Renegade by Laramie Briscoe…Release Blitz

 

 

Title: Renegade
Series: Moonshine Task Force #1
Author: Laramie Briscoe
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: March 9, 2017
Blurb
When you fall in love with the most unexpected person, at the most unexpected time……Ryan “Renegade” Kepler

I’m the type of man who knows what I want. I make up my mind and stay in my lane, never veering off the course I set for myself.

Going into the military? Did it. Youngest member of the Moonshine Task Force?

That’s me. Get my best friend’s older sister in bed? It was my pleasure.

Age means nothing to me. I’ve seen and done things men twice my age never will. What I want more than anything is someone to share my life with and that person is my best friend’s older sister, Whitney.

Whitney Trumbolt

Ryan is ten years my junior, but damn, being a cougar never felt as good as it did the night we spent together. Now I’m struggling with wanting things to either go back to the way they were or spend every night in his arms.

Make my wedding planning company the best in the south? Did it. Ignore the way my body trembles when I see Ryan? Epic fail. Freak out when I see a positive pregnancy test staring back at me? Complete with mascara running down my face and clutching my pearls.

Looks like things won’t go back to the way they were. There’s a man in my life that doesn’t take no for an answer. He’s the one who makes my blood run hot, cheeks turn red, and heart beat wildly within my chest. His name is Renegade.

 

Purchase Links
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

 

Author Bio

Laramie Briscoe is the best-selling author of the Heaven Hill Series & the Rockin’ Country Series.Since self-publishing her first book in May of 2013, Laramie Briscoe has published over 10 books. She’s appeared on the Top 100 Bestselling E-books Lists on iBooks, Amazon Kindle, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble. She’s been called “a very young Maya Banks” (Amazon reviewer) and her books have been accused of being “sexy, family-oriented, romances with heart”.

When she’s not writing alpha males who seriously love their women, she loves spending time with friends, reading, and marathoning shows on her DVR. Married to her high school sweetheart, Laramie lives in Bowling Green, KY with her husband (the Travel Coordinator) and a sometimes crazy cat named Beau.

Author Links

Falling for the Bad Girl by Nina Croft…Blog Tour

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Today we have the sexy new release from Nina Croft, Falling for the Bad Girl! We are so excited to share this title with you! Grab your copy and follow the tour today!

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About Falling for the Bad Girl:

As a second generation detective, Nathan Carter is a cop, through and through, one who definitely sees things in black and white. But his work ethic—and libido—are thrown off balance when he heads up the case against jewel thief, Regan Malloy. Because with one sizzling look, she’s got him hot and hard. And he’s been that way, ever since.

 

Growing up, Regan’s favorite hobby was learning to crack safes, and she was very, very good at it. Still, she’d always tried to keep to the straight and narrow, and only strayed when she believed a friend was in desperate straits. Now she’s out of prison and starting over. If only she could forget that she’d spent the last three years fantasizing about the stunningly gorgeous detective who locked her away.

 

It’s inevitable that they meet up again—in bars, hotels…and hotel beds. Despite their differences, they can’t keep their hands off each other. Still, it’s just desire. If they give it enough time, it’ll burn itself out. Because a good boy and a bad girl can’t possibly make it work. Can they?

 

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Excerpt

She put her glass down and caught him staring. “What?”

“I was just thinking what a beautiful woman you are.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“When you walked into the bar tonight, I thought…what’s the chance of a beautiful woman like that spending time with a man like me?”

Something flashed in her eyes. Anger maybe, but it was gone before he could identify it. “Maybe I have zero taste.”

“Are you going to spoil this?”

She sucked in her lower lip and then flicked it with her tongue, leaving it glistening. Blood sank to his groin. “This?” she asked. “Is there a ‘this’ to spoil?”

He shrugged. “You’re back from a long vacation, feeling lonely. I’ve had a hard day at the office.”

“Tomorrow we both get back to real life.”

“But tonight, we’re here together… So what do you want to do, Regan?”

“You have any ideas?”

“You know, I’m not sure. This isn’t my usual habitat.”

“And I’m guessing I’m not your usual woman.”

“Hell, honey, it’s been so long, I’ve no clue what my usual woman is.”

Her eyes widened at that.

Jesus, he had hundreds of ideas, all of which ended with his dick buried deep inside her. He was beginning to think she was on the same wavelength. And while he didn’t understand why, everything inside him was screaming to take this to its obvious conclusion.

Don’t ask questions.

He leaned in toward her and spoke quietly. “My dick’s been rock hard since you sat your pretty self at my table.”

She didn’t say anything, but the next moment her bare foot slid up his leg under the table. He held himself still as her toes came to rest on his groin. Heat flooded him as she massaged his cock.

Her eyelids drooped, and her nostrils flared. “You weren’t lying,” she murmured. “Hmm, so what should we do with this?”

Again, he had a whole load of ideas. Well, maybe only one. But he still couldn’t get a feel on her emotions. Why was she doing this? “Are you going to lead me on and then dump my ass? Payback?”

There was that flicker of emotion again, and her eyes narrowed. “Payback for what, Nate? You think you’ve done something wrong?”

Logically, no. He’d done his job. No more.

“Maybe it’s you who’s going to spoil this,” she continued. “Because that would be so easy.”

“Perhaps I just need a little gesture of good faith.”

She pursed her lips, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She removed her foot from his groin, reached beneath the table, wriggled a couple of times. When her hand reappeared, she was dangling a scrap of black lace from her fingertips.

He swallowed. “Jesus, you’re a bad girl.”

 

 

About Nina Croft:

Nina Croft grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia, which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of nine-to-five work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain.

Nina writes all types of romance, often mixed with elements of the paranormal and science fiction.

Connect with Nina:

Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/Nina_Croft

Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/NinaCroft.Writer/

Author Instagram: ninacroft_writer

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3378320.Nina_Croft

Newsletter: https://app.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/d8y0v7

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All of Me by Callie Harper…Release Day Blitz

Cover Design: Sommer Stein / Perfect Pear Creative

Release Date: March 6, 2017

Synopsis

Seven years is supposed to change the way you feel.

 

Sophie’s not supposed to still dream about the way Liam touched her or the way they moved together. When she heads back to Naugatuck Island, she assumes Liam doesn’t even live there any more. Whatever he once felt, it has to have grown cold by now.

