Book Blitz: Wicked Warden by Lynn Burke #bikers #contemporaryromance

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Title: Wicked Warden

Series: Vicious Vipers 1

Author: Lynn Burke

Genre: MC Romance

Release Date: January 14, 2020

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48637439

Wicked Warden Final Cover

 

Blurb:

He’s the only man my father can trust when the cartel attempts to take us out. A vicious motorcycle gang member, he’s deadly with his fists and firearms.

He’s also the bastard responsible for my mother’s death.

I’m the one who’ll make him pay. A too-young, too-innocent woman he lusts after but refuses to touch.

He might believe he’s strong enough to withstand my plans for retaliation, but I will bring him to his knees and have my revenge.

Even if my heart dies along with his.

PreOrder/Buy Links

Amazon: http://mybook.to/WICKEDWARDEN

B&N: http://bit.ly/39XSO0o

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2QF7Hgx

iTunes: https://apple.co/36GJmMT

Smashwords: http://bit.ly/35AqUEB

Universal: https://books2read.com/WickedWardenVV1

 

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Excerpt:

“We have to go.” Dad tugged me toward the exit. “Stick to my heels—don’t look at anyone, don’t speak to anyone.”

I nodded dumbly, using my free hand to swipe tears from my cheeks in an attempt to be the strong woman he wanted. If only he’d have offered a quick hug—the thing I always longed for and never received—the fortifying sense of having firm ground to stand upon, to depend upon outside of monetary means.

“The car’s at the end of the alleyway. You’ll get in the back, lay down, and stay down until I say.”

I nodded again, knowing to never argue with Dad’s commands.

One last quick scan of my face and he turned, grasping the exit door’s handle. Dad peeked out head moving left then right. “Stay close,” he whispered, pulling the door open far enough for us to slip through.

I stepped out into the dark after him, my breath loud in my ears as cold bit at my exposed, over-heated skin. Dad’s dress shoes slapped on the sidewalk, my heels clicking as we hurried up the alleyway.

A crowd still stood at the front of the club, but Dad pushed through, people closing back in behind us as we fought to get to the car.

I kept my focus on his tense shoulders rather than scan the crowd for faces I might recognize—my guards, or his men from the compound I’d called home. Every muscle inside me trembled, shaking my limbs. The second we escaped the throng, he headed toward a tan car I didn’t recognize, his head in constant motion as he scanned the immediate area.

Dad grasped the car’s back door handle.

Pop!

“Get in!” he shouted as people began screaming behind us.

He yanked open the door, and I dove in headfirst, my heart in my throat.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…

I curled up on the cloth seat, hugging my knees to my chest, trembling from fear as much as the cold.

Another gunshot sounded, and Dad slammed the door behind me.

Please be okay… I clenched my eyelids shut.

A third shot sounded through the ringing in my ears, and I bit my lip to keep from shrieking, curling even tighter into myself. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I held my breath … waiting. Needing Dad to be okay. Needing him to get in the car and take me far away from the shit.

The driver door tore open, and a quick peek revealed Dad hopping in.

“Fuck!” He pulled away from the curb like a bat out of hell, tires squealing beneath us, and I clenched my eyes shut again, trying to still my breathing and calm the fuck down. Rather than spew a million questions and distract Dad as he muttered curses and sped down one road after another, I kept quiet except for sniffles when my nose threatened to drip.

Violence came with Dad’s line of business. I’d learned that first hand, and the aftermath of that war had left me without a mother, left my father broken and shut down toward his only living relative—me.

The only daughter.

The only heir to the fortune and empire he’d built from running drugs with a cartel I wished I didn’t know anything about.

“Shaun!” Dad barked. “Get your seat belt on. Now.”

He swerved, and a car sped alongside us as I sat up. Two men sat in the front, neither of which I recognized.

The one in the passenger seat raised a gun.

“Gun!” I shrieked, and Dad slammed on the brakes.

Lower lip between my teeth, I slid out of the shoulder strap and laid back down, curling up as tight as I could.

Dad stomped on the gas again.

Metal scraped—the car shifted.

Dad cursed low and long…

We sped up. He slammed the brakes again enough to tumble me off the seat had I not had the belt across my lap. More speed, more metal screeching—tears and snot mingled on my face, but I couldn’t be bothered to care.

I’d always thought keeping my eyes closed as a child meant no one could see me, that I hid in my own little world. Untouchable. Invincible.

I’d learned the day Mom died, the closing of one’s eyes couldn’t shield one from the horrors in life.

The car suddenly shifted—spun.

I bit my lip, tasting blood as I whimpered.

Sounds of screeching—metal smashing—a loud explosion.

Our car came to a standstill, silence engulfing the air around us.

© Lynn Burke 2018

 

Giveaway:

$25 Amazon gift card and a signed paperback copy of Wicked Warden (US only)

Direct link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/c0e4595c91/

 

Author Bio:

Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

 

Social Media Links:

Website: https://www.authorlynnburke.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Author-Lynn-Burke-555282497937461/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorLynnBurke

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorlynnburke/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/lynn-burke

 

Book Blitz: Alonzo (Bossy Brothers) by J.A. Huss #romanticsuspense #contemporaryromance

Alonzo
J.A. Huss
(Bossy Brothers, #5)
Publication date: January 13th 2020
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense

Read as book five in the Bossy Brothers series or as a standalone book.

