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BEST MAN by KATY EVANS

December 11, 2019

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Best Man by Katy Evans

Release Date: December 10, 2019

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Best Man, a brand new contemporary romance from New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author, Katy Evans.

When the wedding of your dreams is just around the corner, everything needs to go as planned. Only problem is, the groom didn’t get the memo.

Aaron forgot the rings, and Lia is determined to make the long drive home to get them in time for their “I do’s.”

But there’s a catch. There always is with Aaron, isn’t there?

Aaron is too hungover to come, and sends a replacement.

The best man.

Miles Foster. The cocky, arrogant, sexy best man…and the last person Lia wants to be trapped in a car with for hours.

But Aaron insists, and Lia wonders if there’s another reason Aaron wants Miles tagging along–aside from sticking her with a hot, surly babysitter.

Yet how bad can it be? It’ll be over before she knows it, and she’ll never see him again. Just like in college.

But when secrets are revealed, and Lia’s whole world is turned upside down, she realizes she’s been living a lie–and so has her groom.

Miles is supposed to be the best man at her wedding.

But what if he is simply the best man she has ever known? The best man for her?

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Download your copy today!

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Excerpt:

The dress is a strapless Carolina Herrera, with layers and layers of whisper-thin organza. It blows my budget and the “less is more” mantra out of the water, but like Eva said the day we bought it in downtown Denver, when you know, you know. The locale is the sumptuous Midnight Lodge, nestled in Colorado’s Rocky Mountains, every tiny detail of the place costing my father more than an entire year of his salary. The twenty-three members of the bridal party are assembled. It’s the scene of every little girl’s fairytale fantasy.

My fantasy.

At least, the one I’d been harboring up until today, when everything changed.

Eva smiles at me. “Ready to make your dreams come true?”

I stare at myself in the mirror. I look like Cinderella, if the wicked stepmother had just materialized at the castle on Cinderella’s wedding day and gunned down Prince Charming in cold blood. I’m also about three minutes away from losing the mimosa I’d polished off earlier that morning at breakneck speed. I go to chew on my nails but then I remember Eva painted them, and the last thing I want is for him to see the chips.

He notices things like that. He’s an observer.

And I want to be perfect for him.

Him.

The wrong him.

Oh, god.

I go to chew on my lip, but I can’t do that because they’ve been lacquered with bubble-gum pink gloss, and he’d probably notice if I got it on my teeth, too. All my normal ways of freaking out are off limits.

This is the day of my dreams, the day I’ve planned to the letter, just so I could avoid any potential calamities that might make me freak out.

But I am freaking out. Oh, lordy, am I ever.

I’ve been waiting my whole life for this day.

This perfect day, where the sun is shining, the snow is melting, birds are singing, and the sky is the deepest blue I’ve ever seen.

But there’s a problem.

A problem in the form of a pretentious, bearded, six-foot-three wall of hot man flesh who stalks around hating the world and thinking he’s better than everyone in it.

My fiancé’s best friend. The best man, Miles Foster.

This is all his fault.

“You okay?” Eva asks.

“I am,” I insist, pushing the infernal veil out of my face for the thousandth time. “This dress is itchy as hell.”

I stand and pluck the dress up under my armpits, hoisting it over my boobs. I try to take a step but…too much fabric, in all directions. It’s a wonder I don’t drown in this sea. In this sea, or in this mess I’ve created for myself. I sit back down on the vanity stool and pout. “I’m stuck.”

In more ways than one.

She gathers handfuls of too much organza and helps me up, depositing the pile of fabric safely in my wake. I shuffle to the full-length mirror and glance at myself. I don’t look like a bride, or even a fairytale princess. I look like a prisoner who just got her death sentence.

“It’s too loose,” I whine. I never had much of a rack, and now it’s super obvious. Why did I decide to go strapless again? “I think I must’ve lost some boobage during my diet. What if the top of my dress falls down while I’m walking up the aisle?”

Eva smirks. “I’m sure Aaron’ll love the show.”

The thought makes the mimosa turn in my stomach. I used to live for what Aaron thought. Whenever I had a choice to make on something, be it a new movie coming out, or a sweater at the mall, or a new hair style, I’d think, Would Aaron like this? But I realize, as she says his name, that it doesn’t matter to me in the slightest what Aaron thinks. The only opinion I care about now is that of the man who will be standing precisely two feet to my husband-to-be’s left.

I am such an idiot.

In less than fifteen minutes, I will be marching down the stone steps outside the Midnight Lodge to a picturesque gazebo at the foot of the hills, on the arm of my father, who has socked his entire life’s savings into making this day picture perfect for his only daughter. I will take the hand of the man I’ve been attached at the hip to for over five years, ever since I met him in a dank frat cellar when I was a wide-eyed little college freshman. I will join with this man—this man I’ve spent all of my adult life with—in holy matrimony, ’til death us do part.

I will become Mrs. Aaron Eberhart.

But I know I’ll be looking past my husband-to-be to the man who, up until twelve hours ago, I’d thought I hated. Miles Foster.

And I will be wondering What if…

I wish choosing a husband was as simple as choosing a dress.

When you know, you know.

I did know, or I thought I did. Up until twelve hours ago, I thought Aaron Eberhart was my true soul mate, the one I’d happily spend the rest of my life with. That’s when things took an unexpected turn.

Right now? I don’t even know my own name.

And I have a feeling I might be making a huge mistake.

About Katy:

Katy Evans is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Her debut REAL shot to the top of the bestselling lists in 2013 and since then 9 of her titles have been New York Times bestsellers. Her books have been translated into nearly a dozen languages across the world.

Connect with Katy:

Email: katyevansauthor@gmail.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorKatyEvans

Twitter: https://twitter.com/authorkatyevans

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6997072.Katy_Evans

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

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/katy-evans

Amazon Author: https://amzn.to/2rdox8A

Categories : Blog Tour, Contemporary Romance Tagged : Best Man, Excerpt, Katy Evans

REGRETTING YOU by COLLEEN HOOVER

December 9, 2019

Title: Regretting You
Author: Colleen Hoover
Release Date: December 10, 2019
Publisher: Montlake

Summary:

 

Morgan Grant and her sixteen-year-old daughter, Clara, would like nothing more than to be nothing alike.

Morgan is determined to prevent her daughter from making the same mistakes she did. By getting pregnant and married way too young, Morgan put her own dreams on hold. Clara doesn’t want to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Her predictable mother doesn’t have a spontaneous bone in her body.

With warring personalities and conflicting goals, Morgan and Clara find it increasingly difficult to coexist. The only person who can bring peace to the household is Chris—Morgan’s husband, Clara’s father, and the family anchor. But that peace is shattered when Chris is involved in a tragic and questionable accident. The heartbreaking and long-lasting consequences will reach far beyond just Morgan and Clara.

While struggling to rebuild everything that crashed around them, Morgan finds comfort in the last person she expects to, and Clara turns to the one boy she’s been forbidden to see. With each passing day, new secrets, resentment, and misunderstandings make mother and daughter fall further apart. So far apart, it might be impossible for them to ever fall back together.

 

Q&A with Author Colleen Hoover:

 

You are ‘label-less’ in the fact that you write in several genres. Readers never know what to expect next. If someone asks, how do you label yourself?

When I self-published my first novel I had no idea what genre to put it in. I thought I had written a drama but it turns to that I had written a romance. I’ve learned a lot since then, but I still don’t put a lot of weight in genre when I write. When your best friend is begging you to read a book, it’s not going to matter what genre it is when someone you trust is passionate about the story.

