Friday, December 21, 2018

Can’t Get Enough by Harley Wylde #rockstar #NewRelease #newadult #RomanceBooks @HarleyW_Writer





Publisher: JCS Books
Cover Artist: Jessica Smith
Genres/Themes: Rockstar, New Adult, Erotic
Release Date: December 18, 2018


JACE

When Sinful Seduction made it big, my life changed, and not always in awesome ways. The groupies were great at first, until one decided to fake a pregnancy and claim the kid was mine. My bandmates had my back, and while the woman backed down fast when I demanded a paternity test, it still shook me. I knew it was time for another change, one where I kept my pants zipped. And then I saw her across the bar… the goddess with golden waves, and her sexy little librarian outfit. I knew she was different, and I wanted to make her mine. Should have known better than to get drunk in Vegas. You know how they say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? Bullshit. Total and complete bullshit. But maybe this time my mistake will turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.

HONEY

I dumped my cheating fiancée, hopped a plane to Vegas, and hit the latest writer’s convention. On what should have been my wedding day, I was throwing back drinks like they were fruit punch. To be fair, they probably had fruit punch in them. When I woke up the next morning with a hard body pressed to mine, and a silver band on a very important finger, I thought I’d screwed up more than ever before. Imagine my surprise when the wannabe rocker I married turned out to be even more famous than me --- and wait for it --- he wanted to stay married! Even with a battered heart, I still believed in happily-ever-after, but what could a rock star and a romance author have in common?

Chemistry… Intense, curl your toes, melt your panties chemistry. Relationships have been based on worse, right?

*WARNING: If you don’t like foul-mouthed bad boys, lots of hot sex, and an accidental marriage, then you should probably skip this book.


Available at Bookstrand, AmazonB&N Kobo, and iTunes

Releasing December 18th

 

PLAYLIST

  • Bad Girlfriend by Theory of a Deadman
  • M!ssundaztood by P!nk
  • Stand by R.E.M.
  • Carry on Wayward Son by Kansas
  • Cat's in the Cradle by Harry Chapin
  • Love Shack by B-52's
  • Hot Blooded by Foreigner
  • Feels Like the First Time by Foreigner
  • Informer by Snow
  • We Can't Stop by Miley Cyrus
  • Just Liek Fire by P!nk
  • Flashlight by Jessie J
  • How Long by Charlie Puth
  • Nancy Mulligan by Ed Sheeran
  • I'm Gonna Be by The Proclaimers
  • I Am Invincible by Cassadee Pope
  • My House by Flo Rida
  • Just a Dream by Nelly
  • See You Again by Wiz Khalifa
  • Tha Champion by Carrie Underwood
  • Thunder by Imagine Dragons
  • Kings & Queens by Mat Kearney
  • Badass by Neffex
  • Love Yourself by Justin Bieber
  • Angel by Shaggy
  • New Man by Ed Sheeran
  • Hallelujah by Pentatonix
  • Girls Like You by Marroon 5
  • Better Now by Post Malone
  • Natural by Imagine Dragons
  • Broken by lovelytheband
  • Never Enough by Loren Allred



Excerpt

(c) 2018, Harley Wylde
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

JACE

I stared into the crowd, their faces and writhing bodies a blur under the multi-hued lights. Sweat rolled down my temples and my spine as the lyrics poured out of me, more out of habit than passion. Fierce Seduction had been at the top of the charts for the past year as we’d toured the country. My fingers flew over the strings of my guitar, the riffs to the songs coming as easy as the women screaming my name. I couldn’t look at them without seeing her face, the stupid cunt who thought she was going to catch herself a one-way ticket to stardom.

It had been the week from hell. A groupie I’d fucked nearly a damn year ago contacted my manager, threatening to go public if I didn’t pay her a million dollars to keep quiet. She claimed the baby she’d had two weeks before was my son, but I knew better. I was super fucking cautious when it came to fucking the whores who threw themselves at me. I not only wore a condom, but I usually pulled out too. No way in hell I was getting trapped by some gold-digging bitch.

Fuck. Would this concert never end? We were playing Vegas, and the venue was sold out. It was our last show before heading home on Monday. The band had agreed we’d play Friday night, then fuck around for two days on the strip before flying back to L.A. Best fucking idea ever. I wasn’t big into gambling, but the bar at the Bellagio was calling my name. I was certain they had several bottles of vodka with my name on them. I just hadn’t decided if I was celebrating the fact that the kid wasn’t mine or trying to drown myself over the fuckery that was my life. When you’d fucked enough women that they all blurred together, and your reputation was so tattered those same women thought they could blackmail you, then maybe it was time to get off the merry-go-round.

The last few bars of the song played out, our final for this show, and I couldn’t wait to get the hell off the stage. The fans screamed and catcalled, all of them wanting a piece of us. It had been a thrill a minute when the stardom had first hit. I couldn’t believe how lucky we’d been, or that we were finally riding the top of the charts. There was this huge rush when we took the stage, or when some hot college girl tossed her panties at me, or better yet, informed me she wasn’t wearing any. I’d definitely earned my reputation as a panty dropper. I’d been proud as hell of the way women fawned all over me, until that wake-up call last week. Nothing can kill your buzz quicker than some chick claiming she got knocked up with your kid, some faceless stranger you fucked and forgot. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I’d ever learned her name before bending her over.

Backstage, I snagged a bottle of water and guzzled the entire damn thing. Tossing it into the trash, I braced myself for what came next. The adoring fans who had backstage passes. A VIP room had been set up for the occasion, and I knew those women only wanted one thing. To lay claim to one of us for the night, hell, even for an hour.

“You in a hurry to get your dick wet?” Simon asked with a leer. “A room full of free pussy, and it’s all ours for the taking.”

“I’m signing some autographs then I’m getting the fuck out of here,” I said as I stormed down the hallways toward a fate worse than death.

“Since when do you turn away free pussy?”

“Since Rochelle.” I’d tried not to utter that cunt’s name, but it was ingrained in my memory ever since I’d gotten the letter from her attorney.

Simon winced. “That was some rotten luck, but it all worked out. You demanded that paternity test and proved her to be the fucking liar that she is. You’re not going to let one woman fuck with your head like that, are you?”

I shrugged and pushed through the doors to the VIP room. The squeals and shrieks assaulted my ears as about six pairs of hands reached for me. Revulsion rolled through me as I looked at their too-heavy makeup and skin tight clothes. Why had I ever been attracted to women like these? They were desperate and didn’t care who they hurt, as long as they got what they wanted. Me.

Signing whatever they thrust my way—paper, water bottles, boobs—I finally made my way through the crowd and out the doors on the opposite side. When I rushed outside of the venue, I ignored the screaming fans, trusting that security would keep them off my back while I disappeared into the night. I took several detours, making sure I wasn’t followed, and finally arrived at the Bellagio. I’d stayed here before when I wasn’t touring with the band, and as I stepped inside, it felt like the building was welcoming me back. The place was packed, but I managed to find a spot at the end of the bar. Hopefully out of sight of everyone but the bartender.

