Stripped Bare by Heidi McLaughlin…Release Blitz

by Read-Love-Blog

Author: Heidi McLaughlin

Title: Stripped Bare

Release
Date:
March 28th 2017

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Number
of Pages:
eBook

Publisher: Love Swept

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What
readers are saying about STRIPPED BARE:

Stripped Bare is one of those stories that you
know is going to be great from the first page. It’s funny, extremely sexy,
emotional and heartbreaking which all combine for a sensational second-chance
romance read.

This is a modern day Pretty Woman but so much
better! Richard Gere has nothing on Finn McCormick!!

Oh wow. I have been in love with McLaughlin’s
writing since the start but this one could very much be my favorite book now by
her.

They don’t call it
the Strip for nothing. . . .

In this sinfully sexy Las Vegas
romance from bestselling author Heidi McLaughlin, a man who has it all reunites
with a woman who takes it all off.

Living in Sin City, Finn McCormick is
no stranger to one-night stands, but the last person he expects to find losing
big on the casino floor is a former high school fling. Even though Macey
Webster’s clearly down on her luck, she’s still a knockout, and she’s dressed
like a stripper—because she is one. Drunk off an unfamiliar cocktail
of lust, pity,

and compassion, Finn offers to pay
Macey’s debts if she cuddles up to him around town . . . and does whatever he
wants between the sheets.

Macey came to Vegas for one reason
only: money. She’s got a young daughter to support, and the tips
really are bigger in Vegas. But when she blows her earnings on
blackjack, her guardian angel is the rich boy who once stole her heart and
never called her back. Although Macey would love to turn the tables on Finn,
she can’t afford to refuse his proposition—and soon she’s enjoying herself much
more than she cares to admit. Macey’s used to baring her flesh, but baring her
soul will take far more courage.

Stripped Bare

Text Copyright © 2017
Heidi McLaughlin

Chapter 1

Macey

The stench of
deep fry emanates from my clothes. I hate the smell and I know the other girls
can smell it, but I ignore the looks they’re giving me and hustle through the
dressing room to my locker. The older women and the ones that have been
stripping here longer always look down on the younger girls and the newbies.
I’m somewhere in the middle. I stripped here when I was younger, during my
first trimester with my daughter, and then again after she was born when I had
my figure back. Actually, stripping helped me tone as a result of all the pole
work that I had to do. I took some time off after that, but I always come back
because the money is fast and somewhat decent. Each time I leave, though, I say
that it’s for good and that was the last time and yet a few months later, I
always find myself back again, knocking on Lew’s door, and asking for my spot
in the rotation back. Girls come and go around here and in this business you
can’t expect to make a lasting connection with anyone.

I strip down and throw my dress, apron and nylons into my bag as
quickly as possible before the stench of grease becomes any more noticeable. I
change into a thong and bootie shorts, add tassels to my nipples and cover them
with a bra before slipping a tank top over my head and stepping into an old
pair of cowboy boots that I picked up

at the secondhand store. I have an array of costumes meant to hit
the mark on every fantasy a man can have. Cowboys, librarian, naughty
schoolgirl . . . you name it I’m doing it. I need the money. More so now than
ever. My kid is getting older and she’s seeing things she shouldn’t, like her
grandmother being so drunk that she can’t get up to answer the door, or strange
men in the house. She’s ten and shouldn’t have to babysit an adult. Nor should
she

have to live in the slums, but that’s on me.

Seventeen and pregnant isn’t how I saw my life. I had had enough
of living with barely any food, no new clothes and the strange looks, so I
swore that I was getting out. I was smart, got good grades in high school, but
none of that mattered once I found out I was knocked up and the baby daddy had
already left town. I tried to tell his mother, but she took one look at me and
shut the door. Back then I didn’t, but I do now. I’d take that money and run
right across the tracks, under the bridge and through the fucking blueberry
bushes if it meant my kid wasn’t going to be a victim of a drug deal gone wrong
or end up with a drinking problem by the time she’s a teen.

Morgan though, she’s a good kid who loves to read and is a whiz at
math. She’s all I have in this world and I’ll do anything I have to, to make
sure she has food and clothes.

So I strip at night and wait tables during the day. Depending on
the day or night, one pays better than the other, but they’re jobs that I need.
I have a goal. I want to move Morgan and I into a better neighborhood. One
where kids want to play and not sell drugs. I want her to live in a place where
she feels safe and doesn’t need to hide in the closet of our bedroom because my
mother invited one of her friends over.

My dreams for Morgan are unreachable, I know this, but I try every
day to make them happen. I want such a different life for her that sometimes
when I look out the window of the city bus I’m on and I see other kids her age
walking along the street without a care in the world, I imagine her being one
of those kids. If only . . .

Stripped Bare is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

Heidi is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author.

Originally from Portland, Oregon and raised in the Pacific Northwest, she now
lives in picturesque Vermont, with

her husband and two daughters. Also renting space in their home
is an over-hyper Beagle/Jack Russell, Buttercup and a Highland Westie/Mini Schnauzer,
JiLL and her brother, Racicot.

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

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

Facebook: http://bit.ly/2lBW0pH

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Pinterest: http://bit.ly/2nxfy2q

Website: http://heidimclaughlin.com/about/

Contemporary Romance Excerpt Giveaway New Releases Release Day Event Romance

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Chapter Reveal….Tortured by Nicole Williams

by Courtney

Coming April 9th

Pre-order exclusively via iBooks HERE

When he left for a twelve-month deployment, she knew it would feel like forever before they saw each other again. She didn’t realize how right she was.

When Lance Corporal Brecken Connolly gets taken as a POW, Camryn hopes for the best but steels herself for the worst. In the end, steel was what she needed to survive when he didn’t. She moves on the only way she knows how—gilding herself in more steel.

Years go by.

She builds a new life.

She leaves the old one behind.

Until one day, she sees the face of a ghost on the news. Brecken seems to have risen from the dead, but she knows she can’t perform the same miracle for herself. While Brecken was held in a torture camp for the past five years, she’s been trapped in her own kind of prison. One she can’t be freed from.

The man she mourned comes back to join the living, but the girl he wanted to spend his life with isn’t the same woman he comes back for. Brecken isn’t the same person either. The past five years have changed them both. While he’s determined to put the pieces back together, she’s resolved to let hers rot where they shattered.

Broken or not, Brecken wants her back. He’ll do anything to achieve that. Even if it means going against the warden of Camryn’s personal prison—her husband.

