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  • Reviews
  • Ratings
    • 3 Stars
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  • New Releases

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

Blog Tour, Review & Excerpt: MALDEAMORES (LOVESICK) by MARA WHITE

June 24, 2015

Blog Tour Love SIck
 
 
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“Exquisitely sensual, Maldeamores is the most unforgettable forbidden romance I have ever read.” Katy Evans, New York Times Bestselling Author of the REAL Series.
“Refreshingly ‘taboo’ – in a community where we’re inundated by novels claiming this title, it’s wonderful to finally find a book that not only truly lives up to the word, but is also well written, moving, and beautiful in its prose.” Stylo Fantome, Best Selling Author of the Kane Trilogy.
 
LSS
 
Belén: I’ve loved Luciano ever since I can remember, desired him before I even knew what it meant. He’s always been the only man in my life—my constant protector, and his rejection only intensifies my need.
Luciano: I’ve never known a love more fierce than the one I feel for Belén. But I force myself to deny her no matter how much it hurts.
Our love is a sickness and both of us are infected.
Because there’s no cure for being from the same family
***Warning***
This novel contains graphic sex scenes, including: incest, F/F, and ménage, M/M/F. Some drug use and violence.
 

1h2

WOW!! Another passionate, loving and emotional book from Mara White!! I had the great pleasure of reading an early copy of Maldeamores and I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

Heed the warnings on this one because Maldeamores is unlike amy book I’ve read. Belén and Luciano are star-crossed lovers, fiercely in love but forced to deny their true feelings for each other. Like Mara’s other books, I felt anxious, emotional, distraught and fascinated by these two characters and their tumultuous journey. The writing is stunning, sharp and incredibly erotic and the characters richly detailed. I was drawn into their world and was stunned by the turn of the events. These two are truly “lovesick” and simply cannot live apart from each other.

There are some very graphic and steamy scenes in this book, but they fit in with the story and add fuel to the deep emotional bond Belen and Luciano share. If you like to be challenged and thrilled when you read, then Maldeamores is the book for you. It is not an easy story but I loved the rollercoaster ride of emotions! Mara White is a talent to watch and I hope she will keep on writing these complex, sexy stories.

“When the pen falls into our hands, we can’t erase the past.
All we’re allowed is the chance to create a new ending.”

(Review from an ARC provided by the author with thanks.)

LSE
Now that Luciano lives in the same building, he comes over all the time. Both he and Titi have a key, and I have one to their apartment that I keep on my key chain.
Our front door opens while I’m sitting at the dining room table doing homework. I look up, expecting to see Mami coming in with the groceries, but instead it’s Luciano and he doesn’t look good.
His lip is swollen and bleeding—his eye took a punch too, and it’s almost closed from the pressure. He’s hurt and it startles me. I stand up and my pen rolls to the floor, but I stay silent, waiting for him to say something first.
“I didn’t think you’d be home,” he says. His face is totally straight, lacking any emotion.
“The library was closed for a special event. Was there a fight? Are you okay? You’re bleeding.”
He nods and says nothing.
“Let me get you some ice,” I say, running to the kitchen.
I put ice in a bowl and run a clean towel under water, then grab some gauze and peroxide from the bathroom and take it all to the living room where he’s sitting.
Kneeling down beside him, I put ice cubes in the wet towel and lift it to his face. I ask permission with my eyes and Luciano gives me a quick nod. He winces from either the cold or the pressure and I put my hand on his chest to calm him. It’s an automatic gesture.
“Does it hurt?” I ask him.
He shakes his head.
His chest feels solid under his T-shirt and touching it does strange things to my body. I try to focus on the task in front of me.
“Titi will kill you,” I say, pulling my mind away from his hard chest. “You should try to stay out of fights,” I add, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around him or crawl into his lap. Luciano is, and has always been, the only man in my life. I look to him for reassurance all the time, even though we’re almost the same age.
I dab at the gash under his eye that is bleeding the most.
“Easier said than done,” he says, and then grabs my wrist hard. I stare at the juncture where his hand meets my arm. His knuckles are white and my skin under his grip is turning bright pink.
My lips immediately part and my stomach fills with unease. I can always read Luciano, but right now I can’t tell what’s happening. He has sweat on his brow and there’s dirt smudged on his face and his arm. He doesn’t release my hand.
“Luciano, you’re scaring me.”
He drops my wrist disdainfully and his eyes graze slowly down my body. I glance down at my own chest and suddenly remember that I took my bra off when I got in. I’m wearing a white button-down shirt, unbuttoned a little bit. My nipples are hard from the cold ice in the tea cloth. The shirt brushes over my breasts just enough to make shivers skirt up my back.
 
LSBL
 

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LSAA

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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.

