Pre-Order Took You for Granted by LM Spangler #99cents #preorder #RomanceBooks @AuthLMSpangler @WildRosePress

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Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Length: 8,197 words

AVAILABLE: Monday, April 15th

She lost him seven years ago. Now he’s back in her life…and back in her bed.

April Donovan thought she’d gotten over Grant Carmichael. He broke her heart, took her feelings for granted, and chose a baseball career over her. She moved on with her life and eventually healed. Seven years later, a chance meeting throws that theory asunder, and several passionate moments rekindle the fire. He wants her again—mind, soul, and…body.

 

Took You For Granted is available for only .99c at the following e-book retailers!

Amazon- https://amzn.to/2BhCHv4

Bookstrand- https://www.bookstrand.com/took-you-for-granted

Barnes & Noble- https://bit.ly/2MOFS22

 

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
COPYRIGHT – LM Spangler

“April Donovan, it is you. I had wondered if AD stood for you.”

She motioned toward a visitor’s chair opposite her. “Mr. Carmichael. Please sit down.” No, don’t sit. He stood astute and gorgeous in a charcoal, three-piece suit, with a soft gray dress shirt and burgundy tie. The slim fit complemented his physique. The Grant she remembered had worn jeans and T-shirts. This version was one hundred percent eye candy.

His head tilted to the side, and his lips formed a thin line. “We have a past. No need for formalities.”

April prayed her pulse wasn’t visibly pounding in her neck. Her eyes bored into his. Damn, he’s still gorgeous. His black hair was trimmed close to his head on the sides and longer and more disheveled on top, suiting his angular face. His jaw was still strong and could probably still take a punch. She had seen it happen before. Her gaze fell to his lips—lips that could make her tremble as they moved over her skin. Heat flooded her core, and she clenched her thighs together.

She cleared her throat. “That is correct, Mr. Carmichael. We did have a past, but we have nothing now.”

His brows rose, and a slow, sexy grin turned his lips upward. “Okay. We can play it your way.” He lowered his six-foot, two-inch frame into the vacant seat. “For now.”

Between You and Me by Willa Okati #ContemporaryRomance #GayRomance #SecondChances @changelingpress @willaokati

 

Theirs is a love story that was only waiting
to happen – and a future worth fighting for.

Between You and Me (Between You and Me 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Contemporary, 2nd Chance Romance, Gay, Silver Fox

Theirs is a love story that was only waiting to happen – and a future worth fighting for.

By Your Side: Seven years ago Matthieu fell in love with a man fifteen years his junior. Roman swore he wanted nothing more than to settle down with Matthieu. Matthieu tried to do the right thing, hoping Roman would forgive and forget him. But Roman’s never been good at taking “no” for an answer — especially when he knows his partner really wants say yes, yes, yes.

Between You and Me: Quiet, reserved Daniel admits to being a “serial monogamist.” He’s holding out for forever. Ian, Daniel’s closest friend, falls in love at least once a week. Somehow, when neither of them were looking, Daniel stole Ian’s heart, and Ian stole Daniel’s. And they’re both smart enough to know that’s something worth fighting for.

In the Key Of: Teague seems set spending the rest of his life alone — until he meets Julian online. Julian’s everything Teague is not: creative, impulsive, enthusiastic — and commitment shy. When a voice on the phone and a face on the screen are no longer enough, can Teague convince Julian to take a chance on him in the real world?

Get it Today at Changeling Press

also available in paperback

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Willa Okati
Excerpt from Between You and Me

Ian never had trouble picking Daniel out of a crowd. He could have done it with his eyes closed and his ears plugged with thick puffs of cotton, and even if someone had taken him and spun him around in circles to make sure he’d lost his bearings. He’d still find Daniel, orienting himself toward the man.

Every time.

He figured later he should have seen there was more to his focus on Daniel than just friendship, but no one ever saw anything clearly in the moment. At least Ian didn’t. He took long walks off short piers and jumped, knowing when he surfaced he could swim to Daniel standing on the shore. He couldn’t do anything else and still be himself.

That was okay. Daniel might keep himself anchored on solid ground, but he’d be there waiting for Ian. Always.

Ian figured he should have paid more attention to what that meant too.

He never thought too hard about it, though. Overthinking wasn’t his forte.

If anyone asked Ian why he did — well, most of the things he did — he never quite knew how to answer the question. How did a guy explain why he was who he was if the person asking couldn’t tell just by looking?

