Thursday, October 27, 2016

The Offer That Binds by Claire Davis

The Offer That Binds

What do you do when the one person you hate the most becomes the one person you can’t live without?

A bully by day when it comes to business and money, a playboy by night when it comes to pleasure. That is the reputation that precedes John Knight. He lives life the way he wants, no concern for the opinion of others. He cares for no one, is completely we have all been there before. Not the type of person you want to rely on to survive. Down on her luck financially, college student and full-time waitress Jessica gets rescued from an unlikely and overwhelming source, Billionaire John Knight makes her an offer that is impossible to refuse but terrifying to accept from a man whose affluence she had questioned from the start. Will the fine alpha billionaire really be a answer or will he be a major obstacle and a danger to innocent Jessica?

About Claire Davis

Born and raised in Los Angeles, California, Claire discovered her desire for writing in third grade where she started writing poetry and short stories. It wasn't until much later that her passion for writing grew from a hobby into therapy. Writing for Claire, set her free from all the issues and drama life can bring.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

The Immortal Queen Tsubame: Awakening by H.D. Strozier

The Immortal Queen Tsubame

This book contains violence and explicit sexual situations.

The magical world wants nothing to do with MaLeila Samara. The first reason is she’s a powerful no name sorceress with no magical ties who inherited the magical legacy of the most powerful western sorcerers to live, Claude Thorne. The second reason is because she had the audacity to claim the right while having kinky hair and chocolate colored skin.

So MaLeila gave the magical world the proverbial fuck you, fought off the sorcerers and sorceress who sought to see her killed for the bragging rights and lives in relative content with her two companions, both former slaves to Claude. Bastet—the powerful sorceress with an affinity for yang magic who introduced her to the magical world; and Devdan, the brooding sorcerer with an affinity for yin magic who tried to kill her when they first met but who MaLeila now goes back and forth between hating and wanting to fall in bed with.

They’re admittedly co-dependent, fiercely protective of each other while at the same time resentful, though they’re more than willing to mostly ignore the latter until the Magic Council sends Marcel Brant to help them unravel The Immortal Queen Tsubame, the newest threat to the order and secrecy of the magical world. But Marcel’s more interested in admittedly having sex with MaLeila than finding Tsubame and because of his influence, for the first time since learning it existed, MaLeila wants to know all that magical world has to offer much to Bastet and Devdan’s chagrin. Exploring the magical world also means that MaLeila, Bastet, and Devdan have to deal with the mistrust and resentment in their bond and the dark past that forced them together before she was even born. And Tsubame is more than happy to use it to her advantage to drive them apart and destroy the only real threat that can stop her from wreaking havoc on the world.

Read an excerpt:

