Alex hails from the USA and currently resides in Tampa with his awesome girlfriend who’s also an author.
If you like filthy-mouthed, possessive alpha heroes and steamy romance, then he’s the author for you!
I started reading fantasy reverse harem romance during the pandemic, and now I think I’m addicted to them. I especially the more “monster” type books, or those classified as reverse harem horror. When I stumbled across All the Pretty Monsters, I didn’t realize the series was so long. But no worries, it’s in Kindle Unlimited if you can’t afford to buy all six volumes.
Book one, Gypsy Blood, had a bit of an unusual start that left me feeling a little uncertain, but by the second chapter, I was hooked! I loved getting to know the characters. Even better, there’s enough mystery and action to keep you flipping the pages. While book one didn’t have tons of super hot sex, the series definitely heats up as things progress.
What do a mix of creatures and a Van Helsing have in common? Their growing attachment to a sweet monster named January Violet Carmine – who has a tendency to blow herself up when mixing potions. But reader beware… there’s more to Violet than you realize. The twist to her story was a pleasant surprise and just made everything a hundred times better. Why? Because Violet is my favorite of all the monsters! Shh… you’ll have to read the series to find out what she is.
Want to find out how vampires, werewolves, and other creatures came to exist? The author puts an interesting spin on things. All the Pretty Monsters is full of gyspy curses, monsters, fights, sex, and so much more.
If you’re looking for a complete series to binge read, give this one a try. Once I started, I didn’t want to stop! — 5 star series! (yes, the entire series)
“Oh my !! I’m stunned speechless!! Love displayed was emotional, intense, suspenseful and exciting! Thetta James takes you on an emotional Journey” – Review
“Love Displayed is not just a story about finding love. It’s about connections and friendship. Rebirth and finding yourself. It’s about empowerment and survival. Finding your voice and following your heart….” – Goodreads Reviewer
“Javi and April’s story was a slow burn, but once her fears were confronted, it turned explosive!” – Goodreads Reviewer
“Awestruck!!! Author Thetta James gives us an intense prologue from the beginning. Think Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, with an addicting love story behind the crimes, to include a crazed and obsessed psychopath!” – Goodreads Reviewer
April Young’s dark past makes her want nothing to do with men. Instead, she finds comfort in owning her own pleasure—even in public places.
It’s empowering and helps her forget.
What she didn’t count on was Javier Perez trying to force his way into her heart, claiming her in a way no man has.
Javier Perez is a loner. He’s always thought love is a distraction and makes you weak.
April catches his eye, and his walls begin to crumble. Pulling her out of her past is one of the hardest missions he’s ever encountered, but he’s determined to prove to her that love conquers all.
***TRIGGER WARNING*** Love Displayed is an Erotic Suspense Novel with graphic sexual scenes that may offend some readers. This book contains sexually explicit language, adult themes, the use of sex toys/equipment, and descriptions of rape/violence. This book contains content that is not suitable for readers under the age of 18. Please read with caution.
1. Eres Todo en Mi’ (You’re My Everything) by Ana Gabriel
2. Dive by Usher
3. Sweetest Sin by Jessica Simpson
4. I Want to Spend my Lifetime Loving You by Marc Anthony & Tina Arena
5. Vision of Love by Mariah Carey
6. You Put a Move on my Heart by Tamia
7. Take my Breath Away by Berlin
8. Spanish Guitar by Toni Braxton
9. I Could Fall in Love by Selena
10. Any Time, Any Place by Janet Jackson
11. Not Afraid Anymore by Halsey
12. I’m Sure it’s You (The Wedding Song) by Sheléa
I’ve enjoyed books for as long as I can remember. Reading allows you to expand your mind and make you say, what if? Four years ago, I became a part of the Book World as a Blogger and The Erotic Book Review was born.
I love reading and listening to all genres, but I’m very drawn to Romance on the kinky side of things. I believe pursuing your passion brings out your creativity and allows endless possibilities to come forth. Taking a reader on a journey that forces them to crossover into your world is magic. My love for stories has inspired me to write and share my words. I hope readers enjoy them as much as I loved creating them.