TARA

Lonnie Derringer is a filthy-mouthed, dirty-talking, long-distance fling.

(That’s been going on for two years.)

I know, I know. That’s not a fling. This might be getting serious.

I think about him all the time. I look forward to our quickie lunch dates and the way he whispers in my ear every night from two-thousand miles away.

He’s the best boyfriend I never had.

Until I find out his name isn’t Lonnie, it’s Alonzo.

Until I find out he’s not some boring accountant with a dead-end job, he’s a six-foot-four, yoked-out, tatted-up fisherman who never wears a shirt!

That’s right, girls. He’s been catfishing me online for two… freakingyears!

And then he becomes more than just the best boyfriend I’ve never had.

He becomes my target.

ALONZO

Tara Tanner is the perfect long-distance girlfriend who lives in the Land of Far, Far Away.

She’s a blonde, bookish bundle of sexy-overachiever. A wicked little siren with a filthy mind and an eye for pencil skirts. And every time I ask her to ‘send-me-a-pic-or-it-never-happened’ she goes above and beyond.

She is, quite simply, the most perfect woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to never meet.

I didn’t set out to lie to her and I didn’t expect to meet her.

But one day she shows up at my house, and guess what?

She wasn’t the only one being catfished for two years.

Because she’s not who she said she was either.

Bossy Brothers: Alonzo can be read as book five in the Bossy Brothers series or as a standalone story and features a sexy game of guess-who between a librarian obsessed with pencil skirts and a fisherman tatted up with mermaids. It’s long-distance fling filled with dirty-talking, sexy selfies, and safely-hidden secrets… until it isn’t.

Until the day they meet and realize… Love in the Land of fake Far, Far Away can’t ever compare to the real thing.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

EXCERPT:

ALONZO

“Fort Collins Public Library, how can I help you?”

“Yes. Hello. I have a question about a book.”

“Yes, sir. That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Well, it’s not a question about a book, per se. I’m looking for something specific. To read.”

“Well, you’re talking to the right girl. I’m a book expert. I even have the pencil skirt, tight white blouse, severe ponytail, and dark-framed glasses to prove it.”

“Hmmm. What’s your name? It’s just… I like to use a woman’s name when I talk books with them.”

“Ohhh… Tara. I’m Tara. Do you… like women who talk books back to use your name as well?”

“Hmmm. Intriguing question, Tara. I’ve never thought about it before. But yes. Yes. I’d like that. I’m Lonnie. A too-smart, button-down-shirt-wearing accountant who loves numbers and making things… balance.”

“Balancing. I like that.”

“You do?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“What kind of balancing are you picturing? Like… financial statements and checkbooks?”

“Nnn-nooooo. More like… the kind of balance you need when a hot, sexy accountant is fucking you up against a wall.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry. My imagination is… well, wild. And I’m a bit bored at the moment. There’s absolutely no one else here in the library with me. I guess I’m just looking for a little fun while no one’s watching.”

“Are you sure you’re a librarian?”

“Positive. But I’d like to clarify one thing before we continue. I don’t mind people watching.”

“Oh.”

“Now tell me. What kind of specific book are you looking for? I’m excited at the prospect of pleasing you.”

“This might sound a little weird, Tara.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve heard it all, Lonnie.”

“It’s a very… odd trope I’m looking for.”

“Trust me, Lonnie. I’m here to help. What trope are you looking for today?”

“OK, so… it’s the one about the… well, let’s call him under-socialized—”

“Got it. Our protagonist is a man who is maybe… an accountant?”

“Exactly.”

“Great. Keep going.”

“And he meets this… other under-socialized person. Female. Maybe a…”

“A librarian?”

“Yes! Exactly. This accountant meets a librarian and they…”

“Fuck?”

“No.”

“Have cam sex?”

“Mmmm… not quite. But close.”

“OK. I think I understand. But I need a little clarification, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all, Tara. How can I clarify?”

“Well, this accountant. Can you give me a better description? Just so, you know, I can clearly envision this… book… in my head.”

“Sure. He’s about six foot four.”

“Oh, my.”

“Yeah. He’s big.”

“Big as in…?”

“Tall. Yup.”

“Oh.”

“But he’s big in other ways too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Like… you know. Biiiig.”

“Big as in… I can’t fit my hand around it?”

“How big are your hands?”

“Small to average.”

“Then definitely not.”

“I see. OK. Got it. He’s girthy.”

“Exactly.”

“What else?”

“Well, his hair is light brown.”

“Hmm. Eyes?”

“Let’s go with hazel.”

“Hazel green? Hazel blue? Or hazel brown?”

“Hazel green-brown.”

“Delicious.”

“What?”

“Oh. I’m eating pudding. And I just licked my spoon. It’s delicious.”

“Pudding, huh?”

“Mmmm. Pudding. OK. I have a better picture of our hero. But what of our heroine? This… librarian.”

“Well… she’s a typical librarian. And you’re a librarian.”

“That I am, Lonnie.”

“Well, this librarian is on the small side.”

“Small as in petite? Or small as in… not more than a mouthful?”

“Petite.”

“Oh. So she’s ample in all the right places. Like me.”

“Like you, huh?”

“Mmmm-hmm.”

“And she wears… well, pencil skirts.”

“Also like me.”

“And a tight, white, button-down blouse that shows off her ample…”

“Breasts?”

“I was going to say ‘pocket protector.’”

“Lonnie?”

