Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Coming March 2: 'Sidelined' by Emma Hart



RELEASE DAY: MARCH 2, 2015


Three people. Three motives. Three reasons.

When the game leaves the field in the second book in the USA Today bestselling BY HIS GAME series and mixes with sex, lies, and betrayal, the future isn't the only thing on the line...

Macey Kelly has sworn off men. Unless they’re going to zip in and out of her apartment—and her vagina—quicker than they can give her an orgasm, she’s not interested. Finding out her boyfriend of three years got her cousin pregnant was a total confidence knock. Luckily for Macey, confidence is
something she has in abundance, so all Mitch’s asshole move did was make her pretty cynical toward men.

The last thing Jack Carr needs at the start of the season is for a dark-haired, sexy as sin, gyspyesque beauty to be consuming his thoughts. Football is his life, which leaves no time for girls. Unless they’re the love ‘em and leave ‘em girls. Becoming one of the best running backs the league has ever seen by racking up the yards is his top priority… not bedding Macey Kelly, despite her affinity for blow jobs and total sexual abandon.

Avoiding each other is the perfect solution, but when your best friends are in a serious living together kind of relationship, that isn’t always an option. Sometimes, sex on tap is the easiest option. And the sweetest.

Until Mitch shows up with a bombshell that could shatter Macey’s perfectly carved out life. It’s been a year, but he isn’t giving her up, not now he has a chance at winning her back. And he knows her buttons. Every single one of them.

Unfortunately for him, Jack Carr isn’t a loser. The star running back has his eye on the Vince Lombardi—and on Macey. But seeing her hanging between them both isn’t something he’s down with, not when he discovers why she’s so against anything more-ish, as she puts it.Macey quickly realizes she’s the ball being passed between two desperate yet opposing teams, and that only one of them can score the touchdown. But will the winner be the guy she lived with and loved for three years, or will the winner be the guy who understands her and makes her body come alive?

In this game, someone will be sidelined, and calling the play isn’t always as easy as it seems.

(SIDELINED is a full-length, standalone novel. It's not necessary to read BLINDSIDED before this book, but it is advised.)




From Emma Hart, the New York Times bestselling author of the Game series, comes a brand new series where the game is realer, the tension is tighter, the sex is hotter, and the stakes are the highest of all…

Two people. Two agendas. Two games.

What happens when the out-there It-Boy of football meets the secret It-Girl of fashion?

As the daughter of Hollywood’s sweetheart, Leah Veronica can’t even buy a coffee without finding her face on a magazine stand, so it’s no wonder she’s launching her first fashion line in secret. With it debuting at New York Fashion Week in just under a month, extra time in the spotlight is the last thing she needs.

The son of the best quarterback the league has ever seen, filling legendary shoes as the L.A. Vipers’ quarterback was inevitable for Corey Jackson. So was meeting Leah Veronica—the first girl to hand him his ass without putting a hair out of place.

Getting the handsome, prickly blonde into his bed becomes his number one goal. But getting the sexy, over-confident footballer the hell away from her becomes Leah’s—at least until she realizes the best way to do that is to give him what he wants.

If only it was that simple.

When Corey discovers who she is, and private photos of Hollywood’s finest find their way online, everything they thought they knew is thrown into disarray.

And when secrets are exposed and hearts are shattered, they have to figure out if they’ve been blindsided by love or reality, and if it’s worth running the extra yard to win the game they never meant to play.


