A Fine Mess by Kelly Siskind….Excerpt Reveal

by Courtney

Title: A Fine Mess

Author: Kelly Siskind

Series: Over The Top, #2

On Sale: August 2, 2016

Publisher: Forever

Format: eBook

Price: $3.99 USD

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PREORDER THE BOOK HERE

BLURB

Some guys should come with a warning label…

Sawyer West is Mr. One-Night Stand. He doesn’t do relationships or promises or feelings. He’s never cared enough to get involved. Until Lily Roberts. She’s sweet and shy and sexy as sin, and resisting her is testing his self-control. She believes Sawyer can be a better man, and for the first time in his life, he wants to be. But change isn’t easy, and Sawyer would do anything to protect Lily from his past self. Even break his own heart…

EXCERPT

Sawyer steps close and waits for me to make eye contact. Slowly, I lift my gaze to his gold-flecked brown eyes, but I can’t find my voice. It’s like I don’t know how to talk to him anymore.

He grins. “Hi.”

From my angle it’s easy to see the scar running down his neck, the remnant of a fall he took through a coffee table while wrestling with his brother. I’ve always wanted to touch it, feel the puckered skin under my fingers. I drop my gaze, but it doesn’t help. The cuffs of his gray button-down are rolled to his elbows, roped muscle exposed below. Something else I’d like to touch.

I blink hard. “Hi,” I say to my feet.

“Look at me, Lil.” I rock on my heels, then do as asked. He raises an eyebrow. “How fucking weird is this?”

My giggle surprises me, and I loosen my grip on my wineglass. “Totally weird.”

Thank God for Sawyer’s candid nature.

He sips his drink, probably Scotch, and a sheen of liquid clings to his bottom lip.

Touch that arm. Kiss that scar. Taste those lips. None of these urges are new, but they’re heightened. Magnified. He watches me watching him, his gaze as probing as mine. What is he thinking?

Then the music changes.

A remix of Madonna’s “Holiday” plays, and Sawyer does Sawyer. He tips his head to the right, his shoulders following, then he pushes out his hip and rolls his torso through. The guy does body waves, alternating from side to side, like he’s in an eighties music video.

People stop. People look. People laugh.

I snort, an unattractive sound I make when my laughter takes over. Sawyer says it sounds like a hyena with sleep apnea. When I snort a second time, he dances harder, and I crack up. My belly aches as he gets into it, the entire room watching now.

I suck in a breath, place my empty glass on the table behind me, then clasp his shoulders. “What are you doing?”

He stops dancing. “Making things less weird.”

“Less? What about you channeling Paula Abdul is less weird?”

“Did you laugh?”

I grin.

Then he says, “I’m sorry.”

The music vibrates in my chest, or maybe it’s his proximity. “Sorry about what?”

“Last week, when you called, I was a dick. You caught me by surprise, and I didn’t handle it well. So, I’m sorry.”

His admission pumps through my core like helium, my body nearly weightless. The confession shouldn’t be surprising, not with how he speaks his mind, but it’s been a week of silence. I was losing hope things could return to the way they were, or progress past it. I step closer, so he can hear me over the noise. “Apology accepted, but do I get an explanation?”

He drags his gaze down my body. It’s a thorough perusal—intimate, penetrating—flames sparking along my skin. His eyes linger on me, but he doesn’t speak. He rolls the pinky ring on his left hand the way he does when he’s puzzling something out. An ache travels up my thighs, heat expanding below my ribs. The longer he stays quiet, the more my skin tingles.

Finally, he releases his ring and slides his hand over my lower back. He leans forward and whispers, “I’ve wanted to do very dirty things to you and with you since Aspen, but I care about you too much to act on it. Hence my dickishness and the weirdness.”

THE OVER THE TOP SERIES

My Perfect Mistake, #1

A Fine Mess, #2

Series page on Goodreads

FOLLOW FOREVER ONLINE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A small-town girl at heart, Kelly moved from the city to open a cheese shop with her husband in Northern Ontario. When she’s not neck deep in cheese or out hiking, you can find her, notepad in hand, scribbling down one of the many plot bunnies bouncing around in her head.

She laughs at her own jokes and has been known to eat her feelings-Gummy Bears heal all. She’s also an incurable romantic, devouring romance novels into the wee hours of the morning.

Contemporary Romance Excerpt Excerpt Reveal June 2016 New Adult Pre-Order Romance

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The Matchmaker’s Replacement by Rachel Van Dyken….Excerpt Reveal

by Courtney

Wingman rule number two: never reveal how much you want them.

Lex hates Gabi. Gabi hates Lex. But, hey, at least the hate is mutual, right? All Lex has to do is survive the next few weeks training Gabi in all the ways of Wingmen Inc. and then he can be done with her. But now that they have to work together, the sexual tension and fighting is off the charts. He isn’t sure if he wants to strangle her or throw her against the nearest sturdy table and have his way with her.

But Gabi has a secret, something she’s keeping from not just her best friend but her nemesis too. Lines are blurred as Lex becomes less the villain she’s always painted him to be…and starts turning into something more. Gabi has always hated the way she’s been just a little bit attracted to him—no computer-science major should have that nice of a body or look that good in glasses—but “Lex Luthor” is an evil womanizer. He’s dangerous. Gabi should stay far, far away.

Then again, she’s always wanted a little danger.

Amazon US / Amazon UK / Amazon CA / Amazon AU

I hated him.

HATED him.

Hate, hate, hate. I chanted the words to myself that very next morning as I stomped toward his ridiculously expensive house, next to the ridiculously nice lake, with his ridiculously loud red Mercedes parked out front. Jackass.

I’d be doing society a favor if I set it on fire.

Seriously.

The thing was probably filled with so much bodily fluid and disease that if he got in a car accident he’d infect the entire freeway and start a citywide epidemic.

I shuddered.

I compartmentalized Lex into two boxes.

The first box was Childhood Lex, the friend who used to hang out with Ian and me before he moved across town, never to be seen again. He used to ride with me to school, and when I was sick he gave me my own box of Kleenex—never mind that he stole it from his teacher’s desk. The point is, Childhood Lex was a keeper.

Box number two?

Asshole Lex, also known as the version I was walking toward. The Lex I met when I was eighteen, who momentarily stunned me speechless with his godlike beauty, had been a figment of my overactive, sad, hormone-riddled imagination.

On the outside? The perfect man.

With a brooding and sultry smile.

Biceps the size of my head.

Who gave me the distinct feeling that if I ran my hands over his buzzed hair I’d orgasm before he even touched me.

Whatever. I was over it. So over it.

A lot of people had stupid crushes when they were eighteen, right?

Now all I saw when I looked into his stormy blue eyes was syph or the clap, and that was being generous. The dude was a walking STD and seriously tried every nerve I had. He was an ass. Plain and simple, no sugar coating. He was the type of guy who’d tell a chick that she looked fat in a dress or who refused to share the communal breadbasket. See! He couldn’t even adhere to typical manners during mealtime! Just thinking about him had me tied up in knots.

Last year, when I went shopping and stupidly invited Ian along—which of course meant Lex had to come—I was told in no uncertain terms that if I would just stop drinking chocolate milk in the morning I’d be able to fit into a smaller size.

He’d smiled.

His dimples had deepened.

He’d even crossed his arms as if to say, Look, I did you a favor, pat me on the back.

Instead I had kicked him in the balls and tried to give him a black eye, clocking Ian in the face.

My point? Lex. Was. The. Devil.

I made a point of only hanging out with Lex when absolutely necessary, and even then I almost always had Ian as a buffer. But now that he was playing love nest with my ex-roomie, Blake? Well, I was on my own.

Lex opened the door after my third aggressive knock. Black sweatpants hung low on his hips, a vintage Mariners shirt fell open around his neck, and he was wearing black-framed glasses that made his eyes more appealing than should be legal.

“Sunshine,” he said, his smirk deepening as he crossed his burly arms over his chest.

“Dickhead.” I smiled sweetly. “New glasses? They look thicker than last time.”

“Better to see you with.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits. “There they are.” He reached for one of my boobs.

I slapped his hand away so hard my palm stung.

“Probably not the best way to treat your new male clients.” He shook his hand and turned towards the living room leaving the door wide open. Manners were completely lost on him.

