Tag: Excerpt Reveal

Excerpt Reveal ~ He Loves Me…Knot ~ by ~ RC Boldt

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He Loves Me…KNOT by RC Boldt is coming soon on NOVEMBER 14th!
Keep reading for an EXCERPT!

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HLMK- Teaser 4

Sometimes love needs a second chance…

I never looked back after skipping out on my own wedding, even if it did leave me estranged from most of my family. Eight years later, I have the life I’ve always wanted. As an advertising account executive, my world is damn near perfect.

Until I come face-to-face with my past. With the man I once loved. The man who holds my future in his hands. The man who’s hell-bent on getting even with me for leaving him at the altar.

Even with all the unfinished business between us, I still love Knox Montgomery. The only problem?

He loves me…KNOT.

HLMK -Teaser 2

EXCERPT:

PROLOGUE

EMMA JANE

“BLESS HER HEART.”
This—the quintessential Southern phrase “bless her heart”—is the ultimate kiss of death.
The irony isn’t lost on me since I just avoided my own kiss of death, figuratively speaking. Instead of walking down the aisle, I’m trudging along the Pensacola Beach boardwalk in my wedding dress.
Alone.
With tear-stained cheeks.
Two elderly women peer at me, blatant curiosity etched across their features, and one turns to the other to hiss, “I wonder if the groom left her.”
“Would you blame him?” the other woman responds, disdain dripping from her tone. “She’s got a”—she utters the next words much like they’re absolutely scandalous—“nose piercing.”
The dark glare I direct at them is concealed by my sunglasses, so with a dismissive huff, I continue plodding along, swiping a hand across my tear-streaked cheeks. Judging by the black smudges on my fingers, my waterproof mascara clearly lied.
Damn jackass mascara.
Damn jackass groom. I’m starting to see a trend here…
The longer I walk, the more stares I get. One little girl in a tutu bathing suit points to the top of my head and squeals with joy, “Look! A princess!”
Damn jackass tiara and veil my mother insisted I wear.
I march over to a large trash bin and—without any finesse whatsoever—begin tugging the pins holding this awful tiara-veil combo in place. As I’m attempting to remove it, agitation takes over due to my sad lack of progress. I bunch the veil in my fists and give it a firm tug from my elaborate up-do. Bobby pins shoot and ping in various directions, and I distractedly pray no one gets too close and loses an eye. Shoving the obscene length of fabric in the trash, I feel a bit lighter.
The June sun beats down on me as I stand on the stamped cement of the boardwalk, the heat radiating through the soles of my favorite flip-flops. My eyes flutter closed as I inhale a deep breath of the salty Gulf of Mexico air.
God, I love this beach. It’s always been one of my favorites, especially since it takes just under an hour to drive here from Mobile. The water is a gorgeous shade of blue-green, and the sand is perfectly white and free of pesky shells. Any other time, I’d be kicking off my flip-flops and running toward the surf. Now, though, I have different priorities: a stiff drink. Or ten.
Or twenty.
The challenge is finding a place where I might not draw attention—er, as much attention. I slowly survey the nearby choices of bars and restaurants lined up along the boardwalk; I scan and dismiss them one by one.
“No…no…no…n—”
Wait a minute.
One particular sign snags my eye. It has an outline of two men standing back to back, their forms filled with a swirl of rainbows and the name Be-Bob’s written in script-like font beneath it.
A gay bar.
Perfect.
With my key ring clipped to my small wristlet, I stalk over to the bar, doing my best to ignore the startled looks and gawking from other beachgoers. Tugging open the heavy door, I step over the threshold and into the brisk air conditioning.
Into a place where I might find slightly more acceptance.
I slide my sunglasses to rest atop my head and take a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. There are only about eight people scattered about, chatting over drinks. When I don’t earn more than a brief glance before they return to their own conversations, I breathe my first sigh of relief. Most of the patrons are likely indulging in the great weather and enjoying a Saturday at the beach, not looking for refuge and hiding out like I am.
I scan the framed photos that adorn the walls featuring local drag queens and scantily clad male models before striding over to the bar. I hoist myself up onto a worn leather bar stool, and catch the eye of the only bartender behind the counter. He appears to be taking inventory of the liquor, if his clipboard is anything to go by.
When he turns around and gets the full visual of me, his expression is priceless, his eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline. I’d laugh if I had it in me, but I’m emotionally spent.
As he regards what’s visible to him from the top of the bar on up to my hair, his light brown eyes soften and the corners of his mouth tip up slightly. Without batting an eye, he reaches below the counter and produces a wet wipe. I gratefully accept it and he rests his forearms upon the lacquered surface, regarding me with interest as I rid my cheeks of the dark mascara streaks.
The bartender waits until I’m finished and then accepts the wipe from me before tossing it into the trash.
“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever served a runaway bride before.” My makeup-fail savior appears to gauge me, as if expecting me to burst into a river of tears.
Funny enough, the drive here has expended me of those and I’m firmly entrenched in the anger stage of my fiancé’s betrayal.
I prop an elbow on the bar, rest my chin on my palm, and offer what I know is the weakest excuse for a smile. “There’s a first time for everything, right?”
He doesn’t immediately answer, eyeing me curiously until his lips stretch into an easy smile. His eyes do that little crinkly thing at the corners and he has what I call “kind eyes.”
Then again, I remind myself, what the hell do I know?
I’m clearly not the best judge of people. That much has become all too evident.
The bartender reaches out a hand. “Casey.”
I grasp his hand, noting his impressive manicure. This guy’s cuticles are better than mine and I love the shade of metallic gray polish on his nails. “Nice to meet you, Casey. I’m Emma Jane.”
He reaches beneath the bar and I hear a clinking as he scoops ice, before he brings a cup into view. Then he works his magic, and pours in a bit of this and that from one bottle to the next. Finally, with flourish—and a maraschino cherry tossed in—he slides the plastic cup across the smooth surface.
“It’s my special, secret mix. I call it”—he leans in toward me and lowers his voice, his eyes dancing with mischief—“the Panty Dropper.”
One of my brows arches as I stare back at him with dismayed skepticism. “I hardly think I’m a prime panty-dropping candidate right now.”
Casey lifts a shoulder in a half shrug, his eyes flickering over my shoulder before returning to me. His smile grows wider. “You never can tell.”
With a tiny laugh, I shake my head and wrap my lips around the straw to take a sip of the concoction he’s made me. Just as I swallow the sweet drink, I both feel and smell a person sidle up next to me at the bar.
Hell. The reason I came here was because I thought for sure my chances of getting hit on would be slim to none. But, as I glance at him from the corner of my eye, I observe strong, muscled forearms, tanned and sprinkled with dark hair. The scent of him is appealing and masculine, a cologne that doesn’t overpower. Just the sight of those arms alone, however, makes me incredibly wary to see the rest of him.
Casey doesn’t address the newcomer, his focus still on me. “I’m all ears, Emma Jane. Been told I’m a great listener.”
Good Lord. Where do I even start?
Before I can answer, the man speaks up, his deep voice booming. “Are you cheating on me, Case?” He makes what sounds like a gasp of exaggerated indignation. “I can’t believe you’d betray me like this.”
I glance up to see Casey’s expression full of mirth, and he rolls his eyes. “You know better. I’m still waiting on you to switch over.”
A husky laugh greets my ears and it sounds far too male—far too appealing—which is why I refuse to turn and look at the man beside me.
“I might switch if you’d agree to root for my team.”
“Not gonna happen,” Casey scoffs before his gaze meets mine. “Isn’t that drink exactly what the doctor ordered?”
I muster up a smile because he seems like a sweet guy. “It is.” With a start, I realize I haven’t given him my card to pay or at least start a tab. I reach for my wristlet. “What do I owe you?”
He waves me off. “Honey, that one’s on me as long as you promise to dish before we get slammed in a few hours.”
A loud exhale spills past my lips. “It’s a pathetic story, really.”
“Let me guess.” Mr. Forearms’s husky voice is a deep timbre, amusement threaded in his tone. “You caught him with your maid of honor.”
I let out a harsh laugh and fiddle with my straw, using it to move around the ice cubes in my drink. “Nope.” If only it were that simple, I muse internally.
“Caught him with his best man?”
This time, his suggestion drags a lighter sounding laugh from me. “Not even.”
“Well, you know I can’t leave here without hearing the story. I’m intrigued.”
This guy is something else, that’s for sure. His voice is the epitome of sexy, and yet, even with all that’s transpired, I have zero interest.
Finally, I drag my attention from my drink and my eyes travel up those muscled forearms, over the bulging biceps stretching the short sleeves of a dark-blue polo shirt and up to the face that—
My breath catches in my throat as recognition floods me, my eyes widening as I take in the man beside me.
Becket Jones, the quarterback for the NFL team in Jacksonville, Florida. He’s a two-time Heisman Trophy winner from the University of Florida and had been the second overall draft pick by the Jacksonville Jaguars. Adding to that impressive resumé, he’s been recently voted MVP and is also a Lombardi Trophy recipient. His face is in commercials and on billboards everywhere. Living in Mobile, Alabama, and in a state without a pro football team, most of us either gravitate toward the Atlanta Falcons, the New Orleans Saints, or the Jacksonville Jaguars.
I don’t follow NFL as closely as college football, but I’d have to live under a rock to not recognize Becket and his pretty-boy face. Even beneath the brim of the ball cap, which curls under at the edges and draws shadows over his eyes, I’d recognize that wide charming smile of his anywhere. He’s slouching against the bar but I know he pushes well over six feet.
His features cloud as he observes my response, his large hand reaching up to tug his cap lower. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to sell some seedy story about seeing me in a gay bar to a stupid gossip rag.”
“Of course not. I’m just…” I falter for a moment, “surprised.”
His chin lifts, gesturing to a couple of guys standing nearby a jukebox, laughing and talking. One of them is wearing a shirt with bright pink flamingos printed on it, along with a yellow feather boa draped around his neck.
“I’m with my brother, Brantley—the one who insisted on that crazy getup—and his roommate, Vonn, whose birthday we’re celebrating.” His eyes flicker to them briefly, obvious affection in his gaze, before returning to me. “I drove in from Jacksonville late last night to join them.”
I nod politely, not sure what to say. “Well, I hope you guys have a great night.” I turn back to my drink and studiously take another sip of the dangerous concoction while acknowledging Casey and Becket’s attention is fixed on me with unfettered curiosity. This drink is deliciously sweet and I know it’s masking the copious amount of liquor Casey put in it. And I can’t get hammered. I should—and I really want to—but I can’t. I have bigger fish to fry.
Like figuring out my freaking life.
With a long sigh, I unzip my wristlet and withdraw my cell phone—whose ring had been silenced—to face the “music” I know is about to blare at me.
Let this be noted as mistake number one. Because I’m certain my phone is going to overheat from the number of text messages and missed calls I’ve received already. Mainly, the ones from my father.
Dad: You’d better get back here now, young lady.
I continue scrolling past all of his other messages until I get to the last one, time stamped from about five minutes ago.
Dad: Consider yourself disowned. Don’t even think of coming back to this house after the way you’ve embarrassed everyone.
Huh. Well, thank heavens I’d already thought of that and had made a quick stop at the house before driving here. I’d scooped up the items I’d need most, knowing my father’s reaction would be extreme. Maybe I was delusional, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this.
Just as I’m about to place my phone back in my wristlet and avoid the remainder of the painful messages sure to come, another one comes in.
Dad: Forget your job at the magazine. It’s done. You’re done. You did this, Emma Jane.
My chest tightens and my stomach churns sickly. I knew it was coming but it doesn’t make it any less devastating. I’d worked my ass off for Southern Charm Lifestyle magazine at their new location in Mobile. I know I have the potential to rise up in the ranks.
But now it’s gone. Poof. All because of my father. The one and only Davis Haywood, city councilman, owner of the local newspaper and the city’s largest magazine, and commercial developer galore. He has the money and power to make things happen in Mobile.
I just never thought he’d use that money and power against his own daughter one day.
“So.” Becket startles me, so caught up in my own drama-filled thoughts. “You might not know this about me, but I was brought up to be a gentleman.”
I regard him warily, unsure where he’s going with this. “O-kay,” I drag out the word slowly.
“This means I can’t leave you sitting at this bar, staring down at your phone, looking like your puppy just died.”
I shoot him a hard glare that would normally cause people to rear back…but then I recall that this man faces the risk of being tackled by two-hundred-plus-pound men on any given game day.
So, as much as my dangerously narrowed eyes might flare with the “Don’t even go there” vibe, my glare does nothing.
He looks around first before slipping his ball cap around on his head, the brim now at the back. And honestly, on any other grown man, it would look juvenile. On Becket Jones, however, it actually looks cute.
Casey slides a bottle of water to him, which Becket uncaps before downing half of it. Resting his arms on the bar, he playfully nudges me with his shoulder.
“Go ahead. Spill.”
Exhaling loudly, I peer up at him skeptically. “You really want—”
“To hear all the sordid details?” He grins at me, nearly blinding me with his pearly white teeth. “Absolutely.”
Shaking my head at him, I take another sip of my drink and toy with my straw, making the ice cubes clink together within my cup. “Fine. But don’t you dare give me a bless your heart that’s chock-full of pity.”
“Deal.”
Letting a long sigh loose, I answer, my voice muted and laced with pain. And I hate the way it sounds.
“I’m running from a man who doesn’t really love me.”