EXCERPT

“Put the drink down, M,” he whispers. “It’s fucking with you. 
“Really? I thought that was you fucking with me,” I respond, turning to him and pressing a hand against his chest. “What the hell are you doing here?” 
Like, right here. Literally. 
“It’s my best friend’s birthday.” He smirks. “Why’ve you been staring at me all night like you wanna suck and bite my cock simultaneously?” 
“I assure you it was the latter.” 
“Sure it was.” Jack steps into me again, and I grab my glass with the hand closest to him so I don’t grab his ass or something, ‘cause, shit. He’s got a sweet as hell ass. 
“It was.” I drink. Again. Where the hell are my girls? “I feel like dancing.” I finish the glass and twist my body away from his. 
His hand finally falls from me as I stalk toward and down the stairs. I slip into the moving crowd, but I’ve barely moved my hips when two large, strong hands clasp me and tug me backward. The wall of muscle my back slams into is solid, and I exhale on a whoosh, even as I close my fingers against the ones clasping my hips. 
“Nice try, baby,” Jack says into my ear. “Run if you want. I’m a running back. I’ll chase you and catch you every fuckin’ time.” 
“Sounds like a promise you can’t keep, doll,” I reply, my breath catching when he moves my hips against his. 
“Sounds like a promise you’re afraid of.” 
I laugh and shove his hands away from me. I turn to face him. Even in the darkness, his eyes blaze bright green, so fucking bright they’re close to blinding me every time the strobe lighting coasts across his face. And, shit, it does it so many times, and every time, it illuminates every line and curve of his perfectly sculpted jaw. 
“You wish, Jack Carr. You fucking wish.” 
His hands snatch mine and he pulls me through the crowd. I fight his hold, but his grip is too tight. 
My heart pounds as he drags me through the hall with certainty, and in two minutes, I find myself pressed against his goddamn car in the parking lot. 
“What the fuck?” I shout, shoving at him. 
He grabs my hands once more and pins them over my head, effectively bending me backward on the hood of his SUV. “What the fuck?” he replies, leaning into me, his voice low. “Is that hard or soft, quick or slow, deep or shallow? ‘Cause baby, I can fuck you all six of those ways in one go.” 
“None of them,” I snap. “What the fuck, as in, what the fuck, asshole?” 
“Oh, that what the fuck.” He bends forward a little more. Until his mouth is against my ear and his hard body is pressed right up against mine. “Maybe it’s the what the fuck I felt when I felt your eyes on me all night. Maybe it’s the what the fuck I felt when you looked at me like you wanted to fuck me one minute, then the next, slice my balls in two. Maybe it’s the what the fuck you’ve got in your eyes while you let me lie my body over yours in a motherfucking parking lot seconds after I ask you how you want to be fucked tonight.” 
“I don’t want to be fucked,” I reply, doing my best to slam my hands into his hood. I fail—shit, he’s so fucking strong I can’t even twist my hands in his grip. 
“Baby, your body says otherwise.” 
“My body is an impulsive fuckwit.” 
“Your body knows me.” 
“Again, my body is an impulsive fuckwit.” 
“You never did say.” He breathes against my jaw and brushes his lips against my skin. “How do you want to be fucked?”
He tilts his face into my neck and kisses. Oh, hell, he kisses my neck, right beneath my jaw, where my chin meets my neck, and I pause. I inhale sharply. 
“Get in the goddamn car,” he orders, releasing me. 
“Excuse me?” I push up and stare at him. 
“Get in the goddamn car,” he repeats, pulling open his door and staring me. “Or have I gotta throw you into it?” 
“I am not getting into your car!” 
He slams his door shuts and rounds on me. I step backward, but he’s too quick, and he wraps an arm around my waist. My body slams into his yet again as he opens the passenger side door of his SUV and throws me into it. 
“Get. In. The. Goddamn. Car.” 
“This is kidnap!” 
He slams my door, and I both see and hear him laughing as he walks to the driver’s side. “Sure it is, baby. I’m startin’ the engine now, so you got ten seconds to get the hell out before I drive. One…two…”





By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies - usually wine - and writes books.

Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love.

She likes to be busy - unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.




'The Secretary...Taking the Proverbial' by Eva Wallace



Blurb:

Emma is just starting out in her new job, and the last thing she needs is a gorgeous guy playing with her mind. 

Throw in that the guy has a secret and a penchant for caramel lattes. Coffee shop shenanigans abound, and this office romance is never going to be easy. 

Will love conquer all, or will more secrets come out?

http://amzn.to/1LhWp88

Eva Wallace is an author, born and raised a stone's throw from the Peak district National Park. People who live in the park have asked her to stop throwing stones.

Joking aside, Eva started writing after being bullied at work. After a particularly traumatic week she decided to try and find alternative employment. Being of a certain age she knew it would be difficult to find another job so decided to give writing ago.

Having worked in various industries, in a variety of different roles she decided to use this experience to write Romantic Comedy novels. To date she has written 2 novels based on a secretary called Emma, who is starting out in a new job and developing an unorthodox relationship with a handsome young man called David.