Gritting my teeth, I slammed the door behind me and took off my shoes because I knew if I didn’t he’d give me hell.

He was a freak like that.

For as much ass as he got, it was shocking how much Lysol he used around the house. His clothes were never wrinkled; everything was pristine.

Even his breath.

Damn him.

He drank coffee like a Starbucks employee but never had coffee breath.

It was almost painful, staring him in the face, knowing that everything on the outside appeared perfect—but didn’t match the inside at all, not even close!

Beauty like Lex’s was dangerous and wickedly tempting, like something out of a paranormal romance novel. Sometimes, at night, when I dreamed of Lex getting hit by a car, I imagined him as a vampire roaming the streets in his favorite black sweats, shirtless, shimmering under the streetlights, just waiting for whores to line up so he could take a few bites.

A pencil flew by my head.

“Yo.” Lex’s eyebrows shot up. “We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to get you ready for the next two clients. Daydream about chicks on your own time.”

“I’m not a lesbian.”

He bit on his bottom lip, sinking back in his chair as his eyes slowly roamed from my mismatched socks all the way up to my head. “Okay, whatever you say, Gabs.”

I will not commit homicide. I will not commit homicide. “You know,” I said as I tossed my purse onto the table, “it’s offensive that you assume all lesbians dress like crap.” So what? I was wearing a ratty white T-shirt and ripped jeans, and I was pretty sure I still had mascara on from the night before. It was my Lex repellant. He hated sloppiness.

“Offensive.” He nodded. “Also true . . .” He used the spare pencil from behind his ear to slide my purse over to the farthest side of the table. “It wouldn’t kill you to wear something other than jeans and T-shirts, Gabs.” He sighed. “Say it with me: dresssss—”

I grabbed the pencil from his hand, broke it into two pieces, and handed them back to him. “I wear dresses, just not for you. Dresses are your kryptonite, especially short black ones. I refuse to be a part of your ‘shower time.’”

He snorted. “You wish.”

“Yes. Every night when I go to sleep I pray for Lex to dream of me while he jerks off because yet another girl refused to follow his instructions in bed : ‘Damn it, use the manual!’” I said, using my best imitation of Lex’s voice. I’d only heard him shout instructions to a girl once, and it had scarred me for life. What the hell are you doing? Do I look like I’m satisfied? There’s a diagram! Ugh.

Lex rolled his eyes. “Very funny, and the manual is there for a reason. Do you even know how many chicks get confused when I call out sexual positions? It’s like, get there faster, you know?”

My feelings were torn between fascination and disgust. “So,” I changed the subject. “Let’s train, because I have about ten years worth of Organic Chem homework.”

Lex sighed and held out his hand.

“No.” I crossed my arms. “I don’t need help.”

Okay, I needed help, desperately needed help, and Lex wasn’t just passably smart but a certified genius, at least when he applied himself. I refused to ask him to go over my homework just because Organic Chem was, to me, like reading a foreign language.

He cleared his throat.

I didn’t move.

Finally, he stood, slowly walked over to the end of the table, and fished the chem book from my oversized purse. “What chapter?”

“Lex—”

“If I’m teaching you Organic Chem, at least say Professor Lex.”

“Listen very closely, Lex.” I went over and jerked my book out of his hands. “I didn’t need your help last year when I almost failed biology, and I sure as hell don’t need your help now. Let’s just get this training done so I can go home and suffer in silence, alright?”

“Fine.” He dropped my book against the table and then, without warning, grabbed me by my shoulders and pushed me against the counter that bordered the kitchen. My butt hit the cupboard . “Up until now we’ve been helping people find their perfect match. Basically acting like a wingman so that the idiots of this world see the girl who’s been standing in front of them all along .”

Why was he standing so close? Did we have to be touching? I told my body not to respond to his proximity, but Lex was magnetic, even if every part of him was evil. My brain was having trouble functioning while his large palms were pressed into the tops of my shoulders.

“Okay.” I swallowed. “And now that you’re allowing guys to become clients of Wingmen Inc., I basically do the same thing. Give them confidence, help them capture the one girl who’s always seen them as the friend—or worse, who they’ve been invisible to.”

“What’s that like, I wonder?” Lex still didn’t release me. “Being invisible . . . Maybe next time a dude ignores you, take notes.”

And another insult.

“Lex.” I huffed out a breath. “Just get on with it.”

“Right.” His eyes momentarily locked on mine before he rubbed the bridge of his nose where his glasses were perched. It was not sexy. It wasn’t. Really. That. Sexy. “So whenever we take on a new client, we give them a list of questions, meet them in a public place, and then use the power of human emotions like jealousy and curiosity to get the other person interested. That’s where you come in. If another girl sees our client as desirable, he becomes desirable.”

“That easy?”

“Sort of.” Lex leaned forward. “But you can’t suck.”

“Suck?”

“At anything.” His lips hovered near my mouth. He was starting to freak me out. I wanted to run away, but I was pinned.

“Lex, if you kiss me I will bite your tongue off. I swear.”

“If I was actually kissing you”—Lex released one of my shoulders and placed a finger against my mouth—“you’d know it. This, my frumpy friend, is training.”

His lips descended.

They pressed against mine, then pulled back. “Yeah.” He shook his head. “Gabs, you’re going to need to open your mouth a bit more. Guys are stupid. They always assume that more tongue means better kissing, when the opposite is true, but you still need to have your lips parted, not locked down like Fort Knox.”

“What’s happening?” I tried to push away from him.

Lex rolled his eyes. “Gabs, believe me, this is all business. You can even keep your hand on my junk the whole time.”

“What!” I roared.

“So you know without a doubt that nothing about you turns me on.” He grinned menacingly. “Seriously, I don’t mind.”

“I do!”

“Hey!” He chuckled. “I was just trying to help.”

“Grabbing your penis is not the answer, Lex!”

“Weird, because it so often is.”

“I hate today.”

“Is it the rain?” He frowned.

“It’s not—”

“It is.”

“Stop that!” I shoved him. “Hurry up and grade my kissing skills so I can go home and study.”

“Kissing, hand holding, hugging, cuddling, laughing, winking—just a few things you need to master.” He was firing off so many horrible, body-numbing words.

“Just hurry up,” I grumbled in a defeated voice as I tried to block out the fact that he was a good-looking ass who offended me with every single breath he took.

“Ah . . .” Lex held up his hand. “One never hurries a kiss.”

“What about a passionate kiss?”

“A passionate kiss isn’t hurried, it’s frenzied. Damn, don’t you know anything?”

Heat swamped my cheeks.

“How many guys have you kissed, Gabs?”

“Plenty!” Five. I’d kissed five.

“You blush down your neck when you lie.” Lex cupped my chin and then brought his lips down against mine again. “Part.”

Sighing against his mouth, I relaxed my lips while his slid across.

He pulled back, wearing a frown of irritation. “A bit more, Gabs. Guys want access.”

I kept my eyes open.

So did he.

I didn’t want him assuming I was into it, which was probably his exact line of thinking. Only keeping my eyes open was an entirely raw experience, watching him watch me while I felt him.

I shivered.

“Cold?” That stupid smirk was back.

“Frigid.” I glared, putting myself down before he had a chance to.

“You read my mind.” He nodded seriously. “Now stop being a bitch, and let me teach you how to kiss.”

“I know how to kiss!” I don’t know what came over me—maybe it was the need to prove myself, or possibly it was just stress over the entire situation. Needing to stay in school and hating that he was the answer, I wrapped my arms around his neck and jumped, my hips colliding with his as I mauled his mouth with as much passion as I could conjure up, this time closing my eyes and putting everything I had into it.

With a growl, Lex pushed me back against the countertop. As my butt collided with the edge, his tongue plunged into my mouth and his hands dug into my hair, pulling it free from its ponytail while he changed positions his lips demanding a punishing kiss from a different angle as his he gave my hair a harder tug back.

I grasped at his T-shirt, pulling him closer and nearly falling backward into the sink.

And then, just when I was in danger of losing myself to the kiss that would probably be the best kiss of my life, I bit down on his bottom lip.

That move didn’t work out the way I’d planned, not at all. In my head it was smart. I’d piss him off, get him to pull back and leave me alone.