PROLOGUE

Whenever he had to leave, it was torture. You’d think I’d get used to it, but I didn’t—each time got harder. This one might have felt especially brutal because of how long he’d be gone. A year. We’d done weeks, we’d done months, but we’d never done the full year.
Being with someone in the military, I knew I’d have to get used to it. The separation. The worry. The loneliness. The feeling that I was trying to catch my breath for however long he was gone.
It was a way of life. And he was my life. So I’d just have to figure it out.
“I’m never going to look at dog tags the same way again.” Brecken’s mouth turned up as his eyes roamed over me splayed across the backseat as he tucked in his T-shirt. He twisted his wrist, his gaze moving to his watch. A crease folded into his forehead. “But I’m going to need those back before I climb onto that bus. Something about military regulations. Not wandering around enemy territory without them. Those marines are sticklers for the rules.”
He was trying to make me feel better—trying to get me to smile—but little could lift my spirits other than finding out he didn’t have to leave for the Middle East for twelve long months.
“You don’t need them. Not really.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you only need them if you’re planning on dying, and so help me god, I’m not taking these off my neck if you have plans for some kind of a hero’s death.” My hand curled almost defensively around the metal tags hanging against my bare skin as I focused on the way the cool metal warmed in my hand. The way it seemed to come to life in my hold.
“I’m not planning on dying over there. I’m not going to die,” he corrected the moment my eyebrow started to lift. “But I do have plans of scoring some gnarly war wound so I have a story to tell our grandkids one day and can hang one of those Purple Hearts off my chest.”
I flattened my face as best as I could, even though it was kind of impossible with the way he was grinning at me as he wrestled his jeans back into place. “Not funny.”
“Come on. It’ll make me look tough.”
“You already look tough. Too tough,” I added as I scanned him for the millionth time since he’d arrived back in Medford for a week-long vacation before shipping out. Whenever I looked at him, I didn’t just see the good-looking guy others did—I saw every good memory from my past. I saw every good memory that would be formed in the future. Brecken had been a part of my life since I was eight, and he was as much a part of me as I was.
“Nah, I need one of those big, angry-looking scars running across my chest. Or one of those bullet hole scars on my thigh. Something real tough like that.”
“And why do you need your dog tags for that?” My fingers tightened around the thin metal ovals, refusing to let them go as if I hoped in doing so, he couldn’t go either.
“Blood transfusion. Medics are going to need to know my blood type when they’re trying to patch up my unconscious body.”
“Unconscious body?”
He nodded all solemn-like. “I can’t be one of those guys who earns his Purple Heart by getting a scratch on some barbed wire. I need to lose a quart or two of blood, maybe even code on the operating table. Something worthy of that medal.”
The thought of Brecken marching through a hostile country with a rifle in his hands, with god only knew what aimed his way, made me feel weak with worry. The thought of him fighting for his life in some marine medical tent about took whatever was left of my sanity.
I must not have been doing a good job hiding my emotions, because his face broke when he saw my eyes, his arms opening toward me. “It’s going to be okay, Camryn. I’m going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. The year will fly by, and before we know it, we’ll be getting married and buying a little house as close to the beach as we can afford. Okay?”
His arms wound around me, swallowing my body, and I let him tuck me close to him. I’d never known the feeling of being safe until Brecken Connolly’s arms had shown me the meaning.
My hand planted in the middle of his chest, feeling his heartbeat vibrate against my palm. “Why can’t we just get married now? Why can’t I join the marines and go with you, wherever that is, so we can be together?”
His laugh was muffled from his mouth being pressed against my temple. “Well, you can’t join the marines and my unit because the military’s under this impression that us marines of the male species become distracted and one-track minded when the women we love are marching beside us. They’re convinced the only things on our minds are protecting you, flirting with you, or screwing you.”
Quietly, I counted off on my fingers, “Protecting, flirting, screwing . . .” Then I nodded. “Damn, they sure have you pegged.”
Brecken’s fingers brushed up and down the bend of my waist. “And we can’t get married right now because you’ve got two more months of high school to finish before you earn that nifty diploma thing.” He kept going, undeterred by my grumble. “And I need to save some money to give you a proper ring and wedding. I’m not doing the courthouse thing with cheap silver bands. Not for you. You deserve the best.”
My head tucked beneath his chin as I let him hold me in the backseat of his aunt’s old Corsica. The only good thing I could say about the car—which was a coin toss if it would start any given day—was that it had a decent-sized backseat that Brecken and I had made more than ample use of. Growing up in a strict household with my dad as Brecken grew up in the packed household a few houses down, privacy had been in short supply for both of us. Thankfully, his aunt was willing to lend Brecken her car whenever she could, like today, when I’d just made love to the only boy I’d ever loved for the last time for the next year.
My fingers curled into his chest as I willed time to freeze. “I have the best.”
Brecken grunted like he doubted that, his head lifting to check out the windshield. We were parked way back in the bus depot lot. His bus would be leaving for the long drive back to Camp Pendleton in a few short minutes.
“Besides, you already got me a ring.” I raised my left hand in front of him, rolling my fingers so he could see the adjustable birthstone ring on my finger.
He shook his head. “I won that for you at an arcade when we were ten.”
“It cost you twelve hundred tickets too. You saved up all summer to get that many tickets.”
His fingers touched the ring, twisting it around with a small smile on his face. “And it probably has the street value of a nickel. Not exactly the kind of wedding ring I want my wife to have.”
I found myself staring at the ring with him. The gold paint had started chipping off the thin band years ago, but the small pink birthstone still sparkled when the light hit it just right. “Well, it’s priceless to me. I don’t care what the street value is. Or how many tickets it cost.”
“Even so, I’m getting you a nice ring. With all of the hazard pay I’ll earn this year, you’d better start working that left ring finger out so it can bear the weight of the diamond I’ll be dropping on it.”
I was glad he couldn’t see my face, because he hated knowing how worried I was about him. He said hazard pay like a sales rep mentioned a bonus, but I heard it for what it really was—the government giving you a little more money for the likelihood of losing your life increasing.
“One more year. That’s it. Then we’ll be able to be together like we’ve always planned. Away from here.” Brecken’s arms loosened around me. We didn’t have much longer. “Away from these people.”
An uneven exhale came from him, the muscles in his arms twitching. I knew who he was talking about without him going into detail. Neither of our lives had been charmed or particularly easy, but mine had been worse. Being raised by a single dad who was so strict he made a monk’s life seem carefree, I’d had an unusual upbringing. Brecken only knew what I let him know about it, which was barely half of the reality.
“I don’t like leaving you alone with him,” he said, his voice a note lower. “If things get hard again, just leave. Move in with my insane family or a hotel or anywhere. Don’t let him hurt you. Words or fists. He does it again”—Brecken’s hands curled into balls as his back stiffened—“I’ll kill him. I swear I will.”
“He won’t,” I said instantly, in my most convincing voice. “He’s working on all that. Not drinking as much.” I made sure to hold his stare to sell as much conviction as I was capable.
My dad wasn’t just a strict man. He was a sad one, a lonely one. After my mom left, he’d turned into someone else, almost like she’d taken everything that had been good about him and stuffed it in that small suitcase too. Since I was the only one around and bore a striking resemblance to my mom, I’d taken the brunt of my dad’s grief. In the form of cutting words and, occasionally, outstretched palms.
Brecken had been walking down the sidewalk one day when he saw my dad strike me across the cheek for attempting to leave the house in a skirt he described as “fitting for a whore.” Brecken had only been thirteen, but he’d taken my dad down, managing to land a few punches before I could pull him off.
My dad stopped hitting me after that. At least where anyone passing by could see.
Not that I needed to tell Brecken that now. Though I guessed it would get him to stay a while longer . . . if only to be charged with murder and thrown into prison for the next twenty to thirty years.
Suddenly, that year didn’t seem so bad.
“He won’t,” I reiterated, when Brecken continued to give me that penetrating stare, like he was capable of finding a lie if I was hiding one.
Both of his brows lifted. “He better not.”
“If anything happens, I’ll crash at your family’s place, I swear.”
Sitting up, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “With fourteen people sharing twelve hundred square feet of space, good luck finding a quiet spot to do your homework.” He pulled every bill out of his wallet. Even the last crumbled dollar. “Take this, hide it from your dad, and use it if you need to. That’s enough to get you a week or so at a hotel that isn’t a dump, and as soon as I get my next paycheck, I’ll send more.”
My head was shaking as I tried to stuff the money back into his wallet. He’d already closed it and was sliding it back into his pocket though. “I’ll be fine.”
Brecken’s gaze dropped to the money in my hand. “Yeah, I know.”
“Brecken.”
“Camryn,” he mimicked.
“I’m not taking the last dollar in your wallet.”
“Why not?” he asked, making a face. “I’d give you the shirt off my back, the air in my lungs, the last drop of blood in my veins. The last dollar’s a cakewalk compared to, you know, dying of suffocation or bleeding out.” He winked as he folded my fingers around the wad of money in my hand, then he leaned down to pull on his boots. He was moving quickly, glancing in the direction of the buses like he was making sure his wasn’t pulling away from the curb yet.
“Do you want to walk with me to the bus?” His focus stayed on cinching up his last boot as he waited for my answer.
He already knew it though. Good-byes weren’t my forte. Especially not the kind where I had to wave good-bye to the man I loved as he prepared to head into the middle of a war zone for the next year. Good-bye came with a whole different context when you said it to a marine.
“I know, Blue Bird. I know.” He sighed, his eyes narrowing at the weathered floorboards before he reached for the dog tags still hanging around my neck.
I didn’t make any move to lift my head or slide my hair aside to make it easier for him. As long as those tags were on my neck instead of his, he was safe. He was alive.
“I’m not going to die over there,” he whispered, pulling the tags over his head. They clinked together as they fell against his chest. “I’m coming back to you.”
My throat was burning from trying to keep myself from crying. “You can’t promise that.”
He reached for the blanket that had fallen on the floor and gently tucked it around my still-naked body. It was strange how I’d forgotten I was naked until he’d taken his tags off of me. Now though, I felt bare. Exposed. Vulnerable. My dress was somewhere around, even though I didn’t see it. We’d barely managed to make it to the parking lot before falling into the backseat together.
“Yes I can,” he said, his thumb tracing my collarbone before tucking the other corner around my shoulder. “Have I ever broken a promise to you?” He angled himself so he was in front of me, so I was forced to look him in the eyes.
“This is different. You can’t know for sure.”
“I’m going to enjoy watching you eat those words when I’m standing in front of that pretty face in twelve months, Blue Bird.”
I pulled the blanket tighter around me. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that when I’m mad at you.”
“You’re mad? At me?” He blinked. “Why?”
“You know why.” My eyes automatically moved toward the line of buses.
“To set the record straight, it’s the marine corps sending me to Iraq. Not me by personal choice.”
“No, but you made the personal choice to join the marine corps.”
“Yeah, because I didn’t want to spend the next twenty years pumping gas at the Qwik Mart.” His hand curled around the back of the front seat. “We’ve talked about this, Camryn. I’m not cut out for college, and I sure as shit am not going to spend my life working a minimum-wage part-time job and stuck in Medford. The marines is a chance at a real life. A career where I can be promoted and provide for a family and get a chance to kick a little ass every once in a while.” He leaned forward to kiss my forehead. Then my lips. “This is the ticket to that life we’ve been talking about for years. But it comes with a price.” His mouth covered mine again, this time a bit longer. “I’ll be okay. I’ll make it back.”
My eyes closed so I could focus on the taste of him left behind on my mouth. “You’re always the first to charge into anything. You don’t hang back. You don’t like the shadows. You like being the one who cast those shadows.”
When my eyes finally opened, I found his dark blue ones inches away from mine. His light hair, buzzed short so he was all ready for deployment, the few freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, the way his jaw tightened when he stared at me, those were the things I’d remember when I’d lay awake at night, wondering where he was. If he was safe. If he was thinking about me. As long as I held on to a part of him, he could never really leave me.
“I’m coming home to you,” he said like a solemn vow. “It might be in more than one piece, but I’m coming home to you.”
I tucked his tags inside his shirt. They’d become cold again. “A thousand pieces, I don’t care. Just come home.”
His smile was almost as forced as mine as he leaned in, pulling me into his arms one last time. He held me for a minute, one hand secured around my neck, the other around my back, rocking me against him. Then he kissed me one last time. “Gotta go, Blue Bird. The Middle East isn’t going to settle itself down.”
As he threw open the back door to go around to the trunk to grab his bag, I leaned across the seat. He was leaving. For what felt like forever. “Yeah, don’t think you’re single-handedly responsible for tackling that agenda either.”
Throwing the bag over his shoulder, he crouched beside me. This smile wasn’t contrived. It was real. Perfect. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Soon?”
His hand formed around my cheek as his thumb traced the seam of my lips. “Sounds better than see you in a year, right?” Tucking his thumb into his mouth, tasting my lips on it, he gave me a wicked smirk before shoving to a stand and starting toward the buses. “I’m coming back for you, Camryn Blue Gardner, so you’d better be waiting for me, or I’ll just have to come find you and remind you why you fell crazy in love with me.”
Tucking the blanket around myself, I slid out of the car, leaning over the open door. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be waiting.”
He’d started to jog backward. “Waiting as in a few days until some other guy makes his play?”
My eyes rolled as I gave him a look. Brecken and I’d been together since I was fifteen and he was seventeen. Even before that, we’d been inseparable, no one able to come between us.
I cupped my hand around my mouth. “Waiting as in forever.”
“I won’t keep you waiting that long. Just long enough.” He was shouting now, the rumbling buses muffling his voice.
“Long enough for what?” I yelled back.
Even with this much distance between us, I didn’t miss it. The look in his eyes. The tip of his smile. “For you to agree to marry me the moment I get back.”
The breeze played with my hair, sending it away from him, like forces out of our control were already pulling us apart. “I will!”
He paused just below the bus steps, his eyes consuming me from a hundred yards away. “It’s, I do, Blue Bird. I do.” He grinned and handed his bag off to the person stuffing them into one of the outside compartments. Then his hands cupped around his mouth, and he dropped his head back. “I do, too!”
His voice echoed across the parking lot, earning the attention of more than just me.
That was it. He climbed the stairs, turned the corner, and disappeared inside the bus. I wouldn’t see him for a year. I might not see him ever . . .
My jaw tensed as I put a stop to that train of thought. Wedding vows and rings were the last things on my mind as his bus lurched away from the curb.
“Just come back to me,” I whispered to no one. “Just come back.”

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

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

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Chapter reveal Contemporary Romance Excerpt Excerpt Reveal March 2017 Pre-Order Romance

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Beauty of the Beast by Rachel Demeter…Blog Tour & Review

by Courtney

Beauty of the Beast

by Rachel L. Demeter
Fairy Tale Retellings, #1
Publication Date: March 15, 2017
Genres: Historical Romance, Fairy Tale Retelling, Gothic Romance, Adult

? Buy ?

Amazon US
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? Book Blurb ?

Experience the world’s most enchanting and timeless love story—retold with a dark and realistic twist.

A BEAST LIVING IN THE SHADOW OF HIS PAST

Reclusive and severely scarred Prince Adam Delacroix has remained hidden inside a secluded, decrepit castle ever since he witnessed his family’s brutal massacre. Cloaked in shadow, with only the lamentations of past ghosts for company, he has abandoned all hope, allowing the world to believe he died on that tragic eve twenty-five years ago.

A BEAUTY IN PURSUIT OF A BETTER FUTURE

Caught in a fierce snowstorm, beautiful and strong-willed Isabelle Rose seeks shelter at a castle—unaware that its beastly and disfigured master is much more than he appears to be. When he imprisons her gravely ill and blind father, she bravely offers herself in his place.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Stripped of his emotional defenses, Adam’s humanity reawakens as he encounters a kindred soul in Isabelle. Together they will wade through darkness and discover beauty and passion in the most unlikely of places. But when a monster from Isabelle’s former life threatens their new love, Demrov’s forgotten prince must emerge from his shadows and face the world once more…

Perfect for fans of Beauty and the Beast and The Phantom of the Opera, Beauty of the Beast brings a familiar and well-loved fairy tale to life with a rich setting in the kingdom of Demrov and a captivating, Gothic voice.

Beauty of the Beast is the first standalone installment in a series of classic fairy tales reimagined with a dark and realistic twist.

Disclaimer: This is an edgy retelling of the classic fairy tale. Due to strong sexual content, profanity, and dark subject matter, including an instance of sexual assault committed by the villain, Beauty of the Beast is not intended for readers under the age of 18.

? Book Trailer ?

? EXCERPT ?

~ The East Tower ~

Arms sprang out from the darkness. They spun her full circle and slammed her body against the king’s portrait. Isabelle gasped, more in shock than from pain, as she stared into Adam’s deformed face. The lantern flickered behind his massive form, casting his cloaked body in silhouette. But she saw enough to know he was far from pleased. Rage and frustration radiated from his body like a palpable force.