I live in North Georgia and I’ve been married to the love of my life for almost 29 years. We’re parents of 5 adults and we have 9 grandchildren. We drive a Big Rig for a living and travel the entire US. When I’m not driving, I love writing, reading, and hanging out in my Private Playroom on FB. I love meeting new people and enjoy learning about other cultures. I love watching football and binge watching TV shows.
From best-selling historical fiction novelist, Eric Schumacher, comes the second volume in Olaf’s Saga: the adrenaline-charged story of Olaf Tryggvason and his adventures in the kingdom of the Rus.
AD 968. It has been ten summers since the noble sons of the North, Olaf and Torgil, were driven from their homeland by the treachery of the Norse king, Harald Eriksson. Having then escaped the horrors of slavery in Estland, they now fight among the Rus in the company of Olaf’s uncle, Sigurd.
It will be some of the bloodiest years in Rus history. The Grand Prince, Sviatoslav, is hungry for land, riches, and power, but his unending campaigns are leaving the corpses of thousands in their wakes. From the siege of Konugard to the battlefields of ancient Bulgaria, Olaf and Torgil struggle to stay alive in Sigurd’s Swords, the riveting sequel to Forged by Iron.
We turned our prows to steer board and headed for the docks below the fort. Though the sun had not yet risen, the garrison and people who lived in or near the fort came to greet our ships, for many were wives and kin to the warriors who had just returned. I knew their smiles and waves would die as soon as our ships touched land. Nearly half of our warriors had perished in the south, and there would be many families left without their menfolk that night.
As our hulls scraped land and we shipped our oars, the crowd settled into an uneasy silence. Families and friends scanned the ships with weary eyes for their loved ones. Most of our warriors did not wait to grab their things. They simply leaped from the ships and made their way into the crowd to end the suspense of those who waited. It was at once a tender and solemn affair, for seeing loved ones reunited warmed me, but seeing wives and children standing alone, searching, then eventually learning the hard truth, wrenched my gut. For them there was no comfort on that brittle night. There were only tears and memories.
To look upon them was too hard, and so I turned to Olaf, who stood beside me. But his gaze was fixed on something else — or I should say, someone else. I followed that gaze up the boarded path that led to the fortress, where a notable group of warriors and lords stood, looking down at us. They surrounded a young woman, and it was on her that Olaf’s eyes now focused. The entire group was dressed in dark cloaks and hats of fur. She, too, was wrapped in a thick cloak of fur. But unlike the others, her white-blond hair danced on the breeze in the wavering torchlight, giving her an almost ethereal aspect.
I knew instantly who she was and punched Olaf’s shoulder. “Best not be caught ogling the prince’s bride-to-be.” Though I admit, I too was fascinated by her. Even from a distance, she was as mesmerizing as a flame.
Olaf smiled that mischievous smile of his. “Who is ogling? I was just curious.”
I rolled my eyes. “Curious in a leering sort of way.” I lowered my voice and looked about to ensure no one was listening. “Just mind yourself,” I warned.
Olaf brushed my warning aside with a wave of his hand and lifted his pack from his sea chest. “Take your ease, Torgil. I seek only good beer and hearty food, and mayhap the company of a warm woman. I will let the nobles have their own dealings. Come, we have earned our fun this night.”
I looked at the milling crowd, then at the stark walls of the town, then back at Olaf’s mischievous smile. I envisioned myself in some tavern sipping beer, while he and the others bragged about their exploits and I struggled to stay awake, and the mere thought of it exhausted me. What I needed most was silence and comfort. “The night is gone,” I said. “Besides, I seek someone else.”
Now it was Olaf’s turn to roll his eyes. “Gods. You are about as fun as a rock.” He dismissed me with a snort. “If you find her, I wish you an evening like no other. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
I hefted my own pack, which carried my byrnie, helmet, and a few loose items, then I grabbed my shield from the port-side rack. “Watch yourself,” I said again as I leaped from the ship.