To keep all of your stories and characters straight, you must be very organized.

I’m the most disorganized person you will ever meet! I have no schedule. I can’t wake up before nine in the morning. I probably don’t go to bed until like three in the morning. I usually work about 16 hours a day.

What happens if you get blocked when you are writing?

If I get stuck writing, I go for a drive and play music. Music really helps me plot. I love The Avett Brothers, X Ambassadors, Airborne Toxic Event…I could go on and on.

What can you tell readers about your latest release Regretting You?

I would spoil it if I told you about it! Most of my books are like that. I can’t say what they are about or it spoils it. But I can say that Regretting You is told from a dual point-of-view centered on the inner lives of both a teen and adult protagonist.

Sounds like lots of different types of readers will be interested!

Absolutely. I wanted to write a book that bridged the gap between young adult and contemporary romance so that mothers can read with their daughters. I think it’s exciting to see people sharing reading experiences.

***

Excerpt: Regretting You by Colleen Hoover

Despite knowing I just pissed my mother off by being half an hour late for curfew, I still can’t stop smiling. That kiss with Miller was worth it. I bring my fingers to my lips.

I’ve never been kissed like that. The guys I’ve kissed in the past all seemed like they were in a hurry, wanting to shove their tongue in my mouth before I changed my mind.

Miller was the opposite. He was so patient, yet in a chaotic way. It was like he’d thought about kissing me so often that he wanted to savor every second of it.

I don’t know that I’ll ever not smile when I think about that kiss. It kind of makes me nervous for school tomorrow. I’m not sure where that kiss leaves us, but it felt like it was a statement. I just don’t know what exactly that statement was.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I roll over and pull it out, then fall onto my back again. It’s a text from Miller.

Miller: I don’t know about you, but sometimes when something significant happens, I get home and think of all the things I wish had gone differently. All the things I wish I would have said.

Me: Is that happening now?

Miller: Yes. I don’t feel like I was entirely forthcoming with you.

I roll onto my stomach, hoping to ease the nausea that just passed through me. It was going so well…

Me: What weren’t you honest about?

Miller: I was honest. Just not entirely forthcoming, if there’s a difference. I left a lot out of our conversation that I want you to know.

Me: Like what?

Miller: Like why I’ve liked you for as long as I have.

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. I’m staring at my phone with so much intensity that I almost throw it when it rings unexpectedly. It’s Miller’s phone number. I hesitate before answering it, because I rarely ever talk on the phone. I much prefer texting. But he knows I have my phone in my hand, so I can’t very well send it to voice mail. I swipe my finger across the screen and then roll off the bed and head to my bathroom for more privacy. I sit on the edge of the tub.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” he says.

“Sorry. It’s too much to text.”

“You’re kind of freaking me out with all the innuendos.”

“Oh. No, it’s all good. Don’t be nervous. I just should have said this to you in person.” Miller inhales a deep breath, and then on the exhale, he starts talking. “When I was fifteen, I watched you in a school play. You had the lead role, and at one point, you performed a monologue that went on for like two whole minutes. You were so convincing and you looked so heartbroken I was ready to walk onto the stage and hug you. When the play was finally over and the actors came back out onto the stage, you were smiling and laughing, and there wasn’t a trace of that character left in you. I was in awe, Clara. You have this charisma about you that I don’t think you’re aware of, but it’s captivating. I was a scrawny kid as a sophomore, and even though I’m a year older than you, I hadn’t quite filled out yet, and I had acne and felt inferior to you, so I never worked up the courage to approach you. Another year went by, and I continued to admire you from afar. Like that time you ran for school treasurer and tripped walking off the stage, but you jumped up and did this weird little kick and threw your arms up in the air and made the entire audience laugh. Or that time Mark Avery popped your bra strap in the hallway, and you were so sick of him doing it that you followed him to his classroom, reached inside your hoodie, and took off your bra and then threw it at him. I remember you yelling something like, ‘If you want to touch a bra so damn bad, just keep it, you perv!’ Then you stormed out. It was epic. Everything you do is epic, Clara. Which is why I never had the courage to approach you, because an epic girl needs an equally epic guy, and I guess I’ve just never felt epic enough for you. I’ve said epic so many times in the last fifteen seconds—I’m so sorry.”

He’s out of breath when he finally stops talking.

I’m smiling so hard my cheeks ache. I had no idea he felt this way. No idea.

I wait a few seconds to make sure he’s done; then I finally respond. I’m pretty sure he can hear from my voice alone that I’m smiling. “First of all, it’s hard to believe you were ever insecure. And second, I think you’re pretty epic, too, Miller. Always have. Even when you were scrawny and had acne.”

He laughs a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I can hear him sigh. “Glad I got that off my chest, then. See you at school tomorrow?”

“Good night.”

We end the call, and I don’t know how long I sit and stare at my phone.

***

Author Biography

Colleen Hoover is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of several novels, including the bestselling women’s fiction novel It Ends with Us and the bestselling psychological thriller Verity. She has won the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Romance three years in a row—for Confess (2015), It Ends with Us (2016), and Without Merit (2017). Confess was adapted into a seven-episode online series. In 2015, Hoover and her family founded the Bookworm Box, a bookstore and monthly subscription service that offers signed novels donated by authors. All profits go to various charities each month to help those in need. Hoover lives in Texas with her husband and their three boys. Visit www.colleenhoover.com.

 

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Categories : Giveaway, Romance, Spotlight, Women's Fiction Tagged : Colleen Hoover, Excerpt, Regretting You

WHERE WINTER FINDS YOU: A CALDWELL CHRISTMAS by J.R. WARD

November 24, 2019

 

WHERE WINTER FINDS YOU
A Caldwell Christmas
by J. R. Ward
On Sale: November 26, 2019

Purchase Link:
https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Where-Winter-Finds-You/J-R-Ward/The-Black-Dagger-Brotherhood-World/9781982135478

ABOUT THE BOOK:

#1 New York Times bestselling author J.R. Ward is heating things up this winter with a holiday novel featuring some of her most iconic Black Dagger Brothers.

When Trez lost his beloved to a tragic death (The Shadows, Black Dagger Brotherhood #13), his soul was crushed and his destiny seemed relegated to suffering. But when he meets a mysterious female, he becomes convinced his true love has been reincarnated. Is he right? Or has his grief created a disastrous delusion?

Therese has come to Caldwell to escape a rift with her bloodline. The revelation that she was adopted and not born into her family shakes the foundations of her identity, and she is determined to make it on her own. Her attraction to Trez is not what she’s looking for, except the sexy Shadow proves to be undeniable.

Has fate provided a grieving widower with a second chance…or is Trez too blinded by the past to see the present for what it really is? In this sensual, arresting book full of the themes of redemption and self-discovery, two lost souls find themselves at a crossroads where the heart is the only compass that can be trusted…but that may require a courage that neither of them possesses.

When Trez lost his beloved to a tragic death (The Shadows, Black Dagger Brotherhood #13), his soul was crushed and his destiny seemed relegated to suffering. But when he meets a mysterious female, he becomes convinced his true love has been reincarnated. Is he right? Or has his grief created a disastrous delusion?

Therese has come to Caldwell to escape a rift with her bloodline. The revelation that she was adopted and not born into her family shakes the foundations of her identity, and she is determined to make it on her own. Her attraction to Trez is not what she’s looking for, except the sexy Shadow proves to be undeniable.

Has fate provided a grieving widower with a second chance…or is Trez too blinded by the past to see the present for what it really is? In this sensual, arresting book full of the themes of redemption and self-discovery, two lost souls find themselves at a crossroads where the heart is the only compass that can be trusted…but that may require a courage that neither of them possesses.