But Liam’s a firefighter. He knows better than anyone, never underestimate the power of a blaze. Those embers may appear cold, but nothing is ever as it seems.

 

Those embers? They’re just waiting to burst into flames.

 

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Purchase Links

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2kOzxEI

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2lTrCHt

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2m3oY1Z

iBooks: http://apple.co/2lHzdIh

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2kXwfS3

 

 

 

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Signed Paperback for All of Me

 

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About the Author

Callie Harper writes hot, fun, page-turning romances. She is powered by coffee, wickedly sexy bad boys, and all things funny, intentional or otherwise. Born on the East Coast where she learned the joys of fast-paced sarcastic banter, she and her family are now kickin’ it in the West Coast sunshine. On any given day there’s a good chance you’ll find Callie outdoors enjoying the gorgeous Bay Area, but if she’s indoors she’ll likely be reading, writing or eating, preferably all at once.

She is the author of the Beg For It series and the All In series, both of which feature standalones with crossover characters.

 

Connect with Callie Harper

Newsletter Sign Up: http://bit.ly/2ky9i4N

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Twitter: http://bit.ly/2lRdAoO

Instagram: http://bit.ly/2lk9Lvd

Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/2lPSYy9

 

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Kept From You by Nashoda Rose…Release Blitz

Kept From You (Tear Asunder #4) by Nashoda Rose

Book Title: Kept from You (Book 4: Tear Asunder)
Author: Nashoda Rose
Genre: Erotic Romance
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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Cover photo: Copyright © 2016 Wander Aguiar Photography (http://www.wanderbookclub.com)
Model: Nick Bennett (https://www.facebook.com/nickbennett6/)
Cover design by: Kari Ayasha, Cover to Cover Designs

A first kiss that changed everything.

Killian Kane.
He was the most feared guy in high-school.
Guarded. Angry. A fighter.
But when I caught him watching me with his captivating green eyes I saw something more. Something protective and kind. 


He warned me to stay away from him.

I did.
Until I didn’t and he kissed me. A knee weakening, body tingling kiss that left me breathless. 
And scared the hell out of me.


And then…
He warned me never to come near him again or next time he wouldn’t let me go.



That was eleven years ago.
We aren’t teenagers anymore. He has probably forgotten me. 
He’s a famous rock star now. I’m a dance instructor with a broken dream and desperate for a job.
So, when we cross paths again I don’t expect him to remember me.
He does.
And his warning eleven years ago? I’m about to find out exactly what that meant.

The thin sweet crunch mixing with the light, airy cream tickled my tongue.

Indulging was rare. Indulging in something like crème brûlée was heaven on a spoon.

But what made it even more like heaven was that Killian watched me with desire blazing in his eyes.

I swallowed, then with the tip of my tongue, I slid it over my lower lip, licking the remnants of cream.

“Fuck,” he growled.

I secretly smiled, heart pumping wildly.

I’d never been sexy or tried to be sexy, but I wanted to be with Killian. He made it easy for me to be brave.

Lights dim, candles flickering, the soft jazz music in the background, skin tingling from the sexy-as-hell man next to me, yeah, I was brave.

I dipped the spoon in again, but Killian’s fingers spanned my wrist, stopping me.

I met his eyes and without a word, but knowing exactly what he wanted by the silent exchange of his steady expression, I released the spoon to him.

His attention went to the dessert where he tapped the light thin sugar shell before breaking through and sinking into the airy lightness.

He lifted the overfilled spoon at the same time as his eyes.

I thought he was going to take a bite himself, but he held the spoon out to me. “Open.”

I nervously laughed, thinking he was kidding; it was a huge mouthful. “It’s too much.”

“I know. Open, Savvy,” he said.

Oh, God, my belly dropped and my sex clenched. I swallowed, licking my lips again.

“No,” he said with a firm voice. “I didn’t ask you to lick your lips. Although that is fuckin’ delectable as hell.” His tone lowered further. “I asked you to open your mouth.”

My eyes widened. Holy. Fuck. That was hot. Demanding and a little scary because him using that voice I’d pretty much do anything he asked.

I opened, and he slid the dessert into my mouth, and since there was so much, it hit the roof, sides, and back of my throat. He didn’t remove the spoon right away and watched as I struggled not to pull away.

When I was just about to say screw it, he said, “My cock will fill your mouth a hell of a lot more than this.”

I nearly choked. And I would’ve if he didn’t slowly remove the spoon, my lips dragging over the cool, smooth surface of the spoon to make certain I took the entire dessert.

His elbow rested on the table, spoon in his hand, eyes on mine as I swallowed little by little until it was gone. The entire time I thought about his cock.

meet the author

Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.

When she isn’t writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.

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Chapter Reveal…..Ripple Effect: Episode 2 by Keri Lake

 

Coming March 10th

 

EPISODE TWO: As a calculated assassin, Ripley thrives on always being in control. But when the woman he’s sworn to kill makes an offer he can’t refuse, his control is what he risks losing most.
Ripley

They call me RIP.
I’m a killer. A murderer. A psychopath.
In the eyes of the righteous, I’m a monster, born of sin and depravity.
I want to protect her, but I’m not a good man.
I want to love her, but I no longer feel.
She gets under my skin, though, and has awakened something inside of me.
Something I’d kill for.
I’m not her savior—not even close. In fact, I’m worse than the hell she’s already suffered.
I’m her vengeance. Tit for tat, as they say.
And if she’s not careful, I’ll be her ruin.

Dylan

For months, I’ve watched him.
I’ve fantasized him as my savior, my lover. My ticket out of the hell I’ve lived in for the last six years.
I never dreamed he’d be my nightmare.
Had I known what he really is, I’d have never gotten in the car that night, but life is full of cause and effect.
And sometimes the choice on offer isn’t a choice at all.
It’s the result of something already in motion, and we’re merely left to survive the ripple effect.

*This is an erotic suspense/erotic romance not recommended for readers under the age of 18 due to graphic violence and sex.