I threaded my way through the growing crowd and headed north along the Volkhov, following the beach several hundred paces until I reached the tributary that turned east from the main river. There, at the intersection of the waterways, stood Sigurd’s hall. And there I froze, as nervous as if I were facing an army of Pechenegs, a hundred doubts accosting me at once. What would Turid think when she saw me? How would she react? Had I changed? Had she? Had she met someone else in my absence? The questions came at me unhindered, unabated, rapid-fire. They made my palms sweat and my stomach flutter. I had never been good with women, and here I was again, faltering. I cursed myself in an attempt to bolster my courage, but it did not work. Rather, it alerted the guard who walked nearby and whom I had not seen.
“Who is there?”
I raised my hands in surrender. “It is me, Oleg. Torgil Toralvsson.”
The man turned to me and a flash of light danced across his drawn blade. There was a smile on his wrinkled face. “Gods, you had me worried. I am getting too old for night fights.” He stepped closer and looked me up and down. “So Sigurd is home?” he asked.
“Aye,” I said. “He is. He and the men are at the fort.”
He sheathed his blade. “We heard rumors. Was it bad?”
“Aye, Oleg. It was.”
He beckoned me to him. “Come, lad. You are home.” There was that strange word again. I walked to him and he patted my back, ushering me forward.
Sigurd’s was a large estate, with a comfortable main hall in which he lived and entertained, a barracks for his men, a smithy, a larder, and a barn. Attached to the barn was a pen for his chickens, sheep, pigs, and two horses. Down near the water was a boathouse for Sea Snake and Sigurd’s two other ships. Service in the East had been kind to him.
“Head to the barracks and find yourself some warmth,” Oleg instructed. “The men are sleeping, so try to be quiet.”
His words turned my mind to the ten men who had remained behind to guard Sigurd’s estate. Those lucky bastards were sleeping in their cots with full bellies and furs to warm them, and they were the last thing I wanted to see. I shook my head. “There is someone else I must see first.” Though it was night and I knew Oleg could not see my face very well, I blushed. “Is Turid in the main hall?”
“Oh,” he answered. I was about to explain myself when he waved me forward. “Come, then. Leave your things by the door. She sleeps in the first bed to the left as you enter. Mind your noise, now.” He winked at me. “And do not fall asleep. You know the rules. No warriors are to sleep in the main hall.”
I thanked him and deposited my things at the door, then entered the hall as quietly as I could. The door creaked as it swung open. I paused, letting the warmth seep into my skin as my eyes adjusted to the firelit interior and my nose to the smoke and body odor and must. Snores and heavy breathing and the crackling of burning logs filled the space. As silently as I could, I closed the door and moved to Turid’s bed. She lay curled in a ball with her face near the wall. Her fire-red hair was splayed across her shoulder and pillow. Gods, how peaceful she looked. My heart thundered as I sat carefully on the frame of her bed, then brushed my fingers against her shoulder. “Turid,” I whispered with my heart in my throat.
She rolled her head to me suddenly, a mixture of confusion and sleepiness on her freckled face. “Torgil?” she finally asked.
I smiled and whispered, “Aye.”
She sat up and wrapped her arms around my torso. I returned the hug, my nose close to her neck, and immersed myself in her scent.
“I have missed you, Torgil,” she whispered fiercely.
I pulled back from her and studied her face. Those glacial eyes now filled with tears. That straight nose and prominent jaw and jutting chin. Those full lips and fair skin covered with freckles. “I have missed you too,” I whispered back, then looked away because her beauty left my cheeks searing hot and my body bereft of strength.
She lifted my furry chin with her finger and smiled gently. “From the rumors we heard, I feared I might never see you again.”
“And I, you,” I admitted softly. “It was good that you remained here.”
Suddenly her brows dipped and she looked beyond me, then back at me. “Where is Olaf?”
“He is at the fort. I came to see you.” My voice trailed off.
She lifted her blanket. “Come. Warm yourself.”
“Are you certain?” I knew what she had suffered at the hands of our Estland captors and did not want to break that barrier indelicately.
“Aye,” she whispered, holding the fur blanket open for me.
I shed my boots and slid under the furs beside her, aware of how much I must reek and hoping she did not care. She reached up and wrapped her arms around my torso. I closed my eyes, reveling in her touch and her scent, trying to ignore my ache for her.