 

Sneak Peek at WHERE WINTER FINDS YOU:

 

“Holy f–k,” Trez yelled as a semitrailer truck the size of a building went blasting past the front bumper of his brand-new BMW.
Like right past. Like . . . nearly peeling off the hood of the damned car.
As his four-wheel drive, heavily treaded snow tires abruptly grabbed at that which they had been spinning on, and a pedestrian who’d slipped suddenly righted himself out of the way of the truck, Trez decided that the definition of in-the-nick-of time was exactly what just happened. If he’d been able to go when the light had turned, if that pedestrian hadn’t caught himself just when he had, they would both have been filing their termination papers tonight.
Because about a split second prior to the almost catastrophe going down, Trez had been debating whether or not to just drive on. And not merely through the intersection.
Having spent two decades in Caldwell, watching with his Shadow eyes the way a couple generations of humans built up the city, he knew exactly where this particular street in this particular section of town ended up.
At the Hudson River.
So if he hit the gas and kept on a direct, no wavering course until the street ended, he could take a Fast & Furious jump off the concrete embankment under one of Caldie’s two bridges. The BMW would not last long in the free fall, the sleek car having been built to fly over asphalt, not literally fly, and soon enough, both he and all this expensive steel, leather, and plastic would be sinking beneath the cold, sluggish waters of the Hudson.
As his eyes had flashed peridot, his brain had imagined what it would be like. At first, the water would infiltrate through seams and vents, a trickle, not a rush. But that would change as he used the last of the electrical system’s power to lower the windows. After that, he would sit and wait for his drowning to take place, probably with his hands still on the wheel, maybe not, his seat belt remaining pulled across his chest, his clothes dampening and then clinging to his warm body with the clammy touch of the corpse he would soon become.
He would not struggle. He would keep his eyes open. He imagined himself feeling a calmness that had been missing since all the light in his world went out in that hospital room about twenty miles, and some distance underground, away from where he himself would die. He would be so relieved. Even as the water reached his throat, then proceeded over his mouth and into his nose and ears, even as his body temperature tried to rally against the icy submersion and failed to conserve any warmth, even as his air supply dwindled to that which was in his lungs and no more, he would be at peace.
The death throes, when they came—and they would, for his body was, as all were, evolutionarily adapted for survival, the conscious mind in charge only up to a dire point, whereupon autonomic function took over and things went haywire—would thrash him about in the bucket seat, throwing his head forward and back, his mouth opening and drawing in water as a reflex, as a desperate hope that his lungs were merely being denied oxygen as opposed to there being none available to them. He was under no illusions that it would be easy. There would be suffering from the suffocation, burning inside his body, perhaps even some last-moment panic kicked over his mortal transom by the lizard part of his brain.
But then it would be over. Done with. The whole miserable biological accident of his life dusted, in the bin, over and out.
A void, and nothing more.
Which was heretical.
As a Shadow, he had been raised in a slightly different belief system than regular vampires. His people, an evolutionary extension within the fanged species, relied a great deal on the stars in the sky, the traditions of the s’Hisbe a variant of what was accepted as the way the afterlife worked. The core tenets, however, were the same for both. It was like Protestants and Catholics—same essential language, but different dialects—and as such, his kind, too, had the theory that after you died, you went up unto the Fade, and lived out eternity with your loved ones under the benevolent auspices of the Scribe Virgin. Assuming you hadn’t been a total douche down on earth. If you had been an asshole, you were relegated to Dhunhd, also known as Hell, which was where the Omega and his minions hung out. Either way, your conduct over the course of your mortal nights determined your final zip code, and there was something after your last breath to look forward to—or dread—depending on your worthiness.
It was an okay theory, and a construct that he understood was, in its own fashion, to be found on the human side of things as well. Not the Fade or Dhunhd, perhaps, not the Scribe Virgin or the Omega, exactly, but rather other, similar belief systems that covered both how you treated yourself and others while you were mortal, and also considered what happened to you after your coil, so to speak, got popped. Islam, Judaism, Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, and countless other religions, they were all efforts to give more of a vista after death than just a coffin and a grave. Or a pyre.
He knew from pyres.
God, did he ever.
What he no longer knew from, however, what he no longer believed in, was all the rest of that stuff. He’d never been particularly spiritual, but man, you didn’t know how much you had been until you were not any longer.
At all.
Anyway, prior to the whole truck/intersection/ almost-obliteration thing, he had been considering what was not exactly a sin, but rather a really, very not-so-hot idea. Assuming you were a believer. In the lexicon of both vampires and Shadows, if you took your own life, that was it. No Fade for you, motherfucker. Now, no one had been able to provide him with a good explanation of what the alternative repercussions were—sure, lore had it you were closed-door’d on the whole Fade thing. But where did you end up? Dhunhd? Worm food? Who knew. Yet everyone and their uncle was damn clear on the fact that you weren’t going to be elbows deep in people you liked for the next jabillion years.
The message apparently being, if you took your own life, well, then, to hell with you if you didn’t appreciate the gift you were given at birth.
Yeah, like this whole breathing/heart-beating thing had been such a fucking prize, these years he’d been upright and walking around such a goddamn joy. He’d been destined for a loveless mating since the night he was born, been responsible for the senseless suffering of both his parents, watched a dear friend get tortured by a psychotic cunt for a good twenty years—that was fun—been a pimp, a drug dealer, and an enforcer.
Real partridge-in-a-pear-tree shit.
And then that heaping sundae of shit-chip ice cream—which he’d self-medicated with an outstanding sex addiction, thank you very much—had been cherry-topped by the granddaddy of all gutwrenchers.
He’d met the female of his dreams, fallen in love . . . and, after what felt like twenty minutes of happiness, had had to hold her hand as she died of a wasting disease right in front of him.
Honestly, he hadn’t just been born under a bad star; he’d been born under one that kicked him in the nuts so badly, he’d coughed them out in his hand.
So now he was here, in this BMW he’d just bought, on this snowy night, during the motherfucking human season of cocksucking joy, contemplating suicide—only to have the GODDAMN ACCIDENT THAT COULD HAVE MADE IT ALL COME OUT ALL RIGHT DENIED TO HIM BY A SET OF ALL-SEASON RADIALS THAT HAD WORKED JUST FINE AT EVERY OTHER FUCKING INTERSECTION HE’D EVER DRIVEN THROUGH.
Not to put too fine a point on things.
But FFS, he couldn’t even have a chance to get dead in such a way that he could both end this bullshit AND not run afoul of the maybe truth that suicide got you, literally, nowhere.
Not that he believed in the afterlife anymore anyway. No matter what he’d thought he’d seen after Selena had died.
Hell, if there was anything that the last three months had taught him, it was that death was a hard stop. Especially if you were the one left behind.
Well, Trez thought, as he sped along in the snow, at least there was still the embankment option.
There was that to look forward to.

 

About J. R. Ward:

 

J.R. Ward is the author of more than thirty novels, including those in her #1 New York Times bestselling Black Dagger Brotherhood series. There are more than fifteen million copies of her novels in print worldwide, and they have been published in twenty-six different countries around the world. She lives in the South with her family.