“I warned you to stay out of here,” he said, his voice dangerously cold and deep. Those rugged vocals vibrated against her body and seeped into her marrow. “What part of forbidden didn’t you comprehend?” His voice lashed out from the darkness like a hurtled knife, and the word “forbidden” seemed to whisper another meaning altogether. Isabelle tried to answer but failed to find her voice. Indeed, her vocal cords had turned to solid ice, as numb and cold as the blood rushing through her veins. She couldn’t breathe; she felt like she was suffocating.

“My mother gave me that musical box on my fourth birthday,” he said, the sensual lull of his voice causing the fine hairs on her nape to stand erect. “And now your recklessness has destroyed it. Have you nothing to say?”

“I—I’m sorry.” He offered no reply; only the ragged sound of his breathing and the hammering blizzard broke the silence. “Please—I didn’t mean any harm.”

She struggled under the weight of Adam’s colossal body and battled to free herself. He merely gave a low chuckle and pressed her firmly against the portrait. He looked otherworldly at that moment, like an angel of death seeking vengeance. Both beautiful and monstrous, his cool, sapphire eyes overflowed with warring emotions. In spite of his harsh and ruthless exterior, she detected a quaver in his voice and saw that his large, cloaked shoulders trembled. The darkness in his soul cast a shadow that embraced her; as she peered up at him, she knew he was drowning in the turbulent waters of a past time.

“What a disappointment,” he went on, his voice growing deeper still, mocking her words from so many days ago, “You’re like any other woman.”

“I—I’m sorry. Please, Adam. I—” Her gaze shot past his body and over the wreckage of a past life. She thought of her private chamber again—of the stale perfumes and outdated garments.

Her flight or fight instinct seized hold of her. She attempted to scramble free, but he merely grabbed her shoulder and whirled her back against the portrait. Gloves wrapped his hands; his long, silk-clad fingers grasped her shoulder and kept her firmly in place.

He stood intimately close.

Far too close.

As close as Raphael had been that night.

“Going somewhere, ma belle? After you’ve worked so hard to find my East Tower?”

Hands like two steel bands held her wrists in place. Hot breaths, which faintly smelled of wine, seared her cheeks and assaulted her senses. Her breasts flattened against the pressure of his strong chest, and she felt that same chest swell and deflate in perfect sync with her own. One large hand slipped down her elbow and glided across her extended arm. The lush material of his gloves drew a shudder from her heaving chest. His breathing grew more ragged, shallower, and the erratic beat of his heart banged against her own.

Anger and desire warred on his face, twisting his features into a mess of both monster and man. “Find anything of interest, aside from my musical box? Come, come. You went through such great trouble to get here,” he asked, his voice now threaded with both anger and something else.

Yes, Isabelle recognized that something else. It was the same note that had entered Raphael’s voice that night…

She attempted to duck under his arm, but he moved swiftly, capturing her in the crook of his elbow. Reeling her toward him, he emitted a low, haunting chuckle that swelled the eastern tower to its rafters. She was back where she’d started—pinned against the portrait, Adam’s body serving as a flesh-and-blood blockade.

Hunger radiated from him, enfolding her in a current of sizzling power. His silk-clad hand grazed the curve of her breast as it moved down her body in a painfully slow caress. Even more alarming was her reaction to him. Her treacherous body responded with a crush of hot and cold pulsating waves. Then he whispered a taunt in her ear, and his liquid baritone slid down her backbone like honey; it swirled inside her, finding its home in her most intimate area.

He leaned closer still. His face’s uneven skin brushed against her neck, the black waves of his hair tickled her chin… His thick arousal expanded against her, reminding her of what he was capable of—and of her sheer vulnerability.

His lips teased the base of her throat. Cursing her traitorous body, Isabelle gasped at the gentle scraping of his teeth. His tongue and lips tormented her throbbing pulse—just barely, stirring her skin in a mere ghost of a touch.

? Meet the Author ?

Rachel L. Demeter lives in the beautiful hills of Anaheim, California with Teddy, her goofy lowland sheepdog, and her high school sweetheart of fourteen years. She enjoys writing poignant romances that challenge the reader’s emotions and explore the redeeming power of love.

Imagining dynamic worlds and characters has been Rachel’s passion for longer than she can remember. Before learning how to read or write, she would dictate stories while her mother would record them for her. She holds a special affinity for the tortured hero and unconventional romances. Whether crafting the protagonist or antagonist, she ensures every character is given a soul.

Rachel endeavors to defy conventions by blending elements of romance, suspense, and horror. Some themes her stories never stray too far from: forbidden romance, soul mates, the power of love to redeem, mend all wounds, and triumph over darkness.

Her dream is to move readers and leave an emotional impact through her words.

Don’t be a stranger! Rachel loves to connect and interact with her readers:

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Easy Magic by Kristen Proby…Excerpt Reveal

by Read-Love-Blog

From New York Times bestselling author Kristen Proby, comes the next sexy and captivating standalone title in the Boudreaux Series, EASY MAGIC. Take a trip to the Big Easy and fall in love with Beau and Mallory’s passionate story on April 4, 2017 in this upcoming contemporary romance. Check out the excerpt below and preorder your copy today!

The Boudreaux Series. Sexy. Intriguing. Easy.

Family. Responsibility. Stability.

As the co-CEO of Bayou Enterprises, and the eldest of the Boudreaux clan, Beau is the epitome of these. Now that his baby sister Gabby is happily settled down, Beau has moved into the company loft in the heart of the French Quarter to be closer to his office while his own home is built. He doesn’t have time for anything but the family he adores and the company that drives him.

If only the bewitching owner of the herb shop downstairs from Beau’s loft wasn’t so damn tempting.

Mallory Adams is living the life. The good life. The best life for her. After years of hiding who she is, and the gifts she’s been cursed with, Mallory opened her little shop in the French Quarter, offering herbs and lotions for anything from soothing a sunburn to chasing those pesky ghosts New Orleans is known for out of a client’s home. Some call her eccentric, and some say she’s simply odd, and that’s okay with her. She is a bit odd, but in her experience, all of the best people are.

When an old pipe bursts in the loft above her store, flooding her storeroom, Mallory comes face to face with Beau Boudreaux, and she doesn’t need the clairvoyant abilities that have been passed down through generations to know that she’ll never be the same. Beau is her exact opposite; serious, straitlaced. He wears suits for Pete’s sake and probably wouldn’t know the difference between arnica and flaxseed if his life depended on it. But when he touches her, the electricity is through the roof and she’s smart enough to know that a chemistry like theirs doesn’t happen every day.

Can two people so very different possibly find their way to happily ever after?

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2nuV6Pp
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iBooks: http://apple.co/2nuL9kU
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2n8uD9b

EXCERPT

I turn to look at him and he’s leaning against the door jamb, watching me with lust written all over his face.

I don’t have to be psychic to see it.

He wants me.

He slowly pushes away from the door and moves toward me, his shoulders broad in the white button down shirt, his arms hard where the shirt is rolled to his elbows. His jaw tightens as he gets closer, towering over me because he’s so damn tall, but I’m not afraid of him in the least.

He doesn’t say a word as he lifts his hand to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing under my eye. I wrap my hand around his wrist and lean into his touch, soaking up his warmth. God, I’ve missed being touched.

Being touch by Beau is like being touched for the first time in my life, and I never want him to stop.

He lowers his lips to mine, brushes them lightly, nibbles the corner, and then sinks in for the kiss of my life. He gently urges my mouth open, and licks my lips, and devours me. His hand dives into my hair, and the wall is suddenly at my back as he continues to explore me in ways I didn’t even know existed.

He braces his free hand on the wall above my head, and I fist my hands in his shirt at his sides, holding on for dear life.

Finally, he pulls back, breathing hard, his eyes bright and dilated.

And in the moment, I know. His touch is safe. I can trust it. Him. I’m not bombarded with someone else’s emotions, and I am free to simply feel my own while being intimate with him.

“So that’s what all the hoopla’s about.”

He smirks, and I realize I spoke aloud again, but I’m not embarrassed. Not in the least.

He takes a deep breath and drags his knuckles down my cheek.

“I want to keep you here all night,” he murmurs before kissing my forehead. “So I’d better take you home.”

I smile. He could talk me into staying. But he’s not. And I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make me like him even more.

And don’t forget to grab the first four books in The Boudreaux Series!

EASY LOVE

EASY CHARM

EASY MELODY

EASY KISSES

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Kristen Proby is the author of the bestselling With Me In Seattle and Love Under the Big Sky series. She has a passion for a good love story and strong, humorous characters with 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 lives in Montana, where she enjoys coffee, chocolate and sunshine. And naps.

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Liliana Hart’s MacKenzie Family Collection….Blog Tour Stop & Excerpt

by Jilly

One novel and four novellas promise to take readers back into New York Times bestselling author Liliana Hart’s MacKenzie Family with hot and steamy stories readers are sure to lose themselves in. Delve into the world you all know and love, and grab your copies today!

A Letter from Liliana Hart:

Dear Readers,

I’m thrilled to announce the MacKenzie Family World is returning! I asked four of my favorite authors to create their own characters and put them into the world you all know and love. These amazing authors revisited Surrender, Montana, and through their imagination you’ll get to meet new characters, while reuniting with some of your favorites.

These stories are hot, hot, hot and packed with action and adventure—exactly what you’d expect from a MacKenzie story. It was pure pleasure for me to read each and every one of them and see my world through someone else’s eyes. They definitely did the series justice, and I hope you discover four new authors to put on your auto-buy list.

Make sure you check out Spies and Stilettos, a brand new, full-length MacKenzie novel written by me. This will be the final installment of the MacKenzie series, featuring Brady Scott and Elena Nayal. After eighteen books of my own and nine books written by other bestselling authors in the MacKenzie World, it’s going to be difficult to say goodbye to a family I know as well as my own. Thank you for falling in love with the MacKenzies.

So grab a glass of wine, pour a bubble bath, and prepare to Surrender.

Love Always,

Liliana Hart

Excerpt from NEVER SURRENDER:

Candace’s eyes flew open in the darkness when the mattress shifted and a warm, naked body pressed to hers. Her heart rate shot up as she rolled away, then a low, masculine chuckle penetrated the roaring of blood in her ears, an instant before that distinctive, spicy scent registered.

Ryan. As the wave of alarm receded, relief and joy took its place.

“Hi,” he whispered, sliding one arm around her to draw her close.

Excitement punched through her. She rolled into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and smiling against his mouth as he kissed her. “Hi. Am I dreaming?” She cuddled in closer and held on tight, squeezing her eyes shut. He was here, safe and sound, and this one embrace soothed all the emotional bruises she’d been feeling.

“Nope. Want me to prove it?”

“Mm-hmm.” God, he felt good. No surprise, he was already fully erect and hot against her abdomen. Arousal stirred, warming her from the inside out.

He brought his mouth down on hers and the kiss changed from slow and lazy to hungry in a single heartbeat. It felt like a year since she’d last held him this way, rather than months. He tasted like toothpaste and felt like heaven.

When he raised his head a minute later, she was breathing faster and her entire body tingled, crying out for more. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” she whispered, running a finger down the side of his cheek, over the short, neatly-trimmed beard.

Her handsome, proud warrior. In the last picture she’d seen of him a few days ago, the beard had been wild and bushy after spending almost two weeks out in the mountains.

“Things settled down a lot so I managed to get leave a few days early. Found a flight that got me in an hour ago and drove straight here to surprise you.” He leaned back slightly, his grin flashing white in the soft moonlight coming through the blinds that covered the window above the headboard. “So are you surprised?”