I motioned for him to come over and ordered six shots of vodka. They burned on the way down as I slammed one after another. It would take a hell of a lot more to get me shitfaced, but it was a decent start. The next hour blurred as I downed everything from vodka to whiskey to Jagermeister.  I felt warm, and loose, and completely blissed out by the time I noticed her.

My eyes took in the neat updo and the prim glasses perched on her nose. The way she sipped at the fruity drink in front of her made me think this wasn’t her usual scene. The dress she had on was sexy yet sedate. Fuck if she didn’t make me burn hotter than the god damn sun. Her lips, a succulent berry color, fit around the straw of her red drink, and I watched as her gaze flitted around the room. The jackass next to her was so fucking drunk he nearly knocked her off the barstool twice, earning the creep a glare that would have made a cross nun proud. I half expected her to whip out a ruler and rap his knuckles with it.

Whoever this angel was, I knew I wanted to find out more about her, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to do that sitting way over here. I shouldered my way through the crowd and shoved the drunk off his stool before claiming it for myself. She blinked up at me in surprise, the blue depths of her eyes pulling me in. The angel licked her lips as she leaned a little closer.

Holy Hell.

“Thank you,” she murmured, a slight slur to her words. Just how many of those drinks had she had?
“I won’t knock you off your stool, but I can’t promise I won’t sweep you off your feet.”

What. The. Fuck. Did that shit really just come out of my mouth?

She giggled, and her cheeks flushed pink. It was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen. She had this sexy librarian vibe going and my fingers itched to get her out of that dress. Was she wearing plain cotton underneath or something lacy and hot as fuck? I’d never chased a woman before, but this little beauty was enough to knock me to my knees. Yeah, I’d gladly worship at the altar of…

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Honey.”

My eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Honeysuckle. My mother was a hippy.”

Oh yeah, I’d gladly worship at the altar of Honey.

“Jace,” I said, holding out my hand.




About Harley

International Bestselling Author.

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.

Visit Harley on her website, or you can follow her on BookBub or Amazon!


Thursday, December 20, 2018

Capone by Lynn Burke #contemporary #romance #MCRomance #Erotic #Series #HEA

Capone

Fallen Gliders 4
Cover Art: Jay Aheer, Simply Defined Art
Release Date: December 20, 2018
#MCRomance #Erotic #Series #HEA

Being called a pussy and pansy-ass his entire life led Jeremiah “Capone” Caldwell to join the Fallen Gliders, a motorcycle gang known for its rough ways, hard partying, and womanizing. Not that he needed help with the last. His charming smile and baby blues make it easy to get into the panties of whatever woman he sets his eyes on.

​Except for Helina Bodnar.

The sexy siren is a lawyer, an independent spirit who refuses to bow to someone like the narcissistic assholes from her childhood. Jaded, she judges Capone’s character by the “67” inked on his neck, and although her body wants to let loose with the attraction sizzling between them, she knows he’s no good for her. Giving into lust proves easier than denying sexual gratification, however, leaving one bitter and the other brokenhearted.

When a rat spills Glider secrets to the police, Capone knows there is only one woman who might be able to get them off the hook. Will he be the real man Helina longs for, the one he truly is inside, or will the man he portrays to the world lose her forever?

​PURCHASE LINKS:



ADULT EXCERPT:

She unlocked the door of an office, but I didn’t pay attention beyond anything but getting her alone, somewhere I could give her what I’d denied her before she’d passed out in my arms the weekend before. Through a reception area that smelled like new furniture, through an inner office door, and Helina tossed her purse aside. She turned, but I stepped close, spun her around again, pulling her back against my chest.

I bent enough to slide my hand up beneath her skirt, my face buried in her neck.

No fucking panties.

I groaned in her ear while her pussy coated my hand with wetness as I cupped her. “Christ…”

“You had better deliver,” she said, pulling away.

The dimness of the office barely allowed me to see two large windows with heavy wooden blinds—closed to outside foot traffic—and a very large desk, half-covered with papers and boxes.
Helina hopped onto the edge and leaned back.

I didn’t need a verbal invitation, but dropped to my knees and lifted hers, placing her high heels on the edge of the desk. Her scent swarmed over me, and I leaned in for a deep breath.

“So fucking sweet.”

The first slow lick from her ass to her clit had her cursing. The second, she grabbed at my hair, nails digging into my scalp. “Holy shit.” She gasped as I latched my teeth onto her clit and nibbled.

“Oh…”

Smiling, I slid lower again, licking every crease, every indent of her body, lapping up the arousal slipping from her swollen pussy lips. Puffy and quivering, she was slickened enough two of my fingers slid into her tight sheath with ease. I curled my fingers and gently rubbed, finding the roughened spot that lifted her back off the desk.

“God, yes, right there.” She moaned and lifted her hips higher.

“You like my fingers in you, darlin’?”

“Fuck, yes.”

I pumped in and out a few times, soaking up the whimpers panting past her lips. She complained when I replaced my fingers with my mouth, but uttered another lust-laced curse as I shoved my tongue inside of her body.

“Oh, fuck. Don’t stop!”

Lazily, I meandered up through her folds again until my lips brushed over her clit.

“Fuck me with your fingers,” she said, holding my head tight to her.

Only too happy to oblige, I did as told, pressing in deep and rubbing that elusive spot.

“God.” A few curses spilled from her lips as I thrust and rubbed, my teeth nibbling away at the swollen nub, my nose buried in the trimmed hair atop her pubis. Tangy, soft, and sweet, her pussy was better than any candy or liquor.

“I’m going to come.” She moaned the words, her hips rocking up with every thrust of my fingers, her thighs tightening against my ears. Holding me still as if she could stop me from denying her again.

As fucking if.

Helina gasped once … twice, and her back arched off the desk. With a whining cry, she came, her pussy grasping at my fingers in pulsing waves, cum drenching my knuckles. “Don’t. Stop.” She swallowed between the words, a half-gasped, half-moaned intake of air on its heels as I pulled her clit taunt with my teeth. A flick of my tongue over the hardened flesh sent another spasm through her body. “Fuck!”

Cum gushed from her pussy, sliding down my fingers to coat my knuckles and drip to the floor.
I slid my tongue up atop her clit a few more times, coaxing every last whimper from her lips. Her body released my fingers with a wet, sucking sound, and I licked both clean, inhaling until my lungs hurt. A kiss on the inside of each thigh, and I stood, my straining dick pressed between her lax thighs.

Helina sighed, and I cursed the darkness of the office. I wanted to see her face, her eyes. See the satisfaction, the bliss of a sated woman.