 

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Categories : 5 Stars, Blog Tour, Contemporary Erotic Romance, Dark Romance, Erotic, Reviews Tagged : Excerpt, Heightsbound Series, Maldeamores, Mara White

RELEASE DAY BLITZ – MALDEAMORES by MARA WHITE

June 22, 2015

love sick release banner
 
 
“Exquisitely sensual, Maldeamores is the most unforgettable forbidden romance I have ever read.” Katy Evans, New York Times Bestselling Author of the REAL Series.
 
“Refreshingly ‘taboo’ – in a community where we’re inundated by novels claiming this title, it’s wonderful to finally find a book that not only truly lives up to the word, but is also well written, moving, and beautiful in its prose.” Stylo Fantome, Best Selling Author of the Kane Trilogy.
 
maldeamores mech final_ultimate.indd
 
 
LSS
Belén: I’ve loved Luciano ever since I can remember, desired him before I even knew what it meant. He’s always been the only man in my life—my constant protector, and his rejection only intensifies my need.
Luciano: I’ve never known a love more fierce than the one I feel for Belén. But I force myself to deny her no matter how much it hurts.
Our love is a sickness and both of us are infected.
Because there’s no cure for being from the same family.
***Warning***
This novel contains graphic sex scenes, including: incest, F/F, and ménage, M/M/F. Some drug use and violence.
 
LST
 
lovesick 5
Lovesick 4

 
LSBL

Amazon US Amazon UK Barnes and Noble
goodreads-badge-add-plus-d700d4d3e3c0b346066731ac07b7fe47

 
 
LSAA

Web Twitter Facebook

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.
 
FLIRTYSUBSPR

Categories : Erotic Romance, Release Blitz Tagged : Heightsbound, Maldeamores, Mara White

Cover Reveal: MALDEAMORES (LOVESICK) by MARA WHITE

May 18, 2015

MALDEAMORESCOVER
SYNOPSIS
 
Belén: I’ve loved Luciano ever since I can remember, desired him before I even knew what it meant. He’s always been the only man in my life—my constant protector, and his rejection only intensifies my need.
Luciano: I’ve never known a love more fierce than the one I feel for Belén. But I force myself to deny her no matter how much it hurts.
Our love is a sickness and both of us are infected.
Because there’s no cure for being from the same family
ADD TO GOOD READS
 
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ABOUTTHEAUTHOR
I’m a reader, a writer, and a lover of all things romantic. I’m also a coffee, hot sauce, ink, telenovela and Bikram Yoga enthusiast. I live in New York City with my husband and two children, and I spend a lot of time on the playground.
Facebook: http://on.fb.me/1waufHN
Twitter: http://bit.ly/1b9w7a5
Web Site: http://bit.ly/1H0KRWq
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Categories : Contemporary Erotic Romance, Cover Reveal Tagged : Maldeamores, Mara White

Book Promo: FEAR OF HEIGHTS (HEIGHTSBOUND #2) by MARA WHITE

April 30, 2015

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Synopsis

What are you willing to sacrifice for love?

Your family? Your freedom? What about your life?

She’s a wealthy, forty-three-year-old Upper East Sider with a PhD – He’s a twenty-three-year-old Dominican drug dealer from Washington Heights.

Kate Champion always did exactly what was expected of her. She was the perfect wife, the perfect mother – until the day she met Jaylee Inoa.

Their journey travels a path riddled with danger, deceit, scandal and loss – where nothing is at it seems. Yet Kate and Jaylee’s passion for one another remains nearly unstoppable.

Will this daring pair of lovers from two different worlds triumph over circumstance? Can they deny the past in their quest to be together? Or is fear the ultimate navigator – a force more powerful than love?

Warning: Fear of Heights is not a standalone novel and must be read as book two in the Heightsbound series, after Heights of Desire. This book contains descriptions of: gang activity, graphic sex, violence, dubious consent, unprotected sex, infidelity, infidelity and more infidelity, questionable parenting and some dialogue in Spanish without translation.

Excerpt

But I’m strangely immune to everything in this moment except for this man, the recognition in his face—and his base and unconcealed need for me. My own desire is sweet and delicious, seeping into my bloodstream, blocking out everything else, offering me precious relief. I know I didn’t come for sex—but now I can’t remember what I came for.

All I feel is honeyed desire that promises to drown me and suffocate the hurt, and oh, how I long to be drowned! If each breath hurts, I no longer want to breathe. But if you make love to me, maybe then I can just be.

His hand slides down from my waist to the curve of my hip, signaling his intentions. He pulls me into the building, away from the street, but just a few feet from where the corner boys were gathered. He speaks to me, his voice echoing throughout the foyer and its grubby glass. He’s asking questions. I don’t bother to answer. Please. We don’t have to speak.

I register nothing but his greedy hands all over me, his mouth converging with mine. In his kiss I search deeply for some delicate connection to Jaylee. A thin thread of memory, because once, this man bore witness to our love.

“I saw you were missing on the neighborhood fliers. Now it’s your sister on the news.”

This almost pulls me out. But I won’t let it; I’m too far-gone to let go of my one single chance at oblivion.