Don’t forget to sign-up for exclusive Black Dagger Brotherhood original content:
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Categories : Giveaway, Holiday Romance, Paranormal, Paranormal Romance Tagged : Black Dagger Brotherhood, Excerpt, J.R. Ward, Where Winter Finds You

THE YEAR OF EVERYTHING (LEGENDS OF MEAGER #2) by CAT PORTER

November 22, 2019

 

About the Book:

 

When I walked up the steps to Meager Senior High that September morning I had no idea that by the end of the year my life as I knew it would be over.
Every high school senior anticipates having their best year ever. I certainly did.
Senior year, here I come. Watch out for Grace Hastings!

I had everything going for me.

Only the everything I thought was real…
Was so wrong.
Everything I believed in, everything I was holding onto up until that moment, turned out to be meaningless.
Well, no. That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?
This is more accurate—everything can crack, break, crash. Flip the f*ck over and burn.

And it did.

EXCERPT:

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mom’s waspish voice seared through my stomach. She stood there with a cigarette in her hand, her eyes lasering over Ruby, then me.
Ruby shot me her famed “I got this” look. Oh no. “We’re going to a party.”
“A high school party?” Mom gestured at Tania and me with her cigarette. “What the hell business do you have going to a high school party?”
This was that part of the recipe where I watched for signs of the first boil. I got in between them. Time to lower the heat on the pot. “Everyone’s going, Ma,” I kept my voice soft. Defuse. Defuse. “It’s at the Hildebrand ranch. It’s like a spring reunion every year.”
“Right.” Mom slanted her head at Ruby, a sardonic look souring her face. “You going to find Deke, aren’t you? Show him what he’s missing?”
“I don’t give a crap about Deke,” came Ruby’s monotone reply.
“Right, right, ‘course not.” Mom’s voice rose in that way I knew so well. My insides cramped with the needles and barbs entrenched in that voice. It was a bitter poison building.
Ruby said, “He can go fuck himself for all I care.”
“Hey! What’s going on over there?” Dad’s voice rose from the other room, and my eyes widened.
“You’re going to go over there and strut your stuff all over the place and make him notice you.” Mom was on a roll.
Ruby’s face remained unruffled. “You got that wrong, Janet. I don’t have to make anybody notice me.”
Motherfudgemycake.
“You two at it again? Cut the crap already,” Dad’s voice boomed over the television. “One night I’m home…”
Mom leaned into Ruby, and Ruby didn’t flinch, but I did. “He doesn’t get it, but I do,” Mom’s voice seethed, her lips twisting. “I would’ve thought that by now, you’d have better things to do on a Saturday night than chauffeur your little sister to her high school party.”
“All Ruby’s friends are going to be there, Mom. It’s like a reunion party every year. It’s spring break, you know?” My face heated, and I shot Tania a glance, my teeth scraping my bottom lip. “Sorry,” I mouthed to her, and she shook her head once to show me “no biggie.” Yeah, no biggie because Tania had witnessed a gazillion confrontations just like this between Ruby and Mom for years, all of them sour and pointless. But Dad was home today, and I didn’t want this to get any worse now that he was here, because once he joined in…
The day had skimmed along just fine up until this very moment. We’d even managed an uneventful dinner, thanks to Tania being present. Dad had extended my curfew to midnight from 11:30.
Ruby only flicked her keychain in response. She really didn’t care what mom said or didn’t say. Her jaw tensed. She was waiting for the inevitable tumble of curses and name-calling, but the words didn’t come today. Dad was home, and Mom was trying to ring in her temper.
Mom took in a deep breath, pressing her lips together, and they paled under the pressure. She scanned each of us intently, her harsh gaze lingering on Tania. “You trying to look like Madonna?”
Tania shifted her weight, a hand smoothing through her hair. “No, Mom!” I said. “We put on more eyeliner than usual and did our hair and—”
“I know what goes on at those parties,” Mom said.
“You do, huh?” Ruby pushed back from the doorway, hands on her hips.
“I was in high school once, too, you know. Don’t you dare get behind that wheel drunk. Don’t you dare.”
“I won’t,” Ruby said.
“Those One-Eyed Jacks going to be there? That why you going?” Mom’s voice sharpened again, slicing right through my insides even though it was directed at Ruby.
“What would those guys want with a crowd of high schoolers?” I said. “They have much more exciting ways to party than—”
“They certainly do,” said Ruby, a grin warming her face.
Fuuuuuuuckkkkkkk. My stomach plummeted into a dark abyss under a two-ton slab of cement. Why, Ruby? Whyyyyyy?

Categories : Coming of Age, New Adult Romance Tagged : Cat Porter, Excerpt, The Year of Everything

DIRTY LETTERS by VI KEELAND and PENELOPE WARD

November 1, 2019

 

 

Dirty Letters

Release Date: 11/05/2019

 

A Contemporary Romance Novel

 

New York Times Bestselling Authors Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward

 

EXCERPT REVEAL:

 

The small dining room table had a pile of mail. I’d had Dad’s mail forwarded to my house, so mostly it was just catalogs and junk. Once a month, Mrs. Cascio sent me everything that arrived, even though I’d told her it wasn’t necessary. I mindlessly fingered through the pile, not expecting to see anything worth keeping. But I stopped at an envelope addressed to me—well, not me, but Luca Ryan. That was a name I hadn’t heard in a long time. In second grade, my teacher, Mrs. Ryan, started a pen pal writing program with a small town in England. We weren’t allowed to use our real last names for safety reasons, so the entire class used her last name—hence I was Luca Ryan. I checked out the return address for the sender’s name. 

G. Quinn 

Wow, really? It couldn’t be.

I squinted at the postmark. It was from a PO box in California, not England, but I didn’t know any other Quinn other than Griffin. And the handwriting did look pretty familiar. But it had been close to eight years since we’d exchanged letters. Why would he write now? Curious, I ripped it open and scanned right to the bottom of the letter for the name. Sure enough, it was from Griffin. I started at the beginning. 

 

Dear Luca, 

 

Do you like scotch? I remember you said you didn’t like the taste of beer. But we never did get around to comparing our taste in hard liquor. Why is that, you might ask? Let me remind you—because you stopped answering my letters eight damn years ago. I wanted to let you know, I’m still pissed off about that. My mum used to say I hold grudges. But I prefer to think of it as I remember the facts. And the fact of the matter is, you suck. There, I’ve said it. I’ve been holding that shit in for a long time. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not obsessive or anything. I don’t sit in my house thinking about you all day long. In fact, there have been months that go by when thoughts of you don’t even enter my brain. But then some random thing will pop into my head out of the blue. Like I’ll see some kid in a pram eating black licorice, and I’ll think of you. Side note—I’ve tried it again as an adult, and I still think it tastes like the bottom of my shoe, so perhaps it’s that you just have no taste. You probably don’t even like scotch. Anyway, I’m sure this letter won’t find its way to you. Or if by some miracle it does, you won’t answer. But if you’re reading this, you should know two things. 

1. The Macallan 1926 is worth the extra cash. Goes down smooth. 

2. You SUCK. 

 

Later, traitor, Griffin 

 

What in the hell?

 

 

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BLURB

I’d never forgotten him—a man I’d yet to meet.

Griffin Quinn was my childhood pen pal, the British boy who couldn’t have been more different from me. Over the years, through hundreds of letters, we became best friends, sharing our deepest, darkest secrets and forming a connection I never thought could break.

Until one day it did.

Then, out of the blue, a new letter arrived. A scathing one—one with eight years of pent-up anger. I had no choice but to finally come clean as to why I stopped writing.

Griffin forgave me, and somehow we were able to rekindle our childhood connection. Only now we were adults, and that connection had grown to a spark. Our letters quickly went from fun to flirty to downright dirty, revealing our wildest fantasies. So it only made sense that we would take our relationship to the next level and see each other in person.