I placed my hands on her knees and slid them along the insides of her thighs, pressing between her skin and my jeans to rub my thumbs along my hard length. “You taste even better than I remembered.”

“And that was better than I expected.”

Grinning, I moved back, but she grasped my wrist before I could step away.

“You’re not done yet.”

My brow shot up at her tone, but fuck if her bossiness didn’t twitch my already pain-hardened cock. “That a fact?”

“Mmm.” She sat and grabbed hold of me through my jeans, her grip bringing more pre-cum to my dick’s throbbing head. “There’s no way in hell you didn’t stash a few condoms in your jeans somewhere.”

“I might have one or two.”

Helina released me and sat back, propped up on her elbows. “Get one out. I want your cock in me.”

I bit back my brain’s “yes, ma’am” and offered a cocky grin even though she wouldn’t be able to see me clearly. “Ask nicely,” I said instead, fighting at the discomfort of the alpha male skin I’d been trying to live in for over five years.

I couldn’t see her glare, but sure as fuck could feel it singeing my face. “Sheathe that hard cock and fuck me.”
© Lynn Burke 2018


ABOUT LYNN BURKE:
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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.
Website: https://www.authorlynnburke.com/
Blog: http://authorlynnburke.blogspot.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Author-Lynn-Burke-555282497937461/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorLynnBurke
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorlynnburke/
Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/authorlynnburke
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/lynn-burke

Wednesday, December 19, 2018

The Son’s of Gomorrah 3: Angel’s Eye by Katerina Ross



The Sons of Gomorrah 3. Angel’s Eye by Katerina Ross

Publisher: Evernight Publishing

Published: 14 December 2018

Length: 25,000

Keywords: M/M, paranormal, dark, bdsm

Add to Goodreads


The Sons of Gomorrah is a paranormal M/M series set in Prague. It’s a beautiful city where anything magical might happen…but sometimes it’s dark magic.

For Tristan Todorov, formerly a freelance magician and now a consultant on occult matters, living with an incubus turns out to be rather challenging. Not only because there’s little information on incubi, Gomorrah pleasure demons. Jarek, the one he has a contract with, has a fiery personality and a dark past, and sometimes he’s a mystery Tristan can’t decipher. When Tristan ends up in possession of an illegal artifact with peculiar powers, he hopes it might help him and Jarek to finally understand each other. Will it be a blessing indeed—or a curse that might put them both in danger?


Purchase links: The Sons of Gomorrah on Amazon

Angel’s Eye on Amazon

Angel’s Eye on Smashwords

Angel’s Eye at Evernight Publishing (it’s cheaper here!)



Now for an Excerpt: 

In the shower, Tristan discovered there was a bruise where Jarek had been gripping his hip, in addition to the hickeys. He poked at it experimentally. It was strangely enticing, to be marked like that. He wouldn’t mind if Jarek joined him, like he often did, and explored his skin under the hot spray in search for more marks of the same origin, but Jarek stayed away this time and Tristan couldn’t muster enough cheekiness to call him.

During breakfast, they always bumped into each other in the tiny kitchen, and Tristan liked it. Particularly when Jarek wore nothing but boxers, like now, and sometimes even less. Today, however, Jarek kept his distance, and it was a tad worrying, but Tristan withheld from commenting on it.

It wasn’t until Tristan started washing the dishes when Jarek finally slipped closer. Very close. He caged Tristan in against the counter, one arm on each side of his body, not quite pinning him but also not giving him anywhere to go. He licked a swath of skin below Tristan’s ear, which was a nice way to start a conversation.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I? Tonight.”

Maybe it was easier for him to talk when Tristan wasn’t looking.

It was the same for Tristan. If it made Jarek forget his nightmare, he didn’t mind a little rough, and he had no problem with saying that, face to face. But he had something else to admit, and it was better doing it like this.

“Uh. I liked it, actually.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Jarek whispered into his nape. His hands hiked up Tristan’s t-shirt, slid underneath it, but not demanding this time, just tenderly wandering up and down Tristan’s flanks. “I … you see, it wasn’t … I wouldn’t normally…”

Jarek seemed to be uncharacteristically out of words.

Tristan turned, facing him now, but still pinned to the counter by Jarek’s whole body.

“It’s really fine. I know you would have stopped if I said I didn’t like it.”

Jarek avoided his gaze.

“I’m usually more … calculating. In the sense, how would it feel for you if I do this, how you’re going to respond if I do that. I’m not supposed to be…”

“…enjoying yourself?”

“More like losing control. Don’t get me wrong, I get off on this kind of scheming. I guess it’s natural for incubi, watching for reactions, striving to get it right. It’s part of the fun, doing a detective’s work while shagging. Or a psychologist’s. So I’m enjoying myself perfectly well. But tonight … it was a bit egotistic, wouldn’t you say?”

Tristan leaned in to nip at Jarek’s lower lip, rubbed his nose against Jarek’s. “Hey, it’s called spontaneous sex.”

Jarek sighed like he hadn’t been entirely convinced, but answered with a slow open-mouthed kiss to Tristan’s chin, licking down his neck after that to lave at the spots where he’d left suck marks last night.

“Sorry about those,” he murmured. He sounded genuinely apologetic.

Tristan let out a small laugh, embarrassed to confess they fascinated him. “That could be a way to tell us two from each other, I guess.”

“You could mark me, too, if you want,” Jarek suggested, but there was unusual hesitancy in his voice.


About the author: Katerina Ross lives in Russia and works as a journalist. There are no M/M romance publishers in her country, so she writes hot and kinky M/M stories in English.


Author Web Links

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/people/Katerina-Ross/100012647831003

Blog: http://tenderlywicked.tumblr.comWebsite: https://katerinaross.com

Tuesday, December 18, 2018

Book Blast ~ What a Widow Wants by Jenna Jaxon


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jenna Jaxon will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn commenter.

Widowed by the Battle of Waterloo, the ladies of Lyttlefield Park are returning to London society—with their futures in their own hands . . .

The widowed Lady Stephen Tarkington, Fanny to her friends, has finished mourning her cad of a husband and is ready to enjoy her freedom. The kind of freedom neither a gently bred miss nor a close-watched wife is permitted: dressing up as Aphrodite for a masquerade, drawing gentlemen away from the party, and hinting at late-night assignations with her dance partners. All is going pleasurably according to plan—until the Roman god Fanny kisses during a masquerade turns out to be Matthew, Lord Lathbury, whose proposal she refused years ago . . .

Lathbury is charming, passionate, inventive, everything Fanny wants in a lover—but unfortunately, he’s on the hunt for a wife. He’s more than willing to use all his wicked skills to persuade her back to the altar, but he can’t wait forever. And now Fanny’s position is more precarious than she once thought. If the tongues of the ton set to wagging, it’s possible no offer in the world will save her from ruin. But does she want to be saved? . . .