“Tara?”

“You’re making this difficult.”

“How so?”

“I’m on my lunch break here.”

“Oh, am I disturbing you?”

“Not at all. I’m just waiting for you to get to the good parts.”

“The part where they bond over books and numbers?”

“No, the part where he talks dirty to her on the phone while she’s on her lunch break so she can come on her fingers and make him pretend to lick them.”

I laugh.

“It’s not funny. Come on!”

“It’s roleplaying.”

“I know. I’m done with it. I gave you the perfect in and all you had to do was say, ‘Yeah, the kind of balance when he fucks her against a wall’ and we’d be halfway home right now!”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re doing this on purpose! You know I only get thirty minutes for lunch today! It’s book club Monday and I’ve got every damn housewife in Fort Collins in here with her wine-stained book-of-the-month-club edition paperback acting like she’s all literate and shit.”

I laugh again.

“Lonnie. Phone-fuck me right now. Or I’m hanging up and never answering your pervy calls again.”

 

Author Bio:

JA Huss is the New York Times Bestselling author of 321 and has been on the USA Today Bestseller’s list 21 times in the past five years. She writes characters with heart, plots with twists, and perfect endings.

Her new sexy sci-fi romance and paranormal romance pen name is KC Cross and she writes novels and teleplays collaboratively with actor and screenwriter, Johnathan McClain.

Her books have sold millions of copies all over the world, the audio version of her semi-autobiographical book, Eighteen, was nominated for a Voice Arts Award and an Audie Award in 2016 and 2017 respectively. Her audiobook, Mr. Perfect, was nominated for a Voice Arts Award in 2017. Her audiobook, Taking Turns, was nominated for an Audie Award in 2018. Five of her book were optioned for a TV series by MGM television in 2018. And her book, Total Exposure, was nominated for a RITA Award in 2019.

She lives on a ranch in Central Colorado with her family.

Amazon / Facebook Page / Facebook Group / Twitter / Instagram / Bookbub

 

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Handpicked by Bridie Hall #contemporaryromance #newrelease

handpicked

Handpicked by Bridie Hall

Heat Level 2

Price $2.99

 

Can the attraction between Gemma and Jake outlast the grape-picking season in her vineyard?

Gemma has managed the family wine-making business ever since her husband died and left her alone with their daughter. But this fall, there’s something in the air that makes her moody and restless. It doesn’t help that the usual team of seasonal workers left her in the lurch.

Jake’s life revolves around his sports career. When an injury forces him to rest, he becomes a mentor to a troubled teen, Tommy. Trying to reform him, he takes him on a working vacation to an old vineyard.

As Jake helps Gemma get the work done, they struggle to ignore the attraction they feel for each other. There is no point giving in when Jake will have to leave for France at the end of his vacation and Gemma can’t leave her vineyard.

 

Buy links:

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B083JRBRN3

Evernight website https://www.evernightpublishing.com/handpicked-by-bridie-hall/

 

 

Excerpt:

He bent down and picked up her feet, still in her work boots. He propped them up on his knees and started unlacing the boots.

“What are you doing?” she asked, appalled, and placed her glass on the table.

“I’ll massage your feet. They must be killing you.”

She made a horrified sound. “They’re dirty. And smelly.” She swatted his hands away, but he didn’t relent.

“You’ve never smelled my socks after a game. You don’t know what smelly is.”

One boot thudded to the ground and the other one followed shortly after.

“Jake,” she tried again, but he had already pulled off her socks. She hid her face in her hands.

The first contact of his warm fingers on her sore feet had her rolling her eyes to the back of her head. A moan tore from her throat. Torn between mortification and pleasure, she didn’t open her eyes when she heard Jake chuckle.

“That good, huh? And I’m just warming up,” he teased.

Her mind wandered to other things he might be good at. Heat swamped her body. She wriggled on the sofa, tension wiring her body with a need she hadn’t felt in ages.

His fingers massaged and kneaded her feet and toes. She bit her lip to stop herself from making any more suggestive sounds. She laughed when he hit a ticklish spot.

“Oh, did I discover a chink in your armor?” Jake asked.

“You’re deluded. My armor is intact.” Gemma giggled when he tickled her again. “Stop! Please, stop!”

She laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe, but he wouldn’t stop tickling her.

“Admit it!” he demanded, a wicked grin splitting his face.

She shook her head, stubborn yet gasping for air, tears of laughter in her eyes. But then she couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay, okay. I admit.”

“Aha,” he said, victorious. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Her whole body hurt from the strain of trying to get her feet away from his wicked fingers, but the tiredness was heavy and pleasant. “You’re evil,” she complained, wiping her eyes, a silly grin on her lips. She couldn’t remember when she had last laughed like that. It was quite a change from the morose mood earlier. Everything in her felt alive and buzzing with a pleasant sort of tension.

“You don’t know the half of it. Now that I know there’s a crack in your defense, I’ll find others, bigger, wider ones.”

“Please don’t.” She said it as a joke, but the significance of her words struck her a second later.

Jake looked at her as if he too had heard more in her words than she’d planned to say. He pulled her feet back in his lap, so her legs were stretched out, and he rested his large hands on top, warming her skin. He gazed out over the grassy stretch of sloping land which separated the house from the sea. The ripples on the water looked gray and lazy in the late evening. The breeze off the sea tasted briny in Gemma’s mouth.