Her hand reached up and stroked my chest softly. “Rest now. You are home,” she breathed.
I sighed, relaxing into her warmth and into the peace I suddenly felt. Home.
“One day you must tell me of your adventure.”
“I will,” I responded drowsily, trying to keep my weary mind from falling asleep.
It was the last thing I remembered.
Eric Schumacher (1968 – ) is an American historical novelist who currently resides in Santa Barbara, California, with his wife and two children. He was born and raised in Los Angeles and attended college at the University of San Diego.
At a very early age, Schumacher discovered his love for writing and medieval European history, as well as authors like J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. Those discoveries continue to fuel his imagination and influence the stories he tells. His first novel, God’s Hammer, was published in 2005.
Skeletons and secrets. We all have them. They weigh on our souls, even when we try to fool ourselves and pretend they don’t. Since I was a kid I’ve carried a secret that haunts me, casting shadows of doubt over every relationship I have.
I know the signs of someone hiding the truth, because I do it every day. And the sexy little vixen who walked into our Soulless Kings MC definitely isn’t telling us everything. Despite my growing attraction, I’ll die before I let her problems harm my family. The second she brings any trouble down on the club, the biggest problem she’ll have to face… is me.
Dodge and weave. As a boxer, that’s what I’m good at. Now, it might be what’s keeping me alive. Someone is after me, threatening the lives of those I love. To protect my friends, I ran… straight into yet another problem.
The MC seems a perfect place to hide, surrounded by renegade bikers. While Joker, the Sergeant at Arms of the club, is sinfully sexy, I can tell he’s suspicious of every move I make. His distrust is palpable, and I fear the very worst if he learns I lied. Yet, when the danger stalking me closes in, I have no choice but to expose my skeletons… and see where they fall.
“What crawled up your ass?” I can’t help but antagonize her.
“Seriously?” When I don’t respond, she continues. “You are without a doubt the worst kind of asshole.”
“Oh yeah?” I quirk a brow at her. “Please, enlighten me.”
Riley twists in her seat, resting her hands on her thighs. I let my eyes travel to the frayed holes in the denim, just beneath her fingertips, and her tan, smooth skin seems to taunt me. I avert my gaze and refocus on the road.
“You think you’re God’s gift,” she finally says after an annoyingly long silence. “You’re an ass to everyone around you and you know it. You’re judgmental, egotistical, cocky, and… and…”
“Don’t stop now, Black Bird. You’re on a roll.”
“What did you just call me?”
I look at Riley and find more questions than answers. It’s hard to miss the way all color seems to drain from her face, or the way the vein in her neck pulses from her increased heart rate.
“Black Bird,” I respond and relish the way she sucks in a breath while simultaneously wondering why that bothers her. Something else for me to figure out.
“Why would you call me that?”
She’s facing forward now, and her right hand is clutching the door handle. This is a perfect example of why there should be child safety locks on the front doors of trucks. Although, I don’t think keeping pissed off, unsuspecting females in is what Ford had in mind when the vehicles were designed, so what do I know?
I nod toward her right wrist. “Your ink.”
Riley glances at her own tiny tat and her body seems to deflate. “Oh.”
Unable to shake the feeling that I’m missing something, that there’s more to this chick than what she’s choosing to show, I decide to start getting answers. I take the next exit and find a parking lot so I can focus.
“Where are you from?” I ask after putting the truck in park.
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah, it does. Everything matters.”
That’s the truth. Only people who are actually from California call it Cali.
“What’s your real name?”
“I already told you. Riley Damian.”
When the pulse point in her throat jumps, I know she’s lying. Well, well, well… Miss Riley-whoever-the-fuck has a tell.
ABOUT ANDI RHODES
Andi Rhodes is an author and avid reader of MC romance and romantic suspense. Her books are sassy and suspenseful with a heavy dose of sizzle and are guaranteed to deliver an HEA and all the feels. When she’s not writing, Andi loves spending time with her husband and their pack of dogs. For access to release info, updates, and exclusive content, be sure to sign up for Andi’s newsletter at andirhodes.com.