Read an Excerpt:

Heart pounding, Fanny ran on tiptoes in an effort to keep up with him. This was madness. Wherever was he taking her? And what on earth did he have in mind? Oh, but she knew what that was. That deep desire in his eyes told her exactly where his intentions lay. Would she allow him to have his way with her? She didn’t quite recognize him; the mask hid just enough of his face. Still he reminded her of someone. Someone who had been most dear to her what seemed a lifetime ago. But that man had left London, swearing never to return to the ton years before. He’d retreated to his country estate and had not been seen in Town for seven years.

They raced down the corridor, Pollux still in the lead, Castor right behind her. That gave her some comfort. Pollux wouldn’t ravish her in front of his brother, or friend rather. Still, the urgency of his headlong flight, dodging wide-eyed guests left and right, persuaded her that this man would stop at nothing to get her alone.

He turned a corner into a deserted hall and slowed finally. Stopping at a door on the far end, he glanced around then put his hand on the latch. “Keep watch, Cas. No one enters.”

Castor grinned. “Not a soul, Pol. My word as a gentleman.”

Pollux pushed down the latch, opened the door into a shadowy room, and drew her inside.

The flickering fireplace across the room gave the only light. Fanny’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness. A moment in which Pollux pulled her hard against him, crushing her breasts against his unyielding chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to him, and sank his mouth onto hers.

About the Author:
Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author of historical romance in all time periods because, she says, “passion is timeless.” She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, Jenna has always loved a dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to incorporate all of these elements into her own stories. She’s a theatre director when she’s not writing and lives in Gloucester, Virginia with her family, including two very vocal cats and one silent one.

Jenna is a PAN member of Romance Writers of America as well as an active member of Chesapeake Romance Writers, her local chapter of RWA. She has four series currently available: The House of Pleasure, set in Georgian England, Handful of Hearts, set in Regency England, and Time Enough to Love, set in medieval England and France, and The Widows’ Club series, also set in Regency England and available from Kensington Publishing in both print and digital.

She currently writes to support her chocolate habit.

Find Jenna Jaxon online:

BLOG: https://jennajaxon.wordpress.com/
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/Jenna_Jaxon
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jenna-Jaxon/146857578723570
AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE: https://www.amazon.com/Jenna-Jaxon/e/B005CHPBD2/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1

Buy the book at https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1516103297/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i6
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/what-a-widow-wants-jenna-jaxon/1128297334

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Monday, December 17, 2018

Blossom and the Alien Actor by Jessica Coulter Smith #scifi #aliens #NewRelease #holidaybooks #Christmas #singlemomromance @kitcatjms @changelingpress

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Blossom and the Alien Actor (Intergalactic Brides 19)

Publisher: Changeling Press 
Cover Artist: Karen Fox 
Genres/Themes: Christmas, Scifi, Futuristic, Alien Encounters 
Length: 139 pages


Blossom has struggled all her life, never able to claw her way out of the worst neighborhood in Los Angeles. Her loser ex-boyfriend isn’t who she thought he was, and now she’s in deep trouble -- but Christmas is the time for miracles, and Blossom needs one now more than ever. She just doesn’t expect her miracle to arrive in such a sexy, purple package. When the notorious alien actor Brexton knocks on her door, she does what any rational woman would do -- she slams it in his face. Wishing for a miracle is one thing, but having the heartthrob of Hollywood on her doorstep isn’t what she had in mind.

Brexton has always wanted a mate and family, though he’s never been blessed with either. When he hears about a single mom who’s in trouble, he knows he can’t leave her to face her fate. Having a door slammed in his face hadn’t factored into his plans, but that one glimpse is enough for Brexton. He’d do anything to get another look at the sexy female with blue hair, and a body that would feature in all his future dreams.

Despite danger lurking around every corner, Brexton is determined to give Blossom and her children a Christmas they’ll always remember. Now that he has the family he’s always wanted, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe, and hopefully share the first of many holidays with his new mate and kids.



Also available at Amazon, B&N, iTunes, and Kobo


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All rights reserved. 
Copyright ©2018 Jessica Coulter Smith


Brexton left the studio and climbed into the SUV he’d bought after his first movie contract. He’d been assured it was a good quality vehicle, but truthfully, humans had too many brands and names for things. Other than price, he didn’t understand the difference in a BMW and a Ford. They all had four wheels and could take you where you needed to be. Yes, some seemed nicer inside than others, and he’d learned that some had more buttons and options inside, but it seemed the name on the car often made them cost more, which made little sense to him. His manager had helped him select this vehicle with the blue and white emblem on the front. It was roomy enough for his large frame and the seats were comfortable. Nothing else mattered to Brexton.

He drove straight to the Terran station, hoping to find someone to help them. He might have been a warrior, once, but those days were behind him. Others would be better qualified to protect a woman and her children. There would be guards at the station with current warrior status, those who still practiced hand-to-hand combat, and had learned about the weapons on this world. Brexton had decided to focus his attention elsewhere, but he hadn’t taken into account the way humans were always hurting one another. He might need to schedule some training time, re-hone the kills he’d probably lost over the last ten years, in case he ever needed to defend a female or children.

He’d never been one of the elite, and he’d often wonder if it had to do with his DNA. While both his parents were Zelthranites, there was a faint trace of something else in his blood. It wouldn’t have been noticeable except Zelthranite males didn’t grow facial hair other than eyebrows, and Brexton had a full beard. He’d asked the doctors on his world about it, and they’d assured him that he had Zelthranite blood, but it seemed he was a throwback to hundreds of years ago. It had made him different, and on his world, different wasn’t always a good thing. Here he was accepted, which was why he’d left his home world at the age of nineteen. By that time, he’d been a warrior for three years and known he wasn’t right for that life.

As he entered the station, the human female at the front desk got a dreamy expression on her face. He’d seen that look before and braced himself for whatever she might say or do. He knew without the human fans, he wouldn’t have a lucrative career as an actor, but this was the part of his job he hated. Since his people were already celebrities of a sort on Earth, he hadn’t seen the harm in following this particular path. He hadn’t counted on being ten times more famous than he’d already been, and there were times it was a right pain.

“Brexton!” the human said, smiling and giving him a wave, like they were old friends. “How can I help you today? Is the new movie going well?”

He forced himself to smile. “It’s going well. Everything is on schedule.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Maybe you could give me a tour of the studio sometime?”

“The studio does offer tours. I would be happy to put your name on the list.”

Her enthusiasm died a little when she realized he wasn’t going to personally take her around. Money and fame mattered entirely too much to the human species. It seemed to be how they determined who was worth their time and who wasn’t. He had yet to meet a genuine person, but he’d been told it had a lot to do with being part of the Hollywood elite. Apparently, he attracted the wrong type of person.

“I need to speak to the guards,” he said. “Who is on duty right now?”