It did nothing of the sort.

Nothing of the sort at] all.

With a hiss he pulled back, fire blazing in his eyes. For a split second that seemed to go on for an eternity, he hovered and I waited, both of us on the edge of something. He wet his lips, I mimicked the movement, and then, like a snake, he struck. His mouth fused to mine in a punishing kiss, one that bruised my mouth while imprinting its essence on my soul.

Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she’s not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.

She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!

Want to be kept up to date on new releases? Text MAFIA to 66866!

You can connect with her on Facebook www.facebook.com/rachelvandyken or join her fan group Rachel’s New Rockin Readers. Her website is www.rachelvandykenauthor.com .

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Contemporary Romance Excerpt Excerpt Reveal June 2016 New Adult Pre-Order Romance

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Stealing Home by Nicole Williams….Excerpt Reveal

by Courtney

Coming July 10th

Pre-order exclusively on iBooks HERE

Add to your Goodreads shelf now.

Being the only woman working for a professional baseball team isn’t easy. As the San Diego Shock’s newest athletic trainer, Allie knows all about long hours, endless travel, and warding off players’ advances. Given she’s already the subject of a handful of rumors about how “lucky” she was to have earned such a coveted position, she can’t so much as flutter an eyelash a player’s way if she wants to be taken seriously.

But number eleven is doing more than fluttering eyelashes Allie’s way. Far more. Luke Archer is at the top of his game and doesn’t let the fear of striking out keep him from swinging. This is a motto he applies both on and off the field, but Allie appears immune, seeming to view Luke as nothing more than caution tape on legs.

He’s a player, and in Allie’s experience, they’re all the same. She won’t risk her job or her heart to another one, no matter how different this one claims to be. But as Allie gets to know him, she discovers the number eleven the public thinks they know is very different from the real Luke Archer. He seems too good to be true.

And maybe he is.

Allie will have to confront the stories attached to a player of Luke Archer’s stature and decide who she’ll put her faith in—The man she’s falling for? Or the rumors?

CHAPTER ONE

Working for a professional baseball team was going to be the end of my love life. The past two years confirmed that theory, as had the last text I’d received from my latest ex-boyfriend.

Half of the year on the road added to another half of the year working grueling hours that rivaled a doctor’s first year of residency equaled a whole lot of no free time to fill with a social agenda. Since being hired on by the San Diego Shock this season and the San Francisco Kings the year before that, the longest relationship I’d maintained spanned eight weeks.

This last one had barely cleared the four-week mark.

My lifestyle was costly, but it was worth it. Baseball was in my blood, and sports medicine was in my heart.

I’d grown up in a small Midwest town where people still got together for potlucks and everyone from the town hermit to the mayor attended a funeral. Where the only place you were expected to be after church on a Sunday was stretched out on the bleachers around the baseball field. It didn’t matter if it was a T-ball game or the high school championships—the bleachers were always packed.

Baseball was a religion where I grew up—it was stitched into the fibers of my life—so it was no surprise when I ended up with a baseball player. No, the surprise came after I’d followed him to college and found him in bed with someone else.

It had taken the wind right out of me, along with my tendency to trust first and doubt after. Ben had been sleeping around for a while by the time I found out—friends had known and said nothing—and that was the day I made a promise to myself to never let another guy hurt me as he had, to never be made a fool of like that.

After changing schools mid-year, I started studying sports medicine and never looked back. Or at least not often. I only looked back when I found myself feeling something similar to what I’d felt for Ben. The relationship never lasted long after that.

As evidenced by my newest failed relationship.

“Whose ass do I need to kick, Doc?”

Dropping my phone into my lap, I looked across the aisle to see who was sliding into the row across from me.

Luke Archer.

Known to fans as the best hitter on the Shock, if not in all of pro baseball. Known to women for his good looks and up-to-no-good smile. Known to Cosmo magazine as being voted the Finest Ass in professional baseball. And known by the athletic training staff as a well-rounded pain in our asses.

Not because he thought he knew better or was yet another prima donna—which the sport had no shortage of—but because he held to the old-school code of taking care of an injury by “walking it off.” If that didn’t work, then we could usually convince him to pop one or two pain relievers after the game, and sometimes, if he was feeling especially accommodating, he’d accept a bag of ice.

Luke Archer was the real man of steel, and no one to date had managed to convince him he was also made of those injury-prone materials known as flesh and blood.

“Doc?” Archer’s voice broke through my haze of thoughts. “Just give me his name and I’ll take care of it.”

The rest of the team and staff were shuffling down the aisle between us to find their seats on the team jet, but his stare aimed my way felt unyielding.

“What makes you think anyone’s ass deserves a kicking?” I asked.

I returned a high-five as Reynolds passed by. He’d twisted his ankle in the game earlier today, and I’d been the first on the field to get him taken care of. I’d been the last one out of the locker room to finish getting him taken care of too. As a noob, I had to work twice as hard. As a woman, I had to work ten times as hard.

“I have three younger sisters. I have more experience than most with guys deserving ass kickings.”

The last of the guys wandered by us. Without the break of their bodies coming between us, Archer’s stare became too intense. His eyes seemed capable of pinning me to the back of the seat.

The head athletic trainer, Dax Shepherd, attended to the “money” players—the ones like Archer, who brought fans to the stadium and were a large part of the Shock’s impressive win-to-loss ratio. Up until this very moment, I didn’t know Luke Archer was aware of my existence on this team or the planet.

“You really have three younger sisters?” I asked.

Unlike most of the female populace, I didn’t know every last fact about Luke Archer. The news about his parents had made headlines a few years back, and that was all I knew about his personal life.

“I really do. And I talk to or text all of them every day.”

“Plus you kick asses for them.”

Archer’s hazel eyes lightened. “Plus that.” He twisted in his seat so he was almost facing me, his eyes dropping to the phone in my lap. “So? No one messes with my sisters. And no one messes with my team.”

My forehead creased. “I’m not one of your teammates.”

“You’re a part of my team. Just because you don’t play the field or swing a bat doesn’t mean you’re not. You keep us healthy and strong out there.” When I cocked an eyebrow, he added, “And when we get injured, you make sure we get fixed up quickly so we can get back to doing what we love. You’re every bit as vital to this team as . . .” He glanced up and down the aisle like he was looking for someone to fill in the blank with.

“As Luke Archer?” I completed for him.

His answer to that was a lifting of his eyes. “I’m one man who can swing one bat.”

“One bat really, really hard. And very, very exactly,” I interjected.

He continued, “You make sure twenty-five men can keep swinging their own bats.”

“Well, there’s me, the two other athletic trainers, the physical therapist, the personal trainers, and the actual doctor who help out with that too. I can’t take all of the credit.”

“Come on. You work twice as hard as any of them, so you should at least take most of the credit.” When his phone started chiming in his slacks’ pocket, he pulled it out, turned it off, and hid it back in his pocket.

“And since the closest Shepherd and Coach Beckett have let me get to you is handing out a water bottle, how would you know that?”

He pointed at his eyes. “I’ve got two of these and use them for observation on occasion.”

“When they’re not searching for your next conquest?” I gave an internal groan the moment after I’d voiced something that should have stayed unsaid.

My relationships with the players had always been professional and rarely, if ever, delved into the realm of personal information. If it didn’t have to do with preventing or tending to injuries, I didn’t bring it up.

Until now. When I’d just suggested that Luke Archer had a reputation in every city the Shock had visited, every hotel they’d stayed in. Perfect way for my first real conversation with the star player of the team, and the whole of professional baseball, to go.

Archer stayed quiet, studying me with that tipped smile he was famous for.

“You know my opinion on rumors?” he said a minute later.

I was capable of nothing more than shaking my head.

“That they’re started by haters. Spread by fools. And accepted by idiots.”

My head tipped. “Are you calling me an idiot?”

His eyes flashed. “Are you calling me a manwhore?”

I studied him lounging in his seat with his legs kicked out in front of him, his wide chest stretching beneath his suit jacket, his long arms resting on the armrests.. His body was enough to weaken the resolve of someone as jaded to player players as I was, but his face didn’t play second-string.

