Blog Tour ~ The Sirens Dance by Amber Belldene

The Siren’s Dance

by Amber Belldene

Series: A Siren Romance, #2

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Release Date: April 26, 2016

 

The performance of their lives is about to begin…
Death has transformed former ballerina Anya Truss into a vila—an alluring wind nymph—but her need for revenge has kept her trapped on the riverbank where she was drowned. Now, after fifty years of waiting, she finally has a chance to break free by getting even with her cruel dance instructor, the man who betrayed her and broke her heart. But for her plan to work, she must place her trust in a handsome but unlikely ally.
Straight-laced police investigator Sergey Yuchenko has spent years searching for the father he never knew, and he finally has a solid lead. Problem is, that lead comes in the form of a ghost—a gorgeous but stubborn vila with destructive powers she can’t control. Anya’s graceful beauty awakens a desire in Sergey like he’s never felt before. But when past secrets are brought to light, the lovers will have to face an evil that could tear them apart forever.

 

 

Book 1: The Siren’s Touch

Amber Belldene is always reading racy books at the most inappropriate times, and has been observed ogling her Kindle in the church parking lot. Even as a kid, she hid novels inside the service bulletin to read during sermons, an irony that is not lost on her when she preaches these days. Amber is a romance writer and Episcopal priest who believes sexuality is vital to spirituality, love is beautifully messy, and stories are the best way to explore human truths. Evidence of these convictions can be found in Amber’s steamy paranormals and quirky, hot contemporaries, which have been published by Omnific, Entangled, and Lyrical/Kensington. She lives with her husband and two children in San Francisco and can be found at&nbsp;<a href=”http://amberbelldene.com/&#8221; target=”_blank”>amberbelldene.com</a>.<br />

Blog Tour : Love’Em by Kelley Harvey

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Title : LOVE ‘EM – A Bad Boy Romance
Author : Kelley Harvey
• Amazon Paid In Kindle Store Top 100 Best Selling Author •
Genre : Contemporary Romance
Release Date : February 11, 2016

BONUS: For a limited time, the eBook of LOVE ‘EM. – A Bad Boy Romance will include a BONUS. SO. BAD. – A Bad Boy Next Door novel full length novel. Both are standalones.

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LOVE ‘EM—a Bad Boy Romance
Book Blurb

RONNIE

He’s rude. He’s crude. He’s socially unacceptable.
Jackson Tremaine gets under my skin as easily as he gets into my pants.
He’s the prince of late night television
and he single-handedly ruins my life between commercial breaks.
That’s fine. Payback’s a bitch, and she’s named Ronnie Fitz.

JACKSON

Ronnie thinks she knows men, but she don’t know Jack—jackshit, that is.
The biggest problem with Ronnie Fitz? She’s addictive.
I had the best night of my life with her, and now she decides we can only be friends?
Screw the friend-zone.
It’s the fuck-zone or no-zone with Jackson Tremaine.

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Where you can purchase LOVE ‘EM:

LOVE ‘EM available on Amazon,
$.99 or *FREE* for Kindle Unlimited Members.

AMAZON US | AMAZON UK

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exclusive excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

RONNIE

My brand new shoes bite into the back of my heels and squish my toes. I fill a paper cup with water and set it aside without ingesting so much as a sip.

Shayna takes my elbow as I pass by for the fifteenth time. “For Christ’s sake, sit down. I wasn’t nervous until you started pacing.”

I press my finger to the twitch at the corner of my left eye. “This is going to be a disaster. I know it.”

“It’ll be fine. Relax.” My best friend for the last three years fluffs my corkscrew curls around my shoulders and grasps my upper arms. “A live studio audience will be good. I promise. You’ll be so happy you did this.”

“Somehow I doubt it. Why couldn’t you have kept your mouth shut when Sam called?” Blah blah blah, that’s what she did. Info dump right into my agent’s ear, and that was the cannonball on the catapult that shot me straight to the gates of Hell.

Shayna was the first to be invited on the show, and after she talked to Sam, I got a call too.

Shay whirls me around to face a blank wall. She holds her hand up as if she’s painting a scene. “Picture this: You’ll sell a million books, and then you can take me to Cancun. We’ll sip fruity drinks with tiny umbrellas, delivered to us on golden trays by hot cabana boys who don’t speak our language. We’ll say the rudest things and smile and still get laid at the end of the day.”

A smile pulls up the corner of my mouth even as I rub the ache between my eyebrows. “If you say so. Let’s just hope Jackson Tremaine is feeling charitable tonight.”

She sticks her tongue out. “Jackson Tremaine can go fuck himself.”

I straighten her platinum blonde, not-quite-human-hair wig and tip her bug-eye sunglasses down enough to stare into her baby blues. “You think all men should go fuck themselves. You know, most of them want the same things we want. To be loved. To be respected. You just have to give them a chance.”

“Every year, I offer about a hundred of them a ‘chance’. All but three have failed, and those already belonged to other women.” Shay quirks her auburn eyebrow. Good thing the shades hide the dead giveaway that she isn’t really a blonde bombshell.

A sad sigh escapes before I can catch it. “I’m so sorry, sweetie, but maybe you need to consider another career path?”

Even though her eyes are hidden again, it’s as though I hear them rolling.

“Thanks for the advice, but I make an excellent living in my current line of work. As much as I love you, Ronnie, you and I have two different philosophies when it comes to men. I’m good with that.”

A petite woman pops into the room. “Ladies, he’s going to bring you out one at a time, starting with you, Ronnie. In five.”

My stomach grabs hold of my esophagus and trembles as the second hand ticks away the moments. My first live appearance on television is tying me into knots.

Appearing on the Up Late with Jackson Tremaine show should be a boon, but it’s probably going to blow up in my face. Like a big fat dirty bomb. Lights out.

My instinct says that he’s a shark and I’m a guppy. He’s going to chew me up and spit me out. That’s if I’m lucky, and he doesn’t swallow me whole.