HLMK-Teaser 6

About the Author:

RC Boldt is the wife of Mr. Boldt, a retired Navy Chief, mother of Little Miss Boldt, and former teacher of many students. She currently lives on the southeastern coast of North Carolina, enjoys long walks on the beach, running, reading, people watching, and singing karaoke. If you’re in the mood for some killer homemade mojitos, can’t recall the lyrics to a particular 80’s song, or just need to hang around a nonconformist who will do almost anything for a laugh, she’s your girl.

Email: rcboldtbooks@gmail.com
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Excerpt Reveal ~ Love On The Edge Of Time ~ by ~ Julie A. Richman

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Love on the Edge of Time, an all-new stand-alone story about a love too great to be bound by time, from Julie A. Richman is coming November 13th!

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Love on the Edge of Time by Julie A. Richman

Publishing Date: November 13th, 2017

He likes whiskey and wild women

She likes Ben & Jerry’s

He’s about to get kicked out of his own band

She ate her way off the Miss America pageant circuit

What could these two possibly have in common?

A psychiatrist

A lot of unresolved issues

A whole bunch of shared lifetimes

And a love that is never-ending

As bad boy rocker, Jesse Winslow, and former pageant queen, Kylie Martin, each fight the demons screwing up their lives, the one person who holds the key to healing their ills and reuniting two souls that have searched for one another, lifetime after lifetime, is the only one who knows the whole truth.

And keeping that truth from them may just be in preeminent psychiatrist Dr. Claire Stoddard’s best interests.

Claire has committed the ultimate sin in the medical world. She’s fallen for the one man she’s forbidden to love.

Her patient, Jesse Winslow.

And she’s not about to lose him to Kylie Martin… Again.

Excerpt:

I’m at a table in the back-right corner, he texted.

In a cab a few blocks away. See you in 5.

Kylie was running a few minutes late, not rudely late, just fashionably late. She had pulled nearly everything she owned out of her closet, trying to find something that was flattering, yet rock-star cool and ‘Yeah, I know his ex is a top model’. ‘So What’ chic was the look she was trying to pull off. It wasn’t easy. With the recent weight loss, she was between sizes. Her big girl clothes, as she was now referring to them, looked like misshapen potato sacks on her and her pageant days’ wardrobe were nowhere near an option yet, and might not ever be.