“I don’t want you to talk to me, please. I just want you to take me. Make it hurt if you can—maybe it will help me—stop me from hurting.”

I don’t care if he thinks I’m crazy.

I look into his eyes pleadingly. His are afire but they grow distant at this. The distance signals to me that this man is in control. That’s what I want; it’s precisely what I need.

He pulls me into a small, dingy elevator and I place my hands on his shoulders and bury my face in his neck. I definitely don’t want to look at him. His hands are rough; he’s grabbing my ass, and begins biting and sucking on my neck. I want him to stop, but deep inside I’ve already given him permission. Knowing how quickly I surrendered, the victory cannot taste very sweet.

He smells so unfamiliar to me, like a complete stranger, and it spikes my adrenaline higher. His hand slips inside my pants; he brushes his fingertips along my sex, and I quake involuntarily against him. I’m ashamed of how wet I already am.

I gasp for air as soon as we leave the elevator. He pulls me down a long corridor to the very last apartment, and digs deep into his jeans pocket until he comes up with keys. He opens the door into a wide living room that smells strongly of fresh paint. There is an elderly man perched on a plastic-covered sofa, wearing only boxers and an undershirt, staring vacantly at a television.

“Papá,” says the young man from the park-house, “Te va’ a morir de frío.” He quietly covers him with a faded fleece blanket from the back of the couch, tucking it around his legs to make sure it won’t slip off.

This display of compassion is too much for me; I don’t want to be this person who’s so full of need.

The old man slowly moves his gaze from the muted television screen to me and mouths the word, “Buenas,” his lower lip trembling with age.

I shouldn’t have come here.

A sob escapes me and I fall to my knees. Ideal swoops in and grabs me gruffly, lifting me like a package over his shoulder. He’s likely determined not to lose this fragile fuck that is quickly deteriorating over unforeseen events.

“Let me go!” I shout. He kicks open a door and tosses me onto a low bed, and my body bounces and jerks in weak protest.

“I don’t want you. I want to die,” I wail, swallowed by misery.

“Shut the fuck up. I remember you. I know what you need,” he answers, stripping down.

I pull my knees to my chest and look away out the window toward the fire escape. The sky is dark. The pigeons are asleep. I’m not sure I can go through with this. I don’t really know sex without love. I’ve fought to get back so many times now. It makes no sense to be seeking out places from which I can never return. Dark, dark places. Slow, slow burn.

“Hey,” he calls gently.

And I reluctantly turn my head to look at him. He’s naked and magnificent, his hard cock gripped ruthlessly in his hand. I do want his hands on me. I especially want his mouth. But I don’t know how to ask for it, and I am so incredibly ashamed. I roll onto my stomach and groan.

He reaches down and grabs me roughly underneath the armpits, pulling me until I’m kneeling on the bed, his stunning erection hot against my cheek. I press my body into his in desperation and he guides my mouth to exactly where he wants it to go.

I can lose myself in this. I can easily forget. His hands are rough, and they tug wildly in my hair. He pulls and yanks my head as he takes my mouth fast and hard. I shouldn’t like it, but I do. Something about the harshness and urgency speaks to the depths of me—it communicates with my own raw, emotional state. I suck and lave and take him as deeply as I can, trying to syphon some drop of my own pleasure from his pleasure.

This is reckless abandon. I suddenly and profoundly understand what that means.

He drags me up along his body and smashes his mouth into mine. It’s hot and foreign to me, kissing a stranger. I kiss him back with a longing that borders on pathology. I seek in the depths of this kiss some remote and ephemeral connection to Jaylee. A thin silver thread. Anything it could possibly mean to have this man bear witness to our love—to have shared it, in some way. If what he retains is no more than a momentary snapshot I’ll take it. I’ll take absolutely anything I can get.

He pulls my hair back and bites into the tender flesh of my neck, right below my ear. His hands find the clasp of my jeans and he undoes them and pushes them down to my knees. His hands capture my ass possessively and his breath comes heavy on my neck.

“Get on your stomach and stick your ass in the air,” he says.

I do as I’m told.

He doesn’t even bother with my breasts. That’s fine with me. I’m not here for romance; I am here in hopelessness. I’m here in a furious desperation, to rid myself of this need.

“You look fucking hot like that. I can’t blame Inoa for getting hooked when I see you like that.”

I flip around, almost falling because my knees are tethered together with my jeans. I sit up quickly and slam the base of my palm straight into his chin.

“Fuck!” he bellows, reeling back and gripping his chin defensively. His gaze on me intensifies. He likes the fight. His erection swells more, his desire heightened by my reaction. Then he’s on me like lightning, and I’m flailing, my arms hitting at the air as much as they’re hitting him. He crushes me down onto the mattress and pins both of my arms at my sides, my face millimeters from his.

“¡Shit, Diablo, Mami! ¿Tú quiere’ o no?”

