Category Archives: Excerpt

BLOG TOUR: Title: Endless Love Series: Love Series #2 Author: Nelle L’Amour

Title: Endless Love
Series: Love Series #2
Author: Nelle L’Amour
Genre: Erotic Romance
Release Date: November 8, 2017
The long-awaited sequel to New York Times bestselling author, Nelle L’Amour’s critically acclaimed masterpiece, Undying Love.
“With love, there are no goodbyes.”
The heart-wrenching words of Ryan Madewell’s beloved late wife. It’s been almost five years since Allee died, but Ryan, now a successful writer, hasn’t been able to move on. Passing in and out of the stages of grief, he’s been unable to find a woman who can mend his broken heart. Someone new to love and cherish.
Until he meets Willow Rosenthal, a fiery, spirited former ballerina, who awakens in him feelings of lust and passion he thought he’d never experience again.
Allee, in her dying letter, urged Ryan to move on…to live his life and find another woman to make him feel alive again. And finally he has.
Just when Ryan thinks he can let go and love again, Willow’s demons from the past resurface and threaten to end their relationship. Their incredible love story. Ryan must fight for what he deserves. Will his heart once again be shredded to pieces or will he finally get his happily ever after?

“Is it okay if I sit down on the bed?”

“Sure,” I said breathlessly. A sudden wave of embarrassment and insecurity washed over me as he lowered himself next to me. Here I was in bed with Ryan Madewell IV, the drop-dead, gorgeous bestselling author of Undying Love. Holy shit!

His eyes swept around the room, taking in every detail.

“Is this where you slept as a child?”

“Yes,” I said diffidently. The room hadn’t been redecorated for years. It still bore my white wrought iron canopy bed and the painted cottage furniture my mom had found at the 26th Street flea market. The pink floral wallpaper matched my bedspread and the curtains that hung on the window. It was so embarrassingly princessy. And next to me on one of my pillows was my favorite stuffed animal—a dilapidated little monkey.

“Who’s that?” asked Ryan upon eyeing it.

“Baboo. I’ve had him since I was a baby.”

Ryan’s gaze stayed on him. “I had one of those. His name was Monk. But my mother threw him out when I was five. I think that was the beginning of all my fuckedupness.”

“I’m sorry,” I said with compassion, remembering what I’d read about his mother in his book. Eleanor Madewell. She was an icy alcoholic with narcissistic tendencies. So unlike my warm, loving mother.

His gaze moved to my nightstand. He studied what was on it.

“Is that your mom?” he asked, pointing his long index finger at a framed photo. It was a portrait of a woman in her early twenties with flaming red hair similar to mine. She held a little curly-haired redheaded girl in her arms. Me.

“Yeah.”

“Your father is right. She was beautiful…like you.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, heating from the compliment.

Before I could say another word, his face brightened. “And you still keep a copy of my book on your nightstand?”

I felt my face flush and smiled shyly. “I like to re-read chapters before I go to sleep.” I paused. “Thanks again for signing it.”

“No, thank you for asking me.” His eyes burnt into mine. I was having a hard time breathing and I didn’t know what to say next. The heavenly scent of his light cologne drifted up my nose, making me heady.

His eyes surveyed the rest of the room. I’d read once that writers are observers.

His gaze fixed on the framed photos on my dresser—most of them of me, taken at various stages in my life, in leotards and tutus, some at recitals, others at classes. Then, he shifted his vision to the worn, pink satin pointe shoes that dangled from my headboard. They were my very first pair—I was only ten when I got them.

“Are you a dancer?” he asked.

My muscles tensed. “Yes.” Or should I say was?

“Do you perform?”

I hesitated before responding. “No.”

A half-truth. I hadn’t performed for over six months and I wasn’t sure if I ever would again. I didn’t want to get into details about my recent past. Or think about Gustave …at least right now.

His eyes stayed riveted on the little pink slippers as he gave them a light tap. Tied to the bed by their frayed ribbons, they swung back and forth like a pendulum.

“Do you want me to go downstairs and get you something to eat?”

“Maybe in a little bit.” The truth was I hungered only for him; I didn’t want him to leave me. Not yet. As I soaked in his gorgeous profile, my heart thudded and a buzz of lust flooded my body. I longed to touch him. Run my fingers through his hair. For him to touch me. Trace my lips with his fingers. An awkward stretch of silence followed as he continued to play with my pointe shoes. Then, he turned to face me again, the expression on his face a mixture of hesitance and longing.

“Willow, I want to ask you something.” He paused, holding me in his gaze. “Can I kiss you?”

