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lunes, 27 de marzo de 2017

Amazing cover for The Gravity of Us


This cover couldn't be any more stunning 😃

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The Gravity of Us (Elements #4) 

by Brittainy C. Cherry
Release Date: April 13th, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Designer: Quirkybird Designs

gravity-ebook

Book Four in The Elements Series

By Brittainy C. Cherry

Graham Russell and I weren’t made for one another.
I was driven by emotion; he was apathetic. I dreamed while he lived in nightmares. I cried when he had no tears to shed.
Despite his frozen heart and my readiness to run, we sometimes shared seconds. Seconds when our eyes locked and we saw each other’s secrets. Seconds when his lips tasted my fears, and I breathed in his pains. Seconds when we both imagined what it would be like to love one another.
Those seconds left us floating, but when reality knocked us sideways, gravity forced us to descend.
Graham Russell wasn’t a man who knew how to love, and I wasn’t a woman who knew how to either. Yet if I had the chance to fall again, I’d fall with him forever.
Even if we were destined to crash against solid ground.
 
Add to GoodReads: https://goo.gl/2UgSH7

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Start the Series of Standalones Today!

(Free in Kindle Unlimited)

The Air He Breathes

The Fire Between High and Low

The Silent Waters

 

About the Author:

Hi! I'm Brittainy! Join me as we travel through my mind as a Romance Author. This includes such things as my random thoughts, tricks, tips, things I'm learning, things I'm re-learning, things I'm forgetting, and my weird ways of crafting stories.  

Connect with the Author:

Twitter: @BrittainyCherry
Stay up to date with Brittainy by signing up for her newsletter:

I am so excited about the prospect of reading this beauty ☺

jueves, 23 de marzo de 2017

This Animal will leave you breathless + giveaway


A tough read, my book buddies, ANIMAL is quite an experience.



Cover Design: R.B.A. Designs
Release Date: March 23, 2017
Synopsis
I captured the guilty. Locked them inside our prison. Tortured their bodies and abused their minds. I had murdered hundreds. Never recognized one. Until her face. Until that scream. I was hired to take her life. But first, I had to figure out how she ruined mine.
 

MY OPINION

This is one of the darkest romances I've ever read. I'm not even sure I understand half of what happened, least of all that out-of-the-blue ending. How was it possible? I must have missed some clue in between the slaughtering, the blood, the mater-of-fact killing style and torture...

Don't get me wrong, it's a good story. Why? Well, for starters, it's well written and the plot grabs your attention. Also, there are two time lines that tell about different events and characters, keeping the mystery and tension quite high until the explosive resolution.

Yet there's so much gore and dirty porno sex that I felt a bit lost in disturbing feelings. Anyway, I liked how real all felt, the dark life Beard led as a killer and the shifty life Tyler enrolled in when she traded her freedom for wealth. I think the fatal attraction Beard felt for Layla was really well staged and arousing. The exhausting stress Tyler went through as she even considered falling in love was also very emotional, intense. So this gory thriller was interesting and surprising to say the least, but also very dark. Worth it? Yes, be we warned is not for the squeamish.

      

Giveaway Time

$25 Amazon Gift Card
 
 
 
   

ABOUT THE MASTERMIND

Bestselling author Marni Mann knew she was going to be a writer since middle school. While other girls her age were daydreaming about teenage pop stars, Marni was fantasizing about penning her first novel. She crafts sexy, titillating stories that weave together her love of darkness, mystery, passion, and human emotions. A New Englander at heart, she now lives in Sarasota, Florida, with her husband and their two dogs, who have been characters in her books. When she’s not nose deep in her laptop, working on her next novel, she’s scouring for chocolate, sipping wine, traveling, or devouring fabulous books.
   
Connect with Marni Mann
Newsletter Sign Up: http://bit.ly/2jgSlME
Facebook Author Page: http://bit.ly/2ibi3Fk
Facebook Reader Group: http://bit.ly/2l5hsXu
Goodreads Author Page: http://bit.ly/2j5RsJw
Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/2lOX4XD
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Good luck, book buddies :-)

martes, 21 de marzo de 2017

Twice as Hard to miss



Hi, book buddies :-) My first time with Amber Bardan is a success!


Don't be shy, this menage romance is much more than it seems and totally worth it.







They caught me. Naked, shivering and dripping after a spontaneous swim in the forest. Two rugged men whose hard gazes captivated and scared me all at once.

They warned me. Told me I was on private property and I needed to obey the law…or I would be punished.

The idea of them both punishing me, pleasuring me, kept tormenting me. I couldn't want them. I shouldn't. But I did.