Read an exclusive excerpt from 'Ember's Center' by Jillian Jacobs


Ember’s Center
by Jillian Jacobs

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLURB:

She spent her life fighting for middle ground, and now that she’s found it, she’ll fight for her life.

Ember Brooks yearns for an end to the dark chapters of her life—abusive mother, negligent father, teenage trauma, and sibling suicide. Determined to escape her traumatic past, Ember is finally headed for solid ground, gathering strength and balance with the help of her trusted counselor and friend, Xander Kane.

Still reeling from the death of her brother, Ember finds solace when Manchester Marauders center, Owen Killion goes on the offensive and barrels into her life. Both on the football field and off, Owen is sure-footed and confident. With his domineering presence and reliable nature, he alters her game-plan. But for a girl continually left on the sidelines, can she leave her heart on the line?

When Ember is the victim of increasingly dangerous incidents, and Xander changes the course of their relationship, once more her life spirals out of control.

Ember trusts Owen to guard their love, but when someone else is calling the shots, can they reach the end zone or will they fumble?

Read an Exclusive Excerpt:
Owen Killion leaned with one solid arm spread along the top of her flimsy gray cubicle wall.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, then stepped around her chair, almost tripping on the wheel. Her tiny cubicle shrank now that his brawny frame occupied the space. His team’s mascot suited him perfectly—Marauder. A vision flashed of Owen single-handedly rowing a Viking vessel across stormy seas to plunder riches from a village. A towering force, he embodied everything she found attractive in a man.

Huge feet in brown boots led to sturdy legs covered in dark-washed denim. His muscular arms bulged under the short sleeves of his hunter green jersey. Shoulders so broad she doubted she could fully wrap her arms around them. His thick brown hair lay neatly trimmed, and his brown eyes were heavy-lidded, yet welcoming, like a sad hound dog. And what was it about certain men’s noses that, when combined with the rest of their features, resulted in masculine perfection? The only thing missing was sexy stubble.

Buy links


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

In the spring of 2013, Jillian Jacobs changed her career path and became a romance writer. After reading for years, she figured writing a romance would be quick and easy. Nope! With the guidance of the Indiana Romance Writers of America chapter, she’s learned there are many "rules" to writing a proper romance. Being re-schooled has been an interesting journey, and she hopes the best trails are yet to be traveled.

Water’s Threshold, the first in Jillian’s Elementals series, was a finalist in Chicago-North’s 2014 Fire and Ice contest in the Women’s Fiction category.

Jillian is a: Tea Guzzler, Polish Pottery Hoarder, and lover of all things Moose.

The genres she writes under are: Paranormal and Contemporary with suspenseful elements.

Social Media Links:

Website: www.jillianjacobs.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/GreenMooseProd

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorJillianJacobs

Jillian will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC plus a signed paperback copy of Ember's Center and a Green Moose Productions fridge magnet (US ONLY) to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour, and a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn host. Follow along for more chances to win!


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Tuesday, January 27, 2015

'In for the Kill' by Shannon McKenna Release Blitz!



Romantic Suspense
Date Published: January 27, 2015

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

Years ago, the McClouds and their friends rescued little Sveti Ardova from ruthless organ traffickers. Now she’s all grown up, and getting into some scorching trouble of her own . . .

NO SURRENDER

The risks ex-cop Sam Petrie has taken have turned his life into a train wreck. So he has nothing to lose by doubling down as the elusive Svetlana Ardova’s unwanted bodyguard on her ill-advised trip to Italy. Her crusade against modern slavery has blazoned a bullseye on her chest, but when one of the death threats against her almost hits the mark, Sam’s protective instincts go into overdrive. Every lethal obstacle and trap they encounter ups the stakes—and the undeniable heat between them.

Now they’re spiraling in on a deadly and explosive secret—one that could either redeem them or destroy them … and the closer they get, the shorter the fuse …

Praise for Shannon McKenna
"The McCloud series is an auto buy for me." --Maya Banks

"McKenna writes intense, sensual stories." --The B&N Review 

"Shannon McKenna makes the pulse pound." –BookPage

EXCERPT

All yours. Sam's fantasy head rush was swiftly quenched when Sveti lunged for the door. He blocked her way. "No way."

Her golden eyes widened, shocked. "You don't think you're keeping me in here, do you? You're not serious!"