Her heart squeezed. “Yes, I’m so glad you’re here.” She had been tired when she’d gone to bed, but not so tired she should have missed the sound of the door opening or him coming into the room. He did have crazy stealth powers, however.

He huffed out a laugh and bent to find her mouth with his once more. “Missed you, Ace.”

MacKenzie Family 2017 – Review & Excerpt Tour Schedule:

March 20^th

Ashley Book Blog – Review & Excerpt

bad boys and bedtime stories book blog – Review

K.T. Castle – Review & Excerpt

Lucky 13 book reviews and news – Excerpt

SBB Reviews – Excerpt

The Silver Dagger Scriptorium – Excerpt

March 21^st

Book Corner Divas – Review & Excerpt

KatyaRath – Excerpt

Naughty Book Eden – Excerpt

Read-Love-Blog – Excerpt

Shahla’s bookcorner – Review

Sweet Red Reads – Review & Excerpt

March 22^nd

Book Angel Booktopia – Review

Bookaliciousbabes Blog – Review & Excerpt

Girls With Books – Review & Excerpt

Kick Back & Review – Review & Excerpt

Novel Addiction – Review

Reviews from the Heart – Review

March 23^rd

Bobo’s Book Bank – Review & Excerpt

Books According to Abby – Excerpt

Kimberly’s Hot Reads – Review & Excerpt

Reading Between the Wines Book Club – Excerpt

Unstuck Pages – Review & Excerpt

Straight Shootin’ Book Reviews – Excerpt

March 24^th

Brittany’s Book Blog – Excerpt

Desperately Seeking HEA’s Book Blog – Excerpt

Fictional Rendezvous Book – Excerpt

Knotty Girl Reviews – Review

Nerdy Dirty & Flirty – Review & Excerpt

Oh My Growing TBR – Review & Excerpt

Experience the MacKenzie Family Series Here…

Liliana Hart’s SPIES & STILETTOS (A MacKenzie Family Novel)

New York Times bestselling author Liliana Hart returns to her bestselling MacKenzie family with her trademark of “Passionate Romantic Suspense & Spine-Tingling Mystery” in SPIES & STILETTOS…

Elena Nayal has worked for MacKenzie Security for years. Quiet and unassuming, she stays in the shadows of the world’s most elite clandestine agency. But she’s trained relentlessly after hours, and her only thought is to be strong enough to track down and kill every last one of the men who brutally attacked her.

Lieutenant Brady Scott is no stranger to special ops. He commands the greatest SEAL team in the history of America. But fighting for the woman he loves turns out to be the most difficult mission he’s ever been on. He must decide whether to let her walk into a suicide mission on her own, or ignore every rule he’s sworn to follow.

Amazon ** Barnes and Noble ** Kobo ** iBooks ** GooglePlay

Kaylea Cross’s NEVER SURRENDER (A MacKenzie Family Novella)

New York Times bestselling author Kaylea Cross dives into Liliana Hart’s MacKenzie family with NEVER SURRENDER…

As the Bagram crew assembles at a guest ranch in Montana to celebrate the wedding of two of its own, everyone expects a fun week-long vacation enjoying some much-needed downtime together. But in the picturesque foothills bordering the ranch, a hidden danger lurks.

When the guys stumble upon evidence of a domestic terrorist cell during the bachelor party, it puts everyone directly in the crosshairs of a lethal enemy determined to remain unseen, unleashing a wave of danger every bit as deadly as what they faced back overseas. Then a shocking revelation from the past comes to light, and it may be the key to winning the fight. Now they must come together as a team to eliminate the threat, before they wind up gathered for a funeral instead of a wedding.

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Jay Crownover’s AVENGED (A MacKenzie Family Novella)

New York Times bestselling author Jay Crownover brings heat and heart to Liliana Hart’s MacKenzie family with AVENGED…

Girl meets boy…

On the worst night of her life when she’s decided to take a drastic step that there is no going back from.

Girl is used to sitting by, letting fate deal cruel hand after cruel hand to good people with soft hearts and she’s had enough.

Girl thinks it’s time to fight back against fate and against men who aren’t careful with all the precious things a woman in love has to give him.

Fate shows girl who’s boss and turns her world and plans upside down without breaking a sweat.

Boy meets girl…

On the best night of his life when he’s decided that he’s going to make moves to be the man he was always meant to be instead of the man he was trained and conditioned to be.

Boy is used to a solitary life, quiet in the woods and knowing the only thing that might be looking for him is trouble and trouble is no longer his stock in trade.

Boy thinks it’s time to show trouble who’s boss, even if this trouble has big blue eyes and a body made to make men stupid. Trouble only gets the upper hand if the boy falls prey to its temptation.

Trouble turns the boy’s quiet, serene life sideways without any effort.

Trouble is fun and fate has a wicked sense of humor when it comes to this boy meeting this girl.

Amazon ** Barnes and Noble ** Kobo ** iBooks ** GooglePlay

Lynn Raye Harris’s HOT WITNESS (A MacKenzie Family Novella)

New York Times bestselling author Lynn Raye Harris adds her unique twist to Liliana Hart’s MacKenzie family with HOT WITNESS…

The MacKenzies partner with the Hostile Operations Team to protect a woman who witnessed a crime from a notorious mobster.

Amazon ** Barnes and Noble ** Kobo ** iBooks ** GooglePlay

Gennita Low’s WICKED HOT (A MacKenzie Family Novella)

New York Times bestselling author Gennita Low adds international intrigue and suspense to Liliana Hart’s MacKenzie family with WICKED HOT…

A US operative/businessman had been kidnapped in Indonesia. He has a vital piece of information that would get the US government in trouble. But Indonesia is a country with with over 17000 islands, with plenty of jungles in which to hide.

Off-the book NSA fixer, Kirk Ryan, approaches his cousin, Archer, who works at the MacKenzie Securities for help with tracing a phone call. He also needs a translator familiar with Indonesian. Not a problem. MacKenzie Securities’ troubleshooter, Jade, has plenty of connections. In fact, there is a translator she knows who is in Indonesia right now.

Surya, GEM contract agent, really doesn’t want to do anything but lie on the heated beaches of Indonesia and just enjoy her first holiday in years. But she owes Jade Jax a favor and her friend’s calling it in. And the favor comes in a six-foot-two package of irresistible and wicked male. It’s just a translation job. She would help and maybe get to know the man for a day or two. What could go wrong?

Amazon ** Barnes and Noble ** Kobo ** iBooks ** GooglePlay

About the MacKenzie Family Series Authors:

Liliana Hart:

Liliana Hart is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author in both the mystery and romance genres. After starting her first novel her freshman year of college, she immediately became addicted to writing and knew she’d found what she was meant to do with her life. She has no idea why she majored in music.

Liliana is an avid reader and a believer in all things romance. Her books are filled with witty dialogue, steamy sex, and the all-important happily-ever-afters her romantic soul craves. Since self-publishing in June of 2011, she’s sold more than 1.2 million ebooks all over the world.

Visit Liliana Hart’s website.

Kaylea Cross:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Kaylea Cross writes edge-of-your-seat military romantic suspense. Her work has won many awards and has been nominated for both the Daphne du Maurier and the National Readers’ Choice Awards. A Registered Massage Therapist by trade, Kaylea is also an avid gardener, artist, Civil War buff, Special Ops aficionado, belly dance enthusiast and former nationally-carded softball pitcher. She lives in Vancouver, BC with her husband and family.

Visit Kaylea Cross’ website.

Jay Crownover:

Jay Crownover is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Marked Men and Welcome to the Point series. Like her characters, she is a big fan of tattoos. She loves music and wishes she could be a rock star, but since she has no aptitude for singing or instrument playing, she’ll settle for writing stories with interesting characters that make the reader feel something. She lives in Colorado with her three dogs.

Visit Jay Crownover’s website.

Lynn Raye Harris:

Lynn Raye Harris is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the HOSTILE OPERATIONS TEAM SERIES of military romances as well as 20 books for Harlequin Presents. A former finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award and the National Readers Choice Award, Lynn lives in Alabama with her handsome former-military husband, two crazy cats, and one spoiled American Saddlebred horse. Lynn’s books have been called “exceptional and emotional,” “intense,” and “sizzling.” Lynn’s books have sold over 3 million copies worldwide.

Visit Lynn Raye Harris’ website.

Gennita Low:

New York Times bestselling author Gennita Low writes sexy military and techno spy-fi romance. She also co-owns a roof construction business and knows 600 ways to kill with roofing tools as well as yell at her workers in five languages. A three-time Golden Heart finalist, her first book, Into Danger, about a SEAL out-of-water, won the Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award for Best Romantic Intrigue. Besides her love for SEALs, she works with an Airborne Ranger who taught her all about mental toughness and physical endurance. Gennita lives in Florida with her mutant poms and one chubby squirrel.

Visit Gennita Low’s website.

Excerpt March 2017

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Cover Reveal…Ends Here by M. Robinson

by Courtney

COVER REVEAL / SALE / GIVEAWAY

ENDS HERE (Road to Nowhere Book 2)

RELEASE DATE: APRIL 4TH

COVER MODEL MARSHALL PERRIN

COVER DESIGN THE FINAL WRAP

COVER PHOTOGRAPHY WANDER

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

And all that fucking shit.

I had killed.

I had sacrificed.

The innocent and the corrupt. I knew blood and I knew
violence.

Never imagining I could know love too.

Mia Ryder was a woman to love. To cherish. To fucking claim.
Now, forever, and every day in between.

If there was anyone I’d go to Hell and back for, it was her.

Even if meant, going to war with…

My fucking brother.

“Don’t fuck with me, Noah. I gotta enough fuckin’ bullshit
to deal with. Don’t need your shit, too.”

“Tell me, Creed… she’s yours right?” he questioned, narrowing his eyes at me. “Then what’s her favorite color?”

I jerked back like he had hit me. Knowing exactly where he was going with this.

“Time’s up. It’s pink. How about her middle name? Don’t remember?” he mocked, cocking his head to the side. “They wanted to name her
Savannah after her grandmother who died of cancer. She never even got to meet her. But instead it’s Alexandra, after her momma. Why don’t you tell me her favorite thing to eat? Or drink? Favorite book? Or movie? How about you tell me
anythin’ that doesn’t include what she sounds like when she’s fuckin’ gettin’ off?”

“You little shit! Congrats, Noah, on knowin’ some trivial bullshit. I know what shes’s feelin’ by just lookin’ at her. I know what she’s thinkin’ without her sayin’ one goddamn word to me. And fuck yeah, I know how she likes to be touched, kissed, fucked and I’d rather be the man who knows all that, plus how to fuckin’ get her off,” I snarled, stepping up to him again. He
didn’t cower, if anything he stood taller. “Who the fuck you think you are, Noah?”

“The right man for her, that’s who.”

“Is that right? So what, you tellin’ me you love her? You love Mia?”

There was no hesitation with his response, when he clearly
replied with, “Yeah, Creed. I fuckin’ do.”

“Don’t start a war you can’t fuckin’ win, baby brother.”

“Consider this my breach.”

I nodded slowly, backing away. Taking everything in while
battling the urge to lay him the fuck out.

The lines were drawn now. Each of us on the opposite side for the first time in all our lives but if there was anyone I would go to hell and back for it was Mia Ryder. Even if it meant going to war with…

My fucking brother.

Pre-Order Ends Here for the sale price of $2.99! Will be $3.99 when it releases April 4th!