Brown hair lightened by the sun, smooth skin darkened by it, a strong jaw, and hazel eyes that trended more toward the green end of the spectrum; Luke Archer was quite possibly the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. According to Sports Anonymous’s random poll of five thousand women, he was the best-looking guy in professional sports today. The other few billion women on the planet would have agreed with that title, I assumed.

“Do you always take so long to answer a question?” Archer motioned at me, waiting.

“No,” I said, recalling the last question he’d asked me. Snap out of it. “I don’t think that you’re a . . . manwhore,” I whispered the last part.

I’d had enough experience with the rumor mill to be a sympathetic party to the target of so many. Being one of the first and only female athletic trainers in professional sports had opened me up to a hundred rumors when I’d been hired. All versions of them had to do with me fucking my way into the position.

“Good.” Archer nodded, seeming satisfied. “Because you certainly don’t seem like an idiot.”

“Thanks?”

He nodded again. “Welcome.”

That was when the pilot’s voice echoed through the team jet, running through his usual spiel. We were leaving Tampa and heading up to Chicago. Now that the season was in full swing, I lost track of the cities we were leaving and the ones we were heading toward. All of my attention was focused on the players and getting them through the season as injury-free as possible.

“I’m still waiting for that name, Doc.” Archer clicked his seat belt into place when one of the attendants stopped beside him, looking ready to strap it into place for him.

When she saw mine unfastened, all I got was a lifted brow and a pointed finger before she moved on to the next aisle.

“Oh, it’s okay. He’s not worth it.” I lifted my phone toward him before dropping it in the duffel bag I kept on hand at all times. Bandages, tape, painkillers, and a small cooler of ice packs were always at the ready whenever I was with the team. “Any guy who breaks up with someone via text message isn’t worth much.”

“Really? Over text?” Archer’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the reason the ass-kicking was invented. For those types of guys.”

I shrugged as the plane started to taxi down the runway, the interior lights dimming. “We haven’t even been together a month. Truthfully, it lasted longer than I thought it would. This kind of lifestyle”—I twirled my finger around the airplane—“makes it difficult to sustain a long-term relationship.”

“That’s why I’m not a fan of them.”

“Long-term relationships?”

“Any kind of relationship,” he said.

I nodded my understanding. The players had it worse than the team staff. At least in terms of having to question if a person was into them for who they were or because of their job, and the fame and money that came with it.

“I’m either practicing for a game, playing a game, recovering from a game, or fueling up and resting for a game. There’s not time for much else,” he said.

Leaning into my armrest, I realized how strange it was to be having such an easy conversation with Luke Archer. It felt natural, not forced. Most of the players would take a moment to chat with me about something game-related, but I was still the new kid on the block. I felt like I had to pass some test before they’d accept me as a member of the team.

Archer didn’t seem to be of the same mind though.

“Yeah, I know. It’s like you need to find someone who can just travel with you wherever you go, right?” I said, thinking how much easier it would to be in a relationship with someone I got to see on a daily basis without two computer screens.

“Exactly. Someone who understands the lifestyle. Appreciates the sacrifices you have to make.”

My head fell back into the headrest from the inertia of takeoff, but I could still feel Archer’s eyes on me. “Someone who understands that the job comes first. Someone who doesn’t get insecure or jealous or bent out of shape that they get the few precious minutes in between the job.”

When my head turned toward him again, I found Luke Archer staring at me with a kind of intensity I hadn’t seen aimed my way in a long time. My breath caught, and even though the strength of his stare threatened to overwhelm me, I held his gaze.

“Someone who understands the game. The commitment. The time. The sacrifice. Someone who’s as committed to it as you are.” One corner of his mouth twitched, carving a dimple into his cheek. “It’s not like you could ever expect to find a person like that sitting in the row across the aisle from you, right?”

Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.

Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.

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Contemporary Romance Excerpt Excerpt Reveal June 2016 Romance Sports

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Love Tap by M.N. Forgy….Excerpt Reveal

by Courtney

Excerpt

Prologue

Sitting at my desk I chew on the end of my pen waiting for Professor Kelly to finish writing on the whiteboard. This class always drags and it being at noon I’m always hungry half way through.

Bored I trace the words stenciled into the top of my desk with my index finger.

‘Lick it before you stick it.’

Where do people even come up with this stuff?

“I love how her hand erases half of what she writes as she moves across the board,” Keegan whispers next to me, bringing my attention from my tracing to Professor Kelly. Sure enough, the sentence on the left is half wiped off as she continues to write along the board.

Keegan is the only person I talk to here at UCLA. I don’t know if I would call her a friend, more of a roommate, and study partner. College isn’t any different than high school and I’d rather stay to myself. If you’re making friends then you’re a part of the drama. Who is screwing who, drugs, and mean girls, it’s a vicious circle.

Keegan and I click because she’s different. She has tattoos covering her arms and hands, and collects everything unicorn. Not to mention I love her outlook on life. She could care less what people think of her. She’s carefree and it scares people.

“Jacki, do you have your piece ready?” Professor Kelly asks.

Jacki who sits in front of me clears her throat, sitting straight in her seat.

“I’m just about done. I’m waiting for the owner of the restaurant to call me back,” Jacki replies.

I’m majoring in journalism. I figured if I can’t do what I love, I’ll do what comes next. Writing about it.

“Tatum, what about you?” I freeze.

“Yes, my piece is done,” I lie. I haven’t even started. Professor Kelly smiles at me, knowing I wouldn’t disappoint. Little does she know every piece I give her is last minute.

Jacki turns in her seat and eyes me with her fake green contacts. Here she goes. For some reason I am always the target of her bullying. I think it’s because a guy she was interested in sat next to me two classes ago. After ignoring him, he got the hint and moved back to the front of the class.

Either way, Jacki’s antics get old. I usually just ignore her. What is sad is she used to be friendly. Then she started sleeping with everyone and her ego became as big as the hole between her legs.

“Why do you dress like trash? It’s like, an embarrassment to the graduating class.” Her friends laugh and she smiles proud of herself.

“Ignore them,” Keegan mutters.

I always do.

Professor Kelly sits at her desk to work through the articles for the school paper, wasting the last ten minutes of class. Kicking my backpack out from under my seat I pull out my book and start to get lost in the pages of dragons and zombies.

“You know nobody has called me back?” Keegan interrupts my reading.

“All those applications, and not one news station has called. I should just give up, maybe I can be a maid,” she continues, and I know she’s about to go on her rant. I should give up reading, when she gets like this there’s no stopping her. Not one to give up, I narrow my brows to indicate I’m in some deep reading. “Ooh, I could be a sex maid. You know, the ones where I pretend to clean your house but then we have sex?”

I laugh, giving up on trying to read my book and close it.

“Yes, I know the kind. But don’t give up, the right job will call you back. Besides, you hate giving head and I’m pretty sure that will be a requirement when you’re a sex maid.”

“Shit, you’re right.” She sags in her seat like I just ruined her life goals.

“Speaking of shit, did you buy that bag from someone homeless?” Jacki flips her blonde hair over her shoulder as she eavesdrops. “I bet your mother is embarrassed to have you as a daughter, I mean, did you get your hair done by a hobo?” She continues to insult.

Something inside of me I thought was dead ignites, swimming through my veins like a wild fire as I pin Jacki with a stare.

“You should probably shut your mouth while you’re ahead,” I warn. Keegan looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. I’ve never reacted to Jacki’s insults. Today, though… I’ve had enough.

“Aww, did I hit a nerve?” Jacki laughs. Closing my eyes I try to push through the violence wanting to be released. “Do you even have a mother, or did she just give up when she had you?” She throws her head back and laughs, revealing the trashy pink lipstick that’s smeared on her teeth.

Anger thrusts through my arms and my hands curl into fists. I’m going to lose it. I’m going to lose my temper and become irate, right here.

“I need to get out of here.” I shove my book in my bag and stand, trying to leave before something horrible surfaces. I have been able to overlook anything and everything that triggers my temper, but my mom… that is one I clearly can’t overcome.

“Aw look, you made her leave.” One of Jacki’s friends taunts. I don’t even remember her name. They all sound alike anyway. Jacki, Judy, Janet.

“Good, maybe she can run back to her momma for some fashion advice,” Jacki continues.