“Don’t talk about him. Don’t even say his name!”

I’m crying and choking and sobbing, all the while still bucking against his body and trying to wrestle free from his weight.

“Dime que tú no quiere’ y te suelto!” he says.

But I can’t tell him no, because the truth is that I do want him. I need him. And despite trying to throw him off, my hips are grinding against his, and I’m soaked with my own contemptible desire. Drowning in my own ghastly need.

I relax my body for an instant and he lays his mouth on mine. I respond all too eagerly to his kiss. I take his tongue and thrust mine just as deeply into his hungry mouth. I hate him and I want him and I hate myself for wanting him. I will destroy his body with mine.

I angrily tear away my own clothing, frantically wanting him inside me. I long to feel something—anything. I want him to fuck away the pain. Perhaps I can find some sad solace in the pure physical functioning of my own stupid body. I guide him inside me senselessly with one hand, but push him away with the other. His chest feels solid and comforting under the palm of my hand. What a contradiction—that it’s his heart that comforts me.

He’s big and deep, and he wastes no time in crushing my hips into an anxious rhythm. I keep my hand positioned firmly on his strong chest, as if the gesture could equate to some symbolic distance between us. An inch of space that represents a great emotional divide. I squeeze my eyes shut and allow this need to become my sole, minute point of focus in my universe, so saturated with loss. I’ll just allow myself to feel his body connected with my body and nothing else.

“You got a thing for Dominican guys?” he asks breathlessly, breaking my concentration and my momentary escape.

“Don’t talk!” I scream, banging my fists into his face, his neck, his shoulders, any spot I can reach. I try to wriggle my hips away from his, but his weight is crushing. Grounding.

He answers by yanking my arms above my head and kissing me fervently. I wish I didn’t want his kiss but it magically stops my thoughts from racing—the endless barrage of rumination, the regret, the pain, the philosophical bleed. I kiss him back with passion, because I know intuitively that some aspect of sex is purifying, renewing. And this is all that I seek in the contact of his flesh.

His hipbones slam into mine; he is fit and hard, offering not much in the way of padding. His mouth too smashes against mine in a violent union. His stubble tears into the tender skin on my face. All my soft flesh is ravaged by this man, my mouth, my breasts, and most of all, my sex.

“Did you want me that day?” he asks.

And again he removes me from my meditation, demanding consciousness and communication—neither of which have I any use for. I yearn only to be devoured, to be fucked into submission and silence, and possibly all the way to redemption.

“You wanted me in your mouth. You wanted to fuck us both, didn’t you?”

I answer him by rearing back and pulling away. I shove him down by the shoulders so that he lies on his back, and then I take him in my mouth, tasting my own desire that has completely saturated him. There’s the evidence. Proof of my weakness, my imperfection, my undeniable greed.

I suck him with abandon in an attempt to satisfy his wish for it to have been him coming in my mouth that day. In this contact I search for an answer to my own demise.

If it’s so bad, then why do we all want it? And what, if anything, do we receive from restraint?

“Come in my mouth,” I whisper around his swollen cock. He surprises me by pushing me away and quickly flipping me over. I oblige because I’ll do anything. Whatever he wants, he can take from me. I surrender completely, my body, my spirit, all of what’s left of me.

“I want to come in your pussy,” he says, grabbing my hips and slamming mercilessly into me from behind.

And I’ll let him come inside me.

Why?

Because I’m empty. I’m actively inviting ruin. I am taking this to the very extreme.

After he’s done he tosses a towel to me before searching for another to use on himself. Then he goes above and beyond by bringing me a baby wipe from the bathroom. This is five-star service compared to my first encounter with Jaylee. I look down between my legs and see the milky white semen leaking out of me onto his bed. I stare at it in silence. I’ve been in this mind-state before.

“¿Tú te siente’ mejor?”

Like he’s a doctor providing services. He wants to know if his brand of painkiller worked.

“Sí,” I nod and look up at him, wondering about the reach of what I’ve just done. It’s not the cheating on Robert—that scenario has already played out. It’s not the cheating on Jaylee—this was sex, not love. I’m a cheater, an adulteress, whatever, it’s all been said before. What scares me now is the limitlessness of my desire to do anything to be connected to Jaylee. That I just attempted to fuck the Jaylee out of a perfect stranger. That I will forever be chasing that high. I no longer recognize a breaking point, no morals, no bounds.

“Ven, te acompaño a casa,” he says, placing a humid hand on my shoulder.

Despite our sudden intimacy, it’s still the hand of a stranger.

“No!” I bat it off and rise to my feet. I don’t need to be walked home as some pathetic compensation for sexual favors. He did me the favor. I wasn’t coerced into doing what I’ve done. I pull my clothes on over my naked body, leaving my now-tainted bra on his bed and my underwear on the floor.

“It looks better if we leave together, Kate. Believe me, you don’t want to walk by those guys alone.”

“What’s your real name?” I ask him, ignoring his attempt to defend my virtue.