ABOUT NICOLE CYPHER
Nicole Cypher is an author and avid reader of dark romance. She began her writing journey in college and hasn’t looked back since. In her books you can expect a yummy anti-hero, plenty of action, and a happy ending.
Be sure to sign up for her newsletter at nicolecypher.com to stay up to date on the latest releases, special offers, and exclusive bonus chapters.
The disturbing disappearance of yet another young, red-haired gal from the Irish Travellers’ Caravan site has everyone on edge. Then Shamus Maguire’s twelve-year-old sister Erin vanishes.
While searching for clues to his sister’s disappearance, Shamus meets Lash Boswell, an older man from a Romani caravan site. Lash decides to help Shamus, and they set out together to find the truth about the many disappearances.
Both their families disapprove of openly gay relationships. However, the tarot cards say these two are fated to be together. But to go public with their relationship, both would have family and friends forced to choose who they’ll stay true to, the family or Lash and Shamus.
Can a Romani and an Irish Traveller make their relationship work without alienating their families? More importantly, can they work together to find Erin?
They walked side by side to the car but never touched shoulders. Careful in public was what both of them considered prevention. There was no reason for either of them to expose their private relationship to the public. The summer brought too many visitors to Shamus’s liking.
After a while, they drove to Trim Castle, got out of the car, and walked around, but Shamus wanted to get to Dublin.
“The castle was built in 1172 by the Anglo-Normans. Originally the castle was wooden. Two years later the Irish destroyed it and built another one out of stone,” Lash said.
“Did you study history?”
“My grandfather told me.”
“I read that Trim Castle was used as the location for King John’s Castle in the film Braveheart,” Shamus said as he admired the traces of the glazed window that stood here hundreds of years ago. The Castle had three stories, and it possessed twenty sides with three of the four towers still standing. The wall was built to protect the castle and its inhabitants from potential invaders.
“That’s right. I had forgotten about that.”
“Do you mind if we get going?” Shamus asked, feeling the need to get ready for the search for Erin.
“Sure, we need to settle at the camp tonight in Dublin. Tomorrow we’ll visit the first caravan site,” Lash mentioned when they were in the car on the way to campgrounds.
The entire search overwhelmed Shamus. At least he had Lash who knew his way around and would keep him and the others safe.
They found a remote area of a campsite and set up the tents. Shamus was hoping for them to sleep in one tent, but there were tents in the distance with few trees so it would be impossible to stay together in one tent; at least Lash didn’t take advantage of the situation, and for that he had to respect him.
“So, what do you think?” Lash asked.
“The trip was scenic for sure.”
They had picked up chicken breasts to cook outside and a can of mixed vegetables.
Lash started the fire in a pit, putting a screen over it so he could cook.
“Do you cook outside often?” Shamus inhaled the delicious scent of lemon-flavored chicken.
“Sure do. My brother and I love to eat outside.”
“Your chicken smells delightful. This is the first meal you cooked for me.”
“More to come if you want. I wanted to kiss you during the drive, but…”
“I wanted you to kiss me. I wish we were sleeping in the same tent.”
“Oh, we are, unless you don’t want to,” Lash said.
“But we have two tents.”
“I know that, but you just said you wished we were sleeping in the same tent.”
“I did, and I get it now.” Shamus figured Lash must have thought he was an idiot and maybe he was. He had some formal education, but it didn’t help him in all matters, especially sexual ones.
Lash served them both plates and they sat on two folding chairs in front of the fire. Shamus hadn’t eaten such spicy and tasty chicken before. He admired Lash and was grateful he took care of everything. His thoughts bounced between Lash and his sister. What was happening to her right now? Was she happy or unhappy? Had they hurt her in anyway? He had so many unanswered questions along with an immense fear for Erin.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Lash asked.
“I don’t know how I feel. I’m worried about Erin and my brothers.”
“Why don’t you call and check on them.”
Lash took their plates and cleaned up while he called Molly. She said the boys went to school, did their homework, and were watching TV. His brothers got on the phone to say hello. He felt a little better after talking to them.
Lash handed him an apple.
“Hey, thanks. I’m so happy you’re here with me. I don’t think I have what it takes to get things done.”
