Salvation by Robin Covington….Blog Tour Stop & Excerpt

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She’s decided to end it all. He doesn’t know where to begin. What they were and who they might become doesn’t matter as much as who they are together.
Fans of Elle Kennedy’s The Deal or Cambria Hebert’s #Player, will devour the sexy and intense addition to the Nashville Nights series by Bestselling Author Robin Covington.

9780990543237

 

SALVATION

Synopsis: Letting go never felt so good.

Carlisle Queen is dying and no one knows it.

Burying the pain of losing her friends and her professional swimming career in a terrorist attack, America’s former sweetheart dulls her pain with drugs, pills and parties. The bomb left her with more than nightmares; shrapnel is lodged in her back and inching closer to her spinal cord. When the doctors tell her paralysis is inevitable, she decides to take her own life rather than face a lifetime in a wheelchair.

 

Mateo Butler isn’t anyone’s hero.

Reeling from the death of his little sister and his own cowardice, he spends his nights partying and his days ignoring the medical school acceptance letters and his parents’ concerned phone calls. Just a couple of months from graduation, he’s facing a future filled with shame and regret. The last thing he needs is to meet the woman who compels him to be a better man.

 

Can they save each other?

When Carlisle and Mateo meet, the chemistry between them is combustible. They play, party and hide their true selves until one night turns their lust into something more…something real. As secrets are revealed and walls collapse, what they were and what they might become doesn’t matter as much as who they are together. When the choice comes down to life or death, can love be their salvation?

See where it all began with book 1 of the Nashville Nights series, Temptation.

Get More information at: Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

Excerpt:

His phone vibrates in his hand and we both look down at the screen. Zane has responded and Mateo quickly presses the screen, both of us relieved to move on from the awkwardness that was creeping into our night.

Zane’s sent a selfie, the stage with the current performers in the background of the picture. “Ariel! Glad you could make it even if you have to hang out with that loser. I’ll come find you after the show and rescue you.”

“He calls me Ariel?” I ask.

Mateo glances at me, his expression a little bit confused. “Yeah. You know the whole red hair and mermaid thing. The swimming¼” His words drift off when I don’t respond, his expression telling me that he’s worried about my taking offense. I let the silence drag out a little bit longer before I let him off the hook and smile. His obvious relief makes me laugh out loud.

“Newsflash braintrust, you two aren’t the first to think that up.” I gesture towards the phone. “Hand it over.”

I type onto the screen. “If we fuck, you’ll write a song about me. It will go viral. I will have to listen to it for the rest of my life. No thanks. Ariel.”

I hand the phone back to Mateo, noticing for the first time the dark expression on his face. Not anger. Something deeper. Carnal. Something that gets me wet and makes my body flash hot all over.

“I rescind my offer of a threesome. You know this, right?” Mateo pulls me in tight against him, his breath hot against my cheek. “There’s no fucking way I can share you with anybody. There would be bloodshed. Prison for me.” He punctuates the next few words with a series of small nips against the skin of my neck. “Very. Bad. Idea.”

“Well, then you better make my sacrifice worth it. ” I snake my hand backwards between us, touching as much of his hard abdomen and even harder crotch as I can from my awkward angle.

“You already know I’m worth it. I bet you’re already wet for me. Dying for it.” He keeps one arm looped around my waist ensuring that I stay where he wants me while the other wanders, skimming over my bare thighs and then inching up under the hem of my denim skirt to trace the bottom curve of an ass cheek. He groans against my ear. “Fuck, I love the fact that you hate underwear.”

I lick my lips. “I don’t like anything to get in between me and what I want.”

He laughs, the sound dark and sensual and the perfect thing to crank me up one notch higher.

“Well, you can’t have what you want right now.” The tips of his fingers trace the curve of my ass and I hold my breath as he makes a shallow dip into the wet, slick place between my legs. My body sags but he holds me in place in the right spot for him to make me crazy with that dirty mouth. “If you’re a good girl and enjoy Zane’s set, later tonight I’ll bury my cock in your pussy as deep as you want, for as long as you want, as often as you want. Sound good?”

 

 

About Robin Covington

Covington800Robin Covington loves to explore the theme of fooling around and falling in love in her bestselling books. A Night of Southern Comfort, her debut novel was nominated for the RT Book Reviewers Choice Awards for Small Press and was touted by RT Book Reviews as bringing a “fresh, modern feel to the genre while still sticking to the things that get our adrenaline pumping — sex and danger”. Her books were also nominated for the Bookseller’s Best Award and the National Reader’s Choice Awards.

When she’s not writing sexy, sizzling romance she’s collecting tasty man candy, indulging in a little comic book geek love, and stalking Joe Manganiello. You can find Robin at her website (robincovingtonromance.com), Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

Don’t send chocolate . . . send eye candy!

Robin lives in Maryland with her hilarious husband, brilliant children (they get it from her, of course!) and her beloved furbabies.

Connect with Robin at: Website | Facebook | Twitter |GoodReads | Instagram | Pinterest|

 

 

Also in the Nashville Nights Series:

temptation

 

Title: Temptation

Author: Robin Covington

Series: Nashville Nights #1

Genre: New Adult Romance

Release Date: May 11, 2015

 

Synopsis: She needs to be good.

At sixteen, Kit ditched her crappy life and moved to Nashville with only $200, her guitar, and a notebook full of songs. She hit it big, but five years of living like a rock star plus a stint in rehab has killed any good will she had with her label. The suits have ordered Kit to shape up or ship out of the limelight. The last thing she needs is a hot, sexy distraction with a sinful smile.

He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.
Max Butler is as far from a celebrity as you can get and he likes it that way. A Nashville firefighter, he’s living the single life with a revolving door of parties, friends, and a different woman in his bed every night. When his normal life suddenly collides with the girl on his favorite Rolling Stone cover, he sees the perfect chance to fulfill his ultimate fantasy and see just how bad Kit can be.

Sometimes bad is so very good.
With three weeks until Kit leaves for her big tour, Max promises to give her a break from being the good

 

redemption

 

Title: Redemption

Author: Robin Covington

Series: Nashville Nights #3

Genre: New Adult Romance

Release Date: June 15, 2015

Publisher: Burning Up the Sheets, LLC

Print Length:

Format: Digital

ISBN: B00VH4T7NE

 

Synopsis:

Emory Cabell is leaving the lies behind her.

Finding out that huge chunk of your life has been a lie and that you’re the half-sister to America’s country music queen is game changer. Determined to meet the sibling she never knew and compelled to pursue the music career she’s always wanted, Emory leaves her small town and heads to Nashville. Thrown by the bustle of Music City and the cutthroat dealing of the business, she finds unexpected shelter in a musical partnership with country music’s baddest bad boy.

Zane has his eyes set on the prize.

Known as a man who never stays the night, Zane is reliable only when it comes to his music. Years of paying his dues has gained him the coveted lead guitarist spot on the “must see” music tour of the year. Hoping this gig will lead to his own single recording contract, he agrees to write a few songs with Emory but he’s blown away by the sexual chemistry sizzling between them and leveled by his feelings for this quiet woman with the beautiful soul.

Can love be more than just a line in a song?

Darkness and light…they should not work. But one night in her bed proves they’re hotter than the number one single they wrote together. When the spotlight sheds light on all of Zane’s past sins, Emory struggles with trusting him with her heart. When a duo-only recording contract threatens everything Zane has worked towards and challenges everything he thought he knew about himself, he recklessly betrays her trust. With his life at a crossroads, will he choose the music or the future with a woman whose love might just be his redemption?

Get More information at: Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

 

Adored by Lexi Blake…Review & Excerpt Tour Stop

Adored Review and Excerpt Tour banner

 

We are so excited to bring you the Blog Tour for Lexi Blake’s ADORED!

ADORED is a Contemporary Erotic Romance novella in Lexi’s Masters and Mercenaries Series! Check it out below and grab your copy today!!

 

Adored - cover

Amazon US Kindle ** Amazon Paperback ** Amazon UK Kindle

 

ADORED Review/Excerpt Tour

May 8

Aly’s Miscellany – Review & Excerpt

The Book Cellar – Review & Excerpt

Coffee Books & Art – Review & Excerpt

Books to Breathe – Excerpt

Agents of Romance – Excerpt

Books Can Take You There – Review & Excerpt

Mama She’s Crazy About Books – Review

Nerdy Book Freak – Excerpt

May 9

Read-Love-Blog – Excerpt

Bound By Books Book Review – Review & Excerpt

Reading Between the Wines Book Club – Excerpt

Rookie Romance – Review

Books to Light Your Fire – Excerpt

May 10

Literary Nook – Review

Roxy’s Reviews – Excerpt

Dark Faerie Tales – Review & Excerpt

The Sassy Bookster – Review

Romance Obsessed Book Blog – Review & Excerpt

May 11

Shawna Shauntia – Excerpt

random jendsmit – Excerpt

Reading Is My Superpower – Excerpt

Romance Reviews and More – Review & Excerpt

Jen’s Reading Obsession – Excerpt

May 12

Summer’s Book Blog – Review & Excerpt

Hannah’s Words – Review & Excerpt

I Bookin’ Love To Read – Review & Excerpt

Country Gals Sexy Reads – Excerpt

Smut Book Junkie Reviews – Excerpt

Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads – Review & Excerpt

Inner Goddess – Review & Excerpt

May 13

Romance Schmomance – Review & Excerpt

Read Catch Kiss – Review

Book Babes And Boyfriends – Excerpt

Reading Keeps Me Sane – Review & Excerpt

Mama Reads Hazel Reads – Review & Excerpt

Friends Till The End Book Blog – Excerpt

Book reviews by Sandra – Review

Greyland Reviews – Review & Excerpt

Kristi’s Book Cellar – Excerpt

May 14

Sultry, Steamy Reading – Review

Read My Mind – Review & Excerpt

Dirty Girl Romance – Review

Red Cheeks Reads – Excerpt

Collector of book boyfriends – Excerpt

Between The Lines – Excerpt

CJ’s Book Corner – Excerpt

Chris Book Blog Emporium – Excerpt

May 15

She Hearts Books – Review

Naughty Book Eden – Excerpt

Book Lovin’ Mamas – Excerpt

Hooker Heels Book Blog – Excerpt

Bookalicious Babes Blog – Review & Excerpt

Southern Yankee Book Reviews – Review & Excerpt

May 16

Jax’s Book Magic – Review & Excerpt

The Book Bellas – Excerpt

Becky on Books – Review & Excerpt

JB’s Book Obsession – Review & Excerpt

Evermore Books – Review & Excerpt

Girls With Books – Excerpt

May 17

Indy Book Fairy – Excerpt

One Girl Lost in Romance Books – Review

Books Need TLC – Review & Excerpt

Once Upon An Alpha – Review

Renee Entress’s Blog – Review & Excerpt

G & Co. Book Blog – Excerpt

Vera is Reading – Excerpt

booklover4lifeblog – Excerpt

Wild and Dirty Book Blog – Excerpt

ADORED Synopsis:

A man who gave up on love

Mitch Bradford is an intimidating man. In his professional life, he has a reputation for demolishing his opponents in the courtroom. At the exclusive BDSM club Sanctum, he prefers disciplining pretty submissives with no strings attached. In his line of work, there’s no time for a healthy relationship. After a few failed attempts, he knows he’s not good for any woman—especially not his best friend’s sister.