“Did it ever occur to you,” he said, pausing shortly before he continued, “that you don’t need it? Your armor?” He looked at her then. It was too dark for her to be able to decipher the look in his eyes. She tried to figure out what to say without sounding pathetic, when he added, “You don’t have to answer that. Just think about it.”

Gently, he lifted her feet and got up from the sofa. He placed her legs back down onto the cushion, holding them for a moment. When his hands let go, she felt a chill in the spot where he’d touched her skin.

 

www.bridiehallauthor.com

 

The Boss by Gale Stanley #gay #contemporaryromance #BDSM @galestanley

The Boss (Roosters 10)

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Publisher: Changeling Press

Maxwell Barnes runs the top law firm in the city, owns a private BDSM club, and has more money than he can spend in a lifetime. He gets everything he wants, and now he wants his paralegal, Aaron Marshall. Mixing work and pleasure is a big no-no, but their mutual attraction is off the charts. The one thing Maxwell isn’t looking for is love, but sometimes fate has a mind of its own.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

If purchasing from Changeling, use discount code TGIF01-10-2020 and receive 15% off your entire order! Offer good through January 17th, 2020

or pre-order at retailers for January 17th

   

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Gale Stanley

Fucking traffic. Even at this hour of the day, the streets were as jammed as my calendar. Doesn’t matter what I drive. My Mercedes-Maybach won’t get me to the office any faster than a Prius, but my ride got a lot of looks. It commanded the eye as well as the road. I imagined the other drivers were wondering what VIP was enjoying all this luxury. The thought ignited me. Being the center of attention was a turn-on. It was better than sex.

At last, my building came into view. It was an impressive sight. The Barnes Building was a soaring glass tower, twenty stories high, and one of the most prestigious addresses in the city. I helped design it myself. I demanded a seat at the table with the architects and builders, and my input resulted in a stunning building that met my needs. If you want something done right, do it yourself. ‘Nuff said.

I turned into the parking garage and pulled into my reserved spot, savoring the rewards of success. My car, my building, designer duds, a Rolex, they were all symbols of my wealth and status. None of it was due to luck. I worked damn hard to get where I was, long hours, high-profile court cases, good investments… I was on top of the world. Now I was ready to enjoy myself. For years work had overshadowed everything else in my life. I had made a name for myself and accumulated stuff, but I had neglected the hedonistic pleasures that shaped my life. It was time to focus on the thing that lit me up. BDSM. Erotic play made me feel complete. It energized me. I just needed the right partner. Lately, I had wondered whether the man I wanted even existed. It was a tall order to fill.

I knew who I was and what I wanted — single, gay Dom looking for a playmate, not a relationship. Nothing serious or exclusive. I wanted a man who was submissive because he loved the way it made him feel, but finding a compatible play partner wasn’t easy. In the past I’d had partners who played at being submissive so they could gain access to me. They were only interested in my prestige and money. I liked a man who was willing to work hard and make it on his own. Someone who was constantly learning and wanted to challenge his limits.

Even with my connections, it was difficult to meet men because my kink was a well-hidden secret. Submissives who were looking for a Dom wouldn’t know how to find me. It had been a long time since my Dominant side got any attention, and it had been frustrating as hell.

Until the day Aaron Marshall showed up. We had instant chemistry. Chemistry counted for a lot, but it wasn’t everything. There had to be more to it than attraction. The big question was, could we build something on that chemistry? This was such an improbable match, I couldn’t believe it was more than a fluke. But what if it wasn’t? I intended to find out because I was used to getting what I wanted, and I wanted this man.

I took the private elevator to the top floor. My suite was bright and modern, a stark contrast to my public office one floor down. There it was all cherry wood and leather, the warm traditional look I presented to the public. But the private penthouse was my home when I was working on an important case so it was all me, a personal office, sitting room, kitchen, bedroom, and a large bath, even a walk-in closet stocked with some of my favorite paddles and floggers.

I listened to my voice mail and found a message from Brett Holiday, my best friend. No need to answer it. I’d be seeing him tonight. I went into the bathroom to check my appearance before taking the back stairs to my office.

Before settling in, I walked out to the front office to greet Aaron, who was now my newest paralegal. My current office manager was teaching him the ropes, a task I planned on taking over shortly. Pun intended.

Aaron always clocked in ahead of everyone, even me. He wanted to make a good impression, and he had. The man was a quick study and very professional, but he had other assets that sparked my interest.

I never forgot our first meeting. I liked his looks immediately — dark blond hair, hazel eyes, slim build, but his stance was what caught my attention. Aaron stood in front of my desk, his back ramrod straight, arms at his sides, head up, eyes down. His deference was flattering to the point of overkill. I saw it as a tendency to yield to the will of another. He was hard-wired to be a submissive.

We made eye contact and it was hot as hell. I pictured us having wild sex and I sensed he felt the same. The undeniable connection between us was like an out-of-body experience. That mysterious attraction couldn’t be forced. It was what I longed for, but seldom found. Calm down, I told myself. Do not hire this man because you want to fuck him.

“Have a seat, Mr. Marshall.”

“Thank you.”

I decided to test the water. “Thank you, Sir.”

Aaron’s eyes went wide but he responded immediately. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

His reaction was beautiful to behold. Being told what to do excited him. I could tell he wanted me to take control, to dominate him. Anticipation shivered along my spine. I knew an untrained submissive when I saw one. Aaron was struggling to recover his self-command, but his desire and arousal shone like a beacon in a storm. I was intrigued.