I didn't mean to trespass again. I thought I could retreat without notice. But they're coming for me.

To show me the pleasure in pain. To show me just how right forbidden can feel. And to love me twice as hard as I ever fantasized.

MY OPINION

This is an extremely naughty story. It's taboo and erotic as it deals with non-consent so be warned before you plunge into the deep ;-)

As can be surmised from the synopsis, the female character falls prey to two mountain men who claim her as prey when she stumbles into their property. If you're into dirty domination of two powerful men hell-bent on ravishing a helpless, but very aroused female, go ahead.

This story sets a very heady atmosphere. Amazingly, the sensual narrative goes beyond the provocative menage. Half through the story, the plot switches off to a totally different angle on the events and then it's when the real, deep, rich intimacy happens. I loved that so much! The characters face their inner, tumultuous desires, their undeniable needs and craving for love no matter the way, and the emotional fulfillment is as high as the throbbing, consuming, wet, fierce lovemaking.

This is my first taste of this author's imagination and talent, and I'm overly satisfied. Yes to more!

ENJOY AN EXCERPT

The waitress delivers my order, side-stepping Pippa sprawled by my feet.
I pick up the teapot. A rumble vibrates beside us. The teacup rattles on the saucer. A waft of exhausts hits me mid-inhalation. I choke, setting down the teapot to straighten the cup.
A giant blue pickup pulls in front of the tea house, blocking the quaint town view. Excellent. I wave in front of my face, clearing the last of the fumes, then fill the teacup.
What kind of asshole parks—
The door opens. I set the teapot down with a clunk. That kind. My pulse skips. Clarke emerges from the pickup.
Then the other one, Luke, climbs from the passenger side.
Luke, who saw me naked in the f*cking forest.
My breath catches, this time nothing to do with fumes and everything to do with them.
Two hunters here among pastries and teacups and I’m still not sure, yet, if civilization takes me off the menu.
Clarke turns, his attention coming to land on me. He smiles, tight-lipped, and one-sided, and completely of the devil. My chest somersaults. Luke looks at me. He brushes his thumb under his bottom lip like he’s just eaten—or is about to.
A rumble fills my belly, making my hand fly to my stomach.
The table jerks to the side as Pippa lunges toward the men. Her bark snaps.
I grab on to the table top, holding it down. “Settle, Pippa.”
She strains her leash, her bark a series of high sharp shouts. The table slides another two inches. I hold on as best I can, given Pippa weighs not much less than me.
“Sit, Pip.”
The table tips.
“Sit.” The deep command rings out.
The table falls back into place with a rattle. Pippa drops, lying flat to the ground, face right between her paws, as low as she can get.
I pant, then look up at Clarke standing beside my table. His devilish expression spreads to his eyes. Why? I grip the edge of my seat, then look down in horror. I dropped down to sit just like Pip. Yes, I did. He could’ve just as well have barked the command at me, given how well I obeyed him.
“That’s a good girl,” he says, and bends.
Wait, what me? Nope, not hardly, but right now I almost want to be.
He reaches toward Pippa.
Alarm blasts through me. She’s my dog and I don’t want her confused as to what side she’s supposed to be on. “Wait—”
He scratches the top of her head, ignoring my protest.
She accepts his touch as though she’s been drugged into submission. Luke comes to crouch beside Clarke, and pats Pippa’s back. Great. Now they’re all best freaking buddies. She’ll probably follow them home and forget I exist. I glance between them. Luke whispers something to her under his breath. Hell, maybe I’m wrong about them.
I’ve found people who are nice to animals are generally nice to people, as well.
Pippa rolls over, wrapping herself in her lead. Little whore. Not that I blame her, with all that attention and their big hands all over her. I’m suddenly a little jealous of my dog.
Maybe they’re not that bad. Maybe they just take trespassing really seriously.
“Husband joining you?”
My mouth opens. That’s right, my husband. My tongue flicks out. He stares at me, and that look he has on him…he’s one-hundred percent evil, and oh so smug. Like he knows there’s no man here with me, coming for me, or joining me.
Attraction pulses thick, making my mouth water. Now who’s a whore? I want to feel guiltier than this, but I can’t.
“Why do you think that?” The question is better than the possible responses, such as, “Actually I’m all alone and you’ve seduced my only companion.”
“You have two pastries on your table.”
I glance at the scattered food. One of the pastries has departed the plate. Yes, there are. I ordered two Danishes right off the bat without even seeing if one would do. Disobeyed instructions. Was greedy.
I clear my throat. “I like having two of a good thing.”
Luke straightens to standing. There’s something too intense about him. He still hasn’t said a word, but the way his attention hones in so sharply on me now, is bolder than anything I’ve ever been told. It’s a knife through butter.
“Do you?” Clarke’s voice is huskier than before. I look back at him and reexamine what I just said.
I like having two of a good thing.
My blood goes combustible because now I’m picturing two of a good thing. I’m picturing being the soft apple center in their man-pastry.
I’m picturing things a decent woman would never dream of.
I clear my throat, and reach for the tea.
Clarke stands, and the two of them take a nearby table, taunting me with an image I can’t forget.
Two of a bad, bad thing.