I stall staring at the double doors that lead out of the auditorium.

Just leave. Keep going.

Closing my eyes, something I’ve suppressed for years breaks through it’s cage slamming full force in my chest.

I drop my book bag, and turn on my heel.

“What’d you say?”

Sitting sideways in her seat, tapping her desk with a pencil, Jacki giggles.

“You heard me, you’re a—“

I don’t let her finish. I leap over her friend and grab Jacki by the throat, pulling her from her seat. She screams, her fake blonde hair flailing everywhere as I drag her across the desks to the aisle.

The class screams with excitement as I drop Jacki like the sack of shit she is. God I feel fantastic! Like a tiger at the zoo finally being released into the wild.

I feel… alive. Day after day, I have sat in a chair behind a desk living a mundane boring life. Giving up on family, dreams, and most importantly, myself.

Jacki stares back at me with mascara smeared eyes, the look of fear fueling me to continue. I smile, and strike her in the face, throwing her back on the stairs.

But this, the violence, it’s what I long for.

She wails, cupping her nose. “You crazy bitch!”

Keegan jumps to her feet in her seat looking over Jacki laying in the aisle before looking up at me. “Holy shit!”

“What is going on?” Professor Kelly jumps from her desk making her way up the stairs.

“Run!” Keegan points at the double doors smiling just as big as I am.

Stepping over Jacki, I grab my bag but stop as I look at Jacki who is only a foot from me.

“Remember that next time you want to bully someone. Grow up.” I stand upright, shuffling my bag on my back, and I sprint out of class.

Quickly, I make it to my dorm room and throw what I can into bags. Drawers left on the floor and my mattress overturned, I make a mess of the room. Keegan is going to kill me when she gets back. Swiping my phone off the shelf where we keep the Ramen noodles, a pair of scissors fall to the floor nearly spearing me in the foot and landing on a magazine. I stare at the beautiful blonde on the front of the cover. I took this magazine into the mall months ago trying to imitate the model’s makeup. Hundreds of dollars later and I didn’t feel any prettier. I tried to fit into the LA lifestyle, I really tried but I’m just different. I don’t care about fashion, or chick flicks, or the so called normal shit that girls my age should like. If LA can’t turn me into a prima donna, then nobody can.

I glance up finding Keegan’s giant mirror with unicorn and mermaid stickers plastered all over it, my reflection looking back at me. My painted eyes and fake blush looking ridiculous on me.

Grabbing a couple of Kleenex I rub at my face, pressing as hard as I can to rub the shit off my eyelids and cheeks until my skin is near raw.

I’m done pretending.

Dropping the makeup smeared tissues to the floor I grab my bags and glance at the trashed room one last time.

My heart beats wildly as I flush my journalism career down the drain.

This isn’t what I wanted anyway.

I don’t want to report about the best fighters in the world.

I want to be one.

Meet Tatum and Camden in this

second chance fighter Romance!

Love Tap releases on July 6th!

Add it to your TBR: http://bit.ly/GoodreadsLoveTap

Blurb

All I ever wanted was to be a female fighter.

It was in my blood to smack people around.

Some girls wore pink dresses and makeup, I wore sneakers and bruises.

I was a loner, stuck to myself because I was different, until Camden Steel moved next door.

I punched him in the mouth, and he saw me through rose colored glasses from that day on.

I had everything I ever wanted.

The boy next door, inspiring career… until I didn’t.

He hates me. I deserve that.

They say you have to fight for what you want… What they don’t tell you… is it’ll cost you more than you’re willing to give to reach the top.

About the Author

M.N. Forgy was raised in Missouri where she still lives with her family. She’s a soccer mom by day and a saucy writer by night. M.N. Forgy started writing at a young age but never took it seriously until years later, as a stay-at-home mom, she opened her laptop and started writing again. As a role model for her children, she felt she couldn’t live with the “what if” anymore and finally took a chance on her character’s story. So, with her glass of wine in hand and a stray Barbie sharing her seat, she continues to create and please her fans.

Stalk Her: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Contemporary Romance Excerpt Excerpt Reveal Fighter June 2016 Romance Sports

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Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills…Excerpt Reveal

by Jilly

Chapter 1

Remi

Plain and simple, this night sucked.

Sadly, it was my honeymoon.

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

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

My groom was missing.

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

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

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

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

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

True. I did love a tight muscular ass.

But I wouldn’t get one tonight.

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

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

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

Was she right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

I tore my eyes away.

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

Danger, danger. Don’t touch that.

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

Nice biceps, Mr. Beautiful.

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

Gorgeous.

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

Him tonight?

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

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

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

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

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

I blinked. What had I done?

Then he turned and pointed his devastating smile at me.

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

But wait…

Was he crazy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did I know him?

It clicked.

Dax Blay?

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

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

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

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

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

Yet…

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

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

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

I wiggled my arm.

Jiggled it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Filthy English (unedited excerpt)

The British are HERE!

Are you ready for Filthy English?

Add to your TBR for a July 11th release here: http://bit.ly/28MpTlk

Blurb

A smokin’ hot British player…

A jilted girl…

One night of mistaken identity…

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

She didn’t plan on attending a masquerade party.

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

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

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

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

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*

**no one dies in the writing of this novel**

About the Author

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

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

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

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

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

You can stalk her on her website as well as get signed books: http://www.ilsamaddenmills.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorilsamaddenmills?pnref=lhc

IG: https://instagram.com/ilsamaddenmills/

Twitter: @ilsamaddenmills

Ilsa Madden-Mills’ other books:

VERY BAD THINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1RH9CJY

iBooks: http://apple.co/1gl5Yaj

BN: http://bit.ly/1bOyH2g

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1D0BVw5

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1K5NvX8

VERY WICKED THINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1NvRIr5

iBooks: http://apple.co/1mVS3Wo

BN: http://bit.ly/1mT1cDB

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1C9EZt3

VERY TWISTED THINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1cvvkkh

iBooks: http://apple.co/1eN7Clh

BN: http://bit.ly/1KK0ljh

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1BHcK4R

Excerpt Reveal June 2016

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Everything by Erin Noelle….Excerpt Reveal

by Courtney

Everything is the story every Book Boyfriend fan has been
waiting for!
Preorder your copy at the following retailers:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1Sd9zD2
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1UF88TP
Add Everything to your TBR for a June 23rd release here:
http://bit.ly/24M8UBF

Blurb

Music was was part of my DNA, pumping hard through my veins, resonating deep
within my bones. Not surprising, considering my dad was a global rock star and
my mom had the voice of a fallen angel.
With my twin sister by my side in our indierock duo, Singed Wings, we were
ready to finally see our name in lights when we opened for the hottest act to sell
out stadiums – Jobu’s Rum Summer Reunion Tour.
The life I’d always wanted was finally within my reach. All I had left to do was
finish out my last semester of high school.
But there was one problem: Ms. Sloan, the new art history teacher.
The same Ms. Sloan I’d met as Belle, the sexy little pixie who’d captivated me at a
New Year’s Eve concert last year.
The same Ms. Sloan who’d owned nearly every one of my thoughts since that
night.

The same Ms. Sloan whose class I was in danger of failing.
With my dream gig dangling just on the other side of that cap and gown, all of my
focus should’ve been on my school work and improving my music as I prepared
for my big shot to rock the world…
But I never expected her to rock mine first… and to change everything.
Everything is a standalone novel. It is a spinoff from the Book Boyfriend Series.