A woman who always gets what she wants

Laurel Daley knows what she wants, and her sights are set on Mitch. He’s smart and sexy, and it doesn’t matter that he’s a few years older and has a couple of bitter ex-wives. Watching him in action at work and at play, she knows he just needs a little polish to make some woman the perfect lover. She intends to be that woman, but first she has to show him how good it could be.

A killer lurking in the shadows

When an unexpected turn of events throws the two together, Mitch and Laurel are confronted with the perfect opportunity to explore their mutual desire. Night after night of being close breaks down Mitch’s defenses. The more he sees of Laurel, the more he knows he wants her. Unfortunately, someone else has their eyes on Laurel and they have murder in mind.

 

Excerpt:

“Do you absolutely have to play tonight? It’s hard walking around without looking at things. I’m going to crash into someone’s scene,” a familiar voice said.

She turned and there was her brother coming up the stairs with Mitchell and Kai. Will’s eyes were firmly planted on the ground.

Kai gave her a smile. “He’s trying to avoid seeing you half naked.”

“She’s actually quite covered,” Mitch admitted.

He looked utterly delicious. No matter what kind of problems they might have, there was no denying the fact that this man got her motor running like no other. Sanctum was filled with gorgeous men, but Mitch seemed to stand above the rest. He was so masculine, with his broad shoulders and cut chest on display. She loved how petite she felt when he held her. He seemed to like to show off how strong he was by carrying her around.

Will brought his head up, his eyes opening cautiously. He seemed to relax. “All right. I suppose I can handle that. What kind of scene are you two doing tonight?”

Mitch moved to her side, his eyes going to the collar around her neck. She could practically feel the satisfaction pouring off him in waves. He might not want her as a wife, but she could tell he was enjoying keeping a submissive. “I’m doing a ropes demonstration, and no, you will not want to watch. We’re up very soon, so you and Bridget should stay on the east side of the dungeon. I hear Weston and his wife are doing an impact play scene.”

“I’m going to find a pretty little pain slut and get my freak on,” Kai promised. He looked nothing like his normal self. Kai was usually very intellectual looking. Like the professor at college every girl wanted to date. But with his hair down around his shoulders and dressed in leathers and motorcycle boots, the good psychologist looked dangerous. And definitely ready for some fun. Of course, his idea of fun had to do with pain.

 

Adored Teaser 1

 

 

Author PhotoAbout Lexi Blake:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lexi Blake lives in North Texas with her husband and three kids. She began writing at a young age concentrating on plays and journalism. It wasn’t until she started writing romance that she found success. Lexi believes in happy endings no matter how odd the couple, threesome or foursome may seem.

 

 

 

Website** Facebook** Twitter ** Newsletter ** Pinterest ** Author Goodreads ** Novel Goodreads

 

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The Scoundrel and The Debutante by Julia London….Excerpt & Giveaway Blog Tour Stop

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Synopsis:

The dust of the Cabot sisters’ shocking plans to rescue their family from certain ruin may have settled, but Prudence Cabot is left standing in the rubble of scandal. Now regarded as an unsuitable bride, she’s tainted among the ton. Yet this unwilling wallflower is ripe for her own adventure. And when an irresistibly sexy American stranger on a desperate mission enlists her help, she simply can’t deny the temptation.

The fate of Roan Matheson’s family depends on how quickly he can find his runaway sister and persuade her to return to her betrothed. Scouring the rustic English countryside with the sensually wicked Prudence at his side—and in his bed—he’s out of his element. But once Roan has a taste of the sizzling passion that can lead to forever, he must choose between his heart’s Julia London_author photoobligations and its forbidden desires.

Excerpt:

 

CHAPTER ONE

Blackwood Hall, 1816

It was an unspoken truth that when a woman reached her twenty-second year without a single gentleman even pondering the possibility of marriage to her, she was destined for spinsterhood. Spinsterhood, in turn, es- sentially sentenced her to the tedium of acting as com- panion to doddering dowagers as they dawdled about the countryside.
A woman without prospects in her twenty-second year was viewed suspiciously by the haut ton. There must be something quite off about her. It was impossi- ble to think otherwise, for why would a woman, prop- erly presented at court and to society, with means of dowry, with acceptably acknowledged connections, have failed to attract a suitor? There were only three possible explanations.
She was unforgivably plain. She was horribly diseased.
Or, her older sisters’ scandalous antics four years past had ruined her. Utterly, completely, ruined her.
The third hypothesis was presented by Miss Pru- dence Cabot days after her twenty-second birthday. Her hypothesis was roundly rejected by her scandalous older sisters, Mrs. Honor Easton and Grace, Lady Merryton.

In fact, when her older sisters were not rolling their eyes or refusing to engage at all, they argued quite vocifer- ously against her theory, their duet of voices rising up so sharply that Mercy, the youngest of the four Cabot sisters, whistled at them as if they were the rowdy pup- pies that fought over Lord Merryton’s boot.
Her sisters’ protests to the contrary notwithstand- ing, Prudence was convinced she was right. Since her stepfather had died four years ago, her sisters had en- gaged in wretched behavior. Honor had publicly pro- posed marriage to a known rake and bastard son of a duke in a gaming hell. While Prudence adored George, it did not alter the scandal that had followed or the taint it had put on the Cabots.
Not to be outdone, Grace had endeavored to entrap a rich man into marriage in order to save them all from ruin, and somehow managed to trap the wrong man. It was the talk in London for months, and while Grace’s husband, Lord Merryton, was not as aloof as Prudence had always heard, his entry into the family had not im- proved Prudence’s prospects in the least.
Nor did it help in any way that her younger sister, Mercy, had a countenance so feisty and irreverent that serious thought had been given to packing her off to a young ladies’ school to tame the beast in her.
That left Prudence in the middle, sandwiched tightly between scandals and improper behavior. She was squarely in the tedious, underappreciated, put-upon, practically invisible middle where she’d lived all her life.
This, Prudence told herself, was what good manners had gotten her. She had endeavored to be the practical one in an impractical gaggle of sisters. The responsible

one who had taken her music lessons just as faithfully as she’d taken care of her mother and stepfather while her sisters cavorted through society. She’d done all the things debutantes were to do, she’d caused not a whit of trouble, and her thanks for that was now to be con- sidered the unweddable one!
Well, Mercy likely was unweddable, too, but Mercy didn’t seem to care very much.
“Unweddable is not even a proper word,” Mercy pointed out, adjusting her spectacles so that she might peer critically at Prudence.
“It’s also utter nonsense,” Grace said tetchily. “Why on earth would you say such a thing, Pru? Are you truly so unhappy here at Blackwood Hall? Did you not enjoy the festival we hosted for the tenants?”
A festival! As if her wretched state of being could be appeased with a festival! Prudence responded with a dramatic bang of the keys of the pianoforte that caused the three-legged dog Grace had rescued to jump with fright and topple onto his side. Prudence launched into a piece that she played very loudly and very skillfully, so that everything Grace or Mercy said was drowned out by the music.
There was nothing any of them could say to change her opinion.
Later that week, Prudence’s oldest sister, Honor, had come down from London to Blackwood Hall with her three children in tow as well as her dapper husband, George. When Honor heard of the contretemps between sisters, she’d tried to convince Prudence that a lack of a viable offer of marriage did not mean all was lost. Honor had insisted, with vigor and enthusiasm, that her sisters’ behavior had no inf luence on Prudence’s lack of

an offer. Honor now reminded her that Mercy, against all odds, had been accepted into the prestigious Lisson Grove School of Art to study the masters.
“Well, naturally I was. I am quite talented,” Mercy unabashedly observed.
“Lord Merryton had to pay a pretty sum to sway them, didn’t he?” Prudence sniffed.
“Yes,” Grace agreed. “But if she were as plagued with scandal as you suggest, they would have refused her yet.”
“Refused Merryton’s purse?” Prudence laughed. “It’s not as if they had to marry her, for God’s sake.”
“I beg your pardon! What of my talent?” Mercy de- manded.
“Hush,” Grace and Prudence said in unison. That spurred Mercy to push her spectacles up her nose and march from the room in her paint-stained smock.
Grace and Honor paid her no mind.
The debate continued on for days, much to Pru- dence’s dismay. “You must trust that an offer will come, dearest, and then you will be astonished that you put so much stock into such impossible feelings,” Honor said a bit condescendingly as the sisters dined at breakfast one morning.
“Honor?” Prudence said politely. “I kindly request—
no, pardon—I implore you to cease talking.”
Honor gasped. And then she stood abruptly and f lounced past Prudence with such haste that her hand connected a little roughly with Prudence’s shoulder.
“Ouch,” Prudence said.
“Honor means only to help, Pru,” Grace chastised her. “Honor means only to help.”
“I mean more than that,” Honor said sternly, charg-

ing back around again, as she really was not the sort to f lee in tears when there was a good fight to be had. “I insist that you snap out of your doldrums, Pru! It’s unbecoming and bothersome!”
“I’m not in doldrums,” Prudence said.
“You are! You’re forever cross,” said Mercy. “And moody,” Grace hastened to agree.
“I will tell you only what a loving sister will tell you truly, darling.” Honor leaned over the dining table so that she was eye level with Prudence. “You’re a bloody chore.” But she smiled when she said it and quickly straightened. “Mrs. Bulworth has written and asked you to come and see her new baby. Do go and see her. She will be beside herself with joy, and I think that the country air will do you good.”
Prudence snorted at that ridiculous notion. “How can I possibly be improved by country air when I am already in the country?”
“Northern country air is vastly different,” Honor amended. Grace and Mercy nodded adamantly that Honor was right.
Prudence would like nothing better than to explain to them all that calling on their friend Cassandra Bul- worth, who had just been delivered of her first child, was the last thing she wanted to do. To see her friend so deliriously happy made Prudence feel that much more wretched about her own circumstance. “Send Mercy!” “Me?” Mercy cried. “I couldn’t possibly! I’ve very little time to prepare for school. I must complete my still life painting, you know. Every student must have a complete portfolio and I haven’t finished my still life.” “What about Mamma?” Prudence demanded, ignor-

ing Mercy. They could not deny their mother’s madness necessitated constant supervision from them.
“We have her maid Hannah, and Mrs. Pettigrew from the village,” Grace said. “And we have Mercy, as well.”
“Me!” Mercy cried. “I just said—”
“Yes, yes, we are all intimately acquainted with all you must do for school, Mercy. On my word, one would think you were the only person to have ever been accepted into a school. But you aren’t leaving us for another month, so why should you not have the least responsibility?” Grace asked. Then she turned to Pru- dence and smiled sweetly. “Pru, we’re only thinking of you. You see that, don’t you?”
“I don’t believe you,” Prudence said. “But it so hap- pens that I find you all quite tedious.”
Honor gasped with delight and clasped her hands to her breast. “Does that mean you’ll go?”
“Perhaps I shall,” Prudence sniffed. “I’ll be as mad as Mamma if I stay any longer at Blackwood Hall.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful news,” Grace said happily. “Well, you needn’t rejoice in it,” Prudence said mis-
sishly.
“But we’re so happy!” Honor squealed. “I mean, happy for you,” she quickly corrected, and hurried around the table to hug Prudence tightly to her. “I think your mien will be vastly improved if you just step out into the world, dearest.”
Prudence scarcely thought so. Out into the world was where she lost all heart. Happy people, happy friends, all of them embarking on a life that Prudence had al- ways hoped would be hers, made her terribly unhappy. Prudence was filled with envy, and she could not beat

it down, no matter how much she would have liked, no matter how much she had tried. Even mortifyingly worse, Prudence’s envy of the happiness surrounding her was apparent. Lately, it felt as if even sunshine was a cruel reminder of her situation.
But as Mercy launched into her complaints that so much attention was being paid to Prudence when she needed it, Prudence decided she would go. Anything to be free of the happy chatter she was forced to endure day in and day out.