“Relax. Lean on me. I want to be there for you. I’ll help you every step of the way.” Lash wrapped his arms around him.
“I really like you. I mean not just the sex thing, though my feelings are everywhere when I look at you.”
“I like you too.”
Lash nodded his head. “I bet you like to bottom, right?”
Shamus felt his face warming up into a blush. How did he know that about him? Was something written on his face to give him a clue.
“It’s nothing to worry about. I just knew that about you. I top mostly. I mean if you wanted to give it a go, I’d let you.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-four, and you?”
“Twenty-one. And before you ask, no, I don’t think you’re too old for me.”
“Good. Just checking some things out before we settle in together. I don’t want to be fucking a minor, you know.”
“Not a minor nor am I a virgin. Do you use condoms?”
“I do and I have plenty with me.” Lash lifted his eyebrows making Shamus’s cock twitch.
“I’m not that experienced. I hope you don’t use it against me.”
“Stop talking about yourself like that. You’re adorable. What I want is to make you feel good in every place on your body when we’re together. You don’t really learn these things. They come from your feelings towards each other.”
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“What is your problem?” I repeated my earlier question.
He didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “Did you want to go for a drink with him, Grace?”
“He was standing awfully close.”
“And I was trying to step back when you showed up. In fact, I would have told him off before you rushed into save the day.”
“He kept looking at you during the meeting.”
I hadn’t noticed. All my attention was on Jaxson. “He can look all he wants. I’m not interested.”
He drummed his long fingers on the desk. I tried not to stare at them.
“It’s your outfit,” he announced.
“What the hell is wrong with my outfit?”
“It’s too damn sexy.”
I gaped at him. “It’s pants. I’m wearing pants, for god sake.”
“Your blouse. It’s indecent.”
I glanced down. Nothing was showing, my collarbone barely visible. The neckline was modest, the sleeves long, and I was wearing a shawl.
“You are being ridiculous. The lawyer, that Sabrina woman who came in here this morning, was showing more skin than I am.”
“Do not compare yourself to her.”
An irrational flash of jealousy hit me. “I’m out her league is what you’re saying?”
He glared. “Don’t push it.”
I threw up my hands. “I give up. Why don’t you write me a list of what I can wear, who I can talk to, and what I should think, Jaxson?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Stupid? This from the man who thinks wearing pants is overtly sexy.”
“They are,” he insisted.
“Don’t be an ass,” I hissed before I could stop myself. “You’re acting like an idiot.”
“You’re pushing my buttons.”
“Your buttons? You’re the one with the over the top reaction here. You’re being a jackass—again.”
“Fond of that word, are you?”
“It suits you.”
“Shrew,” he replied.
“What did you call me?”
“You heard me. You’re a shrew. I was trying to help you earlier.”
I was done with this insanity. The man was clearly deranged.
I stood. “For the record, he came over to me. I said no—twice. If you hadn’t shown up, I would have walked away or if I had to, pushed him away. I can take care of myself, Jaxson. My father taught me how to throw a punch if required, so I don’t need you to rescue me and I don’t appreciate your over reactions. My outfit is perfectly acceptable, and you are, in fact, a jackass.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” I drew in a deep breath. “In fact, if this is your way of talking, you can stuff it, Mr. Richards.”
I turned and headed to the door.
The next thing I knew, Jaxson was behind me, spinning me around and crowding me against the wall, his body hot and unyielding.
“Jesus,” he spat. “Gracie, you drive me crazy.”
“What?” I asked confused.
“I keep fucking this up.” He hung his head. “You get close and I lose all common sense. I do things I would never do—say things I shouldn’t.”
I stayed silent letting him ramble. I liked the way it felt with him pressed up against me. I could feel his strength and his anger. Both were addictive somehow and I wasn’t afraid of either. The irritation I had been feeling started to be replaced with a different sort of buzz. One of longing.