 


Drip.  Drip.  Drip.
My mind fights the all-consuming blackness closing in on me as I lay on the thin mattress whose springs poke into my back.  The beams above me shiver with dust that falls on my face every time he walks overhead. Chains beat against the cement wall I’m tethered to with every tremble that wracks my body.
Drip.  Drip.  Drip.  
Somewhere water leaks an incessant pounding in my skull, and I count every drop.  Six hundred thirty-eight.  Six hundred thirty-nine.  Six hundred forty.  A cold, moldy scent invades my nose, and the cough that rattles my chest turns into a gag, staving off the impending black hole I’m being sucked inside.  
He stole my pills, and what feels like shards of broken glass rolling inside of my stomach keep me from falling asleep.  Not that I want to sleep.  Not that I could.  But I need to, because the pain is too much.  It claws my insides like a beast, desperate for escape, demanding more of the sweet venom, the nothingness that keeps it tucked deep inside of me.  Muscle spasms create a line of tension through my body, so taut, I feel like my limbs will snap away.  
“Help me!  Fucking help me!”  My words bounce back at me from the walls, all hoarse and scratchy as though I’ve been screaming for days.  Have I?  I’ve blacked out a few times, only to wake to that dripping noise and the incessant pain.
I’m sweating in spite of the frigid tendrils that snake beneath my skin like frost crystals.  My body shivers and sickness twists my insides into a nauseating roil, threatening to climb my throat any second.  
I need my pills.  
“Please!”  I turn my head in time to expel the bile shooting up my throat.  Fire trails behind it as the acids burn my nostrils with another heave.  Over and over, I choke, head slung awkwardly to the side as the fluids leak down my cheek.  A coughing fit steals my next breath and another round of bile splashes on the floor somewhere beside me.
An ache throbs in my skull as I lay back onto the bed and the churning in my stomach intensifies.  The sensation of bugs scampering across my arms jerks my muscles, and I shiver at the crawling of my skin.  I cry out, kicking against my binds.  “Get off of me! Get off!”  It doesn’t go away, though.  It intensifies, a nightmare come to life, and I’m certain there are spider legs beating against my flesh, digging, attempting to burrow themselves into my bones.  “Get off of me!  Oh God, get them off of me!”
Urgency tugs at my gut.  I need to use the bathroom more than I ever have and the panic sends me kicking and screaming.  Bloating in my stomach balloons and the pressure to release has me arching up off the mattress.  No, no, no.  Please not this.
I’m going to soil the goddamn bed and be forced to sleep in my own filth.
Everything flicks to blackness.
In dreams, I’m carried into a bathroom, my whole body quaking and jerking.  I want to get away, but comfort blankets me in the warmth of the stranger’s arms and the heat of his skin as I lay against his solid chest.  A harsh and blinding light beats down on me.  Focusing through the glare, I stare at a set of angel wings inked across his chest and a crisp orange scent that is both delicious and nauseating overwhelms my senses.  My stomach feels light when he sets me down and the heat washes over me in waves of bliss.  Soft cotton trails down my temple as he wipes a washcloth over my face.
He pushes the wet strands of hair from my eyes, and my breathing calms, as I stare into the multi-colored eyes of a monster.

 

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Keri Lake is a married mother of two living in Michigan. By day, she tries to make use of the degrees she’s earned in science. By night, she writes dark contemporary, paranormal romance and urban fantasy. Though novels tend to be her focus, she also writes short stories and flash fiction on the many occasions distraction sucks her into the Land of Shiny Things.

For news, updates and sneak peeks at the sexy cover model candidates for her annual Cover Model Contest, subscribe to her newsletter: http://eepurl.com/HJPHH

 

 

 

Ripple Effect: Episode 1 by Keri Lake…Blog Tour & Review

 

 

 

Ripley

They call me RIP.
I’m a killer. A murderer. A psychopath.
In the eyes of the righteous, I’m a monster, born of sin and depravity.
I want to protect her, but I’m not a good man.
I want to love her, but I no longer feel.
She gets under my skin, though, and has awakened something inside of me.
Something I’d kill for.
I’m not her savior—not even close. In fact, I’m worse than the hell she’s already suffered.
I’m her vengeance. Tit for tat, as they say.
And if she’s not careful, I’ll be her ruin.

Dylan

For months, I’ve watched him.
I’ve fantasized him as my savior, my lover. My ticket out of the hell I’ve lived in for the last six years.
I never dreamed he’d be my nightmare.
Had I known what he really is, I’d have never gotten in the car that night, but life is full of cause and effect.
And sometimes the choice on offer isn’t a choice at all.
It’s the result of something already in motion, and we’re merely left to survive the ripple effect.

*This is an erotic suspense/erotic romance not recommended for readers under the age of 18 due to graphic violence and sex.

 

