eye while squeezing the injured one tightly. “It’s okay. I have two. And I like a challenge.” “Seriously? Like, I can drive you to Urgent Care or wherever. You might have a scratched cornea and that blows. I hated when it happened to me.” “Someone poked you in the eye in the middle of the night?” “No. I had an accident in cheer. Our bottom was a little off her game and I wound up knowing what four inches of her finger felt like in my brain.” “Man, that’s not the sentence I want to hear wrapped around the words of four inches of finger in.” I staggered over to the counter and set down my glass. “What did you want to hear?” She was smokin’. Forcing me to tell her about my dirty mind. “Nothing. No worries. Why are you up in the middle of the night?” I slumped against the counter. “It’s time for my two a.m. fudge bar.” She moved to the freezer part of the fridge and yanked it open. She had the ice cream she sought set up like a dispenser. She plucked out a cold one and had the paper off of it in a practiced motion. Here I was feeling spoiled for having water from the dispenser. Girlfriend had her own private ice cream truck in her kitchen. “You set an alarm for that or something?” I lifted my chin in her direction. “It’s a built-in notification” She tapped her temple with her phone. “How’s your room downstairs?” Stupid luxurious. Spacious. Private. Alone. Sad. “Great. Bed’s a little soft.” I attempted to open my poked eye. Couldn’t do it. I watched as concern zipped her smile into a straight line. “You really might have some damage there.” She took a step toward me. If she only knew. The damage I had and the damage I intended to do. “Let me see.” She popped the whole ice cream into her mouth and clamped her lips around it. Then she was in my space on her tiptoes. She put her hands on my face like we’d known each other our whole lives. I flinched a little and she settled a hand behind my neck. She pried my closed eye open with her fingers. In the meantime, she made sucking noises around the ice cream. It seemed like she might actually be in distress, so I grabbed the Fudgsicle out of her mouth. She licked around her lips and squinted some more. “I can’t tell crap. It’s too dark.” She stepped back and took her ice cream from my hands. She did some very thorough licking of the melting parts as she made her way to the light switch. She turned it on and returned to me. “I need to set this down.” She opened the cabinet next to my head and took out a bowl, setting the fudge bar in it. Then she resumed her position and clamped onto my neck and eye again. “Sorry, I am so used to being in people’s personal space between makeup and cheer.” She seemed to be apologizing for putting her chest against me and blowing her sweet breath onto my face. It was all making things happen in my pants. Too much. As she looked intently at my eye, interrogation-style, I had to stare at her. She had to be the prettiest human I’d ever seen in person. Her eyes were set up like blue starbursts and her skin was beautifully smooth. I wanted to lick it like she was my ice cream treat. She let go of my eyelid and it snapped shut. “It’s red and bloodshot.” She pointed to the kitchen chair. I lumbered over and sat down, grateful for a place to hunch over my growing problem. Teddi went back to the freezer and came back with a cold pack. “Tilt your head back a little.” I did as she asked again, and she straddled my leg, again holding my neck. Sure, my eye felt like it still had her finger in it, but all this closeness was really having me and my pants hoping she was going to kiss everything and make it better. She gently pressed the ice on my closed eye. “Keep it closed. The eye really does heal itself a lot. You just need to give it time.” I grunted in acknowledgment. As I peered at her through my working eye, she rooted around in the kitchen. Her tiny sleep shorts and tank top were my own personal cable channel. She used the water from my glass—whatever was left—and then refilled a water bottle with a straw in it. “Here, now you can drink easier while your eye does what it has to do.” She held the bottle near my face. I took it out of her hand. “Thanks. You send mixed messages to weirdos in your kitchen. Attack, first aid, apply water.” I took a deep suck and realized I was super thirsty. She went back to her ice cream and opened a drawer until she came up with a spoon. Her snack had become a cold soup and she ate it as such. I hit the bottom of the bottle with a loud slurp. Teddi grimaced. “Damn, son. You were parched.” She grabbed my bottle and filled it again. The little kindnesses she was showing me were getting embedded into my skin. Where I was from, how I was raised, kindness was hard to find. I could go whole days without getting treated like a person by anyone besides my mom. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome. And I’m sorry I turned you into a pirate. The good news is, I have an eye patch from last Halloween for you.” She pointed at my eye with her spoon. “Then I’m all set.” I was able to get half the second water bottle down before I was truly done with feeling thirsty.

Meet Debra

Debra creates pretend people in her head and paints them on the giant, beautiful canvas of your imagination. She has a Bachelor of Science degree in political science and writes new adult angst and romantic comedies. She lives in Maryland with her husband and two amazing children.

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Blog Tour ~ Oops, I’ve Fallen ~ by ~ Max Monroe

Oops, I’ve Fallen, an all-new laugh out loud romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe is available now!