“Jesus,” he uttered. “I keep doing this. Last week spending time with you outside the office. Yesterday—kissing you in the car. Holding your hand. As your boss, I shouldn’t do any of that. Or pass judgment on your life. I didn’t intend that to happen. And today.” He groaned. “Seeing him beside you, chatting you up. I wanted to punch him in the face. What is it about you that messes up my head?”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
His intense blue eyes met mine. “I didn’t mean to start an argument, Grace—yesterday or today. You’re right, there is nothing wrong with your outfit. You’re beautiful. And yesterday my words were born of hating to think of you living in fear—of anything. I wanted to help. But I know it didn’t come across that way.”
His confession disarmed me.
“I apologize for both—my rudeness and my inappropriateness in the car yesterday.”
We were so close, I could feel every solid inch of him. His scent filled my head—citrusy, musky—heady. He was tense, his muscles bunching, his jaw working as our eyes locked and held.
“I liked the car,” I whispered, the words torn from me before I could stop them.
He rested his forehead to mine with a low groan. “Don’t tell me that, Gracie.”
His breath washed over me. Mint and coffee. I could taste it. Taste him. I wanted to taste more.
“I liked the way you told him off today. You made me feel protected.”
“Fuck,” he mumbled, his eyes locked on my mouth.
“I like how you feel this close to me.”
He groaned again, the sound low and desperate.
Exactly the way I was feeling.
“Jaxson,” I murmured.
“What are you doing to me?” he replied, sliding his hand along my shoulder and up my neck, cupping my cheek. “You make me want things I can’t have.”
“Like feeling your lips underneath mine. Tasting your mouth. Knowing if the heat of it is as addictive as I think it would be.”
“Find out then.”
He crashed his lips to mine.
And I was lost.
New York Times/USA Today bestselling author Melanie Moreland, lives a happy and content life in a quiet area of Ontario with her beloved husband of twenty-seven-plus years and their rescue cat, Amber. Nothing means more to her than her friends and family, and she cherishes every moment spent with them.
While seriously addicted to coffee, and highly challenged with all things computer-related and technical, she relishes baking, cooking, and trying new recipes for people to sample. She loves to throw dinner parties, and also enjoys traveling, here and abroad, but finds coming home is always the best part of any trip.
Melanie loves stories, especially paired with a good wine, and enjoys skydiving (free falling over a fleck of dust) extreme snowboarding (falling down stairs) and piloting her own helicopter (tripping over her own feet.) She’s learned happily ever afters, even bumpy ones, are all in how you tell the story.
Melanie is represented by Flavia Viotti at Bookcase Literary Agency. For any questions regarding subsidiary or translation rights please contact her at email@example.com
She hides behind a camera lens. He’s played himself into a corner. Can they outrun the rumor mill and make way for forever?
Hayley Brooke is done with men. So when a sloshed guy at a party makes a sloppy play for her affections, the wedding photographer is relieved when a hunky stranger comes to the rescue. But her gratitude quickly sours when she realizes her savior is the same infamous womanizer she once met on a bad blind date.
Mark Hastings is tired of trying to tough it out. Heralded online as the hottest bachelor on the market, the rugby player’s crippling anxiety steers him well away from the suffocating public spotlight. So saving a familiar pretty face and then being rejected is made a million times worse when pictures light up the internet with salacious gossip.
Horrified to be caught up in the swell of fangirl spite, Hayley demands he set the record straight by being seen with somebody else… only to be bitten by unexpected jealousy. And when they’re forced back together to plan a mutual friend’s engagement bash, they give in to their physical attraction and Mark vows to finally expose his vulnerability.
With social media commenting on their every move, will Hayley ever believe Mark’s love is real?
Just My Type is a heart-fluttering contemporary romance novel. If you like endearing characters, steamy excitement, and breathtaking twists, then you’ll adore Sophia Karlson’s sensual scrum.
Sophia Karlson writes sensual, emotional, and evocative contemporary romance, often set in far-flung settings. She used to work in the travel industry before turning to full-time writing. Her first book, Perfect Mistake, was a finalist for the Daphne Award for Romantic Suspense and won the Kathryn Hayes award in 2019. All her novels can be read as standalone, although she tends to write about siblings because family dynamics are so intriguing.
Taking readers on a journey of their own with her books is part of the plot. Bon voyage!
