Release and Review: Wishing Well By Lily White

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Wishing Well Available Now

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The perfect timing of a fairy tale is tied to its tragedy…

Journalist, Meadow Graham, is invited to interview death row inmate, Vincent Mercier. Given three days to hear his sordid confession, Meadow seeks to learn why a wealthy hotel owner killed four people, including her twin sister.

Sensually exotic and enigmatic, Vincent details his deception while bragging about the amusement he took in manipulating Meadow’s sister.

Their interview is a battle of wills.

His story is a twisted web of coercion and lies.

And the tragedy is too perfect to be real.

Will Meadow discover all of Vincent’s secrets while she fights to protect her own?

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Lily writes some of the most dangerous and dark books ever and it seems from start to finish I am sucked in like a vortex. Why do I do this to myself, why do we do this to ourselves…. because Lily is addicting and we LOVE LOVE LOVE IT! I am choosing my words carefully for this review as  I feel one slip of the finger can give away so much. This is not what  I want to do, you need to go into this open minded and ready to get twisted. Meadow is granted the story of her career thus far and she knows this is major. Vincent has done some terrible things in his life, but makes no excuses for them.

WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE!  Meadow is braver than I could ever be, I envy her, I want to be her. Brave, soulful, open, honest and a fighter. I don’t know if I could survive without my sister she is my best friend, and I don’t believe in myself enough to not lash out. I could see some things coming, however I have heard that others could not. Where this has been the opposite in the past for us. You feel like you are dying at the end of this book, a reader part of me broke with this, and I hate and love Lily for that.

This needs to be your next five star read, for sure! My fingers are crossed for an audio book so I can listen to it at anytime.

Thank you Lily for trusting me with your newest baby. As always you didnt disapoint.

 

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Click HERE to enter the Release Day Giveaway!

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Lily White is a dark writer who likes to dabble on the taboo side of eroticism. She is most known for her Masters Series (Her Master’s Courtesan and Her Master’s Teacher), Target This, Hard Roads, and Asylum. She’s co-authored Serial (a four part serial series). When she isn’t writing as Lily White you can find other books by her under M.S. Willis where she has penned the Control Series, the Estate Series, Because of Ellison (contemporary romance), and Standard Romance Story (Romance Comedy). Lily enjoys stretching her writing muscles by continuing to challenge herself with each book she publishes.

In addition to writing, Lily is an avid reader, gummy bear slayer, and a gold medalist in puppy naps.

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Release Day: Keeping Dominic by Alyson Reynolds

Release Date: April 19, 2018

Cover Design: Nicole Blanchard

Photo Credit: Lindee Robinson Photography

Models: Andrew Kruczynski and Alyse Madej

 

Synopsis

 

No one finds their soulmate at first glance.

Dominic Torres did though. From the second he saw his best friend’s little sister, he knew she was the one for him. Fast forward three years and now she’s his best friend and she has him firmly in the friend zone. He’s convinced he’ll never have the college romance his parents had.

Until the day it almost happened.

Brooke Caldwell’s life fell apart two days after her tall, dark and handsome best friend almost kissed her. A split second of hesitation made her question her entire relationship with her best friend. You wouldn’t think that a kiss that didn’t even happen would make her question her feelings as much as it did. But all of Brooke’s friends had said he had a thing for her.

Unrequited love or a figment of her imagination?

When an argument gets out of hand, Brooke and Dom hit a breaking point that has both of them scrambling into new relationships. Even pissed off and broken, neither of them can ignore the other for long. From best friends to lovers, one night could change everything.

 

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Nook: http://smarturl.it/KeepingDominicNook

 

 

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About the Author

Romance writer. Wife. Mother of two. Avid reader. Queen of multitasking.

Originally from the south, Alyson likes to incorporate what she knows into her books. She’s lived not only on the east coast, but the west coast and a few places in between. Alyson loves sharing stories about her crazy family to anyone who will listen. Her guilty pleasures consist of coffee, country music, brunch, breaking the rules, and pedicures. And she will always be a daddy’s girl.

When Alyson isn’t chasing around her two kiddos, she’s normally writing. Or reading. Her Kindle library is out of control. Alyson writes mainly contemporary novels and novellas with a bit of new adult mixed in.

 

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Chapter Reveal: Knave By Jane Henry and Maisy Archer

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sabrina: Good guys save the day and criminals go to jail. It’s not rocket science, people.

But then my father’s killed, I’m rescued by a thief, and my worldview is shattered. He takes me to his penthouse. His bed. I don’t have to like it but I can’t help it. His touch is everything a good girl like me shouldn’t want.