"You heard Tam," Sam replied. "You leave this room, and she comes after my balls with the bolt-cutters."

Sveti's chest heaved, which highlighted her excellent nipple hard-on. "What Tam might do to you is nothing compared to what I will do to you if you try to stop me from walking out that door."

Sam reached, and flicked the knob lock. "I'll take my chances."

She crossed her arms over the nipple jut. "Wrong answer."

"Yeah? What are you going to do to me? You got a pair of bolt-cutters under your skirt, too?"

She snorted. "Most guys seem to think so."

He admired the hot flush staining her cheekbones. "I don't."

"Good for you. Congratulations. You're very brave. Now get out of my way. I can't stand being confined. Not after what happened to me."

He waved that away. "Don't play the captive-waif-in-the-dungeon pity card with me. It's old and tired. Move on."

Her jaw sagged, in utter shock. "You asshole!"

"Yeah, sure," he agreed. "I have nothing to lose. You already think I'm a dickhead. Why not say whatever I damn well please?"

Curling wisps of hair swayed around her chin as she shook her head. "I have bigger problems than your unrequited crush, Petrie!"

"Burrrrrnnn," he murmured. "Tell me about those big problems, since we're shut in here together. You can start with the death threats."

Her eyes slid away. "I do not want to discuss that."

"Too bad. I say we do."

A tense silence followed that statement. She flicked him a wary glance from under those long lashes. "You can't bully me," she said.

"You think not?" he said. "Let's see about that. Spit it out. Who, what, where and when. Was it that sweatshop bust, six months ago? Those piece of shit snakeheads Helen Wong and Him Goh?"

Her eyes went wide and startled. "How do you know about them?"

"I watch the news, Sveti," he said patiently. "I'm a cop. I have friends. I hear things. Plus, you live-streamed, blogged and tweeted the whole thing to a hundred and twenty thousand followers."

"And you are one of them, now? Spying on me?"

He plowed right on past that one, there being no point. "Sneaking into that place with a live video camera on you was suicidal. You should have just passed the tip onto the police, and let them deal with it."

Her chin tilted up. "There were thirty-four trafficked Chinese nationals locked in there, slaving eighteen hours a day! I saw my chance, and took it! People have to see for themselves. It's the only thing that makes it real for them! That's what pulls in the donations!"

"You can't help anyone if you're dead," he pointed out. "But never mind that now. Just tell me about the death threats."

"It was just a letter," she said, defensive. "Hand delivered. It said they were going to kill me. That's all. Nothing came of it."

"When?"

She shook it off. "Months ago, now."

"So why aren't you guarded twenty-four seven?" he snarled.

"I was! For months! Finally I put my foot down, because it was absurd, Sam. I can't live my life like that. Don't worry! It's covered!"

Covered, his ass. But he knew a dead-end conversation when he heard one. He had lots of practice. Those were a Petrie family hobby.

"Fine," he said. "On to the next item that's not my business."

Her eyes dilated. He wished he had the super-senses they said Miles had now. His heart pounded too hard to hear hers, certainly at that distance. He started to close that distance, and she skittered back a pace. It took all his willpower to stay motionless, leaving none to hold back the incredibly ill-advised question. "If you don't want to talk about death threats, then tell me about your love life."

Her mouth tightened. "I would rather not."

"Tell me about loverboy. How long have you been seeing him?"

"You mean Josh? I've known him ever since Nick rescued me from Zhoglo. He's a good friend."

"Define 'friend," he said. "Does it mean, free to fondle your ass?"

The chin tilted up a notch. "You're being invasive."

"Yeah? Would you feel invaded to learn that he's hitting on two girls on the catering staff, in between groping slow-dances with you?"

Her gaze dropped, but she did not look as startled or upset about that revelation as she ought to. "You have no right to judge."

"Wrong," he informed her. "That ten minutes in Ranieri's home office two years ago. No matter how long ago, no matter how you've ignored me since then, that ten minutes gives me the right to give a shit. Tell me about Cattrell. Are you fucking him?"

"No!" The denial popped out, vehement and breathless.

"Planning to?" he persisted. If this was going to be the definitive crotch-kick of reality, then bring it on.

Sveti's gaze dropped. He waited.