Amazon / Nook / Kobo / I-Tunes

HAVEN’T READ BOOK ONE?! NOW IS THE TIME! AVAILABLE ON ALL PLATFORMS FOR #99CENTS

ROAD TO NOWHERE IS ON SALE FOR $.99 FOR ONE WEEK ONLY

AMAZON / NOOK / KOBO / I-TUNES

USA Today Bestselling Author of Keeping Her Wet, Road to Nowhere, EL Diablo, The
Good Ol’ Boys Standalone Series, The VIP Trilogy, Tempting Bad, and Two Sides.

M. Robinson loves to read. She favors anything that has
angst, romance, triangles, cheating, love, and of course sex! She has been
reading since the Babysitters Club and R.L. Stein.

She was born in New Jersey but was raised in Tampa Fl.

She is married to an amazing man who she loves to pieces.
They have two German Shepherd mixes and a Wheaten and a Tabby cat.

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Surprise Announcement from Lisa Renee Jones

by Courtney

Provocative (White Lies Book One) by Lisa Renee Jones
Release Date: April 18th
Genre: Contemporary Romance

A Note from the author:

Hi everyone!

I am BEYOND excited to introduce my WHITE LIES DUET! This is a sexy, intense, psychological thriller, that is provocative in every way, thus why I named book one: PROVOCATIVE. And since this series takes me back to my indie roots, the pricing is lower than my New York titles, and the release dates are close together.

Here are the details on the series:

PROVOCATIVE, book one, will be out on April 18, 2017 and priced at $2.99 – includes the free novella REBECCA’S FORGOTTEN JOURNALS for those readers who purchase during release week or pre-order where pre-order is available.
SHAMELESS, book two, will be out on July 11, 2017 and priced at $3.99
BOTH books will be full-length!
I’m also giving away prizes on my blog every day in April to celebrate! Entry is super easy. Just comment! The link to my blog is HERE so be sure to subscribe!

And now, without further ado, the covers for the duet, blurb for book one, and CHAPTER ONE of PROVOCATIVE! I can’t wait for you to meet the dirty talking alpha, Nick “Tiger” Rogers. I hope you enjoy him as much as I enjoyed writing him!

ABOUT THE BOOK

Book one in the sexy and intense new White Lies duet by Lisa Renee Jones!

There are those moments in life that are provocative in their very existences, that embed in our minds forever, and sometimes our very souls. They change us, mold us, maybe even save us. But some are darker, dangerous. If we allow them to, they control us. Seduce us. Quite possibly even destroy us.

The moment I walked into Sonoma’s Reid Winter Winery and Vineyard and made eye contact with Faith Winter for the first time was one of those moments. Provocative because I know at least one of her secrets, of which, I suspect she has many. Provocative because she believes I was a stranger to her when we met, but I am not. Provocative because I sought her out, with no intention of touching her. But now I have. Now I want her. Now I have to have her. But that changes nothing. It doesn’t change why I came for her.

Pre-Order PROVOCATIVE Today!

Special $2.99 pre-order price – will increase after release!

Amazon alert: http://bit.ly/ProvocativeAmazonAlert

B&N: http://bit.ly/ProvocativeBN

iBooks: http://bit.ly/ProvocativeiBooks

Kobo: http://bit.ly/ProvocativeKobo

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34602810-provocative

Read Chapter One Now:

pro·voc·a·tive

adjective

causing annoyance, anger, or another strong reaction, especially deliberately.
arousing sexual desire or interest, especially deliberately.

Chapter One

There are those moments in life that are provocative in their very existences, that embed in our minds forever, and sometimes our very souls. They change us, mold us, maybe even save us. But some are darker, dangerous. If we allow them to, they control us. Seduce us. Quite possibly even destroy us.

The moment I stepped into the mansion that is the centerpiece of the Reid Winter Vineyards and Winery wasn’t one of those moments. Nor were any of the moments I spent weaving through a crowd of suits and dresses cluttering the circle that is the grand foyer of the 1800’s mansion, fancy tiles etched with vines beneath my feet. Nor the ones spent declining three different waiters offering me glasses of various wines from one of the most established vineyards in Sonoma, meant to entice me to buy their bottles and donate money to the charity hosting the gathering. Not even the instant that I spotted the stunning blonde in a snug black dress that hugged her many lush curves proved to be one of those moments, but I would call it a damn interesting one. The moment I decided the blonde silk of her long hair belonged in my hands and on my stomach was also a damn interesting one. And not because she’s fuckable. There are plenty of fuckable women in my life, a number of whom understand that I enjoy demands for pleasure, which I will definitely provide, and nothing more. This woman is too prim and proper to ever agree to such an arrangement, and yet, knowing this, as she and her heart-shaped backside disappear into the congestion of bodies, I find myself pursuing her, looking for more than an interesting moment. I want that provocative one.

I follow her path formed by huddles of two, three, or more people, left and right, to clear a portion of the crowd, scanning to find my beauty standing several feet away, her back to me, with two men in blue suits in front of her. And while they might appear to blend with the rest of the suits in the room, they hold themselves like the parasites I meet too often in the courtroom, those who most often call themselves my opposing counsel. My blonde beauty folds her arms in front of her chest, her spine stiff, and if I read her right–and I read most people right–I am certain that she’s found trouble. But lucky for her, trouble doesn’t like me near as much as I like it.

Closing the space between me and them, I near their little triangle just in time to hear her say, “Are we really doing this here and now?”

“Yes, Ms. Winter,” one of the men replies. “We are.”

“Actually,” I say, stepping to Ms. Winter’s side, her floral scent almost as sweet as the challenge of conquering her opponents that are now mine, “we are not doing this here or now.”

All attention shifts to me, Ms. Winter giving me a sharp stare that I feel rather than see, my focus remaining on the men I want to leave, not the woman I want to make come. “And you would be who?” the suit directly in front of me demands.

I size him up as barely out of his twenty-something diapers, without experience, the glint in his eye telling me he doesn’t realize that flaw, which makes him about as smooth as a six-dollar glass of wine everyone in this place would spit the fuck out. A point driven home by the fact that he’s wearing a three hundred-dollar Italian silk tie, and a hundred-dollar suit, no doubt hoping the tie makes the suit look expensive, and him important. He’s wrong.

“I said, who are you?” he repeats when I apparently haven’t replied quickly enough, his impatience becoming my virtue as my role as cat in this game of cat and mouse is too easily established.

Unwilling to waste words on a predictable, expected question that I’d never ask, I simply reach into the pocket of my three-thousand-dollar light gray suit, which I earned by beating opponents with ten times his experience and negotiation skills, and finger the unimportant prick my card.

He snaps it from my hand, gives it a look that confirms my name and the firm I started a decade ago now, after daring to leave behind a certain partnership in a high-powered firm. “Nick Rogers?” he asks. “Is there another name on the card?” I ask, because, I’m also a fearless smartass every chance I get.

He stares at me for several beats, seeming to calculate his words, before asking, “How many Mr. Rogers sweater jokes do you get?”

I arch a brow at the misguided joke that only serves to poke the Tiger. Suit Number Two, who I age closer to my thirty-six years, pales visibly, then snatches the card from the other man’s hand, giving it a quick inspection before his gaze then jerks to mine. “The Nick Rogers?”

“I don’t remember my mother putting the word ‘the’ in front of my name,” I reply dryly, but then again, I think, she didn’t ask my father, to change my last name either. She just hated him that much.

“Tiger,” he says, and it’s not a question, but rather a statement of “oh shit” fact.

“That’s right,” I say, enjoying the fruits of my labor that created the nickname, not one given to me by my friends.

“Who, or what, the fuck is Tiger all about?” Suit Number One asks.

“Shut up,” Suit Number Two grunts, refocusing on me to ask, “You’re representing Ms. Winter?”

“What I am,” I say, “is standing right here by her side, telling you that it’s in your best interests to leave.”

“Since when do you handle small-time foreclosures?” he demands, exposing the crux of Ms. Winter’s situation.

“I handle whatever the fuck I want to handle,” I say, my tone even, my lips curving as I add, “Including the process of having you both escorted off the property by security.”

“That,” Suit Number One dares to retort, “would garner Ms. Winter unwanted attention in the middle of a busy event. Not that Ms. Winter even has security to call.”

“Fortunately, I have a phone that dials 911 and the ability to call it without asking her.”

“If she’s your client,” Suit Number One says, clearly inferring that she’s not, “you’re obligated to operate with her best interests in mind.”

“My decisions,” I reply, without missing a beat, and without claiming Ms. Winter as a client, “are always about winning. And I assure you that I can think of many ways to spin your story to the press that ensures I win, while also benefiting Ms. Winter.”

“This isn’t my story,” Suit Number One indicates.

“It will be when I’m finished with the press,” I assure him, amused at how easily I’ve led him down the path I want him to travel.

“This is a small community with little to talk about but her,” he says. “She doesn’t want her foreclosure to become the front page story.”

My lips quirk. “If you don’t know how easily I can get the wrong attention for you here, and the right attention for Ms. Winter, you’ll find out.”

“We’ll leave,” Suite Number Two interjects quickly, and just when I think that he’s smart enough to see the way trouble has turned from Ms. Winter to them, he looks at her and says, “We’ll be in touch,” with a not so subtle threat in his tone, before he elbows Suit Number One. “Let’s go.”

Suit Number One doesn’t move, visibly fuming, his face red, that white ring thickening around his lips. I arch a brow at Suit Number Two, who adds, “Now, Jordan.” Jordan, formerly known as Suit Number One, clenches his teeth and turns away, while Suit Two follows.

Ms. Winter faces me, and holy fuck, when her pale green eyes meet mine, any questions I have about this woman and the many I suspect she now has of me, are muted by an unexpected, potentially problematic, palpable electric charge between us. “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft, feminine, a rasp in its depths that hints at emotion not effortlessly contained. “Please enjoy anything you like tonight on the house,” she adds, the rasp gone now, her control returned. Until I take it, I think, but no sooner than I’ve had the thought, she is turning and walking away, the absence of further interaction coloring me both stunned and intrigued, two things that, for me, are ranked with about as much frequency as snow in Sonoma, which would be next to never.

Ms. Winter maneuvers into the crowd, out of my line of sight, and while I am not certain I’d label her a mouse at this point, or ever for that matter, considering what I know of her, I am most definitely on the prowl. I stride purposely forward, weaving through the crowd, seeking that next provocative moment, scanning for her left, right, in the clusters of mingling guests, until I clear the crowd.

Now standing in front of a wide, wooden stairwell, my gaze follows its path upward to a second level, but I still find no sign of Ms. Winter. A cool breeze whips through the air, and I turn to find the source is a high arched doorway, the recently opened glass doors to what I know to be the “Winter Gardens,” a focal point of the property, and a tourist draw for decades, settling back into place. Certain this represents her escape, I walk that direction, and press open the doors, stepping onto a patio that has a stone floor and concrete benches framed by rose bushes. No less than four winding paths greet me as destination choices, the hunt for this woman now a provocation of its own.

I’ve just decided to wait where I am for Ms. Winter’s return when the wind lifts, the floral scent of many varieties of flowers for which the garden is famous touching my nostrils, with one extra scent decidedly of the female variety.

Lips curving with the certainty that my prey will soon to be my prize, I follow the clue that guides my feet to the path on my right, a narrow, winding, lighted walkway, framed by neatly cut yellow flower bushes, which continues past a white wooden gazebo I have no intention of passing. Not when Ms. Winter stands inside it, her back to me, elbows resting on the wooden rail, her gaze casting across the silhouette of what would reveal itself to be a rolling mountainside in daybreak. The way I intend for her to reveal herself.

I close the distance between us, and the moment before I’m upon her, she faces me, hands on the railing behind her, her breasts thrust forward, every one of her lush curves tempting my eyes, my hands. My mouth. “Did those men know you?” she demands, clearly ready and waiting for this interaction. “Did you know them?”