Anson: Good and bad mean nothing to a master thief. I take what I want, and what I want is vengeance. No more, no less.

Maybe the girl can help, so I’ll hide her. Protect her. And if I have to manhandle her to keep her quiet, she’ll deal. Hell, she might even like it. But she’ll learn fast that I make the rules.

 

 

Manhattan
“3, 2, 1… And, security systems are down,” Walker said, his voice with its lilting accent magnified over the tiny communication device in my ear, so that it sounded like he was sitting right next to me. “Daly, you’re up.”
No shit. I rolled my eyes as I employed the tiny laser cutting tool to make a hole in the glass window just large enough for me to slip through. Dangling from a cable four stories above the ground in the middle of a bright, moonlit night was not the best time to start contemplating your life choices, but it seemed to happen every time I worked with these guys; which was to say, twenty-four-seven for the past six months.
“I’m in,” I whispered, pushing the suction holder I’d clamped to the freshly-cut glass disk and reaching my arm into the cooler, drier air of the office. With practiced ease, I levered myself headfirst through the hole, twisting to land lightly on my feet. I set the now useless glass gently on the floor, removed the rappelling cable that tethered me to the roof, and stood silently in the empty office, taking a second to get my bearings, to let my eyes adjust to the relative darkness, and to let my body, sweating from the humid night outside, cool for a second.
“Daly, report.” As always, Xavier’s cool, imperious voice drove me bonkers.
“Report,” I muttered. “Because I’m your freakin’ minion, X.” The comm device, created by Walker to detect the slightest sound, obviously caught my words, but other than Caelan’s reproachful sigh, nobody replied.
Six months, the five of us had been living and working together, and I couldn’t say it had made much difference in my attitude. I still preferred to work alone, and it still bugged the crap out of me that I had four other voices in my head while I was on a job, but I had no one to blame for the situation but myself. I’d answered the invitation that January night, after all, and I’d agreed to stay even after Eugenia Carmichael’s videotaped last will and testament had thrown my life into a tailspin.
“Office is empty,” I said, after a beat or two of silence where I glanced around the empty surfaces of the desk and bookcase behind me. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been working here. I was able to cut the window in a low visibility location. No direct views from inside or outside, thanks to the Rosenberg building next door being under renovation. Ethan’s intel was good.”
This would buy us crucial time before the office staff of Stuart Fowler Real Estate, LLC, caught on to the fact that they’d been the victims of a break-in.
“Of course it’s good,” Ethan huffed. “I didn’t spend two whole days in that place as the world’s most overqualified temp just to provide you bad information.”
I had to smirk at his little snit, mostly because nobody could see me. Ethan was every bit as good at his job—a cross between reconnaissance and high-key scamming—as I was at mine, but where my role in our little gang involved dressing in black gear and a full-coverage face mask like the one I wore tonight, Ethan’s usually involved wearing an expensive suit and an overly-friendly smile.
“Still wish it didn’t have to happen when the moon was this high,” I grumbled to no one in particular, repeating an argument I’d already made earlier in the week. “Moonlit night in July makes people want to take a walk and look around.”
“And like I told you, the phases of the moon refuse to change no matter how much I try to persuade them to,” Ethan said with an affected sigh. “But if we don’t get the information from the safe tonight, it’s gonna be too late. Now that Fowler’s dead, his attorney’s going to be cleaning out his office and opening the safe to disburse his assets, likely as soon as tomorrow.”
I knew Ethan was right, but I’d be damned before I’d admit it.
“I’m heading to the outer office,” I said instead, moving toward the door. “We’re sure internal door alarms are off?” I was already betting my life on Walker knowing his shit, a pretty safe bet considering he was probably the best hacker on the planet, but old habits died hard, and I really didn’t like relying on anyone but myself.
“I already told you I own the system. You doubting my prowess with the keyboard?” Walker grumbled, his accent thickening when he was put out. “It hurts, man. Just for that, I’m disabling the WiFi in your room and cutting your free premium cable channels.”
“Jesus,” I muttered, placing my hand on the door handle and turning it. Like I gave the first shit about getting free premium cable and WiFi. Thanks to Eugenia Carmichael and her billions, all five of us were now the joint owners of Manhattan’s swankiest penthouse and financially set for life… just as long as we managed to complete the task she’d left us. A task which seemed more and more like the labors of Hercules as the months passed.
I silently eased the door open a crack and stood still again, taking the measure of the room. I didn’t just listen for sounds or heavy breathing, despite the wisecracks Ethan and Walker liked to make, but tried to sense disturbances, picking up on the vibrations that people (and even unforeseen security measures) sometimes gave off. It was a crucial task for any thief who planned to spend his golden years anywhere but a six-by-eight cell.
The room smelled like strawberry candies, and cheap cologne so strong I almost sneezed.