Grace arranGed It all, announcing grandly one after- noon that Prudence would accompany Dr. Linford and his wife north, as they would be traveling that way to visit Mr. Linford’s mother. The Linfords would deposit Prudence in the village of Himple where Mr. Bulworth would send his man to come and fetch her and bring her to their newly completed mansion. Cassandra, who had come out with Prudence and had received several offers of marriage in her debut Season compared to Prudence’s astounding lack of them, would be wait- ing with her baby.
“But the Linford coach is quite small,” Mercy said, frowning so that it caused her spectacles to slide down her nose. She was seated at her new easel, drawing a bowl of fruit for her painting. That’s what the masters did, she’d informed them earlier. They sketched first, then painted. “Prudence will be forced to carry on a conversation for hours,” she added absently as she stud- ied her sketch.
“What’s wrong with conversation?” Honor de- manded as she braided the hair of her daughter, Edith. “Nothing at all if you care so much for the weather.

Dr. Linford speaks of nothing else. It’s a fine day, and what not. Pru doesn’t care so much for weather, do you, Pru?”
Prudence shrugged. She didn’t care much for any- thing.
On the day of her departure, Prudence’s trunk and valise were carried downstairs to a waiting carriage that would ferry her to Ashton Down, where Prudence was to meet the Linfords at one o’clock. In her valise, she included her necessities—some ribbons for her hair, a silk chemise Honor had brought for her from the new London modiste she raved about, some lovely slippers, and a change of clothing. She said goodbye to her overly cheerful sisters and started off at a quarter to twelve.
The ever-efficient Blackwood Hall coach reached
Ashton Down at ten past twelve.
“You needn’t wait with me, James,” Prudence said, already weary. “The Linfords will be along shortly.”
James, the driver, seemed uncertain. “Lord Merry- ton does not like the ladies to wait unattended, miss.” For some reason, that rankled Prudence. “You may
tell him that I insisted,” she said. “If you will deposit my things just there,” she said, waving absently at the side- walk along High Street. She smiled at James, adjusted her bonnet, and took herself up the street to the dry goods and sundries shop, where she purchased some sweetmeats for the journey. When she made her pur- chase, she walked outside. She saw her things on the sidewalk as she’d asked, and the Blackwood Hall car- riage was gone. Finally.
Prudence lifted her face to the late-summer sun. It was a warm, glorious day, and she decided to wait on the village green just across from her luggage. She ar-

ranged herself on a bench, folded her gloved hands over her package of sweetmeats and idly examined some f lowers in a planter beside her. The blooms were fad- ing…just like her.
Prudence sighed loudly.
The sound of an approaching coach brought her to her feet. She stood up, dusted off her lap, tucked her package in the crook of her arm and looked up the road, expecting to see the Linford coach roll down the street.
But it wasn’t the Linford coach—it was one of two private stagecoaches that came through Ashton Down every day, one midday, one later in the afternoon.
Prudence sat down heavily on the bench once more. The coach pulled to a halt on the road before her. Two men jumped off the back runner; one of them opened the door. A young couple stepped out, the woman carrying an infant. Behind them emerged a man so broad in the shoulder he had to turn to fit through the opening. He fairly leaped out of the coach, land- ing sure-footedly, and adjusted the hat on his head. He looked as if he’d just returned from an architectural dig, dressed in buckskins, a lawn shirt and a dark coat that reached his knees. His hat looked as if it was quality, although it showed signs of wear. And his boots looked as if they’d not been shined in an age. He had a dusty
shadow of a beard on his square jaw.
The man turned a slow circle in the middle of the street, oblivious to the young men who rushed to change the horses and deposit luggage onto the curb. What- ever the passenger saw caused him to suddenly stride to the front of the coach and begin to argue vocifer- ously with the driver.
Prudence blinked with surprise. How interesting.

She straightened her back and looked around, won- dering what the gentleman had seen to anger him so. But observing nothing out of the ordinary on the vil- lage green or on the high street, she stood up, and as casually and inconspicuously as she might, she moved closer, pretending to examine some rose blooms so that she might hear his complaint.
“As I said, sir, Wesleigh is just up the road there. A
half-hour walk, no more.”
“But you don’t seem to understand my point, my good man,” the gentleman said in an accent that was quite f lat. “Wesleigh is a house. Not a settlement. I understood I’d be delivered to an estate. An estate! A very large house with outbuildings and various people roaming about to do God knows what it is you do in England,” he exclaimed, his hands busily sketching the estate in the air.
The driver shrugged. “I drive where I’m paid to drive, and I ain’t paid to drive to Wesleigh. Ain’t a grand house there by no means.”
“This is preposterous!” the man bellowed. “I’ve paid good money to be delivered to the proper place!”
The driver ignored him.
The gentleman swept his hat off a head full of thick brown hair and threw it with great force to the ground. It scudded along and landed very close to Prudence. He looked about for his hat and, spotting Prudence at the edge of the green, he suddenly strode forward, the paper held out before him.
Prudence panicked. She looked about for a place to escape, but he guessed her intention. “No, no, stay right there, I beg you,” he said sternly. “I must have some-

one speak to that man and explain to him that I am to be delivered to Wesleigh!”
“Wesleigh?” Prudence asked. “Or Weslay?”
That drew the man up, midstride. He stared at her with eyes the rich color of golden topaz, which slowly began to narrow on her, as if he thought she meant to trick him. He hesitantly moved forward, the paper still held out before him. “If you would be so kind?” he asked through clenched teeth, practically shoving the paper at her.
Prudence took it between forefinger and thumb and gingerly extracted it from his grip. Someone had writ- ten—scrawled, really, in long bold strokes—“West Lee, Penfors.”
“Hmm,” she said, squinting at the scrawl. “I sup- pose you mean Viscount Penfors.” She peeked up at the stranger, who was staring darkly at her. She could feel the potency of his gaze trickling into her veins. “Lord Penfors resides at Howston Hall, just outside of Weslay.”
“Yes, exactly as I wrote,” he said, pointing to the paper.
“But this says ‘West Lee.’” “Just as you said.”
“No, sir, I said ‘Weslay.’ I’ve never heard of West Lee,” she said, trying to enunciate the subtle difference in the sound of the names. “And unfortunately, it ap- pears you’ve mistakenly arrived in Wesleigh.”
The stranger’s face darkened, and Prudence had an image of him exploding, little bits of him raining down on the street. “I beg your pardon, miss, but you are not making any sense,” he said tightly. He reached for the edge of the paper with his forefinger and thumb as she’d

done and yanked it free. “You have said West Lee three times now, and I don’t know if you mean to tease me or if there is something else at work here.”
“I am not teasing you,” she objected, horrified by the suggestion.
“Then it must be something else!”
“Something else?” What could he possibly mean? Prudence couldn’t help but smile. “I assure you, I am not privy to any scheme or conspiracy to keep you from Weslay, sir.”
His frown deepened. “I am happy to amuse you, miss. But if you would kindly point me in the direc- tion of at least one of these West Lees, and preferably the one where I may find this Penfors fellow, I would be most grateful.”
“Oh.” She winced lightly.
“Oh?” he repeated, leaning forward. “What does
‘oh’ mean? Why are you looking at me as if you’ve lost my dog?”
“You’ve gone the wrong direction.” “So I gathered,” he drawled.
“Wesleigh is just down the road here, a small vil- lage with perhaps five cottages. Weslay is north.” She pointed in the direction the stage had just come.
He looked in the direction she pointed. His face began to mottle. “How far?” he managed, his voice dangerously low.
“I can’t be entirely certain, but I’d say…two days?” The gentleman stranger clenched his jaw. He was big and powerful, and Prudence imagined his fury shaking the ground beneath his feet. “But that is indeed where you will find this Penfors fellow,” she hastened to add,

and once again tried not to smile. It was absurd to refer to a viscount as a fellow!
“North?” he bellowed, throwing his arms wide. Prudence took one cautious step backward and nod-
ded.
The man put his hands on his waist, staring at her. And then he turned slowly from her. She thought he meant to walk away, but he kept turning, until he’d gone full circle, and when he faced her again, his jaw was clenched even more tightly. “If I may,” he asked, his voice strained, “have you a suggestion for how I might reach this West Lee that is two days away?”
“It’s not West—” She shook her head. “You might take the northbound stagecoach. It comes through Ash- ton Down twice a day. The first one should be along at any moment.”
“I see,” he said, but it was quite apparent he didn’t see at all.
“You might also buy passage on the Royal Post coach, but it’s a bit more costly than the passenger stages. And it comes through only once a day.”
He eyed her distrustfully. “Two days either way?” She nodded. She smiled sympathetically. She would
not like to be sausaged into a stagecoach for two days. “I fear it is so.”
He shoved his fingers roughly through his dark brown hair and muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t quite make out but sounded as if she ought not to hear.
“Where might I purchase passage?” he asked briskly. She looked around him—that is, she leaned to her right to see around his broad chest—to the stagecoach
inn. “I’ll show you if you like.”