ABOUT THE MASTERMIND


After spending years imagining fictional adventures, Amber finally found a way to turn daydreaming into a productive habit. She now spends her time in a coffee-fuelled adrenaline haze, writing romance with a thriller edge.

She lives with her husband and children in semi-rural Australia, where if she peers outside at the right moment she might just see a kangaroo bounce by.

Amber is an award winning writer, Amazon Bestselling Author, and member of Romance Writers of Australia, Melbourne Romance Writers Guild, and Writers Victoria.

Author Links





Enjoy your day, book buddies :-)

jueves, 16 de marzo de 2017

Surprise!


Yes!
 LISA RENEE JONES is one of my most admired writers of intense romantic suspense, 
and she has a surprise!! :-D

SBPRBanner-PROVOCATIVE-BA

Provocative

 (White Lies Book One) 

by Lisa Renee Jones Release 

Date: April 18th 

Genre: Contemporary Romance


A Note from the author:

Hi everyone! I am BEYOND excited to introduce my WHITE LIES DUET! This is a sexy, intense, psychological thriller, that is provocative in every way, thus why I named book one: PROVOCATIVE. And since this series takes me back to my indie roots, the pricing is lower than my New York titles, and the release dates are close together. Here are the details on the series:
  • PROVOCATIVE, book one, will be out on April 18, 2017 and priced at $2.99 - includes the free novella REBECCA'S FORGOTTEN JOURNALS for those readers who purchase during release week or pre-order where pre-order is available.
  • SHAMELESS, book two, will be out on July 11, 2017 and priced at $3.99
  • BOTH books will be full-length!
  • I'm also giving away prizes on my blog every day in April to celebrate! Entry is super easy. Just comment! The link to my blog is HERE so be sure to subscribe!
And now, without further ado, the covers for the duet, blurb for book one, and CHAPTER ONE of PROVOCATIVE! I can't wait for you to meet the dirty talking alpha, Nick "Tiger" Rogers. I hope you enjoy him as much as I enjoyed writing him!

  Provocative Final Border

ABOUT THE BOOK

Book one in the sexy and intense new White Lies duet by Lisa Renee Jones!

There are those moments in life that are provocative in their very existences, that embed in our minds forever, and sometimes our very souls. They change us, mold us, maybe even save save us. But some are darker, dangerous. If we allow them to, they control us. Seduce us. Quite possibly even destroy us.
The moment I walked into Sonoma’s Reid Winter Winery and Vineyard and made eye contact with Faith Winter for the first time was one of those moments. Provocative because I know at least one of her secrets, of which, I suspect she has many. Provocative because she believes I was a stranger to her when we met, but I am not. Provocative because I sought her out, with no intention of touching her. But now I have. Now I want her. Now I have to have her. But that changes nothing. 
It doesn’t change why I came for her.

Pre-Order PROVOCATIVE Today!

Special $2.99 pre-order price - will increase after release!

Read Chapter One Now:

pro•voc•a•tive adjective
  1. causing annoyance, anger, or another strong reaction, especially deliberately.
  1. arousing sexual desire or interest, especially deliberately.