Only Griff didn’t want to meet. He asked that I trust him and said it was for the best. But I wanted more—more Griff, in the flesh—so I took a big chance and went looking for him. People have done crazier things for love.

But what I found could change everything.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

VI KEELAND

Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author.   With millions of books sold, her titles have appeared in over a hundred Bestseller lists and are currently translated in twenty-five languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.

 

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PENELOPE WARD:

Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance.

 

She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter with autism.

 

With over two million books sold, she is a 21-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over twenty novels. Her books have been translated into over a dozen languages and can be found in bookstores around the world.

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Park Avenue Player:

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Rebel Heart (Rush, Book 2):

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Cocky Bastard:

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Stuck-Up Suit:

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Playboy Pilot:

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Mister Moneybags:

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British Bedmate:

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All Grown Up:

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We Shouldn’t:

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The Naked Truth:

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 Sex, Not Love:

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Beautiful Mistake:

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Egomaniac:

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Bossman:

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The Baller:

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Life on Stage series (2 Standalone Books)

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Beat:

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Worth the Fight:

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Worth the Chance:

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Worth Forgiving:

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Worth It All (Complete Fighter Series):

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Belong to You:

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 Made for You:

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Left Behind (A Young Adult Novel):

By:Vi Keeland & Dylan Scott

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The Day He Came Back:

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When August Ends:

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Love Online:

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Gentleman Nine:

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Drunk Dial:

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Mack Daddy: 

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RoomHate:

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Stepbrother Dearest:

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Neighbor Dearest:

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Jaded and Tyed (A novelette):

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Sins of Sevin:

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Gemini:

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Categories : Contemporary Romance Tagged : Dirty Letters, Excerpt, Penelope Ward, Vi Keeland

PRACTICE TO DECEIVE by OLIVIA EVANS

October 24, 2019

🔥🔥 NEW RELEASE 🔥🔥

PRACTICE TO DECEIVE by Olivia Evans is LIVE!

“Sometimes you find a gem. And Practice to Deceive by this new to me author is one of these rare finds.” ~Konny, Goodreads reviewer

I wasn’t always a bad guy, but betrayal has a way of finding your darkest inner demons. Great friends and family weren’t enough to save me. I wanted revenge. When the opportunity presented itself, I felt justified. That’s karma, right?

Turns out, karma has a way of circling back.

If only I hadn’t been so stupid.

If only I’d known what my deceit would cost me.

It will take a lot of work to unravel the damage I’ve done, but I’ll do it. I’ll do anything to keep from losing her.

START READING TODAY!

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For the next couple of hours, we lay together on her couch watching reruns, wrapped up in each other. We didn’t talk, but we didn’t need to, we’d done enough of that. Even though there was still so much I was keeping from her, a part of me felt lighter, better. Because now I had one less secret, one less thing hanging over my head. I also knew, now more than ever, that if I wanted to be completely free of all the bullshit, I’d have to come clean. She deserved it. The selfish side of me hugged her tighter, like a child with his favorite blanket. What would my honesty cost me? My subconscious whispered the answer against my ear with a hiss of air…everything.

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Olivia Evans is a writing obsessed, world traveling, thrill seeking, music junkie. A true Gemini, she follows her heart blindly and lives life to the fullest. Wife. Mother. Oscar Wilde lover. ~To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.

Website- http://www.oliviaevansauthor.com/

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Categories : College Romance, New Adult, Release Blitz Tagged : Excerpt, Olivia Evans, Practice to Deceive

HARD CHROME (HEAVY METAL #1) by VANESSA NORTH

October 21, 2019

Hard Chrome by Vanessa North

Series: American Heavy Metal, Book 1

Publisher: Carina Press

Release Date (Print & Ebook): Ebook Oct. 21, Print Oct. 29

Subgenre: Contemporary Romance

Warnings:
Hard Chrome deals with subjects some readers may find difficult, including domestic violence, animal cruelty, drug use, and teen pregnancy.

 

All buy links or pre-order links:

 

 

Synopsis:

 

He’s tough. But she’s tougher.
Tanner Ellis left American Heavy Metal in her rearview mirror. She didn’t see the beauty behind the grease stains and the polished chrome until it was too late. Now she’s back, determined to save her father’s legacy—and bring the South’s premier classic-car shop into the new century. Nothing is going to stop her—especially not the sexy tech who refuses to follow her lead.
American Heavy Metal is the only home Duke Wilson’s ever known, and no high-heeled, sharp-tongued princess is going to take it away. He tolerates Tanner’s advice, and it’s fun to push her buttons, but she doesn’t belong in the shop—never has, never will. The sooner she realizes that, the sooner he can find his new normal.
When Tanner falters, revealing the pain beneath her bravado, Duke comforts her the only way he knows how. And when violence from his past threatens their future, she’ll be there for him, offering him the one thing he’s always wanted—a shot at a real family. He just has to convince himself to take it.
This book is approximately 49,000 words
One-click with confidence. This title is part of the Carina Press Romance Promise: all the romance you’re looking for with an HEA/HFN. It’s a promise!

About Vanessa North:

Vanessa North is a romance novelist, a short fiction geek, and a knitter of strange and wonderful things. Her works have been shortlisted for both the Lambda Literary Award and the RITA© Award, and have garnered praise from The New York Times, The Washington Post, and Publisher’s Weekly. She lives in Northwest Georgia with her family: a Viking, twin boy-children, and two large dogs.

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Giveaway:

 

Vanessa North is celebrating the release of HARD CHROME with a big giveaway! Three prizes are up for grabs: (2) $10 Amazon Gift Cards and (1) Signed Paperback of Hard Chrome + some serious auto-shop inspired swag!

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Praise for Hard Chrome:

“Hard Chrome is a sexy, modern, Southern small town romance. I can’t wait to get my hands on the next book in the American Heavy Metal series!” – USA Today Bestselling Author Tamsen Parker

“Come for the grumpy mechanic, and stay for the big-hearted Ellis family! Hard Chrome is the perfect small-town romance–full of sweetness, hope, past hardships, and of course, plenty of heat Duke and Tanner will steal your hearts, and make you believe in the power of forgiveness and good kissing and classic cars–and I can’t wait to read the next one in the American Heavy Metal series!” – USA Today Bestselling Author Sierra Simone

“A sweet yet sexy read! I loved this unique portrayal of life in the rural South.” – Lynda Aicher, USA Today Bestselling Author

 

Excerpt:

 

