Poor judgment: knowing better yet doing it anyway. Flint Stone is a professional in every way. He’s a police officer with the K-9 unit and works at Gun Barrel High as the school resource officer. In his spare time, he’s working his heart out to create a successful gym from the ground up. He’s loved by every single person he ever encounters—student, faculty, and employees—Everyone but Camryn Elvis Presley. The only thing they have in common is their mothers’ poor excuses for names. Period. The end. So why is it every time she crosses his path that he has the urge to mess up her perfectly curled hair? Or unbutton a few of her prim and proper buttons? He knows he should stay away, yet like the high schoolers he’s around every day, he has no choice but to react first and think about the consequences later. Side note—bad decisions are made, leading to lapses in judgment that threaten both of their jobs. Yet when the time comes, neither one can seem to find the wherewithal to care. Why? Because being bad feels so good. PURCHASE NOWAmazon | Amazon CA | Amazon AU | Amazon UK | Kobo | Nook |Apple BooksLani Lynn Vale is a USA Today Bestselling Author of over thirty titles. She is married with three children, two dogs, two cats, a donkey, and a couple (a couple also meaning over twenty) chickens. When she’s not writing, you can find her curled up in her favorite chair reading. Lani is married with three children and lives in the Great State of Texas.ebsite | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | BookBub via Blogger http://bit.ly/2W5LNTV April 24, 2019 at 08:00AM
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Callum's Hell by V.F. Mason releases on May 17th! #DarkRomance #Standalone #DarkAsHell
ADD TO YOUR TBR -- http://bit.ly/2X2mv9h
She knew no chaos...until I claimed her. She was a florist. He was a serial killer. She created beauty. He created chaos. She belonged to nature. He belonged to the underworld. She was an angel. He was the devil. She wanted to escape. He trapped her instead. They played a dangerous game with their lives at stake. Where the winner took it all and the loser burned in hell. About the Author: V.F.Mason always loved reading books and had quite a few fights with her momma over the genre she liked (romance, duh!) She studied filmmaking and thought that would feed her desire for stories, but that didn’t happen. Finally, when she was tired of all those voices in her head, she sat down and wrote a book. It was a huge decision to make and she thanks her friends and family for supporting her in it. When she is not writing, she can be found with her friends doing all sorts of crazy things or reading recent romance books that were written by her favorite authors. Connect with V.F.! Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorVFMason/ Instagram: http://bit.ly/2SE0hsp Twitter: https://twitter.com/Author_VFMason Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2ozrS0W Newsletter: http://vfmason.com/newsletter/ Website: http://vfmason.com/via Blogger http://bit.ly/2UKt3wB April 19, 2019 at 08:00AM
ABRAHAM DAVIS—Honest Abe to his friends—IS IN OVER HIS HEAD...
He’s a fixer and a do good-er. The all-knowing, resident "grandfather" on the wrestling team who everyone relies on to fix their problems. His teammates go to him for everything; advice, homework, or when they need a sober driver at three in the morning--whether he likes it or not.
Abe’s current mission is easy: mend his roommates broken heart by helping him find a girlfriend on the LoveU app--without getting caught in the lie...
SKYLAR GABRIEL. IS. OVER. IT.
Over her bad grades. Over her meddling older brother and his two best friends. And over dating douchebags. What she wants to know is: where have all the nice guys gone?
She longs for a handsome, sweet, and honest guy who can make her laugh. In one last ditch effort to prove that he exists—Skylar turns to LoveU.
On her worst day, Skylar has no filter (it’s a miracle she hasn’t been ditched mid-date).
On her best, she’s as wholesome, and sweet, as pie.
On Thursday? She matches with Abraham Davis’s roommate.
Skylar Gabriel is falling for the wrong guy—she just doesn’t realize it yet.
Why?
BECAUSE ABE DAVIS IS A LIAR.
Sara Ney is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the How to Date a Douchebag series, and is best known for her sexy, laugh-out-loud New Adult romances. Among her favorite vices, she includes: iced latte's, historical architecture and well-placed sarcasm. She lives colorfully, collects vintage books, art, loves flea markets, and fancies herself British.
via Blogger http://bit.ly/2v9J9kh April 17, 2019 at 11:27AM
Title: Rocket
Series: Hell's Handlers MC
Author: Lilly Atlas
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: May 14, 2019 Cover Design: Leah Suttle
Logan “Rocket” Carrera has a history he prefers to leave buried under prickly layers of standoffish personality. He’s seen and done things that would make most people lie awake at night. A master of compartmentalization, he’s never had trouble moving on until the night he rescues the redheaded Chloe from a sadistic gang.
Kidnapped, beaten, and abused by criminals, Chloe has a difficult time assimilating back into the world after the most traumatic experience of her life. With each passing day, her anxiety builds until she’s forced to find an outlet. Finally, Chloe discovers her own way to make sense of the world and steal a few moments of peace. There’s just one problem: she can’t tell a soul what she’s doing. Who could ever understand the risk she’s taking?
Unable to stay away from the fascinating woman who’s screwing with his head just by breathing, Rocket tails Chloe as often as he can. His curiosity over her actions borders on obsession. Before long, and despite the MC president’s orders to keep his distance, Rocket succumbs to the urge to approach her.
Logan, the handsome man Chloe meets in a bar, gives her exactly what she needs. He’s accepting of her unusual requests in a way she hadn’t thought possible. The fantasy unravels, however, when she discovers who he really is, the outlaw biker who saw her at her very lowest moment. Will Chloe be able to accept Logan as the biker, Rocket, and allow him into her life enough to help her heal? The answer won’t matter if his violent past sucks him away before she has a chance to try.
What the hell was the infuriating woman doing?