She made the decision. It’s New York, seriously, just pick something black. And so black it was. Black legging jeans, black high boots, a thin, black, cashmere V-neck sweater, all topped with a black leather jacket. Twisting her hair, she clipped it up, then pulled a few strands out to frame her face and a few at the base of her neckline. It was messy and sexy.

Standing in front of the mirror, she wondered for whom she was dressing. Jesse? Well, yeah, you don’t want to be seen with a rock star looking like a beast on parade. The paparazzi? Same logic applied as for Jesse. The skinny model ex-girlfriend? Well, not really for her, but for everyone who would make a comparison. For herself? C’mon, he’s Jesse Fucking Winslow. Get real.

As she made her way to the back of the darkened restaurant, Kylie could feel her spine straighten, shoulders fall back, chin up. The only thing missing was the sash as she gracefully floated past tables, the male occupants covertly attempting to sneak an appreciative look without alerting their female companions.

I’ve still got it.

And her confidence soared as she sat down in the chair next to one of the sexiest, most recognizable men on the planet, and he had watched every man in the restaurant check her out.

“You look gorgeous, Toots.”

“Thank you.” It was still surreal that she was sitting here with her new buddy.

“I’m going to have to fight half the guys in the restaurant off you.”

Laughing, “I doubt that.” Kylie rolled her eyes.

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About the Author:

I must’ve been 5 or 6 when I started writing “stories”. I would write them and hide them.

Not wanting anyone to see my “secret” thoughts. I needed to write – even back then. Now I’m just not hiding them anymore. Is that a sign of maturity? Nah…

Writer, photographer, insatiable wanderluster, edge-player, foodie, music addict, pop culture fanatic, animal lover, warrior for the rights of people and planet, and avid cusser (am a Native

New Yorker, so very little offends me…and if I am offended, it must be pretty freaking bad..like

bad grammar!)

I am a big believer in signs and if we keep ourselves open, there are guideposts all along the way. Stay humble. Be true. Be you.

Life is not a dress rehearsal…

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Excerpt Reveal ~ The Plan ~ by ~ Ella James

 

The Plan by Ella James is coming

November 13th!

 

ADD to Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36046927-the-plan

 

 

 

 

 

 

Synopsis:

You’ve heard this story before. Woman feels her biological clock ticking and gets someone to knock her up.

Not for love, for baby.

Crazy, right?

That’s what I thought.

Then I found out my fiancé had a vasectomy. The life I thought I had? Nope. Suddenly I’m 33, and I don’t even have a kissing buddy.

When my mom’s health takes a turn and I wind up back in my hometown of Fate, Alabama, I tell myself to leave things up to…well, you know.

Then I see Gabriel McKellan. He’s Fate’s most famous son, a bestselling author who is beautiful, complicated, and living just below me. In addition to his plus-sized brain, Gabe’s well-endowed in other ways, and great in bed to boot. I would know. He’s my ex husband.

When I suggest The Plan, I don’t imagine that he’ll take the bait. It’s been ten years, and we don’t work. But Fate has other plans for both of us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

EXCERPT

I climb inside the U-Haul and grab two small things first: my favorite Elvis lamp and a box of yarn and clay, easy pickings for my first trip up the stairs to my rented digs. Then I grab my purse off the truck’s rear ledge, step down, and—

“Oofh!”

I blink at the wall I’ve just slammed into, and there he is. At first, I think I’m seeing things. I blink a few times, fast, to try to magic him away. Hallucination. But…he’s not.

His curly hair is wild and dark, just like it always was. His blue-gray eyes—more blue, although he claims they’re gray—are just as sharp as I recall. His face is still so striking: dark brows over a stern, strong nose, and high cheekbones. My gaze skates over his rich mouth, and I realize I’d forgotten how handsome he is.

Gabriel McKellan is famous at least in part because he looks like such a god. The familiarity of him hits me like a ball of ice right to the gut, but where he’s different makes me warm. That stubble-beard, the way his jaw is sharper, shoulders thicker. My gaze skates down his white t-shirt, pasted over rigid abs. I note his forearms—thicker, tanned—before appraising jeans-clad thighs.

One flexes.

Shit.

My errant gaze jerks back up, where I find his features twisted in a scowl.

“What are you doing?” he asks roughly.

I blink. “What?”

Gabe’s brows pinch together, and he glares behind me, at the truck. “What are you doing here, Marley?”

I look around the quiet, leaf-strewn street, trying to explain not what I’m doing, but why I’m seeing him here. Nothing looks amiss, though. Nothing to suggest I’ve had a mental break.

“I’m moving back to Fate. Today,” I add, my voice a squeak above its normal octave.

Gabe’s foot taps the curb between us. Even barefoot, he’s a domineering prick. I inhale slowly, bringing my heart-rate down a notch, so I seem more gathered when I ask, “Where are your shoes?”

“Why did you park here,” he demands again.

“Because I’m moving in?” It’s not a question, but it sounds like one. I bug my eyes out in response to his mean stare. “What are you doing here—and where are your shoes?”

“My shoes are inside.”

I blink at the porch behind him. “Inside where?”

“Inside the house behind me.”

“What?”

Gabe’s head is still shaking, his jaw locked like an angry sentry.

“What the hell is this about?” My heart begins to pound. “Are you my greeting party?”

“I’m your warning party,” he says quietly.

“Warning me from what?”

“I live here, Marley. On the bottom floor.”

“But…you’re—”

“I’m living here.” His face hardens. “I think that means you need to close your truck and go.”

Is he insane? My head spins. Gabe can’t be… “You can’t live here,” I sputter. “You live in New York!”

For an instant, I feel sure this is a joke: a TV joke. Famous author/director shocks unknown ex-wife by popping up at her new place.

“Is there a hidden camera?” I ask lamely.

“No, Marley. There’s not. There’s just a house—with room for one.”

“Yeah…me.”

His lush mouth tightens. “I don’t think so.”

I laugh. “Oh—you watch.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ella James is the USA Today and Amazon Top 10 bestselling author of more than twenty love stories. She’s an angst-a-holic who loves exploring difficult situations and the emotions of the people caught up in them. Also, smut. But always, always romance.

Ella is an Alabama native who makes her home in Colorado with her husband, three young children, and hyperactive dog. When she’s not writing, she can be found hiking the foothills, taking nature photos for her Instagram account, or swilling vanilla cream soda.

 

 

 

CONNECT WITH ELLA

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

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Excerpt Reveal ~ The Other Brother ~ by ~ Meghan Quinn

Check out this amazing excerpt for THE OTHER BROTHER by Meghan Quinn!

 

THE OTHER BROTHER
NA Romantic Comedy
Model: David Harris
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2yievF5
PREORDER HERE:
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Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2icfDmX
I got the call. The dreaded call every child fears. My dad wasn’t well, and the man who had always been my everything needed me.
There was only one thing to do; pack up and head back to my hometown. I had finally made my dream life in the city with the great job and loving boyfriend. But was there really a choice not to go?
I found a wonderful job, a quaint house to rent, my boyfriend was working on joining me in Binghamton, and my favorite pizza place was only miles away. Life was good.
Until I met my neighbor.
It’s been three years since I’d seen Aaron Walters, and my God is he all kinds of sexy gorgeous. Figures. He was supposed to be my forever, the man I grew old with, but he had different plans. How can a man who ripped my heart apart still trip me up? How can he make me still want him now more than ever?
I’m tempted, I’m drawn toward him, I’m completely and utterly unaware that I’m dating his biological brother.
Now two men own my heart. The question is, which brother will I choose?

EXCERPT:

Right on time, I’m impressed.

She doesn’t get out of her car right away, so I give her a second but then realize maybe she’s not exiting the vehicle because I have the key to the house and she has nowhere to go.