Excerpt

I leaned down to her level then skimmed the tip of my nose along her jawline,
inhaling her intoxicating scent. “But you are out with him? Like together, on a
date?”
With a soft moan, her head lolled to the side, granting me access to the smooth,
creamy skin of her neck. “Not together,” she rasped, her eyelids fluttering closed.
“Friends… we’re just friends. I promise.”
Her words immediately erased most of the anger jetting through my veins. I still
wasn’t happy she was out with him, because I knew damned well Mr. Carroll
wasn’t interested in being “just friends.” But that was his fucking problem.
“And us?” I asked, as my mouth grazed from her throat to her hairline. “Are we
just friends too, beautiful Belle?”
“We’re not friends,” she hissed when I caught her earlobe between my teeth and
flicked my tongue over it. “And we shouldn’t… we can’t do this again. I’m your
teacher.”
She made no attempt to open her eyes or to move away despite her claim, and I had
no intention of stopping until she explicitly told me to. As she fought her own inner
battle of right versus wrong, mind against body, I planned on showing her every
reason we absolutely should and could do it again. And again and again.
“Indeed you are, Ms. Sloan,” I murmured against her delicate flesh, ghosting kisses
from her ear to her barelyparted lips. “But right now, I think it’s time you learn a
little lesson of your own.”
My mouth slammed down on hers, swallowing whatever her response was going to
be. The lesson I had in mind involved a lot of doing, and not much talking. The
question and answer portion came after the handson demonstration.
I swept my tongue across her lips, and she opened up for me without any
resistance. My dick throbbed and twitched against my zipper as her hands fisted
my shirt and tugged me closer. Our tongues melted together, the intensity of the
kiss building deeper and deeper until I had to break free.
“Everett,” she breathed, reaching for me as I drew back. God, the sound of my
name on her lips, full of desperate need, was like a direct hit of lightning between
my legs. Instantly, I was rockfuckinghard.
Belle Sloan awakened the untamed, possessive animal that lurked inside me. One I
never knew existed before her. And there was no way of putting him back in his
cage now.

About the Author

Erin Noelle is a Texas native, where she lives with her husband, two daughters,
and three fur babies. When she’s not reading or writing romance novels, she enjoys
winning at cards and board games, awkward peoplewatching in public places, and
doing cartwheels at the most random times. She’s usually barefoot, is never
without a song in her head, and currently holds the title of World’s Best
Procrastinator.
Her titles published include the Book Boyfriend Series, Dusk ‘Til Dawn Series,
Luminous Duet, Fire on the Mountain series, and numerous standalone books that
range from New Adult to Contemporary romance. Her books have been a part of
the USA Today Bestselling list as well as the Amazon and Barnes & Noble overall
Top 100. You can follow her on Facebook @ www.facebook.com/erin.noelle.98,
her blog @ www.erinnoelleauthor.com, on Twitter @authorenoelle, and on
Instagram @erinnoelleauthor.
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Contemporary Romance Excerpt Excerpt Reveal June 2016 Romance

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Gun Shy by Lili St Germain…Excerpt Reveal

by Courtney

Excerpt

Cassie

I brew coffee downstairs, being careful not to make too much noise. He hates it when I’m loud. He likes to wake up gradually. I trudge upstairs, my bare feet freezing on the threadbare carpet.

I bring the coffee and I set it beside him. I pull one curtain open, just the way he likes it. It’s been snowing again. It’s so beautiful out there. So empty.

“Good morning,” he says. I turn away from the snow, my retinas pulsing and blind in the center of my vision from the stark white burst of light outside.

Sometimes, if I can get on his good side when he first wakes up, he’ll be nice to me for the rest of the day. Lately that happens less and less, but I still try.

“Sleep well?” he asks, sipping his coffee. He hands it to me and I take a sip. I don’t like coffee the way he has it, but he insists on sharing with me, probably to ensure I don’t poison him. He’s a smart man. Thinks of everything.

I ache between my thighs. I’m reminded of the night before. Of the guy who crept into my bedroom and fucked me until I hurt.

“Like the dead,” I reply. I had to check and make sure he was in a deep sleep before I showered the evidence away last night. I couldn’t risk him waking up and hearing me.

He smiles lazily, his eyes still puffy from sleep. The smile that could dazzle the entire female population has a hard edge to it. “I can see the cogs turning in your brain, Cassandra. What are you daydreaming about?”

I sit on the edge of the bed. My legs are tired and my head hurts.

“I remembered what a sociopath is.”

“Oh, yeah?” He props himself up on one elbow, the coffee finished, the cup discarded somewhere on the dresser beside him. “Enlighten me.”

“Somebody who’s empty inside. Somebody who needs to take from everybody else to fill them up. Because they were born wrong. Because there’s nothing inside them.”

He smiles; his lazulite eyes crease up ever-so-slightly at the edges. I imagine how beautiful he would have looked as a young child; how his mother would have melted whenever he smiled up at her. Because his eyes deceive. They don’t look empty. They’re beautiful, full of the souls of everyone else he’s sucked dry and left in his quest to find that something, that perfect thing to fill him up.

I can see myself in his eyes. My soul. He’s taken it from me.

“Do you feel empty?” I whisper.

He rests a hand on my upper thigh, all trace of his smile gone as he matches his fingers to the bruises he left on me in the night, in the dark. “Not when I’m inside you.”

The man I’ve been fucking for the past year, or rather, the man who’s been fucking me — his eyes gleam in the harsh sunlight that casts a brightness over the bedroom, bathing it in some macabre stage lights that scream: Action! But this isn’t make-believe, and the curtains won’t fall at the end of our grotesque little act, and after we’re done here, I won’t be able to peel my mask off and toss it on the ground as I exit the stage.

I swallow thickly. I wish he’d get tired of me.

“I heard you in the shower last night,” he says, his fingers squeezing into my flesh. “After I left you, you thought you could just wash me off like nothing happened, huh?”

My cheeks burn as I try to twist away from him; He sits up in bed and reaches for my throat, crushing my windpipe as he pulls my face to his.

“You need to learn,” he says, “that I know everything about you, Cassie. I know what you think. I know where you are. I know where you’re going. I know more about you than you know about yourself, darlin’.

I choke.

“Say sorry,” he says, loosening his grip.

“I’m sorry!” I wheeze, my throat burning as tears stream down from my eyes.

“Not like that. Show me how sorry you are. Apologize.”

He pulls the covers back and fists a hand in my long hair, wrenching me down into his lap.

I do what I’m told. I show him just how sorry I am. I’m not sorry for washing him off me last night, though. I’m sorry that he ever came to this godforsaken town and ruined our lives.

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RELEASE DATE: June 27th, 2016

Blurb

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL?

In the middle of a fierce snowstorm in Gun Creek, Nevada, a teenage girl disappears without a trace.

The second girl in as many years.

Identical cases. Identical conditions. Only last time, the girl was found. Dead, floating face-down in the creek that feeds the town’s water supply.

The killer was never found.

As the small town mobilises and searches for newly vanished Jennifer Thomas, one suspect comes to the fore. But did he do it? Or is there something else at play? Something nobody could have anticipated?

For Jennifer’s classmate Cassie Carlino, the worst is yet to come. As she pins MISSING posters to store windows and joins the search, she begins to suspect that Jennifer’s disappearance might be much closer to her than she could have ever imagined.

About the Author

Lili Saint Germain

Lili writes dark, disturbing romance. Her #1 bestselling Gypsy Brothers series was created in a serial format – quick, intense episodes released frequently with some wicked cliffhangers. The Gypsy Brothers series focuses on a morally bankrupt biker gang and the girl who seeks her vengeance upon them. The Cartel series is a prequel trilogy of full-length novels that explores the beginnings of the club, to be released in 2015 by HarperCollins.

Lili quit corporate life to focus on writing and so far is loving every minute of it. Her other loves in life include her gorgeous husband and beautiful daughter, good coffee, Tarantino movies and spending hours on Pinterest.

She loves to read almost as much as she loves to write.

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Dark Romance Excerpt Excerpt Reveal June 2016 Romance Romantic Suspense Thrillers

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Dark Mafia Prince by Annika Martin…Excerpt Reveal

by Courtney

We are thrilled to share an excerpt of Dark Mafia Prince by New York Times bestselling author, Annika Martin! Releases on June 28th!

Blurb:

Aleksio 
Don’t look at me like that. So trusting.
Like you think I’m not a monster.
Like I won’t wrap your hair in my fist and bend you to my will.
Like I won’t sacrifice you, piece by piece, to save my brother.
I’m the most dangerous enemy you’ll ever have because every time you look at me, you see somebody good. That friend who died.
And when you look at me like that, I die again.

Mira
I spent years making myself invisible.
A good girl, apart from the noise. Then you came back, beautiful and deadly in your Armani suit.
Don’t look at me like you still know me, you say.
But I remember your smile and those sunny days.
Before they lowered your small casket into the ground.
Before they told us the prince was dead.