“That,” he said firmly, “would be most helpful.” He bent down, scooped up his hat, dusted it off by knock- ing it against his knee, then put it back on his head. His gaze traversed the length of her before he stepped back and swept his arm before him, indicating she should lead him.
Prudence walked across the street, pausing as the gentleman instructed the coachman to leave his trunk and bag on the sidewalk with the other luggage pieces to be loaded on the northbound coach. He stared wist- fully at the coach as it pulled away, headed south, be- fore turning back to Prudence and following her into the inn’s courtyard. She walked through a pair of doors that went past the public room and into a small office. It was close, and she had to dip her head to step inside. The ceiling was uncomfortably low, and the smell of horse manure permeated the air, as the office was situ- ated between the stables and the public rooms.
The gentleman passenger was well over six feet and had to stoop to enter. Once inside, his head brushed the rafters. He batted at a cobweb and grunted his dis- pleasure.
“Aye, sir?” said a clerk, appearing behind the low counter.
The gentleman stepped forward. “I should like to buy passage to West Lee,” he said.
“Weslay,” Prudence murmured.
The gentleman sighed loudly. “What she said.” “Three quid,” the clerk said.
The gentleman removed his purse from his pocket and opened it. He fussed through the coins there, exam- ining each one as he withdrew them. Prudence stepped

forward, leaned around him, and pointed at three of the coins.
“Ah,” he said, and handed them to the clerk, who in turn handed the gentleman a ticket.
“The driver requires a crown, and the guard a half,”
the clerk said.
“What?” the gentleman said. “But I just gave you three pounds.”
The clerk tucked the coins into a pocket on his apron. “That’s for the passage. The driver and the guard, they get their pay from the passengers.”
“Seems like a dodge.”
The clerk shrugged. “If you want passage to
Weslay—”
“All right, all right,” the gentleman said. He peered at his ticket and sighed again. He gestured for Pru- dence to go out ahead of him, then fit himself through the door into the inn’s main hall and followed her into the courtyard.
They paused there. He smiled for the first time since Prudence had seen him, and she felt a little twinkle of desire when he did. He looked remarkably less per- turbed, and in all honestly, he looked astoundingly pleasing to the eye when he smiled. It was a rugged, well-earned smiled. There was nothing thin about it. It was an honest, glowing sort of smile—
“I am grateful for your assistance, Miss…?” “Cabot,” she said. “Miss Prudence Cabot.”
“Miss Cabot,” he said, and bowed his head slightly. “Mr. Roan Matheson,” he added, and stuck his hand out.
Prudence glanced uncertainly at his hand.
So did he. “What is it? Is my glove soiled? So it is. I

beg your pardon, but I’ve come a very long way with- out benefit of anyone to do the washing.”
“No, it’s not that,” she said with a shake of her head, although her thoughts were spinning with the how and why and from where he’d come such a long way.
“Oh. I see.” He removed his glove and extended his hand once more. She noticed how big it was, how strong. How long and thick his fingers were and the slight nicks on his knuckles. A hand that was not afraid of work. “My hand is clean,” he said impatiently.
“Pardon? Oh! No, it’s just that it’s rather unusual.” “My hand?” he asked curiously, holding it up to have
a look.
“No, no.” She was being rude. She looked up at his startling topaz eyes. And at his hair, too, dark brown with streaks of lighter brown, and longer than the cur- rent fashion, which he had carelessly brushed back behind his ears. It was charmingly foreign. He was charmingly foreign and…virile. Yes, that was it. He looked as if he could move mountains about for his amusement if he liked. Her pulse, Prudence realized, was doing a tiny bit of f luttering. “It’s unusual that you are offering your hand to be—” she paused uncertainly “—shaken?”
“Of course I offered it to be shaken,” he said, as if it were ridiculous she would ask. “Why else would one offer a hand, Miss Cabot? To shake. To acknowledge a kindness or a greeting—”
She abruptly put her hand in his, noting how small it seemed in his palm.
He cocked his head. “Are you afraid of me?” “What? No!” she said, f lustered. Maybe she was
a tiny bit afraid of him. Or rather, the little shocks of

light that seemed to f lash through her when he looked at her like that. She curled her fingers around his. He curled tighter. “Oh,” she said.
“Too firm?” he asked.
“No, not at all,” she said quickly. She liked the feel of his grip on her hand and had the f leeting thought of his grip somewhere else on her altogether. “I beg your pardon, but I am unaccustomed to this. Here, men offer their hands to other men. Not to ladies.”
“Oh.” He hesitantly withdrew his hand. But he looked at her with confusion. “Then…what am I to do when I meet a woman?”
“You bow,” she said, demonstrating for him. “And a lady curtsies.” She curtsied, as well.
He groaned as he pulled his glove back on. “May I
be brutally honest, Miss Cabot?” “Please,” she said.
“I have come to England from America on a matter of some urgency—I must fetch my sister who is enjoy- ing the fine hospitality and see her home. But I find this country confounding. I sincerely—” He suddenly turned his head, distracted by the sound of a coach rumbling into town. It was the northbound stage, and it pulled to a halt on the street just outside the court- yard. Two men sitting atop the coach jumped down; two young men climbed down from the outboard. Another man was waiting on the sidewalk to catch the bags that one of the coachmen began to toss to him.
The coach looked rather full, and Prudence felt a moment of pity for Mr. Matheson. She couldn’t pos- sibly imagine how he would maneuver his large body into that crowded interior.
“Well, then, there we are,” he said, and began to

stride toward the coach. He paused after a few steps and glanced over his shoulder at Prudence. “Aren’t you coming?”
Prudence was momentarily startled. She suddenly realized he believed she was waiting for the coach, too. She opened her mouth to correct him, to inform him she’d be traveling by private coach, but before the words could fall from her tongue, something warm and shivery sluiced through her. Something silky and dark and dangerous and exciting and compelling…so very compelling.
She wouldn’t.
But why wouldn’t she? She thought of riding in a coach with the Linfords, and the talk of weather. She thought of riding on a stagecoach—something she had never done—and riding with Mr. Matheson. There was something about that idea that thrilled her in a way nothing had in a very long time. He was so mascu- line, and her pulse f luttered at the idea of passing a few hours with him. “Ah…” She glanced back at the inn, debating. She’d be mad to do such a thing, to put herself on that stagecoach with him! But wasn’t this far more interesting than traveling with the Linfords? She had money, she had her things. She knew how to reach Cassandra Bulworth. What was stopping her? Propriety, for heaven’s sake? The same propriety that had been her constant companion all these years and had doomed her to spinsterhood?
She glanced again at Mr. Matheson. Oh yes, he was very appealing in a wild, American sort of way. She’d never met an actual American, either, but she imagined them all precisely like this, always rebelling, strong enough to forge ahead without regard for society’s rules.

This man was so different, so fresh, so incurably hand- some and so blessedly lost! She might even convince herself she was doing him a proper kindness by see- ing him on his way.
Mr. Matheson misunderstood her look, however, because he f lushed a bit and said, “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to rush you.”
Prudence smiled broadly—he thought she wanted the privy.
Her smile seemed to f luster him more. He cleared his throat and looked to the coach. “I’ll…I’ll see you on the coach.”
“Yes,” she said, with far more confidence than she had a right to. “Yes, you will!”
He looked at her strangely, but then gave her a curt nod and began striding for the coach, pausing to dip down and pick up one of the bags with one hand, then toss it up to a boy who was lashing the luggage on the boot.
There was no time to debate it; Prudence whirled about and hurried back to the office, her heart pound- ing with excitement and fear. A little bell tingled as she walked in.
The clerk turned round and squinted at her. “Miss?” “A ticket to Himple, please,” she said, and opened
her reticule.
“To Himple?” he repeated dubiously, and peered cu- riously at her.
“Please. And if you have some paper? I must dash off a note.”
“Two quid,” he said, and rummaged around until he found a bit of vellum she might use.
He handed her a pencil, and Prudence dashed off a

hasty note to Dr. Linford that she would ask the coach boys to deliver to him. She jotted down the usual salu- tations, her wishes that the Linfords were well and his mother on the mend. And then she wrote an explana- tion for her change of plans.

I beg your pardon for any inconvenience, but as it happens, I have taken a seat in a friend’s coach. She is likewise bound for Himple and it was no trouble for her to include me in her party. Do please forgive the short notice, but the opportu- nity has only just come about. Thank you kindly for your offer to see me safely to my friends’, but I assure you I am in good hands.

She shivered at the sudden image of the gentleman’s hands.

My best wishes for your journey and your mother’s health. P.C.

She folded the note, smiled at the scowling clerk, and picked up her ticket. “Thank you,” she said, and fairly skipped out of the office.
Her heart was racing—she couldn’t believe she was doing something so daring and bold! So fraught with risk! So very unlike her! But for the first time in months, perhaps even years, Prudence felt as if some- thing astonishing was about to happen to her. Good or bad, it didn’t matter—the only thing that mattered was that something different this way came, and she was giddy with excitement.

 

 

 

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About the author:

image003Julia London is the New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of more than thirty romantic fiction novels. She is the author of the popular Cabot Sisters historical series, including The Trouble with Honor, The Devil Takes a Bride, and The Scoundrel and the Debutante. She is also the author of several contemporary romances, including Homecoming Ranch, Return to Homecoming Ranch and The Perfect Homecoming.

Julia is the recipient of the RT Bookclub Award for Best Historical Romance and a six-time finalist for the prestigious RITA award for excellence in romantic fiction. She lives in Austin, Texas.

Master Of Freedom by Cherise Sinclair….Excerpt Blog Tour Stop

 

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About MASTER OF FREEDOM:

Detective Atticus Ware gave up his beloved Idaho to start again in the mountains of California, close to his imprisoned brother. He has a rewarding job and friends, but the experienced Dominant wants more than the Do-Me submissives who flock around him. He needs a woman who will give her heart as well as her body. 

Virginia, “Gin,” is damn good at her challenging career as a prison psychologist. However, one problem inmate is mired in misery and unable to overcome his guilt at causing a friend’s death. 
To clear her mind, she joins a friend’s kinky backpacking excursion, planning to hide in her tent during the evening BDSM pursuits. But Atticus lures her into the activities. She’s read about BDSM, but submission under the hands of a powerful Dom is beyond anything she’d imagined. She doesn’t trust men, doesn’t want a relationship, and yet…wants more from him. 

Finally, Atticus has found the woman he wants in his life. In his bed. In his cuffs. But she’s not only his brother’s therapist, but also works in a prison. How can he tolerate his woman walking into danger every single blasted day? 

Gin knows she has no future with Atticus Ware, but still, hope is rising in her heart.

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Excerpt:

There was a tap on the door. Before she could answer, Atticus stepped into the cabin.

“What are—” Gin tossed her book aside. “I do believe you’re in the wrong cabin. This one is mine.”

“I know, darlin’,” he said. “I came to find you.” His gaze swept over her, making her all too aware of the lowness of her décolletage. “Gorgeous nightie, pet, but you quit the evening a little early, didn’t you?”

“It seemed appropriate when everyone grew…occupied.”

As he crossed the room, everything about him was cowboy sexy. Those long legs, battered boots, black hat, and bucking-horse belt buckle.