No. I won’t let him. He’s a man, like all the other men I’ve studied since I was twelve and Dad skipped out on my overbearing, never-to-be-pleased mother. If she’d have shown him some love and compassion, he’d have stayed. I’m sure of it.

I have to remember that about Jackson. Underneath his Armani suits and Rolex watches, he wants the same things as everyone else—respect and love. That’s all. Show him some respect, and he’ll return the favor. And, after tonight, I can move on and watch my book sales skyrocket as I ring in the new year, and my bank account will follow suit.

Shayna stands in front of the full length mirror in the corner and applies a fresh coat of the blood-red lipstick she purchased specifically for tonight. “Can you tell that it’s me?”

I rub my finger along my bottom lip. “Well, I can tell it’s you, but I’d know you with a bag on your head. That sassy sway of your hips and the way you talk with your hands would give it away. But, I think you’re all right. Most people don’t pay that close of attention. I’m certain your secret’s safe.”

“I only want to ensure my potential clients can be assured that their unsuspecting, cheating bastards won’t know what’s coming when I make my move.”

I shake my head. “One of these days, Shay—”

“I know. I know.” She brings her tone up an octave, mimicking me. “‘One of these days, you’re going to meet the man of your dreams. You’re going to read my book. You’ll fall in love. And wah,wah, fucking wah.’ Save it, Rons. I am perfectly happy with my life. I’ll let you do the loving. I’ll stick with fuck and release, thank you.”

 

Offstage, the silent monitor flickers in the dark. On screen, two insanely gorgeous men smile at a shared joke and holiday lights twinkle in the background. The host tidies his stack of note cards, tapping them on the desk and tucking the one at the front behind the others.

Jackson’s voice has a velvet covered rasp, even sexier in person than on television. “Eleven days to Christmas, and a brand new year waits just around the corner. Many will make and break resolutions. How about those resolutions to find love or dump a dead weight relationship?”

His smile widens as he holds up his hands, trying to calm the masses as they cheer.

When the crowd quiets, he says, “The ladies who make up this duo are actually very best friends. The livelihood of both women depends on love, in one capacity or another. I call them Love ‘Em and Leave ‘Em, if that tells you anything at all about their respective career fields.”

He brushes his fingers through chocolate-colored hair. “Let’s meet Love ‘Em first. How many of you gals have your eye on a man who seems to stay just out of reach, or one who doesn’t want to commit?”

Someone in the audience cat-calls about her guy.

“And we’re glad you’ve got a man who’s hung like King Kong.” Jackson answers the bawdy lady while he winks at the camera. “Anyway, our next guest thinks she knows men. Love ‘Em’s got us all figured out and has put her wealth of knowledge into book form.”

My stomach takes a plunge to my feet. Here we go.

He holds up my book and exchanges a knowing look with his first guest as he stands. “This guide for women is supposed to help you ladies catch and keep your dream lovers. Please welcome the author of Decode the Man in Your Life, Ronnie Fitz.”

The handler ushers me toward the stage’s side entrance. “Watch—”

Applause drowns out whatever he’s saying as I clear the edge of the royal blue curtain. The clipboard-wielding guy gives me a shove toward Jackson Tremaine who waits three feet ahead with his hand held out in greeting.

Jackson has the clearest sage green eyes I’ve ever seen, dark around the edges but almost white at their center. They crinkle at the corners as he smiles at me, sending my heart into an abnormal rhythm. The hand he holds out to me waves me out, drawing me to him like a—

Something grabs my ankle. Crap. A cable running across the floor is wrapped over my beautiful new shoe. I try to compensate with my other foot, but it makes it worse. I stumble forward, losing my balance as my plastered-on smile falters. Instead of shaking his hand, I fall against Jackson Tremaine’s muscular chest.

Strong arms come around me, pulling me up and tight against him. His scent, something like sandalwood and cinnamon, envelopes me. His laugh vibrates through my breasts, now pressed firmly against his pecs.

The audience goes bat-shit wild with applause.

Oh my—Hell. In Hell. Right now. This can’t be happening.

Mr. Tremaine hangs on tight until the crowd quiets.

“Well, that’s a great start to a new relationship. But I’m afraid I’m happy in my bachelorhood, Ms. Fitz.” He sets me away from him, adjusting first his tie and then his junk right in front of God and everybody.

Heat floods my face, and I don’t know where to look. “Oh, I’m—so sorry. I tripped.”

He tosses a sly look at the closest camera. “No worries. I don’t mind at all. I enjoy a beautiful woman in my arms any time—but only for a short time.”

Jackson takes my hand, sending tingles up my arm. “I’ll hold on to you until we get you safely into your seat.”

He leads me to the chair between guest number one and the side of the desk.

Jackson stage whispers to the other man. “Be careful of this one, Bax. Love ‘Em’s quite a handful.”

Casino mogul Baxter Ransom nods as he offers his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Fitz.”

I do the best I can to swallow my embarrassment. “Likewise.”

Jackson returns to his seat. “So, Ronnie—you don’t mind if I call you that? You’ve put together this instruction manual, if you will, for women.”

I brush my wild curls away from my face with trembling fingers. “I suppose you could call it that. It’s really only common sense things that most of us already know but fail to put into practice in our everyday lives.”

“I read the book last night—well, parts of it—and I’m not convinced.”

The lead weight in my gut grows.

No, it’s okay. He’s playing Devil’s Advocate. It’s his job.

“Oh? What part do you need help with?” I smile, but inside my heart is shriveling into a raisin.

He’s making me out to look a fool, and no one is going to buy my book by the time he’s done with me.

He leans back in his chair, propping his feet on his desk. “Well, this whole idea that a woman can get the guy she wants, simply by showing him deference and respect…”

I take a quick breath, heat simmering in my stomach. Dumbass is twisting my words. “I didn’t say deference.”