Shells are made to be cracked.
I stare down at the tiny white egg, wedged between the ashtray filled with cigarette butts and the empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the balcony.  Hardly broken in two halves, the busted center reveals an underdeveloped bird inside, nearly devoured by the bugs that crawl in and out of the shell.  I can just make out one bulbous eyeball, surprisingly intact, staring back at me.  Mourning Dove, I’d bet.  They seem to flock to this shithole every year, for whatever reason.
The nest teeters on the edge of the eave somewhere above me, as if the mother intentionally chose this most dangerous spot to lay her egg then up and abandoned it.  Left to the careful watch of carnivores.
Poor little bird.
A tickle hits my arm and I slap a hand to my skin, before scratching at the spot just below a black monarch butterfly tattoo, digging my nails into the place where I’m certain I felt something crawling over me.  I hate when my long wisps of hair skim across the surface like a translucent web dancing over my skin.  Insects give me the willies.  Well, except for butterflies, I don’t mind them so much.  My therapist put a name on it once, said I had ento-something-phobia—a fear of bugs.  It’s not really the bugs themselves I fear, though.  It’s the idea that something could breach the barriers of my skin, and infest, just like the shell that housed that bird.  Sometimes I have dreams about them, crawling over me, nesting inside of me.  
The very thought casts a shiver down my spine, and I’m grateful for the pane of glass that separates me from the macabre outside my window.  
Wind rattles the glass in its frame, the tendrils of late winter snaking their way beneath the thin afghan wrapped around my shoulders.  It’s been mild, unseasonably warm enough for bugs and early blooms, but that Chicago wind carries the vestiges of a brutal winter.
The fog of my pills is lifting, making me more aware of the cold, but I’m holding off for something stronger.  I’ll need it tonight.
From below, the mumbled shouts of Lady Ortiz, as I call her, push their way through the rotted wood planks that separate our balcony from hers.  She and Mr. Ortiz are fighting again, their voices escalating into the crash of broken glass.   The Yorkie, three floors below, barks an incessant plea to take a piss outside, and I wonder if his owner, Mrs. Silvia, has finally kicked the bucket.  The lady’s pushing ninety, and the pungent reek of ammonia that fills her apartment seeps through the heating ducts of this place sometimes.
Oddly enough, in spite of the noise, the smells, and the crawling bugs, this is my moment of peace. Escape.  Freedom.  
I must be the only teenage girl on the planet who longs for quiet moments without the gossip, the socializing, and all the damn noise.  In a generation of selfies and the desperate need for validation, sometimes I like to slip onto the other side of the mirror and simply watch.
Fringed by the glow of my bedroom light, I study the broken shell, eyeing an ant that marches away with a chunk of something far too big for its size, and I’m reminded that the world takes what it wants even after death.
That’s how I got here, this shithole apartment smack in the middle of Chicago.  Just like insects, after my father’s death, the bank took our house, the creditors took our cars, and shame stole our pride as we bounced from shelter to shelter, my mom and me.  I was nine years old when he died, and as innocent and vulnerable as a baby bird trapped inside a fragile shell.
Because he committed suicide, my dad’s insurance policy was considered null, and we were left without a pot to piss in.  For a while, though, we got by.  My mom landed a job dancing, and as a veteran’s widow, qualified for something like Section Eight housing.  I was left home alone most nights, but it worked.  We survived. Things were okay for a while.
I can’t even remember the moment life changed for us.  
Feels like it happened in the span of a year, but I know it only took one fleeting second in time, when she didn’t have to worry about me, when the weight bearing down on her lifted and she felt high as the clouds.
An odd dichotomy, heroin—the way it rolls off the tongue as two completely opposite things—a selfless and courageous woman, and a selfish agent of destruction.  
My mom gave up one for the other and that began our descent into some of the darkest days of my life.
My stomach twists, and I curl into myself, bringing my knees tighter to my body.  
Almost time.
Two silhouettes hit my periphery, and I turn toward the mouth of the alley, where they move abruptly, limbs flailing, as if they’re in the thick of a fight.  I focus on them for a moment, spotting the sag of his slacks just below his un-tucked shirt, and realize they’re not fighting at all. They’re fucking.  A prostitute and her John pressed against the dirty bricks of the building, beside the overflowing dumpster. Her dark skin is hard to make out, but his crisp white shirt stands out like a beacon of debauchery.
This alley is a constant stream of slum life stories.
Staring at them drudges a memory of sitting tucked beside a line of garbage cans in the back alley of a bar, watching a rat pick at a maggot-infested chicken leg lying in a toxic pool of wastewater, while the sounds of my mother’s animalistic grunts and moans drifted from the other side.  Nothing but meat and the stench of rot taunting my gag reflex.  Through a small gap between the wall and garbage, I could just make out a man’s naked ass slamming into her, his dirty fingers curled around her bony thigh.  Even then, no more than eleven years old, I knew what she’d become before the word was brutally carved into her skin. Whore.  Junkie.  A prostitute, always searching for the next high.
The two in the alley stop moving.  Only that they’ve begun to pull their clothes back on tells me one of them must’ve climaxed.  There is no big finale, or magical moment of ecstasy in the underbelly.  It’s all quick and quiet fucks, while breathing in the fog and reek of stale sex and damp garbage.  He tugs his slacks over his hips and holds up an object, which I’m guessing is a thin wad of cash.  She reaches for it and the guy strikes her with the back of his hand, the echoing smack that kicks her head to the side is the first sound I’ve heard between them.  
He’s probably her pimp.  If she fights him, she’ll have to drag her ass across the city looking for an unclaimed street corner, and pray some crazy lunatic doesn’t pick her up and turn her into a human skin rug with her head mounted on his wall.
At seventeen, I know more about organizational hierarchy and job security than the average middle-aged CEO, and just like the corporate world, success depends on how many people get fucked.  
Wolves and sheep.
For those of us in the flock, survival comes down to how well we manipulate, because a predator’s eyes are naturally drawn to the most innocent.  So when my mom’s John started giving me that carnal look, I began carrying a pocketknife, and at thirteen, I once held it to the junkie’s throat, threatening to slice out his voice box if he ever touched me again.
Sometimes the sheep can be cunning, though.
My mom once tried to make me pickpocket—a lesson that landed us in the back of a cop car.  Took ten minutes with the cop before we were released with a warning, and it was then I learned a valuable lesson in life:  even at a woman’s weakest, sex could be her most powerful weapon.
I glance back at Charlie, my stark white Dogo Argentino, stolen from one of my mother’s back alley conquests.  If not for her, I wouldn’t be sitting here, letting the blood-sucking insects feed off of me, after my mother spiraled straight to her grave.  
Charlie gives me purpose.  If there is a God, I truly believe he put her in my life to keep me from doing stupid shit.  That, or to give me a weakness, because Lord knows I’d probably go psycho bitch crazy and end up in a padded cell if anything ever happened to my beloved dog.
Because of her, my heart is a tenderer piece of meat for the insects to tear apart.
At the opposite side of the room is another bed that belongs to my eight-year-old foster sister, Layla.  Well, for now anyway.  She won’t be here long.  This place is a revolving door for foster girls, most only staying a couple months max.  I don’t know where they go, and honestly, I don’t care.  There’s no point getting to know them.  In the time I’ve lived with the Westpricks, at least two-dozen girls have been in and out of here.  In some ways, I resent them, getting out and moving on to something else.  Maybe somewhere better.
I’m the only one who ever stays.  The constant in this hellhole.
Since I was nine years old, I’ve been bounced around from house to house, wishing and hoping for things that just don’t happen to kids where I come from.  For six of those years I’ve been lost.  The forgotten.  The unwanted.  I’ve been hurt in ways that have forever changed my landscape and numbed me to future pain.  
But now I have Charlie, who’s a reminder that good things can come from bad situations, and that even a beast can penetrate the hardest of hearts.  
Charlie makes me think of my mother more than I care to.  Perhaps because it was my mother who stole her for me, unwittingly gifting me my own personal guardian angel.  
I miss her sometimes, though.
The memories of her are like bent photographs that I pull from my back pocket from time to time, wishing I could set them out on a shelf someday.  But life’s too short, particularly in this part of the city, to dwell on what will never be again.
My mom wasted away before I even hit middle school. Police told me it was an overdose, but I think she got a hold of a tainted batch of heroin.  
And I’ve been caught up in the system ever since.
A few places worked out okay.  They let me keep my dog, which was cool, but people tend to give up on kids who don’t love as easily as others.  I acted out.  Punched my first foster mother in the face and broke her nose.  Didn’t even have a good reason, really, except that she was the first person I had to deal with after my mom died.