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EXCERPT

The way he uses me is violent. Primitive. Demeaning. And all I can think is, don’t stop.

He warned me he was going to be rough. He warned me I’d feel alarmed when he shoved his cock all the way down my throat. I was ready for that.

I wasn’t ready for the names he would call me.

Or to be so wildly turned on by it all.

It’s as if we crossed over to the right side of wrong, and everything is too hot, and his cock is too huge, and I have too many clothes. I want him to lay me out and use me. I want him to do anything to me. Everything to me.

I pull back, knowing he’ll shove my head back onto his cock, and he does, fingers digging into my scalp.

My nipples rub on his legs, heating—from the friction, maybe—and I nearly get off. It’s pure madness. Usually I need a lot of help.

But this is Aleksio being Aleksio. He always went too far, and I always loved him for it.

I feel when he’s going to come.

“No teeth. Don’t you fucking…” He jerks into my throat. The orgasm goes on forever. He holds my head firmly in his grip, panting.

I move my tongue a tiny bit and he clutches my hair. “God! Don’t move.”

I feel dazed. Heart pounding. This was the wildest and most powerful sexual experience of my life and I didn’t even come.

“Okay,” he whispers after a while, gently extracting himself from me. I sit on the coffee table, wiping my mouth and striking the tears from my cheeks.

His eyes shine, and I know he felt power of what just happened. The mad connection. Deep down, I know that neither of us have been here before. He reaches out and brushes my hair from my forehead.

That’s when I see the gun in his other hand, dark and cold and black.

He was holding a gun? Why? Why would he need a gun?

“Don’t worry, the safety was on.” He puts it aside, eyes averted, and then he swipes his phone off the floor. He presses something. A red light goes off.

My mouth falls open. “What the hell? What did you do?”

“Saved your finger.”

Red. A record light.

He tucks himself in, zips himself up.

He recorded us? Why record us like that? With him holding a gun? Why would he want to make it look like he was being a violent asshole, forcing me to do that?

Suddenly everything in the room gets too bright, too real. “No!” I go for the phone.

He grabs my wrist, hauling me up off the couch with him. “Leave it.”

“You’re going to show that recording to him? No!” I try to twist free. “You can’t!”

He can and he will.

I’m flooded with shame for how much I enjoyed it. And Aleksio made a movie out of it! To frighten Dad!

“Fuck!” I jerk and twist, trying to get at the phone. “You can’t! Please.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh my God!”

That’s when Viktor comes in. He regards us calmly, like it’s no big deal Aleksio is manhandling me. Aleksio tosses the phone to his brother. “Play it.”

“No! Don’t!”

Viktor taps the screen.

“Don’t watch it!” I go for Viktor now, but Aleksio has me.

“You can’t send Dad that clip.”

“We’re not sending him your bloody finger, isn’t that what you wanted?”

Aleksio. So cool, so smooth. Like it meant nothing to him. And me like an idiot, getting off on his rough treatment. Making myself vulnerable to him. Showing him something I never even showed myself. I want to die.

Viktor pockets the phone. “Her severed finger would be more extreme. More urgency. But this is more pain for the old man.”

“You guys are animals!”

Aleksio tightens hold on me. “You need to be done going crazy or we’ll handcuff and gag you.”

“You have to erase it!”

“You prefer the finger? That’s what you’re saying here?”

I trusted Aleksio. I followed him somewhere extreme, and he ripped my heart open. Cutting off my finger seems tame in comparison.

“You’re thinking about it? Fuck! No. Fuck that.” He turns to Viktor. “Call and see if the sack of shit’s awake.”

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About the Author:

Annika Martin is a NYT bestselling author who enjoys writing dirty stories about dangerous criminals! She loves helping animals and kicking snow clumps off the bottom of cars around the streets of Minneapolis, and in her spare time she writes as the RITA award-winning author Carolyn Crane.

Connect with Annika:

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December 2012 Excerpt Excerpt Reveal June 2016 Romance Romantic Suspense Suspense

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Hitched by Kendall Ryan….Excerpt Reveal

by Courtney

Today we are bringing you the first look inside Kendall Ryan’s upcoming book HITCHED!

Marry the girl I’ve had a crush on my whole life? Check.

Inherit a hundred-billion-dollar company? Check.

Produce an heir… Wait, what?

I have ninety days to knock up my brand-new fake wife. There’s only one problem—she hates my guts.

And in the fine print of the contract? The requirement that we produce an heir.

She can’t stand to be in the same room with me. Says she’ll never be in my bed.

But I’ve never backed down from a challenge and I’m not about to start now.

Mark my words—I’ll have her begging for me, and it won’t take ninety days.

On the heels of her smash hit and New York Times bestselling SCREWED series, Kendall Ryan brings you HITCHED, a romantic comedy that delivers heart and heat. A NYC playboy turned business mogul has ninety days to win over the woman he’s always desired in order to save his father’s company. One tiny problem: She hates his guts.

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I give him a skeptical look. “You want to show me your dick?”

“If it’ll help convince you.” He drains the last drops of his Scotch and stands up. “Come on, let’s go.”

I stare after him as he walks away.

Is he serious? He’s just going to whip it out? I look around to see if anyone is watching me, then I get up and follow him to the bar’s back hallway, near the restrooms, unable to comprehend why the hell I’m humoring him. This is ridiculous.

Once we’re safely in a private corner, Noah undoes his belt, opens his fly . . . and pulls out a fucking fire hose.

Holy mother of God. My hands fly to my mouth. I want to gasp in shock, but there’s no way I’m giving him the upper hand.

He was right. His cock is nothing short of massive, and it’s not even fully erect right now. Nine inches may actually be a conservative estimate of what it might look like hard. He must destroy men’s egos every time he walks into a locker room. And I don’t even want to think about what he destroys with women . . .

“Meh. I’ve seen bigger,” I force out, fighting to maintain my composure.

Noah chuckles. “I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“Well, th-that monster is not coming anywhere near my uterus. No, thank you. I prefer to keep my organs intact.”

Noah’s grin widens. “I doubt that, but just to be on the safe side, I’ll ease it in nice and slow. Piece of cake. Plus, you’ve got good health insurance, right?”

“That is not funny, Noah. Now, put that thing away or I’ll remove it.”

I try to sound stern, but my shaking voice and bright red cheeks surely give me away. Why the hell can’t I stop staring?

He chuckles—yeah, the jerk can definitely see right through me—but he obliges, tucking the beast back into its lair.

A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of more than a dozen titles, Kendall Ryan has sold over 1.5 million books and her books have been translated into several languages in countries around the world. She’s a traditionally published author with Simon & Schuster and Harper Collins UK, as well as an independently published author. Since she first began self-publishing in 2012, she’s appeared at #1 on Barnes & Noble and iBooks charts around the world. Her books have also appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists more than three dozen times. Ryan has been featured in such publications as USA Today, Newsweek, and InTouch Magazine.

Visit her at: www.kendallryanbooks.com for the latest book news, and fun extras

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Contemporary Romance Excerpt Excerpt Reveal June 2016 Romance Romantic Comedy

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Dirty Stolen Forever by Nazarea Andrews…Cover Reveal

by Courtney

Today we are having a cover reveal for DIRTY STOLEN FOREVER by Nazarea Andrews. This book will release July 11th and is up for pre-order. Dirty Stolen Forever is an adult contemporary romance, standalone novel, that is the second book in the Green County series.