“No and no.”

“And yet they knew the nickname Tiger.”

“My reputation precedes me.”

“I’ll take the bait,” she says. “What reputation?”

“They say I’ll rip my opponent’s throat out if given the chance.”

“Will you?” she asks, without so much as a blanch or blink.

“Yes,” I reply, a simple answer, for a simple question.

“Without any concern for who you hurt,” she states.

I arch a brow. “Is that a question?”

“Should it be?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not,” she says. “You didn’t get that nickname by being nice.”

“Nice guys don’t win.”

“Then I’m warned,” she says. “You aren’t a nice guy.”

“Is nice a quality you’re looking for in a man? Because as your evening counsel, Ms. Winter, I’ll advise you that nice is overrated.”

She stares at me for several beats before turning away to face the mountains again, elbows on the railing, in what I could see as a silent invitation to leave. I choose to see it as an invitation to join her. I claim the spot next to her, close, but not nearly as close as I will be soon. “You didn’t answer the question,” I point out.

“You wrongly assume I am looking for a man, which I’m not,” she says, glancing over at me. “But if I was, then no. Nice would be on my list but it would not top my list, however, nowhere on that list would be the ability, and willingness, to rip out someone’s throat.”

“I can assure you, Ms. Winter, that a man with a bite is as underrated as a nice guy is overrated. And I not only know how, and when, to use mine, but if I so choose to biteyou, and I might, it’ll be all about pleasure, not pain.”

Her cheeks flush and she turns away. “My name is Faith.” She glances over at me again. “Should I call you Nick, Tiger, or just plain arrogant?”

“Anything but Mr. Rogers,” I say, enjoying our banter far more than I would have expected when I came here tonight looking for her.

She laughs now too, and it’s a delicate, sweet sound, but it’s awkward, as if it’s not only unexpected, but unwelcome, and an instant later she’s withdrawing, pushing off the railing, arms folding protectively in front of her body, before we’re rotating to face each other. “I need to go check on the visitors.” She attempts to move away.

I gently catch her arm, her gaze rocketing to mine, and in the process her hair flutters in a sudden breeze, a strand of blonde silk catching on the whiskers of my one-day stubble. She sucks in a breath, and when she would reach up to remedy the situation, I’m already there, catching the soft silk and stroking it behind her ear.

“Why are you touching me?” she asks, but she doesn’t pull away, that charge between us minutes ago now ten times more provocative with me touching her, thinking about all the places I might touch next.

“It’s considerably better than not touching you,” I say.

“My bad luck might bleed into you.”

“Bleed,” I repeat, that word reminding me once again of why I’m here, why I really want to fuck this woman. “That’s an extreme, and rather interesting choice of words.”

“Most bad luck is extreme, though not interesting to anyone but the Tigers of the world, creating it. You’re still touching me.”

“Everyone needs a Tiger in their corner. Maybe my good luck will bleed into you.”

“Does good luck bleed?” she asks.

“Many people will do anything for good luck, even bleed.”

“Yes,” she says, lowering her lashes, but not before I’ve seen the shadows in her eyes. “I suppose they would.”

“What would you do for good luck?”

Her lashes lift, her stare meeting mine again. “What have you done for good luck?”

“I came here tonight,” I say.

She narrows her eyes on me, as if some part of her senses, the far-reaching implications of my reply that she can’t possibly understand, and yet still, the inescapable heat between us radiates and burns. “You’re still touching me,” she points out, and this time there’s a hint of reprimand.

“Holding onto that luck,” I say.

“It feels like you’re holding onto mine.”

With that observation that hits too close to the truth, I have no interest in revealing just yet, I drag my hand slowly down hers, allowing my fingers to find hers before they fall away. Her lips, lush, tempting, impossibly perfect for someone I know to be imperfect, part with the loss of my touch, and yet there is a hint of relief in her eyes that tells me she both wants me and fears me.

A most provocative moment, indeed.

“Have a drink with me,” I say.

“No,” she replies, her tone absolute, and while I don’t like this decision, I appreciate a person who’s decisive.

“Why?”

“Good luck and bad luck don’t mix.”

“They might just create good luck.”

“Or bad,” she says. “I’m not in a place where I can take the risk for more bad luck.” She inclines her chin. “Enjoy the rest of your visit.” She pauses and adds, “Tiger.”

I don’t react, but for just a moment, I consider the way she used my nickname as an indicator that she knows who I am, and why I’m here. I quickly dismiss that idea. I’d have seen it in those pale green eyes, and I did not. But as she turns and walks away, and I watch her depart, tracking her steps as she disappears down the path, I wonder at her quick departure, and the fear I’d seen in her eyes. Was the root of that fear her guilt?

That idea should be enough to ice the fire in me that this woman has stirred, but it stokes it instead. Everything male in me wants to pursue her again, and not because I’m here for a reason that existed before I ever met her, when it should be that and nothing more. It is more. I’m aroused and I’m intrigued by this woman. She got to me when no one gets to me. Not a good place to be, considering I came here to prove she killed my father, and maybe even her own mother.

Book two: SHAMELESS will be out on July 11th!

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About the Author:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT series. Suzanne Todd (producer of Alice in Wonderland) on the INSIDE OUT series: Lisa has created a beautiful, complicated, and sensual world that is filled with intrigue and suspense. Sara’s character is strong, flawed, complex, and sexy – a modern girl we all can identify with.

In addition to the success of Lisa’s INSIDE OUT series, Lisa has published many successful titles. The TALL, DARK AND DEADLY series and THE SECRET LIFE OF AMY BENSEN series, both spent several months on a combination of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling lists. Lisa is presently working on a dark, edgy new series, Dirty Money, for St. Martin’s Press.

Prior to publishing Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by the Dallas Women’s Magazine. In 1998 Lisa was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.

Lisa loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at www.lisareneejones.com and she is active on Twitter and Facebook daily.

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Blurb Reveal Cover Reveal Excerpt March 2017 Psychological Thriller Romance Romantic Suspense Surprise Suspense Thrillers

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Endurance by Amy Daws…..Release Blitz

by Courtney

He rejected her. She loathes him. Now they have to fool everyone and pretend they actually like each other.

Endurance is NOW LIVE & Free on Kindle Unlimited!

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Full Blurb

He rejected her. She loathes him. Now they have to fool everyone and pretend they actually like each other.

Tanner Harris has been busy shagging his way through the ladies of east London, but getting caught by the paparazzi buck-naked with his trouser snake in his hands means he’s sowed his last wild oat.

Dr. Belle Ryan once thought Tanner Harris was the perfect kind of bearded bad boy she needed to relieve a bit of stress after her intense job as a surgical fellow, but an icy cold rejection from London’s sluttiest footballer puts the two at each other’s throats.

Fate and a favour conspire to put Tanner and Belle back in each other’s paths and they’re forced to do a lot more than get along to save face and their careers.

Rage turns to passion and tempers run sizzling hot when they realise they aren’t just falling for each other—they’re jumping head first. And neither have the endurance to keep their hands to themselves.

EXCERPT

I cheers my beer with hers and chug the rest down. I drop the bottle and begin swirling Indie around in a childish spin that sends us both flying in different directions and crashing to the ground. Hot, sweaty hands wrap around me and pull me to my feet.

“Thank you, Good Samaritan,” I slur, turning to face my gallant saviour.

When my eyes glance up and focus, I’m stunned by the bearded vision before me. “You look like a guy I know!”

He clutches his hands firmly around my waist and holds me to him. “You look like a girl I want to know.”

I laugh half-heartedly and try to pull away.

“Are you trying to leave me, lass?” he slurs into my ear.

I frown and my head bobbles. “How could I leave you, Jesus? You’re God’s son…You’re everywhere.” I throw my hands out wide to punctuate my “everywhere” and attempt to stumble away.

He grabs me again, this time his hands dipping lower to my arse. My good mood evaporates instantly. “Hey!” I shout. “Watch your fucking hands!”

I attempt to shove him away, but he feels like one of those doors that you push when you’re supposed to pull. He doesn’t budge. He leans in close and whispers in my ear, “I’d like to put my hands on your tight little—”

Right when I’m about ready to punch the wank stain in his vile mouth, I nearly fall over as a strange momentum spins me away. The man’s hands are no longer groping me. They are now pinned deftly behind his back by no other than—

“Tanner?” I utter with a gasp, my hands covering my mouth at the shock of the scene before me.

“Shove the fuck off, you disgusting prat, before I turn your wrist into a pretzel.” Tanner pushes him into a nearby table, and the man almost topples over but catches himself before scurrying away without a look back.

Blue, angry eyes swerve to me. “Ryan,” Tanner growls, slicing a hand through his hair to get it off of his face. “I’ve texted you like twenty times.”

“I…I…I haven’t looked at my mobile in a while.”

“No fucking shit.” His bearded jaw is taut with anger. “I’m taking you home.”

He reaches out for my arm but I yank it away from him.

“No, you’re not.”

His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “I’m taking you home. You’re completely pissed.”

My eyes narrow. “Of course I am. It’s Tequila Sunrise night.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he snaps. “Let’s go.”

I shoot him a murderous look when a voice interrupts us. “I’ve got mine. You got yours?” I turn to see Camden holding a sleepy-looking Indie against his body.

Determination slices through Tanner’s voice. “I’ve got her.”

I turn to face him, stumbling a bit as I wag my finger in his face. “Hey, I am not yours!” Suddenly, Tanner bends over and I’m airborne for a second, landing heavily on top of his shoulder. “Are you fucking kidding me, Harris?” I begin pounding on his back but it’s to no avail. “I’m in a dress. My arse is hanging out for all of England!”

“Your arse was hanging out when you spread out on the floor a minute ago. I’m taking you home, Ryan. Even if you’re kicking and screaming.”

“You’re such an arrogant arsehole!” My hands stop their assault on Tanner’s backside in favour of covering my rump. This is mortifying. I hang my head and let my hair cover my face, praying like fuck I don’t see anyone I know. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Believe it, woman.” Tanner pauses at the door and turns his body so my head is facing a different direction. “Now, tell this nice man I’m not a rapist.”

A bouncer-looking bloke turns his head upside down to make eye contact with me. I mumble, “He’s not a rapist. Just a walking dead man.” I straighten a bit with my crescendoed scream. The bouncer lets out a hearty laugh that dumps hot coals into the pit of my belly. So not the reaction I was looking for.

He moves to let us pass and then Tanner drops me down in front of a cab. I ball up my fists and wallop him a few times. “I’m not a petulant child, you animal.”

He doesn’t even flinch.

I exhale in concession and fold myself in behind Indie and Camden. When we’re all in the cab and it begins moving, Tanner breaks the silence with a surprisingly jovial tone. “Well, did you all have a fun night?”

Meet “the other” Harris TWIN in Challenge!

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About the Author

Amy Daws is a lover of all things British and her London-based love stories bring the incredible city to life on every page. Read all about hot British men, hilarious heroines, and unforgettable and original ensemble casts that pull out all the feels. For more of Amy’s work, visit www.amydawsauthor.com

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Contemporary Romance Excerpt March 2017 New Releases Romance Sports

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Undiscovered by Sara Humphreys…Book Spotlight & Excerpt

by Jilly

Synopsis:

He’s the man of her dreams

A long time ago, Zander Lorens was cursed to walk the earth stripped of his Dragon Clan powers. Every night, trapped in a recurring nightmare, Zander relives his darkest moment. He can hardly believe it when the dream changes and a beautiful young woman appears. Zander believes she’s the key to ending his torment. Finding her in the real world is one thing, but how will he convince her of who—and what—she really is?