“Everybody call me Ideal.”

Why do our paths keep intersecting? He must have known that it was me from the beginning when we were talking on the phone. I had no idea who he was. I wonder if I would have handled myself differently had I known.

“Did—did you like that?” I ask him tentatively.

He appears to be examining dry skin on his elbow, but what I think he’s actually aiming at is flexing his bicep for me.

“What?” he asks absentmindedly. “My name—or fucking you just now?”

I widen my eyes at him in response.

“Yeah, I liked it.” He shrugs.

“Want to do it again?’

“What? Like right this second?” He’s startled at the idea that I might demand an immediate erection—another round so soon after the knockout.

“No, not right now, but whenever you want to.”

“I thought you were all hung up on Inoa and shit. But yeah, whatever, I’ll call you.”

Booty-call me. “I don’t expect a relationship, Ideal. This is purely business. But I do need help finding my sister. Someone on the inside, who the cops don’t know. Someone who knows the neighborhood and what’s really going on.” And, if I’m being honest, I need help just surviving, and you’re an easy way for me to get out of my head.

The way he crosses his arms and looks down at me makes me think he knows something. Then he sighs and lifts his two perfectly arched eyebrows at me. He reaches out his hands to me almost affectionately, and I take them. He pulls me up to standing, and keeping my left hand grasped in his right, he shakes it firmly.

“You fucking crazy, you know that? For real. But yeah, you got yourself a deal.”

 

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Buy Links

Heights of Desire (Book 1)

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1EuSpNH

Fear of Heights ( Book 2)

Amazon US : http://amzn.to/1bftfZW

About the Author

I’m a reader, a writer, and a lover of all things romantic. I’m also a coffee, hot sauce, ink, telenovela and Bikram Yoga enthusiast. I live in New York City with my husband and two children, and I spend a lot of time on the playground.

Categories : Contemporary Erotic Romance, Urban Erotica Tagged : Fear of Heights, Heights of Desire, Heightsbound Series, Mara White, Taboo Romance

Blog Tour and Review: THE DELIVERY by MARA WHITE

March 20, 2015

DELIVERYbt

[Read more…]

Categories : 4.5 Stars, Blog Tour, Erotic Romance Tagged : Excerpt, Mara White, The Delivery

Excerpt Reveal: THE DELIVERY by MARA WHITE

March 11, 2015

EXCERTREVALMW
 
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DS
Lana Finch is a twenty-five-year-old social worker. She believes wholeheartedly in saving the world—one broken kid at a time. Lana is headstrong, she’s righteous and she’ll let nothing stand in her way. Except for maybe her entire family that’s financially dependent on her.
Enter Mozey Cruz, the eighteen-year-old juvenile delinquent assigned to her charge. He’s an illusive artist, he’s misunderstood, and he’s a natural born troublemaker.
Their love is illegal, much like Mozey’s undocumented status in the States. So Lana lets him go even though it might be the worst mistake she’ll ever make.
But destiny has a way of catching up with us even when we run from it.
Los Angeles————
————Detroit
Tijuana————
————Mexico City
But first, Lana has to find him before she can deliver him
DELIVERTYEXCERPT
I squeeze his hand again. I scrutinize every little point of contact between our two bodies. My ear on his shoulder, and my thigh flush with his. The length of my arm matching up with the length of Mozey’s, and my wrist, grazing lightly with his calf as we sit. My skin is pale, like the underbelly of a fish. His is warm, like hot chocolate with milk. I want to drink it, to swallow all of that velvet. I want it to melt on my tongue and warm me all the way up from the inside out.
Then they’re gone, the door is closed, and my arms cross across my chest. Mozey has one hand in the pocket of his jeans the other palm flat against the back of the door. Those two boys were my protection. My buffers. I feel naked without them. Suddenly, Mozey, looms larger. Almost larger than life.
“Are you hungry?” he asks me.
I couldn’t be more satisfied. I can’t believe I found you. That you’re standing here in front of me.
I shake my head at him as he saunters over to me. I remember that he’s confident, that he’s sexual, that he probably knows more than me.
“We can take it slow, Lana. We don’t have to fuck.”
It’s a jolt when he says it, a live thrash of wire. Saying it, it means he’s thinking about it. I know that I am. Maybe he thinks it’s what I want to do. Or he thinks I don’t so he feels he has to clear the air by saying it out loud.
Sex. I’ve been thinking about it since the minute I met you—whenever I’m around you. Thinking dirty thoughts when I was supposed to be protecting you. My face falls, and my shoulders slump. All of the vixen has run out of me.
“Or we can if you want.” It’s his smile that gets me, so warm and inviting. He’s confident with either choice, whether we do or we don’t. He’s enjoying teasing me, and he knows how hard I’ve been looking for him.
“Come here,” he says and pulls my elbows apart, inserting his body in the space that I was trying to protect—my chest, my breasts, the area surrounding my heart.
“I’ve always thought you were beautiful, Lana. But you never wanted to hear it,” he says, his nose tickling my ear. He pulls my arms around him and sets them at his waist. I am a robot. I can’t speak. I have no feelings.
“Maybe you should sleep on the couch,” I say, stepping out of his hold.
If magic were a good thing, then we would all be able to wield it against the one we love. Hypnotize with eye contact, unravel with a stare. But instead, magic is dangerous, it makes us see what isn’t there. It makes us believe in illusions and in fleeting apparitions that will never be concrete. I need something that can last, not something that will disappear into thin air.
I loved you because I wanted to save you. And I thought if I saved everyone, then it said something about me. I wanted to be worthy. I didn’t want to be bad. I always felt that badness was an inextricable part of me. I became a social worker to try to exorcise the ugly part of me.
Of course I don’t say this out loud. I explain myself to myself in my head. Like an idiot. Like the insecure, crazy girl that I am.
Mozey runs his hands through his hair and looks sadly at me. He nods his head and massages his chin with his thumb and forefinger then looks down at the floor.
“There’s not one single part of me that isn’t complicated—that’s easy to love,” I blurt out, trying to explain away being so difficult. This is the one thing I can’t fuck up and live to regret it.
“I already know that. I want every part of you.”
If there is something I need to hear, well, Mozey just said it. But I’ll still always be a disappointment. I will never be perfect, and for some reason, what I really want to bring to this is perfection.
“I feel like you’re going to keep pushing me away, even if it hurts you. Should I give up? You want me to stop trying?”
I nod my head “yes,” like the fucking liar that I am. I’m nodding and nodding while every inch of my flesh is screaming, “See through me, don’t believe me, please know that I want you, don’t believe anything that she says.”
Mozey yanks his t-shirt up over his head. Two long silver chains clang together as they bounce on his chest. There he is in all of his perfection, his chest tight with emotion, his arm muscles flexed in defensiveness, his brow furrowed in confusion. I’m shaking, with trembles running up and down my spine, splaying out through my limbs into my hands and my feet. What I want is right in front of me but somehow it seems even further out of reach.
DB
PAPER BACK: http://amzn.to/18X3SuG
AMAZON US: http://amzn.to/1aQ6ds9
AMAZON UK: http://amzn.to/1wLJqI1
DA
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.