She tapped at her computer a moment, then gave him a list of names and where to find them. Out of the names mentioned, he knew that Ranvik had the highest warrior ranking, and would be his best bet for saving that little family. He made his way through the station until he found the warrior surveying the departure area for the latest shuttle sending potential brides to his home world.

“Ranvik,” he said as he approached.

“If it isn’t Mr. Famous,” Ranvik said. His expression didn’t change. “To what do we owe the honor? It’s not often you grace us with your presence.”

“I see you’ve picked up human sarcasm rather well.”

Ranvik shrugged. “Have to do something to pass the time. Policing human females gets boring.”

“I need your help, or rather a human family does.”

Now he had the warrior’s attention. “What type of help?”

“I was informed there is a human female and her children who are in danger.” Brexton told the warrior what little he knew of the situation and showed him the address the human had put into his phone.

Ranvik rubbed a hand against his jaw. “I don’t have anyone to spare right now. Things are always dull at the station, but we still have to make sure all points are covered in case there’s ever trouble.”

“But this woman…”

“You were a warrior once, Brexton. I know you were young when you were training, and it’s been a long time, but those skills will still be there when you need them. You have to trust in yourself, in your abilities. You may be an actor here on Earth, but never forget who you truly are.”

He snorted. He knew who he was, and it wasn’t a proud warrior. That had never been a title he could claim. Even when he’d trained daily, he’d been average at best. Not like the warrior standing in front of him. Ranvik had a reputation back home, and the nearly forty-year-old warrior would be much better suited to rescuing the woman and her kids. What if Brexton fucked it all up? Being in the spotlight meant his every move was criticized. If the female’s boyfriend attacked and Brexton had to defend himself, someone was bound to make it sound like Brexton was at fault. He’d learned that humans tended to blame those in a position of power, whether they were responsible or not.

“I’m sorry, truly. I just can’t spare anyone right now,” Ranvik said. “And it doesn’t sound like this female and her children can afford to wait until I have time to look into it.”

Brexton ran a hand through his hair. “If I get shot, I’m going to come back and kick your ass.”

Ranvik smirked. “You could try.”

“Fine. I’ll go check on the female. But what the hell am I supposed to do with her? I figured the station would have the resources necessary to get her somewhere safely, or give her a temporary place to stay.”

“Don’t you have some massive house with like fifteen bedrooms?” Ranvik asked.

“It’s eight, not fifteen, asshole.”

Ranvik raised a brow. “Right. One male and eight bedrooms. I can’t imagine where you could possibly put one small human and her kids.”

“Take them home with me?” It was true that he had a lot of security at his home, and it would be difficult for the male to attack the small family, or kidnap them. He just hadn’t considered keeping them after he removed them from the situation.

“You’ll figure it out, superstar,” Ranvik said. “Now get the hell out of here. All the potential brides are eyeing you like a piece of candy and seem hesitant to get onto the shuttle.”

He glanced at the women and realized Ranvik spoke the truth. They were all giving him that look he’d come to think of as the be my sugar daddy simper. It never worked on him, and irritated the hell out of him, but it didn’t stop them from trying. He really did need a mate, if for no other reason than to keep the vultures away, but Zelthranites mated for life and he had yet to find a sweet, kind, genuine female he could spend his days with, and not worry that she was after his money.

Brexton left the Terran station and went back out to his car. He sighed when he saw two women lurking next to the vehicle. With some luck, they’d just want an autograph, but he was seldom that fortunate. At least, not with single females. He’d even had a few married ones hit on him, right in front of their spouses. It was shocking, and disgusting. Where he came from, mates were faithful to one another and completely devoted to each other. The lack of integrity he’d witnessed in the humans he dealt with didn’t inspire great confidence that he would ever find a mate. Not here anyway. There were other worlds that had compatible females for his kind, but the small humans had always been appealing to Brexton.

Compared to a human male, he was rather large. He’d met a few human males who were his size, but most were quite a bit shorter and not as broad. More than one human female had told him that he was intimidating, especially with his beard and longer hair. Brexton wasn’t going to try to change his appearance though. He hadn’t conformed when he’d been on his world, and he wasn’t about to start now. Besides, his size and overall looks were a sort of trademark at this point in his career.

As he neared the address on his phone, he realized the neighborhood was worse than he’d thought. Most buildings and homes had their windows boarded, and graffiti covered their walls. The fences he saw had barbed wire topping them, and every single male seemed to be armed. What he didn’t see were any law enforcement vehicles. No wonder this part of town was so out of control. No one seemed to care what happened to the people who lived here.

Brexton pulled to a stop outside of an apartment building that looked like it might fall down in a stiff breeze. He got out of his SUV and set the alarm before approaching the five-story brick structure. Movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, but it was just a pack of rats scurrying into the drain. The vermin didn’t bother him like they did some people, but he knew he had to get the little family out of this place.

The door swung open easily enough, which made him frown. There was absolutely no security for a female and her children. He doubted that she would live here if she had other options, although not many humans he’d met acted in a way that made sense to him. He didn’t know what to expect when he met her. He’d seen some females on corners as he’d gotten near the address, and they’d looked hard and far too thin. The makeup caked on their faces had made them seem harsh, and he hated they’d fallen so far. Assuming they’d ever known anything other than this poverty.

Brexton found the apartment number the female at the studio had entered into his phone and he knocked, the door shaking under the force of his fist. One hard blow, and he could probably break the damn thing. He heard whispers on the other side of the door, then it opened a crack. A chain ran across the inside not quite six feet up, but even that looked incredibly weak. The small female who peered through the opening didn’t stand a chance if someone was determined to break into her home.
“I was told you need assistance,” he said, and watched as her eyes went wide.

The door slammed shut and he wondered if maybe he should have gone about this a different way. After a moment, it slowly opened, this time without the chain in place, and the dainty female looking up at him nearly took his breath away. The way his heart was racing, he started to think maybe he was the one who needed help. His body had an instant reaction to the petite blue-haired pixie, and he hoped she didn’t notice. In all his years on Earth, he’d never once had a female affect him so strongly. Something inside of him was screaming mine.

Things had definitely taken an unexpected turn.


ABOUT JESSICA


Award-winning author Jessica Coulter Smith has been in love with the written word since she was a child writing her first stories in crayon. Today she's a multi-published author of over seventy-five novellas and novels. Romance is an integral part of her world and she firmly believes that love will find you at the right time, even if Mr. Right is literally out of this world.

Find Jessica on Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / jessicacoultersmith.com.


Friday, December 14, 2018

Good With His Hands by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #romance #steamy #shortstory



Layla is enjoying a beautiful moorland walk in the English countryside when suddenly, clouds start to roll in. The weather was forecast to be fine all day, so Layla is woefully unprepared when the heavens
open and her visibility is reduced to next to nothing. Trying hard not to panic, she carefully makes her way towards a remote hut she spotted before the fog descended. When she arrives, though, she discovers park ranger Stuart already there, and luckily for her, he’s much more prepared than she is, and they soon find a way to pass the time until the storm blows over.