“Daly, you’re on a clock here,” Xavier reminded me needlessly, and my nostrils instinctively flared as I fought the urge to tell him exactly where he could shove his clock. Walker’s jokes were annoying, Ethan’s overly-perceptive friendliness grated, and Caelan’s silent watchfulness made me uncomfortable, but all of them had earned my loyalty over the past six months. The only person in our quintet that I hadn’t warmed to even a fraction was Xavier Malone, heir apparent of the Madison Avenue Malones and douchebag extraordinaire. Walker, Ethan, and Caelan—a former MMA fighter and personal security guard—had all proved their usefulness to our team, as had I, but somehow Xavier’s useless ass had appointed himself our leader.
I wasn’t sure why nobody else minded this as much as I did.
“Shut the fuck up and let me do my job, X,” I retorted.
“X-av-ier. Three syllables, Daly,” he corrected in the fake-bored voice he used when he was all pissed off, and I smiled in satisfaction before I stopped myself.
Legit, was this my life, where calling a high-profile venture capitalist by a hated nickname was how I got my kicks in the middle of a job that could land me in prison?
Jesus.
But even so, I couldn’t resist adding in a whisper, “Did I hurt your feels, honey?”
“I’m gonna hurt both of you if you don’t shut the fuck up and get this done,” Caelan interjected, silencing both of us immediately. Caelan, despite all his bulk and some formidable fighting skills I’d seen in action, had the longest fuse of anyone I’d ever met. When he was finally pushed to the breaking point, it was as effective as an ice bath.
“Reception area is clear,” I said, stepping forward. “I’m going down the hall to Fowler’s office.”
“Remember, code for the office door is 0-0-7-0-1. The safe is on the wall behind the God-awful nude,” Ethan said. “You’re gonna have to use the digital code device…”
“Walker prepped me on the device,” I interrupted, my voice a bare breath of sound as I tread noiselessly down the hall. And I hadn’t needed much of a tutorial to begin with. My memory was nearly photographic, and I’d used similar devices a number of times in the past, for God’s –
Thunk.
“What’s that?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure the sound was audible to anyone else. For a split second, my pulse pounded, and I froze in place, worried there was someone moving in Fowler’s office at the end of the corridor, but then the HVAC system hummed to life, blanketing the room with recycled air. I took a deep breath.
“Daly, report,” Xavier demanded, and for once I wasn’t pissed off about it.
“False alarm, just the A/C kicking in,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my chest.
“Caelan, you’ve got the van in place?” Xavier asked. His voice sounded strained, and for just one second, I let myself wonder what it must be like to feel like you were in charge of a job and know that there was almost nothing you could do to control the outcome, once the game was in play. Huh. For a control freak like Xavier, that had to be a bitch.
“Yep. Got the van parked in the loading zone with a cold lemonade once Daly’s got the documents,” Caelan replied. “Gotta get this beast in for service,” he said fondly, and I could almost hear him petting the steering wheel as he spoke.
The surveillance van was Caelan’s baby, one of the first things he’d purchased on behalf of Masters’ Security Systems, Inc., the security company Xavier had ‘founded’ as a handy cover for our after-hours jobs, and he refused to let any of us even sit behind the wheel.
In some ways, that van and the company it represented were like the sixth member of our band—the one that gave us the respectable façade necessary to hack systems, break and enter locked buildings, and indulge in a little espionage. People actually paid us to test their security systems—both physical and technological—for weaknesses. We were officially known as white-hat thieves and hackers, and our company had quickly earned a reputation for providing the best personal and corporate security money could buy.
No one seemed to suspect that we spent our free time in similar, unsanctioned pursuits.
I crept down the hallway, listening outside each office as I passed, but all was silent. I took a second to curse the air conditioner, which blew strong enough to rustle papers on desks, and was totally throwing me off my game.
Not that any of this was a game—not since Eugenia Carmichael, widow of Federal Judge Trevor Carmichael, stared down at us from that television screen and calmly discussed her own impending murder.
“I’m about to die, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it, gentlemen. The people who’ll kill me don’t care that I’m old or rich. They don’t care that I haven’t long to live in any case, or that the only reason I’ve hung on this long is to get justice for my sweet husband. They’ll make my death seem like the simplest accident or the most natural death imaginable, just like they did for my Trevor. Just like they did for your mother, Anson Daly. Your brother, Ethan Warner. Your fiancée, Caelan Jamison. Your best friend, Walker Smith. And your sister, Xavier Malone.
“They’re soulless bastards, and their greedy tentacles reach into every branch of law enforcement, every institution meant to protect the population from evil men. But when the good folks can’t be trusted, what’s a woman like me to do? I’ll tell you, gents. You gather together a team of criminals. A cat burglar, a computer expert, a bodyguard who’s not afraid to fight, a con-artist… and the greatest criminal of all, a Wall Street investor to lead them.”
I shook my head as I checked the last office on the right and wished I could have known Eugenia Carmichael. Rich as fuck, batty as hell, and the kind of person I’d have liked to have on my team.
“All the other offices are empty,” I whispered. “Entering Fowler’s office.”
I stared down at the keypad and blinked. “Uh, Ethan, what’s it mean if the door is open?” I demanded.
“Impossible. Security system won’t set unless his door is closed,” Ethan said confidently. “Had to stick my tongue down Becca the receptionist’s throat and practically propose marriage to learn that little tidbit, but you know me. Anything for the Masters.”
“Didn’t ask if it was possible,” I retorted, backing away from the door. “Asked what it meant if the impossible was already happening.”