Wanting to make a good impression and seem approachable since I’m the property manager, I run my hand through my hair and adjust my jeans. I’m not wearing any fancy shit, but at least I don’t have holes in or paint stains on my clothes. I hop off my front porch and make my way toward her car, slowly, not wanting to scare her.

There is muffling coming from her car, voices I can’t quite hear, but I get the idea she’s finishing up a conversation, so I slow my pace drastically. That’s when I see her tilt her head down and look at me. From the reflection of the light off her windows, I can’t make out her features. I can only see a silhouette.

I lift a friendly hand in her direction to let her know I come in peace and make my way to her driveway. There is no wave back, but I do hear the telltale sound of her opening her car door. She steps out and when I round the vehicle, I catch the sun off her driver’s side window, temporarily blinding me.

Blinking my eyes a few times to calm my retinas, I bring her into focus.

“Aaron . . .”

Every hair on my body sticks straight up and my body goes still from that voice, that unmistakably sultry voice.

When she finally comes into view, I am met with a pair of hazel eyes I haven’t been able to get out of my head since the day she left town for bigger and better things.

“Amelia.” I clear my throat and take a step forward. “Wow, I uh . . .” Tongue-tied, that’s exactly what I am right now. “Didn’t expect to see you get out of that car.” I laugh nervously while I pull on the back of my neck, trying to comprehend what’s going on. I point with my thumb toward the house and ask, “You’re the new tenant?”

She nods and looks me over, taking her time with her perusal, her eyes burning a hole right through my clothes like they used to. When her eyes meet mine again, she asks, “You’re the property manager?”

I nod and swallow hard. “And neighbor.”

She presses her lips together, thinning them out. “What are the chances?” She laughs nervously.

“Yeah, especially since I thought your life was in the city.” I didn’t mean for that to come out rude, but it did. Gentling my voice, I ask, “What brings you back home?”

Staring at the ground, clutching her purse to her side, she says, “My dad. He’s, uh, not doing well.” Duh, Mrs. Ferguson mentioned something like that. I’m so damn overwhelmed and shocked right now though, that entire conversation I had with Mrs. Ferguson is not registering in my mind.

“Oh no.” My brow pinches together in concern. “What happened?”

She waves me off. “Nothing you need to worry about.” And just like that she shuts me down. Honestly, I’m surprised she said that much to me after how we ended things between us.

Yes, there was an us, a perfectly beautiful, love-filled us. Amelia Santos was the best thing to ever happen to me, and yet, she was also the worst. During a time where my heart broke from every uncaring glance from my mom, Amelia resurrected me from the ashes I would have otherwise drowned in. She was my rock, the one solid feature in my life.

She was also my downfall.

She was going places, and I wasn’t. She had opportunity, and I had none. She wanted me to move with her, and I couldn’t, but no way in hell would I hold her back. I barely made it out of my mom’s house. There were many days when I tried hard to earn a buck so I could find a place to live other than the homeless shelter where I spent many lonely nights. Amelia deserved better than that, so I pushed her away to achieve her dreams. Little did I know, breaking up with her would send me in the biggest downward spiral of my life. The only reason I’m the man I am today is because after hitting rock bottom, I knew things needed to change, and it was up to me to make something of myself. So I worked my ass off. And now at thirty, I can say proudly that I’m a co-owner of an up-and-coming construction company as well as the proud owner of a house in the heart of Hillcrest, a beautiful two-story house. I’m doing well for myself . . . at least that’s what I thought until Amelia stepped out of her car.

Now I’m questioning every little thing about my life leading to this point.

 

 

About the Author:

Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.
Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.
Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!
Find me on Goodreads:

 

Excerpt Reveal ~ Fault Lines ~ by ~ Rebecca Shea

 

 

From USA Today bestselling author, Rebecca Shea, comes a new, heartbreakingly beautiful standalone romance, FAULT LINES. Don’t miss the stunning and captivating excerpt below, and pre-order your copy today!

 

 

About FAULT LINES:

At eleven he was my first crush. At sixteen he became mine. At nineteen he broke my heart and destroyed me. That was ten years ago and the last time I saw Cole Ryan.

They say you never get over your first love…I beg to differ. I left my shattered heart buried in a town I never expected to return to. I erased every thought of him and buried the memories never to be found.

I moved on…now ten years later I have the perfect life, the perfect fiancé, the perfect career. Everything I ever wanted until I’m forced to go back and face my past and the man that destroyed me.

He won’t stop until I know the truth no matter how hard I fight it. In the end, lies will be uncovered, hearts will be broken, and my life as I’ve come to know it destroyed.

 

FAULT LINES is coming October 30, 2017! Pre-order your copy today!

 

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EXCERPT:

PROLOGUE

Frankie

Ten Years Ago

My fingers dig into the brown dirt between the patches of dead grass that used to once be a lush front yard. A jagged stone cuts into the soft flesh of my knee as I try to get control of the involuntary lurching of my stomach, which has me crippled on all fours.

Tears fall in streams, and I gasp for air as I hear the sound of heavy footsteps near me.

“Frances—”

“Get away from me!” I scream at the soft voice.

“It’s not—”

“I said get the hell away from me!” My stomach clenches against another wave of nausea as I hear her footprints begin to move away. “Goooooo!” I shout at her again.

I manage to look over my shoulder and see Whitney Carson’s long blonde hair swaying as she walks quickly back across the cul-de-sac to her piss yellow, beat-to-hell Mustang. I barely make out the swell of her belly as she slides into the driver’s seat and slams the door behind her. The roar of the engine tells me she’s leaving.

One last heave and there is nothing left for my stomach to expel, leaving me with only my tears. My throat burns, my breaths coming in small gasps when I feel soft arms around my shoulders.

I hear the creak of the old screen door and my mama’s worn shoes come into sight just before I feel her arms around me. “Baby girl, what’s wrong? We weren’t expecting you home from school until tomorrow…” Her voice is quiet, yet panicked as she kneels next to me, her white uniform dress getting dirty.

I finished my finals early so that I could come home early and surprise Cole and my mom, but the surprise was all mine. “Mama,” I cry between ragged breaths. “I came home early to surprise you and—”

“Stop,” she cuts me off, looking over my shoulder behind me. “Let’s get you inside. If this has anything to do with that girl that’s been coming around, he’s not worth your tears. You’re going to put your chin up and enjoy your summer.” She tugs at my arm in hopes to get me to budge.

I shake my head back and forth violently. “No. I can’t stay here,” I manage through my tears. I can’t stay and watch this happen. I can’t stay and watch them.

“What do you mean? Where would you go?” Her voice grows with concern.

“I don’t know, but I can’t stay here.” The hot summer air hangs heavy around us, and sweat beads along my forehead at my hairline. The thought of Cole touching Whitney Carson causes my stomach to flip again, and I dry heave as I pinch my eyes closed.

Mom rubs her hand over my arm as I try to gain my composure and move from all fours to sitting on the dirt. “Well, come inside until we figure this out.” Her voice is soft and sad. “I’ve always told you he was—”

“Please, stop—” I cut her off now, not wanting to talk about Cole with her.

I hear her deep sigh. “Come on. I’ll run you a hot bath. We need to get you cleaned up.”

The tears still fall in waves as my heart breaks with each step I take toward our house and away from Cole Ryan. As I think about it, the last few months begin to make sense. I sensed Cole pulling away from me. He’d become distant, not returning my calls or answering text messages. Mama called me and had told me about the rumors she’d heard, but we chose to chalk them up to small town gossip. Crescent Ridge is just that, a small town where no one has anything else to do but talk about other people and spread rumors.

Suddenly, realization hits me that the one person I trusted more than anyone in the world betrayed me. He’s been my best friend since I was eleven, my first crush, my first love, my first everything. No other person will ever etch himself so boldly into my history as Cole Ryan did. No other person held the cards to destroy me like Cole Ryan did. And did he ever.