 

Get more books from Gale Stanley at Changeling Press …

Gale Stanley grew up in Philadelphia PA. She was the kid who always had her nose in a book, her head in the clouds, and her hands on a pad and pencil.

Some things never change.

Social Media Links
Website: http://galestanley.net/
Blog: http://galestanley.blogspot.com/

 

 

Born a Demon by M.D. Stewart #gay #paranormalromance @gooseandmindi

Born a Demon (Paranormal B&B 5)

Cover Artist: Angela Knight
Publisher: Changeling Press

Conner: I’m a reporter who’s seen horrors, but I faced them all without flinching. Despite everything — including a mother who thought I wasn’t quite human — I was happy with my life, my friends, my parents and my job. Then I met Rager, a demon from a different dimension. I never thought I’d want a future with another man, but I want one with him. I can forgive his past transgressions, but he has to trust in me and our love. Is happiness really possible when I learn my entire life has been a lie?

Rager: Centuries of loneliness led me to make huge mistakes. I believed the wrong person, an innocent child was nearly kidnapped, and I almost killed a man by forcing my Mating Mark on him. As punishment, I’ve been sent to the Mortal Realm, where I’m helpless without my powers. Now I’ve met Conner, but I know he deserves a better mate. Can I help him accept the truth about himself, or will it tear us apart? And will my Queen allow me happiness after all the mistakes I’ve made?

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

If purchasing from Changeling, use discount code TGIF01-10-2020 and receive 15% off your entire order! Offer good through January 17th, 2020

or pre-order for January 17th at retailers

   

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 M.D. Stewart

Rager

I looked at the light as it floated in the trees near Hecate’s castle, feeling indifferent about my banishment to the Mortal Plane. I didn’t care where I went or what happened next. My life had had no meaning in the last half century anyway.

I was truly alone and felt even more so now that my bond with Te’Garth had broken. I’d come so close to a mate, only to be denied.

My loneliness was a living, breathing thing inside me. I no longer hoped my barren existence would change. Especially now that I was being sent to the Mortal Plane, where I’d be stripped of my power and at the mercy of humans.

I turned as Queen Hecate approached with her Hellhounds on her heels. “Nice doggies,” I sneered at the Hellhound shifters, hoping they’d attack and rip a hole in me somewhere. At least I’d feel something.

“Don’t bait my hounds, Rager. That’s bad form, and you’re above that.” She raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to leash you, or will you be on your best behavior?”

I didn’t want to be sent into the Mortal Plane with more humiliation than I’d suffer anyway, so I simply shook my head. The silver leash wouldn’t burn my skin in the human world, but Hecate could still keep track of me and punish me with pain through the device. “I’m at your mercy, my queen. And those for whom I’ll…” I nearly growled but cleared my throat, “…I’ll serve.”

“Yes, you will be. Josiah and Matson need someone to help them, as their bed and breakfast has grown. You’ll learn about serving others from them. They can contact me directly if they need me.” Her eyes narrowed, flashing dangerously. “Don’t make them do that, Rager. This is your one chance to redeem yourself. Young Te’Garth saw something inside you that warranted a second chance, and I went with his assessment. You’ve done enough damage to him, and several other mortals as well. Now is the time to heal those wounds.”

I fought the sigh and forced a blank face instead.

“All right, come along. Do not make me regret this decision, Rager.”

I didn’t bother to remark that I was already regretting it. The light grew as we stepped closer to the gateway, and I could see a room with a large overstuffed couch and bright sunlight shining through the windows.

A yellow sun. That would take some getting used to.

As I stepped through the portal, I looked down, shocked at how my appearance had changed. My skin was a weird, sickening, pale whitish tone. To make matters worse, my Queen had either grown a foot taller, or my body had shrunk. No one else was present in the room, but I could hear voices elsewhere in the abode.

A human male stepped into the room. He was shorter than I was, with dark, wavy hair and bright blue eyes. He bowed low before taking Hecate’s hand and bringing her fingers to his lips.

“Josiah. This is Rager.” She inclined her head toward me, and I watched as the man’s eyes widened.

“Is there a problem, human male?” My voice didn’t sound nearly as intimidating as usual.

He blinked before he grinned. “Nope. You appear different than how I remember Terran Demons look, but there’s no problem. And lesson one here on the Mortal Plane; call people by their name if you know it. ‘Human male’ isn’t something people say when they refer to each other. My name is Josiah Ashby.”

“And I’m Matson, his husband.” A red haired man stepped into the room. He was taller than I was, which was a new experience for me. He was also heavily muscled, and judging by the way he wrapped an arm around Josiah, he was staking a claim on the male. “This is our home as well as our business. Lesson two is that you will respect our guests and us, or you’ll be sent back to Hecate for whatever punishment she has in mind. This is your second chance. The first infraction you make, you’re gone. Am I making myself clear?”

“Clear as the Lake of Valhalla, Matson Ashby.”

“Good. And it’s just Matson. We’ll discuss human customs later. I have a reporter coming to cover our business for a spread in the local newspaper.” Matson kissed his husband’s temple just as the front door of the establishment opened, and a young human male stepped into the room.

He was about my height, with hair the same brown color as the sand surrounding my home and eyes the color of the lavender jewels on the hilt of my ceremonial sword. My body reacted.