My lips parted in shock, and my heart practically stopped. “Yes, please,” I murmured. Now! I couldn’t wait a moment more.

On my next rapid heartbeat, he cupped my cheeks in his hands, leaned down, and crushed his soft, warm lips against mine. He nibbled my upper lip, then deepened the kiss, gnawing and sucking. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I’d never been kissed like this before. A heat wave spread through my body, setting every cell on fire. As a moan escaped my throat, his tongue parted my lips and found mine. They danced together, swirling and twirling, two strangers in the night discovering each other. The salty taste of the salmon lingered in his mouth and mixed with his sweet saliva, making him even more delicious. My fingers fisted his hair as our lips, tongues, and moans mingled. I had read about his kisses, but nothing had prepared me for the sensation of one. It was the kiss of all kisses. I thought I was leaving this planet.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps thudded in the near distance. My father!
I am a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Los Angeles with her Prince Charming-ish husband, twin college-bound princesses, and a bevy of royal pain-in-the-butt pets. A former executive in the entertainment industry with a prestigious Humanitas Prize for promoting human dignity and freedom to my credit, I gave up playing with Barbies a long time ago, but I still enjoy playing with toys with my hubby. While I write in my PJs, I love to get dressed up and pretend I’m Hollywood royalty. My steamy stories feature characters that will make you laugh, cry, and swoon and stay in your heart forever. They’re often inspired by my past life.


To learn about my new releases, sales, and giveaways, please sign up for my newsletter and follow me on social media. I love to hear from my readers.


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EXCERPT REVEAL: Two-Man Advantage by Toni Aleo

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Two-Man Advantage by Toni Aleo releases on November 14th!
Keep reading for an excerpt!
Genre: M/M Sports Romance

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Wells Lemiere knew the moment he saw Matty Haverbrooke, he had to have him. Matty was quiet, he was talented, he was beautiful, and Wells couldn’t stay away.

As the youngest and most talented son of the NHL Commissioner, Matty had found the burden of family expectations almost too heavy to carry on even his broad shoulders. He had no intention of getting involved in a relationship with Wells. But the heart he’d given up for dead had other ideas.

Their affair was intense and overwhelming, but when Matty couldn’t bring himself to come out and admit he wanted a public future with the man he loved, Wells had no choice but to honor his vow to live openly…and leave Matty behind.

But then he learns Wells is marrying another, and Matty knows he can’t let that happen. Can he throw down his gloves and embrace his future with both hands? Or will he pull the door to his closet shut once more?

TWOMAN_promo2

EXCERPT:

Stretching in the bed, Matty extended the motion from his fingertips to his toes. It was a great stretch, but shit, what time was it? With his eyes still shut, he reached for his phone on the nightstand, bringing it to his face, blinking to see it was close to six a.m. Why in the hell was he awake? This was a vacation, he needed to fucking sleep, especially with how much all these people talked. Wells’s family was nice, he liked them just fine, but damn, they talked all the time. And picked on each other! He wasn’t a stranger to razzing, but for fuck’s sake, he wasn’t sure there was a moment someone wasn’t picking on someone else.

It was very entertaining.

But very new.

Or maybe that was just his fucked-up upbringing. Because in the Haverbrooke household, no one really joked or laughed for no reason when he was growing up. Or, hell, even now. Everyone was in their own rooms, doing their own thing. The only time he saw his mother and father was either at dinner or at a hockey game. They never once put him on the bus or made him breakfast; the nanny did that. That didn’t mean he didn’t love his parents. He did, very much, but they were always busy. So were his older brothers, and all he had was Avery. Until he ruined that too.

When he realized the bed was empty, he looked around the room to see that, like his teenage years, he was very alone.

Where was Wells?

Pushing off the blankets, he got out of bed, naked. The windows were open, letting in the salty air. Anyone could look in, but he wasn’t worried about that. When he looked out at the beach, he saw Wells standing in the water, his arms above his head, the muscles in his back taut and undeniably sexy. Reaching for a pair of running shorts, Matty watched Wells while he put them on before going out the front door, shutting it behind him. “Hey.”

Wells looked over his shoulder, his eyes softening at the sight of Matty. “Hey yourself, lazy ass.”

Matty sputtered with laughter as he walked to the shore, the water running up on his feet. “Shit, that’s cold!”

Wells rolled his eyes. “You’re such a baby. It’s great. Especially after running for an hour.”

As Wells turned, coming toward him, a grin moved across Matty’s face. Running did Wells’s body so fucking good. His torso was cut and defined, his pecs thick and mouthwatering, but those shoulders? Yeah, they had Matty’s cock hard within seconds. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

Wells smirked. “I know.”