Ian didn’t think of himself as complicated. C’mon. He saw opportunities and went after them. He leaped before he looked, and by the grace of whatever gods looked after fools and man-children, usually came in for a smooth landing. When he didn’t, he picked up the pieces, stuck them back together, and got a move on before the glue had a chance to dry. He didn’t have a home, living in a series of hotels, and ate a home-cooked meal once, maybe twice a year, and his longest-lasting relationships extended through breakfast the next morning.

And yet — he loved his life. Mostly. Ninety-nine percent of the time. Maybe 95 percent.

Every now and then, though, Ian found himself in a place where he needed to be somewhere that was… else. Not the ends of the earth, the Alaskan Pipeline or the Foreign Legion, nor a bar where everyone knew his name. The place he needed to be: a tiny town with a crumb of California coastline, close enough to shouting distance of San Francisco but far enough away to see the stars at night.

So when he’d known this morning, after waking up alone one time too many, he’d had one cup more than “enough” for now, he’d tossed together a duffel’s worth of odds and ends, including an old Turkish coffee set he’d bought on a whim because Daniel would love it, paid up on his Portland suite through the weekend, and sweet-talked his way into a last-minute ticket on a plane down the coast, and —

And here he was, standing outside a library no bigger than a postage stamp, breathing deep of an intoxicating mix of roasting coffee, clean sea air, and the last sweet kisses of one of the final summer-warm twilights of the year. Content to be, there and then, putting off clattering up the stairs to the library’s second-story main entrance for the sake of saving up anticipation until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Good thing Daniel wouldn’t know he was watching, not with the doors of the café separating them. Ian didn’t often get a chance to stand still and look as much as he wanted, and he was a man who appreciated beauty even when planted in a half-parcel of parking lot, on the outside looking in.

Daniel had no idea he’d come tonight. Ian bet he’d be in for getting his ear chewed off; he laughed at the thought, not minding a bit. Besides, he’d tried to call. More than once. Let the surprise be on his own head; at least — Ian thought — it’d be a pleasant surprise. Meantime, he could take his time to relax, far and away from the race for gold and goal, and enjoy the view.
A good friend? Worth his weight in gold. Daniel? Worth his weight in espresso beans. Ian knew his friend well enough to be positive Daniel would prefer being described as such.

Ian hummed under his breath, content for the moment to stand still and watch his friend work.

Some kind of gorgeous man, that one, his Daniel. Silken-soft hair richer and deeper a hue than dark chocolate, long enough to curl around his neck and over his ears and tumble across his forehead in the humidity of the salt-rich wind off the sea. Startling blue-gray eyes, an inheritance from his father, were the first things that’d caught Ian’s interest way back when. Like the skies before a storm, with a thick fringe of sooty lashes. He wore a simple white shirt and dark gray slacks tonight, sleeves rolled up and two buttons undone, and when he reached over his head to wedge a fat blue book back into place on a shelf, he moved with the sort of grace, wholly unconscious, dancers only wished they could learn.

With all credit to the guy who wrote Fight Club, describing Daniel as beautiful wasn’t the right word, but it was the first word that came to mind. Funny how so few others saw it. Ian never had understood why they didn’t, and he’d given up trying.

Sometimes, when Ian stopped to think, he wondered if it was selfishness that he didn’t mind being one of the lucky few. Daniel deserved someone who’d love him tender and love him true, and at thirty-five, Ian could tell he’d started losing the thin edge of optimism he’d hung on to since his twenties.

He shook the mood, as insubstantial as cobwebs — usually — off, or tried to. Thirty-five wasn’t old. Far from it, and Daniel was the kind of man who’d age well. Ian looked forward to seeing it.

Odd, though… seeing Daniel from this angle struck Ian differently tonight. Almost always muted, the spark that set Daniel apart, something like a flicker of lightning in a cool dusky sky, came through crystal clear.

Some kind of gorgeous man, all right — and such a dork. Ian laughed quietly, fondly, absolutely sure Daniel had no clue he moved ever so slightly to the beat of his different drummer, or electric violinist, as the case might be, and the music fed through the trail of white headphones from pocket to ears.

No one could learn to be the kind of friend Daniel was to Ian. You were born to be that close to one another or not, and how Ian had been lucky enough to stumble across a guy who took him for who he was, charms and flaws and risks and rewards and everything else… eh.

Why tempt fate trying to figure out the whys and hows? He’d just be glad as hell and leave it there. Like always.

Ian tapped the toe of his shoe on the pavement, considering Daniel’s movements through the window.

Y’know what? Ian questioned himself. Anticipation is one thing. Delayed gratification is another. Neither stands much of a chance when I weigh them against a chance in a million to take Daniel off guard.

Decision: made. Ian hit speed-dial one more time for the fun of it, and then he hit the stairs, taking them two at a time, excited by the electric sparks that flickered to life in his veins.