Lucky for me, my caseworker managed to track down my mom’s sister, Chanel, and her long-time boyfriend, Randy.  I’d never met her before, never even knew my mom had a sister. Aside from the fact that Chanel treats Layla and me like her favorite Barbie dolls, the two of them can’t stand us most of the time.
Doesn’t matter, though.
Two more months and I’ll be out on my own.  
I close my eyes so tight they ache.  Two more months.  That’s when I graduate and can get the hell out of this shithole, and away from the shady foster system that threw me into the hands of Randy Westprick, as I like to call him, and my flighty aunt.  In a few weeks I turn eighteen and no one will own me anymore.  No one.
I could run away now, ditch school and hit the streets, but that would put me on the same path as my mother and I’d rather die in this hellish place than repeat her mistakes.
The neon sign across the alley blinks a mesmerizing repetition of lost hopes that reflects off the patches of water along the pavement.
A shadow slips along my periphery, and I lift my gaze as a dark figure stalks down the alley toward the old fashioned-looking diner that sits across the narrow cross section on the corner.  A place that reminds me of the Boulevard of Broken Dreams painting I once saw at the mall.
It’s him.
Head to toe in black, the stranger’s tall frame remains concealed in the leather coat he always wears.  I flip open the dull brass pocket watch, the only remnant left of my real dad, and check the time.  Ten o’clock, as usual.  Churning in my stomach has me hugging my mid-section.  
Almost time.
Every Friday I watch the stranger enter the diner, choosing the corner booth beside the window, where he orders a burger and drink.  It’s only Friday he orders a burger.  Some nights he’ll come in, grab carry-out, and leave. But not on Fridays.  On those nights, he stays and sits alone, never seems to make small talk with the waitress—the same lady who waits on him every time he ventures in.  Their interactions are brief and as cold as I’d imagine from a man like him.  In spite of that, the sight of him makes me dream things.  I don’t know who he is, but I fantasize that he’s a deft killer by the way he carries himself with such lethal grace.  If he is, then this is the side his victims never get to see—his vulnerability, choosing the same place, the same seat, the same time every Friday night.  It’s a sadness that speaks to me, because without fail, I find myself settling in by my window at the very same time.  
Occasionally, he goes at different times, on different days, some weeks not at all, which might seem erratic to some, but I’ve watched him long enough to know there’s a pattern.  One that I’ve picked up on, because that one week he’s not there, is repeated precisely four weeks later.  Perhaps it’s mindless on his part, maybe his visits correspond to events in his life that I’m not privy to, but I’m a creature of patterns, and I’ve memorized his.
From as high as my window, I can see he’s big.  A man, not a boy, at least ten years my senior.  His bulky frame fills the creases of the leather coat he wears, and he reminds me of something straight out of a comic book—not the hero, but the menacing antihero, the bad guy no one expects to be good.
No, in my fantasy, he’s bigger.  Meaner.  Stronger.  A man who kills on instinct.
Beneath the cover of my blanket, I sneak my hand down inside my shirt, closing my eyes the moment my fingertip makes contact with my hardened nipple.  I imagine his lips closing over it, the scratch of his day-old scruff against my skin and his strong hands holding me in place, the gruff in his voice as he says my name like a fervent prayer.  I imagine he smells good, not like stale beer and the putrid mix of body odor and bacon grease, but something deliciously masculine.
I shouldn’t want for a grown man this way, but I do, and I don’t even know him.  
For months, I’ve held this invisible rendezvous with him, staring down from my perch, imagining him stealing me from this cage.  Turning me into whatever he is.  Killer?  Criminal?  I don’t even care, so long as it’s tougher, more wicked than Randy Westprick.
I fault him for my lack of interest in the boys at school.  Not that I’m allowed to date them anyway, but I’m certainly not touching myself to any of the guys my age.
Sometimes he stares out the window and I swear his gaze scans up to my balcony. However, if he sees me, he never makes it known.  Perhaps to a man like that, I’m nothing but a young girl, hardly a threat for noticing him.
With my bottom lip caught between my teeth, I succumb to the visuals toying with my mind and the soft moan that escapes me has me stealing a furtive glance back at Layla to make sure she’s still asleep.
He takes his usual seat, filling the booth with his bulky frame.  Some nights I picture sliding into his lap, his body crushing me against that table, as I straddle his thighs.  I imagine his massive arms enveloping me.  His tongue across my skin and in my mouth.  Sweat dripping down my back, along my spine where the palm of his hand holds me in place.  How he’d feel without the pills denying me the sensation of his cock filling me.  The edge of the table beating into my back with every punishing drive of his hips, and the tight clench of his jaw in that reckless moment when he finishes inside of me.
My lips part at the vivid imagery, and my belly tightens while I circle my nipple with the pad of my finger.
If anyone were after him, he’d be hard to miss in those bright lights, the way he stands out like a splotch of black paint on a stark white canvas. He hasn’t looked this way once tonight, which allows me to study him intently, admiring his virile features.
He’s beautiful.  A sad, but beautiful man.
The click of the doorknob sends a knot straight to my throat and my stomach sinks like bricks in a murky river. The sound alerts my dog, who I can hear rustling in her bed, and a low growl rumbles in her chest.  
I slip my hand out of my shirt, straightening myself beneath the afghan.  
A beam of new light invades the soft glow of the Christmas lights I’ve strung around the room for Layla, and as my nightmare enters, Charlie’s growl dies to a whimper.
The thud of his boots across the floor sound like the hooves of the devil coming to claim my soul.  A scuffling tells me he’s stumbled, but not even that prompts me to turn around.  
Drunk again.
The moment I caught him hunkered down in front of the television with a six-pack, I knew he’d come for me.  I don’t want to look at him.  I hate him.  The smell of him makes me sick, like a walking deep fryer.  
If not for Charlie, I’d climb over the railing of the balcony, spread my arms, and fly.  The police would find a broken shell of me.  They’d study me, the same way I studied the baby bird, while the world dissects pieces of my story to suit their curiosities, leaving nothing but a picked over carcass.
All because my mother abandoned her nest.
They’ll never know it was he who gave the final push, and it won’t even matter.  Once he injects the drugs, I’ll fall into dissociative bliss, tucked away in the same fog that kept my mother oblivious of the world around her, on rose-colored clouds, and a never-ending dream.  
The darkness behind my eyelids is my only refuge from the hell around me, and I’ll willingly climb inside, burrowing myself in that place where no one can touch me.  While my body’s propped on the cold metal of the washing machine, I’ll be miles away, fallen deep into the rabbit hole.  No one can find me there.  Not Randy, nor the men who see the photographs of me that he takes in the dingy laundry room of this apartment complex.  
Although he never violates me himself, for whatever reason, he likes objects.  The more common they are, the more he gets off.  He once had me masturbate the end of a vibrating toothbrush and used it for months after—smiling at me every time he brushed his teeth.  
I’ve been defiled in every sense short of rape, stripped and purged of innocence, feeding his disgusting obsession with me.  
I often wonder what Chanel’s like when she’s not hopped up on pain pills.  If she’d be jealous and accuse me of fucking her man, or if she’d take pleasure in watching him do it.  I once tried to tell her about him taking me down there and snapping pictures of me.  She offered me one of her pills and asked if I liked the boots her friend had handed down to me.  
I can’t blame her too much, though.  Randy likes to use her as his personal punching bag, and most days, she’s sporting a bruise somewhere.  Even if it’s not always visible.  He’s hit me a few times, but unlike Chanel, I hit him back, even at the risk of more pain, because I believe once you show weakness, it’s easier to fall prey to it.
A tug at my elbow and I glance to the side, swatting at his arm.  “Don’t touch me.”
Sometimes Randy offers gifts—small tokens that come with his usual pep talk about how it’s not abuse because he never actually penetrates me and the photos don’t show my face.  That’s a lie.  I once swiped his phone when he passed out on the couch and deleted a good few dozen pictures of me—his little mementos.  I couldn’t stand to look at my own face—droopy eyes singed with the apathy toward whatever he forced me to do. I’d hoped to see shame in those photos, but it seemed buried too far beneath the effects of the drugs.
He’s threatened to circulate them throughout the school if I say a word about any of this.  Send them to all my classmates on Facebook, as if they’d come from me.  Like he’d ever let me have my own account.  As far as the world is concerned, I don’t exist.
“C’mon,” is all he says, before walking out of the bedroom.
I give one more glance toward the man in the diner, as he stares off, waiting for his food.  Maybe one day he’ll look up and see me.  
Maybe he’d want to kill Randy Westprick, if he knew that somewhere close by, a girl was forced to do bad things.  Very bad things.
For now, the drugs will put up a barrier, separating my mind from the horrors of my reality, much like the pane of glass that separates me from the insect-ravaged bird outside my window.
Maybe it won’t hurt as much this time, knowing that I do this to keep Randy from slaughtering my dog or taking away the pills that have become as necessary as the air I breathe.  A vicious cycle of escaping to survive and surviving to escape.
Because sex is power.
And even the hardest shells are made to be cracked.