He went down on his haunches beside the bed, putting their eyes at the same level, then took her hand. “Listen, Gin.” He grinned, his white teeth framed by the dark brown beard. “Isn’t that a harsh-sounding word for such a pretty woman?”

Oh, he shouldn’t smile at her. It was too distracting. And he’d called her pretty.

“Gin,” he said again. “You wanted to learn about BDSM. Came all the way here. True?”

Under his penetrating gaze, her chest turned as shivery as if she were inhaling tiny bubbles with each breath. Stop melting and think. She put a chill into her voice to remind him of proper decorum—which didn’t include cabin visits to a woman in her nightwear. “It may be true, but I do not believe my interests are your concern.”

An unexpected dimple appeared on his right cheek above his beard. “If you want to freeze me out, that accent of yours ruins the effect. It’s like listening to warm honey.”

She gave an exasperated sniff and tried to free her hand. “Go on back to your students, please.”

“All done with them. They’re Jake’s now,” he said. “The way I see it, I owe you a class for helping me earlier. Let’s go to the pavilion where you’ll have some backup, and I’ll give you a taste of what you missed.”

“No.” The word jumped right out, but…lacked any conviction whatsoever.

And oh, he could tell. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His intent blue gaze stayed on her face.

She mustn’t. Shouldn’t. Actual participation would be insane. Stupid. Foolhardy.

But he’d said they’d go to the pavilion. Kallie’d rescue her if needed. Kallie and Jake might be friends with Atticus, but neither would permit anything abusive.

She’d scolded the heroine in her book for cowardice. Was she any braver? If she wanted to learn about BDSM, what better opportunity would she have?

Only…he’d touch her.

How badly she wanted his hands on her was disconcerting. Her swallow was loud in the quiet cabin.

Amusement lit his eyes.

Despite her inner quivers, she gave him a nod.

“Let me hear a yes from you.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

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About Cherise Sinclair:

Having to wear glasses in elementary school can scar a person for life. Dubbed a nerd at an early age, Cherise Sinclair has been trying to live up to the stereotype ever since. And what better way than being an author? 

Known for writing deeply emotional stories, the USA Today Bestselling Author has penned sixteen erotic romance novels, most with a BDSM theme. (Please do not mention the phrase mommy porn in her presence.) Her awards range from a National Leather Award to a Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice nomination to a GoodReads BDSM group award for best author of the year. Called an “ascendant erotica queen” by Rolling Stone Magazine, Cherise spends her days writing, supervised by a sadistic calico cat.

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Their Virgin Mistress by Shayla Black and Lexi Blake…Blog Tour Stop with Excerpt

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One wild night leads to heartache…

Tori Glen loves her new job as an image consultant for Thurston-Hughes Inc. The trouble is, she’s also in love with the three brothers who own it, Oliver, Rory, and Callum. They’re handsome, successful, aristocratic, and way out of this small-town Texas girl’s league. So she remains a loyal professional—until the night she finds a heartbroken Oliver desperate for someone to love. Tori knows she should resist…but it’s so tempting to give in.

And a desperate plan…

Callum and Rory have denied their desire for Tori, hoping she’ll heal their older brother, who was so brutalized by his late wife’s betrayal. But when Oliver cruelly turns Tori away in the harsh light of day, she tenders her resignation. Rory and Callum realize that to save their brother, they must embrace the unconventional sort of family they’ve always wanted—with Tori at its center. And it all starts with seducing her…

That could lead to happily ever after—or murder.

Isolated with the brothers at an elegant English country manor, they begin awakening Tori to the most sensual of pleasures. But consumed with regret, Oliver won’t be denied the chance to embrace the only woman worth the risk of loving again. What begins as a rivalry veers toward the future they’ve only dared to dream of. But a stranger is watching and waiting for a chance at revenge. Can the brothers come together to embrace the woman they love and defeat a killer?

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“Rory, what are you doing?” she demanded.

He was supposed to be the reasonable one, but he’d proven that looks could be deceiving.

Rory kicked opened the door to the hallway. Kicked it open. Yeah, nobody noticed that and it certainly didn’t make her ovaries melt at all. Nope. She didn’t like this side of Rory. Well, no part of her except those softening pink bits and maybe her heart.

“I’m taking charge.” He strode down the hall. He didn’t pause or hesitate. When he walked past reporters, he didn’t bother to look their way. He was a man on a mission.

“Put me down! You can’t carry me off. I thought I was supposed to smile at the press and make my nip slip go away.” Though she’d actually planned to be long gone by now, Tori realized it was too early to leave.

“I don’t care about that. Your breast looked stunning. If it ends up on the front page, I’ll make a poster of it. I don’t care what other people think. I’m done with that and you need to be done with it, too.” He stopped when they passed a security station. The guards allowed them into the palace’s private family wing. One even grinned as he opened the door for them.

Once the door closed, they were alone in a grand foyer. The heavy portal blocked the sounds of the party. Now that her surroundings were quiet, she could practically hear her heart pounding.

Finally, Rory stopped, and she found herself on her feet again. Tori tried to catch her breath as he pressed closer and invaded her space. “This is too fast.”

His fingers brushed her jawline. He dipped his head low. “No. We’ve dragged this out for months. I won’t slow down. Now that I’ve made the decision, I can’t wait any longer.”

His mouth descended on hers in a slow slide. He clutched her hips, pulling her into the cradle of his muscular thighs. His lips took hold of hers, molding in a dominant glide. Her whole body went soft and she was grateful for his arms around her. They held her up when all she wanted to do was drop to her knees.

Rory was kissing her. Finally. Callum had mentioned topping her. She knew what BDSM meant to well-meaning Doms. It meant they cared about her. It meant they protected her and watched over her. She might be naïve, but that was what it meant to her sister and husbands. BDSM didn’t guarantee a happily ever after, but it should mean she got a say in whatever happened. If they were going to this much effort, surely she meant something to them.

Tentatively, she let her hands roam Rory’s shoulders and back as his tongue plunged inside her mouth. There was no questioning lick. He dominated, delving deep. His tongue slid along hers, luring and tempting Tori.

Every cell in her body seemed to soften, and she felt her pussy growing slick and wet. Heat burned through her flesh, and she slid her left leg against his to get closer. Rory answered with a groan, pressing her against the wall and pushing his erection against her. He felt so big, so hard. Tori writhed against him, trying desperately to rub herself against his cock and satisfy her growing ache.

His forehead pressed to hers as he took a long breath, trying to calm himself. “Keep doing that and I’ll prove to you I don’t mind risking a scandal. I’ll pull up this skirt and fuck you right here.”

She had to be the sensible one. “I don’t think this will work.”

“The sex will be divine. I already know it.”

Tori had no doubt of that. “I meant anything more.”

“We’ll make it work, sweetheart.” He brushed another kiss against her lips.

All the reasons it couldn’t work pressed on her. The Thurston-Hughes brothers were overwhelmingly possessive men. How could they share? They fought. Would they fight over her? She’d seen Callum’s anger at Oliver and she’d wondered… “Why were Oliver and Callum fighting the day the reporter came to the office?”

Even as she asked the question, her hands roved over Rory’s hard form. The woman inside her wasn’t sure she wanted the answer right now. That part of her craved what these brothers could give her. She might have been a virgin until Oliver, but she wasn’t stupid. He could offer her more. They all could, and she wanted to feel the pleasure she’d been denied her first time.

He kissed the line of her jaw, then his tongue found her pulse point, making her shiver with desire. “You, of course. You didn’t see the very nice punch I landed. We were fighting over you, but that’s not going to happen again. We’ve talked in detail. Now we’re a united front.”

For how long? If she only wanted a night, it didn’t matter…but deep down, Tori suspected she wanted far more.

Every cell in her body quaked as he kissed her neck. “Rory, I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve always known.” He took a step back. “But I’m going to give you a choice. If you’re scared, walk back into that ballroom and I’ll consider the matter finished. I’ll talk to Callum and Oliver, and we’ll court you in a more proper fashion. We’ll be polite and escort you out and take turns like gentlemen. But if you walk into that room with me, there won’t be anything polite about the way we take you. I won’t be a gentleman. I’ll be a Dom. Your Dom, and you’ll know what it means to be utterly possessed by three men who can’t breathe without you. We’ll start preparing you because we’re going to take you in every way a man can take a woman. Think about this because you’re selecting the path we travel. Polite and proper? Or as wild as you can handle it? Do you want to know what it means to submit to men who love you?”

“Yes.” The word was out before she could think about it. It didn’t matter. Despite all the reasons she shouldn’t do this, she couldn’t walk away.

“Then come with me.” He grabbed her hand and strode down the hall.

Tori hurried after him, knowing nothing would be the same again.

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ABOUT SHAYLA BLACK

Shayla Black (aka Shelley Bradley) is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over forty sizzling contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances produced via traditional, small press, independent, and audio publishing. She lives in Texas with her husband, munchkin, and one very spoiled cat. In her “free” time, she enjoys reality TV, reading and listening to an eclectic blend of music.

Shayla’s books have been translated in about a dozen languages. She has been nominated for career achievement in erotic romance by RT Bookclub, as well as twice nominated for Best Erotic Romance of the year. Additionally, she’s either won or been nominated for the Passionate Plume, the Holt Medallion, Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence, and the National Reader’s Choice Awards.

A writing risk-taker, Shayla enjoys tackling writing challenges with every new book.

Connect with me online:

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ABOUT LEXI BLAKE

Lexi Blake lives in North Texas with her husband, three kids, and the laziest rescue dog in the world. She began writing at a young age, concentrating on plays and journalism. It wasn’t until she started writing romance that she found success. She likes to find humor in the strangest places. Lexi believes in happy endings no matter how odd the couple, threesome or foursome may seem. She also writes contemporary Western ménage as Sophie Oak.

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Website: www.LexiBlake.net

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Say My Name by J. Kenner…Blog Tour Stop & Excerpt

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saymynameAbout SAY MY NAME

New York Times bestselling author J. Kenner kicks off a smoking hot, emotionally compelling new trilogy that returns to the world of her beloved Stark novels: Release Me, Claim Me, and Complete Me. Say My Name features Jackson Steele, a strong-willed man who goes after what he wants, and Sylvia Brooks, a disciplined woman who’s hard to get—and exactly who Jackson needs.

I never let anyone get too close—but he’s the only man who’s ever made me feel alive.

Meeting Jackson Steele was a shock to my senses. Confident and commanding, he could take charge of any room . . . or any woman. And Jackson wanted me. The mere sight of him took my breath away, and his touch made me break all my rules.

Our bond was immediate, our passion untamed. I wanted to surrender completely to his kiss, but I couldn’t risk his knowing the truth about my past. Yet Jackson carried secrets too, and in our desire we found our escape, pushing our boundaries as far as they could go.

Learning to trust is never easy. In my mind, I knew I should run. But in my heart, I never felt a fire this strong—and it could either save me or scorch me forever.