Two months of this bullshit, and Rocket still didn’t understand what the fuck her deal was. He wasn’t a man that appreciated unanswered questions. He tended to dig and dig until he uncovered what he wanted to know. That tenacity was a part of his personality that had served him well in the past but sent puzzles like Chloe to obsession level.
“What’ll it be, man?” the bartender asked. Rocket spared him a quick glance. This lounge had one man and one woman working the highly-trafficked bar. Smart business move. A broad to subtly flaunt her tits and draw in the men, and a dude with the sleeves of his collared shirt rolled high enough to show his tatted and bulging forearm for the ladies. Rocket’s friend’s ol’ lady, Toni, described the look as badass-gentleman or some shit. Guy who dressed all proper and suave but under the pricy threads is bad to the bone. Apparently, it worked to get women’s motors revving. At least the women he knew.
According to Toni, when Rocket dressed up—which was rarer than a hot pink helmet on one of his brothers, he had much of the same look. Might explain the table of women currently eye-fucking him. With no choice but to blend in with the professional crowd, he’d slipped into some slacks, a tailored shirt, and a tie.
A fucking tie. Noose more like it.
Que the table of late-twenties women sending him come-fuck-me vibes. Whatever. While the release would be nice, they weren’t in his plan for the evening.
“Jack Daniels.” He held up two fingers, and the bartender nodded before turning to the shelves loaded bottles.
Rocket’s attention strayed back to the woman who’d set up camp in his mind almost five months ago and had yet to leave.
Chloe Lane.
Five-foot-nine-inches of sex appeal wrapped in a curve-hugging purple dress. And damn, did that woman have curves. Instead of sleeves, the dress had thick straps and a low square neckline showing off her tits in the most appealing way. Every man in the bar an eyeful of creamy white cleavage, but not too much of it. Classy while still being erotic as fuck. But it was the color of the dress that had half the men in the room slobbering into their martinis. The deep purple made those green cat-eyes ten times more intoxicating than the overpriced liquor.
Like some kind of witch, she cast a spell over every man in a ten-foot radius, Rocket included. When the hell had he even noticed the color of a woman’s outfit let alone what it did to her eyes?
The fact that she was currently conversing with a man didn’t seem to matter in the least to the other dogs in the room. Nor did the fact that many of them had dates or at least hook-ups of their own. No, all over the damn lounge, eyes strayed in her direction, fixating on those small but high and perky tits. Or maybe it was the short skirt riding up a pair of toned thighs that did it for them.
The woman was fine as fuck.
And she was out of her goddamned mind.
“Here you go, man,” the bartender said as he placed Rocket’s double of Jack in front of him. “You starting a tab?”
“Nah, just the one, thanks.” He dropped a twenty on the bar top, and waved the bartender away when he lifted a brow in an unspoken, need change?
One drink was all he’d have time for if that. Chloe wouldn’t stick around long. God knew, after practically stalking her for months, Rocket had her routine down pat. And it was a disturbing fucking ritual.
For the first three months following the assault, Chloe rarely left the house. While concerning, her self-imposed house arrest wasn’t exactly surprising considering what had been done to her. Then, one night, out of the blue, she emerged looking like sex on a stick. She drove to this very bar, had one drink, picked up a polished and manicured gentleman, and drove to a fairly nice motel. The pair had disappeared into a room, and Chloe emerged an hour later almost to the second.
And so began a habit she engaged in every Friday and Saturday night.
Every week.
For the past two months.
The bars changed, the dresses changed, but the pattern never did.
One drink.
One guy.
One hotel room.
One hour.
And Rocket, being the stupid fuck he was, followed her every single time.
He told himself it was to protect her. In reality, it was the unsolved mystery of what the hell she was doing that drew him in like a fish on a hook. And the boner he got pretty much any time he laid eyes on her? Yeah, that had nothing to do with his stalker act.
Any one of the men she invited to the hotel room could hurt her in ways he’d describe as unimaginable, but unfortunately, Chloe didn’t have to imagine. She knew exactly what the fuck could happen to an unprotected woman.
Which made this entire thing, and made Rocket, crazy.
What the hell was she doing in there?
Drugs? Crying on their shoulders? Raging?
Surely, she wasn’t fucking them? Not after what she’d been through.
Drugs seemed the most logical answer. Self-medicating to chase away the demons she hadn’t been allowed to purge through therapy. But why snag a random guy? And she always left the hotel room looking as put together a when she went in. Not a hair out of place. Not a wobble in her step. She even drove home without swerving.
Drugs were seeming less and less likely.
Most nights, Rocket lurked in the shadows to avoid being spotted, but tonight, the full bar had him sitting much closer. In fact, he was on the barstool next to her; however, her attention was fully trained on the man sitting to her opposite side. The suit came on to her before Rocket made it through the door, and she’d never so much as glanced his way. Some snoozefest in a fucking Armani suit. Actually, most of the men in the bar, including Rocket, were dressed in professional attire. The place was hands down a martini and banker bar.
As were all the establishments Chloe visited. Swanky, post-nine-to-five meet-up locations Rocket wouldn’t be caught dead in if it weren’t for his newfound obsession. A whiskey swilling, music blaring, dive bar was much more his speed. But concessions had to be made if he wanted to continue stalking Miss Chloe. He’d have stuck out like a sore thumb in jeans and a leather cut. Not that he gave a shit. Fitting in with the crowd was dead last on Rocket’s priority list but remaining incognito was at the top. She’d never seen his face, but a Handlers’ cut carried the risk of freaking her the fuck out.
“Excuse me if I’m overstepping, but that dress makes your eyes look like two sparkling emeralds,” the bro on Chloe’s left crooned.