I bite my tongue, tasting the slightest hint of blood as Mama walks me up the raggedy old front porch of our house. “Keep walking, baby girl.” She guides me through the front door. “Keep your chin held high,” she says quietly, the screen door slamming hard behind us.

She looks at me with sympathetic eyes and her voice cracks as she speaks. “Now you can fall apart, Frances. Don’t ever let him see you crumble; don’t give him that control. He is not worth your tears.”

And crumble is what I do as I sink to the faded wood floors of our living room, Mama rocking me in her lap, her fingers stroking my hair and wiping my tears. I cry and scream for the love I believed in, for the boy who owned my heart, and the loss of the one person I long for—the one person I had planned to spend my last breath with.

Mama holds me for hours as my tears come and go. At the first hints of the morning sunlight, I peel myself from Mama’s lap, my head pounding from the hours of crying. I pull my cell phone from my back pocket and press the name of the only other friend I have.

“Ash.” My voice breaks and I barely make out what she’s saying, but one thing is certain. I’m getting the hell out of Crescent Ridge and never looking back. “I’m coming,” I tell her.

Between my tears and gasping breaths, I disconnect my call and see Mama swipe at the tears on her aging cheeks. She sat here all night comforting me as I lay helpless in her lap. In the end, she’s the one person who believes in me and has loved me unconditionally, and here I am about to leave her behind. Leave everything I know and love behind, without a second thought. For good.

I know that when I drive away from here today, I’ll never be back—I can’t come back. I’m leaving my broken heart behind, along with the only man I’ve ever loved.

I toss my bag and one small box of belongings from my childhood bedroom in the trunk of my car and slide into the driver’s seat of my old Honda. Without a second thought, I put the car in drive and glance just once out my rearview mirror as I pull away. The last thing I see is Cole Ryan, hunched over the paint-chipped railing of his front porch as I drive away from Crescent Ridge, leaving him, my past, and my mama behind.

 

 

About Rebecca Shea:

Rebecca Shea is the USA Today Bestselling author of the Unbreakable series (Unbreakable, Undone, and Unforgiven) and the Bound and Broken series (Broken by Lies and Bound by Lies). She lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her family. From the time Rebecca could read she has had a passion for books. Rebecca spends her days working and her nights writing, bringing stories to life. Born and raised in Minnesota, Rebecca moved to Arizona in 1999 to escape the bitter winters. When not working or writing, she can be found on the sidelines of her sons’ football games, or watching her daughter at ballet class. Rebecca is fueled by insane amounts of coffee, margaritas, Laffy Taffy (except the banana ones), and happily ever afters.

 

 

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Excerpt Reveal ~ A Little Too Late ~ by ~ Staci Hart

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A Little Too Late, an all-new romantic standalone from Staci Hart is coming October 24th!

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A Little Too Late by Staci Hart

Publishing Date: October 24th, 2017

Genre: Contemporary Romance

I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with the nanny.

When my wife left, she took the illusion of happiness with her, and I’ve been caught in a free fall ever since. For nine long months, I’ve been fighting to figure out how to be a single dad, how to be alone.

For nine long months, I’ve been failing.

When Hannah walked through the door, I took my first breath since I’d found myself on my own. She slipped into our lives effortlessly, showing me what I’ve been missing all these years. Because Hannah made me smile when I thought I’d packed the notion of happiness away with my wedding album.

She was only supposed to be the nanny, but she’s so much more.

The day my wife left should have been the worst day of my life, but it wasn’t. It was when Hannah walked away, taking my heart with her.

Excerpt:

Hannah

The first time I saw Charlie Parker, I didn’t see one thing at a time; I saw all of him. It was an assault on my senses, an overwhelming tide of awareness, and for a moment, the details came to me in flashes over what was probably only a few seconds but felt so much longer.

His hair was blond and gently mussed, his face long and nose elegant. I could smell him, clean and fresh with just a touch of spice I couldn’t place. I tipped my chin up—he was tall, taller than me, and I hovered just at six feet—and met his eyes, earthy and brown and so deep. So very deep.

And then he smiled.

He was handsome when he wasn’t smiling. He was stunning when he was.

I was so lost in that smile, I didn’t register the flying gob until it whapped against my sweater. Tiny splatters of something cold speckled my neck.

This was the moment the clock started again, and the sweet serenity slipped directly into chaos.

A blond little boy looked up at me from his father’s side with a devilish gleam in his dark eyes. The spoon in his hand was covered in blood-red jam and aimed at me like an empty catapult.

Several things happened at once. Charlie’s face morphed into embarrassed frustration as he reached for who I presumed to be his son. The boy—Sam, I guessed from the names I’d been given by the agency—spun around lightning fast and took off down the hallway, giggling. Another child began to cry from somewhere back in the house, and a bowl clattered to the ground, followed by a hissed swear from what sounded like an older woman.

I glanced down at the sliding, sticky mess against my white sweater and started to laugh.

Charlie’s head swiveled back to me, his face first colored with confusion, then in horror as he looked at the Pollock painting on my sweater.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, his apologetic, wide eyes dragging down my body. “Jesus, I am so sorry.”

I was still laughing, almost a little hysterical. I couldn’t even tell you why.

I waved a hand at Charlie, and he took my elbow, guiding me into the house as I caught my breath. Another crash came from the kitchen, and a little girl came toddling out into the entry, leaving powdery footprints on the hardwood.

Charlie’s face screwed up. “Sam!” he called, stretching the word, a drawn-out promise of consequences.

A riot of giggling broke out in the kitchen.

We both snapped into motion. I followed him as he scooped up his crying daughter and stormed toward the kitchen. The little girl watched me over his shoulder with big brown eyes, her breath hitching in little shudders and her small finger hooked in her mouth.

Charlie stopped so abruptly, I almost ran into him.

When I looked around him and into the kitchen, my mouth opened. I covered it with my fingers as laughter bubbled up my throat.

A bag of flour sat in the middle of the floor, the white powder thrown in bursts against the surrounding surfaces and hanging in the air like smoke. The floor next to the bag was the only clean spot, shaped like a small bottom—the little girl’s, I supposed. A bowl lay upside down, its contents oozing from under the rim and slung in a ring from ceiling to cabinet to floor, as if it had completed a masterful flip on its way to its demise. And in the center of the madness stood an older woman with flour in her dark hair and dusted down the front of her. Clutched under her arm was a wriggling Sam, offending spoon still in hand.

Her face was kind but tight with exasperation. “Please tell me this is the new nanny,” she said flatly.

“I doubt we could convince her to stay at this point,” he said with equal flatness.

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Preorder Today!

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About the Author

Staci has been a lot of things up to this point in her life — a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can’t forget that. She’s also been a mom, with three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She’s been a wife, though she’s certainly not the cleanest, or the best cook. She’s also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she’s been drinking whiskey.

From roots in Houston to a seven year stint in Southern California, Staci and her family ended up settling somewhere in between and equally north, in Denver. They are new enough that snow is still magical. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, sleeping, gaming, or designing graphics.

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Connect with Staci:

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Excerpt Reveal ~ Ride Wild ~ by ~ Laura Kaye

 

 

Get Ready for RIDE WILD with an exclusive excerpt AND a Sale on RIDE HARD!

OMG you guys! I’m so excited! Because the first book in my new Raven Riders series is on sale for just $.99 for a limited time AND I’ve got an advance excerpt from the newest book here for you to enjoy! The Raven Riders is a sexy contemporary romance series, and a spin-off from my Hard Ink world, about a different kind of a motorcycle club with a protective mission. Ride Hard tells the story of a sheltered woman on the run who’s been rescued by the jaded and tormented president of the Raven Riders, who learns that she’s strong enough to save herself and the man she loves, too. Ride Wild is the story of a sexy single father wild with grief over the death of his wife several years before and the strong survivor he hires to be his nanny. It’s hot and emotional and I adored writing it! I hope you’ll check both out – plus they’re standalones, so you can jump in anywhere!