If my time with Ryan Miller were a hit track on the radio, I imagine the lyrics would go something like this…

“We’re so different, but they say opposites attract. Oops, I’ve fallen, and my heart doesn’t want to come back.”

But, holy bingo night, is my attraction to the sexy, broody businessman so much more complicated than the chorus of a song.

His dad lives right next to my mom, and after the two of them suffered an unexplained accident while taking down holiday decorations, both Ryan and I were forced to become the only thirtysomething residents of Sunny Creek Village Independent Senior Living Community.

Temporarily moving in might seem like overkill for a fractured tailbone and a severely pulled groin muscle, but believe me, when your mom is as wild as mine and your dad is as cantankerous as Ryan’s, they need supervision to ensure they stick to doctor’s orders.

Constantly thrown together by the antics of our crazy parents and the tough-as-nails community enforcer, Betty Matthews, Ryan and I formed an alliance for the sole purpose of survival.

But I never expected to be so interested in finding out what he was hiding beneath his grumpy, serious demeanor. More than that, I never dreamed what I found would be the kind of man women sell their souls to the devil for.

Unfortunately, our little one-hit wonder on the airwaves has more to say before it comes to an end.

Although, finishing the outro to this song is a real doozy…

Tell me…what lyric rhymes with Oops, I’ve fallen for my future stepbrother?

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Excerpt

RYAN          Incoming Call Dad. I’m tempted not to answer—very tempted, actually—but I do anyway. There’s a chance he needs me, given the circumstances of my visit in the first place, and I don’t want to leave him hanging. “Hey, Dad.” “Where are you?” “Baggage claim.” “Baggage claim where?” “Tampa.” “What the hell, Ryan?” he bellows, making me close my eyes against the speech I know is coming. “I told you I’m good. You didn’t need to come here.” “Yeah, well, your nurse said otherwise.” “My nurse?” he questions. “Who? That old woman Jessica?” “Old woman?” I retort on a laugh. “She was younger than you, Dad. By about twenty years.” I had the pleasure of speaking to my dad’s nurse Jessica on FaceTime last night when I got a call that he had taken some sort of strange fall and had been escorted to the hospital in an ambulance. “Whatever. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” “Actually, she does,” I correct. “And so does your doctor, who also recommended that I come down and help you out while you’re recovering.” “Recovering.” He scoffs. “You’d think I had a heart attack or some shit. I pulled a muscle in my damn balls.” I shut my eyes briefly. “Groin muscle, Dad. You pulled your groin muscle.” “Same difference.” I want to explain to him there’s a big difference, but in the name of not driving myself insane—or drawing the attention of everyone around me—I bite my tongue. “Go home.” “Too late for that. I’m already here,” I answer on a chuckle and step up to the carousel to snag my black duffel from it. He groans. “You’re my least favorite kid sometimes.” I shake my head. “I’m your only kid, Dad.” “Yeah, and I like you the least right now.” I snort. Sal Miller is a seriously complex mix of blunt honesty, overwhelming affection, and way too much testosterone for a seventy-five-year-old man. The good news is that when he sounds like he’s being an asshole, I still know that behind all the flashy insults, he loves me. “Hey, Dad?” “What?” “I’ll see you soon,” I say and hang up the phone before he can respond. I scrub a hand down my face and take a deep breath. It’s moments like this that make me realize how much shit my mom had to put up with when she was still alive. Mom, seriously, you were a saint. With my duffel over my shoulder and my small carry-on rolling behind me, I walk out of the baggage claim area and toward the taxi line. Normally, I’d rent a car, but since I had to book this flight so last minute and there’s apparently some kind of end-of-summer festival going on in downtown Tampa, there were no rentals available. Hopefully, though, I’ll be able to arrange something tomorrow. Or else, I’ll have to cruise around in my dad’s Porsche while I’m here. Not such a terrible fate for me, personally, but as far as taking him places with an injury to his damn groin muscle, I’m thinking his late-life-crisis Porsche won’t be ideal. Once I make my way through the automatic doors, I spot the taxi line and count only three people in front of me. Not too bad. While I stand in line, I pull my phone back out of my pocket and start scrolling through work emails. In just the short flight from New York to Tampa—two and a half hours, tops—my inbox has managed to accumulate over forty emails. Since the small regional plane didn’t offer Wi-Fi, I had to settle for working on my end-of-quarter reports. On a sigh, I run my hand through my dark-brown hair and begin the task of sifting through what’s priority and what’s not. Five emails done and the taxi line gets smaller by one person. Another ten emails and the line gets shorter again. By the time I reach the front, I slide my phone into my pocket and wait patiently as I spot a black taxi heading my way. The driver pulls the cab to a stop right in front of me, but just as I lift my duffel up and over my shoulder to carry it to the trunk, a rush of bright red careens past me. “Oh, thank you so much!” a female voice calls toward the male driver who has just gotten out of the driver’s side to assist with bags. But he shouldn’t be helping with her bags. He should be helping with my bags. What the fuck? “Uh, excuse me?” I question loud enough to catch her attention. She looks up from her spot at the trunk. Her long, wavy red hair fans down her shoulders, and a few rogue curls hang over her face. Bright-blue eyes meet mine, and I can’t stop my brain from thinking, Well, goddamn. Smooth skin, striking features, and a few freckles dotting her nose, she’s…stunning. The kind of woman that urges a double and triple take. Between her gorgeous face and the way her long legs look beneath her cutoff jean shorts, this woman is like the girl next door, but with secrets. Dirty fucking secrets. “Were you talking to me?” she questions, tilting her head to the side when I don’t answer right away. Shit. Get it together. Those blue eyes of hers are still locked with mine, searching them in confusion. “Uh…yeah…actually,” I say, clearing my throat. I glance between the taxi and the taxi line. “You’re kind of stealing my taxi.” “I am?” I smirk. “Yeah.” “Did you call him yourself?” My head jerks back in surprise. “Well, no, but—” “So, you don’t know this driver?” she questions, looking between the driver and me. “Do you know him—” she pauses briefly, then asks “—what’s your name, sir?” “Bob.” She smiles at him. “Bob, do you know this man?” “No.” The driver shakes his head. “I didn’t call him,” I explain on a sigh. “But I followed the rules and waited in this taxi line like everyone else.” “You follow the rules a lot?” she asks, and I don’t know what to make of her question. It sounds dirty and sexy yet sarcastic and accusatory at the same time. “Don’t most people?” “I don’t.” She winks. “But you keep doing you, Barney Fife. The town of Mayberry needs you.” Okay, she definitely just passive-aggressively called me a square. “So, you’re just going to steal my taxi, then?” I question and glance over my shoulder to note the other people waiting in line like myself, but I quickly realize I’m the only one standing here. It doesn’t matter, though. My point is still valid. “Well, I guess that depends.” “On what?” “Are you going to fight me for it?”  Excuse me? “Am I going to fight you for the taxi?” She nods. “Um, no,” I answer on a laugh. What a weird fucking question. “I don’t make a huge habit of fighting women.” “Okay then, I guess the answer to your question is yes, then.” She nods. Winks. Taps her hand on the top of the taxi. “Let’s hit it, Bob.” Bob looks between me and the redhead, who is now getting into of the back seat of his taxi. But eventually, he just shrugs and hops back into the driver’s seat. Then they’re off. Just like that. And I don’t miss the way the mysterious, taxi-stealing redhead turns around in her seat to wave to me as they go or the fact that I’m feeling a lot less attuned to how pretty she is. Her manners are apparently very, very ugly.     What in the hell just happened?