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Categories : Contemporary Erotic Romance Tagged : Excerpt, Mara White, The Delivery

BLOG TOUR & GIVEAWAY: FEAR OF HEIGHTS (HEIGHTSBOUND SERIES #2) by MARA WHITE

November 1, 2014

Fear of Heights

0989670732_FearOfHeights_eBookTitle:  Fear of Heights (The Heightsbound Series #2)

Author:  Mara White

Series: The Heightsbound Series

Genre:  Erotic

Publication Date:  September, 12, 2014

Event Organized By:  Literati Author Services, Inc.

~ Synopsis ~

What are you willing to sacrifice for love? Your family? Your freedom? What about your life?

She’s a wealthy, forty-three-year-old Upper East Sider with a PhD – He’s a twenty-three-year-old Dominican drug dealer from Washington Heights.

Kate Champion always did exactly what was expected of her. She was the perfect wife, the perfect mother – until the day she met Jaylee Inoa.

Their journey travels a path riddled with danger, deceit, scandal and loss – where nothing is as it seems. Yet Kate and Jaylee’s passion for one another remains nearly unstoppable.

Will this daring pair of lovers from two different worlds triumph over circumstance? Can they deny the past in their quest to be together? Or is fear the ultimate navigator – a force more powerful than love?

 

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My Review:

 

5 Stars!!

One of the most savagely beautiful love stories I’ve ever read. Kate and Jaylee’s story is intensely raw and shocking and I couldn’t tear myself away!

Mara White is a thought-provoking, challenging and amazingly talented writer. She deserves wide acclaim for her gritty, uanpolagetic brand of fiction. FEAR OF HEIGHTS made me cry, cringe and yell at Kate’s roller-coaster ride of a life. This story must be read after Heights of Desire, which is one of my favorite books. Both will challenge you and make you re-think what you believe is right and what is wrong. Nothing is black and white in the Heightsbound series, that’s for sure.

If you are a fan of gritty, raw, adult erotica, this book is for you. Fear of Heights picks up after the rather surprising ending of Heights of Desire, and literally takes you on a breathtaking ride of twists and turns, love and hate, regret and happiness, and shame and pride. Is that enough emotion for you? The author has done a spectacular job of painting a picture of Kate, a woman who seems to make all the wrong choices, but who is compelled on her course of action, consequences be damned. This is not an easy read, but it is a very adult story, and some of you might hate Kate in the end. I did not.

There is a ton of raw sex in this book, but the dialogue and the action is so well-wrtiten, that the book is elevated above most books in this genre. We get to know Ideal in this book, who at first seems unredeemable, but who I grew to kind of like by the end. And Jaylee, who Kate is obsessed with in the first book, once again broke my heart, with his raw vulnerability and open sexuality.