He laces his fingers across his flat belly. “Oh, maybe I read that incorrectly. Don’t get me wrong. I like the idea of a woman who shows a man respect. I don’t buy that it will get him to commit.”

The fire in my gut stirs. “Well, think about it, Mr. Tremaine. What man doesn’t want the woman in his life to tell him how amazing he is on a daily basis?”

I wait, but he just sits there, smugness poised on his too handsome face. It’s as if he didn’t hear the question I asked.

“Well?” I prompt.

His eyebrows go up, fake surprise in his expression. “Oh, that wasn’t rhetorical?”

No wonder he’s still single.

I let out a huff of air. “How many men get the respect they want and deserve from the women who profess to love them? The principals in my book all come down to one thing: men aren’t as complicated as ladies think they are. They want love just like women do. The biggest difference is what they perceive as love.”

He squints as though considering my words. “Well, they do say perception is ninety percent of reality. My ninety percent says this is a load of rhino dung.”

My jaw drops.

Did he really just say that—about my book, my magnum opus, in front of billions of people?

I snap my mouth shut and glare at him. “Maybe your perception is what’s full of shit.”

His eyes widen, and his gaze darts to a man on the sidelines with a clipboard and an apoplectic vein popping out on his forehead.

“Oops, probably shouldn’t have cursed. All those pesky FCC regulations.” I smile sweetly at my asshole of a host.

Jackson nods to the vein guy, whips his feet off his desk, and holds my book up once more. “And there you have it, folks. Want to know how to get a man? Buy the book and have him in the bag by Valentine’s Day.”

He tosses the book aside and smiles directly at the camera set in the middle isle of the gallery of seats. “Our next guest, BFF to Ms. Fitz here, is pretty much her polar opposite.”

In ways he will never understand.

Jackson grins. “Leave ‘Em—remember that’s her nickname. Sorry, I can’t reveal her true identity, because she needs the anonymity to run her business. Leave ‘Em claims she doesn’t believe in true love. Well, I suppose not, considering it’s her job to prove it isn’t out there.”

Jackson stands and claps. “Please welcome our next guest. She’s the person other women hire to test the men in their lives.”

Shayna glides onto the stage—no tripping for her. She’s much too graceful as she waves and blows kisses Marilyn Monroe style. Maybe she’s taking that wig too seriously.

Shayna takes Jackson’s offered hand in both of hers as Baxter and I shuffle chairs to make room for Shayna in the seat I vacated, closest to the host.

Jackson seats my friend and takes his own chair. “So, you’re the temptress who actually tries to get men to cheat before you report back to your clients.”

“I suppose you might describe my work that way.” Shayna’s lacquered fingernail taps out a rhythm on the arm of her chair.

“You set up and ambush unsuspecting men?” Mr. Ransom shifts in his seat.

She licks her bright red lips. “I only make an overture they could easily ignore. It’s only a trap for those men already predisposed to cheat on their significant other.”

Jackson Tremaine leans forward, his elbows on his desk, chin in his hands. “So, Ms. Leave ‘Em, do you actually screw these cheating guys?”

Shayna grins. As usual, she’s unfazed by direct barbs. As a matter of fact, I’m fairly certain she likes it.

“No, I never go that far. I’m not a prostitute. I simply do my best to lure the men to willingly place themselves in a compromising position. I always stop before anything too serious happens.”

Baxter rubs his chin, as though contemplating what Shayna has said. “Never?”

“Never.” Her shades hide her rolling eyes, but I’m certain that’s what she did.

Baxter lifts one eyebrow. “Hmm.”

Jackson barks a laugh, which he unsuccessfully tries to cover with a cough. “Excuse me. I—oh hell, I can’t lie. I just had a fantastic idea.”

Our host sends a sly look toward the camera to his left before he turns his full attention to me. “So, Ms. Love ‘Em—Ronnie—would you be willing to wager that should a woman use the techniques in your book, her man won’t have the propensity to cheat, because he’d be so enamored of her and happy at home?”

Baxter Ransom coughs, and Shayna whips around to me, her mouth slightly agape.

My throat goes bone dry. “Um—well, I mean—I—”

Shayna jumps to my rescue. “A cheater will cheat, no matter how wonderful his woman is. Some guys are scum. Cheaters cheat, no matter what.”

I lay my hand on her arm. “Wait. No. I believe most people cheat because something in their relationship is lacking.”

Shay elbows me. “Shh.”

I toss her a look.

She ignores me. “No. A cheater is a cheater is a cheater—no matter what.”

The mischief coming off of Jackson Tremaine is almost palpable, and the audience goes silent. It’s as though they know he’s going to do something outrageous, which he probably will. And they’ll all think it’s epic, only I’ll probably be shoved to a lower level of Hell. Even the slight shifting and shuffling that usually goes on in a crowd dies down as he continues to study me and my friend.

He looks around both of us. “Bax, you’re a gambler.”

Mr. Ransom draws back. “Well, my business is gambling, but—”

“Let’s make a wager, shall we? Right here on live television.”

My bladder twitches. Nervousness makes me need to pee. I could probably fill up three adult diapers at this very moment. Whatever Jackson has in mind is bound to be bad for me, terrible for my book, and probably horrible for my long-term career goals.

Baxter leans closer to Jackson. “Go on.”

“Let’s see which of these two ladies’ juju works best.” Jackson wags his eyebrows like he’s a villain in a cartoon.

Shayna pops up out of her seat. “That’s not how I run my business.”

“Aw, c’mon, now, be a sport.” Baxter grins, his eyes trailing from her fake hair all the way to the five-inch heels of her platform fuck-me boots.

Jackson looks straight into the main camera. “What do you think, America? Shall we wager that Love ‘Em can’t use the techniques in her book to keep Leave ‘Em from taking her man?”

Shayna falls into her seat with a thud. “She doesn’t even have a man.”

And there it is. I let out a sigh. All of America knows I’m a love specialist who’s not in love and has no man. No hint of a man in my life—not even an old toothbrush still haunting my medicine cabinet from a man I once had. I’m sunk.