Nothing decent was ever happening in the streets between the hours of midnight and 5 a.m. MaLeila remembered her mother always telling her brother when he used to plead with the woman to let him stay out past midnight with the rest of his friends. And the woman had been right. MaLeila knew that first hand.
But unfortunately, being out at those indecent hours seemed to be an occupational hazard for being a sorceress. Or at least it was for MaLeila ever since she became a sorceress, because she was pretty sure other sorceress didn’t have to worry about the Magic Council turning a blind eye to deranged magic users just because they didn’t like her. Regardless, it was better for her to track down the rogue magic users at night after school hours and work than have them directly interfering with the two tomorrow.
“I have to at least give the lady a little credit. She doesn’t want to drain my soul or magical energy to make herself stronger or even kill me. She wants to preserve me in suspended animation to look at me for the rest of my life because I’m pretty. At least that’s new,” MaLeila said to the man in front of her over the loud music of the rave, her arms draped over his shoulders as much as they could be seeing as he was over a foot taller than her 5’ 2”.
“You actually sound excited about the prospect,” he said in a dry tone.
“At least the goal isn’t to kill me or eat my soul or drain my aura so it’s like I never existed and I can’t haunt people or be reincarnated or whatever happens to a sorceress after they die a natural death. At the very least if she does that, someone might discover me in a thousand years and I’ll wake up to a brand new world to explore,” MaLeila said with a shrug hands absently playing with his thick wavy hair. For now, it was just past his shoulders. But in a few months, it would certainly be down his back again.
She didn’t need the flashing lights of the rave to illuminate his golden pecan colored face to know that he was glowering back at her own milk chocolate colored face, both for the comment and for playing with his hair.
Finally he said, “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
MaLeila rolled her eyes and said, “Always so serious Devdan.”
“You’re too nonchalant about your life.”
MaLeila shrugged and said, “Laugh to keep from crying, Dev.”
“Neither one changes anything.”
“You know that from firsthand experience?” MaLeila asked soberly, locking her brown eyes with his grey ones. If he wasn’t forced to stand there with her, if he wasn’t forced to have to blend in with the crowd with her while they waited, MaLeila wouldn’t have asked. But regardless of what Devdan wanted to do, he was cornered at the moment.
He didn’t reply only tensed up just so slightly and pulled her closer as they both sensed the aura of the sorceress that for all intents and purposes wanted to make her decoration for her home. Neither one was sure where she was, but they knew she wouldn’t make her move until they were distracted, until their guard was let down, like the hunter (albeit hunter of human beings) that she was.
“You should go ahead and kiss me right now,” MaLeila whispered, standing on her tiptoes so her face was closer to his.
He did. His lips pressed to hers. If she were a couple of years younger and hadn’t had the experience of having a boyfriend, MaLeila might have been excited about them kissing. But whenever they did this, kissed in the middle of a crowded, pretending to be lost in each other, it was what they called it. Pretend. Mechanical, always aware of their surroundings, not at all focused on the sensations of the kiss if there were any. In essence, there was nothing pleasurable about it.
MaLeila sensed the sorceress get closer and it was then that she opened herself up to her ethereal sight, the sight that didn’t need her physical eyes and that let her see the world that co-existed yet transcended the physical. Essentially she saw “the magic in everything and everyone” so to speak, where everything was dark but illuminated by lights that represented magic, auras, and ethereal connections between those auras.
Devdan pulled his lips away slightly and muttered, “She’s behind you.”
“We have to wait for Bastet.”
“She better hurry up.”
“She’s watching her too. She will be. You know that.”
Just after MaLeila spoke, the lights brightened in the room until there were quick blinding flashes of light. It did a few things for them. The first thing Bastet’s magical light show did was totally distract the rave party goers. It was the reason they led the sorceress chasing MaLeila there in the first place. Everyone was either too drunk, high, distracted by the trick of the lights or all three to notice magic happening. So unless they were aware magic existed, they wouldn’t notice the magic or they’d notice and think it was an illusion. The second thing the light show did was disturb and disrupt the magic of the deranged sorceress. They had deduced before that her magical talents, similarly to Devdan’s, were derived from yin. But the sorceress’ powers weren’t as broad and varied as Devdan’s, and her strength while exacerbated by the magic present at night, was diminished by powerful light that was akin to that of the slightly unfiltered sun. In essence, Bastet’s yang magic.
With the sorceress’ magic diminished and everyone distracted, MaLeila pulled away from Devdan, turned on her heel and summoned her ankh shaped gold plated platinum staff to her right hand. While still using her ethereal vision she undid and redid the magical seams of distance and space to open up a portal to a light filled dimension beneath the sorceress’ feet. It instantly began to suck her in, the event heavily camouflaged by Bastet’s ever brighter and now blinding light show.
In a last desperate attempt to win, the sorceress used the remains of the magic that hadn’t been diminished by the lights to try to put her in the suspended sleep she was infamous for according to her entry in the International Registry of Magic Practitioners. If the woman were at her full strength, she would have no doubt put MaLeila into an instant sleep that would have put her in a state of suspended animation. As it was, MaLeila did start to feel woozy, her body light as though she might float into the air and never come down.
Devdan intervened by manipulating the shadows so that they formed a transparent barrier around MaLeila, protecting her from the sorceress’ efforts against her. The sorceress began to let out a scream, but by that time she’d been sucked all the way into the portal and MaLeila made quick work of repairing the seams of distance and space until the portal was gone and the other dimension was separated from their world once again.

About H.D. Strozier

After a year of working in the insurance business, H.D. Strozier thought it was about time she made her passion, writing, her full time job. She generally writes New Adult Fantasy Romances, and every now and then a sexy romantic one-shot. When she’s not writing or doing anything that has something to do with writing (almost never), she’s playing Pokémon, watching anime, reading manga, and other things that portray her as the big nerd she really is.

Follow her on Twitter: @Holly_Dae_

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Dirty Neighbor (The Dirty Suburbs) by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

Dirty Neighbor

Keeland Masters... Growing up, he was the boy next door, my older brother’s best friend, the guy who asked me to the prom...and then stood me up. He just vanished into thin air.

Now that he’s back in town, he wants to come over to play. And I’m not talking hopscotch.

But he’s hurt me once, so I’m sticking to my side of the fence no matter how good he looks pushing that lawnmower in all his tanned, toned shirtless glory.

Samantha Trotten... I should have been her first kiss. I should have been her "first time". Instead, I ended up being the first a**hole to break her heart. But a lot of things were outside of my control back then.

I've been to hell and back over the past few years. She doesn't even know the half of it.

But now, I'm back in town. And though I know I should keep my distance, all I want is a do-over...And I won't quit till I get it.