“What? No,” Ethan said, sounding truly concerned. “I don’t know how… Walker, the systems were booted before you shut them down?”
“Definitely,” Walker said. I could hear keys clacking frantically in the background as he no doubt pored over information on the many screens he had set up all over the office we’d created on the second floor of what used to be the Carmichaels’ penthouse. “External system was shut down by me, and the internal system was… Oh.”
“Oh?” I demanded. “What, oh?”
“Well, Jesus, it looks like the internal security wasn’t reset the last time the external security was engaged.”
“In English, geek. My ass is in the wind here!” I fumed, pressing my back into an alcove in the hall.
“Means that someone shut off the security after the building manager closed up. Probably somebody forgot something and had to come back. When they left, they only set the external security, none of the motion sensors inside.”
His voice was apologetic, and honestly, it was something even I wouldn’t have thought to check for, but it was still my ass on the line. “Probably? What’s probably mean, Walker? Like I’ll probably get twenty to life?”
“I’m pulling up the camera feeds now,” he said, the clicking of his fingers on the keyboard sounding like buzzing wasps in my ear.
“Daly, it’s your call,” X said. “If you haven’t seen anyone, Walker’s probably right. System confirms that the external security was restarted an hour ago and wasn’t shut down again until Walker shut it down. Either someone’s been sitting there silently for an hour, or the person who reset the system did a shit job. You know we need those papers, you know the stakes, but it’s your call,” he repeated.
Shit shit shit. I smoothed my hand down the mask that covered my face. My call, but not really.
Last week, the program Walker had set up to cross reference the names of our dead loved ones against the parties involved in cases Eugenia’s dead husband, Judge Trevor Carmichael, had presided over had finally found a match. A year or so ago, Judge Carmichael had ruled on a racketeering case against mid-level real estate owner Stuart Fowler. It just so happened that Stuart Fowler handled the business dealings for Silver, a seedy bar in Vinegar Hill, and the last place my mom had worked before the overdose that killed her. We needed to find out more about who Fowler was working with, who he was working for, and who was behind the dummy corporation Fowler had set up as the owner of Silver, if we wanted to figure out how and why my mother had died.
But clearly we weren’t the only ones who’d cottoned on to this idea, since Fowler, who’d been offered a plea deal in exchange for a reduced sentence, had been killed in prison before he could decide to start naming names.
Chalk another body up to the bad guys.
“Fine. I’m going in,” I told Xavier, pushing the door open with my heart in my throat.
The scent of cologne I’d smelled in the reception area was even more powerful here, and I froze again, listening for any sound, but the room seemed to be holding its breath.
I threw the door wide, making sure no one was hiding behind it, before cautiously creeping forward. Nothing seemed out of place, and the humming of the HVAC was the only sound.
“Clear,” I breathed, stepping forward to finish my mission.
Any thief who claimed he wasn’t superstitious was a liar. Every thief had a tell—a lucky pair of socks, a nervous tic—and I was no different. I cracked the knuckles of my right hand, and then my left, clenching and unclenching my hands exactly twelve times as I walked over to the desk, my eyes fixed on the ugliest nude I’d ever seen. Jesus, her breasts looked like purple apples. I shook my head in disgust as I opened the painting, handily attached to the wall by a hinge, and put my hand in my pocket to extract the digital code device.
“Christ on a cracker,” I breathed, letting the device fall back into my pocket. I wouldn’t need it now. “Someone got here before us. Safe is empty.”
A chorus of curses echoed through my ear.
“What do we do now?” I demanded, taking a step back and pulling the mask up off my face. “This shit show can’t get much worse.”
My heel hit something on the floor with a dull thud, something I couldn’t see from the thin shafts of moonlight coming through the tinted windows. I crouched down to examine it more closely.
“Oh, my God,” I breathed. “I lied. It’s worse. Dead body. Mother fucker, there’s a dead body in here.” I stood up abruptly.
“Who is it?” Xavier demanded, ever practical.
“He’s not exactly introducing himself, X!” I said. I could hear the panic in my own voice, but dead bodies and I did not get along. “I’m outta here.”
“Check his wallet,” Caelan argued.
“No way! You come do it!”
“You said yourself, it can’t get worse. Just keep your head and check the wallet. We need to know who we’re dealing with here!” Caelan soothed.
And that’s how I found myself, against my better judgment, touching the corpse on the floor of Stuart Fowler’s office, and rolling him over to pick his pocket. Yes, this was really my life.
“Got the wallet,” I said, pocketing the thing and letting the body fall back down.
“You sure he’s dead?” Ethan wanted to know.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Before Caelan could get all reasonable or X could get all imperious, I held my breath, stripped my glove, and put my fingers to the guy’s throat. He was still warm, but there was no pulse. I leaned closer in case I could hear a breath.
“Achoo!”
I jumped three feet. My instincts had saved my life more times than I could count, and for just one second, I swear I thought the man on the floor, the body on the floor, had sneezed, but then I realized where the sound had come from.
“What the hell is that?” Xavier demanded.
“A sneeze,” I said, standing up and getting my wits about me once more. I crept along the floor towards a small coat closet next to the office door, and threw the door open wide.
“Guys?” I said, as I looked down at the small, wide-eyed redhead huddled there. “Things got worse again.”