I took an instinctive step forward to claim the male before a feminine hand slammed into my chest.

“No. You’re here to serve and learn. Stand down, Rager.”

My body started to vibrate as my soul fought to leave my body and join the male who stood staring at me with a smile on his face.

My vision tunneled as I stared at the straight white teeth and soft tanned skin of the human. I heard no sound but the sound of his breathing. I licked my dry lips, and I wondered if the yellow sun on this realm had done more to me than leach my power and change my appearance.

Until he spoke, and my world seemed to implode at the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m the reporter from the Charlotte Observer. I’m here for the interview.” He held up a black case, then reached inside his shirt and pulled out a black cord attached to a shiny rectangle with his likeness in the corner. “My name is Conner Thompson.”

As Matson and Josiah greeted the gorgeous male, I backed away until my back hit the wall of books. The portal didn’t open to allow me to escape. My heart tumbled in my chest.

After all these years, I had what I craved, but could never have.

I’d found my mate.

 

Get more books from M.D. Stewart at Changeling Press …

My vivid imagination combined with my love of reading and sci-fi. As a kid, I spent hours writing stories and poems while listening to my large collection of vinyl record albums.

My goal as an author is to tell stories that help others find enjoyment, or to escape life for a little while. I want the characters in my head to become as real to the reader as they are to me, and I hope they find another heart to settle into. I also want to interact with the people who read my books, because you never know where your next friend will come from.

You can find M.D. at the listed links, and you can also check out her Pinterest.

You can contact M.D. by clicking this link.

 

 

Book Blitz: Glass Half Full by Katia Rose #Comedy #ContemporaryRomance

Glass Half Full
Katia Rose
(Barflies, #2)
Publication date: January 8th 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

You win some, you lose some.

Back at home with half a college degree after the fiasco of the century sent her packing, it’s safe to say that Renee Nyobé is losing some. She’s a hot mess, and not the cute kind. No, if hot messes had categories, hers would be ‘littering the stairs of the metro station with your sweaty underwear because you were too busy rushing to the job interview you’re already late for to zip up your yoga bag.’

A job—any job—is just what she needs to get her life back on track, and it might as well be at Montreal’s most famous dive bar, Taverne Toulouse.

Dylan Trottard is winning some. As Taverne Toulouse’s new manager, he’s got one rule for himself: don’t screw up. Following that rule gets a lot harder when the woman he’s spent the past three years trying to forget starts working behind the bar.

They were never supposed to want each other, and they sure as hell aren’t supposed to want each other now. She’s the girl that got away before he even had her, and he’s the guy she didn’t think would ever give her a second glance.

Now they can’t keep their eyes off one another, and the stakes are even higher than before. There’s a lot to lose, but as the pull between them gets harder and harder to ignore, Renee and Dylan start asking how much winning is worth.

Glass Half Full is part of the Barflies series, a set of standalone romantic comedies that chronicle the lives and loves of the staff at a Montreal dive bar.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

“I always wondered something,” she continues when it’s clear I can’t speak. “That night, did you…Were you…Did you want to kiss me?”

I wanted to do more than kiss her. I wanted to breathe her in. I wanted to inhale her.

“It would have been a bad idea,” I manage to get out through my clenched jaw. She’s staring up at me through those damn eyelashes, and all I can think about is her mouth, her neck, that inch of her gorgeous bare shoulders I can see before they meet with the edge of her coat.

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

Everything grinds to a halt.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she repeats, “because I wasn’t ready for you to kiss me then, not like I am now.”

 

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 / Instagram

 

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Cover Reveal: Finding Our Morning by Mickie B. Ashling #interracial #romancebooks #coverreveal

Finding Our Morning by Mickie B. Ashling

Cover created by Anna Sikorska of Tiferet Design

RELEASE DATE: January 28th

Available to Pre-Order at Amazon

Thank you for hosting the cover reveal for my upcoming release, Finding Our Morning. This stunning cover was created for me by Anna Sikorska of Tiferet Design.

Although I’ve been traditionally published since 2009 and have managed to release thirty-seven full length novels in the last ten years, Finding Our Morning is my first straight (m/f) romance. I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, but my creative juices dried up after a few chapters, so I shelved the idea. Last January, I came across the outline for this novel and decided to revisit. This time, my flighty muse perked up like a mare in estrus. Suddenly the timing was right.

In my m/m backlist, there’s a trilogy featuring polo players, and one other book rooted in Iran during the revolution, so the setting for this current novel is at once familiar yet completely different. I’m not sure why this historical event fascinates me, and I say historical with a grain of salt. Forty-three years (my story opens in 1977) isn’t that long ago, but the ouster of any ruler is significant, and this did take place in the last century—therefore, historical. Why does this moment in time resonate? Perhaps it’s because I was alive when the shah left Iran, watched it play out on TV, and, like the rest of the world, dealt with the aftermath of his decision. Or it could be the sweet Persian boy I had a crush on long ago who first generated my interest in the region. What would have happened to me if I’d followed my heart and accepted his proposal? Maybe I just have a soft spot for mysterious dark-eyed polo players with British accents. To be honest, I think it’s all of the above.

Finding Our Morning is a multicultural, interracial romance set in Texas, New York, and Tehran. The book releases on January 28, 2020. The novel will only be available on Amazon and KU. A paperback is also planned.