 

 

What did I just read??? Keri, just when I think you can’t get any darker or twisted with your stories, you go and shock me.

Keri doesn’t hold anything back in the start of these episodes. She hits the ground running showing us exactly who Ripley is, what he does and how he became who he is.

We meet Dylan and the absolutely horrific and gritty life she’s struggling through.

There isn’t any rainbows in this story. Keri gives us the ugly, raw and real of how life is on the streets. And she’s just getting started…..

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Kindle Fire
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To enter click HERE
Keri Lake is a married mother of two living in Michigan. By day, she tries to make use of the degrees she’s earned in science. By night, she writes dark contemporary, paranormal romance and urban fantasy. Though novels tend to be her focus, she also writes short stories and flash fiction on the many occasions distraction sucks her into the Land of Shiny Things.

For news, updates and sneak peeks at the sexy cover model candidates for her annual Cover Model Contest, subscribe to her newsletter: http://eepurl.com/HJPHH

 

 

 

Young Adult Urban Fantasy from Entangled Teen

Team Urban: Why I Love Urban Fantasy!

Brenda Drake – Guardian of Secrets (Library Jumpers, #2):
I’m such a fan of Urban Fantasy for many reasons, but mostly because writers can take our normal world and, either secret or not, add a dash of the fantastical to it. With mystical creatures hiding from humans or living side by side with them, deliciously nefarious things can happen. There’s just something extraordinary about urban fantasy. It’s the ability of the writer to look at something normal in the human world and mix it up. Changing a simple book into something that can transport someone from library to library or hiding a zoo of magical beasts in a common suitcase.

Book Description:

Being a Sentinel isn’t all fairytales and secret gardens. Sure, jumping through books into the world’s most beautiful libraries to protect humans from mystical creatures is awesome. No one knows that better than Gia Kearns, but she could do without the part where people are always trying to kill her. Oh, and the fact that Pop and her had to move away from her friends and life as she knew it.

And if that isn’t enough, her boyfriend, Arik, is acting strangely. Like, maybe she should be calling him “ex,” since he’s so into another girl. But she doesn’t have time to be mad or even jealous, because someone has to save the world from the upcoming apocalypse, and it looks like that’s going to be Gia.

Buy Guardian of Secrets

Chris Cannon – Fanning the Flames (Going Down in Flames, #4):
1. There are no maidens that need to be rescued in urban fantasy. More than likely the females are the ones kicking ass.
2. I love the snarky banter that occurs when you throw modern day characters into strange/magical/supernatural circumstances.
3. Anything is possible in urban fantasy. There are no rules about what types of paranormal creatures you can have. If you want to create dragons that breathe fire, ice, wind, sonic waves, and lightning, you can, just like I did in Going Down In Flames *cough cough shameless self promotion

Book Description:

She isn’t afraid of anything…except losing the knight she loves. Bryn McKenna has it all, including her smoking-hot knight turned live-in boyfriend, Valmont. Even though she’s a hybrid dragon, she’s finally fitting into the new shape-shifting dragon world that’s become her own. But her grandparents want to ruin everything by making Bryn’s nightmare of an arranged marriage to Jaxon Westgate a reality. It doesn’t help that Jaxon’s father is on a witch hunt for Rebel sympathizers and Bryn finds herself in his line of fire.

If she doesn’t say, “I do,” she’ll lose everything. Good-bye flying. Good-bye best friends. Good-bye magic. But if she bends to her grandparents’ will and agrees to marry Jaxon, she’ll lose the love of her life—her knight.