 

 

 

Jane Henry

 

Jane has been writing since her early teens, dabbling in short stories and poetry. When she married and began having children, her pen was laid to rest for several years, until the National Novel Writing Challenge (NaNoWriMo) in 2010 awakened in her the desire to write again. That year, she wrote her first novel, and has been writing ever since. With a houseful of children, she finds time to write in the early hours of the morning, squirreled away with a laptop, blanket, and cup of hot coffee. Years ago, she heard the wise advice, “Write the book you want to read,” and has taken it to heart. She sincerely hopes you also enjoy the books she likes to read.

 

Maisy Archer

 

 

Maisy is an unabashed book nerd who has been in love with romance since reading her first Julie Garwood novel at the tender age of 12. After a decade as a technical writer, she finally made the leap into writing fiction several years ago and has never looked back. Like her other great loves – coffee, caramel, beach vacations, yoga pants, and her amazing family – her love of words has only continued to grow… in a manner inversely proportional to her love of exercise, house cleaning, and large social gatherings. She loves to hear from fellow romance lovers, and is always on the hunt for her next great read.

 

 

 

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Cover Reveal: Taunting Tony by Marie James

 

Release Date: May 3, 2018

Cover Design: Letitia Hasser / RBA Designs

Genre: M/M Contemporary Romance

 

Synopsis

 

Rules.

They’re a necessity. They make the world go ‘round and help idiots function in society.

Most don’t require much thought and are easy to follow—or so I thought…

I didn’t realize, however, that the new group of people I became friends with could have so many.

No sleeping with group member’s moms? Easy enough.

No shirts at the BBQ? I’m all over that. Do you know how hot it gets in Texas during summertime?

No sleeping with others in the group? Now this one… This one is killing me.

If you saw Joseph Snow, with those killer abs and cocky smirk, you’d be thinking the exact same thing… rules are meant to be broken.

Goodreads

 

 

Excerpt

 

“What are you doing?” Joey hisses when I grab him.

“What I should’ve done two weeks ago.”

With a gentle grip on his upper arms, I urge him backward until we clear the threshold and I can close us into his bedroom. I don’t let him go until his ass hits his desk chair, but even then I only move my hands until they’re on the armrests. He’s trapped, bracketed by my arms.

“Tony,” he whispers.

He’s not afraid even if there’s a tremble in his voice. If I had to bet, I’d lay money that he’s aroused.