Blurb

May 1977

Ginny Tate bides her time on the family stud farm in San Antonio, Texas, waiting to start veterinarian school in the fall. Bullied as an adolescent, she’s finally shed her old skin, but the emerging beauty still harbors insecurities and would rather hang out with horses than people.

Sponsored by his uncle, the Shah of Iran, Dariush—David—Akbari, a twenty-five-year-old NYU grad with a degree in International Law, is also a skilled polo player. He joins the royal traveling team for a tournament in Plano, Texas.

A decade in America has gradually altered David’s views on certain aspects of his culture. Torn between familial obligations and his adopted country, David resists the idea of returning to Iran so soon after graduation.

At the traditional after-party, David strikes up a conversation with Ginny, who is refreshingly honest. He receives an invitation to visit Tate Stud Farm and, on the pretext of buying another polo pony, persuades the shah to make a detour.

Great horsemanship coupled with self-effacing charm sets David apart from the entitled braggarts who normally populate the sport, and Ginny falls hard. His visit turns into a life-changing week that neither can foresee. Will they walk away unscathed or live to regret their impulsive behavior?

Inspired by events preceding the fall of the Pahlavi dynasty, Finding Our Morning is a love story that catapults us from Texas Hill Country to the epicenter of a monarchy on the brink of collapse.

Excerpt

Finding Our Morning
Mickie B. Ashling 2020
All Rights Reserved

San Antonio, Texas

May 1977

Chapter 1

In the back seat of the Chevy Suburban, Ginny listened with half an ear to her parents’ conversation while staring out the window. As the familiar landscape whizzed by, her stomach ached and her chin throbbed; an unpleasant reminder that nothing had changed. She was the same awkward girl she’d been a week ago, not some new-and-improved version because she’d turned eighteen yesterday, and was hell-bent on leaving her childish insecurities behind. Plagued by postpubescent acne for years, Ginny had assumed—as did her dermatologist—the hormonal imbalance would pass in due time.

And it had.

Mostly.

But she’d woken up this morning to find the nastiest zit on her chin that no amount of Clearasil could disguise. Today of all days! She had planned this trip to the Willow Bend Polo and Hunt Club in Plano, Texas, for months. It was a five-hour drive from San Antonio, where her family lived and bred horses, and her parents had agreed to accompany her and give up an entire weekend, a hard-won victory considering the couple rarely took a day off. Backing out at the last minute because her old nemesis chose this particular day to reappear was unthinkable. She’d looked forward to this trip for months. In a sense, it was her coming-out party, the first time she’d stand toe-to-toe with the clients who’d patronized their stud farm for years.

But nature was a fickle bitch and had, for whatever reason, decided to remind Ginny who was in charge. Pep talks notwithstanding, Ginny had shied away from the public eye for years. It didn’t matter that she excelled in math and science and could outride anyone in her immediate vicinity. While other girls were consumed by the latest fashion trends, Ginny was learning how to muck out a stall; feed and groom; do a visual check for cuts, scrapes, or puncture wounds; clean the horses’ hooves, look for cracks or loose shoes; maintain a tack room; apply simple first aid; repair fences; wrangle; brand; assist in live covers and subsequent births; and even play polo as well as any guy. But her peers still called her “pizza face” behind her back.

And it tormented her.

This derogatory nickname had stuck until she graduated, and even though her complexion had long since cleared up, the experience had left an indelible scar. Ginny continued to see the creature she’d been rather than the person she’d become.

That morning, her parents had dismissed her concerns when they heard her yelling at the mirror above her bathroom sink. They claimed the red spot was only a tiny blemish on an otherwise beautiful face.

Right.

They were supposed to say that. It was their job to keep her upbeat and confident. And she’d woken up in fine spirits until she peered at her reflection and spotted Mt. Vesuvius. Doing her best to get rid of the ugly white-tipped mound, Ginny squeezed until she was satisfied she’d obliterated the motherfucker.

In the car, she grabbed an ice cube from the cooler by her feet, where her mom had packed a picnic lunch, and buried it in the washcloth she’d yanked on her way downstairs. Settling in for the duration, Ginny held the cool cloth against her sore chin. Five hours was more than enough time to reduce the swelling.

This high-goal polo tournament, featuring an assortment of celebrities, had been advertised for months. Ginny looked forward to this event as much as any eighteen-year-old anticipated her first trip abroad. As the only daughter and heir to a lucrative stud farm specializing in polo ponies, the public was curious to meet her. Although they were aware of her existence, many wondered if she was some sort of halfwit because she was never around during negotiations. No one knew this was part of her plan—to make a grand entrance with her head held high as she shook hands with the different men and women who dominated the sport.

One of the most famous was Cecil Smith, now in his late seventies. He’d been a 10-goal player for twenty-six consecutive years. It was the highest ranking one could attain in the sport and Ginny was eager to meet the man. His glory days marked the zenith of American polo, and long after he’d retired in 1967, he continued to ride and train polo ponies on his ranch out in Boerne, not too far from the Tates’ San Antonio home.

There would be other celebrated players from different parts of the world. The Argentineans, current leaders of the sport, the Domecq brothers from Spain, a team of blue bloods from the UK, and the Shah of Iran with his usual over-the-top entourage. He wasn’t the best player in the world, but his presence added gravitas to any event. Ginny couldn’t wait to check out his horses and equipment.

