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Cover Reveal + Excerpt: Killing the Sun by K. Larsen & Mara White

May 10, 2016

 

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Add to goodreads now.

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****WARNING****

KILLING THE SUN is a collaborative novel by K. Larsen and Mara White.

KTS is not a ROMANCE

KTS is not ROMANTIC

This book features a non-linear time line, some violence as well as graphic sex.

Do not read this book if you don’t like antiheroes.

Do not read this book if sexual sadism makes you uncomfortable.

Do not read this book if you don’t like dubious consent.

Do not read this book if you are looking for a traditional HEA.

Do not read this book if you like demure heroines and swashbuckling heroes.

KTS is a serial novel that will come in three novellas released in rapid succession.

If you choose to take this ride, please do so at your own risk.

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Prologue

Aimee

I was born backwards into this world.

Breeched.

You tore me, she said.

Those were words I remember my mother saying to me, as if I had done those things to her on purpose.

Back first I came, my spine convex, the points of my vertebrae stretching my skin to reveal a miniature Appalachia, peaks and dips, craggy, unmarked indentations that had never seen the sun. I automatically straighten my spine thinking about it, tell my legs to relax, my gut to unwind.

Now I am sun. So full of sun.

You were late.

You made me wait.

But there would never have been enough time. My mother knew the soft strokes of motherhood didn’t suit her hands well, that my brothers’ crying had already scratched and clawed at her nerves like an unwanted emergency, a constant state of distress. But I pleased her. Her only daughter. She liked it when I brushed her hair; she would always close her eyes and hum a haunting song.

I left him by the riverside,

then the sun set on both of us.

Oh, I left him by the riverside,

And no one came back to pick me up.

She liked to look at me, to study my face. Not so much with affection but with a real curiosity that seemed out of place. She was lazy and unenthusiastic about most things, but she looked at me with gusto, almost like I’d been gone for a long time or as if she were searching for someone else in my face. In turn, I searched hers for recognition, some twitch or tic that signaled I belonged.

Mom loved my twin brothers Storm and Farren as best she could. She doted on them the only way she knew how. Food was her most available medium and sugared cereal and boxed dinners were often forced upon them in place of hugs. Mom was big and her eyes an impossibly bright blue. Cotton candy blue, raspberry popsicle blue. Her clothes were twenty years out of date and her hair hung in the same two swooping hot dog curls she rolled daily, framing her round face. I saw the same two curls in her high school pictures, where she listed disco and the roller rink under hobbies. I liked to imagine her sailing quickly around a polished rink, her hands clasped behind her, one foot leisurely replacing the other while the snare beat of disco ticked out of the speakers. She’d have those two hot dog curls and electric blue laces in her skates. In my mind she’d be lighter on her feet and never once would she think she’d be confined to a trailer, her carefree youth whittled down to a sliver, like an old bar of soap in the dish by the tub. You scrub away that many layers and whatever’s left can barely get the job done. That soap’s no good for washing the dirt off. It’s not good for much at all.

Our dad was never around. He carried a gun. Beer cans rolled in symphony, the gasping crescendo against the occasional bottle of schnapps in the footwells of his Dodge Dart. And he was missing a tooth in front; it made him whistle ever so slightly when he’d talk.

“Come here, Aim-girl. Give your daddy a hug.”

It wasn’t often. He’d storm in, fight with Mom, then take off to the sedan. He’d always park on the grass, tearing up the sod and leaving tire tracks of mud. I spent a lot of time on the swing set that belonged to the Dobsons. I also rode the Dobson girl’s grape-purple big wheel after the county bus picked her up for school. If Dad came home at night, he’d always show up drunk, yelling, slurring, sputtering. Sometimes retching.

Mom would disengage even more. She’d sit at the card table and butter slice after slice of white bread, chew through them with the steadfastness of a monk. She could eat a whole loaf like that, staring at the wall. Sometimes I would think she was crying, that I could hear her sobs through the thin trailer walls. But if I’d ever go and check, she’d be glassy-eyed, far removed but never undone.