"You're not involved with him at all," he said.

"I told you," she said. "We're good friends."

"And it doesn't bug you that he was fondling the wait staff."

"No, not anymore," she said softly. "I've known for a long time that he doesn't have feelings for me that I'd, um. Hoped."

Hoped? Sveti had hoped, and the guy hadn't delivered the goods? God. Cattrall must be brain damaged, not to hit on that.

"He was touching you as if you were lovers," he said. "But you're not a ass-grab kind of girl. You asked him to do that for my benefit. He was a safe date, in case I came to smoke you out. Your human shield."

Her color rose. "Wow, Petrie. You may be surprised to learn this, but you are not, in fact, the center of all my thoughts."

"Tell me if I'm right," he persisted, though he was already sure.

"Get out of my way!" She tried to push past him, toward the door.

He grabbed her. He knew he shouldn't, but the part of him that knew had no say. The rest of him clamped onto her, nerves janging at the sweet shock of contact. Her heat and scent overwhelmed his senses, laced up into that tight cage of crimson satin. Straining away from him. Provoking a dangerous, animal urge to drag her close. Pin her down.

"Let me go, Petrie," she said. "Or I start to scream."

"You treat me like I'm a criminal lowlife, out to rape and pillage," he said. "I'm one of the good guys, Sveti."

"Hah," she muttered. "There are no good guys."

"We're all bad, then? You lump me in with Arbatov? Zhoglo?"

The mention of the two mafiya Vors energized her struggle. He clamped her tighter against his body. Her heartbeat was so frantic and birdlike. She felt so fragile. But she wasn't.

"I can't believe we're talking about my love life, when that monster is in the ballroom with my friends and their kids eating tempura dipped zucchini flowers! He's committed horrible crimes against innocents!"

"You're not the only one who tries to protect the innocent."

She sniffed. "Yes, of course. The police are so very noble."

He waited for a moment. "Not fair," he said quietly. "We try."

She looked down, abashed. "That is true, and I apologize," she said. "This is silly, Sam. I promise, I won't be rude to the criminals. I won't get myself or anyone else killed. Let go. Please. I'll be good."

Now she was trying sweet reason. Who cared. She may have gotten a handle on her self control, but he most definitely had not.

His grip did not slacken as he put words to the thought forming in his head. "You know what your problem is, Sveti?"

She tilted a winged dark brow. "I imagine you're going to tell me?"

"Your love life, the thing with Josh. Me. It's the same issue. You think sex is frivolous. The real deal is the big bad story of your life. Ogres trying to cut your heart out and sell it. The last minute rescue from a grisly death. The hell you went through gives your life purpose. It defines you. The rest is fluff. It doesn't deserve your full attention."

"And you think you deserve my full attention, Sam?"

"Yeah," he said baldly. "My full, undivided attention, all over every inch of your body, for a prolonged period of uninterrupted time."

She shrank away. "I don't have time for games."

"Yeah. Getting buried in a concrete bridge piling, that's Svetlana Ardova's idea of a good time. You must be lot of fun at parties, babe."

"Fuck you, Petrie!"

Ooh, hostile. "You have to let the past go," he told her.

"Do I?" She shook with a bitter jolt of laughter. "Really! Wow, Sam, thanks for the insight! Like it's that easy! You have no idea."

"You've still got to let go," he repeated stubbornly. "The evil Vor, the dungeon, the whole fucking horrible mess. You survived. It's over. The end. Stop dragging that ten ton weight around."

"You don't know shit about it! You can't say that to me!"

"Of course nobody can say that to you. That's why your love life is so hot and happening. All those unsayable things start to choke a guy after about ten minutes."

"Let go of me, goddamnit!" She flailed furiously.

"But I can say the unsayable. You already think I'm scum. I don't have to pretend to be anything but a dickhead. Ahhh. Freedom."

"I never said you were a dickhead," she whispered.

Happy news, but he wasn't getting cocky about it just yet.

"Where do you get courage to say unsayable things?" she asked. "All the men I meet are afraid of me. So what makes you so brave?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Just dumb that way, I guess."

There was a floor length mirror. He tugged her across the floor until they were reflected in it, right down to the pointy toes peeping out of the hem of her skirt. She made a distressed sound, and fought her arm free to fumble for a tissue, with which she tried to wipe mascara.