She’s the end to his nightmare

Rena McHale uses her unique sensitivity as a private investigator, touting herself as a “human divining rod” and finder of the lost. By day she struggles with sensory overload, and by night her sleep is haunted by a fiery dragon shifter. Nothing in her life makes sense, until the man from her dreams shows up at her door with a proposition…

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Excerpt:

A flicker of jealousy flashed when Rena thought about some other woman tending to Zander’s comfort. She ran her fingers over the smooth paper and, for a split second, thought about using her gift to take a look at this Lana chick. But when the front door clicked open, she immediately thought better of it and quickly slapped the note onto the counter.

She spun around and clasped her hands behind her back awkwardly just as Zander stepped inside. She was going to make a smart-ass remark but the sight of him momentarily made her lose the ability to speak. Or at the very least, her mind went totally blank because all she was capable of for that minute was soaking in the sight of him.

He was dripping wet. Water sluiced from his leather jacket, which he promptly hung up before kicking off his boots. His jeans were wet too and clung to his long, strong-looking legs.

Were the pants coming off next?

Rena swallowed hard when she let her gaze skim over his ass as he leaned over and peeled off his socks. Jeez. Even his bare feet were sexy. The dark T-shirt he wore was damp and clung to every dip and curve of muscle in his back. His ropy, well-defined arms flexed as Zander turned to face her and pushed his shaggy, wet hair off his face with both hands. His damp skin glistened in the soft, yellow light of the cabin. Zander’s chiseled features seemed even more defined than before. His jaw was covered in the dark shadow of scruff, and those haunted eyes of his peered at her intently beneath dark eyebrows.

The two of them stood there for at least ten beats of her heart. Neither one said a word. Only the sound of rain pelting the roof and their breathing filled the cabin. The space that only moments ago felt open and spacious had shrunk in size the instant Zander stepped into it.

The man was like a walking flame, and it was as if all of the oxygen had been sucked from the air the instant he slipped inside. Suddenly, each breath was more labored than the last. The plan, the one she was so proud of, now seemed like a stupid idea. This man wasn’t one to be toyed with.

A flicker of self-doubt niggled in the back of her mind.

What if he really didn’t want her?

Maybe he really had only kissed her because she reminded him of Arianna?

Rena sucked in a shuddering breath as he returned her bold stare. The simmering heat in his unwavering gaze seared into hers. Warmth seeped into her chest and her entire body shimmered beneath his inspection.

It was now or never.

Her heart raced and her tongue flicked over her lips before she finally worked up the courage to say something.

“Your Lana,” she sputtered and jutted her thumb over shoulder toward the counter. “I—I mean someone named Lana left you a note.”

Rena’s cheeks flamed. The hint of a smile played at Zander’s lips and he moved slowly toward her. Her befuddlement amused him? She tucked her hair behind her ears as he sidled closer and picked up the paper. Even with the barstool separating them, his towering form was close enough that his body heat, even more intense than it had been earlier, wafted over her, reminding her of the flickering flames of a fire.

She half expected steam to rise off his damp skin.

Rena leaned one elbow on the island and studied him while he read the note.

“Who’s Lana?” she asked with as much nonchalant innocence as she could. “She sure is thoughtful to come over and set the place up for you.”

“She’s a friend.”

Zander crumpled the paper and tossed it over Rena’s head into the tall, white garbage can in the corner. The movement brought him even closer, and his musky, leather scent filled her head. She breathed deeply and fought the sudden lust-ridden urge for her eyes to shift.

His arm dropped to his side and that piercing gaze flicked to hers, melting her insides bit by bit. Rena’s steely resolve to seduce the big, bad dragon wavered as she gazed into the limitless depths of his haunted eyes. Swimming behind the cool facade were the lingering effects from centuries of pain and loneliness.

A kindred spirit, lost in the dark but seeking the light.

The knot in her chest, the core of her steely self-sufficient resolve, loosened. Rena knew, better than anyone, what it was like to drift through the world alone and unwanted. Zander might have been a dragon all those years ago, but he wasn’t a monster.

He was a man deserted, cut off from both the human and the supernatural world.

Rejected by both. Belonging in neither. Just like her.

Author bio:

Sara Humphreys is the award-winning author of paranormal and contemporary romance including shapeshifter and vampire stories, and contemporary romance about firefighters, police officers, and K9 cops. A public speaker and speaker trainer, Sara lives with her husband and four sons in Bronxville, New York.

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Book Spotlight Excerpt March 2017 Paranormal

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Beauty Of The Beast by Rachel Demeter…Release Day Blitz

by Courtney

Beauty of the Beast

by Rachel L. Demeter
Fairy Tale Retellings, #1
Publication Date: March 15, 2017
Genres: Historical Romance, Fairy Tale Retelling, Gothic Romance, Adult

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? Book Blurb ?

Experience the world’s most enchanting and timeless love story—retold with a dark and realistic twist.

A BEAST LIVING IN THE SHADOW OF HIS PAST

A BEAUTY IN PURSUIT OF A BETTER FUTURE

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Beauty of the Beast is the first standalone installment in a series of classic fairy tales reimagined with a dark and realistic twist.

? Book Trailer ?

? Excerpt ?

~ Isabelle bravely takes her papa’s place ~

Quite a while later, as Isabelle relaxed and soaked in the hearth’s warmth, she found herself nodding off to sleep.

Her mind detached from the stress of the past few days and receded to another time and place. She recalled her journeys with Papa when she’d been little more than a girl. All the villages they’d passed through; all the faces they’d seen. She thought of reading fairy tales beneath a bejeweled sky, of leaning against a mountain of crates as Papa pointed out the constellations and their eternal stories—

Rattling seized her attention and ruptured her thoughts. She peered at Papa, who was carefully examining his teacup. Not with his sightless eyes, of course—but with wandering fingertips. The same impressive coat of arms engraved the fine proclaim; Papa ran his weathered fingers over its surface, clearly in awe of the raised gold decorations and studded gems. The thing must have cost a small fortune. Indeed, she’d never beheld such finery. Even the wares Papa had once sold paled in comparison. The faded brim of his top hat hung low and covered his glassy eyes.

Then her mouth went dry as he slipped the teacup inside his coat.

Has he gone mad—or simply grown that desperate? It was completely unlike Papa to steal. How could he—and after being shown hospitality?

Her outcry startled him. He half leapt from the chair—and Isabelle watched in horror as the teacup tumbled out from the coat. It rattled and rolled onto the stone ground, shattering into a million pieces.

A gloved hand broke through the darkness, quicker than a lightning strike. The hooded figure emerged from the shadows and seized Papa by his cravat. His other hand clasped a branch of flickering candles. The illumination flashed across the dark folds of his cloak, soaking him in a pool of light.

“Stealing from me, are you? Breaking my family’s keepsakes?” A sharp jerk forced Papa to his feet. The rough movement sent the top hat tumbling from his head and onto the stone floor. Papa’s waxen features melted into an expression of horror and confusion.

Her heart pounding, Isabelle lunged forward and frantically cried out, “Let him alone! It was an accident. Don’t you see that you’re frightening him?”

“Good.” The simple declaration threw Isabelle into stunned silence. Papa called out for her as the man strode from the sitting room, his solid legs eating up the ground in swift, decisive strides. Mon Dieu, he was physically dragging Papa through the castle.

This isn’t happening. It cannot be…

“Stop it! Stop it now—you monster!” Isabelle picked up her skirts and frantically chased after them. Parts of the castle were dark and unkempt, causing her to trip several times over wayward pieces of furniture. Her heart violently pounded in her ears. The man moved impressively fast; between his agile stride and sweeping cloak, he almost appeared to float through the corridors. Plopping onto the stone floor, his dog gave up trying to keep pace. Dust motes rose and fell in midair like ashes, obscuring her vision. She followed the branch’s illumination, watching as the candlelight threw prisms along the walls and floor.

“Please, monsieur. Have mercy, I beg you! He didn’t know any better. He’s not in his right mind. He would never—”

“No one steals from me.” His low voice echoed in the darkness, steady as a war drum.

Isabelle felt herself descending. She ducked as she crossed a low archway, where she was met with a steep flight of stairs. A mouth into Hell. The ceiling lurked unusually low and was strung with cobwebs. Isabelle hiked up her skirts, which were now a filthy mess, and raced down the decayed steps. The hooded figure kept a swift pace while she desperately pursued Papa’s frightened cries.

Plagued by the darkness, Isabelle tripped and crashed down the stone steps. Pain cascaded through her body, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her skinned knees and elbows throbbed, her heart pounded, her head burned. She spared a moment to catch her breath as she struggled to her feet and resumed her vain quest. Papa’s muffled pleas and the sound of slamming bars ripped at her very soul.

The dank dungeon was nearly black. She slowed her pace, moving toward a beam of light at the far end. Rats the size of kittens scurried across the stone floor and filled the darkness with their terrible squeaking. Her heart thudding, Isabelle rushed through the maze of cells, following Papa’s voice and that flickering light. Chains and crude-looking objects littered the ground—torture devices from a past age, she realized with a shudder.

She found them.

Papa was grasping the rusted bars; disoriented and frightened, he was murmuring incoherent pleas. Tears fell from his sightless eyes, though Isabelle knew he fought to restrain them. The branch of candles sat in front of the cell, its wavering light illuminating his terrified expression.

“Forgive me. I have wronged you when you showed my daughter and me hospitality and mercy. Please, monsieur!”

The man towered before him, silent and still. His long arms remaining crossed, he stood with his lean torso straighter than a broadsword. His hood was drawn back, though Isabelle couldn’t see his face from her angle.

“Papa, I’m here,” she said beneath the weight of a strained breath.

“I-Isabelle?”

Not sparing a moment, she dashed over to the cell—and the man slowly rotated into sight.

Except he resembled more of a beast than any man she’d ever seen.

Isabelle clamped both hands over her mouth and forced her eyes away. The sight burned—and the inferno in his gaze only kindled that fire.

Half of his face looked monstrously twisted; charred mounds of puckered flesh distorted the features beyond any recognition, draining him of all traces of humanity. Those heaps of burned, leather-like skin gleamed and glistened in the candlelight. His hairline receded on the left side of his face and slanted high above a shriveled ear.

Under the severe scarring, his age was more or less indistinguishable—though Isabelle guessed he wasn’t a day under thirty-five.

But his eyes were breathtaking. Two brilliant sapphires. There was also a great sadness and anger in those eyes, as if he’d suffered more than his share of original sin. Alas, as she gazed into his eyes, all she saw was blue ice—an endless, arctic landscape of cold desolation.

The man turned away, appearing greatly affected by her stare, and hastily rearranged the hood. His scarred hands trembled as he smoothed down the cloak’s thick folds.

“Release him,” she demanded. “He didn’t mean any harm. I—”

“No one meddles with my family’s possessions. He can rot down here as my prisoner. He ought to count himself fortunate that I haven’t taken his hand.”

“Your prisoner? This… this is a mistake! You must believe me. He’d never—”

A deep, husky chuckle cut through her plea. “Even so.”

“Please. Just let him out.”

“It’s too late for that.” Those words seemed to speak volumes. He exhaled a long breath, and Isabelle watched as it unfurled against the darkness in a cloud.

Silence.

“Why… why are you so angry? Why must you be so hateful? So cruel?”

“If I let him go,” he said at length, “what can you offer in return?” Isabelle couldn’t find her tongue. She wandered directly in front of the cell, almost in a lucid trance, and clasped the cold bars. Papa was huddled in the corner now, coughing and shivering. Guilt, unlike anything she’d known before, pulsated through her.

I’m to blame for this. And if Papa stays here, he’ll die well within a fortnight, likely much sooner…

“Get out of my sight.” The man’s voice jarred Isabelle from her inward stupor. She turned to him and stepped forward, raising her chin at a defiant angle.