The only time I saw her cry was at trial, when my brothers were both sentenced to life for capital murder. Storm and Farren—the little tow-headed boys my mom had dreamed would become professional wrestlers—they sealed their own fate because they’d had enough. I can’t help but believe my mom put them up to it. Dad was good for nothing but the worst he ever did was come home too drunk and knock us around; sometimes Mom would get hit bad. He’d yell, warble, then pass out in a lump on the carpet or in a chair by the TV.

Storm and Farren burned his body in a fire pit twenty miles into the woods straight off of the highway juncture where I-35 crosses with Route Seven. I walked out of the courtroom when they hashed out the details. The gory bits about bone fragments and ashes and the stubborn threads from his tattered flannel. How sisal rope had cut into his flesh. They didn’t find the rope, but they did find bloody fibers. The binding was so tight it cut through the skin, leaving the faintest spatter of blood points against the blue tarp that they buried right on the border of Texas. A stupid shallow grave where they shoved in his beer cans and cigarette butts. They sunk the Dart in Veteran’s Lake by Sulphur. I know, I saw it all on 48 Hours.

Those boys never did wash up well before dinner, and in the end, it cost them a bunch. I like to think that I loved them, but they had each other and I was always an afterthought. Born eight years too late to make it to the party. But it kept me out of trouble and ultimately, it kept me out of jail.

So my brothers grew up with a mother they would kill for and I slipped through childhood without much commotion. I spent a lot of time playing by myself. Conquering the dirt mountains out behind Arbuckle Lake. There were days I walked for miles dragging a stick and spitting into the dust until my sneakers turned almost red with dirt. I patched up my own scrapes with Band-Aids I swiped from Wal-Mart. And it’s not like my life was devoid of comfort; I was bussed into Sulphur for school and I thrived there. God knows I wasn’t the only kid surviving off of stained and pilled-up hand-me-downs, a grade D smorgasbord of free school lunch. My grades earned me the affection of all of my teachers. I was the only one in my family to graduate from high school. Aimee Olsen, high school graduate. Moving on up.

And I made sure I had the kind of portfolio that could get me into college. I never once wasted my teenage years fooling around with boyfriends. I didn’t go to the drive-in to practice getting to all of the bases with boys who wore braces and were covered in pimples. I saved myself for something bigger, something grand that the kids in my town would only ever dream of.

Some girls in my class wanted nothing more than to get married and start having babies. A trailer was enough for them; a split-style ranch would make them the envy of Sulphur. I wanted to get the hell out of Oklahoma. So I moved to New York City with a one-way Greyhound bus ticket and Storm’s old gym bag stuffed with my scrappy clothes and a clean set of sheets. I never expected to get much out of life. But I got more than I bargained for.

I got Danny.

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K. Larsen

I am an avid reader, coffee drinker, and chocolate eater who loves writing. I received my B.A. from Simmons College-a while ago. I currently live with my daughter in Maine.

I’m working on my sixth novel out later this year. I’ve published Tug Of War, Objective, Resistance, Saving Caroline, 30 Days, Committed and Dating Delaney. Enjoy!

I love hearing from you so please feel free to contact me!

Author links

Twitter  Facebook Website Goodreads  Amazon page  Instagram

Mara White

Mara White is a contemporary romance and erotica writer who laces forbidden love stories with hard issues, such as race, gender and inequality. She holds an Ivy League degree but has also worked in more strip clubs than even she can remember. She is not a former Mexican telenovela star contrary to what the tabloids might say, but she is a former ballerina and will always remain one in her heart. She lives in NYC with her husband and two children and yes, when she’s not writing you can find her on the playground.

Author Links

Twitter  Facebook  Amazon Page  Goodreads   Instagram  

Huff Post    NYDailyNews

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Categories : Cover Reveal Tagged : K. Larsen, Killing the Sun, Mara White

MISSED CONNECTION by K. LARSEN and MARA WHITE…REVIEW and GIVEAWAY

January 5, 2016

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Missed Connection by K. Larsen & Mara White

Designed by Cover Me Darling

Release Date: January 5, 2016

 

Synopsis

Twenty years weren’t enough for either of them to forget.

A chance encounter, a missed connection.

Two wayward stars that collided in a turbulent sky, at the right place, but at the wrong time in both of their lives.