Rocket couldn’t keep his eyes from rolling skyward. Was that the shit women in these snazzy joints wanted to hear? Sure, the guy’s description might be dead on, but, shit, who spoke like that? In his experience, women preferred a dirty mouth working hard between their legs to a sweet one whispering in their ear. Talk was cheap but oral? Yeah, that was the shit.
“Thank you,” Chloe responded, her soft voice stroking over Rocket’s dick.
No doubt about it, he was a sick fuck. No matter how many times he jerked off before tailing Chloe, or how many lectures he gave his damn cock, the prick wouldn’t lie limp in her presence. No, it filled to capacity just from the sight of her. Now that he was close enough to smell and hear her? He was in some serious damn discomfort.
A hard cock was probably the last thing Chloe wanted anywhere near her. A mere five months ago she’d been raped. By three vicious men. Rocket gripped the glass in his hand to the near shattering point. His hands ached to squeeze the life out of Lefty. The MC was working hard on finding him, but it’d proven more difficult than they’d anticipated.
“Do you live nearby?” the dude asked in his cultured voice. Cultured, hell, that was just a fancy word for snobby and obnoxious.
Come on, there was no way she’d choose this guy for whatever would go down in that hotel room.
“No,” she said. “Just in town for business. I head back home to tomorrow morning.” Her voice dropped, taking on a husky quality that left no question as to her desire.
The woman wanted to be fucked, and she wanted to be fucked now.
Didn’t. Make. Sense.
The sultry way Chloe spoke did nothing to stem the flow of blood to his cock. Through the mirror along the wall behind the bar, he had a clear view of her body language. Yep, the woman was open and ready for business, at least that’s what her heavy-eyed, pouty-lipped look portrayed. She leaned in, giving the guy and even better show of her stellar cleavage, and her crossed legs brushed against his thigh. On any other woman, this would scream do me, big guy. But surely not on Chloe. He just couldn’t let himself believe it. What the fuck was her game?
“That’s too bad,” douche bag replied. “I was hoping to take you out, show you a good time.”
Chloe tilted her head, giving the man an assessing gaze. Then, she tossed back the last of her Cosmopolitan. Shit, even the way her throat worked, swallowing down the liquid had Rocket ready to bust a nut.
“You can take me back to my room and fuck me. That’d be a good time.”
Rocket choked on his whiskey.
Guess that answered that.
No longer caring if he blew his cover, he spun and stared at the back of Chloe’s head. The man she’d propositioned had a deep tan, platinum blond hair that must have come from a bottle, and ten perfectly shaped fingernails. They probably topped off ten very soft fingers. Rocket glanced down at his own chipped nails and callused skin.
A man hands.
He sure as fuck could do a lot more with them than this motherfucker.
With a bug-eyed stare, the guy gaped at Chloe. He looked as shocked as Rocket felt. For the life of him, he hadn’t really thought she was fucking the men. Why would she do that? Her bruised and broken body knew first hand the damage the wrong kind of man could inflict.
“Uh, yeah, uh, fuck yeah. We can go to your hotel room.”
Rocket almost laughed. What happened to the Casanova with the smooth lines?
“Great.” Chloe reached out and put a hand on Mr. Smooth’s chest. “One thing before we go.”
“Sure, anything.”
Yeah, Rocket just bet that guy would agree to anything. He was about to get between those very sexy thighs.
“My room, my show,” she said. Gone was the come-hither tone, replaced an undercurrent of steel. “Before we go you need to agree to fuck my way. It’s a non-negotiable. If you can do that, we’ll head out now. If not, I’ll keep looking for the man I need.”
“No, yeah, that’s good. I’m down for anything.”
“Okay then.” Chloe’s voice brightened. “Let’s go.”
Rocket’s gaze fell to that absolutely bitable ass as Chloe led her now date to the exit. He rolled his shoulders as he processed the new information.
Chloe was fucking the men. And she was fucking them her way. What did that mean? He turned his gaze away from her, telling himself the unease in his gut was a concern for her safety, not envy of the man who was about to spend one hour between the sheets with the only woman Rocket had gotten hard for in months.
If his brothers could see him now.
They’d be in hog heaven watching him act like such a food. Meanwhile, their ol’ ladies would probably castrate him for slobbering after a traumatized woman.
Or was she traumatized? Maybe she’d moved past the assault. Perhaps this was how she’d lived her life before Rocket met her. Maybe her coping skills were stellar, and the trauma she’d endured was all behind her.
He rejected the idea as quickly as it came. Just didn’t sit right.
As soon as they were out the door, he’d follow. While he waited for them to navigate their way through the throngs of thirsty patrons, Rocket switched his phone back on. Earlier that morning, he’d received a call that had him powering down and getting his hackles up. Three words, that’s all it took to have him looking over his shoulder.
I need you.
Fuck no, he wasn’t needed.
He was out. Done with his past life and had the walking papers to prove it. Didn’t stop them from seeking him out every so often. Not once was he even tempted to go back. With each rejection, they grew a little more hostile. One of these days, his reprieve would run out, and they’d send someone to bring him in. For now, he’d continue to avoid them with radio silence. Hence the turned-off phone.
“Fuck,” he ground out as the screen came to life. Fifteen missed calls and twice as many texts screaming at him to check in. All from Zach, the club’s enforcer.
Some shit was going down. He’d flaked on church last week while tailing Chloe to the grocery store. Copper would roast his ass on a spit if it became a pattern. But calling in meant leaving Chloe.
Torn between loyalty to his club and the hot gut-punch he experienced knowing Chloe was minutes away from fucking some businessman, Rocket paused. What the fuck was wrong with him? It was getting harder to call the souring in his stomach anything other than jealousy.
He had to put an end to this shit. Chloe was a big girl. She, more than anyone, knew what could happen at the hands of a madman. For his own sanity, he had to step back. He couldn’t continue to watch over her so much. Not when his club needed him.