About Max Monroe A duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.

Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.

Connect with Max Monroe BookBub: http://bit.ly/3bJFJJh Amazon: https://amzn.to/2ReoxkK Facebook: http://bit.ly/31XxggS Instagram: http://bit.ly/39wuCkW Stay up to date with Max Monroe by joining their mailing list today: http://bit.ly/2HzGmau Website: https://www.authormaxmonroe.com/

Blog Tour ~ Float Plan ~ by ~ Trish Doller

Heartbroken by the loss of her fiancé, adventurous Anna finds a second chance at love with an Irish sailor in this riveting, emotional romance.

After a reminder goes off for the Caribbean sailing trip Anna was supposed to take with her fiancé, she impulsively goes to sea in the sailboat he left her, intending to complete the voyage alone.

But after a treacherous night’s sail, she realizes she can’t do it by herself and hires Keane, a professional sailor, to help. Much like Anna, Keane is struggling with a very different future than the one he had planned. As romance rises with the tide, they discover that it’s never too late to chart a new course.

In Trish Doller’s unforgettable Float Plan, starting over doesn’t mean letting go of your past, it means making room for your future.

“The perfect escape. Fresh, funny, and romantic. I wish I could sail away with this book.” – Meg Cabot, New York Times bestselling author of The Princess Diaries and Little Bridge series

https://read.macmillan.com/lp/float-plan/

 

Anna—

There’s a kind of jacked-up happiness that comes when you know your life is almost over, when the decision to end it becomes solid. It might be adrenaline. It might be relief. And if I had always felt like this, I might have climbed mountains or raced marathons.

Now it’s just enough to see this through.

I should have left you alone that first night at the bar. If I had, you wouldn’t be reading this letter at all.