Jackson cocks his head, as though he can hardly believe what he’s heard.

I open my mouth to rebut her statement, only to be interrupted.

“Do you not have a significant other, Ms. Love ‘Em?” His green eyes are too beautiful for someone like him. Nasty, evil people shouldn’t get to be gorgeous. Not fair. They should be ugly as a warning to children not to become emotionally corrupt.

I close my eyes. I so hoped this wouldn’t come up. Of all the things, why this?

I clear my throat. “That has absolutely no bearing on—”

He holds up one finger. “Wait. Hear me out. I take it from your reply that the answer is no?”

Panic sweeps over me in a rush of hot tingles up the back of my neck and across my face. I fight the urge to jump up and run off stage. “No significant other at this time.”

The twinkle in his eyes makes me want to scratch them out of his skull. I’ve never met a man I liked less.

Ever.

I toss my purse onto the counter in the kitchen. “Worst. Day. In. History.”

“I don’t want to hear it. You could’ve avoided that entire exchange.” Shayna drops into a chair at the table and unzips her thigh-high boot.

My jaw falls almost to my navel. “I could have avoided it? What about you?”

Shay kicks off one boot. “Not me. You’re the one who should’ve said no.”

You should have, too.”

She tilts her head to the side, glaring. “No. I couldn’t. My work depends on women trusting the fact that if their guy is a cheater—if he’s going to cheat at all—it would be with me. If I were to say I couldn’t possibly entice your guy—whoever the fuck that ends up being—into cheating, then why would anyone ever hire me?”

“Who’s going to buy a book on how to catch and keep their man from a woman who isn’t confident enough to say that she can keep her man enthralled enough that he’ll turn down the opportunity to go at it with a blonde dressed like a prostitute?”

“Prosti…” Shayna looks down at her outfit and giggles. “Yeah, I guess I am kind of dressed to head down to the boulevard and hawk my ample wares.”

She shimmies her tits in her too tight black leather jacket. “Day-umn. I didn’t even get the big O from that one. How about you?”

“What?”

She makes no sense to me sometimes.

Shay extricates herself from her other boot. “I mean, Jackson Tremaine fucked us both, and good.”

“I guess he did.” I drop into the chair adjacent to hers. “It’s not exactly like we can bail—not now that the entire country is waiting to see which one wins.”

She side-eyes me. “We could tell Jackson to fuck off, and dust off our hands and move on.”

I let out a weary breath. “No. We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because millions, if not billions, of people saw us on that show. You’re fine if you bow out. You’ll continue to do your thing. But me? If I back out, I’m screwed six ways to Sunday.”

She rubs the teensy crease between her brows. “Aw, c’mon, Rons. Your book’s success isn’t completely dependent on Jackson Tremaine’s show. You just don’t want to rock the boat.”

“Rock what boat?”

“The boat where everyone does what’s expected and no one does what they shouldn’t. The viewers expect you to be part of this bet. You’ll do it, if for no other reason than that you’re afraid to break the rules.”

I huff. “What rules? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Girl, you’ll fall in line behind whatever perceived rule there is in any given situation. I hate to break it to you, but you, my friend, are a goody two-shoes. In your mind, there’s some invisible rule that states the gauntlet has been thrown. Therefore, you must meet the challenge.”

Goody two-shoes? Gauntlet?

“I break plenty of rules, thank you. It’s only that I happen to know this particular thing can sink my career faster than the Titanic went down. I’ve worked too hard for that to happen.”

Shay cast a skeptical glance at me. “What rules have you broken lately?”

The answer eludes me. I search through my recent memory. Nada.

I scratch my head. “I—I don’t know. Who keeps a journal of broken rules? Just… ugh, stop already. We have to do this bet.”

“Oh whatever. I’ll do it, because you’re my friend, and I’d cut off my right arm for you—that’s my masturbation hand, just so we’re clear about what I’d be giving up.”

Only Shay would point that out.

I can’t help but smile. “At least this way only one of us will be screwed.”

“Well, if I’m the one who loses, please make sure you throw me a pittance when you see me lying outside your gate with my tin cup.” She unpins her wig.

When she shakes her red hair down her back, it cascades like a waterfall. The slight wave in it is probably there from being rolled up under her Marilyn get-up. It’s moments like this that I hate her.

“I’d almost kill to have your hair,” I lament for the umpteenth time.

She shrugs. “Well, I would kill to have your curls. So you’d best sleep with one eye open, bitch.”

Shay’s African Gray whistles and squawks in the living room. “Bitch. Who you callin’ bitch?”

 

 

MEET KELLEY HARVEY

Kelley and her husband Mike live in North Central Texas. KH PicHaving two daughters, one teen and one in her early twenties, keeps them on their toes. In other words, they’re saturated in angst and excitement. Kelley often feels as though she lives on Teenage Drama Island and desperately needs a vacation to Adult Sans Kids Resort. The upside is she’s always awash in oceans of inspiration.

Kelley enjoys reading YA and NA, although on occasion she gets caught reading other genres. Writing is her full time job. Though it’s hard work, it’s also a dream come true. Her characters knock on the door of her heart and constantly poke their heads out the windows of her imagination. She hopes you connect with them as deeply as she does.

 

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SO.TRASHY. a Bad Boy Next Door novel

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BREATHE, Episode 1 of The Devastation Series

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Blog Tour : Haunted A Romantic Suspense by Kiara Delaney

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December 30th – January 4th

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Title: Haunted A Romantic Suspense

(Book Two in The Shattered Pieces Series)

by Kiara Delaney

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Publication Date: December 30, 2015

When Devon Bradford entered Nina Petrov’s life, she was broken and alone. He did everything in his power to tear down her defenses, refusing to let her push him away. In the end, it just wasn’t enough. Nina had backed him into a corner, and he ended up doing the very thing he promised Nina he would never do- leave her, just as all the other men had done to her before. By the time Nina’s secrets had finally come to light, Devon had already vanished- she left him with no other choice. In the end, she was forced to make the decision between letting the memory of him consume her, or vanquishing him from her mind forever.
 