Without bothering to listen to the voicemails or read the texts, Rocket left the bar, heading straight for his bike. If he pushed it, he’d be back in Townsend and at the clubhouse in thirty minutes. The guys could fill him in in person.
With any luck, they’d finally gotten a bead on Lefty.
That thought had a sinister smile curling his lips.
Just as he was pulling out, he caught sight of Chloe turning onto the road with Mr. Smooth’s car hot on her tail.
Now that his head was on straight, Rocket hit the throttle and shot off toward the clubhouse.
There were just some questions he might never get the answers to, and he’d have to learn to live with that.
Lilly Atlas is a contemporary romance author, proud Navy wife, and mother of two spunky girls. By day she works as a physical therapist for a hospital in Virginia. Lilly is an avid romance reader, and expects her Kindle to beg for mercy every time she downloads a new eBook. Thankfully, it hasn’t happened yet, and she can often be found absorbed in a good book.
via Blogger http://bit.ly/2IKsNqz April 17, 2019 at 08:00AM
Title: Love, Again
Author: L.P. Dover
Genre: Contemporary 2nd Chance Romance
Release Date: April 9, 2019
Sometimes all you need is a second chance ...
Aubrey Reynolds is a small-town girl who’s made it big.
A successful Hollywood director, Aubrey doesn’t have time to linger on what could have been.
But when a routine blood test comes back with a false positive, she decides to take some time off to do the things she’s always wanted to do: taste the famous chocolate chip cookies at the Minnesota State Fair, hike the Grand Teton National Park, scuba dive in the Caribbean.
But after Aubrey admits to herself what she’s really missing, she heads back home to Dusty Valley, Oklahoma . . . and the man she left behind.
Cole Haywood is a small-town fireman and that’s just fine with him.
Sure, when the love of his life left their hometown to chase her dreams he was heartbroken and—he’ll admit—damn mad.
But Cole would have never forgiven himself if he had held Aubrey back from success.
So the last thing he expects after all these years is to walk into his favorite bar one night and find the girl he’s always loved—there—looking for him.
Maybe now’s the time to make his dreams come true.
“Another amazing book… I truly loved this book from start to finish. ALL. THE. FEELS!! ~ Nancy Metsch
“This is simply a beautifully written, wonderful, heartwarming second chance love story that really made me FEEL. ~Marybeth
We pulled up to Tornado Alley bar, and Cole’s truck was there along with a dozen others. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked, glancing around at all the cars. “There’s a lot of people here.”
Bennett parked his truck and pulled out the key. “Yep. A lot of our high school buddies will be in there. They’ll be excited to see the famous movie director, Aubrey Reynolds.” He winked, and it gave me hope. If I could get him on my side, I had to believe I could convince Cole too. He reached over and opened my door. “If you don’t want to go in there with everyone, I’ll bring him out.” Hands shaking, I nodded as my whole body started to tremble with nerves. “That sounds better. I don’t want to go in there just yet.” Bennett sighed. “All right. I’ll bring him out.” He got out of the truck and disappeared inside. Slowly, I exited the truck and walked toward the steps. My legs felt so heavy I doubted I could even climb up them. This was it. It was the moment I’d been dreading, yet looking forward to. I’d dreamed about the time I’d see Cole again, face to face. I already knew it wouldn’t be an easy meeting, especially considering how Bennett’s first encounter with me was. Everything moved in slow motion as I waited for Cole to come outside. I stood at the bottom of the steps, feeling more vulnerable with each passing second. What if he saw me and then turned right back around? Getting him to hear me out wasn’t going to be easy. “Oh my God, I can’t do this.” Heart racing out of control, I dashed to the side of the building. I peeked my head around the corner just as the door opened and Cole stepped out. I flattened myself against the wall so he couldn’t see me, and I was almost certain he’d hear me hyperventilating. “What exactly did you want me to see?” Cole asked, laughing at Bennett. It was clear he’d had a couple of drinks already. “There’s nothing out here.” Hearing his voice brought up all sorts of emotions inside me. I’d missed him so much. Bennett huffed, most likely thinking I ran off. “Never mind, brother. My mistake.” Cole chuckled. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.” I jumped out from beside the building, and Bennett stopped. “Wait,” I called out. Cole had his back to me, but he froze and turned around slowly. The second our eyes locked, nothing else existed. It was what I’d secretly hoped for. He might hate me, but there was no denying the bond we had. I felt the spark between us even now.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author L. P. Dover is a southern belle living in North Carolina with her husband and two beautiful girls. Before she began her literary journey she worked in periodontics, enjoying the wonderment of dental surgeries.
She loves to write, but she also loves to play golf, go on mountain hikes, and has a passion for singing. Her youngest daughter, who she’s also written a children’s book with, expects a concert each and every night before bedtime, usually Christmas carols.
Dover has written countless novels in several different genres, including a children’s book with her youngest daughter, but her favorite to write is romantic suspense. However, she has found a new passion in romantic comedy, especially involving sexy golfers. Who knew the sport could be so dirty and fun to write about.
via Blogger http://bit.ly/2WX7NAt April 10, 2019 at 08:00AM
Good vs Bad. Light vs Dark. Right vs Wrong. There are always two sides to every coin. Josiah ‘Liner’ Paldecki knew the moment he laid eyes on her that there was something different about her. Something special. Something so unique that it practically poleaxed him the moment that their eyes met. Except, the next time he saw her, it was like she was a different woman altogether. There was a blankness to her eyes that concerned him. An air of menace about her that honestly scared him to death. He’s more than man enough to admit it. At first, Liner thinks it’s because she’s bi-polar, or possibly psychopathic. Then he realizes the truth. That there isn’t a single person that exhibits such different personalities, but two. Two identical twin sisters, both completely different, yet exactly the same. One with a soul, and one without. One that has his heart, and one that only wants to destroy it. AVAILABLE NOWAmazon | Amazon AU | Amazon CA | Amazon UK | Kobo | Nook | Apple
I loved Snitches get Stitches - it was really a different take on the usual LLV books. It takes place with the female main character in a mental hospital and you think you know what's going on...but you don't. I felt really bad for her. Like, her family was the worst in every possible way and she didn't have any other choice but to be where she was at. I absolutely adored Liner - he's one of those characters that isn't a total tail. He's alpha but he's not over-the-top Alpha. He loves his woman and makes no bones about it. It's a book that's totally worth reading. This was a pleasure reviewing.