Vanessa North’s Favorite Scene from Hard Chrome

Another Saturday dinner with the family. Mac declines to go, citing a friend coming over to watch a game, so I borrow his car and make the trip out to Tegan’s house alone with nothing but a warm apple pie to offer up for the potluck.
Not that I need to worry. When Tegan throws open the door, the smell of Tiffani’s award-winning chili wafts from the kitchen.
“Tanny’s here!” Tegan shouts. “And she brought pie!”
From the living room couch, Tyler looks up from his laptop and smiles at me. “Apple? Or some of that crazy cardamom and pear shit you brought last week?”
“That cardamom and pear pie was delicious.” Tegan rushes to my defense. “And I, for one, as a newly single person who doesn’t cook, am grateful for any damn thing y’all bring.” Under her breath she whispers, “Like he can talk, he brought a bagged salad.”
I laugh. “I’ll teach you to cook, Teegs.”
She wrinkles her nose. “It’s not my thing. I can’t even make an omelet. Just find me a hot woman I can wife who does those things.”
“In Royal? I think you’ve already almost married all three lesbians in town. ’Cept Peggy. Didn’t her partner pass away a few years ago?”
Tegan rolls her eyes at the mention of the octogenarian, and walks away without dignifying my teasing with a response. I follow her into the kitchen and deposit my pie on the counter.
Tiffani is leaning over the stove in a frilly apron and Daisy Dukes, her hair in a loose braid down her back, and she looks so much like our mom it makes me grin, but I don’t say anything, because Tegan and Tyler don’t remember Mom, and it seems selfish to talk about her with Tiffani.
“Hey, Tiff, need any help?”
“Nah, this just needs to simmer awhile longer.” She sets the lid back on the pot and turns to me. “Where’s Mac? I thought I heard his car.”
Of course she would recognize the sound of his engine. “I borrowed it. He said he’s having a friend over to watch the game.”
“Oh God. Don’t look at the couch under a black light.” She snickers.
“Gross, Tiff.”
“Are you going to buy a car? Or are you planning to go back to Chicago?”
I shake my head as we make our way out to the living room and my sisters settle in around Tyler on the couch. I perch on the arm of the recliner—a giant brown thing upholstered in what looks like carpet—and I shrug. “I can’t really afford anything right now. I dumped all my savings into the spa.”
Tegan and Tiffani exchange a long glance, and ice slithers down my spine. They know.
“Tan—” Tiffani looks at Tegan again, and Tegan nods. “We talked it over. You should have Dad’s car.”
Well, that’s the last damn thing I expected. “Dad’s Camaro?”
They look at each other again, smiling.
“Yeah.” Tegan shrugs. “I mean, you already have the keys. And none of us need a car—hell, I have three in my garage.”
“I don’t think the ones you harvest for parts count.” Tyler bumps her shoulder.
“Whatever. One of them runs. And Tyler has his truck.”
“I don’t know that I’d call the El Camino a truck,” Tiffani interjects.
“It’s in the goddamn name!” Tyler shoves against her. “Anyway, this monolingual heathen with her eighties-era M3 wouldn’t be the one to take as any kind of authority about American heavy metal.”
Tiffani smirks. “Dad didn’t speak to me for a week after I bought it. Then one day he comes into the shop and says, ‘Guten morgen, tochter.’”
Tegan and Tyler erupt with laughter, and I feel a smile tugging at my lips.
“How very Dad.” I swallow hard. “But his Camaro—”
“He’d want you to have it,” Tiffani insists. “We want you to have it.”
I remember how much Dad loved that car, already a classic when he bought it. He’d taught me to drive in it. He was driving me home from school when I told him about the scholarship to Cornell, and we cried together because we were happy and terrified and everything was about to change again.
“Thank you.” I look down at my hands, unable to meet my siblings’ eyes, afraid they’ll see my guilt and my shame all too clearly.
Tegan stands up and pushes me into the chair. “Stop perching on things like you’re about to fly away. We’re proud of you. Dad was proud of you. And for however long we’ve got you at the shop, we’re going to take advantage of your big ol’ brain. Love you, Tanny.”
“Love you, Teegs.” I turn to Tiffani and Tyler. “Love you, goobers.”
Tiffani smiles wide, reminding me again of Mom. “It’s getting very mushy in here.”

Categories : Contemporary Romance, Giveaway, Release Blitz Tagged : Excerpt, Hard Chrome, Heavy Metal, Vanessa North

FAST LANE by KRISTEN ASHLEY

October 14, 2019

 

Synopsis:

 

“Once he met her, it was and always would be Lyla.”

They were the gentlemen bad boys of rock. Forming in a garage in a small town in Indiana. Taking their licks on the road. Going balls to the wall until they made their big break.

And then Preacher McCade and the Roadmasters redefined rock and roll.

Guided by their tortured lead singer and songwriter, the Roadmasters changed the face of music in the 80s and 90s. And on their journey to becoming one of the most enduring bands in history—dogged by rumors and myth and fueled by drugs and booze—the Roadmasters had one touchstone.

Lyla.

Preacher’s muse, the love of his life, and the band’s moral compass, from the beginning, Lyla is along for the ride.

But with fame and acclaim in their grasp, they’ve entered the fast lane.

And they didn’t know it, but they were headed for a crash.

 

My Review:

 

“There are women who just have… [Pause] Something. Lyla had that.”

Well I am sure that this story was a long time coming, knowing what a huge fan Kristen Ashley is of rock & roll! And ‘Fast Lane’ is certainly a bit outside her normal comfort zone, much like a passion project or a story that she absolutely HAD to tell.

This book tells the story of a famous band’s path to stardom and the often-rocky road to the top. Told in an interview style much like Taylor Jenkins-Reid’s ‘Daisy Jones & the Six’, ‘Fast Lane’ (LOVE the title, by the way!) also has at it’s center the love story between Lyla and Preacher, the lead of the band.

Preacher McCade and the Roadmasters lived a hard life, exactly as you would expect a rock band from the 80’s and 90’s. This is a book filled with nostalgia from those decades, written by an author who is obviously a true fan of rock & roll and the bands that created the memories of our youth. Kristen Ashley’s biography states that she grew up with the sounds of Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon and Whitesnake so you just know that she has probably been DYING to write a story like this for years!

This story unfolds as the interviews with band members develop and for me, the best parts focused on Preacher’s muse, Lyla. Of course her arrival changed many things about the band and their relationships. I loved the interview-style narrative and as always, Kristen Ashley created another unforgettable main character in Preacher McCade.

“And the only thing I’m sure of in all of that, the only thing that’s solid, is Preacher.”

Although this book is different from most of Kristen Ashey’s other books, the interview style works well. I wasn’t always feeling the pull of the music or the nostalgia for the time period but I enjoyed the story nonetheless. Definitely pick this one up if you are a fan of rockstar romances and the emotional pull of Kristen Ashley’s books. You won’t be disappointed!

“We should all follow our stars.”

(ARC was provided by the author in exchange for an honest review.)

 

Excerpt:

 

Preach was an equal opportunity, benevolent almost-rock god.
I remember seeing him with his jeans bunched up to his knees, sitting on the side of the pool, his feet and calves in the water, her friends barely clothed in the water, wet and hanging off his legs and his every word, and he’d glance over at her.
When he was in the mood to spread his love, everyone was invited.
We all were nailing serious tail, but I don’t think anybody but Dave had had a threesome.
But that was not unusual for Preach.
Or more, you know?
That night, I had one girl, he had two, three were in with Tim and Dave, tripping, and Tommy was fucking another one in what we would find out later was one of the girls’ dad’s waterbed.
And looking back, I knew Preacher was more into her than the two he had.
I also got why.
Kind of.

Now, again, it was the eighties. We’re talkin’ Jane Fonda workout videos and Jamie Lee Curtis in that movie Perfect and one-pieces making a comeback because the legs were cut so far up the hips, a girl had to shave.
And Lyla was not…
[Pause]
That.
I mean, there was a reason anorexia became prevalent during that decade and didn’t let go. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t good, but it was the way it was.
But Lyla was not that way.
Tits and ass.
A lot.
Of both.
And, from what I could tell that night, bad attitude.
But fuck, the longer the night wore on, Preacher couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
She’d do a lap to clean up ashtrays or beer bottles or whatever the fuck, and honest to Christ, he didn’t miss a step.
Not that first step.
She had what they now politically correctly, but also, it’s gotta be said, just plain correctly call curves.
Freddie Mercury called them fat-bottomed girls.
But man, she was pretty.
Lotsa hair.
Perfect skin.
You know, and a way about her.
It was part that attitude.
Part the mystery.
You know, tell a man, “don’t touch, you’ll get burned,” he’ll become obsessed with the fire. It’s just how it is.
She screamed don’t touch.
And Preacher, man…
Preacher could be obsessive.
In a big way.