“My name is Anthony,” I correct, the heat of my breath blowing the long strands of hair surrounding his beautiful face.

“Anthony,” he repeats.

My cock loves the sound of my name on his lips as much as my brain does.

“What are you doing?” he asks again.

Honestly? I didn’t think past the very moment we’re in right now.

“I wanted to say hi.” I lean in closer.

I missed you. It was hell not coming by even though I’ve been invited three times in the last two weeks. I’m tired of fighting against whatever this pull is you have on me.

“So,” I say leaning in even closer. “Hi.”

A tiny grin plays on his lips. “Why are you so obsessed with me?”

I want to laugh. I know he’s trying to get back to the taunting guy he is in front of his friends, but there’s no place for that man in this room right now.

“I am,” I say softly. “Obsessed with you that is. I’m obsessed with those purple boxers and the stretch of them over your cock the other week.”

My eyes cut down, and I hate that his skin and muscular thighs are covered by a pair of denim shorts.

“Oh yeah?” he breathes. “And if I tell you I’m wearing them now?”

Shaking my head, I try to focus on anything but those purple fucking boxers. His brother and two of his closest friends are right outside in the driveway. Hell, they’re probably already wondering where I am.

“I’m obsessed with that freckle behind your ear.”

His hand reaches up to the exact spot that has me mesmerized every time he walks away from me.

“I’m obsessed with the way your eyes track me no matter where I am in the room.” I lean in closer. “I can feel them on my skin, on my mouth.”

“I thought I was doing a good job of hiding it,” he whines. “I’ll do better.”

“I want your eyes on me,” I assure him.

“I’m obsessed with your ass in gray sweats.”

“Good to know.” I lean in another inch, our breaths becoming one.

I skip telling him I figured as much, and that’s the only reason I didn’t get here sooner. I forgot the bag I packed this morning at home, the anticipation of seeing him tonight was all I could focus on, and I had to run back home after work to change into them.

“I can’t stop thinking about your lips on mine.”

I groan at his words.

“You’ll have to remind me.”

He nods softly but doesn’t make a move to come closer.

“You smell amazing.” His eyes flutter closed, and with the disappearance of his bright blues, my restraint falls away as well.

Hand in his hair just like two weeks ago, I hold it in my grip and tilt his head to the perfect angle. Catching his gasp with my own mouth, I slide my tongue inside of his warmth. He’s sweet, arousal mixed with the wine he was drinking when I showed up to find him looking more gorgeous than I’ve ever seen. His groan and the bristle of his scruff on my face are nearly my undoing.

His mouth, the soft whimper he emits, and the sting of his blunt fingernails on the back of my neck literally bring me to my knees. As I sink to the carpet, his legs get involved, wrapping around my back and urging me forward. The heat of his cock is exactly where I need it, albeit separated by too many damn layers of clothes.

The hand in his hair grips him tighter as my free hand roams the length of his torso. The rippling muscles and the smooth skin of his shaved chest are driving me wild.

Why in the hell are we wearing clothes?

“Joseph,” I moan as he pulls his mouth away offering me his neck.

I fought coming here tonight. I fought the memories of this sweet little mouth for nearly two weeks. I failed on both counts, so I don’t bother fighting his offering right now.

Nipping his ear, I clench his hair tighter. In return, his legs flex harder, and his nails dig deeper.

“You make me crazy,” I confess against the column of his neck.

“And hard.” I groan at his words, but when the shift of his hips forces his cock against mine, I almost embarrass myself.

“You have to stop,” I hiss against his neck, tongue tracing the throbbing pulse point just under his chin.

“You first,” he challenges with a sigh when my hand sweeps over his hardened nipple.

Laughter outside of his window is worse than cold water being tossed all over us. We pull away from each other with a snap.

 

 

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One of Five ARC’s for Taunting Tony

 

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Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b1257f8d291/?

 

 

About the Author

 

Marie James: I’m a full-time, working mother of two boys and wife of 13 years. I’ve spent almost my entire lifetime living in central Texas, with only short stays in South Carolina, Alabama, and Florida. I’ve always wanted to write novels and just recently had the gumption to sit down and start one. My passions include reading everything under the sun and plotting out new books to write in the future.

 

Connect with Marie

 

Newsletter ~ http://bit.ly/MarieJamesNewsletter2

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IG ~ http://bit.ly/MarieJamesIG

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Facebook Reader Group ~ http://bit.ly/MarieJamesStalkers

 

 

Release Day: Knock On Wood

 

 

 

 

 

 

A new virgin-hero novella from USA TODAY bestselling author Jenika Snow



The Ash Brothers—they know how to handle their wood

They call me Big Johnny, and they’re not wrong. I’m big all over, and burly, too. But when it comes to her, I’m a freaking pussycat.