Yes. This was what he’d come for.

 

A Year and a Day by Willa Okati #GayRomance #NewRelease #PNR @changelingpress @willaokati

 

Three stories of heartbreak, passion, and magic in the mountains of Appalachia.

 

A Year and A Day (A Year and A Day 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Gay, Second Chance

 

A Year and a Day: Nothing is going to stand in Slate’s way when it comes to getting his lover Ash back. He plans on using unfamiliar magics to call Ash back to his side — but magic always comes at a cost.

Unspoken: Once a famous vocalist, Ian has become mute for reasons no doctor can explain. At a low point, Ian encounters a strange man in his garden — a wandering musician, like the bards of old times. Andy teaches Ian love itself is one of the greatest forms of expression.

The Letter: It’s been hard, but Luke and Brandon have decided to part so Luke can follow his New York dreams. The lovers question that decision when they discover a chest of letters in their attic containing details of their relationship down to the last moment — except these letters were written in 1948. Should they reconsider their choices? The answer is in the final letter…

 

Get it at Changeling Press

also available in paperback

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Willa Okati
Excerpt from A Year and a Day

Six o’clock in the morning, and the sun was just beginning to glow over the horizon. Faint whispers of red and pink light crept through Slate’s bedroom window, painting stained-glass pictures on his ceiling. He lay awake on top of the covers, staring at them. “You know, there’s folk who say they see the face of the Virgin Mary in a squash,” he said out loud, to himself. “Wonder if I look hard enough, I’ll see my lover’s face in the sunlight?”

He snorted. Fool’s dreams. A year since Ash had died, and he still woke up every morning expecting to see that tousled dark head lying on the pillow next to his. Every night, he dreamed of the two of them in that same bed, arms and legs tangled around each other, limbs straining as they made love. Slate let his eyes flutter half-shut, imagining he could feel Ash’s strong young hands skating over his skin, laughing about measuring him by spans. He licked his lips, fancying he might be able to taste the salt.

No. Nothing. Just his own flavor, that of a man who’d brushed and swished before falling on top of his bed sometime around three a.m. Sterile, minty, lonely as hell. He’d trade any number of fresh morning breaths for one kiss from Ash, breaking apart to laugh about who ate what the night before.

No more kisses from Ash, anymore. No more anything.

The sunlight grew stronger, stretching across Slate’s ceiling. In times past, he’d have had a rooster out back, lord of the coops, standing on top of the henhouse and letting out a mighty crow. There were those who said that was an old wives’ tale, but they hadn’t met the ugly old beast he and Ash owned.

He’d sold that critter not long after… after… Well, mornings were hard enough to face. Almost as bad as the nights. Daylight meant another night without sleep, meant another day to get through without his lover.

Turning on his side, he stretched one arm across the smooth expanse of made-up covers beside him, not mussed in the least. Blankets tucked in smoothly, pillow plump and fat. Ash’s side of the bed. A year to the day, and he wasn’t able to bear sleeping in the middle, or even crossing sides of the bed. He had tried, once. Lain in Ash’s place, hoping he’d have a good dream.

Hadn’t worked. He’d seen that day in the barn over and over inside his mind, so crystal clear in his thoughts as if it were happening all over again. Ash, gasping for air. Ash, falling. Himself, down on the hard-packed dirt, Brown Sugar getting all agitated and kicking her stall. Finally remembering to call 911.

Firemen. Paramedics. His friend Marianne and her lover Zillah trying to draw him aside, and when he wouldn’t go, being muscled back by two big, strong men in yellow suits. Sinking down on a bale of feed and feeling their soft, womanly hands on his back, his shoulders, trying their damnedest to soothe. He hadn’t paid them a bit of mind. Everything in him had been focused on Ash, lying so still… so still…

Someone in a uniform had come to talk to him after a spell. He could still remember the man’s words, letter-perfect. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kincaid. Slate. He’s young, but best as we can tell he had a heart attack before he fell. It does happen to some men this young. Do you know if he had any congenital heart defects?”

Slate had shaken his head, baffled. “No… not Ash… he was fine. Never said a word about anything wrong with him.”

“He might not have,” the uniform allowed. “The fall did break his neck, though. There’ll have to be an autopsy –”

There Slate had lunged up from where he sat, raging at the man telling him this news in a voice schooled to be soft and sympathetic. Liar. He hadn’t felt a damn thing. “You’re not cuttin’ him up.”

Marianne and Zillah had managed to drag Slate back into a sitting position, and they’d held him there. Strong for women, they were. “I’m sorry for your loss,” was all the uniform had said, before he went back to the scene of the… where Ash lay, cooling off in the dirt.