Click here to add DIRTY STOLEN FOREVER to Goodreads

Title: Dirty Stolen Forever (Green County, 2)
Author: Nazarea Andrews
Release Day: July 11th

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Amazon

Book Blurb:

Colt Rayburn loved Aiden Delvin, once. A lifetime ago. Before duty and the Marines took him a world away, chewed him up and spit him out.
Aiden would have waited forever for Colt to come back. But Colt didn’t want that, and he’s rebuilt his life. Without the man he loves.
When Colt comes home from a deployment that went wrong, Aiden is there. Inexplicably back in Green County and impossible to resist. He swore he’d never go back to that place, never destroy Aiden the way he had when he walked away the first time.
But Aiden grew up and changed too, while Colt played war hero.
Both of them know what they want. After all this time. But can a love story that destroyed them once be rebuilt, when life and duty still hangs over them both…

Exclusive Excerpt:
Hell is being forced to look. To watch Colt from behind the lens of my camera, his sexy little smirk, and the not-quite bedroom smile, a soft twist of the lips that tugs hard at me.
It’s not the smile I got, after sex when we were lazy and he was half asleep against my shoulder. It’s just a little bit guarded. But it’s close enough.
Close enough that desire skitters like a living thing along my skin as I watch him.
I don’t have to tell him what to do. Colt was my first live subject, a lifetime ago. Photographing him is as easy as breathing, and as painful as stabbing knives.
I want to demand to know why he was pushing, in the USO building.
He had wanted to kiss me.
“Aiden!” Colt calls, and it snaps me from my thoughts. He looks amazing in a dark green t-shirt that’s too tight across his broad chest, and camo pants that hang like pure perfection on his lean hips.
He looks every inch the Marine.
When Colt told me he was leaving, I didn’t believe him.
And then he did, and it was so….wrong. So unbelievable, that I did the only thing I knew how to do—I shoved everything that remotely reminded me of him away. I left Green County, and I left Remi and Brian and Shelly. The family that had adopted me because Colt Rayburn loved me.
I left my favorite brother, and the entire world that I knew.
All of it was like a knife, straight to the gut, and when I got off that plane in New York, I pulled the knife out.
I let the wound heal.
Except.
There was always a piece that was left behind. The tip of the knife, broken off and lodged under my skin. Colt was lodged under my skin, and as much as I wanted to be free of him, I couldn’t be.
Even when I healed, and allowed myself to move on—even when I was with other people—Colt was with me. A part of me.
And now….
Now he’s here, and he’s giving me that smirk, all Marine Corps bad boy. The favorite son of Green County, the fucking war hero.
And it twists, that damn piece of Colt deep inside me, twists and it’s pure agony.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Nazarea Andrews (N to almost everyone) is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. Which means she writes everything from zombies and dystopia to contemporary love stories. When not writing, she can most often be found driving her kids to practice and burning dinner while she reads, or binging watching TV shows on Netflix. N loves chocolate, wine, and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids. She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, spoiled cat and overgrown dog. She is the author of World Without End series, Neverland Found, Edge of the Falls, and The University of Branton Series. Stop by her twitter (@NazareaAndrews) and tell her what fantastic book she should read next.

AUTHOR LINKS:

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Last Kiss by Laurelin Paige…Excerpt Reveal

by Courtney

Last Kiss by Laurelin Paige

Series: First and Last #2
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press
Genre: Romantic Suspense/ Contemporary Romance

“Visceral, enticing, shining with white lies and dark truths, seductive twists and turns, and a love that takes your breath away.” – Katy Evans, New York Times bestselling author

Synopsis:

A GAME OF CAT AND MOUSE FILLED WITH DARK DESIRES AND DANGEROUS SECRETS…

Emily Wayborn has made a decision.

She might not fully trust handsome and deadly Reeve Sallis, but he is the one person that gives her what she needs. With Reeve she can finally be herself. Submitting to him is the only thing keeping her grounded as the rest of her life falls apart. But the hotelier is a master at keeping secrets and as she continues her quest for answers someone is making sure she doesn’t find them.

Time is running out and she is questioning everything she thought she knew about friendship and love. She must now make an impossible choice that will determine if she will survive with her heart…or at all.

Excerpt:

What he really wanted to hear were the other words, the words I couldn’t give. He’d danced around it, too, though. He’d suggested he loved me, but he’d never told me outright. Those words stood so prominently that they’d become a barrier between us. Either they’d been a lie, a cruel response to my scheming, or they’d been truthful—a possible doorway leading to something else. Something more.

Damn, how I wanted the more. Wanted it enough to brave broaching the subject. “You said things the other night, Reeve—”

He jumped in, turning his head to meet my eyes straight on. “I meant them.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

There was so much to say in response and yet nothing at all came to mind. And as wary as I was to fully trust him, I believed him. Many men had proclaimed their love for me—usually when I had my mouth around their dick—but it had never been sincere. The plethora of false variations had been enough to teach me that this version was the real thing.

But Reeve had said he’d loved Amber that night as well. And I believed that too.

“I want you sleeping in my bed, Emily.”

Or perhaps I was wrong about everything, and his devotion was tied up in sex like all the other men I’d known.

I considered retorting back something sassy about not always being able to get what you want. But I wasn’t quite sure that was an adage that Reeve understood. Besides, I wanted to be sleeping in his bed as well, and maybe I would be eventually. If it was really where he wanted me. If I was really the one he wanted there.

I knew I should just ask—how do you feel about Amber now? What happens next between us? It was on the tip of my tongue, the questions preformed in my mouth when I decided to swallow them instead. Because I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear those answers—whatever they may be—and, in this moment, at least, I was what he desired. And maybe it was just an excuse to not have to think about her for a minute, to not worry about feeling guilty or like I’d betrayed her. As long as I didn’t know, I could blame my behavior on ignorance, and I could please him too.

The swing rocked as I shifted to my knees. Ignoring the chill of the seat against my bare shins, I leaned forward and unfastened Reeve’s jeans.

“This isn’t my bed,” he said, not moving to either help me or stop me.

“It’s the best I can do right now.”

He’d gone commando, a sign that he’d likely tried to sleep as well, then had thrown his clothing on when he found the effort futile. I rubbed my hands together, heating them with friction before I reached in for his cock.

Just as I lowered my lips to his tip, he said, “That ‘right now’ insinuates that there will be a time that you can do more.”

I didn’t want to answer, afraid of giving too much of myself away. Afraid that he wouldn’t like my reasons for not being with him fully or that he’d try to talk me out of worrying about Amber’s place in all of this.

So I occupied my mouth in other ways that prevented talking.

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About Laurelin:

NY Times & USA Today Bestselling author Laurelin Paige is a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn’t seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching Game of Thrones and the Walking Dead, or dreaming of Michael Fassbender.

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Contemporary Romance Excerpt Excerpt Reveal June 2016 Romance Romantic Suspense Suspense

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Book Promotion & Review

BLURB

EXCERPT

THE OVER THE TOP SERIES

FOLLOW FOREVER ONLINE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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About the Author

Chapter 1

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Exclusive iBooks Pre-Order Kindle, Kobo, Nook, or google play: Sign up for an alert when Dark Mafia Prince is available: http://eepurl.com/b45Hsn

Today we are bringing you the first look inside Kendall Ryan’s upcoming book HITCHED!

Today we are having a cover reveal for DIRTY STOLEN FOREVER by Nazarea Andrews. This book will release July 11th and is up for pre-order. Dirty Stolen Forever is an adult contemporary romance, standalone novel, that is the second book in the Green County series.

Click here to add DIRTY STOLEN FOREVER to Goodreads

Title: Dirty Stolen Forever (Green County, 2) Author: Nazarea Andrews Release Day: July 11th

PRE-ORDER NOW

Book Blurb:

Last Kiss by Laurelin Paige

Series: First and Last #2 Publisher: St. Martin’s Press Genre: Romantic Suspense/ Contemporary Romance

“Visceral, enticing, shining with white lies and dark truths, seductive twists and turns, and a love that takes your breath away.” – Katy Evans, New York Times bestselling author

Synopsis:

Excerpt:

Add to your TBR on Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1OYml8h

Pre-Order Links: Amazon / Amazon UK / iBooks / Barnes and Noble / Google / Kobo

About Laurelin:

Facebook / Twitter / Amazon / Goodreads / Instagram / Website Don’t miss a release. Sign up for Laurelin’s Newsletter

Exclusive iBooks Pre-Order
Kindle, Kobo, Nook, or google play: Sign up for an alert when Dark Mafia Prince is available: http://eepurl.com/b45Hsn

Title: Dirty Stolen Forever (Green County, 2)
Author: Nazarea Andrews
Release Day: July 11th

Series: First and Last #2
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press
Genre: Romantic Suspense/ Contemporary Romance

Pre-Order Links:
Amazon / Amazon UK / iBooks / Barnes and Noble / Google / Kobo

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Don’t miss a release. Sign up for Laurelin’s Newsletter