Note: Good With His Hands was previously published in the Down and Dirty boxed set.

Buy links:

Amazon: http://mybook.to/goodwithhishands

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/good-with-his-hands-lucy-felthouse/1129960024

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/good-with-his-hands/id1445209735?mt=11

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/good-with-his-hands-15

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/910076?ref=cw1985

*****

Now for an Excerpt:

Anticipation seeped into Layla’s body, increasing with every second that ticked by. Each handhold she groped for, each push off with her feet brought her that bit closer to the moorland plateau she’d been wanting to explore ever since she’d seen photos of it in a Facebook group a few weeks ago. She was a keen hiker—or walker, she’d never really understood what the difference was between the two—but she’d always stuck to places she knew well, or had at least visited a couple of times before, mainly because she always walked alone, and getting lost was bad enough without doing it by yourself.

But one Sunday evening, after a flurry of yet more stunning photographs of the area had been uploaded to the group, Layla made up her mind. The following Sunday, she would join the seemingly scores of people that headed up to the dramatic-looking gritstone edge in Derbyshire’s Peak District every weekend, no matter the weather. Hikers, climbers, fell runners… they all raved about the place, despite the crowds. And if she did get lost, well, she’d just ask one of them for directions. No problem. Then, providing it was indeed as amazing as the photo-uploaders proclaimed it to be, she’d add it to her list of regular haunts. It’d make a refreshing change from her usual low-level trail walks.

Now she was beginning to understand what all the fuss was about, and she wasn’t even at the top yet. After leaving the relative familiarity of the car park, she’d trekked up a slight incline through some dense woods—surprised to pass only one or two small groups of people on the way. She’d expected it to look like London’s Oxford Street but with outdoorsy types in hefty boots and backpacks instead of shoppers with umbrellas and carrier bags. The moment she’d stepped from the shadow of the woods, the landscape had opened up in front of her and she’d got a real sense of how special it was. Then she’d glanced up and to her right and, taking in the height of the edge she had yet to climb, realised she hadn’t seen the half of it yet.

With one last push to get her onto a particularly large boulder, then a small step, she was there. On the gritstone edge, the moorland plateau—whatever you wanted to call it. As she took a couple of tentative steps forward and looked around, she decided she wanted to call it heaven. It was like nowhere she’d ever been before—so removed from everyday life that she was half convinced she’d stepped onto the moon, except it was unmistakably England. Wild, untamed, rugged, but England nonetheless. How had she never been up here before? And were there more places like it? She suddenly felt like the worst kind of ignorant city dweller—her walks up until now had made a mockery of wearing walking boots. She may as well have done it in flip flops.

She turned at the sound of voices behind her, and moved aside to let a group of three men in their early twenties pass. They had enormous, weirdly-shaped bags strapped to their backs, and yet strode along—exchanging smiles and nods with her when they drew level—as though their burdens weighed nothing.

Layla shook her head incredulously and started to follow in their footsteps. She didn’t need to consult her walk instructions yet—there was only one path, deliberately keeping footfall to a dedicated area for conservation purposes, according to a snippet of text she remembered reading on her printout. The trail stayed close to the edge—not so close as to be dangerous, but close enough to afford the most amazing views. The ground beneath her feet was made up of mud, rough grasses, rocks and boulders in shades of grey, brown, and black, scrubby bushes, and what she suspected was heather. To her left, the stunning countryside went on for as far as the eye could see, with delightfully twisted trees in the foreground, followed by brown and green fields, woodlands, moorlands, and more fields, broken up only very occasionally by a road—often only identifiable by the moving glint of light that passed along them—vehicles highlighted by the reflection of the sun off their metalwork. It’d be incredibly easy to forget civilisation even existed while she was up here.

*****
About the Author:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Heiress’s Harem series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter



Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

Thursday, December 13, 2018

Rory's Christmas Angel by Laura M Baird #contemporary #romance #christmas



Rory and Frankie aren't looking for love, but fate has other plans, showing them Christmas miracles really can come true.

Widower, Florida State Trooper Rory Sanders encounters ex-Naval nurse, Frankie Chandler, assisting at a road-side accident. One look has him bewildered at his instant attraction. Is it a sign that he’s ready to open his heart in order to find love again?

While pursuing her degree in veterinary science as well as helping raise her young nephew, Frankie doesn’t have time for a relationship. But fate has no concept of time when the striking Rory Sanders bursts onto the scene.

Now for an Excerpt:


Rory ran to the scene and catalogued what was happening. An older man stood by while a younger man and a woman were crouched down attempting to pull someone out of the car. He couldn’t see the woman’s face as her back was to him. All he could see was a red and black flannel shirt atop jeans that fit snugly to a shapely backside.

Jesus! What’s wrong with you? You’re at an accident, not here to ogle this woman!

As he got closer, he heard the woman yell, “Three!” And everything seemed to happen at once. He heard the clicking of the seat belt, and he saw rapid movements of the man and woman cradling the victim as they carefully maneuvered him out of the crunched car. He saw the woman turn and bright green eyes collided with his, leaving him momentarily stunned. Short blond hair haloed her face as a rosy blush colored her cheeks. Probably from the exertion. Or more likely from the heat of the car which suddenly had flames bursting from the engine compartment.

“Move!” the woman yelled.

While they scrambled to pull the man further away from the vehicle, Rory shot forward to assist. He grabbed near the victim’s shoulders while the woman held the torso and the younger man moved to hold the legs. Together, they got the victim a safe distance from the burning car before setting him down, he and the woman kneeling at his upper body. Looking at the man, he noticed a gash across his forehead that was bleeding freely, and he appeared unresponsive.

Before Rory could act, the woman was tearing off her flannel to reveal a black tank top beneath. As well as more shapely anatomy. Rory tried hard not to stare at the generous breasts and the well-toned arms, at the intricate tattoo gracing an arm—the design he couldn’t quite make out due to the woman’s quick movements.

“He’s unresponsive!” she yelled. “Hold this to his head while I start CPR.” She shoved her shirt into Rory’s hands while she assessed for a pulse. She must have felt one, because her next step had been to check for breathing. As her cheek hovered above the victim’s mouth, she looked down at the man’s chest. Her next move then had been to tilt the chin up and pinch this nose while she gave breaths.

Oh, to have that beautiful face so near to him. To have those lips touch his.

Rory shook his head to clear his incredible thoughts, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

“His pulse is faint but he’s not breathing,” she said. “I’ll continue breaths until the ambulance arrives.”