Say My Name is intended for mature audiences.

You can read the first chapter of SAY MY NAME here!

Add it to your Goodreads list here!

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes | Google Play

Excerpt:

I was about to go out on a real date, a very rare occasion for me. And dammit, I liked the way I felt. I wanted to hang on to the feeling. More than that, I deserved to hang on to it.

I busied myself with making coffee, then didn’t want to drink it for fear it would linger on my breath. When the quick, firm knock sounded promptly at ten-thirty, I just about sprinted to the door.

“Hey,” I said, breathless as I flung it open, and even more breathless when I saw him standing there, tall and lean, his dark hair wind-tossed just enough to give him a sexy, reckless vibe. When he stepped inside, his primal, raw scent enveloped me. Earth and wood and rain, blending together in a way that was uniquely Jackson.

“Don’t move,” he said as he stood just inside my apartment. “I want to look at you.”

“I like the dress,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said as his gaze raked over me with such intensity that I was certain he was seeing both the dress—and what was underneath.

“I like the lingerie, too,” I said boldly, and was rewarded by the heat in his eyes and the way his jaw tightened, as if he was fighting for control.

“Do you?” he said, and those two simple words seemed to hold a world of questions.

I lifted my chin slightly, and when I spoke, my voice was breathy. “Yes. Do you want me to show you?”

 

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About J. Kenner

Julie Kenner (aka J. Kenner and J.K. Beck) is the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of over forty novels, novellas and short stories in a variety of genres.

Praised by Publishers Weekly as an author with a “flair for dialogue and eccentric characterizations,” J.K. writes a range of stories including super sexy romances, paranormal romance, chick lit suspense and paranormal mommy lit. Her foray into the latter, Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom by Julie Kenner, is in development as a feature film with 1492 Pictures.

Her most recent trilogy of erotic romances, The Stark Trilogy (as J. Kenner), reached as high as #2 on the New York Times list and is published in over twenty countries.

J.K. lives in Central Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and several cats.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest

The Patriot Threat by Steve Berry….Blog Tour Stop & Excerpt

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DAN BROWN,

CLIVE CUSSLER,

LISA GARDNER,

BRAD MELTZER,

LEE CHILD AND

DAVID BALDACCI

Are calling

THE PATRIOT THREAT

By Steve Berry

“my kind of thriller”

 

Synopsis:

President Franklin Delano Roosevelt hated being in the same room as former Secretary of the Treasury Andrew Mellon. But Mellon was one of the richest men in America—and he had an offer Roosevelt couldn’t ignore. Before the meeting ended Mellon left behind a web of clues that have just resurfaced to send Cotton Malone, Steve Berry’s retired Justice Department agent, on a harrowing 24-hour chase in THE PATRIOT THREAT.

The man that Malone is watching, writer Paul Larks, has stumbled across Mellon’s clues that our income tax might not be legal. Lark’s book to build his case has caught the attention of a deposed North Korean leader who wants to return to glory by throwing the United States into economic ruin. Cotton Malone must race to stop this dangerous scheme and find out where evidence of FDR and Mellon’s conversation is hidden.

Blending little-known, but fascinating, historical fact with pulse-pounding fiction, THE PATRIOT THREAT is a startling revelation of the true nature of income tax in the US. It dares to ask hard questions—did our leaders realize from the start that the income tax would cause major problems? Could it be illegal? And how might an enemy of the state use the income tax against us?

Excerpt:

Venice, Italy 
Monday, November 10 10:40 p.m.
ONE
Cotton Malone dove to the floor as bullets peppered the glass wall. Thankfully the transparent panel, which separated one space from another floor-to-ceiling, did not shatter. He risked a look into the expansive secretarial area and spotted flashes of light through the semi- darkness, each burst emitted from the end of a short-barreled weapon. The glass between him and the assailant was obviously extra-resistant, and he silently thanked someone’s foresight.
His options were limited.
He knew little about the geography of the building’s eighth floor—
after all, this was his first visit. He’d come expecting to covertly observe a massive financial transaction—$20 million U.S. being stuffed into two large sacks destined for North Korea. Instead the exchange had turned into a bloodbath, four men dead in an office not far away, their killer—an Asian man with short, dark hair and dressed as a security guard—now homing in on him. He needed to take cover.
At least he was armed, toting his Magellan Billet–issued Beretta and two spare magazines. The ability to travel with a gun was one advantage that came with again carrying a badge for the United States Justice De- partment. He’d agreed to the temporary assignment as a way to take his mind off things in Copenhagen, and to earn some money since nowadays spy work paid well.
Think.
He was outgunned, but not outsmarted.
Control what’s around you and you control the outcome.
He darted left down the corridor, across gritty terrazzo, just as an- other volley finally obliterated the glass wall. He passed a nook with a restroom door on either side and kept going. Farther on a maid’s cart sat unattended. He caught sight of a propped-open door to a nearby office and spied a uniformed woman cowering in the dark interior.
He whispered in Italian, “Crawl under the desk and stay quiet.”
She did as he commanded.
This civilian could be a problem. Collateral damage was the term used for them in Magellan Billet reports. He hated the description.
More accurately they were somebody’s father, mother, brother, sister.
Innocents, caught in the crossfire.
It would be only a few moments before the Asian appeared.
He noticed another office door and rushed inside the dark space.
The usual furniture lay scattered. A second doorway led to an adjacent room, light spilling in through its half-open door. A quick glance inside that other space confirmed that the second room opened back to the hall.
That would work.
His nostrils detected the odor of cleaning solution, an open metal canister holding several gallons resting a few feet away. He also spotted a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the maid’s cart.
Control what’s around you.
He grabbed both, then tipped over the metal container.
Clear fluid gurgled onto the hall floor, spreading across the tile in a river that flowed in the direction from which the Asian would come. He waited.
Five seconds later his attacker, leading with the automatic rifle, peered around a corner, surely wondering where his prey might be.
Malone lingered another few seconds so as to be seen.
The rifle appeared.
He darted into the office. Bullets peppered the maid’s cart in deafening bursts. He flicked the lighter and ignited the cigarette pack. Paper, cellophane, and tobacco began to burn. One. Two. He tossed the burning bundle out the door and into the clear film that sheathed the hall floor.
A swoosh and the cleaning liquid caught fire.
Movement in the second room confirmed what he’d thought would happen. The Asian had taken refuge there from the burning floor. Be- fore his enemy could fully appreciate his dilemma Malone plunged through the doorway, tackling the man to the ground.
The rifle clattered away.
His right hand clamped onto the man’s throat.
But his opponent was strong. And nimble.
They rolled, twice, colliding with a desk.
He told himself to keep his grip. But the Asian pivoted off the floor and catapulted him feet first into the air. His body hinged across his opponent’s head. He was thrust aside and the Asian sprang to his feet. He readied himself for a fight, but the “guard” fled the room.
He found his gun and approached the door, heart pounding, lungs heaving. Remnants of the liquid still smoldered on the floor. The hall was clear and wet footprints led away. He followed them. At a corner, he stopped and glanced around, seeing no one. He advanced toward the elevators and studied the transom, noticing that the position-indicator displays for both cars were lit 8—this floor. He pressed the up button and jumped back ready to fire.
The doors opened.
The right car was empty. The left held a bloodied corpse, dressed only in his underwear. The real guard, he assumed. He stared at the contorted face, obscured by two gaping wounds. Surely part of the plan was not only to eliminate all of the participants, but to leave no witnesses behind. He glanced inside the car and spotted a destroyed control panel. He checked the other car and found that it had also been disabled. The only way out now was the stairs.
He entered the stairwell and listened. Someone was climbing the risers toward the roof. He vaulted up as fast as caution advised, keeping an eye ahead for trouble.
A door opened, then closed.
At the top he found an exit and heard the distinct churn of a helicopter turbine starting from the other side. He cracked open the door.
A chopper faced away, tail boom and fin close, its cabin pointing out to the night. The rotors began to wind fast and the Asian quickly loaded on the two large sacks of cash, then jumped inside.
Blades spun faster and the skids lifted from the roof.
He pushed open the door. A chilly wind buffeted him.
Should he fire? No. Let it fly away? He’d been sent only to observe, but things had gone wrong, so now he needed to earn his keep. He stuffed the pistol into his back pocket, buttoned it shut, and ran. One leap and he grabbed hold of the rising skid.
The chopper powered out into the dark sky.
What a strange sensation, flying unprotected through the night. He clung tightly to the metal skid with both hands, the chopper’s airspeed making it increasingly difficult to hang on. He stared down.
They were headed east, away from the mainland, toward the water and the islands. The location where the murders had occurred was on the Italian shore, a few hundred yards inland, a nondescript office building near Marco Polo International Airport. The lagoon itself was enclosed by thin strips of lighted coast joined in a wide arc to the mainland,
Venice lying at the center.
The chopper banked right and increased speed.
He wrapped his right arm around the skid for a better hold.
Ahead he spied Venice, its towers and spires lit to the night. Beyond on all sides was blackness, signaling open water. Farther east was Lido, which fronted the Adriatic. His mind ticked off what lay below. To the north, ground lights betrayed the presence of Murano, then Burano and, farther on, Torcello. The islands lay embedded in the lagoon like sparkling trinkets. He curled himself around the skid and for the first time stared up into the cabin. The “guard” eyed him.
The chopper veered left, apparently to see if the unwanted passenger could be dislodged. His body flew out, then whipped back, but he held tight and stared up once more into icy eyes. He saw the Asian slide open the hatch with his left hand, the rifle in his right. In the instant before rounds rained down at the skids, he swung across the undercarriage to- ward the other skid and jerked himself over.
Bullets smacked the left skid, disappearing down through the dark. He was now safe on the right side, but his hands ached from gravity’s pull. The chopper again rocked back and forth, tapping his last bits of strength. He hooked his left leg onto the skid, hugging the metal. The brisk air-dried his throat, making breathing difficult. He worked hard to build up saliva and relieve the parching. He needed to do something and fast.
He studied the whirling rotors, blades beating the air, the staccato of the turbine deafening. On the roof he’d hesitated, but now there appeared to be no choice. He held on tight with his legs and left arm, then reached back and unbuttoned his pant pocket. He stuffed in his right hand and removed the Beretta.
Only one way left to force the chopper down.
He fired three shots into the screaming turbine just below the rotor’s hub.
The engine sputtered.
Flames poured out of the air intake and exhaust pipe. Airspeed diminished. The nose went up in an effort to stay airborne. He glanced down.
They were still a thousand feet up but rapidly losing altitude in some- thing of a controlled descent.
He could see an island ahead of them. Scattered glows defined its rectangular shape just north of Venice. He knew the place. Isola di San Michele. Nothing there but a couple of churches and a huge cemetery where the dead had been buried since the time of Napoleon.
More sputtering. A sudden backfire.
Thick smoke billowed from the exhaust, the scent of sulfur and burning oil sickening. The pilot was apparently trying to stabilize the descent, the craft jerking up and down, its control planes working hard. They overtook the island flying close to the dome of its main church.
At twenty feet off the ground success seemed at hand. The chopper leveled, then hovered. Its turbine smoothed. Below was a dark spot, but he wondered how many stone markers might be waiting. Hard to see anything in the darkness. The chopper’s occupants surely knew they still had company. So why land? Just head back up and ditch their passenger from the air.
He should have shot the turbine a few times more.
Now he had no choice. So he let go of the skid.
He seemed to fall for the longest time, though if memory served him right a free-falling object fell at the rate of thirty-two feet per second, per second. Twenty feet equaled less than one second. He hoped that the ground was soft and he avoided stone.
He pounded legs-first, his knees collapsing to absorb the shock, then rebounding, sending him rolling. His left thigh instantly ached. Somehow he managed to hold on to the gun. He came to a stop and looked back up. The pilot had regained full control. The helicopter pitched up and maneuvered closer. A swing to the right and his attacker now had a clear view below. He could probably limp off, but he saw no good ground cover. He was in the open, amid the graves. The Asian saw his predicament, hovering less than a hundred feet away, the downwash from the blades stirring up loose topsoil. The helicopter’s hatch slid open and his attacker one-handedly took aim with the automatic rifle.
Malone propped himself up and aimed the pistol using both hands. There couldn’t be more than four rounds left in the magazine.
Make ’em count.
So he aimed at the engine.
The Asian gestured to the pilot for a retreat.
But not before Malone fired. One, two, three, four shots.
Hard to tell which bullet actually did the trick, but the turbine exploded, a brilliant fireball lighting the sky, flaming chunks cascading to the ground in a searing shower fifty yards away. In the sudden light he spotted hundreds of grave markers in tightly packed rows. He hugged the earth and shielded his head as the explosions continued, a heaping mass of twisted metal, flesh, and burning fuel erupting before him.
He stared at the carnage.
A crackle of flames consumed the helicopter, its occupants, and $20 million U.S. in cash.
Somebody was going to be pissed.