Also, did you know that I’m donating a portion of all my sales from Ride Wild through 11/5 to Noah’s Arks Rescue? AND that you can get a bonus story for grabbing your copy?

Now, enjoy this delicious tease from Ride Wild, coming 10/31/17, and grab your copies of BOTH! Thanks for reading! ~ Laura Kaye

 

From Ride Wild:

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”

“Do what?” Of course, healing from this was going to take some time. And he’d help her with that however he could. And forgiving herself, well, even when there was nothing to forgive, it was possible to beat yourself up till the end of time. Slider knew that too damn well, didn’t he? As for getting justice—or revenge—the Ravens had already taken care of that when they’d killed her degenerate drunk of a father at their racetrack the night Haven’s father attacked the club.

But none of that was what she meant. Instead, she surprised the hell out of him—not with what she revealed, exactly, because he had an inkling. But instead she surprised him with her courage. “Pretend that I don’t have feelings for you,” she said.

If she hadn’t owned him already, she did as of that very moment. Emotion this in his throat, he tried to tell her. “I’ve been such a fucking wreck, Cora.”

“I know. I didn’t admit that to try to make you say anything back.”

He cupped her face in his hand, because he sure as shit was going to respond to that. “I’m a wreck, and I’d convinced myself that I always would be. But lately, I’ve been trying. I’ve been better. Hopeful, for the first time in years.” Admitting that should’ve been freeing, and it was. But, maybe ridiculously, it was also scary as fuck. Because when you’d become wed to a certain narrative of your life, letting go of it threatened to crumble the ground beneath your feet, leaving you with no idea where you’d be left standing when the dust settled.

Her expression went so, so soft. For him. “I’m really glad of that, Slider. So glad you feel better.”

“It’s you, Cora. It’s me, too, some. But you worked your way into my heart and my head and my house and my whole life until I could see again that I had a life. One I’d been neglecting. One I hadn’t been appreciating. So I don’t know how I’m going to pretend either. And frankly, I don’t want to, not anymore. Because I care about you, too. And not just as a friend.”

“You…really?” she asked, her eyes so wide and her face so damn pretty.

God, she didn’t get it, did she? Just how much she’d done to change his life…But he was going to make sure she did from here on out. “Really. I don’t know where we go or what we call it or how public we go with it, but there’s something here. And I want it. I want you.”

 

 

About Ride Hard (Raven Riders #1)

Now on sale for $.99 for a limited time!

 

Brotherhood. Club. Family.

They live and ride by their own rules.

These are the Raven Riders…

Raven Riders Motorcycle Club President Dare Kenyon rides hard and values loyalty above all else. He’ll do anything to protect the brotherhood of bikers—the only family he’s got—as well as those who can’t defend themselves. So when mistrustful Haven Randall lands on the club’s doorstep scared that she’s being hunted, Dare takes her in, swears to keep her safe, and pushes to learn the secrets overshadowing her pretty smile.

Haven fled from years of abuse at the hands of her criminal father and is suspicious of any man’s promises, including those of the darkly sexy and overwhelmingly intense Ravens’ leader. But as the powerful attraction between them flares to life, Dare pushes her boundaries and tempts her to want things she never thought she could.

The past never dies without a fight, but Dare Kenyon’s never backed down before…

 

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About Ride Rough (Raven Riders #2)

Brotherhood. Club. Family.

They live and ride by their own rules.

These are the Raven Riders…

Maverick Rylan won’t apologize for who he is—the Raven Riders Motorcycle Club Vice-President, a sought-after custom bike builder, and a man dedicated to protecting those he loves. So when he learns that the only woman who has ever held his heart is in trouble, he’ll move heaven and earth to save her.

Alexa Harmon thought she had it all—the security of a good job, a beautiful home, and a powerful, charming fiancé who offered the life she never had growing up. But when her dream quickly turns into a nightmare, Alexa realizes she’s fallen for a façade she can’t escape—until sexy, dangerous Maverick offers her a way out.

Forced together to keep Alexa safe, their powerful attraction reignites and Maverick determines to do whatever it takes to earn a second chance—one Alexa is tempted to give. But her ex-fiancé isn’t going to let her go without a fight, one that will threaten everything they both hold dear.

 

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About Ride Wild (Raven Riders #3, 10/31/17)

Brotherhood. Club. Family.
They live and ride by their own rules.
These are the Raven Riders…


Wild with grief over the death of his wife, Sam “Slider” Evans merely lives for his two sons. Nothing holds his interest anymore—not even riding his bike or his membership in the Raven Riders Motorcycle Club. But that all changes when he hires a new babysitter.

Recently freed from a bad situation by the Ravens, Cora Campbell is determined to bury the past. When Slider offers her a nanny position, she accepts, needing the security and time to figure out what she wants from life. Cora adores his sweet boys, but never expected the red-hot attraction to their brooding, sexy father. If only he would notice her…

Slider does see the beautiful, fun-loving woman he invited into his home. She makes him feel too much, and he both hates it and yearns for it. But when Cora witnesses something she shouldn’t have, the new lives they’ve only just discovered are threatened. Now Slider must claim—and protect—what’s his before it’s too late.

 

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PREORDER RIDE WILD & HELP MAKE A DIFFERENCE!

Animal rescue is a big part of the storyline of Ride Wild, and that’s something that’s close to Laura’s heart, so Laura’s giving to the cause by donating a portion of all preorders and sales through 11/5 to Noah’s Arks Rescue, a fantastic organization that serves as a source of inspiration for the book. When you grab your copy of RIDE WILD, you’re helping a great cause AND you’ll get a bonus story when you submit your order info, too!

 

Submit Your Preorder Info to Get A Bonus Story:https://a.pgtb.me/HRn7Bc

 

Learn More about Noah’s Arks: http://www.noahs-arks.net/

 

 

 

About Laura Kaye:

Laura is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over twenty books in contemporary and paranormal romance and romantic suspense, including the Hard Ink and upcoming Raven Riders series. Growing up, Laura’s large extended family believed in the supernatural, and family lore involving angels, ghosts, and evil-eye curses cemented in Laura a life-long fascination with storytelling and all things paranormal. She lives in Maryland with her husband, two daughters, and cute-but-bad dog, and appreciates her view of the Chesapeake Bay every day.

 

 

 

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Excerpt Reveal ~ Riske & Revenge ~ by ~ Natalie E. Wrye

 

Title: Riske and Revenge

Author: Natalie E. Wrye

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: October 17, 2017

Synopsis

Love is the strongest emotion in the world…next to hate.

I knew hate. Had known it since I was seventeen. For me, it was love turned on its head, a product of hurt and fear—twisted, tied up…and placed on the sculpted shoulders of Ethan Riske.

***

Dayton, Tennessee.

Home to the best cow-tipping in the world, the biggest hot dogs, and the lousiest sex.

Or so I’d heard…

They were right about the first two. Ethan Riske proved them wrong about the third and at seventeen, he and I spent a summer under the stars, squeezing our way out of trouble, sweating and panting among the haystacks.

Until he left.

Nine years later, when a huge publishing house tries to buy my small press, I storm into the office of the CEO to find him.

Same cocky grin. Different name.

And suddenly all I can think about is exacting revenge on Ethan Riske for breaking his contract…and my heart.

But there’s someone who wants revenge even more than I do. As I begin to fall for the new Ethan, will the sins of the old one come back to haunt us?

 

Excerpt

“I hope you taste as good as you smell.”

The sound drifted through the air. A slow, sensuous melody floated with it, and as both made their way through the room, the beat of the song and the quiet statement I just heard rattled the bourbon in my hand, making the ice cubes shake.

Or maybe I was the one shaking.

I couldn’t help it.