That prompted Rory to speak. “An ambulance should be here shortly, coming from Gainesville.” While kneeling down on the opposite side of the victim, across from the angel … er … the woman, he continued. “I’ll relieve you if needed. I’m Trooper Sanders. Rory Sanders.”

After two more breaths, the woman pierced him with her emerald eyes and said, “I’m Chandler, Frankie Chandler.” Her voice had been almost lyrical even in the tense situation, and he shouldn’t have been zeroing in on her plump lips, but that’s exactly what he did.

“Used to be a nurse in the Navy,” the older man supplied as he stated his name while standing over the scene. “I didn’t think it wise to move the man, but she seemed certain it had to be done. Good thing, seeing as he would have burned to a crisp if not for her actions.”

Rory looked to see flames licking over every inch of the vehicle. He clicked his radio to update the situation, saying they’d need a fire truck and a wrecker on scene. Once he got the affirmative from Dee, he faced the group again.

“That’s for sure,” said the younger man. “I’m Frank and that’s my truck.” He indicated to the parked semi with a nod of his head. “Saw this guy weaving all over, in and out of traffic until he clipped my truck and flipped. Scariest thing I ever saw.”

Rory looked at each person before his gaze fell back onto Frankie as she finished another round of breaths. Or was it Franki? Or Franky? Dammit! Concentrate! “Pretty brave and quick thinking.”

“I couldn’t not help. Instinctual training took over.” She once again positioned her face over the victim’s mouth while feeling his pulse. Bringing her head back up, she said, “Still not breathing and his pulse is even weaker. May have to start compressions.”

Rory nodded. “Are you still a nurse?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m in my final year at U of F, becoming a vet.”

“A veterinarian?” Rory asked, knowing he must have seemed dumbfounded. All he could do was stare at Frankie, wanting to know more.

“Yes.” She smiled. And boy, what that did to her face, her entire presence. Even with the smudged dust on her skin and her hair in disarray, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “Are you all right, Sanders?” she asked.

Was he? 

Buy Links:
EP: https://www.evernightpublishing.com/rorys-christmas-angel-by-laura-m-baird/

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Laura M Baird, Romance Author

https://www.laurambairdauthor.com

https://www.facebook.com/LauraMBairdauthor/

Monday, December 3, 2018

Blurb Blitz ~ Twelve Days by Hope Waters


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Hope Waters will be awarding a $50 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Zoey Blake is having a perfect holiday season. Finals are over and it's time to head home for Christmas, but when she wins the Hartbreakers True Love contest to join them of their tour, she has a chance to follow her favorite band for twelve days -- and twelve steamy nights.

Mackenzie Hart has been a player since and joining Hartbreakers has only edged up his game, that is until he meets Zoey. She's turned his world upside down and only she can make it right. Now all he has to do is convince her to stay with him forever. For a guy like Mack, that shouldn't be too hard but it's gonna take all he has and twelve days to win her true love.

Read an Excerpt

“Zoey,” Nia yelled from inside her bunk, where she had been talking to Josh. “Mack wants to say good night.”

I heard a chorus of approvals from the back of the bus. I stuck my tongue out at them and they laughed. I took the walkie-talkie from Nia and went back to my bunk.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Zoey.

“I just wanted to say goodnight,” Mack said over the crackles.

I smirked. “Why don’t you just call me?”

“Isn’t there something romantic about saying good night over a two-way radio channel in the wilds of Texas where a dozen truckers can hear us?”

I rolled my eyes. “I guess it’s romantic,” I said with a laugh. “Thank you. That is very sweet. Good night Mack.”

“Night.”

Before I shut off the walkie-talkie, I heard from over the waves, “Aw, you kids are cute.” I let out a laugh and turned it off as I handed it back to Nia. I closed my curtains and laid down to sleep as visions of Mack danced in my head.

About the Author: Straight out of fandom, Hope Waters has been writing for over thirty years. From a young age, she was crafting stories to entertain others of all ages and continues to do so to this day. Hope uses she/they for pronouns and enjoys a good book with a cup of coffee and snuggles from her cats.

Website: http://www.hopewaters.net
Twitter: http://twitter.com/HopeWatersBooks
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/HopeWatersBooks
E-mail: hope@hopewaters.net

NOTE: The book is on sale for $0.99.

Amazon buy link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JLTNCC3

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thursday, November 29, 2018

Blurb Blitz ~ The Night Before Christmas by KS David


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. K. S. David will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the otherh stops on the tour.

From the author of A Promise Kept and Every Single Wish, comes an exhilarating romantic suspense for the holidays.

As Center City and its quirky residents get ready to ring in the holiday with merriment and good cheer, Calista Tate is forced to make a terrible decision? Does she stay and fight for the life she's created or - does she run away? One man could be her angel - her saving grace. And, the promise of love may be strong enough to make her hold her ground. The wrong decision could put them both at risk.

Calista Singletary decided it was finally safe to settle down. She opened a small bakery, has a new home and life is good. That is until she gets arrested for killing her elderly neighbor. It doesn’t help that she chased the old man out of her house with a rolling pin two days earlier. The same rolling pin is found under his bruised and bloody body. Calista thinks some trickery is underfoot. Good thing her sexy attorney, Marc Collins, thinks he can get the charges dropped.

But Calista knows that when the authorities start digging, they’re going to uncover her true identity. That’s when the real horrors will begin. She usually stays packed and ready to blow town at the first sign of trouble - assuming a new name, a new look, a new story. But she’s growing close to Marc and just once, she wants to feel normal. Will the cost be too high?

Three years earlier, the man Calista loved sucked her into a world of indescribable horror. She’s the only one who can testify to the atrocities he committed by Thomas Langston. She stole three million dollars of his money and maimed him the day she left. In return, Thomas made her a promise. He would always love her. He would never stop looking for her. And the next time he saw Calista - he was going to kill her.

Read an Excerpt:

"He walked in on me in the bathroom!"

I had been taking a well-deserved bath. After a sixteen-hour day in my bakery, my hands felt like rubber, my ankles were throbbing, and my back felt like I'd been beaten with a baseball bat. The break would feel like a week-long vacation, and I intended to take advantage by sleeping in, eating junk, watching a little football and reading a good book. A hot, steamy bath had been on my too-do list all day. Love ballads filled the halls of my house, and I planned to polish off a bottle of Chablis.

“Way to go, Fred."

I rolled my eyes to the night sky annoyed. Fred's encouragement came from another neighbor who shared the center of our cul-de-sac with a man who'd been a thorn since the day I moved in. I didn't know his name - didn't care either, but I knew his taste in music, women and the brand of beer he preferred. Loud music boomed from his backyard nightly. He wore aged denim and a t-shirt so old the letters had started to peel. A soiled black bandana was pulled low over his brow and tattoos covered visible skin - except his hands, his neck and his face. I could always tell when he was coming or going because the motor in his Harley made my windows shake. I squinted up at the man. Streetlights barely illuminated his face and his bandana made it impossible for me to get a good look at him, but he had a firm jaw and full lips. Catching my examination, he winked. I sneered at him. I didn't do grimy and I didn't do assholes - at least, not anymore.