What happens when they meet again? Do the same unforgettable sparks still fly?

Titan Jennings and Jesenia Van Buren may come from two different worlds but their hearts are open to second chances. No matter who or what may stand against them, love is what anchors their lives together.

Love may be infinite but time is not, Missed Connection is a novel about making the very best you can with what little you’ve got.

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Goodreads

 

Purchase Links

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1R3XtBb

iBooks: http://apple.co/1Unge0i

 

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My Review

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5 STUNNING STARS!!

MISSED CONNECTION had me at hello! Something about 40-something main characters gets me EVERY time. Put this fantastic, second-chance romance on your must-read list for 2016! When I finished this book, I was a sobbing mess and felt compelled to finish my bottle of wine…yes, it’s THAT kind of emotional, yet very satisfying and ultimately uplifting kind of story,

I am a HUGE fan of Mara White but have never read anything by K. Larsen although JEZEBEL has been on my Kindle since its release. MISSED CONNECTION is not really typical of Mara White’s other books and it just shows the breadth of her amazing writing talent. I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to read a book with older characters, who have lived a life and who have a richness and a history to their stories.

The writing is perfection. It is stunning, with an easy flow and believable dialogue and settings. Ty and Jess have very realistic jobs, family issues and other “adult” issues in both their lives. If you’ve read the Synopsis, you know this book is based on a “missed connection” between these two years before and that they seek each other out via a Craigslist ad.

“The ghost of this woman kept alive only by a matchbook, a tattoo and now, a post, just hanging out somewhere online.”

Please don’t read anything more about this book; just grab a bottle of wine, find a comfortable spot and get ready to lose yourself in this story. It is heartfelt, passionate, funny at times, and yes, very, very sexy. Ty and Jess will not be forgotten and this book just goes to show you that there is always hope, there is always the chance of true love and a true connection and there is always the chance to take the path that is right for you. I took away from this book the powerful message to always follow your heart. This gem of a book should be on everyone’s must-read list. You won’t regret it.

“I hope you know, that if I could, I would give you the stars. But instead, all I can give you is everything I have in my heart.”

Believe in true love. It’s real and it can be life-changing. Thank you Mara White and K. Larsen for a gorgeous story, I loved every single word.

(ARC provided in return for an honest review.)

 

Giveaway

$20 Amazon Gift Card

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/0cba4250194/?

 

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About the Authors
K. Larsen

K. Larsen is an avid reader, coffee drinker, and chocolate eater who loves writing. She received her B.A.from Simmons College- a while ago. She currently lives and works in Maine. She writes steamy romantic suspense novels when no one’s looking.

Connect with K.

Facebook Author Page: http://on.fb.me/1JQhOT5

Goodreads Author Page: http://bit.ly/1NXXFOD

Twitter: https://twitter.com/klarsen_author

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

Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/1mwtN2u

 

Mara White

Mara White is a contemporary romance and erotica writer who laces forbidden love stories with hard issues, such as race, gender and inequality. She holds an Ivy League degree but has also worked in more strip clubs than even she can remember. She is not a former Mexican telenovela star contrary to what the tabloids might say, but she is a former ballerina and will always remain one in her heart. She lives in NYC with her husband and two children and yes, when she’s not writing you can find her on the playground.

Connect with Mara

Facebook Author Page: http://on.fb.me/1YXx7QK

Goodreads Author Page: http://bit.ly/1P8Ee3A

Twitter: https://twitter.com/authormarawhite

Instagram: http://instagram.com/authormarawhite

Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/1P8EfV2

 

Missed Connection Facebook Reader Group: 

https://www.facebook.com/groups/102515686789420/

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Categories : 5 Stars, Adult, Contemporary, Giveaway, Reviews, Romance Tagged : K. Larsen, Mara White, Missed Connection

Release Day Blitz & Excerpt: Jezebel and Lying in Wait by K. Larsen

July 2, 2015

 
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Synopsis round
30 years of affection.
10 years of soul shattering love.
8 years of happy employment.
2 months of turmoil.
1 week of truth.
A lifetime of betrayal.
Would you have seen it coming?
Annabelle Fortin landed herself in a bit of trouble. Mandated to community service at an assisted living facility for early onset dementia she meets Jezebel, one of the residents. This is the story that unfolds over the course of Annabelle’s court ordered six month sentence. Nothing is what it seems.
 