Mateo spent too many years craving the taste and touch of Deja’s body. He restrained from taking his brother’s widow to bed. Now the sinner in him is winning the battle. He is through imagining all the naughty things he can do with her. Time to put all his kinky plans into action.
He assembles his toys, determined to stroke Deja by the time the clock strikes twelve on New Year’s Eve.
Deja knew it was wrong to lust after her dead husband’s brother. She tells herself that Mateo only wants to help raise her son, but she can’t keep ignoring the way he looks at her and how it makes her tingle with desire. She can’t resist the call of his hot body, and she does not want to.
Tied down by guilt and separated by quarantine, Mateo and Deja decide to free themselves with a New Year’s Eve night of passion. But will it destroy their family and friendship?
A Stroke at Midnight is a BDSM holiday short with an alpha male into kink. **NO abuse, NO cliffhanger, guaranteed HEA!**
Mateo turned to the petite, blond salesperson. “Yes, I want to assemble a fetish box, mainly BDSM.” He had thrown out his old toys as soon as he got home. Everything had to be brand spanking new for when he first spanked Deja. He pointed to the wall. “Let’s start with a flogger.”
“I’m interested in genuine leather.”
The clerk nodded and stood on her tiptoes. She pulled down a satin bag. “This is made of genuine leather with a bamboo handle.”
He opened it and glided the strands over his hand, letting them slide through his fingers. Yes, this was the one. Not for their first time, though. Deja had revealed a lot during their conversations. Her sex life, when she had one, was mostly puritanical. He didn’t want to scare her but ease her into his play.
“I’ll take it. Do you have any ticklers with a leather crop?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lyndell Williams is an award-winning writer and bestselling author. She is a cultural critic with a background in literary criticism specializing in romance. She is an editor, writing coach and mentor. She has been published in peer-reviewed journals and writes for multiple online publications.
A virus has rendered humanity mostly extinct. Keira Starr is alone, staying alive by staying on the run, sleeping in empty gas stations and the trunks of cars long abandoned on the highway. The world is overrun by “Ghosts,” the mindless, bloodthirsty dead, but they are the least of her problems. She is being hunted by ragtag groups of ruthless men, independent contractors working for a mysterious human trafficking ring. When she is finally captured, she discovers that Derrick Caine, despite his gruff demeanor and appearance, may just have a different agenda altogether.
“What happened to you?” she breathed. “Who did you lose?” She knew she was pushing him, that she should stop before she went too far, but it felt like observing a train wreck, watching from a distance as the engine rushed ahead at full steam, and, even foreseeing the impending disaster on the tracks, being powerless to stop it. “You risk your life tryin’ to save women and children. Who was she? Your wife?” She didn’t even know why she cared. She didn’t want to care. Derrick Caine was a virtual stranger to her, yet she knew she was already in way too deep.
He growled suddenly, a low, guttural sound that jarred her out of her trance when she rather unexpectedly found her space invaded by him for the third time in the past several minutes. Yet the charge in the air had shifted subtly; he no longer seemed angry, exactly, but there was something decidedly predatory in his eyes.
“You want from me?” His voice in her ear was a dangerous rumble that elicited chills up her spine and ignited a fire that bloomed hotly in her womb, a delicious contrast. Quite suddenly, all she wanted was to relieve the dull throb between her legs that his voice and presence evoked; she wanted him so badly that she physically couldn’t endure not to have him soon.
You. Just you. “I could ask the same of you,” she settled for, and she couldn’t stop the tremor in her voice. She was overwhelmed by him—by his nearness, by the heat emanating from his body, drawing her in. She tentatively raised a trembling hand, reaching up to touch a raised scar on his chest, just above his left pectoral. His chest continued to visibly rise and fall, and he was breathing hard through his nose in an obvious effort to calm himself, fists clenched in tight balls at his sides. His breathing hitched when she barely touched him, a feather-light caress, her fingertips just skimming the jagged edge of his scar. She had known all along that he was in pain. So much unbearable pain—yet he would never admit it to anyone, least of all her.
K.A. Raines is a U.S. Navy veteran who lives in Longview, TX with her children and who has a passion for reading, writing, red wine, and good food. Her love for science fiction, the paranormal, and romance bleed into her writing.