Devon had abandoned Nina in her darkest hour, in what seemed like a lifetime ago. It had shredded her heart, and left her questioning her sanity. The day he’d left her, she’d buried a part of herself, but the memories of him continued to haunt her, leaving her feeling unsure about everything she thought she once knew.
 
It has been eighteen months since Devon Bradford disappeared from Nina’s life, but she’s worked hard to dispel the demons that once plagued her. One day at a time, she becomes one step closer to leaving her past behind and moving forward. That is, until one fateful day, Devon is hurled back into Nina’s life, and her reality will be forever changed.
 
As Nina finds herself chained once more to the ghosts of her past, she realizes Devon holds the key to her future. Can Nina really trust Devon this time, or will he leave her to pick up the shattered pieces of her life once more?
 
Find out in the shocking conclusion of The Shattered Pieces Series!

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1

Stepping into her space, I lifted her chin, forcing her to peer up at me. She tried to look away, but I didn’t let her. I gazed intently into her eyes as she held my stare. I was dangerously close to crossing a line, but in that moment, nothing mattered to me but Nina. She was becoming embedded under my skin. I was becoming lost in her- lost in her beauty, her touch, and especially her mind. With every second that ticked by, I was free falling into her essence. I wanted to plunge into the depths of her thoughts and emotions to understand just a fraction of what made her into the woman that stood before me.

2

“So this is how it’s going to be between us?” I ask.

Nina stalks towards me, her lips quirking up, and runs her finger from my chest to my lower abdomen as she says, “You mean, we piss each other off all day while secretly wanting to fuck each other?”

I halt her hand a second before she reaches for my belt buckle and grab her by her upper arms, pulling her in close as I trace my lips against her quickening pulse in her throat. I murmur low and seductively, “I guess it’s not a secret, after all, then, is it Miss Petrov?” She pulls back to gaze at me, wide-eyed and speechless. Looks like the cat’s out of the bag. I think I can safely say I won this round.

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Kiara Delaney is a passionate writer of fictional romance, suspense thrillers, and poetry. With a unique style of infusing plot twists peppered with a dash of ‘Who done it?’, and authentic dialogue, her books have a way of sucking you in and giving you a solid connection with the characters. She began writing poetry at a young age and evolved her love for writing into her current works after many years of encouragement from family and friends. She is also an avid reader, has a great sense of humor, and cannot function without coffee. She is a true writer at heart, and thus, will remain so until she forgets how words work.

Facebook Author Page: http://on.fb.me/1MPW4gs

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Ghostwriter: An Erotic Thriller (Book One in The Shattered Pieces Series)

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Haunted: A Romantic Suspense


 

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✨✨ #BlogTour + #GIVEAWAY : Scattered Ashes by Annie Anderson ✨✨

  
SCATTERED ASHES by Annie Anderson

Genre: #ParanormalRomance

  
– SYNOPSIS –

Aurelia Constantine is having a rough century. 

Plagued by visions of murder, death and destruction, she has resigned herself to the nightmare her life has become. When an enemy from her past comes to her rescue, she must let go of old wounds and heal the breach so she may survive the evil poisoning her mind. 

 

Rhys Stevens is guilty. 

Murder. Betrayal. Treason. Take your pick; he’s guilty of them all. On the path of redemption, he must beg for forgiveness from the one person he fought to save – the woman he has always loved. 

 

Thrown together in the trenches of war, they must work as a team to stop a monstrous puppet master from pulling their strings.

 

Ashes, ashes. We all fall down.

Get ready to burn.
 
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 ✧ EXCERPT ✧
I groan as I open the car door and pull my body to standing. I rub my eyes, so happy I ditched the contacts and shake out my legs before going to the trunk to pull out my go-bag. Every vehicle I own (even the boat and four-wheelers) has a small duffel bag stashed somewhere in them. They contain cash, clothes, one day of rations (beef jerky and a flask of Jameson, don’t give me too much credit), and a new identity.

 

The identity I probably won’t need just yet, but I do need the set of clothes. My suit jacket was lost to some poor male patron with a gut shot, and my pants and shirt are ruined by some lady’s blood and the remnants of what I did to Thad during his interrogation. I feel guilty for not using the Morganite knife and killing him for real since I know he’ll heal in the next couple of days. My only solace is that it will take a few days to regrow his whole fucking head.

 

Dick.

 

I knew I shouldn’t have gone to my stupid exhibit. I swear it’s the last time I let Evan talk me into anything.

 

I mean it this time.

 

Rhys has been quiet most of the drive, and it’s a blessing because I have no idea what to say to him. But it’s a curse as well due to the barbed guilt running through my veins. I’ve spent little time with him that hasn’t included me trying to rip him limb from limb, so a conversation might be impossible. I’m also a little disturbed having him so close hasn’t been the hardship I thought it would be. He’s been quiet, considerate, and he pumped the gas when we stopped because me getting out of the car would have caused a stir.

 

We both get out of the car and walk to the trunk, which I’ve popped with the key fob.

 

“You want me to carry that?” he asks, chivalrously reaching past me to lift my duffel out of the trunk. The bastard. I really wish he’d cooperate and be an asshole so I could hate him appropriately. I grind my teeth together in an attempt to avoid screaming and give a jerky nod, letting him take the bag. It takes some effort, but I gently close my trunk, careful not to hurt my baby even though I want to smash something.

 

I stride towards the front door behind Rhys, vigilantly trying not to stomp my feet and pout like a Goddamn toddler. My anger only grows when I notice how fucking spectacular he looks in a suit. Holy shit balls. He’s easily six foot three, maybe taller. I’m five-three on a good day, so he’s at least an entire foot taller than me. The crisp dark charcoal gray suit emphasizes the wideness of his shoulders and the line of his body as it flows from his strong neck to his lean waist and tight ass. People I hate are not supposed to be this fucking hot in a suit.