Flora.

There’s never been a time when she wasn’t on my mind, not even when she left Rockbridge for college. Those four years were the hardest of my life. Literally.

Saving myself for her has never been the problem. It’s telling her how I feel.

She’s back now and it’s painfully obvious to even a lumberjack like me: Flora’s not a teenager anymore. She’s a woman who knows what she wants.

That’s me…and the wood I’m packing

 

They called me Big Johnny because of my size. At six foot seven I was a beast compared to most men—even my brothers, who were well over six feet themselves. But there was one woman who made me feel even bigger than that.

Flora.

I stared off as the car pulled away from the lumberyard. Flora was in there, and yet I didn’t have the balls to go and speak with her. She was too young for me, too innocent. At only eighteen she had the entire world at her fingertips, her future so damn bright I wasn’t about to muck it up because I had feelings for her. I was twenty-five, seven years older, far too old to want anything romantic with her.

She’d bloomed into a woman. Before this summer I hadn’t paid much attention to her. She was just the daughter of family friends, not someone I’d even thought about. But shit, this past summer when we’d had that big cookout and she had come over with her folks, she was all woman. But I still wasn’t going to touch on that, wasn’t going to go after her. That would have been crossing a whole lot of fucking lines.

I wiped the sweat from my face with a rag I’d gotten out of the front of my truck. I stared off as the car disappeared down the road. I felt someone watching me and glanced at Noah. The look he gave me told me maybe he had a suspicion about what I felt for Flora, or maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe I was feeling guilt over it all. And I kind of did feel guilty. I couldn’t understand why I felt this way, but the emotions were right there at the surface, wrapping their hands around my neck and refusing to let go.

Shit, it was good she was going off to college. She’d meet a nice guy her own age. But the very thought of that pissed me off. I felt rage boil up in me at the very thought of her with another guy, of some asshole touching her, holding her. I wanted to be the one to do that, to make sure she was safe.

Fuck, get a grip.

I finished wiping the sweat off and got back to work. No, her leaving was a good thing, even if it fucking sucked. And if she did meet some guy, had a nice life with him, well, she deserved that and I’d deal with it. I had no choice.

 

 

Jenika Snow, a USA Today bestselling author, lives in the northeast with her husband and their two daughters. She prefers gloomy days, eats the topping off of her pizza first, and prefers to wear socks year round.

 

Author Links

 

 

 

Cover Reveal: DESTINY MINE by Anna Zaires

Title: Destiny Mine

Series: Tormentor Mine: Book #3

Author: Anna Zaires

Cover Design by Najla Qamber

Release Date: July 3, 2018

 

Synopsis

Fate made us enemies. I made us lovers.

In a different world, we were meant for each other.

This is not that world.

Note: For optimal enjoyment, it’s recommended you read the Twist Me trilogy prior to starting this book.

 

Pre-Order Today!

 

Excerpt

“What happened?” Dropping the backpack on the bed, I rush toward him. “Do we have to—”

He catches my face between his big, rough palms and slants his lips across mine in a hard, violently hungry kiss. We didn’t make love last night—I passed out early from jet lag and Peter considerately let me sleep—and I can taste the pent-up lust in this kiss, the dark fire that always burns between us.

Backing me up against the bed, Peter tears off my clothes, then his own, and then, with no preliminaries, he thrusts into me, stretching me with his thickness, battering me with his hard heat. I cry out at the shock of it, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. His eyes glitter fiercely as he stretches my arms above my head, his hands shackling my wrists, and I realize it’s something more than lust driving him today, something savage and desperate.

My body’s response is swift and sudden, like oil catching fire. One minute, I’m gritting my teeth at the merciless force of his thrusts, and the next, I’m hurtling over the edge and screaming as I splinter in brutal ecstasy. There’s no relief in this orgasm, only a lessening of impossible tension, but even that doesn’t last. The second peak, as violent as the first, comes right on its heels, and I cry out at the agonizing spasms, the pleasure ripping me apart as he drives into me, over and over again, riding me through the climax and beyond.

I don’t know how long Peter fucks me like that, but by the time he comes, spurting burning-hot seed inside me, my throat is raw from screaming and I’ve lost count of how many orgasms he’s wrung out from my battered body. The hard muscles of his chest gleam with sweat as he withdraws from me, and I lie there panting, too dazed and exhausted to move.