"I scare you to death," he said.

She somehow managed to look haughty while mopping up her nose with a tissue. "No, you do not. But you are very intense."

"Just with you. Usually, I'm Mr. Mellow."

"Oh, please. Mellow men do not become homicide detectives, Petrie. They become botanists, bicycle repairmen, mathmeticians, mindfulness bloggers. Organic gardeners. Zen monks."

"Call me Sam." He bent to smell her hair, and she arched away, a tremor rippling through her body. "You don't have to be afraid of me."

Laughter vibrated through her. She mouthed the word. Bullshit.

His hand slid, over her warm curves, shadowy dips and hollows. He wanted to eat up her delicate scent. Devour it in one breath. Miles could break down those pheremones into their chemical components and list their molecular formulas. But for Sam, it wasn't chemistry.

It was magic. Crazy, balls-deep enthrallment.

"You just won't give me a break," he murmured, against her throat. "And I know why. You want to know my theory about you?"

She flinched away as he cupped her jaw, letting her delicate wispy ringlets tickle his wrist. Insubstantial as a puff of breath.

"No, Petrie," she said. "To be honest, not really."

"I'm telling you anyway." He nuzzled the whorl of hair below her ear and dragged his lips over the edge of that crimson birthmark. "That day in Bruno's studio. It was too good for you."

A burst of laughter shook her. "Really?"

"It made you forget," he insisted. "For a little while, it was just you and me in the room. No evil Vor, no organ pirates. No past. No future."

"Marco was there. In his crib," she corrected, primly.

"Whatever. You're so wound up in this scary story of almost getting your heart ripped out. It defines you. It freaks you out, to be cut loose from that. It makes you feel lost. Scared."

"Petrie, do everyone a favor, and don't take up psychology."

"You lost yourself," he persisted. "I could help you find it again."

The frown line between her brows deepened. "You're so arrogant."

"That day when I touched you. You came so hard. I dream about it at night. Wake up shaking. Drenched in sweat. So fucking hard."

She shook her head. "Please," she whispered.

He rubbed his cheek against that loose, gleaming topknock. "It scared you, baby. You thought you were going to die. But you won't. I'll take care of you. You won't fall to pieces. Or if you do, it'll only be for a few seconds, and I'll hold you all together. I'll hold you so tight. I'll keep you so safe." He tasted her, trailing his lips down to her collarbone.

"Sam," she breathed out. "Please."

"I'll make it so good. I'll get you off like that, over and over. I won't be rough. I won't scare you, and I won't hurt you. Just . . . trust me."

She looked up to meet his eyes. He went very still. The raw pain blazing out of them jolted him right out of his seduction schtick.

"I don't know how to trust like that," she said. "I just . . . can't. I'm really not playing hard-to-get. You tempt me, yes. But I hold back because I just don't have what you want. It's not there, Sam."

"What makes you think so?" he asked gently.

She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut. "That mechanism, it doesn't work, in me. I don't mean to be a tease, or cruel, or or disdainful. I never wanted to be a frigid bitch. It's sad and it's awful, but it's the truth. It's my reality, and I'm sorry if I . . . I'm just so sorry."

He processed that. "So we'll work on it," he offered. "I felt a lot of potential, back there in Bruno's office. We'll fix it. No biggie."

"No biggie, he says." Her voice was strangled. "Don't try to rescue me from my past. You'll just hurt yourself. It's bigger than you are."

"How would you know how big I am?"

She shot him a glance, and snorted, reddening.

"I didn't say it," he crowed, delighted. "It was you."

"English is not my first language," she said haughtily. "Don't try to trap me in word games. I will never get the joke."

She wasn't pulling away. He stroked her shoulders, encountered the straps that held up the cups of gathered fabric that her perfect tits were nestled in. He flicked the ribbons down. Her eyes widened as the fabric slid down-catching on her nipple. She jerked her hands up-

Or tried to. He caught them up short, staring into her eyes as the cups slid down to dangle over the shell of the bustier.

She didn't fight, didn't flail. Just stood there, breath stuttering rapidly in and out. Her high, beautiful breasts bared to him.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered. "I've lain awake nights staring at the ceiling, imagining you exactly like this."