About the Author:K. S. David lives in the Mid-Atlantic with her husband, their three children and a menagerie of pets. New storylines are constantly running through her head. She keeps notebooks tucked in pockets of the car, the nightstand and makes voice recordings just about all day long. She's addicted to true life mysteries and crime shows, both of which marry well with a great romance. Some of her favorite things are long walks, reading in bed, baking and of course, writing her next novel.

https://www.amazon.com/K.-S.-David/e/B00BP1U4BI https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6979268.K_S_David
https://twitter.com/ksdavidromance
https://www.facebook.com/ks.david.52

https://www.amazon.com/Night-Before-Christmas-K-David-ebook/dp/B07K7151P1 The book is on sale for only $0.99. a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tuesday, November 27, 2018

NBTM The Renaissance Club by Rachel Dacus




It's a tour and you'll want to hang around. Why? This book looks awesome, first of all and second, there are prizes to be won. Like? Rachel Dacus will be awarding a $20 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. How cool is that? Plus, there is a guest post within this post. Keep reading and good luck!

The Renaissance Club by Rachel Dacus

Would you give up everything, even the time in which you live, to be with your soul mate? That's
what young art historian and teacher May Gold must decide when she slips through time's folds to meet the man of her dreams and the subject of her master's thesis -- fiery 17th century genius artist Gianlorenzo Bernini.

In her fantasies May is in his arms, the wildly adored partner of the man who steered Renaissance art into the Baroque. In reality, she has just landed in Rome with her stodgy boyfriend and teaching colleagues for a tour of Italy. She yearns to unleash her passion and creative spirit.

When the floor under the gilded dome of St Peter's basilica rocks under her feet, she finds herself in the year 1624, staring straight into Bernini's eyes. Their immediate and powerful attraction grows every time she meets him during the tour. Passion blossoms, but history says they have no future. Can May thread her way through time, and will she take a perilous risk to begin a magical, exciting new life?

This time travel romance is perfect for lovers of Italy, art, and love stories.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now for the Guest post:

My Inspiration to Write The Renaissance Club
A month-long art history group tour of Italy, capping a year of studying the Italian Renaissance, set me on the path that became this book. I visited Italy’s Renaissance high points, Rome, Siena, Florence, Venice, with a scholar and guide so knowledgeable and charming it seemed he could have met all the artists he was talking about.
I wrote a memoir of that once-in-a-lifetime experience. But a straight narrative didn’t convey the thrill of such stunning and plentiful artistic beauty—the real glory of Italy. I realized that only fiction could do it, so I began to invent my time traveling heroine.

Of course, I was influenced in treatment of time travel by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander. The idea of a woman going back in time to find the love of her life was popularized by Gabaldon’s books. Before that, time travel was often done by guys with laser guns hurtling back to the time of the dinosaurs or into the Crusades. It was all battles. And before that, H.G. Wells scared us with his time machine that revealed a terrifying future.

It took a couple of years to research and fall in love with Bernini and his Baroque art. I was at the same time captivated by female time travelers – a cell phone toting scientist (Doomsday, Connie Wills) or a literary archaeologist (The Jane Austen Project, Kathleen A. Flynn), and a neurosurgeon discovering the sources of the medieval Plague (The Scribe of Siena, Melodie Winawer). These adventuresome women had more than romances. They dealt with interesting historical people, time paradoxes, and love interests where romance wasn’t the main plot. 
The Renaissance Club, features a doorway in time through which the main character, May Gold, steps through to meet in dazzling person the subject of her master’s thesis, 17th century sculptor Gianlorenzo Bernini. The clash of two cultures is part of their love story, but May’s journey, as a contemporary woman with ambition and a career, encompasses more than finding true love. What will she give up for love—that became the focus of my story.
The story was the result of influences, interests, and research, and developed over a couple of years, with the help of several editors and early readers. I discovered so much in my explorations through history that I’ve decided to write a prequel and a sequel. Look for more from the characters in the not-too-distant future!


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Now for An Excerpt:

May said gently, “But you have your work at St. Peter’s.”

Bernini nodded and sipped. Enthusiasm suddenly flared in his expression. “I have been asked to improve the church’s façade, and I have a magnificent idea. Twin bell towers. To contribute the grandeur the church has lacked.”

She frowned, knowing those bell towers of his would be erected on unstable ground. He didn’t know, and they had no soil engineers in his time. His first tower would be built, and a crack would appear. The crack would take down Bernini’s career as Architect of St. Peter’s.

At this moment, he was deciding, and his enemies were circling. His pope would die and a new pope would be elected, one who disliked Bernini’s extravagance. The opposition would break over him in a tidal wave.

“You know, working on St. Peter’s isn’t everything,” she said. “After your work there you’ll create your greatest sculptures.”

“But why should I not continue in my sacred role?”

She knew the failure would nearly kill him. His highly emotional nature and ambition would combine in a life-threatening explosion of despair.

He looked down. He gulped the rest of the wine, looking slightly worried, as if her lack of enthusiasm troubled him. But then he smiled.

“You will see my next great triumph!” he declared, the Bernini bravado taking charge of him.

“You must follow your inspiration, of course.”
She smiled at him, thinking that there must be some way to change the course of his future. At the same time, she was thinking how absurd that thought was.


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About the Author:

Rachel Dacus is a poet, essayist, and novelist who writes about love and relationships, with a touch of the supernatural. Love and history are the themes of her debut novel, The Renaissance Club, a tale of romance between a young art historian and her hero, the fiery 17th century Italian sculptor Gianlorenzo Bernini. Praise for her novel — “enchanting, rich, and romantic” — describes the kinds of love and adventure stories Rachel enjoys, preferably set in exotic places. She has traveled to Italy and India and plans to expand her journeys beyond countries that start with the letter “I”.

She’s the daughter of a bipolar rocket engineer who worked on missiles during the race-to-space 1950’s. He was also an accomplished painter.

Her interest in Italy was ignited by a course in Renaissance art history that culminated in tour of northern Italy. She’s been hooked on Italy ever since. Her essay on Italy, motherhood, and infertility was anthologized in Italy, a Love Story: Women Write About the Italian Experience.

Dacus shows off her versatility in four poetry collections. Her newest is Arabesque. Three other collections are: Gods of Water and Air, Femme au Chapeau, and Earth Lessons. She raises funds for arts, human service, and healthcare organizations and takes walks with her way-too-smart Silky Terrier.

Find out more about Rachel Dacus and The Renaissance Club:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07832TVWN

Website: http://racheldacus.net

Twitter: @Rachel_Dacus

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Rachel-Dacus-Poet-Writer-514837478526919/

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