Lani Lynn Vale is a USA Today Bestselling Author of over thirty titles. She is married with three children, two dogs, two cats, a donkey, and a couple (a couple also meaning over twenty) chickens.
When she’s not writing, you can find her curled up in her favorite chair reading.
Lani is married with three children and lives in the Great State of Texas.
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | BookBub via Blogger http://bit.ly/2G23Of9 April 09, 2019 at 08:30AM Let your homeless best friend stay with you, he said. Being roommates will be fun, he said. It's only temporary, he said.He never said I'd fall for him.The Roommate Agreement, all-new hilarious and romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Emma Hart is available now!
You know what isn't 'temporary?' The endless stream of dirty socks in my bathroom and empty food packets under the sofa—and don't even get me started on the hot guys who take over my living room every Sunday to watch sports.
I can't take anymore.
So I propose a roommate agreement. One that will bring peace and order back to my life, complete with rules that might just stop my newfound crush on my best friend in its tracks.
After all, there’s only so many times you can see your best friend naked before you start to lose your mind.
Rules. They're meant to be broken... Aren't they?
Download your copy today!
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2DGpmhA
AppleBooks: https://apple.co/2UoG1M3
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/TheRoommateAgreement
Nook: http://bit.ly/2DH0FBr
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2DIIPy5
Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2U6lAam
Add to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2H3qOyc
Excerpt:Shelby shut the door with a click and peered over at me. “What are you writing? If it’s permission to use the feather duster as a sex toy, the answer is no. Unless you buy your own, but if you haven’t figured out where the laundry room is yet, I doubt you’ll find where to buy one.” She was as funny as a car crash, this one. “Hilarious,” I drawled. “No, I’m making amendments as I go. I added a new rule.” “You added a new rule?” She raised one dark eyebrow and walked over, hovering over me. “All right, what is it?” “Decent clothes must be worn. Do you know how many times I wake up early on a morning to open the gym and find you basically in your underwear in the kitchen?” “Basically in my underwear? Who are you seeing in the kitchen? I wear shorts and a tank top at the very least.” “Yes, but the shorts barely cover your ass, and you’re sure as hell not wearing a bra.” She paused, eyes glittering as she said, “And why are you looking at my ass and my boobs?” That was an excellent question. “Because there’s nowhere else to look!” I rushed out before my stupid cock could get any ideas. “Look, waking up in the morning can be challenging for a guy.” She stared at me. “I don’t need to get up for a coffee with… you know.” I motioned to my groin. “And see you half-clothed.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and walked to the kitchen, turning her back to me. “Why does it matter? I’m your best friend. I hardly think your little friend is remotely interested in whether or not I’m wearing a bra.” Yeah, well, he is. “Fine. If I have to wake up and see your perky nipples prancing around the kitchen, I’m going to stroll around in my underwear so you can get a good view of my morning glory.” She spun, lifting up a finger. Her cheeks were flushed, and she had to swallow before she could speak. “My nipples do not prance. They are not horses.” I grinned. “Also, I have no desire to have anything to do with your morning erection, much less get a good view of it, thank you very much.” “Have I told you that you’re cute when you blush?” “Have I told you that you’d be a cute dead guy?” I laughed, leaning back on the sofa. “C’mon, Shelbs. We need to respect each other’s privacy. You don’t want to see my cock hard over your breakfast, and I don’t want to see your nipples standing to attention when I make a coffee.” She sighed. “Why did I ever let you move in again?” “Because I was going to be homeless and you’re the best friend ever?” “Mm.”
About Emma Hart
Emma Hart is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels and has been translated into several different languages. She is a mother, wife, lover of wine, Pink Goddess, and valiant rescuer of wild baby hedgehogs. Emma prides herself on her realistic, snarky smut, with comebacks that would make a PMS-ing teenage girl proud. Yes, really. She's that sarcastic.
Connect with Emma
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EmmaHartBooks/
BookBub: http://bit.ly/2Dr0atq
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2Dq42ez
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2EBbZNe
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Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/emmahartauthor/
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Website: https://www.emmahart.org/home
via Blogger https://ift.tt/2I4C0JM April 01, 2019 at 08:00AM
Nothing But Trouble by P. Dangelico
Release Date: March 26th
Nothing But Trouble, an all new standalone Contemporary Romance by
P. Dangelico
Reagan Reynolds...
Water polo god.
Owner of a face that belongs under Wikipedia’s definition of drop dead gorgeous.
Too charming for his own good.
But most importantly––the worst driver on the planet.
No, really, I’m pretty sure his blind nana taught him how to drive.
I had no idea who he was until he almost ran me over. And frankly, I kind of wish I still didn’t because then I wouldn’t have a sprained ankle to show for it. And my leg wouldn’t resemble a boa constrictor that’s swallowed a feral pig.
Yeah, it’s that bad.
I’ve spent years saving every penny I’ve ever earned to be able to transfer to Malibu University. And now my entire future––including my scholarship––is in jeopardy.