Slate hadn’t cried then. He still hadn’t, one year later. His eyes burned with the need to, but no matter how many times his lady friends offered their shoulder, he hadn’t been able to coax out a single drop.

Grieve, they’d told him. You have to mourn him, Slate. Otherwise you’ll never be able to let go.

Damn them. He didn’t want to let go. And as long as he had reminders, he wouldn’t have to.

Rolling over again, he reached out to touch the leaves of a pretty plant on his bedside table. Glossy green leaves shaped like hearts, bell-like flowers. Foxglove. Digitalis. “You did have a heart problem,” he whispered. “And you didn’t tell me. I think I might just hate you a bit for that, Ash. Always had to be messin’ around with your herbal medicaments. So sure you had it under control.” His hand tightened into a fist. “Didn’t you know you can’t fix something like this without goin’ under the knife? Did you really think your herbs and your potions would fix it all? Damn you, lover. Why didn’t you tell me?”

But as when he’d asked those questions, every single morning as he rose out of his bed, there were no answers. There wouldn’t be, either. Dead men didn’t talk.
No matter how much one might want them to.

Ash’s radio kicked on as the time ticked over to six-fifteen. Dimly, Slate knew he should have been getting up, too, but damned if he could find the energy to rise. Still fondling a leaf of the foxglove between his fingers, he listened to good old Patsy Cline singing about how she was crazy, crazy for feeling so blue. He thought — not crazy at all. It’s hell to be by yourself when you were promised forever.

He closed his eyes and remembered a certain morning when Ash had been the first to wake. Slate had still been asleep, drowsing past the sunlight’s first peek into the sky. Normally he was the one to rise earliest, but not this time. He remembered Ash’s warm arms sliding across him, the man molding himself to Slate’s side. They’d been playing Elvis that morning. “Love me tender,” Ash had sung into Slate’s ear, following it up with a nip to the lobe, then soothing the sting with the tip of his tongue. “Love me true…”

“And I do,” Slate had said. “Come here and give me a kiss.”

Ash had folded gladly into his arms. They were young and horny; it hadn’t been long before they’d been writhing against one another, hard cocks bumping together. He’d come just from the feeling of his lover on top of him, so desperate for him that neither of them had been able to wait.

Now, he woke in the same clothes he’d laid down in, on top of the covers instead of beneath them. Woke, if he’d slept at all, which to be frank, he hadn’t. Is this grief? he wondered. Is this mourning? The women push, push, pushed at him. But he had to deal with things in his own time, at his own pace.

Besides, he had some secret, certain plans they didn’t know about…

 

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Willa Okati is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, and a lifelong love of storytelling. She is definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

You can reach Willa at willaokati@gmail.com.

Join Willa on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/willa.okati.

 

 

Shooting Stars by Shelby Morgen #NewRelease #holidaystories #ContemporaryRomance @changelingpress

 

We’re like shooting stars speeding through the night sky –
when we collide we set the night on fire…

 

Shooting Stars (Christmas Spirits 7)

 

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight
Genres/Themes: Contemporary, Action Adventure, Christmas, Second Chances

 

“Why do we do this?”

“Because we’re so good together.”

“For a few days. A few weeks, even. But then it ends. Again. Badly. Always does. We’re like shooting stars. Speeding through the night sky until they collide. A shower of sparks and we’re gone again.”

“But it’s glorious while it lasts.” He kissed my neck, just below my ear, and I shivered in his arms. “And one of these days we’re going to find a way to make it work.”

“Liar,” I shot back. But it was Christmas. And I wanted to believe…

 

Get it at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Shelby Morgen

The cross-country flight to Brasilia International Airport had taken less time than the trek down the mountainside, but it was still after 9:00 pm when we checked into the Windsor Plaza Brasilia Hotel. But it was Brazil. And apparently we had reservations. Or I did. I had to sign a form adding Mika to my room. The hotel restaurant was still open, and the concierge assured us room service was always available. “Which is a good thing,” I told Mika. “I’ve missed hot running water. I want a shower.”

Mika sniffed and wriggled his nose. “I can’t argue with that.”

I swatted at him, but he ducked behind the bellhop, who kept his gaze trained on the elevator, and managed to conceal any hint of surprise at our road weary condition behind a smile that earned him a large tip.

My long-sleeve shirt and jeans and socks — all intended to help make me look less like mosquito bait — made their way into the trash the moment the door closed behind the bellhop. This was Brazil. I was confident the concierge could have a new wardrobe sent up for me as easily as dinner and coffee.