He felt his way, slowly. Using those secret senses that jolted to life only when she was near. Eyes and ears that opened only for her. He strained for more. He wanted inside her hidden depths, to take possession. He waited, savoring the tension, until he dared to risk sliding his hands up to cup her breasts, with fingers that trembled.

A ripple went through her, then a sighing, barely audible moan. He caressed her, tender spiraling whorls over and around her taut, deep pink nipples, the soft plump under-curve, the tender fullness. So perfect. Springy, luscious. Suckable. But not now, because she'd rested her head on his shoulders, and the slight, warm weight of her head upon him was such a miracle of itself, he didn't dare mess with it.

He inhaled her scent. Warm and spicy and sweet. Her hair had come unpinned, and the thick horsetail draped over his arm, making him wish his arm were bare. His sleeve blocked out the live heft of that heavy silken rope. His fingers buzzed. She was actually letting him touch her. It put him in a state of trembling, worshipful awe.

She twisted around and looked up. Lips in reach.

That was it, just like the last time. Conscious control vanished.

She melted into him, arms twined around her neck. Oh, God, that sweet, tender inside flavor, the impossible softness of her lips. A swift glance yielded scant possibilities for taking this tryst horizontal. The floor was gleaming oak. Spindly legged chairs, tables with runners, antique breakables. No couches or lounges. So it was the wall again. He could deal with gravity. What was upper body strength for, after all.

He scooped her up. A few steps, and he pinned her to the closest bare spot of wallpaper, fiercely intent upon tasting, touching, knowing more. He leaned to kiss her breasts, and she moaned, ribcage heaving, fingers twining in his hair. He lifted armfuls of skirt, slid his hand up her thigh. Hot, smooth. Stretchy lace, soft skin, filmy silk stretched over tender girl parts, the moisture seeping through. The heat, the wet. He couldn't wait to taste it. Lick it. Get inside. Deep inside. Oh God, now. The wanting was a huge, feral beast inside him, clawing to get out.

Her thighs trembled. He slid his finger under the elastic, into silky golds that yielded sweetly, pressing deeper into a hot, slick paradise-

Rap, rap, rap. "Sveti? Sveti! Petrie? You in there?"

Rap, rap rap rap rap, louder and sharper. Tam's voice. A brief pause, and then again, rattling at the locked door. Rap, rap, rap. "Sveti? Goddamnit, answer me!" Her voice was sharp with alarm.

Fuck.

What, was he under some kind of a curse?


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About the Author


Shannon McKenna is the NYT bestselling author of over ten action packed, turbocharged romantic thrillers, among which are the stories of the wildly popular McCloud series. She loves tough and heroic alpha males, heroines with the brains and guts to match them, villains who challenge them to their utmost, adventure, scorching sensuality, and most of all, the redemptive power of true love. Since she was small she has loved abandoning herself to the magic of a good book, and her fond childhood fantasy was that writing would be just like that, but with the added benefit of being able to take credit for the story at the end. Alas, the alchemy of writing turned out to be messier than she'd ever dreamed. But what the hell, she loves it anyway, and hopes that readers enjoy the results of her alchemical experiments. She loves to hear from her readers. Contact her at her website, http://shannonmckenna.com, or join the newsletter by signing up here: http://shannonmckenna.com/connect.php.

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Monday, January 26, 2015

Now available: 'Betrayed' by Melody Anne


Title: Betrayed
Series: Forbidden #3
Author: Melody Anne
Publication Date: January 26, 2015

Summary: 

Byron Knight’s world isn’t what most would consider perfect, but he is satisfied with the way his life is going. There are only two people in this world whom he loves — his brothers, Blake and Tyler Knight.

A woman is now threatening the carefully balanced beam the brothers have been holding on to, and her name is McKenzie Beaumont. Before she had entered the life of his brother Blake, no one, male or female, had ever come between the three men, but McKenzie and her twisted business has interfered for the last time in the Knight brothers’ lives, and she is about to feel Byron’s wrath.

McKenzie Beaumont hasn’t always been so closed off, so cold, or what the world sees as cold, but she’s learned the hard way that men are never to be trusted. If she stays ahead of the game, protects the women she employs, then the women — herself included — are the true winners, even if the men think they have all the control.