 

© Copyright 2015 Annie Anderson

   
 
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– ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Annie Anderson – 

Annie Anderson is originally from Dallas, Texas but has lived in England, Las Vegas (because Las Vegas and the state of Nevada are two very different places), New Mexico, Illinois, Florida and Georgia. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two kids, and an old man of a dog. 

 

– AUTHOR FuN FaCts –

· I’m a veteran. I served 4 years Active Duty and 2 years Reserve in the United States Air Force.

· My favorite color is cerulean. (Yes, I know it’s pompous, and I don’t care.)
· I hate lettuce.
· I am actually pissy after a good workout. Like rip my shoes off and pout on the carpet, pissy. I work out at least 3-6 days a week, and throw a 2-year-old fit every single time. I hate being hot, so much.
· I love math. I seriously considered becoming a high school math teacher when I was in college.
· I order pizza with no cheese on it. I don’t like melted cheese. I like solid cheese and liquified cheese but the in-between stringy yuck on pizza? No. But I love pizza, so I order it cheese-less. (My daughters eat it this way as well.)
· I read obnoxiously fast. When I’m not writing or running after children, I can read about 4 books a day.
· I suffer from RBF (Resting Bitch Face). I’m not mad. This is just how my face looks.
· I’ve been married for almost 10 years to my awesome husband. He’s put up with my picky, blunt, RBF-having self for a decade. The man deserves a medal.
· I like to sew. And craft. And paint. And organize. And clean. I think I missed the day when they passed out left-brain, right-brain cards in school.
 

– SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS –

FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorAnnieAnderson

TWITTER: https://twitter.com/AnnieAnde

WEBSITE: http://www.annieande.com

GOODREADS: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6108766.Annie_Anderson

 

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Blog Tour : Vivid by Jessica Wilde

Tour Banner Vivid

Title: Vivid
Author: Jessica Wilde
Release Date: Oct 11, 2015
Book Tour: Oct 15-Oct 28
Hosted by: Always Behind A Book

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Synopsis

Merrick Thatcher went through a hell that no one could possibly imagine. He fought to protect his country, his family, and the men standing at his side, but it wasn’t just being a soldier overseas that changed him. He watched his friends die in front of him, felt indescribable pain, and lost his sight in the very same moment.

Badly injured, blind, and angry, he’s done with war, but now he’s fighting his own battle. So, he’s waiting for it to end, spending his days and nights in a thick darkness no light can penetrate. Until Grace walks into his life and his broken eyes open to a woman that changes everything for him.

A story about two flawed souls finding love amidst the grief. A love that shines vividly, even in the dark, and discovering that sometimes being broken is how the light gets in.

For readers 18+ due to language, violence, and sexual situations

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Like many other foundations, the Special Operations Warrior Foundation provides assistance to injured soldiers as well as their families. SOWF also focuses on one of the most important challenges those families face; ‘getting to their hospitalized loved ones as quickly as possible’. With grants immediately provided to the family, they can travel to be bedside with their loved one, especially for those crucial first days. SOWF also provides a scholarship program, family services (including clinical social workers, scholarship counselors, and family services counselors). With on-going support and helpful counseling to all families of fallen members in every branch of the military, they are able to help in all the ways that count. The SOWF was highly recommended to me by a recent veteran who served in Iraq. Therefore, I am thrilled to be able to help them in any way possible. Every little bit counts.

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excerpt

Grace moved closer, shifting her body so she could reach my face more easily. She ended up practically standing between my legs, brushing up against my injured one whenever she rinsed off the razor.

“Take a breath, Merrick. I haven’t cut you. Not yet,” she chuckled.

I breathed in her sweet scent, my head swimming with arousal. She had no idea what she was doing to me. All those months shaving with a tiny mirror stuck to the wall in my CHU had been frustrating as hell. I couldn’t see shit in that thing. Now I very literally couldn’t see shit and she was in front of me smelling like she did, being as gentle as she was, and all those memories didn’t seem like such a horrible thing.

Because now I was experiencing something even more torturous.

She positioned the razor under my nose and expertly removed the coarse hair above my lip. What would she do if I just leaned in and devoured her mouth? Would I miss her lips completely or would she meet me halfway?

She gently turned my face and started on the other side. I didn’t think having her shave my face would be this intimate. In fact, I was planning on it being annoying as hell since I thought she wouldn’t really know what she was doing. Asking my mother had been an option, but I didn’t want her leaving Mitch either.

“Almost there. You need a haircut, too.” Her voice was rough and sexy, and I had to hold back a groan when it sent blood rushing straight to my groin. “I can style it for you so it stays out of your face, but I’m no good with cutting hair.”

“That sounds good,” I replied. God, if she didn’t finish soon, I was going to do something stupid.

She raised my chin and carefully shaved my neck. When her fingers stroked my skin to check for any areas she missed, I swallowed thickly and lost the battle completely.

My injured and stiff hand found her wrist, slowly pulling the razor away from my skin. Her gasp sent my semi-erection shooting straight up to painfully hard. The skin of her wrist was like silk under my fingers, the tiny bones so fragile. I worried that if I was too insistent, I would hurt her with just a touch.

“Merrick?” she breathed, her sweet breath caressing my chin.

“Grace …”

I felt her racing pulse under my fingers and pulled her forward until I could feel the heat of her face so close to mine. I raised my other hand to her waist and made a cautious path up, until I gripped the back of her neck. She didn’t struggle or protest, and I hoped her accelerated breaths were telling me that she was feeling the same intense pull I was.

My dry throat finally found the strength to speak, even if it was just a whisper. “I would give anything to be able to see you right now.” I pulled her face closer, until the tip of her nose touched mine. The sound of the razor falling to the floor, briefly registered in my mind.