Griff was poking a hole in my ribs with his elbow, and as the lips that had just whispered in my ear withdrew, I could see the look on my “best man’s” face. He was essentially salivating, his tongue practically swinging as he took in the vision of the woman who was speaking in my ear… and laying a seductive path in my open lap.

She stood, her long legs stretching, her bare torso twisting as she rolled the shape of an “S” in the air with her body, swaying seductively to the music. She was toned… that was obvious. A tight package with tits too big to be real, the buxom blonde in front of me was the object of every man’s wet-dream, star of every cock-swinger’s fantasy…

Except mine.

But she was doing her best. Clad in a piece of cloth that barely covered her clearly cleanly-waxed pussy, she ground her pretty ass two inches from my face while every other man in the room fought the urge to put their fingers all over her. My best friend, included. He nudged my side for the ninetieth time.

“Fuck me, man,” he slurred. “If she was doing that to me, I’d be two seconds from putting my finger in her ass.” He smirked widely and wildly.

“Good thing you aren’t me,” I shot back quietly, leaning over to look into his face. “That’d be a felony, you crazy ass.” I finally smiled. “And the last time I checked you didn’t fuck strippers because ‘and I quote… ‘Who knows how many other items have been in those goddamned holes?'”

I threw Griff’s own words back at him with a silent grin.

“Doesn’t matter,” he declared, staring at the stripper in front of me for the thousandth time. “For her?” He swallowed another mouthful of scotch. “I’d make an exception.”

I glared at the beautiful blonde again. Because Griff was right. The exotic dancer… She might have been one of the best looking I’d ever seen. Maybe the best. She was tall, long-legged. Gorgeous… in the porn star sense, of course, with a wide, luscious mouth made for licking and sucking in only the most erotic of ways.

She licked her lips at me as if she wanted to make good on the promise she’d just whispered, and I had no doubt when she looked at me, her brown doe-like eyes wide, that—if she could, she would devour me until nothing was left. Until she drained every drop.

Unfortunately, for her, I wasn’t interested.

She tried to drag me to my feet, her tiny fingers wrapping around my own, pulling as she walked backwards in the direction of the edge of the room. The overhead maroon lights illuminating the space in our black-curtain closed boudoir made her look as naughty as every word dripping from her blood-red mouth, and Bambi the Bimbo was putting on her best pout to entice me into joining her towards whatever dirty fun lay in the dark room beyond this one.

All of the men—friend and foe—whooped as I slowly dragged myself to my feet, stumbling and fumbling over the discarded decorations that littered the floor. Streamers and “Congratulations” ribbons ran the length of the room, taking up space between the cloth-covered tables, and I staggered past them, barely holding onto my Bourbon as I followed stolidly behind the too-excited dancer who nearly bounced on her platform-covered toes.

With the push of another curtain, we fell into another room, and I let my body flounce on the dark-colored couches beyond it, slumping into the padded cushions. I took a healthy swig of my drink and sank my fingers into the seat beneath, wondering how many stains these comfortable sofas had really seen.

The drunker I got, the more it didn’t matter. Ignorance truly was bliss.

And so was the sensation making its way down my crotch—a gentle rubbing that circled the length of my cock through the fabric of my suit pants. From the tip to the very base. I groaned, closing my eyes as I saw a vision in my mind. A vision too good to be true.

A vision over ten years old.

Waves of dark hair fell to a waist too tiny to be anything but touched. Shiny and soft, the beautiful brown mane swept across my chest, against my shirt, as two eyes, a crystal-clear blue, peeked from beneath the strands, as round and as large as saucers. In my mind, they met mine, saying things that couldn’t be vocalized, voicing words that need not be said.

They seduced in the most innocent of ways, waylaying me, pulling at a possessiveness in me I didn’t know existed. The blue eyes smiled. The smile beneath them was even better—wicked, as it dipped to my abdomen and pressed there, making me ache, causing my cock to strain against the inconvenient zipper located there.

How many times had I imagined those lips doing exactly that? That tongue licking out beneath those straight white teeth to lap at my skin, the edge of her mouth nipping at the most sensitive parts of me? It was torture—letting her tease me, taking me to the brink and back again as she swept that sheet of auburn locks over my body as she bent to her knees. I sucked in a breath soaked in desire as I waited for her to place her mouth where it mattered most.

And then it stopped. The teasing. She stopped.

And before I knew it, she was pulling—no, ripping—at my pants. The top button popped, and suddenly my cock was between her hands, her lips. She sank her mouth around it with a sigh, sucking with delight. The sexiest slurp ever made to man escaped from between her teeth, and I nearly lost it, grinding my own teeth as I gripped the back of her head, my eyelids squeezing tight enough to ache.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” I muttered. Over and over and over again.

It was fucking amazing. Something so simple—someone so simple, sweet and secretly naughty could bring a stubborn fucker like me—CEO and all—to his Giorgio Armani-covered knees.

I came… with my cock in her mouth and her name on my mind. I leaned back even further, letting my head fall into the cushions.

“Fuck, Kat…” I mumbled, feeling way too fucked up to move, the liquor coursing through my veins as I came down from my high, my fingers reaching out to touch her once more.

But she backed away.

“Kat?” she said, rising to her feet. “Who the fuck is Kat?”

I opened my eyes, staring at the figure fumbling around in front of me. It was the blonde vixen—the stripper. Standing on shaky legs, she wobbled between my legs, locking me with a stare, her eyes hard and unblinking. She placed her hands on her tiny hips.

“Who the hell is Kat?”

As if she was outraged. As if she had any right to question whatever the fuck I was doing anyway. I ignored her with a shrug, stowing my dick back in my pants with a loud zip! I finished my drink and sat it down.

“Ohhhh… I get it,” the blonde blower hissed. “She must be your fiancé. Well… I guarantee you that she’s never made you come like that. That was epic, baby,” she sighed, trying to straddle me. Her pussy was peeking completely out of her barely-there panties this time, and she tried to rub it across me, sliding her pink slit across the front of my pants with a slow grind.

I almost pushed her off. I stood.

“There is no fiance,” I rumbled.

“But I thought…”

“My friends,” I interrupted, “thought it’d be funny to celebrate my new position. They said it was fitting… seeing as how I’m now married to my job. This isn’t a real bachelor party. And that wasn’t a real blow-job…”

She raised an eyebrow. “Certainly felt real to me.”

I pulled out my wallet, taking out a couple hundred dollar bills and putting them in the palm of her hand. I folded her fingers around them, looking into her eyes.

“Can’t be real… Not when you’re thinking about someone else the entire time.”

I turned just as the fair-haired, breathing blow-up doll gaped. I pulled the black curtain aside, exiting, attempting to avoid the curious gaze of every onlooking employee that came to the party to usher me into my new executive role.

My smile was weak, as I tried to shake off what just happened to me in the other room… and who I was imagining it happening with. Somehow, it was the brunette in my head, and not the blonde on my lap, that felt as if she were still on my skin.

I was in so much fucking trouble.

 

 

About The Author

 

Natalie Wrye is a tequila connoisseur, Game of Thrones addict and author best known for writing page-turning Contemporary Romance and Romantic Suspense.

A fan of the beautifully polarizing anti-hero, she crafts sexy stories about hard-bodied, complex men and the strong-willed women who crave them.

 

Website | Facebook | Instagram | Goodreads

 

 

Excerpt Reveal ~ Drive ~ by ~ Kate Stewart

Check out this new teaser and excerpt for DRIVE by Kate Stewart!

 

Contemporary Romance

Stand Alone

Designer: Q Designs

Scheduled to release: October 17, 2017

Goodreads

BLURB:

Music . . . the heart’s greatest librarian.

The average song is three and a half minutes long; those three and a half minutes could lead to a slow blink, a glimpse of the past, or catapult the soul into heart-shattering nostalgia.

At the height of my career, I had the life I wanted, the life I’d always envisioned. I’d found my tempo, my rhythm. Then I received a phone call that left me off key.