Rolling his eyes as Wells reached for him, pulling his body against him, Matty let out a little sound of distress. “Dude, it’s cold!”

“No, it’s not. Come here, I’ll keep you warm.”

Gay lgbt same sex marriage wedding kiss bridegrooms kissing.

About the Author:

My name is Toni Aleo and I’m a total dork.
I am a wife, mother of two and a bulldog, and also a hopeless romantic.
I am the biggest Shea Weber fan ever, and can be found during hockey season with my nose pressed against the Bridgestone Arena’s glass, watching my Nashville Predators play!
When my nose isn’t pressed against the glass, I enjoy going to my husband and son’s hockey games, my daughter’s dance competition, hanging with my best friends, taking pictures, scrapbooking, and reading the latest romance novel.
I have a slight Disney and Harry Potter obsession, I love things that sparkle, I love the color pink, I might have been a Disney Princess in a past life… probably Belle.
… and did I mention I love hockey?

Connect with Toni!

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/tonialeo1
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ToniAleo1
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/toni_aleo/
Intagram: https://instagram.com/tonialeo1/
Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2yGqqR6

 

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BOOK BLITZ AND GIVEAWAY:Thigh Highs

Thigh Highs
Katia Rose
Publication date: October 26th 2017
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

Modelling lingerie for her arch-nemesis was not on Christina’s to-do list.

Then again, neither was he.

Aaron Penn might be the talk of the advertising school they both attend, but to Christina he’s just an egomaniac with a cocky smirk to match. Fast forward to the end of term, when a class project gone wrong has her stripping down to a negligee and letting Aaron photograph her to advertise a line of women’s underwear.

She expects suggestive comments and smarmy-eyed stares, but when Aaron gets behind the camera he treats her body like a work of art. Even though all she’s got on is a scrap of satin, the room suddenly feels way too hot.

As the tension between them builds to expensive-panty-melting-levels, Christina finds herself caught between falling for the complicated artist who knows just what poses to put her in, and wondering why he acts like such an irritating hotshot around everyone else.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

“No way,” I gasp, staring at the very large, very professional-looking camera in Aaron’s hands. “Did you just steal that?”

He looks up after setting the camera down on the desk next to the carefully arranged lingerie.

“Really?” he demands, cocking a brow. “Is your opinion of me actually so bad that your first assumption is to think I stole this?”

I give him a look that suggests exactly that.

“I didn’t steal it,” he confirms. “It’s mine. I…”

His eyes drift to the floor and he takes a moment to heft the gear bag he has thrown over his shoulder onto the desk, turning away from me as he does.

“I do photography sometimes,” he continues. “It’s just a hobby. I was going to come back in here after the shoot and play around a bit.”

“That looks like more than just a hobby.” I gesture towards all his gear as he turns back to face me.

He shrugs, avoiding my eye. “I mean, I have to look good in all my selfies.”

“It’s like being a douchebag is just a reflex for you,” I sigh. “I almost can’t even blame you for it.”

He starts unzipping the bag and pulls out a few lenses. As I watch, it occurs to me that even though we’ve now got a camera and someone who knows how to use it, our problems are far from solved.

“So do you have a C cup model hiding in that bag?” I ask him. “Because if not, we’re still screwed.”

“You must be at least a C cup,” he responds, not looking up from the lenses.

I’m about to ask what that has to do with anything when the realization of what he’s suggesting hits.

Oh hell no.

 

Author Bio:

Katia Rose is not much of a Pina Colada person, but she does like getting caught in the rain. She prefers her romance served steamy with a side of smart, and is a sucker for quirky characters. A habit of jetting off to distant countries means she’s rarely in one place for very long, but she calls the frigid northland that is Canada home.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

 

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Forever Cursed Excerpt Reveal