Hot running water was one of the few things I’d truly missed in the last four months we’d spent in the Andes. The hotel’s amenities included scented soaps and shampoo that might turn me back into a human given enough time and scrubbing. I just stood under the spray for several minutes, soaking in the return to civilization.

Despite the data I’d lost, the trip hadn’t been a total loss. Mika was right. I had backed up most of my data — satellite Internet was a glorious thing — and I’d pocketed not only my thumb drive but the wallet-size external hard drive as well. And what I’d learned could not be erased from my head. Including the truths about myself and what I wanted, needed from life. And Mika was one of those things. I leaned into the spray, almost asleep from the sheer relief as the steam penetrated my knotted muscles.

“Mind if I join you?”

Mika’s voice was almost a surprise — I hadn’t heard him cross the tile floor, and I’d already steamed up the large bathroom enough to not notice the temperature change when he slid the glass door open. “You’re always welcome.” I’d expected him, after all. Had allowed myself to admit that despite the rocky road behind us — and likely ahead of us — there would always be a place for Mika in my heart.

“You look like you could use some help.”

Mika didn’t ask what I wanted. He always knew. He could read my body like a flight plan. He started with the shampoo, running his fingers through the short strands of my hair until the water washed clear, then did it again, massaging my scalp, and then again. The soap was a more leisurely trip, exploring every crevice and crease where dirt could hide, scrubbing with the soap bar wrapped in the washcloth, then, once he was satisfied that the worst of the grime was gone, kneading and massaging my knotted muscles. “You’re a mess,” he muttered, working at the knots next to my spine that refused to let go.

“This was easier a decade ago,” I agreed. “When did canvas cots and wooden chairs get so damn hard?”

“We all grow up eventually, Silvi. Our bodies do, even if our minds think we’re still teenagers.”

“Not you. You’re always the same. And you’re always there to rescue me. Even from myself.”

“Not still mad at me?”

“Usually.” I turned to pull him under the spray, running my fingers through hair that was only slightly shorter than my own, then stretching up to press a kiss to his mouth. His lips opened against mine, and his tongue swept through to taste and to touch, exploring and stroking and pulling the wildness from me.

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Shelby must be insane. What else would have led her to start an online publishing company? Shelby shares her belief in electronic publishing with her long-time friend and business partner, Bill, her husband of 30 plus years. Perhaps the insanity is contagious.

Shelby loves writing off-beat tales that defy as many rules as possible. She likes chocolate with her peanut butter, suspense with her romance, and kink with her sex. She’s always had a hard time keeping science fiction, fantasy, and paranormal from mixing with her kink. Fortunately for Shelby, electronic publishing has opened many new doors for cross-genre authors and artists.

Visit Shelby’s website www.ShelbyMorgen.com for her latest releases. For a head’s up on new stuff, you’re welcome to join her Yahoo! group, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ShelbyMorgen/join. Email Shelby at ShelbyMorgen@yahoo.com or blog with Shelby at http://shelby-morgen.blogspot.com.

 

 

Don’t Hold Back by Lynn Burke#BDSM #RomanceBooks #OlderHero #Contemprary @AuthorLynnBurke @changelingpress

Can he help her find the courage to face the emotions that come
with submitting her body—and heart?…

Don't Hold Back (Darkest Desires 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: BDSM, Contemporary, Dark Desire,
Silver Fox (older man), 2nd Chance Romance

Kelly Sadel has lived her life by a feels-o-meter since showing emotion as a kid was a big no-no. A timid analyst and fur baby momma, she avoids anything that stirs up her boring life. Secretly, she crushes on the man who rides the elevator with her every morning—he’s a unicorn amidst an office full of conservative short-hairs. He also sets her nerves on edge, topping her feels-o’meter to the limit, an oh-no in her carefully constructed world.

Accidentally dumping a box of cupcakes on his loafers grabs his unwanted attention, and he isn’t too quick to let go.

Jamison Byrne has worked his way through the submissives at Monique’s club hoping to find his own little subbie. He wants a collared sub, a woman to enjoy mutual pleasure his ropes bring without getting emotionally involved beyond scening.

Manipulation comes easy from years of life beneath a narcissistic asshole’s thumb, and Jamison finally gets Kelly to relent—but with her only agreeing to be friends. Jamison sweeps in but finds his feet swept beneath him as her nurturing nature opens him in ways he never expected. Sure he has found his “person,” he needs to find a way to share his darker desires and get Kelly to stop holding back and feel. He knows he can set her free, but does she want him to? Can he help her find the courage to face the emotions that come with submitting her body—and heart?