But it was the eyes.
I gotta believe, and this would prove true, in a way, if it wasn’t Preach, it would be somebody. Another rock star. A photographer. A painter. Someone would fall in the muse of Lyla’s eyes.
But as you know, it was Preacher.

Categories : 3.5 Stars, Reviews, Rock Star, Rocker, Romance Tagged : Excerpt, Fast Lane, Kristen Ashley

THE WIDOW OF ROSE HOUSE by DIANA BILLER

October 7, 2019

 

ABOUT THE BOOK:

 

A young widow restores a dilapidated mansion with the assistance of a charming, eccentric genius, only to find the house is full of dangerous secrets in this effervescent Gilded Age debut novel

It’s 1875, and Alva Webster has perfected her stiff upper lip after three years of being pilloried in the presses of two continents over fleeing her abusive husband. Now his sudden death allows her to return to New York to make a fresh start, restoring Liefdehuis, a dilapidated Hyde Park mansion, and hopefully her reputation at the same time. However, fresh starts aren’t as easy as they seem, as Alva discovers when stories of a haunting at Liefdehuis begin to reach her. But Alva doesn’t believe in ghosts. So when the eccentric and brilliant professor, Samuel Moore, appears and informs her that he can get to the bottom of the mystery that surrounds Liefdehuis, she turns him down flat. She doesn’t need any more complications in her life―especially not a handsome, convention-flouting, scandal-raising one like Sam.

Unfortunately, though Alva is loath to admit it, Sam, a pioneer in electric lighting and a member of the nationally-adored Moore family of scientists, is the only one who can help. Together, the two delve into the tragic secrets wreathing Alva’s new home while Sam attempts to unlock Alva’s history―and her heart.

Set during the Gilded Age in New York City, The Widow of Rose House is a gorgeous debut by Diana Biller, with a darkly Victorian Gothic flair and an intrepid and resilient American heroine guaranteed to delight readers.

 

MY REVIEW:

 

What a fantastic debut novel!

Just to be clear, this is not exactly a dark or Gothic novel. The tone is actually somewhat light – despite there being a ghost involved! – and the romance is fantastic. If you are looking to step outside your usual comfort zone, then I highly recommend this Gilded Age romance. I was pleasantly surprised that this was the author’s debut novel.

Alva is a disgraced widow who has returned to New York from Europe, the subject of newspaper gossip and rumors. She has purchased a decrepit old home that is rumored to be haunted. Sam is a well-known scientist who is interested in studying the house and learning more about the rumored haunting. Although the main focus is the romance between Alva and Sam, I loved the exploration of the role of women in society during the late 1800’s and the way Sam respected Alva’s wit and mind. But never fear, there is still tons of heat and chemistry in this delightful book!

“I find almost every damn thing about you irresistible, Mrs. Webster,” he said, his arms aching to come around her.
“Don’t call me that,” she said. “Don’t call me by his name.”
“Alva, then,” he said, and pulled her close.

The ghost story was very well-done and treated with great sensitivity and care. I don’t consider this to be a paranormal book or science fiction, despite the presence of a spirit within Alva’s home. There is also humor, adventure and suspense in this very fast-paced story.

“I can’t believe I did that,” she said, her hand creeping up to her lips. “Why did I do that?” “Hopefully because I’m irresistible,” he said.

I fell in love with Sam and his wit and eccentric ways. I also adored Alva’s courage and feistiness. These two made a memorable couple and I could definitely see another book about them! ‘The Widow of Rose House’ is a fantastic debut and I look forward to more books from Diana Biller.

Favorite quote:

“I’m sorry to have—to have given you the wrong impression. I can’t do this. I don’t have room for romance, or for … whatever this is.”
Sam blew out a breath and pushed his hair out of his eyes.
“It’s romance,” he said.

(ARC provided by the publisher via NetGalley in return for an honest review.)

 

CHAPTER 1 EXCERPT:

 

New York City, February 1, 1875

Alva stood on the city sidewalk and sucked in a deep, triumphant gulp of air. The clock had just struck ten—the middle of the eve­ ning by New York City standards—and she was surrounded by elegantly dressed men escorting women dripping diamonds and rolled up tightly in furs. A few feet from her, the street was busy with carriages. She could smell the city: The damp fog, the sharp tang of refuse, the high floral notes of perfumed women. Horse dung.

Had she missed it? She wasn’t sure, although she knew she missed the steep, tangled streets of Montmartre already. But it was America that held her future now, even as it held her past. For a second her triumph was tempered by the remembrance of the thin envelope in her pocket, a few brief lines from her mother’s secretary, thanking her for her interest in visiting and regretting that Mrs. Rensselaer would be unable to see her. Alva knew her mother, likely even now sitting down to a stiff dinner with her husband and twelve of their closest friends fifty blocks away, did indeed feel regret. She just suspected it was about giv­ ing birth to her at all.