Once upon a time, she’d dreamed about joining a women’s polo team and touring the world, but it had been unrealistic given her age and social anxiety. Now she focused on breeding the magnificent animals that might end up on a winning team. Knowing she played a part in a polo player’s success was almost as good as being a participant.

Approaching their destination, Ginny glanced in the hand mirror she always carried in her purse, and was pleased to see a more subdued landscape, one she could doctor with concealer. While applying the liquid with gentle pats, she was derailed when the Suburban lurched to a stop behind a long row of vehicles leading to the main gates of the club.

“Gosh darn it!” her father exclaimed, narrowly avoiding the truck in front of him.

“Dad!” Ginny protested when her hand slipped and makeup streaked wildly.

“Raymond!” Margery Tate seconded.

He banged the steering wheel in frustration. “Not my fault these morons can’t drive for shit.”

Ginny worked fast to try to repair the damage. At last, she was satisfied with her appearance. She put away her makeup bag and looked out the window. Impressed by the large crowd, she whistled with approval. “Is this normal, Dad?”

“Par for the course when it comes to polo tournaments with an international cast of players. People who never show up for regular games are here to ogle the celebrities.”

“Let’s hope it’s worth it,” Margery remarked. “I’d hate to come all this way to see a mediocre tournament, big shots notwithstanding.”

Ginny smirked. Her mother was a practical woman who rarely stopped for fun. She had her hands full from dawn to dusk and treasured her Sundays more than most. If this was a wasted trip, they’d hear about it during the ride home, especially since they planned to stay the night to break up the long drive. It would be midday by the time they got back to the ranch.

“It’s going to be fine,” Ray assured his wife. “Don’t work yourself into a lather for no good reason.”

Margery let out a deep sigh.

After the slow crawl up the driveway, they followed the rest of the vehicles to a large parking lot. Attendants in flashy cowboy attire, custom-made for show, directed traffic. Ginny could appreciate the magnitude of the task lying in wait for the people in charge. There were hundreds of spectators walking about and craning their necks for a chance to spot someone famous. She arranged to meet her parents once the game started, and they parted ways so she could explore. Attired in a red-and-white polka-dot wrap dress, platform wedge sandals, and a stylish straw hat to keep the sun off her face, Ginny blended into the crowd.

There were five polo fields in all. The main field in front of the clubhouse would remain empty until the tournament started, but the other four were occupied with riders practicing their swings and turns. Ginny headed for the closest one and fell in with a bunch of grooms who were tending their masters’ ponies with absolute devotion. Four ponies per player were the ideal number. There were six chukkers in a game, and by the time the rotation landed back on the first pony, he would be well rested. Injuries were part of the sport, for horses and riders alike. Getting ridden-off during the course of a match or bumped, a maneuver similar to a body check in hockey, was commonplace. Horses also got hit by rogue balls and mallets, leaving them momentarily disabled or out for the count. The number of ponies waiting their turn might appear excessive to an outsider, but a player could be severely handicapped if he didn’t have a fresh mount per chukker.

Many of the men who served as grooms were amateur polo players and felt wins and losses as keenly as their employers. Early on, Ginny learned the best way to get the full measure of a rider was by eavesdropping on the guys in charge as they kept a watchful eye on the polo field. Standing as close as possible, Ginny was within earshot of the comments that were usually peppered with mild expletives and friendly wagers. Excitement coursed through her veins as she heard the familiar sound of hooves galloping across the field. The smell of grass, horse manure, and leather combined with the whoops of excitement from the men on horseback gave her goose bumps.

She’d had a thing for polo players for as long as she could remember. There was something indefinably masculine about the men who played the game that appealed to her senses. Unlike a lot of rodeo events, polo was more than a rough sport. One had to be a keen strategist to excel. Anticipating an opponent’s next move was the only way to stop them before they got in position to score a goal. It was a chess game on horseback, and the best players were the right combination of brains and brawn. Even from a distance, she could spot the strongest players, and one in particular caught her attention. The number three was embroidered on his shirt—typically awarded to the most powerful hitter with the highest handicap.

Turning to one of the grooms, she asked, “Who’s on the field?”

“The Iranians and the Brits, miss.”

The groom, a dark-skinned man who spoke with a heavy accent, was decked out in royal blue livery; the same hue as the uniforms worn by the four members of the Iranian team. The ponies’ blankets, tail ribbons, and leg wraps were also the same shade of blue.

“Do you know number three in blue?”

“The shah’s nephew, Dariush.”

“He’s good,” Ginny remarked.

“Very good, miss. The shah is always in a better mood when his nephew can play.”

“Isn’t he a part of the regular team?”

He shook his head. “Dariush attends college in New York City. He’s on break at this time.”

“I see.”

Turning her attention back on the field, she could tell this favored nephew was an expert horseman. He and his pony were deeply connected, part of a seamless dance only a fellow rider could spot from a distance. She looked forward to watching him during the actual game.

Author Bio

Mickie B. Ashling is the pseudonym of a multi-published author who resides in a suburb outside Chicago. She is a product of her upbringing in various cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West.

Since 2009, Mickie has written several dozen novels in the LGBTQ+ genre—which have been translated into French, Italian, Spanish, and German. Lately, her muse has been nudging her in a different direction, and she’s learned through past experience to pay attention to creative sparks that show up unexpectedly. Her pen name is a part of her now, and will travel along on this exciting new journey, wherever it might lead. She promises to be very specific in her book blurbs and cover art to avoid any confusion.

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