Book Links:

Amazon  |  B&N  |  iBooks  |  Indiebound  |  Kobo  |  Or order a personalized signed copy

About the author:

SteveBerry-Media-thumbSteve Berry is the New York Times and #1 internationally bestselling author of The Patriot Threat, The Lincoln Myth, The King’s Deception, The Columbus Affair, The Jefferson KeyThe Emperor’s TombThe Paris VendettaThe Charlemagne PursuitThe Venetian BetrayalThe Alexandria LinkThe Templar LegacyThe Third SecretThe Romanov Prophecy, and The Amber Room. His books have been translated into 40 languages with 19,000,000 copies in 51 countries.  They consistently appear in the top echelon of The New York TimesUSA Today, and Indie bestseller lists.

History lies at the heart of every Steve Berry novel. It’s his passion, one he shares with his wife, Elizabeth, which led them to create History Matters, a foundation dedicated to historic preservation. Since 2009 Steve and Elizabeth have crossed the country to save endangered historic treasures, raising money via lectures, receptions, galas, luncheons, dinners and their popular writers workshops. To date, over 2,500 students have attended those workshops. In 2012 and 2013 Steve’s devotion to historic preservation was recognized by the American Library Association, which named Steve it’s spokesperson for National Preservation Week. Among his other honors is the Royden B. Davis Distinguished Author Award; the 2013 Barnes & Noble Writers for Writers Award given by Poets & Writers; the 2013 Anne Frank Human Writes Award; and the Silver Bullet, bestowed in 2013 by International Thriller Writers for his philanthropic work. A 2010 NPR survey named The Templar Legacy one of the top 100 thrillers ever written.

Steve was born and raised in Georgia, graduating from the Walter F. George School of Law at Mercer University. He was a trial lawyer for 30 years and held elective office for 14 of those years. He is a founding member of International Thriller Writers—a group of more than 2,600 thriller writers from around the world—and served three years as its co-president.

CLICK for more detailed bio information in FAQ.

CLICK for more information about History Matters.

 

Boundless Fate by Alicia Rae…Blog Tour Stop & Excerpt

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Boundless Fate Synopsis:

Colton Kingston’s livelihood has been reduced to a pile of black ashes by a tragic act of arson. After sending away the woman he’s loved since the tender age of five, a dark hateful revenge threatens to overtake his heart. Colton knows pushing her away is the only way he can keep her safe.

Paige Summer’s has endured her fair share of obstacles in the past, and refuses to give up on Colton and the life they share together. As interferences try to tear them apart, Paige is determined to stand by Colton’s side and remind him of their love and its strength.

But at every turn, tragedy continues to strike and more devastation falls upon them.

Will Colton and Paige’s love be boundless? Or will revenge conquer their fate?

 

Excerpt:

~Colton POV~

I fired up my cell phone. It immediately dinged with six text messages and a voice mail from Kyle as I walked out the front entrance of the police station. I clicked on his name to dial his number, and he answered right away.

“Jesus, man. Where are you?” Kyle’s voice was frantic.

“I’m at the police station. Where’s Paige?” I asked without delay.

“I’m almost there. Give me thirty seconds. Get to the front curb.” He paused a brief second before shouting, “Fuck, she’s not with you?”

Knowing Kyle didn’t shake easily, hot and heavy fear sliced through me, ripping me in two, as I followed his instructions. “No. Kyle, tell me what you know,” I demanded, barely maintaining control. “They brought Paige in for questioning, but she should have left by now.”

“She called me about fifteen minutes ago when I was at the hotel and asked me to pick her up from the police station,” he said.

I saw his black Suburban flying down the street from a distance. I crossed the road, so I would be on the passenger side. Kyle slowed the vehicle as he neared. Once he stopped, I opened the door and jumped inside the truck.

Kyle’s face was distraught when he looked over at me, and my anxieties reached an all-time high. I was about to fucking burst at the seams.

“I think someone’s got her, man,” Kyle said, putting the truck into motion again. He drove slowly since we were in front of the police station. “She was in the middle of talking, and something scared her and caused her to…”

He went quiet, and I glanced up at him. His eyes bounced between me and the road.

“Caused her to what?” I probed between clenched teeth.

Kyle sighed. “To cry out into the line, like someone startled her.” He shook his head at the stoplight. “My gut instinct tells me something is wrong.”

 

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Book Links:

 Amazon  |  B&N  |  Goodreads 

About the author:  

Alicia Rae is a Contemporary Romance Author who lives in Dekalb, Illinois, with her husband and three beautiful boys. Alicia has a passion for reading all types of romance, writing to bring a story to life, and photography.

Thank you to my dear sister, Kels, who showed me a few years ago how much I truly missed reading. And to my loving husband, for not throwing away my Nook, and planting the seed of writing in my mind. I am forever grateful. Xo

Readers, words cannot thank you enough for supporting me along this incredible journey. I hope you enjoy my novels as much as I do writing them. I thank each and every one of you.

Believe in yourself and follow your dreams…

Links:

Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Author Goodreads

Walk Through My Door By Anthony Bryan….Blog Tour Stop & Excerpt

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Finally, an erotic & romantic story of real people, facing the challenges of real life, and searching for the one true love we all dream of finding…

Lauren is a newly-single mother carrying the weight of a well-guarded secret while trying desperately to make sense of her new role and being on her own.  Adam is a single father, with a powerful past, now struggling to find his place in the world.  Together, they are the right people falling in love at the wrong time.

‘Walk Through My Door’ is the sexually-charged story of one man who’s willing to give anything for true love, except give up, and one woman fighting to make the right decision between the man who held her heart for so long and the man with whom she’s now deeply fallen for.

Adam and Lauren form an unimaginable bond which leads to a romantic, highly erotic, and heartfelt adventure through the struggles and challenges of life, with both hoping to find nothing more than their one true love at the other end of this beautiful journey.

Immerse yourself in a reading experience like no other with Enhanced Playlist Experience!

Keep your smart-phone (or similar device) at hand as you read. As you come across embedded QR codes, scan the code with your device and instantly hear the song which the author wants you to listen to at that precise moment in the book! EPE and this amazing story come together to give you a reading experience unlike any other!

No billionaires, tattooed bad boys, or beautifully proportioned models….just real people!

Anthony’s goal with ‘Walk Through My Door’ is to give you a story you can feel to the very depths of your soul. He tapped into those common traits, hopes, dreams, and insecurities found in all of us to create a pair of leading characters who are real. You’ll see yourself in Lauren as you feel her happiness and her struggles. As for Adam, let’s just say your new book-boyfriend is waiting to meet you!

 

Excerpt:

“Whatever! My soccer-mom mini-van rocks. Now, since I didn’t welch on our bet, and I did exactly what I was supposed to do, do I get my prize?”

I knew exactly what she was referring to, but I couldn’t give in that easily. “And what prize is that?” I asked.

She placed the tip of her index finger on my chest and slowly dragged it down my button-line as she said, “I want my Longer Than Necessary Lingering Hug.”

I stepped even closer to her, placing my hands on her hips and slowly sliding them around to her back. I moved in until our bodies were pressed together. As I grabbed her tightly around her lower back, she wrapped her arms around my neck. We both pulled the other in tight and just held one another in the vacant parking lot.

Lauren started to release her grip, and I pulled her tighter and whispered in her ear, “Not yet.” She responded only by hugging me tighter than I had been hugged in a very long time.

I softly kissed her neck, and I kissed again, only slightly higher toward her ear. I then gently kissed her cheek, inching closer to her lips with each kiss, until she suddenly turned her head for our lips to delicately meet.

I tenderly kissed her lips as I brushed my thumb along her cheek bone. I don’t think I was able to kiss her lips more than three or four times before we erupted into a passionate, beautiful kiss. I felt like I was on a plummeting roller coaster, with my stomach dropping as our tongues met for the first time. Never in my life had I felt a kiss like this, and the intensity grew with each fleeting second.

She placed her hands flat against my chest, touching me as our lips and tongues drove each other wild. I lowered my hand and groped her through her dress. I realized we were in an open parking lot, but my lust commandeered all control of my senses. I placed my hand under her dress and firmly caressed the back of her leg until I reached her smooth ass. I slid my hand under her panties, and she raised her knee, rubbing the inside of her thigh against my leg.

“Adam, I want you,” she softly groaned.

Squeezing the grip my hand had on her ass was my only response, and my other hand, which was on her ribs, moved up to her breasts.

“Oh my God, I want you,” she groaned again. “But I can’t.”

“Don’t do anything you aren’t ready for,” I reluctantly said.

At that moment, I wanted her more than anything, but I also didn’t want her to do anything she wasn’t fully comfortable with. I wanted her badly, but I also wanted her to take her time.

“I’m sorry, but I’m married.”

“But you’re separated, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” she said. “But I am still married. I want this to be right, in every way. There’s something about you; I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about you that just feels so right. Everything about you feels right, and I really don’t want to risk ruining this.”