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About Melody Anne: 

Melody Anne is the author of the popular series, Billionaire Bachelors, and Baby for the Billionaire. She also has a Young Adult Series out; Midnight Fire and Midnight Moon - Rise of the Dark Angel. She's been writing for years and published in 2011. She hold a bachelors degree in business, so she loves to write about strong, powerful, businessmen.

When Melody isn't writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, friends, and pets. She lives in a small town that she loves, and is involved in many community projects.

See Melody's Website at: www.melodyanne.com. She makes it a point to respond to all her fans. You can also join her on facebook at: www.facebook.com/authormelodyanne, or at twitter: @authmelodyanne.

'Art-Crossed Love (A Second Chances Novel)' by Libby Rice

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ArtCrossedLoveArt-Crossed Love Synopsis:

Can love be more than a four-letter word?

Lissa Blanc is a painter on a mission. She filters the world through a lens of color, line, and form and hides her ambition behind a delicate smirk that lets her critics believe life comes easy. To her, art isn’t what she sees. It’s what she feels. Few know that behind the glitz of a prodigious upbringing, she’s driven to emerge from the shadow of painful memories that insist she’ll never be a renowned talent in her own right.

Cole Rathlen is a photographer on the mend. A crippling grief has stifled his once-rising career and compromised his creative instincts. Knowing he can’t stagnate forever, he seeks a twisted absolution in the form of a woman whose paintings give life to the emotions he won’t let himself imagine, let alone feel.

When the two partner for a prestigious project that will pull them from the mountains of Colorado to the palaces of India, Lissa quickly realizes that more than diverging ideals hinder their search for success and salvation. Was Cole’s life upended by a tragic but unavoidable choice or something more sinister? While Lissa can’t delve into the mystery but not the man, Cole can’t resist a tenacious soul that refuses to leave him chained. As the truth closes in on a project finally sprouting wings, will Lissa sacrifice her chance at success to set Cole free? Or will Cole shrug the chains of lingering regrets to prove that those who love the most, love again.

Excerpt:
Someone made a mistake in teaching you life is easy. Cole’s words had hit like well-aimed arrows, and not of the Cupid variety. At least Lissa knew which camp he fell into. The naysayers tended toward one of two options—push Lissa away or pull Lissa close. The pushers openly mocked her “illegitimate” success. The pullers beguiled her in an effort to see how much of that “luck”—or connections or money or opportunity—could rub off on them.

Cole was a clear pusher, and frankly, she liked those better. At least they were honest.

A hank of hair chose that moment to abandon the clip that couldn’t quite contain her pony tail. Ruler straight despite a healthy dedication to volumizing shampoo, her hair liked to slip from its confines and lay flat against her head in an antagonizing refusal to hold body. She imagined her looks mattered about as much to Cole as couponing did to Donald Trump, but hell, she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. After the disaster in the driveway, she could at least try to make herself presentable.

Her trek to the spare bathroom two rooms down took her past Cole’s bedroom door across the hall. His rumpled bed sat in silence. Nothing personal hinted at the room’s inhabitant. A dresser and two night stands held a clock and a box of tissues between them. No pictures or knickknacks, not even a stray piece of clothing or a random shoe littered Cole’s studied order, dimmed by heavy shades that blocked the rising sun from cheering the space.

Earthy scents of pine and sandalwood filled her nostrils. Despite his obvious efforts to disappear within the emptiness, the room bore his mark. The hard edges and sanded planks had absorbed his essence without permission.

Art-Crossed Love:
Love Me Later:

LibbyRicePhoto-WebResolutionLibby Rice Bio:

Before becoming a writer, Libby was first a mechanical engineer in the data acquisition industry (voltmeter anyone?). Preferring writing to technical design, Libby headed to law school and eventually practiced patent law for several enterprising years (patent application covering a voltmeter anyone?). Finally realizing that technology just wasn’t her bag, she traded the voltmeters for alpha heroes and the women who love them.

Today, Libby writes contemporary romances from the foot of the Rocky Mountains, where she lives with her husband, a bona fide rocket scientist (he stuck with the voltmeters!). When not writing, Libby loves good food, even better wine, and traveling the world in search of the next great story.

Libby loves hearing from readers! Join the fun at www.libbyrice.com, where you can sign up for Libby’s new-release e-newsletter, or on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Instagram.

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