So I either accept the help he insists on giving me, or lose everything I’ve sacrificed for.
In the meantime, I’m going to ignore the fact that we’re becoming friends.
And I’m definitely going to pretend he’s not turning into the object of my…umm, dirty fantasies.
That’s not happening.
Not even a little.
Because the minute I clapped eyes on him I knew he was nothing but trouble.
Download your copy today!
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2DRrqU7
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/NothingButTroublePD
Apple Books: https://apple.co/2GbI3v0
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2CY8yAU
Nook: http://bit.ly/2SsB1J1
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2H2Fqgx
Excerpt:
Alice A strong gust of hot air invades the car and Reagan’s hair gets ruffled. It’s been like this the last few weeks. Crazy hot winds picking up now and then. Mine is literally standing on end. I’m forced to hold it down with both hands. “The Santa Anas,” he says as if reading my mind. I look over and find him smiling at me. “The hot wind.” He swirls his index finger. I let go of my hair, close my eyes, and let it have its way with me. It stands instantly upright, like I stuck my finger in a socket. I’m sure I look like an idiot but it makes me laugh, a burst of pure joy emanating from my chest that can’t be contained any more than the wind can. “Nice hair,” he mocks with a teasing smile. “Thanks, Flipper.” “I thought we established that it’s not a dolphin.” “You’re not going to like me saying this, but you’re more dolphin than shark,” I happily point out. He’s always perky and upbeat, likes to socialize, loves all the attention. He’s a dolphin––whether he likes it or not. He levels narrowed green vengeance on me, offset by a sly smile. “I’m the top of the food chain, babe. I’m all shark.” “That’s adorable. Especially coming from someone that wears a swim cap like my nana used to wear. Except yours has those darling cinnamon buns over the ears. Like Princess Leia.” He fights his amusement. “Those cinnamon buns are meant to protect my ears from all the rough, manly activity. And I’m tellin’ on you. I’m tellin’ all the guys you said that.” The Jeep comes to an abrupt stop. Only then do I realize we’re parked in front of the apartment building where my study group is being held. Scanning the parking lot, I see people I recognize from class pouring out of a car. My attention returns to Reagan and I find him watching me. His smile melts. His expression grows serious like he rarely ever is. I rake my hair down and get my fingers snagged on a few knots. Unfortunately I’m not the comb-carrying type. Mental note: purchase comb. Crazy winds are afoot. “Thank you for driving me.” I look for some sign of what’s going on in his mind and finding the door shut. “What time should I pick you up?” He reaches out and I lean away, staring at his hand. “Chill, Bailey. You have a piece sticking up.” “Oh…okay.” He’s trying to be helpful and I treat him like he’s a festering case of the bubonic plague. How embarrassing. I lean in and he sets about gently brushing down each and every one of my stray hairs, so gently I can barely feel him picking apart the knots. I can feel his breath on my skin. Fresh from a shower, I can smell his shampoo. My scalp tingles and goose bumps break out on my forearms. Lord give me strength.
About P. Dangelico:
Dangelico loves romance in all forms, cuddly creatures (four legged and two), really bloody sexy pulp, the NY Jets (although she’s reconsidering after this season), and to while away the day at the barn (apparently she does her best thinking shoveling horse crap). What she’s not enamored with is referring to herself in the third person and social media so don’t expect her to get on Twitter anytime soon. Oh, and although she was born in Italy, she’s been Jersey Strong since she turned six.
Connect with P. Dangelico:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/p.dangelico/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/PDanAuthor Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/pdangelicoauthor/ Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2C91Fv7 Website: http://www.pdangelico.com/ Stay up to date with all things P. Dangelico. Join her mailing list, today: https://www.pdangelico.com/contact
via Blogger https://ift.tt/2JQMhvy March 29, 2019 at 08:30AM
Nothing But Trouble, an all new standalone Contemporary Romance by P. Dangelico is live!
Reagan Reynolds...
Water polo god.
Owner of a face that belongs under Wikipedia’s definition of drop dead gorgeous.
Too charming for his own good.
But most importantly––the worst driver on the planet.
No, really, I’m pretty sure his blind nana taught him how to drive.
I had no idea who he was until he almost ran me over. And frankly, I kind of wish I still didn’t because then I wouldn’t have a sprained ankle to show for it. And my leg wouldn’t resemble a boa constrictor that’s swallowed a feral pig.
Yeah, it’s that bad.
I’ve spent years saving every penny I’ve ever earned to be able to transfer to Malibu University. And now my entire future––including my scholarship––is in jeopardy.
So I either accept the help he insists on giving me, or lose everything I’ve sacrificed for.
In the meantime, I’m going to ignore the fact that we’re becoming friends.
And I’m definitely going to pretend he’s not turning into the object of my…umm, dirty fantasies.
That’s not happening.
Not even a little.
Because the minute I clapped eyes on him I knew he was nothing but trouble.
Download your copy today!
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2DRrqU7
Apple Books: https://apple.co/2GbI3v0
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2CY8yAU
Nook: http://bit.ly/2SsB1J1
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2H2Fqgx
About P. Dangelico:
Dangelico loves romance in all forms, cuddly creatures (four legged and two), really bloody sexy pulp, the NY Jets (although she’s reconsidering after this season), and to while away the day at the barn (apparently she does her best thinking shoveling horse crap). What she’s not enamored with is referring to herself in the third person and social media so don’t expect her to get on Twitter anytime soon. Oh, and although she was born in Italy, she’s been Jersey Strong since she turned six.