Title: Forever Cursed
Author: Sarah J Pepper
Genre: New Adult Fantasy Romance
Editor: Nadine Winningham
Publisher: Neximus Publishing
Photographer: Wilcoxon Photography
Makeup: Platinum Imagination Hair and Makeup
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR
Blurb:
Captain James
Peter may as well be imprisoned on Neverland with us for he consumes Miss Bell’s thoughts, stealing her away from me. His retaliation is a constant threat of which we cannot escape. Even so, that pathetic excuse of a man is the least of my worries.
Corrupt and vile creatures rule this tiny spit of land, brought here by fairies, by Miss Bell.
Whether she admits it or not, she needs my protection. Yet, I catch her glancing at my severed arm with pity in her eyes. She thinks of me as weak, injured, and any number of inadequacies. Feck. I will not stand for it! I will protect her even if it costs me my life.
Miss Bell
Captain James makes no attempt to shield the darkness harbored in his eyes, like he wants me—needs me—to see what most people do. Ruthlessness. Turmoil. Devastation.
“Remember that the same hand I use to caress your delicate skin has been stained with the blood of my enemies,” he says, cupping my cheek. “Do not assume my affection for you is something others have experienced. Understood, Miss Bell?”
I understand. Hell, I am counting on it. Peter would rather see me dead than in the arms of another, and I have no intention of dying—especially not when Captain James makes me feel so alive.
Award Winning Author, Sarah J. Pepper, specializes in fantasy and paranormal romance. She unveils the beauty of love in her new adult/young adult novels. Her works envelope dark, paranormal romance – think “happy ever after” but with a twisted, dark chocolate center. Real-life romance isn’t only filled with hugs, kisses, bunnies, and rainbows. True-love can be more thoroughly described in times of darkness and tribulation. It’s in those harsh moments where you see what a person is truly capable of – both the good and bad. Sometimes prince-charming isn’t always on time, and the glass slipper is a little snug. However, it doesn’t mean Charming is not Mr. Right, and who says every shoe is the perfect fit? Get a glimpse inside her head at www.sarahjpepper.com.
Author Links:

Buy Links: 
Neverland Evermore: http://amzn.to/2x4lSSt
Forever Cursed: http://amzn.to/2xBpkWz

Bell may try to conceal the sharp intellect hiding in those jade-colored eyes, but I saw it shimmer. It was like a flash of lightning. There was so much to see in that burst of light in such a short amount of time one could hardly catch it all, much less react to the danger it brought.

And then she smiled.

Bloody hell, that smile revealed everything and nothing. It was the same when she was pissed off as when she was enjoying herself. It made her wildly unpredictable. I didn’t know what she’d say or what her next move would be.

I could only react.

And by God, I reacted to her. Every morsel of my being reacted to her. Every. Fecking. Morsel.

 

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EXCERPT REVEAL : He Loves Me…KNOT by RC Boldt

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He Loves Me…KNOT by RC Boldt is coming soon on NOVEMBER 14th!
Keep reading for an EXCERPT!

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HLMK- Teaser 4

Sometimes love needs a second chance…

I never looked back after skipping out on my own wedding, even if it did leave me estranged from most of my family. Eight years later, I have the life I’ve always wanted. As an advertising account executive, my world is damn near perfect.

Until I come face-to-face with my past. With the man I once loved. The man who holds my future in his hands. The man who’s hell-bent on getting even with me for leaving him at the altar.

Even with all the unfinished business between us, I still love Knox Montgomery. The only problem?

He loves me…KNOT.

HLMK -Teaser 2

EXCERPT:

PROLOGUE

EMMA JANE

“BLESS HER HEART.”
This—the quintessential Southern phrase “bless her heart”—is the ultimate kiss of death.
The irony isn’t lost on me since I just avoided my own kiss of death, figuratively speaking. Instead of walking down the aisle, I’m trudging along the Pensacola Beach boardwalk in my wedding dress.
Alone.
With tear-stained cheeks.
Two elderly women peer at me, blatant curiosity etched across their features, and one turns to the other to hiss, “I wonder if the groom left her.”
“Would you blame him?” the other woman responds, disdain dripping from her tone. “She’s got a”—she utters the next words much like they’re absolutely scandalous—“nose piercing.”
The dark glare I direct at them is concealed by my sunglasses, so with a dismissive huff, I continue plodding along, swiping a hand across my tear-streaked cheeks. Judging by the black smudges on my fingers, my waterproof mascara clearly lied.
Damn jackass mascara.
Damn jackass groom. I’m starting to see a trend here…
The longer I walk, the more stares I get. One little girl in a tutu bathing suit points to the top of my head and squeals with joy, “Look! A princess!”
Damn jackass tiara and veil my mother insisted I wear.
I march over to a large trash bin and—without any finesse whatsoever—begin tugging the pins holding this awful tiara-veil combo in place. As I’m attempting to remove it, agitation takes over due to my sad lack of progress. I bunch the veil in my fists and give it a firm tug from my elaborate up-do. Bobby pins shoot and ping in various directions, and I distractedly pray no one gets too close and loses an eye. Shoving the obscene length of fabric in the trash, I feel a bit lighter.
The June sun beats down on me as I stand on the stamped cement of the boardwalk, the heat radiating through the soles of my favorite flip-flops. My eyes flutter closed as I inhale a deep breath of the salty Gulf of Mexico air.
God, I love this beach. It’s always been one of my favorites, especially since it takes just under an hour to drive here from Mobile. The water is a gorgeous shade of blue-green, and the sand is perfectly white and free of pesky shells. Any other time, I’d be kicking off my flip-flops and running toward the surf. Now, though, I have different priorities: a stiff drink. Or ten.
Or twenty.
The challenge is finding a place where I might not draw attention—er, as much attention. I slowly survey the nearby choices of bars and restaurants lined up along the boardwalk; I scan and dismiss them one by one.
“No…no…no…n—”
Wait a minute.
One particular sign snags my eye. It has an outline of two men standing back to back, their forms filled with a swirl of rainbows and the name Be-Bob’s written in script-like font beneath it.
A gay bar.
Perfect.
With my key ring clipped to my small wristlet, I stalk over to the bar, doing my best to ignore the startled looks and gawking from other beachgoers. Tugging open the heavy door, I step over the threshold and into the brisk air conditioning.
Into a place where I might find slightly more acceptance.
I slide my sunglasses to rest atop my head and take a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. There are only about eight people scattered about, chatting over drinks. When I don’t earn more than a brief glance before they return to their own conversations, I breathe my first sigh of relief. Most of the patrons are likely indulging in the great weather and enjoying a Saturday at the beach, not looking for refuge and hiding out like I am.
I scan the framed photos that adorn the walls featuring local drag queens and scantily clad male models before striding over to the bar. I hoist myself up onto a worn leather bar stool, and catch the eye of the only bartender behind the counter. He appears to be taking inventory of the liquor, if his clipboard is anything to go by.
When he turns around and gets the full visual of me, his expression is priceless, his eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline. I’d laugh if I had it in me, but I’m emotionally spent.
As he regards what’s visible to him from the top of the bar on up to my hair, his light brown eyes soften and the corners of his mouth tip up slightly. Without batting an eye, he reaches below the counter and produces a wet wipe. I gratefully accept it and he rests his forearms upon the lacquered surface, regarding me with interest as I rid my cheeks of the dark mascara streaks.
The bartender waits until I’m finished and then accepts the wipe from me before tossing it into the trash.
“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever served a runaway bride before.” My makeup-fail savior appears to gauge me, as if expecting me to burst into a river of tears.
Funny enough, the drive here has expended me of those and I’m firmly entrenched in the anger stage of my fiancé’s betrayal.
I prop an elbow on the bar, rest my chin on my palm, and offer what I know is the weakest excuse for a smile. “There’s a first time for everything, right?”
He doesn’t immediately answer, eyeing me curiously until his lips stretch into an easy smile. His eyes do that little crinkly thing at the corners and he has what I call “kind eyes.”
Then again, I remind myself, what the hell do I know?
I’m clearly not the best judge of people. That much has become all too evident.
The bartender reaches out a hand. “Casey.”
I grasp his hand, noting his impressive manicure. This guy’s cuticles are better than mine and I love the shade of metallic gray polish on his nails. “Nice to meet you, Casey. I’m Emma Jane.”
He reaches beneath the bar and I hear a clinking as he scoops ice, before he brings a cup into view. Then he works his magic, and pours in a bit of this and that from one bottle to the next. Finally, with flourish—and a maraschino cherry tossed in—he slides the plastic cup across the smooth surface.
“It’s my special, secret mix. I call it”—he leans in toward me and lowers his voice, his eyes dancing with mischief—“the Panty Dropper.”
One of my brows arches as I stare back at him with dismayed skepticism. “I hardly think I’m a prime panty-dropping candidate right now.”
Casey lifts a shoulder in a half shrug, his eyes flickering over my shoulder before returning to me. His smile grows wider. “You never can tell.”
With a tiny laugh, I shake my head and wrap my lips around the straw to take a sip of the concoction he’s made me. Just as I swallow the sweet drink, I both feel and smell a person sidle up next to me at the bar.
Hell. The reason I came here was because I thought for sure my chances of getting hit on would be slim to none. But, as I glance at him from the corner of my eye, I observe strong, muscled forearms, tanned and sprinkled with dark hair. The scent of him is appealing and masculine, a cologne that doesn’t overpower. Just the sight of those arms alone, however, makes me incredibly wary to see the rest of him.
Casey doesn’t address the newcomer, his focus still on me. “I’m all ears, Emma Jane. Been told I’m a great listener.”
Good Lord. Where do I even start?
Before I can answer, the man speaks up, his deep voice booming. “Are you cheating on me, Case?” He makes what sounds like a gasp of exaggerated indignation. “I can’t believe you’d betray me like this.”