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Excper round
Moving across the sterile room toward the chair opposite the lady, Annabelle cracked her knuckles, then sat. Unlike the other rooms she’d passed in the hallway, this woman’s was cold. Not homey at all. No pictures or decorations hung on the walls, no trinkets sat on shelves.
“So, am I allowed to stay?” she asked scratching her arm that didn’t even itch.
“I suppose.” The woman looked her up and down, wariness pulling heavily at her features.
“What’s your name?” Annabelle finally asked desperate to break the silence between them.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the woman answered with a smart-ass grin. The corners of Annabelle’s mouth kicked up into a smile. She chuckled and tucked her legs up under herself in her chair.
“I could probably just ask someone,” she returned.
“Where’s the fun in that?” the woman answered, a sour expression on her face as if she had just bitten into a lemon. Annabelle shrugged. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” she answered. The woman’s eyes lit up like sparklers.
“Eighteen was grand! You must be having the time of your life.” The woman clapped her hands together excitedly.
Annabelle frowned. She was absolutely not having the time of her life. “It’s been less than awesome,” she answered dryly.
“Bullshit!” the woman squawked.
Annabelle started at the curse from the woman before noting the huge smile on her face. “Eighteen will be the best year. You’ll see. You’ll look back when you’re sitting in some home somewhere, like me, and think, damn, eighteen was fabulous.”
“I sure hope so,” she answered, frowning.
“You have quite the pout, you know that? It twists up your features and makes you ugly.”
“That’s not very nice.” Annabelle scowled. She eyed the old woman, a sudden wave of insecurity rushing through her.
“It’s not meant to be nice. It’s the truth. Truths are often ugly.” Annabelle blinked, unsure how to respond.
“Child, are you always this…this boring?” the woman asked.
“I’m not boring!” she squawked crossing her arms and pursing her lips in irritation.
“Well you’re not exactly riveting either, are you?” the woman volleyed back, revealing a half smile.
“What do you want from me?” Annabelle asked irritated. This woman was crazy but not boring. She might actually enjoy some of her time if she got to sit with this mystery woman each week.
“Well, Annabelle Fortin, eighteen, let’s start with something easy.”
“Okay.” she answered.
“Why are you here?” the woman asked while pulling a blanket from the back of her chair down and placing it over lap. Annabelle looked at the woman’s sock clad feet. For the first time since her DUI she felt ashamed to admit why she was here. “This isn’t rocket science love, just spit it out,” pushed the woman after a pause of silence.
“I don’t have a choice. It was ‘volunteer for six months’ or serve jail time. I chose this.” she answered lifting her chin and meeting the woman’s gaze.
“A rebel. I like it. What’d you do?”
“I got pulled over for driving drunk.” Annabelle explained.
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Only my pride.” Her tone was laced with sarcasm.
“Oh posh, scandals and alcohol go together like peanut butter and jelly. That’s not all that exciting,” the woman tsked. Annabelle felt her face wrinkle in confusion. “There must be more to it…”
“Nope. Grounded until I leave for college. No phone. Limited computer use. No friends over and stuck here once a week for four hours.”
Stifling a snort the woman said, “Dear God, you mean that I’m to be your only source of entertainment for the next six months?” She slapped a hand to her chest dramatically. Annabelle cocked her head and stared at the nut job, hard. “Your life is definitely worse than mine,” the woman concluded with a roll of her hazel eyes.
Bubbles formed in Annabelle’s gut. Her rib cage started to shake and finally, she laughed. A loud, hearty laugh. A laugh that startled her. A laugh the likes of which was so genuine that she couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. The mystery woman promptly joined in, giggling right alongside her. It put her at ease. Her heart felt lighter.
“So tell me, do you have a boyfriend?” the woman asked as their laughter died down.
“Do you have a name?” she responded with a smart-ass smile.
“Touché, tiger, touché.” The woman grinned a dazzling smile revealing a row of straight white teeth.
“So, are you going to tell me?” she pushed.
“Not today,” the woman answered simply.
“You are strange. Very strange. And you don’t seem to be confused at all. Why are you here?”