Buy Fanning the Flames

Shonna Slayton – Spindle:
Urban fantasy reminds me that our own world is magical. We are so used to the way our world works that we take for granted how incredible it is that our heart beats, our brain imagines, that our eyes see color.

As a writer, urban fantasy allows me to open up my imagination on multiple planes. I still work with the real world, but I get to add layers onto that. It’s like going from black and white TV to color. Like Dorothy in dusty old Kansas stepping into the colorful land of Oz.

Book Description:

In a world where fairies lurk and curses linger, love can bleed like the prick of a finger…

Briar Rose knows her life will never be a fairy tale. She’s raising her siblings on her own, her wages at the spinning mill have been cut, and the boy she thought she had a future with has eyes for someone else. Most days it feels like her best friend, Henry Prince, is the only one in her corner…though with his endless flirty jokes, how can she ever take him seriously?

When a mysterious peddler offers her a “magic” spindle that could make her more money, sneaking it into the mill seems worth the risk. But then one by one, her fellow spinner girls come down with the mysterious sleeping sickness…and Briar’s not immune.

If Briar wants to save the girls—and herself—she’ll have to start believing in fairy tales…and in the power of a prince’s kiss.

Buy Spindle

Tara Fuller – Inbetween (Kissed by Death, #1):

Book Description:

Death doesn’t fall in love. Usually. Since the car crash that took her father’s life three years ago, Emma’s life has been a freaky—and unending—lesson in caution. Surviving “accidents” has taken priority over being a normal seventeen-year-old, so Emma spends her days taking pictures of life instead of living it. Falling in love with a boy was never part of the plan. Falling for a reaper who makes her chest ache and her head spin? Not an option.
It’s not easy being dead, especially for a reaper in love with a girl fate has put on his list not once, but twice. Finn’s fellow reapers give him hell about spending time with Emma, but Finn couldn’t let her die before, and he’s not about to let her die now. He will protect the girl he loves from the evil he accidentally unleashed, even if it means sacrificing the only thing he has left…his soul.

Buy Inbetween

Danielle Ellison – Salt (Salt, #1):
Whether it’s witches, demons, ghosts or other types monsters, there’s nothing like escaping the sometimes mundane reality of our world, or giving what we know every day a spice of fantasy. Filled with kick-ass heroines who aren’t afraid to fight for what they believe in (and hot, just-as-fierce love interests) Urban Fantasy inspires you look beyond what you see and be more than you think you can be. Plus, life is more with some magic: more dangerous, more unpredictable, more chaotic, more fun.

Book Description:

Penelope is a witch, part of a secret society protecting humans from demon attacks. But when she was a child, a demon killed her parents—and stole her magic. Since then, she’s been pretending to be something she’s not, using her sister’s magic to hide her own loss, to prevent being sent away.

When she’s finally given the chance to join the elite demon-hunting force, Penelope thinks that will finally change. With her sister’s help, she can squeeze through the tests and get access to the information she needs to find “her” demon. To take back what was stolen.

Then she meets Carter. He’s cute, smart, and she can borrow his magic, too. He knows her secret—but he also has one of his own.

Suddenly, Penelope’s impossible quest becomes far more complicated. Because Carter’s not telling her everything, and it’s starting to seem like the demons have their own agenda…and they’re far too interested in her.

Buy Salt

Rachel Harris – My Super Sweet Sixteenth Century (My Super Sweet Sixteenth Century, #1):

Book Description:

On the precipice of her sixteenth birthday, the last thing lone wolf Cat Crawford wants is an extravagant gala thrown by her bubbly stepmother and well-meaning father. So even though Cat knows the family’s trip to Florence, Italy, is a peace offering, she embraces the magical city and all it offers. But when her curiosity leads her to an unusual gypsy tent, she exits…right into Renaissance Firenze.
Thrust into the sixteenth century armed with only a backpack full of contraband future items, Cat joins up with her ancestors, the sweet Alessandra and protective Cipriano, and soon falls for the gorgeous aspiring artist Lorenzo. But when the much-older Niccolo starts sniffing around, Cat realizes that an unwanted birthday party is nothing compared to an unwanted suitor full of creeptastic amore. Can she find her way back to modern times before her Italian adventure turns into an Italian forever?

Buy My Super Sweet Sixteenth Century

Gloria Craw – Atlantis Rising (Atlantis Rising, #1):
I love Urban Fantasy because it infuses normal life with myth and magic. It’s so exciting to have something in common with a character who finds a magic object, special ability or a secret origin. The possible ways her courage and passion might be tested are endless. When she does triumph against fantastic odds, I’m left feeling inspired and reassured that I can overcome great obstacles in my everyday life too. Urban Fantasy reminds me that the ordinary in us can sometimes be…extraordinary.

Book Description:

We’ve stayed hidden too long… I am different. I have always been different, but no one can know or my life will be in danger. So I hide in plain sight, wearing drab clothes and thick glasses and trying to be invisible. I’m so good at hiding, no one has ever noticed me. Until Ian…the mysterious and oh-so-cute boy I know I need to avoid.

Now I have been seen. And more terrifying still, I am wanted—by those who would protect me and those who would destroy everything and everyone I love. But if they’re all terrified about who I am, wait until they see what I can do…

Buy Atlantis Rising

Strike Fear by Beth Rhodes…

 

 

Title: Strike Fear
Series: Hawk Elite Security #2
Author: Beth Rhodes
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: February 13, 2017


Blurb

Head of the personal safety division for Hawk Elite Security, Tan is serious about teaching his clients how to stay safe. But, with a file two inches thick confirming Elizabeth Whitney as a world champion athlete, he’s prepared to take on his newest assignment as the vacation he hasn’t had in over five years. A little instruction, a couple hockey games on the side, and he’ll be on his way to the next spoiled rich kid.

Elizabeth takes one look at Tancredo Byrnes and it doesn’t matter that she can perform a triple lutz-toe loop blindfolded; clumsy becomes her middle name. Though trusting people outside her family has never been her strong suit, she finds herself drawn to the easy-going man who is supposed to make her into a superwoman. But she’s been burned by those fickle feelings of attraction before and isn’t about to let them ruin her life again.

As their training intensifies, the threats to Elizabeth darken, and Tan realizes that what should have been a cake walk is a fight between life and death.