I glance up to see Casey’s expression full of mirth, and he rolls his eyes. “You know better. I’m still waiting on you to switch over.”
A husky laugh greets my ears and it sounds far too male—far too appealing—which is why I refuse to turn and look at the man beside me.
“I might switch if you’d agree to root for my team.”
“Not gonna happen,” Casey scoffs before his gaze meets mine. “Isn’t that drink exactly what the doctor ordered?”
I muster up a smile because he seems like a sweet guy. “It is.” With a start, I realize I haven’t given him my card to pay or at least start a tab. I reach for my wristlet. “What do I owe you?”
He waves me off. “Honey, that one’s on me as long as you promise to dish before we get slammed in a few hours.”
A loud exhale spills past my lips. “It’s a pathetic story, really.”
“Let me guess.” Mr. Forearms’s husky voice is a deep timbre, amusement threaded in his tone. “You caught him with your maid of honor.”
I let out a harsh laugh and fiddle with my straw, using it to move around the ice cubes in my drink. “Nope.” If only it were that simple, I muse internally.
“Caught him with his best man?”
This time, his suggestion drags a lighter sounding laugh from me. “Not even.”
“Well, you know I can’t leave here without hearing the story. I’m intrigued.”
This guy is something else, that’s for sure. His voice is the epitome of sexy, and yet, even with all that’s transpired, I have zero interest.
Finally, I drag my attention from my drink and my eyes travel up those muscled forearms, over the bulging biceps stretching the short sleeves of a dark-blue polo shirt and up to the face that—
My breath catches in my throat as recognition floods me, my eyes widening as I take in the man beside me.
Becket Jones, the quarterback for the NFL team in Jacksonville, Florida. He’s a two-time Heisman Trophy winner from the University of Florida and had been the second overall draft pick by the Jacksonville Jaguars. Adding to that impressive resumé, he’s been recently voted MVP and is also a Lombardi Trophy recipient. His face is in commercials and on billboards everywhere. Living in Mobile, Alabama, and in a state without a pro football team, most of us either gravitate toward the Atlanta Falcons, the New Orleans Saints, or the Jacksonville Jaguars.
I don’t follow NFL as closely as college football, but I’d have to live under a rock to not recognize Becket and his pretty-boy face. Even beneath the brim of the ball cap, which curls under at the edges and draws shadows over his eyes, I’d recognize that wide charming smile of his anywhere. He’s slouching against the bar but I know he pushes well over six feet.
His features cloud as he observes my response, his large hand reaching up to tug his cap lower. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to sell some seedy story about seeing me in a gay bar to a stupid gossip rag.”
“Of course not. I’m just…” I falter for a moment, “surprised.”
His chin lifts, gesturing to a couple of guys standing nearby a jukebox, laughing and talking. One of them is wearing a shirt with bright pink flamingos printed on it, along with a yellow feather boa draped around his neck.
“I’m with my brother, Brantley—the one who insisted on that crazy getup—and his roommate, Vonn, whose birthday we’re celebrating.” His eyes flicker to them briefly, obvious affection in his gaze, before returning to me. “I drove in from Jacksonville late last night to join them.”
I nod politely, not sure what to say. “Well, I hope you guys have a great night.” I turn back to my drink and studiously take another sip of the dangerous concoction while acknowledging Casey and Becket’s attention is fixed on me with unfettered curiosity. This drink is deliciously sweet and I know it’s masking the copious amount of liquor Casey put in it. And I can’t get hammered. I should—and I really want to—but I can’t. I have bigger fish to fry.
Like figuring out my freaking life.
With a long sigh, I unzip my wristlet and withdraw my cell phone—whose ring had been silenced—to face the “music” I know is about to blare at me.
Let this be noted as mistake number one. Because I’m certain my phone is going to overheat from the number of text messages and missed calls I’ve received already. Mainly, the ones from my father.
Dad: You’d better get back here now, young lady.
I continue scrolling past all of his other messages until I get to the last one, time stamped from about five minutes ago.
Dad: Consider yourself disowned. Don’t even think of coming back to this house after the way you’ve embarrassed everyone.
Huh. Well, thank heavens I’d already thought of that and had made a quick stop at the house before driving here. I’d scooped up the items I’d need most, knowing my father’s reaction would be extreme. Maybe I was delusional, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this.
Just as I’m about to place my phone back in my wristlet and avoid the remainder of the painful messages sure to come, another one comes in.
Dad: Forget your job at the magazine. It’s done. You’re done. You did this, Emma Jane.
My chest tightens and my stomach churns sickly. I knew it was coming but it doesn’t make it any less devastating. I’d worked my ass off for Southern Charm Lifestyle magazine at their new location in Mobile. I know I have the potential to rise up in the ranks.
But now it’s gone. Poof. All because of my father. The one and only Davis Haywood, city councilman, owner of the local newspaper and the city’s largest magazine, and commercial developer galore. He has the money and power to make things happen in Mobile.
I just never thought he’d use that money and power against his own daughter one day.
“So.” Becket startles me, so caught up in my own drama-filled thoughts. “You might not know this about me, but I was brought up to be a gentleman.”
I regard him warily, unsure where he’s going with this. “O-kay,” I drag out the word slowly.
“This means I can’t leave you sitting at this bar, staring down at your phone, looking like your puppy just died.”
I shoot him a hard glare that would normally cause people to rear back…but then I recall that this man faces the risk of being tackled by two-hundred-plus-pound men on any given game day.
So, as much as my dangerously narrowed eyes might flare with the “Don’t even go there” vibe, my glare does nothing.
He looks around first before slipping his ball cap around on his head, the brim now at the back. And honestly, on any other grown man, it would look juvenile. On Becket Jones, however, it actually looks cute.
Casey slides a bottle of water to him, which Becket uncaps before downing half of it. Resting his arms on the bar, he playfully nudges me with his shoulder.
“Go ahead. Spill.”
Exhaling loudly, I peer up at him skeptically. “You really want—”
“To hear all the sordid details?” He grins at me, nearly blinding me with his pearly white teeth. “Absolutely.”
Shaking my head at him, I take another sip of my drink and toy with my straw, making the ice cubes clink together within my cup. “Fine. But don’t you dare give me a bless your heart that’s chock-full of pity.”
“Deal.”
Letting a long sigh loose, I answer, my voice muted and laced with pain. And I hate the way it sounds.
“I’m running from a man who doesn’t really love me.”