Bio

I live in Morgan, Utah with my husband, beautiful daughter, and a couple of spoiled pups. If I’m not deeply involved in writing my next book, then I’m probably reading in the safety and quiet of my closet. I love yoga – which I now practice regularly – playing hide and seek with my daughter (only to have my hiding spots revealed by one of the pups), and I love Fruit by the Foot, Twizzlers and Peace Tea. These are great ways to bribe me into revealing secrets about what’s to come.

I have an unhealthy obsession with Supernatural, The Walking Dead, and The Big Bang Theory. I also enjoy talking about them, so if you like them, too, come find me.

Writing has become an enormous part of my life and every book I write holds a special place in my heart. If you read one of my books, I hope you have the same experience.

Author Jessica Wilde

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Blog Tour: Blue Horizons by Kathryn Andrews

Title: Blue Horizons
Author: Kathryn Andrews
Genre: New Adult, Contemporary Romance
Published: October 19, 2015

Will Ashton

Music is my motivation. I’ve always believed that, because of it, I would be somebody. Somebody to someone, and something to myself.

At age four, I picked up my grandfather’s acoustic guitar and, up until three weeks ago, I’ve never put it down. From a single chord to a full arrangement, music fed my soul. I craved it with every fiber of my being, but now, I just don’t know. That driving force that’s always pushed me has somehow stalled, along with the thrill, the passion, and the familiarity . . . it’s all gone. I’m beginning to worry that my love for music just isn’t enough.

As the summer tour finally comes to an end, I head to the Blue Ridge Mountains instead of returning to Nashville. It’s here that I’ve always been able to lose myself amongst the solitude and the lake, but what I didn’t expect to find was her.

Wild blonde hair, light blue eyes, and a laugh I find myself trying to coax from her has me completely enamored. She’s quiet, incredibly poised, and driven by secrets as big as the mountains around us. They’re what’s made her untouchable, and left me wanting to know more.
Maybe that’s what I need. Maybe I need more. Maybe I need her.

Ava Layne

They say that life isn’t about how many breaths we take, but how many moments take our breath away. But what if those moments aren’t filled with happiness and love, but something dark and haunting? For me, it’s those moments that’ve shaped and taken over my life. I can’t change who I am, God knows I’ve tried, and, because of this, I’ve accepted the silver lining . . . I’m alive.

Fifty-two white keys, thirty-six black keys, ten fingers, seven notes, two friends, and one stage. At the piano, on the stage, with my two best friends, I finally found myself, and I live for those moments. One by one, I collect them, cherish them, patiently waiting for the next, until it arrives and changes everything. That’s the moment I meet him.

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Taking a bow, I raise my guitar with one hand and wave toward the guys in the band with the other. The crowd is wild and has begun chanting, “More, more, more . . .” But I just don’t have any more left in me. Brian, our manager, is standing off to the right enthusiastically rocking back and forth—heel to toe—and sheer joy is radiating off of him. I know this show was probably the best of the tour, but damn, if it wasn’t completely draining. I left it all out there. I have nothing.
With one more wave, I brush past Clay and walk off the stage. Immediately, I’m surrounded by crew and security. After our last show in Flagstaff, I had asked for more security coverage. I swear, with each show the fans have been getting crazier and crazier.
“Hey, Will, over here!” a shout comes from my left.
“Oh my God, it’s Will Ashton!” comes from my right.
“Will!”
“Will!”
“Will!”
All around me, people are shouting my name and trying to reach through security to touch me. The noise turns into a buzz and the people turn into a blur. I’m hot, my head is pounding behind my eyes, and I just need out of here. I pull my hat down a little lower over my face and focus on walking.
I miss the days of the small town bar. People came out because they enjoyed the quaintness and realness of listening to original live music. The people here at these concerts? I’m not so sure. The piercing screaming of the girls night after night has drilled into the base of my skull, giving me a headache that can only be relieved by a six-pack in dead silence, along with some ibuprofen and sleep.
I weave my way past those who’ve somehow managed a backstage pass. Rudely, I don’t stop for any of them, and I just don’t care. That seems to be my motto tonight, not caring. Whatever. Clay and the other guys will handle them.
Out of nowhere, a tiny blonde girl steps in front of me, forcing me to stop.
“Great show tonight, Will.” She draws out my name, looking at the ground and then back up through her eyelashes. If I’ve seen this look once, I’ve seen it a thousand times.
I look her over from head to toe and can’t help but smirk at her in disgust. Sure, she’s cute and all, but at this point, they all look exactly the same, and easy girls have never been my thing.
My eyes shift to Frank, the head of my security team, and he knows I want her gone. Moving past her, she grabs on to my arm to stop me. Frank immediately pulls her off.
“Hey, aren’t you going to say anything?” She sounds desperate. How did she get back here and out from behind the barricades anyway? I glance behind her and see Brian, our self-appointed ass monitor. Why this guy thinks he knows what I need and want, I’ll never know. I glare at him with complete loathing and he takes a step backward.
Gritting my teeth, I walk straight past the rest of the guys from the stage crew and out to the tour bus. I’m done with this shit. No more lights, no more screaming, just no more.

OVER TEN YEARS ago my husband and I were driving from Chicago to Tampa and somewhere in Kentucky I remember seeing a billboard that was all black with five white words, “I do, therefore I am!” I’m certain that it was a Nike ad, but for me I found this to be completely profound.

Take running for example. Most will say that a runner is someone who runs five days a week and runs under a ten minute mile pace. Well, I can tell you that I never run five days a week and on my best days my pace is an eleven minute mile. I have run quite a few half marathons and one full marathon. No matter what anyone says . . . I run, therefore I am a runner.

I’ve taken this same thought and applied it to so many areas of my life: cooking, gardening, quilting, and yes . . . writing.

I may not be culinary trained, but I love to cook and my family and friends loves to eat my food. I cook, therefore I am a chef!

My thumb is not black. I love to grow herbs, tomatoes, roses, and lavender. I garden, therefore I am a gardener!