 

 

Purchase Links

 

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited

 

 

Excerpt

 

He liked women, he really did. He dated occasionally, never taking anything deeper than the surface. There had always been too much on his plate with a job in the military. And sending his paycheck home to Mom and his sister had kept him from stumbling into anything long term.

And his focus had been best utilized at work, anyway. Until now. Until he’d taken the position at the gym and begun to manage personal security, anyway. During an operation, he was part of a team. Sometimes, his new position left him alone—for long stretches of time. He found he had way more time with himself than he wanted. To think. To analyze. To regret.

He shoved aside those thoughts as she made her way out of the locker room in her black leggings—holy long legs—that had swirls of glittering rhinestones and sequins all over them. The tank top matched—black but, thankfully, free of all the crap that would scratch the hell out of him. Her shoes were tiny little white canvas boppers, also covered in shiny shit.

At least she’d had the sense to remove the expensive stuff. Her ears were bare as were her neck and wrist. “Where do we start?” she asked.

“You do realize you might get sweaty, right?”

“I’m ready when you are.”

Tan shrugged.

They stretched first. And he let himself be impressed by her flexibility, the obvious attention she paid to her muscles. “Do you still skate?”

“No,” she answered quickly, not expounding, as she lowered her head once more to her knees and let her hands dangle over her feet.

The job had been handed to him less than twenty-four hours ago, with little to go on except for the father’s concern and a little background. Apparently, she wasn’t going to talk either…yet. But he’d learned, sometimes it takes a while to get the client talking.

Loose now, and obviously comfortable in her own skin, Elizabeth kept her muscles warm by moving. She shook out her arms and paced. Fluid grace.

“Let’s start with a stalker scenario.”

She snorted a laugh. “That’s easy. I’m going to cross the street…and probably run.”

“Maybe this guy can run, too.” Tan twisted at the waist, stretching the muscles of his lower back. “He gets you from behind. Come here.”

She rolled her eyes but did as requested.

“You’re running and he gets your arm.” Grabbing her arm, Tan pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her chest and giving her a lift off the ground. Wow, she was light.

Immediately, she threw her head back, catching the side of his jaw. He grunted, the surprise making him drop her. She slammed her foot onto his instep, elbowed his gut, which left him breathless, then turned and kneed him in the groin.

He moaned and slowly lowered himself to the floor so he could lie in the fetal position. Holy crap. Taken down by a sparkling princess. Thank God he was the only one around today.

She leaned over, and her hair brushed against his cheek. “How about you tell my dad I passed, and we’ll call it even.”

Not in a million years, he promised as she picked up her bag and walked out the door.

 

Also Available

 

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited

 

 

Author Bio

 

Beth Rhodes is a wife, mother, friend, and lover. She lives with her Army husband and their six children at the base of the mountains in Colorado. She loves the cold, coffee, camping, and sunshine.
Her stories are full of life, family, and love. You can find her reading just about any genre of romance, but her favorites are fast-paced suspense, where life is on the line and love is the only saving grace. She wants a book that makes her heart pound and her pulse race.Beth is a member of Romance Writers of America, Pikes Peak Writers, Colorado Romance Writers, and International Thriller Writers. She is signed with Entangled Publishing and Boroughs Publishing Group.

 

Author Links

A Promise Ignited by Anissa Garcia…Release Day Blitz

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Today we have the release of A Promise Ignited by Anissa Garcia! I am so excited to share this fantastic new novella with you. Check it out and grab your copy today—and catch up on the whole series now!

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About A PROMISE IGNITED:

Jaime Caldwell had the perfect life with her husband and son. Or so she thought. Over time, the stress of everyday life put a strain on her perfect marriage. The intimacy she once had with her husband is long gone—an intimacy she craves.

What she doesn’t expect, is for that craving to be reignited by an unexpected gentleman with an easy going smile. His flirtatious words fuel her, making her feel wanted, and lighting the passion within her.

But not everything is as it seems…

In the light of a new day, Jaime hopes she can use that passion to reignite her marriage.

A Promise Ignited is a short story, 10K in length, and previously published in Alphas of Sin with extended scenes included. It is a standalone, but the characters appear in A Promise Kept and A Promise Made.

 

Get your copy today!

Amazon | Goodreads

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Catch up on the Series!

A Promise Made:

Amazon – http://amzn.to/1X7E6dp

Amazon UK – http://amzn.to/1U4Ao0L

Amazon CA – http://amzn.to/1WCjtWK

Amazon AU – http://bit.ly/1TWI8EQ

Amazon Paperback – http://amzn.to/25JhKUF

A Promise Kept:

Amazon | Amazon Paperback

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About Anissa Garcia:

Author Anissa Garcia

Anissa Garcia resides in Austin, Texas and earned her Bachelor’s Degree in Speech Communications and English. She held an array of jobs including Public Relations Manager for Barnes and Noble. Wanting a change of pace, she moved to Los Angeles where she attended The American Academy of Dramatic Arts, and trained full-time in theatre. After working in Hollywood, she returned to Texas where she has written articles for Cosmopolitan and Lady Couture. When not writing stories, watching movies, or drinking a latte, she loves to daydream about romantic fictional men.

Connect with Anissa:

BookBub – https://www.bookbub.com/authors/anissa-garcia

FB – https://www.facebook.com/AnissaGarciaAuthor/

Twitter – https://twitter.com/AnissaGAuthor

Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/anissagauthor/

Snapchat – Anissagauthor

Pinterest – https://www.pinterest.com/AnissaGAuthor/

Website – http://anissagarcia.com

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The Boxer by Piper Rayne….Release Day Blitz

Cover Design: Djordje Grbic

Release Date: March 1, 2017

Synopsis

“Who knew a bad boy could mend a broken heart?”

What does a girl do after she discovers her fiancé is a cheating bastard?

In my case, I performed the ritual implosion of all scorned women. I drowned my sorrows in cases of white wine, wallowed in gallons of ice cream, and ignited a bonfire to burn away every damn remnant of his existence. Six months later, the only result was a permanent impression of my ass on the couch.

Continue reading The Boxer by Piper Rayne….Release Day Blitz

Beauty of the Beast by Rachel Demeter….Pre-Order Blitz

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

PREORDER:

Special $2.99 sale price through March 19th!

SYNOPSIS:

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.

Content Warning: 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.

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BEAUTY OF THE BEAST BOOK TRAILER

ABOUT RACHEL L. DEMETER

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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