The restaurant door opened behind her, and, recalled to the moment, she signaled to the boy hailing cabs to find her one.
“Excuse me,” a deep voice said. “Mrs. Webster?”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Couldn’t she stand outside for one min- ute without some intrepid lothario assuming she must be wait­ ing for him? In the less than seventy­two hours she’d been back in the States, she’d been propositioned eleven times. Twice by friends of her father’s.
She glanced over her shoulder at the man, receiving an in­ stant impression of big, though he stood mostly in the shadows. “I don’t know you,” she said, her voice flat. “Go home to your wife.”
“But I don’t have a wife,” the man said. He took a hesitant step towards her, leaving the shadows, and her eyebrows lifted. He looked more like a laborer than a man finishing a dinner at Delmonico’s, for all he was dressed in a suit and tie. Sort of dressed, she amended; the suit looked like it had been made for someone two inches shorter and two inches narrower across the
shoulders. “Do I need a wife to talk to you? Is it a chaperone sort of thing? I have a mother, but she’s in Ohio.”
Alva blinked. “You’re not very good at this,” she observed. “I’m not a man, but I don’t think it’s standard behavior to invoke one’s mother at a time like this.”
They stared at each other in puzzlement. He was attrac­ tive in the sort of way she’d always imagined the heroes of west­ ern folktales to be: tall, broad shouldered, with a strong nose and a square jaw. He could stand to add barber to the list of people he needed to see, though, the one that started with tailor. Actually, looking at the way his dark blond hair fell into his eyes, she thought he’d better have it start with barber and go from there.
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” he said finally. “Perhaps if I introduce myself—my name is Professor Samuel Moore.”
He held out his hand. She looked at it, looked up at him, and did not extend her own. Bafflingly, he smiled at her, as though she’d done something rather clever.
Was he really a professor? He certainly didn’t look like one, not that it mattered, because she made it a policy, these days, never to talk to strange men—
“A professor of what?” she heard herself saying, although she was pleased it at least came out with a nice air of sarcasm and disbelief.
“This and that,” he said, still smiling. “Engineering, mostly.” She looked at his rumpled clothes. Yes, she could see that, one of those men who always had a tool in one hand and a grease can in the other. She didn’t know they were giving professorships out to men like that, but why not, after all? She was as apprecia­ tive of things like trains and working carriage wheels as the next
person.
And now she’d gone and encouraged him. Stupid. “I see,” she said as coldly as she could manage. “Well, I’m not interested, so I’ll wish you good evening.”
“But how can you know if you’re not interested?” He shook his head in confusion, still smiling at her. The smile was . . . im­ pressive. “I haven’t even explained my proposition, yet.”
“I find that if you’ve heard one proposition, you’ve heard them all,” she replied. Stop talking to him, you idiot. “They’re not as unique as men would like to believe.”
“But—who else has approached you? Was it Langley, from Yale?” His tone turned plaintive. “How did he hear about this before me?”
“Langley—who?”
“Piers Langley,” he said. “No? I can’t think of anyone else reputable—look here, if you’ve been approached by anyone from that quack Santa Fe institute you should know they’re absolute frauds.”
“Institute?” Alva said faintly. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Your house, of course. I hadn’t realized I was so behind on the news.” His face fell—What must it be like to let all your emo- tions float freely on your face?—but he nodded gravely. “If it’s Langley, though, he’s an excellent researcher, and a decent human, too.”
“It’s not Lang—what do you want with my house?” It was her turn to sound plaintive.
“But that’s what—” He stared at her, his brows crunched to­ gether. “Oh god. I wasn’t—I wouldn’t—”
To her astonishment, a distinct touch of pink appeared in his cheeks. He cleared his throat.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am. Henry warned me—that is, I shouldn’t have; my proposition is not of an intimate nature.”
“I’m coming to understand that,” she said.
“You thought . . . do men . . . they must—good lord.”
She began to feel in charity with this befuddled giant. “In­ deed,” she said. “I quite agree. But I must ask again—what is it you want with Liefdehuis?”
“To study it,” he said. “One of my personal interests is in metaphysical energies, you see, and from what I’ve heard, your house may prove a most interesting case. Your ghost story is so recent, you know. I hardly ever hear one claiming to be that new—”
He broke off as she shook her head. “You almost had me con­ vinced that you were unlike the majority of your sex,” she said. “And now I see you are. I’m just not sure insanity is much of an improvement.”
To her surprise, he smiled again. “You’re not the only one who thinks so,” he said. The embarrassment had left his face; he was quite relaxed once more. A man who apologizes for a propo- sition and grins at an insult, Alva thought. Where did you come from, Professor Moore?
“And I’ll admit there’s no conclusive evidence yet,” he con­ tinued, “but what I have collected looks extremely promising. Certainly promising enough to warrant extensive study.”
A hint of cold pierced her thoughts. Firmly, she banished it. “You’re talking about ghosts,” she said.
“Maybe,” he replied. “Or I could be studying some kind of alien intelligence that just happens to concentrate in areas cor­ responding to local folklore.”
“Alien intelligence.”
“Invisible alien intelligence,” he clarified. “At least invisible to the naked human eye. But ‘ghost’ is probably the easiest term.”
“Really.”
“People tend to go a bit strange when you talk to them about invisible alien intelligences,” he confided. “Which is odd, when
you think about it, because why are the shades of one’s dead an­cestors any less unsettling?”
She found herself nodding before the rest of her wits caught up with her. “No,” she said, not because the word corresponded with any particular question, but because she had the feeling the only way to survive here was to stick to very black­and­white words. His nuances were both compelling and sticky. “I’m afraid I won’t give you access. I don’t believe in ghosts, and I’m about to start several months’ worth of building work.”
“Don’t decide yet,” he begged. “I’m willing to pay you for the privilege, and I promise I won’t be in the way . . . although there is rather a lot of equipment, so I suppose—”
The boy hailing cabs caught her eye and gestured as a han­som pulled up beside him.
“That’s mine,” she said. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. Good evening.”
“Wait!” he said. “I’ll—I’ll send you a letter. Henry said that was the way to do it—I’ll write you and explain more.”
“It won’t help,” she said as the cab boy helped her into the carriage. “I’m sorry. Good­bye, Professor Moore.”
Finally, he sighed acceptance and raised his hand. “Good evening, Mrs. Webster.”
As the cab pulled away from the sidewalk, though, she looked back at him, to find him staring after her with his hands shoved in his pockets and that apparently irrepressible grin back in place. An uncomfortable lightness expanded in her chest as she watched him standing head­ and ­shoulders taller than the passersby around him, looking back at her as though he would be perfectly happy never to look at anything else ever again.
What couldn’t I get, if I could look at people like that? she thought, and settled grumpily back against her seat.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

 


DIANA BILLER lives in Los Angeles with her husband and their very good dog. THE WIDOW OF ROSE
HOUSE is her debut novel.

Categories : 4 Stars, Historical Fiction, Historical Romance Tagged : Diana Biller, Excerpt, The Widow of Rose House

THE KINGMAKER by KENNEDY RYAN Sneak Peek

October 7, 2019

KINGMAKER SNEAK PEEK.jpg

“A dazzling, thought-provoking, layered romance that will keep you on the edge of your seat. A round of applause for one of the best books of 2019.”

— L.J. Shen, USA Today bestselling author

All The King’s Men Duet, an all-new powerful and emotional duet from RITA ® Award winning author Kennedy Ryan, is coming October 28th, and we have the first sneak peek!

KINGMAKER_FINAL.jpg

Power. Passion. Betrayal.

RITA® Award-winning author Kennedy Ryan delivers the epic first installment of the All the King’s Men Duet.

Raised to rule, bred to lead and weaned on a diet of ruthless ambition. In a world of haves and have nots, my family has it all, and I want nothing to do with it.

My path takes me far from home and paints me as the black sheep. At odds with my father, I’m determined to build my own empire. I have rules, but Lennix Hunter is the exception to every one of them. From the moment we meet, something sparks between us. But my family stole from hers and my father is the man she hates most. I lied to have her, and would do anything to keep her. Though she tries to hate me, too, the inexorable pull between us will not be denied.

And neither will I.

Sneak Peek from The Kingmaker

A fat raindrop plops on my nose, sliding down the bridge, followed by another and then a wet succession.

“Aw, hell.” I pull my jacket up on my elbows to provide some shelter for the two of us, but the rain trebles, more coming down and faster.

“We still have four blocks before my place,” I say. “Sorry, but the weather is unpredictable this time of year.”

Rain has already started molding the thin dress to her body, faithfully hugging every swell and curve. A hard shiver runs through her and her teeth chatter.

“Come on.” I grab her hand and duck into an alleyway. An overhang provides a tiny patch of dry ground and shelter. “We may be able to wait it out. These showers sprout up and pass over like they never happened.”

We’re sandwiched between two buildings and there is barely any light, but the moonlight finds her, sculpting shadows beneath her cheekbones and etching dark crescents of her lowered lashes. The rain has smeared her mascara, and water-slicked hair flattens to her head. She should look bedraggled, but she manages to be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.

I bend, tentative at first, even after last night. Even after making love to her again this morning when I chased her up the stairs. I approach slowly, giving her the chance to refuse, but she doesn’t. She meets me, eyes open, lips eager, hands bunched in my wet hair. It’s a freshwater kiss, made of rain and passion.

WANT MORE? Click here to keep reading and to enter Kennedy’s cover reveal GIVEAWAY >>> http://bit.ly/sneakpeekKR

Releasing October 28th

THE KINGMAKER PAPERBACK PREORDER.jpg

Pre-order the paperback today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/31StTHp

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/thekingmakerpb

Barnes and Noble: http://bit.ly/336807v

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/PowerBook1

Be notified FIRST when The Kingmaker goes live: http://bit.ly/2oRuDhf

Categories : Contemporary Romance, Uncategorized Tagged : All the King’s Men Duet, Excerpt, Kennedy Ryan, The Kingmaker

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