Connect with P. Dangelico:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/p.dangelico/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/PDanAuthor Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/pdangelicoauthor/ Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2C91Fv7 Website: http://www.pdangelico.com/ Stay up to date with all things P. Dangelico. Join her mailing list, today: https://www.pdangelico.com/contact
via Blogger https://ift.tt/2FAj1oX March 26, 2019 at 08:00AM
With A Hitch by RC Boldt
Release Date: March 19th
With A Hitch, an all-new standalone contemporary romance by RC Boldt.
She’s playing it safe. He’s playing for keeps.
DARCY
Growing up in the foster system, I learned the hard way that lasting love doesn't always come easy. Dating in the modern era can be daunting; the bar scene and dating apps leave you wondering if there's any hope in sight.
That's where I come in. Helping you break the “swipe-right” cycle, I’m dedicated to matching you with the love of your life.
Finding Mrs. Right for Dax Kendrick should be a piece of cake. Except nothing about this man is simple.
DAX
The NFL has given me more than I ever imagined—a roof over my head, food on the table, and a chance to provide for the family who sacrificed everything while I chased my dreams.
Maintaining a squeaky-clean image for my sponsors when my paycheck and the fruits of my endorsements are all the women want is a hefty challenge.
I’d nearly given up when I hired Darcy Cole. Yet the more I’m around her, the less I care about finding my perfect match.
Because it might be right in front of me.
Download your copy today!
Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2HgZnQ4
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/WithAHitchRCB
Apple Books US: https://goo.gl/LRqtYk
Kobo: https://goo.gl/nLfiA3
Nook: https://goo.gl/zfJj6v
Google Play: https://goo.gl/r7a3N8
Amazon Paperback: https://goo.gl/MheXja
Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2TKiVQ8
Excerpt:
DAX
* * *
“Where’s my favorite girl?” I call out, entering my childhood home. “I’m here, Uncle Dax!” my niece, Violet, hollers through the house just before her quick footsteps follow. My parents refused to let me buy them a new house once I started putting money in the bank. Mom didn’t want the neighbors to think she and Dad thought they were better than anyone else. This means my parents, my sister, and niece, all still live in the fifteen-hundred-square-feet home I grew up in. I did pay off their mortgage as well as my sister’s student loans before I set up a college fund for my niece, much to their dismay. But let’s be honest, it’s the least I could do for a family who’s always been there for me. Dad refused to retire from the hardware store, but I at least got him to agree to go from full-time to part-time a few years ago. It took some aggressive bargaining, but when I’d shown him how well the account I’d started for them with my financial planner had been doing, he’d finally relented. “Hey! I thought I was your favorite girl!” another female voice protests. “Well, I don’t know,” I hedge. “Depends on if you made any chocolate chip cookies.” My mother promptly swats at me with a laugh, the little crinkles at the corners of her eyes becoming more pronounced. The guys always say I resemble my mom, and even though I know they say it in more of a shit talking, you look like your mama kind of way, it’s still true. She and I have the same smile, and although her skin is darker than mine—my dad’s the odd man out in the family with fair white skin—there’s no mistaking me for being her son. I pull her close for a hug, and she pats my back, mumbling, “I swear, you just keep getting more muscles every time I see you.” The top of her head barely reaches my shoulder, and her dark hair seems like it has more gray threaded in it each time I see her. “Don’t give him a bigger head than he already has.” My eyes catch sight of Violet and my sister, Ava, entering the small kitchen. Mom releases me, and Violet rushes past her mother intent on getting to me first. I bend and scoop her up in a big hug. “Uncle Dax, I missed you.” Her whispered words wrap themselves around me. “I missed you, too, love bug.” God, I swear, she’s growing like a damn weed lately. Once I set her on her feet, she starts talking a mile a minute. “Oh my gosh, Uncle Dax! You’re not going to believe what happened the other day in gymnastics camp. That girl I told you about—the one who was saying my hair was weird and stuff—well, I finally had enough, and I did what you told me to do.” All eyes are suddenly on me. Trust me when I say this is not what a man wants in this household because it normally means I’m in deep shit. “Uh, remind me again what I told you?” I say slowly, praying to God above that I hadn’t made some idiotic, off-the-cuff comment as a joke, and she took me seriously. Violet gives me one of those old people are so forgetful looks. “You said I could use sarcasm because most people who are mean and rude don’t understand it, and it’ll go over their head and be a beautiful inside joke for you and everyone else who doesn’t have shit for brains.” “Violet,” my mother and Ava say in unison, flashing me a stern look. Violet grimaces. “Sorry. But I was quoting him.” Then she picks right up. “And then you said I should let it roll off my shoulders like it doesn’t bother me.” She grins happily. “Well, I did a combination of the two. And she’s totally left me alone ever since.” My niece pumps a fist in the air. “Go Team Kendrick!” “Way to go!” We exchange a high five. Sobering, I school my face in a stern expression. “Remember not to cuss, though. It’s not ladylike.” Her sweet face peers up at me, so adorably cute with such seriousness that it takes all my effort to not break into a smile. “How about ‘crap’?” “Uh…” I flick my eyes to Ava, who makes a face before shrugging. “I think that one can be okay, as long as it’s not overused.” Violet nods. “Noted.” God, this kid is such an old soul sometimes. “I’m going to practice my backflips for gymnastics some more out back.” In a flash, she’s gone. I sag against the counter. “Man, two minutes, and I’m exhausted.” My sister sidles up beside me and snickers. “As if Mr. Gatorade himself ever gets exhausted.” I toss her a sharp look. “Seriously? One advertising campaign for a sports drink, and you’re giving me sh—” “Ahem!” our mother clears her throat pointedly. “Crap.” Mom nods in approval, and I continue. “About it?” I place a palm flat against the