Get it Today at Changeling Press

Pre-Order for November 30th at Amazon, B&N, iTunes, and Kobo

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Lynne Burke

Kelly

The best part of being an analyst for Kirchoff Energy on the third floor of the office building in downtown Baltimore? Jamison Byrne in all his hot arrogance often hopped aboard the elevator, heading to the fourth floor for Davidoff Finance Corp.

Easily six feet or maybe an inch taller, he was a golden blondie with dark, piercing eyes and full lips that needed to be nibbled. Along with that, he had wide shoulders, a trim waist, and the most perfectly formed backside.

But he wasn’t my type. Nope. I preferred sweet, shy nerds. Not that I dated much. To be honest, I’d had two dates in the previous two years. Sure, I had the usual social media profiles, but the thoughts of signing up for one of those dating sites scared the crap out of me. Friendships were all fine and good — as long as I didn’t have to stomach strong feelings. I couldn’t handle them.

But Jamison… I drooled over him every morning I was lucky enough to share the elevator with him — and the other half-dozen people who stuffed in with us. He carried this mysterious air, a confidence that attracted yet repelled me at the same time. In an office of conservative short hairs, he had longer locks and kept scruff on his jaw… he even smelled damn delicious. A true unicorn in a field of rhinos.

He also set my nerves on edge.

I’d never spoken to him, never touched him, but my hands shook and knees weakened whenever he stepped into the elevator. I’d heard rumors from my co-workers on Friday that the hottie from Davidoff Financial upstairs modeled for romance novel covers. The idea didn’t surprise me — he had the body and look for it — and boy, did I enjoy looking.

Not that I wanted him.

On Monday, one of my coworkers celebrated her fiftieth birthday, so I stopped by a bakery to get black-icing cupcakes. I carried the white box in front of me, so scared of dropping the damn thing that I didn’t take care when entering the elevator. Thinking I’d gone in far enough, I turned, and nailed the person shuffling in behind me with the box.
White cardboard — flimsy as shit — flew from my hands, and in slow motion just like a cartoon, it fell to the floor as I leapt toward the damn thing. “Shit! No!” I bit off the word as the box landed on leather loafers I knew well.

Heat crept up my chest, and I quickly squatted without lifting my head, pushing up my too-big glasses. “I’m so sorry!” I grabbed at the scattered cupcakes, smearing frosting all over my fingers — and his shoes.

“It’s okay.” That low, rumbly tone swept down my spine, straight to the loneliest place on earth, springing dampness to life between my thighs. “Let me help.”

Jamison Byrne in all his slow, seductive sexiness, crouched down in front of me, his jeans tightening across his thighs and showcasing a bulge worth drooling over. No wonder he modeled for romance novels.

My mouth watered, and I snapped my jaw shut to swallow, realizing I stared at his groin. My God. Pure heat flooded my face as the elevator door slid shut with only two others stepping in the join us in the mess I’d made.

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” I told him as our fellow patrons of the elevator shuffled around to stay away from the mess.

Jamison picked up a cupcake and dropped it in the askew box beside me, icing coating one of his fingers.

I wanted to lick it off. No, I just wanted his finger in my mouth.

My insides trembled like a bowl of gelatin, like the final leaves on the trees outside, and I refused to lift my gaze to his face. He was a mere three feet away, if I looked into his eyes, my insides would be wrecked, flooded with feelings topping out my feels-o-meter with its ten limit.

I leaned forward to grab the last cupcake at the same time he did. Our hands brushed, and lightening split my mind, tearing a gasp past my lips. My attention jerked up, my gaze landing on his face.

Dark eyes, so black they should have looked like a shark’s, with a dead and unfeeling gaze. But the intensity of his stare, the heat in those orbs pebbled my skin. My jaw slackened. Brain erupted in chaos, my feels-o-meter spiking beyond a mere ten.

He glanced at the ID hanging around my neck. “Kelly Sadel.”

Did I nod? I couldn’t remember, but I became very conscious of the fact my low-cut blouse revealed the girls spilling from my bra.

“Jamison Byrne.” He held out his hand.

“Y-yes, I know.” My voice shook as badly as my hands as I lifted up a bit to lessen the peek show and then shoved the box’s lid down, rudely ignoring his hand. No way in hell I could touch the man again. He’d already ruined a pair of my panties. “I mean — I don’t know. Er… well, I’ve heard of you, that is. Mr. Byrne of Davidoff Financial.”

His chuckle lit all kinds of butterflies in my stomach, and a shaky smile pullaed at my lips as I fought to control the turmoil in my brain.