"Dirty Neighbor" is book one in the "Dirty Suburbs", a series of full-length, stand-alone romantic comedies set in small town Illinois.

Available on Amazon
US / UK / CA / AU

Read the first chapter:

Chapter 1


I veer off of the I-90 and guide my Harley onto the off-ramp. I grin to myself as I glance up at the huge, green highway sign looming above the road.

Welcome to Reyfield, Illinois.

I never thought I’d ever feel so damn happy to see that sign again but after all I’ve been through over the past three years, I just want something simple and familiar. I want to be in a place where I don’t feel antsy, like I’ve got to keep looking over my shoulder.

Reyfield is it. It’s almost like coming home…


I’m well aware that the Masters’ left a lot of destruction in our wake the last time we were in this town – unpaid bills, unsaid goodbyes and at least one very broken heart.  

Maybe it’s time to pay old debts, heal old wounds and make amends as best I can. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start.

It’s a chilly night. Fall is creeping its way into town. I breeze through the streets and everything feels familiar. It all gives me a little thrill in the pit of my stomach. The gothic architecture of the Presbyterian church…The washed-out “Go Tigers!” banner hanging outside of our old high school…The field where we played football…The burger joint we used to go to for lunch when the school cafeteria’s offerings resembled road kill topped with warm dog food...

I take a left off of Clifford Boulevard and pull onto Hyatt Street. The corner store is right where I left it. I cut my engine in the parking lot and stroll through the front door. I give a quick nod to the middle-aged woman sitting behind the cash register and make my way down the narrow, brightly-lit aisles.

Man, it feels good to just walk down the aisles of a freakin’ convenience store. When you’ve been locked away for as long as I have, you learn to appreciate the simple things.

I stand in front of the chip display for a moment, trying to decide between vinegar and barbecue. “Fuck it…” I’m having both. And how about a bag of jalapeño-cheddar, too? I’m making up for lost time, after all.

I grab a case of beer — the cheap kind that we used to buy with our fake IDs when we were teenagers. I’m feeling awfully nostalgic tonight. Then, I grab more chocolate-covered pretzel sticks than any self-respecting 27-year-old man ever should.

When I get to the condom aisle, I pick up eight three-packs of XL Magnums.

Yes, that might seem overly ambitious but I haven't had sex in three freakin’ years and whoever I take home with me tonight is in for a hell of a good time. The ladies don’t call me Master Kee for nothing. My main priority tonight is to drain the tank into the first acceptable-looking broad that comes my way and to be honest, ‘acceptable-looking’ is pretty much open for interpretation at this point.

Because I’m horny enough to fuck my way through the Reyfield phonebook.

I drop my goodies onto the counter and the cashier eyes me with an arched brow and a subtle grin. “Exciting night planned?” she asks, tipping her chin towards the condoms. The innuendo in her voice is undeniable.

I give her a second glance. Is she Ms. Acceptable for tonight?

Nah, she’s probably older than my mother and she smells like she’s been marinating in cigarette smoke and cheap perfume all day. My definition of “acceptable” may be loose, but not that loose.

I nod politely as I glimpse at the number glowing on the screen of the cash register and pull a $100 bill out of my wallet. She drags her long fingernails along my palm as she deposits the change into my hand.

Did my cock just twitch?

Down, buddy. Down.

“Have a good night, Big Boy,” she purrs as I give her a quick salute and duck out the door.

I store my goodies in my backpack and jump onto my bike. When I rev it, the poor thing lets out a choked straining sound. I’ll look into it first thing in the morning, but for now, I’m on mission to get laid.


Chapter 2

“Breathe in...hold hold hold...breathe out...Breathe in...hold hold hold...breathe out...Breathe in...hold hold hold...breathe out…”

I take long deep breaths, doing my best to synchronize my rhythm to the sound of Isla’s voice pouring into my ears. The cool morning breeze blowing over my face and the sun smiling down on my skin make it that much easier.

This is one of the few things that I absolutely adore about being back in Reyfield. It’s a quiet, serene town. Except for the occasional ruckus caused by the young children playing on the street and the yapping of the over-talkative Yorkshire terrier a few doors down, the place is a sanctuary. A slice of suburban perfection. The ideal place for soul-searching and self-reflection.

But Reyfield is just too slow-paced for me. Take Thornbush Lane, for example. The cul-de-sac is charming, for lack of a better word – the kind of place you’d go to raise a family or grow old, I guess. A cast of interesting characters occupy the lane. Nancy and Delores, the gray-haired duo who’ve appointed themselves as the two-woman neighborhood watch, the eccentric mailman who delivers my mail to the wrong house half the time, meddlesome neighbors who drop by unannounced when you least expect them. That all adds to the cozy feel of the place. But for an ambitious 25-year-old like me, Reyfield is nothing but a dead end.