HLMK-Teaser 6

About the Author:

RC Boldt is the wife of Mr. Boldt, a retired Navy Chief, mother of Little Miss Boldt, and former teacher of many students. She currently lives on the southeastern coast of North Carolina, enjoys long walks on the beach, running, reading, people watching, and singing karaoke. If you’re in the mood for some killer homemade mojitos, can’t recall the lyrics to a particular 80’s song, or just need to hang around a nonconformist who will do almost anything for a laugh, she’s your girl.

Email: rcboldtbooks@gmail.com
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Excerpt Reveal: LOVE ON THE EDGE OF TIME by Julie A. Richman

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Love on the Edge of Time, an all-new stand-alone story about a love too great to be bound by time, from Julie A. Richman is coming November 13th!

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Love on the Edge of Time by Julie A. Richman

Publishing Date: November 13th, 2017

He likes whiskey and wild women

She likes Ben & Jerry’s

He’s about to get kicked out of his own band

She ate her way off the Miss America pageant circuit

What could these two possibly have in common?

A psychiatrist

A lot of unresolved issues

A whole bunch of shared lifetimes

And a love that is never-ending

As bad boy rocker, Jesse Winslow, and former pageant queen, Kylie Martin, each fight the demons screwing up their lives, the one person who holds the key to healing their ills and reuniting two souls that have searched for one another, lifetime after lifetime, is the only one who knows the whole truth.

And keeping that truth from them may just be in preeminent psychiatrist Dr. Claire Stoddard’s best interests.

Claire has committed the ultimate sin in the medical world. She’s fallen for the one man she’s forbidden to love.

Her patient, Jesse Winslow.

And she’s not about to lose him to Kylie Martin… Again.

Excerpt:

I’m at a table in the back-right corner, he texted.

In a cab a few blocks away. See you in 5.

Kylie was running a few minutes late, not rudely late, just fashionably late. She had pulled nearly everything she owned out of her closet, trying to find something that was flattering, yet rock-star cool and ‘Yeah, I know his ex is a top model’. ‘So What’ chic was the look she was trying to pull off. It wasn’t easy. With the recent weight loss, she was between sizes. Her big girl clothes, as she was now referring to them, looked like misshapen potato sacks on her and her pageant days’ wardrobe were nowhere near an option yet, and might not ever be.

She made the decision. It’s New York, seriously, just pick something black. And so black it was. Black legging jeans, black high boots, a thin, black, cashmere V-neck sweater, all topped with a black leather jacket. Twisting her hair, she clipped it up, then pulled a few strands out to frame her face and a few at the base of her neckline. It was messy and sexy.