Fear of Heights literally made me yell at my Kindle. Books don’t often provoke such a strong reaction in me, but Ms. White is such a talented writer that I can”t help myself!

This is not a typical romance, and deals with some very heavy themes. The plot is twisty and surprising and that is why this review is vague. This book is best experienced first-hand. If you are a fan of gritty, sexy, intensely emotional books, then Fear of Heights is a must-read. Bravo, Ms. White!

(*ARC provided by the author in return for an honest review.)

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Prologue

 

Jaylee

 

Rikers Island, East Elmhurst, New York

 

My stomach growls from the shit lunch of bologna and American cheese. I’ll die before I’m twenty-five in here from all the crap they been feeding me. I need more calories because of my workout routine, and the commissary just don’t cut it. Half the time I probably burning muscle, but what the fuck you gonna do about it? You can’t change this fucked-up machine. What I wouldn’t give for some Spanish food—just a goddamn plate of my grandma’s rice and beans.

I flip the pen around and around in my hand, trying to think of what to say. It brings me right back to being eight years old, the school-assigned social worker jabbing at me to “write him whatever you please!” I pick at a popped blister from going at the weights in the yard. Soon enough it’ll get hard and callous—just like everybody who been up in here too long.

“He’d love to hear anything about you. Why don’t you tell him about basket-ball?” As if it was easy, when you hadn’t talked to him in years. An’ my ma bent over the kitchen table with cried-on love letters to my dad, praying on lighted candles and over special oils to Dios Santísimo, that he don’t get sent to Sing Sing.

We couldn’t afford the trip up there, so we saw him less and less. The sound of his voice just became a memory to me, and when we did get up there, I pitied the man I saw. Couldn’t get past the fact that he fucked up. I felt like he let them put him away. I swore to myself if I ever got there, I’d be smarter than he was. That I’d get revenge before I’d let ‘em make me live my life behind bars. Now look at where I am.

At least I got a plan.

Love letters. Kate wrote me one once. There’s a trick to them, right? You gotta try to convince a woman that you’ll love her forever. It’s not just about the first time she reads it, she’s gotta see it every time she looks. Try doing it on jail-issued stationery. I had to earn the privilege to use a pen. How the fuck you tell someone they everything you got—when all you got is a page? How do I tell her how much I want her to have my kid? I love knowing that he’s inside her, that there’s part of me with her. Thing is, I can’t control the lies she’s being fed; she’ll choose the lawyer over me.

 

How do you say all that on paper when all you ever got through was public school?   She got everything she needs—or at least that’s how it’d seem to anybody looking in. But I know—I know—how much Kate needs me.

I crumple up the last sheet of the ones they gave me and toss it onto my bunk. I don’t know how to put my heart on paper. I can’t make her understand why I did what I done.

 

On Friday they call me out for a visit, though I’m not expecting nobody.  Mamá, Janinie, and everybody coming next week—or that’s what we said on the phone.  I’m never expecting Kate again.  I have no idea what she decided to do with the baby.  I don’t know if he still here with us or gone already.  The baby’s the only thing I ever cared about more than her, but I’m not gonna let myself hate her for it.  She shouldn’t a’ had to go through it by herself – either way. If I’d watched my back, I wouldn’t a’ ended up here.

I stick my hands out the drop door in the cell so they can cuff me.  The corrections officer calls me “Dorado,” ‘cause that’s what they called my pops when he was here.  I try not to get involved, but it ain’t easy when your ties run deep like mine do.  My old man spent a minute in Rikers; he up the river now in Sing Sing. He’s spending his days at the big house, but he got connections all through the whole system.  He got his reputation too, and I’m expected to keep it.

Probably an ex or somebody I was messing around with before Kate who come to see me.  Girls got something about visiting guys in jail.  They love the drama.  They love the attention they get from everybody else.  Girls that won’t even give you the time of day on the outside start writing you letters about how much they miss you when you in the box.  It’s bullshit.  But I admit—it do make the time go by faster.  And right now I got nothing but time.

I get stuck in the hall for the count—which means whoever waiting for me is stuck too.  The guard I’m with lets me do wall push-ups after he cuffs me to a door. I go at it, hard as fuck, until I’m dripping sweat and my muscles are burning.  Working out helps me not to think about her—or the baby.  The burn is good.  It shuts up the furia.  There ain’t shit I can do anyway, so why make myself crazy playing it all over again in my head?

The count takes forever and I’m betting whoever’s out there waiting is regretting this.  First and last visit.  Nobody want to see me that bad.

When we finally walk into the visiting room, my eyes catch her before anything else, even though the place is packed.  I’m a homing pigeon.  I can’t see nothing else.