He leaves, then returns a few moments later with a wet towel, which he uses to pat at the wetness between my legs. “Sara…” His voice is rough, thick with emotion as he leans over me to brush a strand of hair off my sweat-dampened forehead. “Ptichka, I—”

A hard knock on the door jolts us both.

“Peter.” It’s Yan, his voice as sharp as earlier this morning. “You need to hear this. Now.”

Swearing under his breath, Peter jumps off the bed, finds his discarded jeans in the pile of clothes on the floor, and pulls them on without bothering with underwear. The look he gives me over his shoulder is fierce, almost angry, but he doesn’t say anything as he strides out of the room.

I sit up, wincing at the soreness between my thighs, and force myself to get up and take another quick rinse before getting dressed again.

I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m getting an awful premonition.

 

About the Author

Anna Zaires fell in love with books at the age of five, when her grandmother taught her to read. She wrote her first story shortly thereafter. Since then, she has always lived partially in a fantasy world where the only limits were those of her imagination. Currently residing in Florida, Anna is happily married to Dima Zales (a science fiction and fantasy author) and closely collaborates with him on all their works.

After graduating from the University of Chicago with a degree in Economics, Anna spent eight years on Wall Street analyzing stocks and writing research reports. In 2013, she became a full-time author, pursuing her lifelong dream of writing romance novels.

Dima Zales is the love of her life and a huge inspiration in all aspects of her writing. Every book Anna writes is a product of their unique collaborative process.

In addition to reading and writing, Anna enjoys drinking tea (coconut oolong, anyone?), watching addictive TV shows, and discussing book ideas during long walks with her amazing husband.

She loves hearing from her readers, so please don’t hesitate to contact her through her website or connect with her on Facebook, where she hangs out way too often. Also, please visit her husband and collaborator, Dima Zales, at www.dimazales.com and check out their fantasy & science fiction books.
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Cover Reveal: SWEET DAYS by A.S. Kelly

Title: Sweet Days (Four Days #2)

Author: A.S. Kelly

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: April 30, 2018

Photo Image: Wander Aguiar Photography< span style=”color: #000000;”>

Pre-order your today!

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

Synopsis</ strong>

Sweet Days is a complete standalone and a part of the Four Days Series
Patrick Doyle is a rude, selfish and cynical man. However he will do anything for his friends and family. His dream of pursuing a music career came to an abrupt halt after a car accident involving those he loves most in the world, after which he dedicated himself to working full time in the pub he manages with his childhood buddies, keeping his distance from love or any other kind of commitment.
Erin O’Neill is a bright young woman with her future well planned: she’s about to graduate, she’s got a part-time job in Patrick’s pub and she has the perfect boyfriend. But then the unexpected happens, upsetting her life and turning all her well-laid plans upside down, leaving her alone and desperate.
Patrick isn’t the kind of guy to get caught up in others people’s problems, especially if it involves a damsel in distress, but he can’t help coming to her aid and finds himself catapulted into her life against his will—even if he would perhaps like to become part of that life—even if that means getting hurt, and hurting her too.
Because Patrick destroys everything he touches.

 

Excerpt</ strong>

And then the door slams open.

And then the door slams open.
And he’s here.
He’s worried, and scared and desperate.
He’s absolutely perfect.
He looks at me and in a heartbeat all the pieces come back together and I can breathe again, as if he were the air passing through my lungs.
“I … I’m sorry,” he yells, trying to drown out the sound of the hail.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I yell back.
He takes a step forward.
“It is. I allowed all of this to happen. I established a reputation that meant that trashy girls like that would come here looking for me. I made it so that everyone believed that I am the dickhead that I really am. That you would think it too.”
“And you are,” I say, moving my wet hair from my eyes.
“I am.” He smiles bitterly. “But I don’t want to be like that any more.”
“No?” I ask with a pained voice and a bit of hope brushing up against my heart.
“No I don’t. But I’ll need your help,” he says, taking another step closer to me. “I need you to help me to be a better person.”
“M-me? Why me?”
Another step closer and his forehead is touching mine. It caresses my face and I close my eyes to let his touch imprint itself in my mind.
“Because with you, Erin, I feel I can be … different. I can be myself. I feel that I can finally be a man.”
About The Author

A.S. Kelly was born in Italy but lives in Ireland with her husband, two children and a cat named Oscar. She’s passionate about English literature, she’s a music lover and addicted to coffee. She spends her days in a small village North of Dublin, looking for inspiration for her next stories.

 

More in the series!