“I’m sorry.” Heat flooded my cheeks anew. “I’m so, so sorry.” I struggled to stand, my purse dangling from my forearm, the wrecked box in my hands, my glasses tilting again. “I don’t even have a tissue to offer you for your shoes and I should. Allergy season, you know? The ragweed kills me every time this year.” The box wobbled in my shaking arms.

Jamison grasped my elbow and steadied me, jerking my gaze up to his face again. He towered over my five-foot-two, and his divine scent, spice with a hint of wintergreen… it stuck to my nose, coated my lungs. I couldn’t breathe him in deeply enough.

G-good God. So pretty. So golden. Beautiful, beautiful, boy…

“Steady?” he asked, his lush-looking lips still smiling.

I nodded like a dumb idiot even though I would much rather have said no in the hope his warm hold on my elbow would linger. What would that large hand feel like sliding up my arm to grasp my nape? Would I swoon if he lowered his head and swept his lips over mine? Lips, perfectly bowed and pink… soft looking. Delicious, actually —

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of hot 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.

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

Blog: http://authorlynnburke.blogspot.com/

Jackal (Devil’s Boneyard MC) by Harley Wylde #NewAdult #SingleMom #BikerRomance #MCromance #MayDecember #SecretBaby @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress

 

Jackal never wanted to be a dad, but knowing he has a two-year-old little girl changes everything.

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Contemporary, Second Chance, MC Romance,
New Adult, Silver Fox (older hero)

Josie: I spent an amazing three days with Jackal before he disappeared, back to his club, the Devil’s Boneyard. He’d made it clear what we had was a temporary thing — he never wanted the picket fence and kids. I was fine with that. Then I faced the scariest thing ever. Telling my big brother, Tank, a Dixie Reaper, I was pregnant and alone at the age of nineteen. He wanted to go after Jackal, but I wouldn’t let him. I wanted this baby, and I knew Jackal wouldn’t. I never expected to see him again. Funny how fate has a way of surprising you.

Jackal: I’ve thought about Josie often since I walked away from her over two years ago. When I’m finally back in Dixie Reapers territory, I knew I’d look her up, see if we could have some more fun. I never counted on the little girl glued to her hip, or the fact the kid was mine. So I did what I do best. I ran. But now I want something I’ve never wanted before. My family. Because Josie and our daughter, Allegra, are exactly what’s been missing in my life. I just have to do some groveling and hope she’ll forgive me. Easy, right? I’ve never had a woman tell me no.

Figures the one I want more than anything might be the first to send me packing. But when she gets an unexpected visitor who threatens her and our child, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe. Now that I’m ready to keep my woman and kid, I’m not letting anyone take them away.

WARNING: Lots of over the top hot sex, an alpha biker who just can’t seem to get it right, and an adorable little girl who will steal your heart. Guaranteed HEA. No cliffhanger.

Get it today at Changeling Press

Pre-Order for October 12th at:
Amazon / B&N / iTunes / Kobo 

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EXCERPT

I frowned at Scratch. “What do you mean they want me out of here?”

Scratch rubbed his beard. “I didn’t ask questions, but I’d imagine it has something to do with you fucking Tank’s sister the last time you were here. You ran off with her for a few days and I don’t think that went over well with big brother.”

“Shit, Scratch! She’s a grown woman and can make her own decisions. If she has a complaint about our time together, I want to hear it from her.”

He shrugged.

“Do you know where she lives?” I asked.

“I shouldn’t tell you,” Scratch said. “They don’t want you anywhere near her.”

“We’re brothers, man. Come on. I just want to talk to her. If she’s pissed at me, fine. I want to hear it from her.”

He watched me for a moment, then nodded. “I heard she’s been living with Tank. Green two-story house about two miles down the road,” he said, nodding to the left of the compound. “But if Tank beats the shit out of you for going after his sister, you’re on your own. You’ve already been warned away.”

“I’m just going to talk to her. If she wants me to leave, then I will.”

“Don’t stir shit up, Jackal. I’ll send you packing and ask someone else to come help. You hear me?” Scratch asked.

“Yeah. I hear you.”

I got on my bike and went in search of Tank’s house. The car parked in the driveway of the green house looked to be the same one that had been outside the clubhouse that night over two years ago. I killed the engine on my bike and walked up the porch steps, then knocked on the door. A slightly curvier Josie opened the door, her hair up in a messy bun, no make-up on her face, but fuck if she didn’t look gorgeous. Her hips seemed a little wider than before and her breasts looked bigger too. She damn near took my breath away, and I knew I was staring. There were dark circles under her eyes, and there was a yellow smear on her tank top, but I ached to reach for her.

I smiled. “Hi, Josie.”