center of my chest, feigning sadness. “Where’s the love?” She shoves at me playfully. “You get enough love from all your admirers.” Mom huffs. “You need to settle down with a nice woman.” “Speaking of a nice woman…” I press my lips thin, trying to figure out how to best tell them I decided to use a matchmaking service, but decide to throw caution to the wind. “I hired a professional,” I blurt out. As if in slow motion, my mother turns around slowly from where she’s stirring something on the stove. My sister’s jaw goes slack. And they both gape at me. Just the reaction a guy wants. My mother’s expression is horrified. Not quite what I was expecting, but then again, she’s always been a spitfire. “Dax Allen Kendrick! I forbid it!” I rear back, confused as hell. “Why would you forbid it?” Her jaw drops, and she gasps indignantly. “Why would I forbid it?!” She turns to my sister, her voice increasing in volume. “Why would I forbid it?!” “Say it again, Mom. Not sure we heard you the first time,” my sister deadpans. If my mother didn’t have a freaking wooden spoon in her hand, I’d let out the laugh aching to break free. I got to know that sucker really well through my early years, and even though I’m older, I don’t put it past my mother to come at me with that thing. Speaking of which, my right ass cheek starts to throb in remembrance at the mere sight of that spoon. I hold up my hands. “Calm down, Mom.” Shit. I didn’t expect this reaction. “Look, she’s great at what she does and—” The hand holding the wooden spoon rises another inch, and I flinch in response. “Don’t you tell me what she’s great at, young man!” I look at my sister, silently pleading for help. She merely shrugs, wide-eyed, with an I don’t pretend to understand her look. Great. I’m left to fend for myself once again. “Can you just put that thing”—I gesture to the spoon in her hand—“down, so I can explain?” My mother’s lips purse like she’s just bit into the sourest of lemons. Her eyes practically spew fire at me. “Fine.” Her tone is curt. “But you’re not too old to get swatted with it, young man,” she warns with a pointed look. My hands fly to my ass protectively, and my sister snorts. I glare at her, and she simply sticks her tongue out at me in response. Some things never change. “Okay, so Ivy, Becket’s wife—” My mother’s expression instantly softens. “Such a sweet girl, that one.” Then with a stern look, she adds, “You need to find someone like that.” I draw in a deep breath, praying for patience. “Ivy’s business partner, Darcy, runs a matchmaking service and—” At the odd expression on my mother’s face, I stop. “What’s that look for?” “Oh, honey.” She lets out a long sigh before spinning around to tend to the saucepan on the stove. I stare at my sister expectantly. Her lips twitch as though she’s attempting to restrain a smile. I wave her on. “Say it.” She snickers. “Mom thought when you said ‘professional,’ you meant prostitute.” I whip around to stare at my mother. “Are you serious?!” What the hell? “You really think I’d hire a freaking prostitute?” “Apparently so,” my sister chimes in with a smirk. I toss up my hands in exasperation. “I can’t believe you think I’d resort to that.” “Well,” my sister starts, “you have been single for a while.” “That doesn’t mean I’d hire a prostitute for fu—” Mom’s head whips around in warning, and I correct myself quickly. “For God’s sake.” “What’s a prostitute?” Fucking hell. Violet’s just come back inside. “Nothing.” That’s my mother’s response. “A person who makes bad choices.” My sister’s no-nonsense response. “A woman who sells—” This time, I really do get swatted with the wooden spoon. As if it doesn’t sting enough against my bare forearm, I now have a line of pasta sauce on it too. I grin and make a show of licking the sauce off my skin. Mom hates that. She raises the spoon threateningly, and I hold up my hands in surrender. “I just want to be loved. What’s a guy have to do to get some love these days?” “Pretty sure you already know what you have to do to get some love,” my sister mutters under her breath. I jab an index finger in her direction and give her a sharp look. “Watch it, or I’ll tell Mom who broke that angel statue she brought home from a garage sale.” Ava’s expression morphs into astonishment. “You swore you’d never bring that up!” Her lips curve suddenly in a devious smile. “As long as I never tell Mom what happened to that pair of booty shorts she got you for twenty-five cents.” “What shorts?” my mother asks. I stare at her in complete disbelief. “Seriously? You’re more worried about the hideous shorts that put my junk on display than the statue she broke?” My mother sputters. “But you said you loved those shorts!” I glance up at the ceiling, hoping for divine intervention, which, of course, never comes. “Mom,” I say with exaggerated patience. “The shorts were cut so high I would’ve had to wax.” “Well, you could’ve said so,” she huffs, turning back to the stove. “They were a great deal.” “I’m sure they were a steal for a quarter.” My sister snickers at my sarcastic response, and we burst out laughing. Our mom’s been a fan of garage sales for as far back as we can remember. Sometimes she brings home some decent stuff, but more often than not, it ends up being some hideous “treasure.” Hence the shorts. “You two are gonna get it!” Mom warns, raising that infamous wooden spoon once more. Man, it’s good to be home.
About RC Boldt
RC Boldt enjoys long walks on the beach, running, reading, people watching, and singing karaoke. If you're in the mood for some killer homemade mojitos, can't recall the lyrics to a particular 80's song, or just need to hang around a nonconformist who will do almost anything for a laugh, she's your girl.
Connect with RC Boldt
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rcboldtauthor
Website: http://www.rcboldtbooks.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/RC_Boldt
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rcboldt
via Blogger https://ift.tt/2OnxKq4 March 22, 2019 at 08:30AM |
C.J. ButcherAuthor, Reviewer, Manager, Personal Assistant, Best Friend, Daughter. Of all the hats👒 I wear, daughter👪 is the one I treasure💰 the most. 💙loverofbigbookscannotlie.blogspot.com Debbie Butcher is a mother, friend and avid reader who in her spare time enjoys all things family. She has 2 dogs who can always be found on her lap, an ice tea at her side and a daughter who dotes on her. Her husband and her are retired in NC.
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