You see, my favorite songs had a way of playing simultaneously. I was in love with one man’s beats and another’s lyrics. But when it came to the soundtrack of a life, how could anyone choose a favorite song? So, to erase any doubt, I ditched my first-class ticket and decided to take a drive, fixed on the rearview.

Two days.

One playlist.

And the long road home to the man who was waiting for me.

Excerpt:

Two days later I woke up suddenly and to an angry knock on the front door. I pulled myself from the couch, which had eaten my left leg, and limped to the door while the feeling worked its way back in. Opening the door, fully expecting to see Lexi, I saw a pissed off Reid instead. He jaw twitched as he looked me over. The sun had wrecked him during the short walk from his apartment, and his face dripped with evidence, but his eyes didn’t waver, even as fresh perspiration dripped from his lashes. He was mad, and it looked damned good on him. He gripped the hand that massaged my dead leg and turned it palm-side up before he shoved in some cash.

“I was just trying to help,” I pleaded.

He leveled me with his livid stare before he turned his back and made his way down the stairs. “I’m not the one sleeping on my sister’s couch. Get your own life.”

“Touché,” I called after him. “And the truce is officially over!”

“Fine by me,” he huffed as he took the stone path to the lawn between apartment buildings.

About the Author:
Kate Stewart lives in Charleston, S.C. with her husband, Nick, and her naughty beagle, Sadie. A native of Dallas, Kate moved to Charleston three weeks after her first visit, dropping her career of 8 years, and declaring it her creative muse. Kate pens messy, sexy, angst-filled contemporary romance as well as romantic comedy and erotic suspense because it’s what she loves as a reader. A lover of all things ’80s and ’90s, especially John Hughes films and rap, she dabbles a little in photography, can knit a simple stitch scarf for necessity only and does a horrible job of playing the ukulele. Aside from running a mile without collapsing, traveling is the only other must on her bucket list. On occasion, she does very well at vodka.

Contact Kate- Email-authorkatestewart@gmail.com

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Excerpt Reveal ~ Show Me the Way ~ by ~ A.L. Jackson

Show Me the Way

The first stand-alone novel in A.L. Jackson’s brand-new Fight for Me series…

Coming October 2nd

“This book is absolutely perfect.” – Corinne Michaels, New York Times Bestselling Author

The first sexy, captivating, stand-alone novel in the brand-new FIGHT FOR ME series from NYT & USA Today Bestselling Author A.L. Jackson . . .
Rex Gunner. As bitter as he is beautiful.
The owner of the largest construction company in Gingham Lakes has been burned one too many times. His wife leaving him to raise their daughter was the last blow this single dad could take. The only woman he’ll let into his heart is his little girl.
Rynna Dayne. As vulnerable as she is tempting.
She ran from Gingham Lakes when she was seventeen. She swore to herself she would never return. Then her grandmother passed away and left her the deed to the diner that she once loved.
When Rex meets his new neighbor, he knows he’s in trouble.
She’s gorgeous and sweet and everything he can’t trust.
Until she becomes the one thing he can’t resist.
One kiss sends them tumbling toward ecstasy.
But in a town this size, pasts are bound to collide. Caught in a web of lies, betrayal, and disloyalty, Rex must make a choice.
Will he hide behind his walls or will he take the chance . . .

© 2017 A.L. Jackson Books
Tension roiled between us. That tether pulled taut. Drawing us closer. I swallowed around it and reached for the latch. He was quick to open his door, jumping out and rounding to my side before I had time to step out of his massive truck. He helped me down, and his hand scorched where he aided me by holding on to my elbow.
“Let me walk you to the door. Last thing I need to be worried about is you here by yourself and some asshole taking advantage of you.”
He quirked this belly-flopping grin that pierced me like an arrow. “Unless of course that asshole is me.”
He barely angled his head to the side. There was something so endearing and self-deprecating about it. Everything about him right then was at odds with the surly, bear of a man I’d met weeks ago, the man exposing himself, layer by layer.
I lifted my chin, both in strength and vulnerability, tossing all the uncertainties and questions out into the open. “Should I be afraid?”
“Yeah, you should be.” His response was hard, but there was no missing the fact his irritation was aimed at himself. He set his palm on the small of my back, helping me through the gravel drive in my heels, an inch behind as we ascended the porch steps.
We crossed the planks. That tension wound higher with each step until we were nothing but needy pants at my door. Slowly, I turned around to face him.
His presence sent a ripple of energy vibrating across the floorboards, the overwhelming sight of him the owner of my breath.
He stood beneath the faint glow of the hurricane lamp that hung outside the door. A sculpture of sinewy muscle and raw strength, forged through years of obvious physical labor. Every inch of him was rugged, from those roughened, callused hands to the crinkles set deep at the edges of his eyes.
The man was a carving of pure, daunting beauty.
“What exactly am I supposed to be afraid of, Rex?” My brow twisted, and my voice quieted with the admission. “Because when I’m around you, the last thing I feel is afraid.”
“I fuck everything up, Rynna, and the only thing I’ve got to offer you is my mess. I can’t do this.”
Restraint rumbled in his chest, the sound so deep I felt it shake the ground beneath my feet.
I gently cupped one side of his rugged face. “I’m not afraid.”
It was a promise.
An appeal.
“You should be,” he grated. “Warned you, my shit doesn’t ever end well.”
“Maybe that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
He groaned and he planted his hands high above my head. The man panted above me, torn, desperate, his nose just brushing mine. “God damn it, Rynna. God damn it.”
I felt the moment he broke. When the thread pulled too tight and this mesmerizing man snapped. His mouth descended on mine.
Overpowering.
Overwhelming.
Dizzying.
Lips and tongue and nips of teeth.
And those hands. They were on my face. My neck. My waist. Somehow, I managed to hold on to him and spin away as I fumbled with the lock. He pressed against my backside, his cock against my bottom, and his mouth leaving a trail of fire at the side of my neck. We stumbled into the darkness of my house, breaking apart as I turned to face him.
The only light trickled down from the lamp I’d left on upstairs.
Slowly, he clicked the door shut behind him. We stood there, two feet away from each other, staring.
Chests heaving.
Before we collided.
A tangle of tongues and bodies.
The man frantic, trying to touch me everywhere.
“What am I doing? Fuck, what am I doing?” he muttered incoherently, kissing me deeper. Madder. Wilder.
I pushed up on my toes and tore my mouth from his so I could kiss down the strong column of his throat. His head thudded back against the door, his entire body pressing against it as if he needed it to keep him standing.
He grated my name, and I kept kissing at his throat while I worked free the button on his jeans, hands shaking.
Every reservation spun out of control.
Out of reach.
It was only spurred further when the defined muscles of his abdomen jumped and twitched beneath my touch, when he mumbled, “You’re killing me, Rynna. Fucking killing me.”
Desire rippled from him in heady waves.
And I felt so brave and bold, my kisses brazen as I nipped at the hollow of his throat.
Before I could consider it—the ramifications and the repercussions and the distinct threat to my heart—I dropped to my knees.
I refused to think of anything but setting him free.
Hoping he’d find a little of that freedom in me.

Giveaway

 

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A.L. Jackson is the New York Times & USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance. She writes emotional, sexy, heart-filled stories about boys who usually like to be a little bit bad.
Her bestselling series include THE REGRET SERIES, CLOSER TO YOU, and BLEEDING STARS novels. Watch for A.L. Jackson’s upcoming novel, SHOW ME THE WAY, the first stand-alone novel in her brand-new FIGHT FOR ME SERIES.
If she’s not writing, you can find her hanging out by the pool with her family, sipping cocktails with her friends, or of course with her nose buried in a book.
Be sure not to miss new releases and sales from A.L. Jackson – Sign up to receive her newsletter http://smarturl.it/NewsFromALJackson or text “aljackson” to 24587 to receive short but sweet updates on all the important news.

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