Her eyes went wide and she stepped outside, pulling the door mostly shut behind her. She cast a nervous glance into the house before facing me again.

“What are you doing here, Jackal?”

“I came to help Zipper and I wanted to see you.”

She nervously looked over her shoulder again through the crack in the door, pulling it closed a little more before looking at me. Something was up, but I didn’t know what. I knew Tank wasn’t in there, so who was? Was there a guy in there she didn’t want me to see? I hadn’t really thought about her hooking up with someone while I was gone, but I should have. A beautiful redhead like Josie? She probably had men falling at her feet.

“You should go,” she said.

“Go, but… What’s going on, Josie? Are you pissed I didn’t call?” I glanced at the door, anger burning in my gut. “Is there someone else?”

“Please, Jackal. I can’t do this right now.”

She stepped back inside, careful that I wouldn’t see into the house, then shut the door. I heard the lock click and her footsteps wander away.

What the fuck was going on?

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Short. Erotic. Sweet. Harley’s other half would probably say those words describe her, but they also describe her books. When Harley is writing, her motto is the hotter the better. Off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place.

harleywylde.com

 

Love Reawakened by LM Spangler #NewRelease #RomanceBooks #SecondChances @authlmspangler @evernightpub

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Drea Tate had loved and lost … and gained.

Having been told her lover died and her life was in danger, Drea left her home in the Appalachian Mountains of Pennsylvania to start anew in Cicada Lake.

Micah Bridges had been lured to Cicada Lake by the hefty bounty for catching a wealthy bail jumper.

Imagine their surprise when they meet in the small town’s only bar. And imagine Micah’s surprise when Drea drops a photo of a young boy who looks just like him.

Lies had torn them apart. Can they reawaken the love they once shared? And is there enough love to go around?


Excerpt:

He stood and pulled her flush against his body. His mouth captured her in a brutal, soul-searing kiss before he lifted his head. “I love you.”
She rubbed the fingertips of her index and middle finger over her lower lip. “I love you, too.”
He grinned as the voices neared. “Good.”
The air around him began to swirl, becoming tornadic. The fire blew out and hot ashes rose, circling around him. Through the glowing haze, he saw her body blur then disappear into the whirlwind. She had become one with the gale.
Her alluring vanilla aroma—so enrapturing—blew away, making it impossible to follow her trail.
Knowing she was safe, he turned toward the brush as his uncle and cousin stepped into the small clearing.
His uncle lifted his nose and inhaled deeply. “So, your bitch eludes us again. No matter.”
His cousin threw his head back and laughed. “You won’t be alive long enough to worry about her anymore.”
“What do you mean?” the alpha-elect asked. Sounds of rustling underbrush signaled the approach of more people. His head turned from side to side. “What’s going on?”
His uncle smirked. “I should inform you that your father has met…” He paused for a moment. “An untimely demise.”
Anger rushed through the alpha-elect like a fireball. “He what?”
The rustling grew louder until four wolves stepped into the clearing.
“What the fuck is going on?”
The wolves surrounded the alpha-elect, circling menacingly.
“He’s dead. And soon you will be, too,” his cousin answered.
His uncle pointed and then all hell broke loose.
The wolves lunged. Claws slashed. Teeth bit. The alpha-elect was attacked on all sides. Pain tore through him as blood had begun to flow from multiple wounds.
Defenseless. It had happened so fast. He couldn’t fight back. He had his strength, but he was no match for four fully matured wolves. He fell to the ground and covered his head as the sound of growls and chomping jaws rent the air.
His life force started to waver. He’d lost too much blood.
He was going to die.
But his last thoughts weren’t of the unbearable, burning pain or betrayal.
They were of her.

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Buy Links:

Available at your favorite ebook retailer!

Book 2 Reads

https://www.books2read.com/ap/nlvm5x/LM-Spangler

 

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About LM:

She lives close to the Maryland border in South Central Pennsylvania. Her husband is wonderfully supportive of her in all aspects of her life. She has a son who is currently serving our country in the U.S. Navy. Her daughter is still in school. She’s blessed to have the three of them in her life.

From a young age, she remembers burying her nose in a book. A love that her mother and father passed onto her brother and herself. From her passion for reading sprang her love of writing Her mind is so often full of story ideas from the wildly paranormal to contemporary. She has notebooks lying about with story outlines and character descriptions. A song or TV show can spark an idea, which circles her mind until she puts the idea on paper.

When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, burying her nose in a book, and watching a vast variety of television shows from crime dramas to 1970’s game shows. She even dabbles in crafting. Her favorite craft would be jewelry making. Nothing like creating wearable art.

Social Media Links:

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