I love beautiful fabrics and I can follow a pattern. My triangles may not line up perfectly . . . but who cares, my quilts are still beautiful when they are finished. I quilt, therefore I am a quilter.

I have been writing my entire life. It is my husband who finally said, “Who cares if people like your books or not? If you enjoy writing them and you love your stories…then write them.” He has always been my biggest fan and he was right. Being a writer has always been my dream and what I said I wanted to be when I grew up.

So, I’ve told you who I am and what I love to do . . . now I’m going to tell you the why.
I have two boys that are three years a part. My husband and I want to instill in them adventure, courage, and passion. We don’t expect them to be perfect at things, we just want them to try and do. It’s not about winning the race; it’s about showing up in the first place. We don’t want them to be discouraged by society stereotypes, we want them to embrace who they are and what they love. After all, we only get one life.

In the end, they won’t care how many books I actually sell . . . all that matters to them is that I said I was going to do it, I did it, and I have loved every minute of it.
Find something that you love and tell yourself, “I do, therefore I am.”


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Blog Tour : This Love Of Mine by Miranda Liasson

This Love of Mine
by Miranda Liasson
Series: Mirror Lake, #2
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 6, 2015

Bridal shop owner Meg Halloran spends her days making other women’s wedding dreams come true—and her nights dreaming of her childhood crush, hometown heartthrob Dr. Benjamin Rushford. After a lifetime of wearing her heart on her sleeve, she’s done waiting. Meg’s ready to find love, with or without him. Moving on feels right—until Ben pops an unexpected question.

To win the open ER position in Mirror Lake, Ben has to convince the board that he’s settled and ready to put down roots. His latest stroke of genius? Asking Meg, the local good girl, to be his pretend girlfriend. With her by his side, he’s a shoo-in for the job. But he’s in over his head because, as much as he tries to deny it, Meg tempts him. And if she learns the truth about a secret that has shadowed and shaped his life, will she ever be able to forgive him?

Ben leads Meg out onto the dance floor at a business dinner, and she’s very uncomfortable…

“Okay, baby, here we go. Hold on tight!” Ben’s face lit up with clear glee as he spun and twirled, tipped and swayed, keeping a hard and fast grip on her at all times.
He put his hands on her hips and had her mimic his own movements.
Terror threatened to freeze her limbs but she couldn’t not do . . . something. Maybe it was the fact that she felt responsible for doing whatever she could to help him get this job. But maybe it was the look of pure joy on Ben’s face that mesmerized her, made her feel giddy and . . . happy. Yes, happy in a way that made her throw herself into the dancing with reckless abandon for the first time in her life. She shook, she shimmied, she did wild and crazy things like swung and swayed and twisted. The disastrous evening seemed far away, and she was enveloped in Ben’s smile, his confident touch, and his cocky swagger as he clearly loved every move.
He drew her near and said into her ear, “Hang on for the finale, sweetheart.” Before she could respond, he pushed her until she flew away from him, then when their arms were fully outstretched and they were holding on only by their fingertips, he reeled her slowly back in until their bodies were touching, hips swaying together in a rhythm fueled by the erotic beat of the music.
As he flung her out one final time, she lost balance a little and cast out an arm to compensate. She stumbled, clutching at him to avoid falling. That was when she heard the rip.
The first sensation was relief—she could finally breathe. But that was followed quickly by terror as she realized the entire seam along the backside of her dress had ripped wide open, and the entire restaurant was about to catch a full and unobstructed view of her ass.
She spun and backed up against Ben’s body, plastering herself flat against him.
“Wow, Meggie,” Ben said as she ground into his crotch. “I never realized dancing got you so hot.”
She twisted her neck around far enough to send him the stink eye. Then she clutched at him for dear life.
“Do not move away from me,” she managed.
“Sure, no problem. Are you . . . flirting with me? Because if you are, I’m all in.” As she pushed against him, he wrapped his hands around her upper arms, a move which normally would have caused goose bumps to course up and down their lengths.
She scootched up against his chest and put her mouth near his ear. “Listen to me carefully. I’m only going to say this once. I am not flirting with you. My dress tore and . . .”
He stilled suddenly. “And what?” he asked.
“And I always wear undies. I never go anywhere without them. Except maybe for today.”
He tried pushing her away, no doubt to see the spectacle for himself, but she clung to him with the suction of an octopus.
“I didn’t think you were that kind of gal, Meggie.” His voice sounded choked.
“Panty lines are embarrassing. I had no choice.”
“Nice.”
“Just help me!”
“How do you propose I do that?”
“You’re used to dealing with crises, aren’t you? Think of something!”
“Keep smiling,” he said calmly. “And wave to all the nice people who are staring at us.”
Somehow, she managed to hold it together while he slowly backed them both off the dance floor, steering them to an opening to the kitchen.
“Hey, can we have a napkin?” he asked one of the kitchen staff. “My girlfriend just split her dress. Ouch!” He glared at Meg while holding his ribs, which she’d just elbowed. “What’d you do that for?”
“I’m flattered if you think a napkin is going to cover my ass but I need something bigger!”
“Can I change that to a tablecloth, please?” he asked as he fended off another poke. Then he turned to her. “Your ass isn’t that big, honey,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. A move which accentuated his damn dimples. Then he shrugged off his suit coat and handed it to her. “Try this.”
Eyes narrowed in her most practiced Darth Vader glare, she took the coat and tied it around her waist. “Thanks,” she managed.

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Miranda Liasson loves to write stories about courageous but flawed characters who find love despite themselves, because there’s nothing like a great love story. And if there are a few laughs along the way, even better! She’s a former Golden Heart winner who writes lighthearted contemporary romance for Montlake Publishing and also writes series romance for Entangled Publishing. She lives in the Midwest with her husband, three kids, and Posey, a rescue cat with attitude.

Miranda loves to hear from readers! Find her at mirandalisson.com, Facebook.com/MirandaLiassonAuthor or on Twitter @mirandaliasson.