Standing in front of the mirror, she wondered for whom she was dressing. Jesse? Well, yeah, you don’t want to be seen with a rock star looking like a beast on parade. The paparazzi? Same logic applied as for Jesse. The skinny model ex-girlfriend? Well, not really for her, but for everyone who would make a comparison. For herself? C’mon, he’s Jesse Fucking Winslow. Get real.

As she made her way to the back of the darkened restaurant, Kylie could feel her spine straighten, shoulders fall back, chin up. The only thing missing was the sash as she gracefully floated past tables, the male occupants covertly attempting to sneak an appreciative look without alerting their female companions.

I’ve still got it.

And her confidence soared as she sat down in the chair next to one of the sexiest, most recognizable men on the planet, and he had watched every man in the restaurant check her out.

“You look gorgeous, Toots.”

“Thank you.” It was still surreal that she was sitting here with her new buddy.

“I’m going to have to fight half the guys in the restaurant off you.”

Laughing, “I doubt that.” Kylie rolled her eyes.

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About the Author:

I must’ve been 5 or 6 when I started writing “stories”. I would write them and hide them.

Not wanting anyone to see my “secret” thoughts. I needed to write – even back then. Now I’m just not hiding them anymore. Is that a sign of maturity? Nah…

Writer, photographer, insatiable wanderluster, edge-player, foodie, music addict, pop culture fanatic, animal lover, warrior for the rights of people and planet, and avid cusser (am a Native

New Yorker, so very little offends me…and if I am offended, it must be pretty freaking bad..like

bad grammar!)

I am a big believer in signs and if we keep ourselves open, there are guideposts all along the way. Stay humble. Be true. Be you.

Life is not a dress rehearsal…

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Connect with Julie:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJulieARichman

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Website: http://juliearichman.com/

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EXCERPT: Burn For You by J.T. Geissinger

About BURN FOR YOU (Slow Burn #1)

Available October 17th

The marriage is fake. But for a sassy chef and an arrogant billionaire, the sparks are real… Jackson “The Beast” Boudreaux is rich, gorgeous, and unbelievably rude to the staff at Chef Bianca Hardwick’s New Orleans restaurant. Bianca would sooner douse herself in hot sauce than cook for Jackson again, but when he asks her to cater his fund-raiser, Bianca can’t refuse, knowing the cash will help pay her mother’s medical bills. Then Jackson makes another outrageous request: Marry me. The unconventional offer includes an enormous sum—money Bianca desperately needs, even if it does come with a contract—and a stunning ring.

The heir to a family bourbon dynasty, Jackson knows the rumors swirling around him. The truth is even darker. Still, he needs a wife to secure his inheritance, and free-spirited, sassy Bianca would play the part beautifully. Soon, though, their simple business deal evolves into an emotional intimacy he’s built walls to avoid.

As the passion heats up between them, Bianca and Jackson struggle to define which feelings are real and which are for show. Is falling for your fake fiancé the best happy ending…or a recipe for disaster?

Add BURN FOR YOU to your Goodreads list here!

I’d seen Jackson’s scary side. I’d seen his hidden sweet side, too, and his suave side, and a dozen others.

But I’d never seen him dirty.

“Off!” he snarled, impatiently pulling my T-shirt over my head. He tossed it aside and it sailed across the room. He took a moment to stare down at me, his eyes black with lust, then he grabbed my sleep shorts and yanked them down my hips. Away they went, flung over to the dresser along with my panties. Kneeling between my spread legs, he made an animal noise as his gaze raked over me. Then his mouth was on my flesh.

There.

I cried out in shock. His mouth was so hot and wet, so unexpected. He dug his fingers into my hips and thrust his tongue deep inside me. I almost died from pleasure.

Get your hands on BURN FOR YOU now!

 

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About J.T. Geissinger

A former headhunter, J.T. Geissinger is the author of more than a dozen novels in contemporary romance, paranormal romance, and romantic suspense.

She is the recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book, the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy, and is a two-time finalist for the RITA® Award from the Romance Writers of America®. Her work has also finaled in the Booksellers’ Best, National Readers’ Choice, and Daphne du Maurier Awards.

Join her Facebook reader’s group, Geissinger’s Gang, to take part in weekly Wine Wednesday live chats and giveaways, find out more information about works in progress, have access to exclusive excerpts and contests, and get advance reader copies of her upcoming releases.

Website | Newsletter | Facebook | Geissinger’s Gang | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest | Instagram

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