I am not so easily broken or frightened.

I am a survivor.

She scanned her empty, dank surroundings: the cold stone walls, sweeping cobwebs, and blazing branch of candles. Despair encased her. Stark emptiness. She dared to step closer while a faint trace of pity bloomed inside her heart.

They stood centimeters apart. Heat radiated from the man’s body, surrounding her, immersing her. Isabelle vainly searched for softness him, but only a dark, embittered spirit reached her. She stared up at his towering frame and gestured for him to bow forward. He hesitated, then did as she commanded. Her hands shook, damn her, as she peeled back his hood and met that piercing gaze again.

Half of his face was handsome—devastatingly so. In her twenty-two years of life, she’d never beheld such haunting beauty.

Jet‑black waves, rich and flowing, framed the chiseled lines of his startling features. Stubble peppered the strong curve of his jawline and shadowed a smooth, sculpted cheekbone. The right side of his face was striking, beautiful—a stark contrast to its wrecked counterpart. And within those patrician angles and intense eyes, she encountered his humanity.

His was a face of inconsistencies. Complex. Damaged. Predatory. And more than a bit intriguing.

“I will stay with you,” she heard herself whisper. “In my father’s place.”

“Isabelle—no! I forbid it!”

The man folded long, strong arms across his broad chest. His gaze crawled down her face and settled on the rise of her breasts—planting directly on her silver cross.

“I demand he’s seen by the finest of physicians.”

“Isabelle! Listen to me! I’m an old man. I’m dying. I—”

The man’s dark, strangely erotic voice cut through the cellar, and his eyes whipped back to her own with a startling force. “As my mistress.”

“What?”

“You must stay here as my mistress. For as long as I demand. Perhaps forever.”

Forever.

The word rang with a note of finality.

“Please, Isabelle! I beg you. Don’t do this!”

How could I endure it?

“Do as I say and your father shall safely return home.” He waved his cloaked arms with a magician’s delicate grace. “Your father—whatever family you may have—shall want for nothing. A house, clothing, anything they require. You only need to say the word. Your father will be under my protection—under the care of nurses and physicians—until his last breath.”

Isabelle briefly recalled what—and who—was waiting for her back in Ruillé. This fate wouldn’t be much worse. This desolate castle could serve as the perfect hideout. Papa would live in France, free from Raphael’s clutches and in the hands of the world’s greatest physicians…

“How… how can I trust you?” And does he even have the wealth to uphold such a promise?

“You cannot.”

She had faith Papa would send help once his health recovered. Or she’d find a way out, means of escape. In the interim, she would survive this grim castle and whatever horrors it concealed.

Papa would not. The castle would crush him beneath its dark heel in a matter of days.

Isabelle glanced at Papa again, then stared into the man’s brilliant eyes. There, lurking within those expressive depths, she found the softness she’d pursued minutes before.

She sucked in her breath and nodded her agreement.

“It is done.” The man swept backward. “He’s to remain down here till first light. Then our agreement shall be carried out. In the meantime, I will bring blankets and food—”

“But it’s so cold! He—”

“Stole from me while he was a guest in my castle.”

He would not compromise. That much was certain.

“I demand to stay with him.”

“As you please.” He unlocked the cell. “Beyond the dungeon lies a labyrinth. Try to escape, and you’ll be lost forever.”

He tapped the wall with his booted heel. It swiveled, spun, and rotated, sweeping her captor to the other side…

? Excerpt ?

~ Adam gives Isabelle his library ~

“Close your eyes, ma belle.”

Strong hands cupped either side of her face. She felt as Adam’s thumbs tentatively brushed back and forth, stroking her cheeks in reverent caresses. Isabelle shut her eyes and slipped beneath his spell… leaned closer in the darkness until they stood heartbeat to heartbeat. The warmth of his breaths teased her hairline, bringing with them a minty scent. His thumbs descended to just below her chin. She lowered her face… felt a featherlight kiss land on her brow. It happened so subtly and gently—Isabelle wasn’t sure whether she’d imagined it.

She was allowing herself to feel too much. A stab of guilt penetrated her chest as her thoughts crept inward. Yet instincts told her to trust in her gut—to allow her heart to speak over her tumultuous thoughts. So she shoved away her guilt and allowed herself to simply feel.

Pounding footfalls echoed in the room, attesting to its sheer size. Isabelle waited in anticipation under the veil of darkness, her small hands knotted in Stranger’s wiry coat. The steady beat of Adam’s boots floated away from her. A loud whipping noise and a burst of light illuminated the room as he tugged a heavy damask curtain aside.

“Open your eyes, Isabelle.”

She did as he commanded. Shafts of sunlight tore inside, dancing across the marble floor in blaring prisms—though the darkness still obstructed the room’s contents. Isabelle’s imagination soared as she fantasized about what lay in those clotted shadows. Pale light fringed Adam’s formidable shape, contrasting his silhouette against the dim atmosphere.

He paused in front of the opened window and folded both arms behind his ramrod-straight back. Isabelle gazed at the line of his body, unable to tear her eyes away. Indeed, light from the window set him aglow, shrouding him in a cloak of gold. He wore black trousers and a white silk shirt, which fluttered lightly when he moved. Over the past several days, he’d made a habit of abandoning the cloak and hood. Isabelle had become accustomed to the mismatched sides of his face; where she once felt horror and revulsion, she now tingled with curiosity and budding admiration. Alas, the only true revulsion that remained was the memory of that night…

Adam was an undeniably prideful man, and she knew he’d only scorn her pity. Even his stance exuded a sense of importance and authority. Strange, how he was so often shy and almost childlike; then, as if by a flip of a coin, he’d turn regal, confident. It was as though he was battling two separate halves… as if an intricate part of himself kept fighting to emerge.

Not unlike the two contrasting sides of his face, Isabelle mused.

For a suspended moment, he stood in front of the conservatory window, his scarred hands planted on his lean hips as he surveyed the distant gardens. Then he crossed the room, his footfalls amplified by the medallion flooring, and thrust open another curtain.

Whoosh. Light flooded the space and chased away the shadows, and the room’s contents were ushered into view.

Isabelle nearly lost her breath at the sight.

It was a beautiful library—the most stunning sight she’d ever beheld. Ornate, intricately carved shelves towered against the painted walls and reached for a gilded ceiling. A baroque chandelier hung in the heart of the room; its crystals sparkled like diamonds as they drank in morning’s light. Isabelle fought to temper her racing heart as she gaped at the sweeping shelves. An intimate reading nook lined a curved window; lush pillows decorated the chaise, and a brass candelabra towered beside it.

In all her life, she’d never seen so many books. There were far too many to count. Too many books to read in one lifetime. Isabelle couldn’t help but think of the little storekeeper from Ruillé’s bookshop; she imagined his astonishment, how his bushy white brows would rise at the sight of Adam’s vast library. He’d run his wrinkled fingertips over the bindings and spines, reverently caressing each one. Her heart twisted with nostalgia at the thought of her former home. Once Raphael had entered her life, however, Ruillé had transformed into a prison.

This castle should have been just that. A jail cell. Yet she’d never felt more free than in that moment.

The library was larger than her whole cottage; several book-filled rooms connected to it, each one built with floor-to-ceiling shelves. Three sliding ladders were nestled against the circular walls, soaring to the very top of the domed ceiling.

She spun on her heels, twirling in place—watching as the immense collection flurried by in a fantastic mosaic of colorful spines and intricate woodwork.

Her eyes planted on Adam, who stood in front of the large row of glowing, arched windows. His arms were still folded behind his body, his sleek back straighter than an arrow. She couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t move forward, although she ached to reach out and embrace his solid body.

How would it feel to be enveloped inside that commanding strength?

A devastating smile spread across his misshapen features and cut her thought short. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, which was highlighted by the sun’s rays, and then hesitantly strode toward her. His boots rapped against the floor, and the sound swelled through the library. Stranger barked as he approached, the loud noise echoing in the room and jarring Isabelle from her trance.

“Do… do you like it?”

Finally he stood before her, silent and still. Isabelle inhaled a long breath, then laid her palm on the left side of his face. Her fingertips danced over the raised ridges and welts, the reddish scars and shriveled ear. His eyes shuttered closed, and she felt a shudder rake through his tense body.

“Yes. I love it.” And I’m starting to fall in love with you, too…

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Don’t Hold Back by Missy Johnson…Release Blitz

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Title: Don’t Hold Back

Series: Love Hurts #4

Author: Missy Johnson

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: March 12, 2017

Blurb

Three countries.
Two months.
All expenses paid.
Just you and me.About you: You’re fun loving, adventurous and you have a wicked sense of humor. You’re spontaneous, open minded and creative. You live for today because you never know what tomorrow holds.

I’m Erin and this isn’t your usual Craigslist Ad. I’m twenty-four, and full disclosure, I’m dying. But I don’t want your pity. What I want is your help. I’m not looking for a nanny, or for someone to hold my hand. I want a friend, a confidante, a partner in crime.

I want you.

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Excerpt

“Who the hell books a flight for seven a.m.?” I grumble under my breath as I hoist my suitcase out from the boot of the taxi. I toss a twenty through the open window of the driver’s seat, telling him to keep the change. The whole twenty cents. Yeah, I’m generous like that.I’ve barely slept, which I guess is good considering the eighteen-hour flight I have ahead of me. Unless she’s going to want to talk the whole way, in which case no sleep is bad. Of course she is. Women always want to talk. Dying women probably take that to a whole other level. I chastise myself for being so insensitive. Let’s see if I can get through this trip without offending the girl. Or more realistically, let’s see if I can get through the week.

I stroll through departures, scanning the crowd for Erin. I’ve only met her twice now, but she was kind of unforgettable—hot in a she-has-no-idea-how-hot-she-is kind of way. Even that first time, all wet and dishevelled, she was mesmerizing.

My eyes fall on her and a smile tugs at my lips. She’s bent over her open bag, her long blond hair hanging loosely over her shoulder. It feels kind of wrong that I’m checking her out, given her situation, but I can’t help myself. I give it another minute before I walk over to join her.

“Hey,” I say.

She jumps, straightening up. Her face reddens when she faces me.

“You’re supposed to do the packing thing at home,” I tease her. Half her luggage is dumped onto the floor next to her, and I love that she doesn’t seem to give a shit.

“I’m looking for something,” she retorts, narrowing her stunning blue eyes.

I raise my eyebrows curiously and grin.

“It’s not important.”

“It obviously is,” I argue. I’m enjoying playing with her. “And the fact that you don’t want to tell me what it is makes me wonder…”

“Well stop wondering,” she replies. “If you want to do something useful, help me zip this up. It’s stuck.” She bends back over and gives the zip a yank, as if to prove her point.

“It’s stuck because you have this caught in it.” I grab hold of the offending material and back the zipper up. It releases, and I proudly hold it up. “Lacy and transparent,” I say when I realise I’m holding a pair of her panties. I let out a low whistle. “I’m impressed.”

She blushes and snatches them out of my hand, shoving them back in her suitcase. She zips it closed and glares at me. “I’m beginning to regret this already,” she growls.

“Never regret lacy panties, Erin,” I tease. “But seriously, I’m just messing with you. This trip will be great. Trust me. We’ll have fun.”

“I’m having trouble believing that,” she retorts, properly facing me for the first time.

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Author Bio

Missy lives in a small town in Central Victoria with her husband, and her confused pets (a dog who think she’s a cat, a cat who thinks he’s a dog…you get the picture).

When she’s not writing, she can usually be found looking for something to read.

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Provocative (White Lies Book One) by Lisa Renee Jones
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Genre: Contemporary Romance