She’s Kate, but she ain’t Kate.  Same black hair, same pale face.  Same scared blue eyes.  Her body is slamming too, less hip, more tit, and she a little taller.  Maybe it’s the heels.  She looks good. But I know who she is.

It’s the sister.  Arriving like the grim reaper.  She come repping for the other side.  I gotta smile that this mina got herself into Rikers.  I can tell she’s shitting herself, even worse than Kate.  She ain’t never been in no place like this before, that’s for sure. All dolled up to come see a criminal like me.

There’s some part of me that wants to run to her just ‘cause they family.  And then another part that wants to refuse the goddamned visit.  I know Kate feel like she ain’t good enough for her own family.  Makes me fucking hate ‘em. Kate is good—that’s her main problem. It’s something she won’t let herself see.

Now she’s starting to work her hands like she in full-blown panic mode.  I guess I take pity on her.  She looks too much like my girl.  Shit, it’s messing with my head—and my dick.

I pull out a chair and sit down, drilling my eyes into the back of her head.  She spinning around, looking across the whole room.  She don’t know who the fuck I am.  She turns and stares, her eyes taking everything in.  I can practically hear her heart pounding from over here.  She like a baby bird—ready to flip out and fly into the fucking window.  She looks at me and I gesture to the chair across the table.  Relief hits her whole face and her shoulders relax.  She smiles quick and then it disappears and she look scared again.  She marches over to the table and sits down fast.

“Jaylee?”

Why she gonna ask me after she already sit down?  I’m tempted to say no, but I just stare at her instead. I can see how much they look alike, but I can also see how they different.  She got doubt all over her face.  She wanna fly the fuck out of here.  That makes two of us.

“Emily,” I say not giving anything away.  I’m gonna make her work hard for it.

“Oh, Kate told you about me?”

“She didn’t tell me much.  ‘Nough to know you exist.  Otherwise I’d think I was seeing ghosts.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Pfft. Naw, not since she came in here to tell me she was pregnant.  Not that it’s your business.  They send you to come tell me she got rid of it?”

“I came on my own, Jaylee.”

She stops and looks down.

“Kate’s missing; I was hoping you could tell me where to find her.”

 

10 Random Facts About Mara White

1. My maternal great-grandmother was a Titanic survivor. So, if not for her valor on April 14, 1912, (and her ability to row) I wouldn’t be here.
2. I’m a lifelong vegetarian and lover and adorerer(er) of all things living!
3. I attended both a vocational, agricultural high school in extremely rural Mexico and an Ivy League university.
4. I’m a fan of highbrow and lowbrow culture, but find myself not so excited about the stuff in between.
5. I’m allergic to garlic- like all good vampires.
6. I married my high school sweetheart (we’re still married and he’s still a sweetheart).
7. No one can guess my ethnicity but everybody seems to love trying.
8. I like to nerd-out on Wikipedia both editing already existing articles and creating new ones.
9. I love science, but math makes me cry.
10. I can’t drive and I don’t have a license, but I’ll gladly hail you a cab.

 

Purchase Links

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~ About the Author ~

I’m a reader, a writer, and a lover of all things romantic.  I’m also a coffee, hot sauce, ink, telenovela and Bikram Yoga enthusiast.  I live in New York City with my husband and two children, and I spend a lot of time on the playground.

Connect with the Author

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Giveaway

 

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Categories : 5 Stars, Contemporary Erotic Romance, Giveaway, Reviews Tagged : 5 stars, Excerpt, Fear of Heights, Giveaway, Mara White, Review

Cover Reveal & Giveaway: Fear of Heights (Heightsbound #2) by Mara White

August 15, 2014

Title: Fear of Heights (Book 2 in Heightsbound Series)
Author: Mara White
Genre: Erotica
Publication Date: September 16, 2014
Tour Host: Dreams Come True Promotions

What are you willing to sacrifice for love?

Your family? Your freedom? What about your life?

She’s a wealthy, forty-three-year-old Upper East Sider with a PhD – He’s a twenty-three-year-old Dominican drug dealer from Washington Heights.

Kate Champion always did exactly what was expected of her. She was the perfect wife, the perfect mother – until the day she met Jaylee Inoa.

Their journey travels a path riddled with danger, deceit, scandal and loss – where nothing is as it seems. Yet Kate and Jaylee’s passion for one another remains nearly unstoppable.

Will this daring pair of lovers from two different worlds triumph over circumstance? Can they deny the past in their quest to be together? Or is fear the ultimate navigator – a force more powerful than love?

I’m a reader, a writer, and a lover of all things romantic. I’m also a coffee, hot sauce, ink, telenovela and Bikram Yoga enthusiast. I live in New York City with my husband and two children, and I spend a lot of time on the playground.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/heightsbound

Twitter: https://twitter.com/authormarawhite

Author Website: marawhite.com

Author GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7372906.Mara_White

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Categories : Cover Reveal, Erotica, Giveaway Tagged : Cover Reveal, Fear of Heights, Giveaway, Mara White

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