“There’s something about you, too,” I told her. “And I definitely don’t want you to fuck this up.”

“Thank you,” she said with a sigh of relief. “But I like the way I worded it a little bit better.”

“You say tomato, and I say tomato,” I said, now realizing that the line made a lot more sense in our verbal dialogue than it does written here. I went on, “Can I just ask you one thing?”

“You can ask me anything, Adam.”

I gave her a devilish smirk and a sly wink as I asked, “Would a blowjob fuck it up?”

“Some….. thing…. else!” she chuckled. “Remind me again why I like you?”

“Aha! You just admitted you like me!”

“I do, a lot!” she whispered with a final soft kiss on my lips. “But I’m about to turn back into a pumpkin, as, you so eloquently put it, even though I think it’s the carriage that turned back into a pumpkin and not Cinderella.”

“You’re seriously correcting me, Miss Livingstone?”

“Good night, Mister Smart-ass,” she said as she opened the door to her mini-van and sat in the driver’s seat.

“Good night. Text me when you’re home, so I know you’re safe,” I said as I closed the door for her.

I started walking back to my own car, and I wasn’t more than ten or fifteen feet from Lauren’s mini-van when she lowered the window and called to me, “Adam!” She paused for a moment and continued, “I like you,” as I looked back to her.

“I like you, too, Lauren.”

I got home and set my keys on the kitchen counter just as I was receiving her text: “I’m home safe. Can’t wait to dream of you. XOX!”

What an amazing night, I thought. What an incredible and fucking amazing night!

 

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Book Links:

Paperback  |  Kindle

Author bio:

Born and raised in In the United Kingdom, Anthony Bryan now resides in the United States where he is tenaciously pursuing his writing career. His hope, more than anything, is that his words can provide you with a temporary escape from reality, and he hopes they take you on a journey you won’t soon forget. His goal is to give you something different, refreshing and unlike anything you’ve ever read. His writing is designed to target certain emotions and hit them like never before – love, anticipation, thrill, suspense, angst, revenge, lust, and so on. Each story grabs a different set of feelings and refuses to let go. So, find your favorite reading spot, pour yourself a drink (or two) and love every second of every page he writes… After all, he writes them for you!

At 29 years old, Anthony served with the American military in Afghanistan, and he is a combat veteran as well as an accomplished fighter who is still training in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and Muay Thai kickboxing. He may not seem like your typical erotic-romance writer, and he’s not. He’s different, and his work is different. He wouldn’t have it any other way, and he’s dying to take you on the ride of your life!

What are you waiting for? Get to know him, and you’ll quickly see there is no one out there quite like

Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Website

Easy With You by Kristen Proby…Review & Excerpt Tour

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About EASY WITH YOU:

Nothing has ever come easy for Lila Bailey. She’s fought for every good thing in her life during every day of her thirty-one years. Aside from that one night with an impossible to deny stranger a year ago, Lila is the epitome of responsible.

Steadfast. Strong.

She’s pulled herself out of the train wreck of her childhood, proud to be a professor at Tulane University and laying down roots in a city she’s grown to love. But when some of her female students are viciously murdered, Lila’s shaken to the core and unsure of whom she can trust in New Orleans. When the police detective assigned to the murder case comes to investigate, she’s even more surprised to find herself staring into the eyes of the man that made her toes curl last year.

In an attempt to move on from the tragic loss of his wife, Asher Smith moved his daughter and himself to a new city, ready for a fresh start. A damn fine police lieutenant, but new to the New Orleans force, Asher has a lot to prove to his colleagues and himself.

With a murderer terrorizing the Tulane University campus, Asher finds himself toe-to-toe with the one woman that haunts his dreams. His hands, his lips, his body know her as intimately as he’s ever known anyone. As he learns her mind and heart as well, Asher wants nothing more than to keep her safe, in his bed, and in his and his daughter’s lives for the long haul.

But when Lila becomes the target, can Asher save her in time, or will he lose another woman he loves?

Order Links:

Amazon Kindle ** Amazon Print

Excerpt:

“You have very pretty hair,” Lila tells Casey, who preens from the compliment.

“It’s just like my mom’s,” Casey says innocently, and the stab to my heart is immediate. It’s lessened with time, thankfully, but in these simple moments, it catches me off guard. “It’s really curly. And red.” She wrinkles her nose.

“That explains it,” Lila says, looking at me with surprised eyes. “I was expecting you to have dark hair like your daddy.”

“Nope. I got the red.” Casey sighs. “And the freckles.”

“You know, my best friend has red hair and freckles, and she’s just as gorgeous as you are.”

Casey smiles up at me, then back at Lila. “Cool.”

“So what are our plans for the rest of the day? Surely you don’t intend to try to entertain me all day.” Lila takes a sip of her water, watching me over the rim.

“I do intend to entertain you all day. And don’t call me Shirley.”

Lila laughs, a happy, loud laugh that makes my stomach clench. She tosses her hair over one shoulder and shakes her head at me. “You’re silly.”

“He’s really silly,” Casey agrees and claps her hands as our pancakes and bacon are served. “But he’s handsome. Don’t you think?”

“She’s really subtle,” I inform Lila dryly. She simply pours maple syrup on her pancakes, so much that I wince and then chuckle at her. “Do you want some pancakes with your syrup?”

“Maybe.” She winks at me and turns her attention back to Casey. “Yes, your daddy is handsome.”

“And he’s smart. And he has a good job. And he can fix things.”

“Really?” Lila takes a bite of her bacon and leans in like Casey is about to tell her all of life’s secrets. “What can he fix?”

I watch Casey, also interested to hear what it is, exactly, that I can fix.

A Message from Kristen Proby:

Dear readers,

As you know, the With Me In Seattle series came to a close earlier this month with the eighth and final installment, FOREVER WITH ME. I’ve been steadfast in my decision that there would be no further stories from the series, no spin-offs, nothing more. In my mind, it was complete.

And I still feel that the Montgomery/Williams families are complete, and I maintain that I’m happy with their happy-ever-afters.

But, I’ve also heard you when you’ve said that Asher, Matt Montgomery’s partner in TIED WITH ME, deserves to have a happily ever after for himself and his daughter Casey. So, when the lovely ladies from 1001 Dark Nights asked me to participate in their wonderful project, I thought long and hard about whose story it should be about. Seattle is finished, and I’ve moved on to New Orleans for the new Boudreaux Series… And then it occurred to me: why not do both, and offer a companion novella to each of the series?

And so, because you, the reader, has been so insistent that you want to see Asher and Casey find their perfect person, I’m excited to introduce you to EASY WITH YOU. I think you’re going to love Asher and Lila’s love story this spring…

Happy Reading,
Kristen Proby
 

ABOUT KRISTEN PROBY:

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New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Kristen Proby is the author of the popular With Me in Seattle series. She has a passion for a good love story and strong characters who love humor and have a strong sense of loyalty and family. Her men are the alpha type—fiercely protective and a bit bossy—and her ladies are fun, strong, and not afraid to stand up for themselves. Kristen spends her days with her muse in the Pacific Northwest. She enjoys coffee, chocolate, and sunshine. And naps. Visit her at KristenProby.com.

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When Irish Eyes Are Haunting by Heather Graham…Blog Tour & Excerpt

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About WHEN IRISH EYES ARE HAUNTING:

Devin Lyle and Craig Rockwell are back, this time to a haunted castle in Ireland where a banshee may have gone wild—or maybe there’s a much more rational explanation—one that involves a disgruntled heir, murder, and mayhem, all with that sexy light touch Heather Graham has turned into her trademark style.

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Excerpt:

“What happened back there.”

 

“Rocky, I don’t know!” Devin told him, her beautiful blue eyes meeting his with concern. “There was something there—some kind of a presence.”

 

“A ghost?” he asked. “Perhaps Collum?”

 

She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like any ghost I’ve met before,” she said. “It was different; it was dark…like a shadow.” She hesitated a bit awkwardly. It was strange. They weren’t just both Krewe. They were husband and wife. They usually said whatever they were thinking—no matter how absurd it might sound to someone else.

 

“I felt it—or saw it—before. Last night. It seemed to settle over the castle. Just a—a darkness. Like massive raven’s wings, or…a huge shadow,” she finished, shrugging and looking at him a bit lamely.

 

“Darkness—like some kind of evil?” he asked. He hoped there was no skepticism in his voice. He knew what it was like when people doubted your judgment—or your sanity.

 

She smiled. “No, not evil. Just—something different. And I almost felt as if the darkness…”

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“Wanted to touch me,” she said softly.

 

A strange ripple of fear went through him. “You’re not a Karney,” he said gruffly. “But if you even begin to think that you might be in danger—”

 

“Hey!” she protested. “I’m trained, experienced, and tough,” she reminded him. “I became part of the Krewe. But, it’s not like that. I mean, you said it yourself last night—we’ve never known a ghost to kill anyone. Ghosts linger to help the living or find justice or…in some instances, because they feel like they are an integral part of history. I didn’t feel that. Just…something different.”

 

“Well, stay close, kiddo, okay?” he asked, his tone still a bit too husky. Sometimes, he wasn’t easy. A man’s natural instinct was to protect the ones he loved—to protect his wife.

 

He knew that he sometimes had to remember that yes, she had gone through all the courses. She was a government agent. She was trained, and she—just as he had—had chosen her own course in life. He didn’t have the right to try to lock her in a closet until danger was gone.

 

The instinct still remained.

 

 
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About Heather Graham:

Heather Graham 07New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Heather Graham majored in theater arts at the University of South Florida. After a stint of several years in dinner theater, back-up vocals, and bartending, she stayed home after the birth of her third child and began to write, working on short horror stories and romances. After some trial and error, she sold her first book, WHEN NEXT WE LOVE, in 1982 and since then, she has written over one hundred novels and novellas including category, romantic suspense, historical romance, vampire fiction, time travel, occult, and Christmas holiday fare. She wrote the launch books for the Dell’s Ecstasy Supreme line, Silhouette’s Shadows, and for Harlequin’s mainstream fiction imprint, Mira Books.

Heather was a founding member of the Florida Romance Writers chapter of RWA and, since 1999, has hosted the Romantic Times Vampire Ball, with all revenues going directly to children’s charity.  She is pleased to have been published in approximately twenty languages, and to have been honored with awards from Waldenbooks. B. Dalton, Georgia Romance Writers, Affaire de Coeur, Romantic Times, and more. She has had books selected for the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild, and has been quoted, interviewed, or featured in such publications as The Nation, Redbook, People, and USA Today and appeared on many newscasts including local television and Entertainment Tonight.

Heather loves travel and anything having to do with the water, and is a certified scuba diver. Married since high school graduation and the mother of five, her greatest love in life remains her family, but she also believes her career has been an incredible gift, and she is grateful every day to be doing something that she loves so very much for a living.

 

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