You’d be walking your dog or watching TV with your boyfriend. You didn’t deserve to be dragged into my shit, and you definitely don’t deserve the pain I’m about to cause. This is not your fault. For two years you have been my only reason for living. I wish I could give you forever.

You are strong and brave, and someday you’ll be okay. You’ll fall in love, and I hate him already for being a better man. Someday you will be happy again.

I love you, Anna. I’m sorry.

—Ben

ten months and six days (1)

I walk out of my life on Thanksgiving Day.

Last-minute shoppers are clearing shelves of stuffing mix and pumpkin pie filling as I heap my cart with everything I might need. (Dry beans. Canned vegetables. Rice.) I move through the grocery store like a prepper running late for doomsday. (Boxed milk. Limes. Spare flashlight.) I am quick so I won’t lose my nerve. (Apples. Toilet paper. Red wine.) I try not to think beyond leaving. (Cabbage. Playing cards. Bottled water.) Or about what I might be leaving behind.

My mother calls as I’m wrangling the grocery bags into the back seat of my overstuffed Subaru. I haven’t told her that I won’t be there for Thanksgiving dinner, and she’s not ready to hear that I’m skipping town. Not when I’ve barely left the house for the better part of a year. She’ll have questions and I don’t have an- swers, so I let the call go to voicemail.

When I reach the dock, the Alberg is right where it should be, the shiny hull painted navy blue and the transom empty, still waiting for a name. For a moment I expect Ben’s head to pop up from the companionway. I wait to see his little fuck-me grin, and to hear the excitement in his voice when he tells me today is the day. But the hatch is padlocked, and the deck is covered in bird shit—another part of my life I’ve let fall into neglect.

Ten months and six days ago, Ben swallowed a bottle of prescription Paxil and chased it with the cheap tequila that lived under the sink, and I don’t know why. He was already gone when I came home from work and found him on the kitchen floor. In his suicide note, he told me I was his reason for living. Why was I not enough?

I breathe in deep, to the bottom of my lungs. Let it out slowly.

Step onto the boat and unlock the hatch.

The air is stale and hot, smelling of wood wax, new canvas, and a hint of diesel. I haven’t been aboard since before Ben died. Spiders have spun their homes in the corners of the cabin and a layer of dust has settled on every surface, but the changes leave me breathless. The interior brightwork is varnished and glossy. The ugly original brown-plaid cushion covers have been replaced with red canvas and Peruvian stripes. And a framed graphic hangs on the forward bulkhead that reads i & love & you.

“Why do all this work for a trip you’ll never take?” I say out loud, but it’s another question without an answer. I wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my T-shirt. One of the things I’ve learned is that suicide doesn’t break a person’s heart just once.

It takes me the rest of the morning to clean the boat, unload the contents of my car, and stow everything away. Traces of Ben are everywhere: a saucepan at the bottom of the hanging locker, an expired six-pack of Heineken in the cockpit lazarette, a moldy orange life jacket stuffed in the refrigerator. I throw these things in the trash, but even with my spider plant hanging from an over- head handrail and my books lining the shelf, the boat belongs to Ben. He chose it. He did the renovations. He charted the course. He set the departure date. My presence feels like a layer as temporary as dust.

The last thing in my trunk is a shoebox filled with photos taken using Ben’s old Polaroid, a dried hibiscus flower from our first date, a handful of dirty-sexy love letters, and a suicide note. I take out a single photo—Ben and me at the Hillsboro Inlet Lighthouse about a week before he died—and stash the box in the bottom drawer of the navigation station. I tape the photo to the wall in the V-berth, right above my pillow.

And it’s time to go.

My only plan was to spend today in bed—my only plan since Ben’s death—but I was startled out of sleep by an alarm. The notification on my phone said: TODAY IS THE DAY, ANNA! WE’RE GOING SAILING! Ben had programmed the event into my calendar almost three years ago—on the day he showed me his sailboat and asked me to sail the world with him—and I had forgotten. I cried until my eyelashes hurt, because there is no longer a we and I’ve forgotten how to be me without Ben. Then I got out of bed and started packing.

I’ve never been sailing without Ben. I don’t always get the terminology correct—it’s a line, Anna, not a rope—and I’ll be lucky if I make it to the end of the river. But I am less afraid of what might become of me while sailing alone in the Caribbean than of what might become of me if I stay.

Review Coming Soon!

TRISH DOLLER is the author of novels for teens and adults about love, life, and finding your place in the world. A former journalist and radio personality, Trish has written several YA novels, including the critically acclaimed Something Like Normal, as well as Float Plan, her adult women’s fiction debut. When she’s not writing, Trish loves sailing, traveling, and avoiding housework. She lives in southwest Florida with an opinionated herding dog and an ex-pirate.