Growing up, I couldn’t wait to get out of the suburbs. And that’s what I did as soon as I could. I moved 15 miles south to Chicago for college and then took a job in the city. Everything was going relatively well until four months ago when I suddenly got laid off. Now, here I am, unemployed, single, broke and for the past six weeks, living in my parents’ house again.


Thank god mom and dad are staying in Florida with grams till next spring so at least I have the house to myself. I did not work my ass off for my certified internal auditor designation only to end up living with my parents forevermore. Basically, I need to find a new job stat so that I can move back to the city as soon as possible.

Anyway, Isla swore up and down that meditation would help with my job search. She says that I’m ‘scattered’ and that’s why I haven’t been able to find a new position since I got laid off. Her new meditation recording is supposed to help me find my ‘center’ and ‘recalibrate’ in order to attract a suitable employment opportunity.

Her words, not mine.

For weeks, I resisted. The old Sammie thought that Isla was delusional and maybe even slightly off her rocker. The new Sammie is so hopeless and desperate and sick of being unemployed that I’m pretty much willing to try anything to get a damn job. Sending out resumes, compulsively checking job-listing websites and waiting impatiently for the postman to show up with my mail every morning has proven to be an ineffective strategy.

So, it was time to try something new.

I’ve been using this meditation track for a few days now and if nothing else, it’s relaxing and distracts me from the ticker tape of worry, doubt and anxiety constantly running through my mind.

I shift my foot slightly, determined to ignore the itch prickling at my heel. I'm going to meditate the fuck out of it. Forget you, stupid itch. It's time to turn ‘inwards’ because my money’s low and I need a miracle right about now. I focus solely on my breathing.

Eventually, time and space slip away. I think I’m in that space that Isla’s always talking about. ‘The nothingness’ is what she calls it. I feel content. Satiated. That tiny, niggling voice in the back of my head gnawing at me to get off my butt and go search through the local classified ads again? I smother that bitch under fluffy pillows of bliss.

“Breathe in…hold hold hold…breathe out…”


What the fuck is that?


Is that a motorcycle? Who the hell on Thornbush Lane has a motorcycle?

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to channel my inner yogi in a futile attempt to drown out the hiccup-hiccup of the engine as it sputters to death nearby. It seems like the harder I try to ignore it, the louder it gets.

I grudgingly yank out my earbuds and ease out of my cross-legged position on my oversized cushion on the back patio. I peer around the side of the house and notice a shiny black Harley Davidson lying on its side in the driveway just as a tall, shirtless figure slinks across the front lawn next door.

What the fuck? Nobody’s supposed to be over there.

As far as I know, dad tried to get that place rented for months before he finally gave up in defeat at the end of July. Illinois’s economy is bad and nobody wants to pay a premium to rent that crumbling, two-story colonial with its unkempt lawn and weather-beaten clapboards. Still, my stubborn father refuses to lower the rental. He’d rather the house sit vacant. I guess he can afford to be picky about his tenants. He doesn’t have a mortgage to pay on it since he inherited the house when his uncle Kramer died back when I was a kid.

I bring my attention back to the very bold intruder next door. I can’t see his face because the tall hedges now hide him from view. I should probably call the police but I decide to check it out myself. I grab a weapon – the rake leaning against the side of the house – as I inch cautiously towards the front yard.

I trek across the driveway separating the two houses, passing the beastly motorcycle and an open toolbox on the way. I stomp through the overgrown lawn and up the stairs to the front porch. The door is wide open and for some reason that puts me at ease. A burglar would probably be more discreet than that, right?

The knot in my stomach loosens a bit. This is probably all some huge misunderstanding.

I stick my head into the doorway without stepping inside, just as a precaution. “Hello?”

A shadowy figure approaches, moving down the long, dimly-lit hallway that leads from the kitchen to the front door. Sunrays slice through the kitchen curtains, illuminating him from behind and revealing his silhouette bit by bit.

And what a sexy silhouette it is.

My eyes climb his frame in slow motion.

His large, sturdy feet.

His long, muscular legs and the gray basketball shorts hanging low on his hips.

Well, damn…

The delicious V punctuating his washboard abs.

The colorful, intricate tattoos ornamenting his strong chest and those brawny arms.

Oh, wow…

His square, stubbly chin.

Those full lips slowly spreading into a wide smile.

My god — I can’t breathe…

His blue eyes, as pale and electric as a flash of lightening.

He shoves his large hand through his messy blond hair. “Hey…”

My heart stops cold in my chest and a shiver runs through my body. The rake slips from my fingers and lands at my feet with a metallic clang. I choke out his name.


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