“Ahh, life’s great mysteries. Confused – is that what you think dementia is?” the woman asked.
“Well, mostly. Forgetful and confused.” She shrugged.
“And does that come and go?” the woman pushed.
“Sure, like you’re fine for a while and then not. That’s why you need to live somewhere like this.”
“I think based on your definition I would be delirious. Dementia affects memory, thinking, language, behavior. Delirium is more of a sudden unexpected severe confusion and rapid changes in the brain’s function.”
Annabelle rolled her eyes. “How are those different?” Annabelle asked. She was struggling a bit to keep up with the woman. Her brows were knit together as she tried to work out what the woman was getting at.
“Exactly my dear! How are they different?” Annabelle huffed and shook her head in frustration. Having a real conversation with this woman proved difficult and tiring.
“Okay, I give up. New topic? You said you had quite the life before this. Will you tell me about it?” she asked.
“That depends.”
“On what?” she sighed. Maybe the kitchen crew would be better.
“Whether or not you like love stories.”
Annabelle half-shrugged, “Sure. I usually like a little suspense or mystery with my romance but a love story could be alright.”
“Oh but my dear, every great love story has a twist. If there’s no twist, how does one ever know if their love can endure?”
“Endure what?” she questioned as she pulled at imaginary threads on her sleeve.
“Anything,” the woman answered as if that were the only answer.
Annabelle thought about her words for a moment. Let them sink into her brain. Did her parents love story have a twist? Surely not one that she’d heard about. Or was a twist just a tragic event? If that was the case then her family, her parents, had endured a twist and survived it together, even if just barely. Either way, she wanted to corral the woman into a singular train of thought.
“Okay. Tell me your story,” she answered.
“It might upset you, or perhaps I have no story to tell. We have six months! Let’s start with someone far more interesting. Celeste Fontaine.”
Annabelle’s face scrunched up. “Who the heck is Celeste Fontaine?” she asked.
“Oh she was a girl I knew. A caretaker for a large Chateau just outside of Paris, France. She had everything she ever imagined in life. Blissfully happy parents who spoiled her rotten. Friends she adored and a man that made every woman on the planet jealous of her. But let’s go back to the very start shall we?”
The woman had a mischievous gleam in her eye. Annabelle would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little bit curious about any story the woman might tell. She was a character for sure, and that meant she probably hung out with some interesting people before she ended up at Glenview. She probably had lots of good stories to tell. Hell, it beat wearing a hairnet and latex gloves in the kitchen. She shivered at the thought of cafeteria food,trays and dirty silverware. And hairnets.
“Are you cold?” the woman asked, head cocked to the side.
“No,” she answered shrugging away the kitchen visual.
“Are you ready to pay attention?” The woman asked.
Annabelle nodded. “Excellent. If you don’t pay attention, you’ll miss things. Important things.” Annabelle cocked her head to the side and wondered what the woman was yammering on about. “Make sure you listen carefully, and try not to jump to conclusions until I’m finished telling you everything. What happens from here on out isn’t my responsibility. It’s yours so take notice.” Annabelle scrunched up her nose in confusion and shrugged. The woman stared a moment longer at her before she nodded saying, “Alright then. Remember kid, the devil is in the details. Paris. Nineteen eighty four.”​
 
LyingInWaitCover
This is the companion novella to Jezebel that will answer some of the lingering questions one might have upon finishing Jezebel.
Please note; Lying in Wait should be read after Jezebel
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about round
Reading/Writing· Viola · Piano · Gardening · Pets · Coffee · Chocolates · Running
I am an avid reader, coffee drinker, and chocolate eater who loves writing. I received my B.A. from Simmons College-a while ago. I currently live with my daughter in Maine.
I’m working on my fifth novel out later this year. I’ve published Saving Caroline, 30 Days, Committed and Dating Delaney. Enjoy!
I love hearing from you so please feel free to contact me!
Website * FaceBook * Twitter * GoodReads
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Categories : Contemporary Romance, Release Blitz Tagged : Excerpt, Jezebel, K. Larsen, Lying in Wait

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