Chapter One

There are those moments in life that are provocative in their very existences, that embed in our minds forever, and sometimes our very souls. They change us, mold us, maybe even save us. But some are darker, dangerous. If we allow them to, they control us. Seduce us. Quite possibly even destroy us. The moment I stepped into the mansion that is the centerpiece of the Reid Winter Vineyards and Winery wasn’t one of those moments. Nor were any of the moments I spent weaving through a crowd of suits and dresses cluttering the circle that is the grand foyer of the 1800’s mansion, fancy tiles etched with vines beneath my feet. Nor the ones spent declining three different waiters offering me glasses of various wines from one of the most established vineyards in Sonoma, meant to entice me to buy their bottles and donate money to the charity hosting the gathering. Not even the instant that I spotted the stunning blonde in a snug black dress that hugged her many lush curves proved to be one of those moments, but I would call it a damn interesting one. The moment I decided the blonde silk of her long hair belonged in my hands and on my stomach was also a damn interesting one. And not because she’s fuckable. There are plenty of fuckable women in my life, a number of whom understand that I enjoy demands for pleasure, which I will definitely provide, and nothing more. This woman is too prim and proper to ever agree to such an arrangement, and yet, knowing this, as she and her heart-shaped backside disappear into the congestion of bodies, I find myself pursuing her, looking for more than an interesting moment. I want that provocative one. I follow her path formed by huddles of two, three, or more people, left and right, to clear a portion of the crowd, scanning to find my beauty standing several feet away, her back to me, with two men in blue suits in front of her. And while they might appear to blend with the rest of the suits in the room, they hold themselves like the parasites I meet too often in the courtroom, those who most often call themselves my opposing counsel. My blonde beauty folds her arms in front of her chest, her spine stiff, and if I read her right–and I read most people right–I am certain that she’s found trouble. But lucky for her, trouble doesn’t like me near as much as I like it. Closing the space between me and them, I near their little triangle just in time to hear her say, “Are we really doing this here and now?” “Yes, Ms. Winter,” one of the men replies. “We are.” “Actually,” I say, stepping to Ms. Winter’s side, her floral scent almost as sweet as the challenge of conquering her opponents that are now mine, “we are not doing this here or now.” All attention shifts to me, Ms. Winter giving me a sharp stare that I feel rather than see, my focus remaining on the men I want to leave, not the woman I want to make come. “And you would be who?” the suit directly in front of me demands. I size him up as barely out of his twenty-something diapers, without experience, the glint in his eye telling me he doesn’t realize that flaw, which makes him about as smooth as a six-dollar glass of wine everyone in this place would spit the fuck out. A point driven home by the fact that he’s wearing a three hundred-dollar Italian silk tie, and a hundred-dollar suit, no doubt hoping the tie makes the suit look expensive, and him important. He’s wrong. “I said, who are you?” he repeats when I apparently haven’t replied quickly enough, his impatience becoming my virtue as my role as cat in this game of cat and mouse is too easily established. Unwilling to waste words on a predictable, expected question that I’d never ask, I simply reach into the pocket of my three-thousand-dollar light gray suit, which I earned by beating opponents with ten times his experience and negotiation skills, and finger the unimportant prick my card. He snaps it from my hand, gives it a look that confirms my name and the firm I started a decade ago now, after daring to leave behind a certain partnership in a high-powered firm. “Nick Rogers?” he asks. “Is there another name on the card?” I ask, because, I’m also a fearless smartass every chance I get. He stares at me for several beats, seeming to calculate his words, before asking, “How many Mr. Rogers sweater jokes do you get?” I arch a brow at the misguided joke that only serves to poke the Tiger. Suit Number Two, who I age closer to my thirty-six years, pales visibly, then snatches the card from the other man’s hand, giving it a quick inspection before his gaze then jerks to mine. “The Nick Rogers?” “I don’t remember my mother putting the word ‘the’ in front of my name,” I reply dryly, but then again, I think, she didn't ask my father, to change my last name either. She just hated him that much. “Tiger,” he says, and it’s not a question, but rather a statement of “oh shit” fact. “That’s right,” I say, enjoying the fruits of my labor that created the nickname, not one given to me by my friends. “Who, or what, the fuck is Tiger all about?” Suit Number One asks. “Shut up,” Suit Number Two grunts, refocusing on me to ask, “You’re representing Ms. Winter?” “What I am,” I say, “is standing right here by her side, telling you that it’s in your best interests to leave.” “Since when do you handle small-time foreclosures?” he demands, exposing the crux of Ms. Winter’s situation. “I handle whatever the fuck I want to handle,” I say, my tone even, my lips curving as I add, “Including the process of having you both escorted off the property by security.” “That,” Suit Number One dares to retort, “would garner Ms. Winter unwanted attention in the middle of a busy event. Not that Ms. Winter even has security to call.” “Fortunately, I have a phone that dials 911 and the ability to call it without asking her.” “If she’s your client,” Suit Number One says, clearly inferring that she’s not, “you’re obligated to operate with her best interests in mind.” “My decisions,” I reply, without missing a beat, and without claiming Ms. Winter as a client, “are always about winning. And I assure you that I can think of many ways to spin your story to the press that ensures I win, while also benefiting Ms. Winter.” “This isn’t my story,” Suit Number One indicates. “It will be when I’m finished with the press,” I assure him, amused at how easily I’ve led him down the path I want him to travel. “This is a small community with little to talk about but her,” he says. “She doesn’t want her foreclosure to become the front page story.” My lips quirk. “If you don’t know how easily I can get the wrong attention for you here, and the right attention for Ms. Winter, you’ll find out.” “We’ll leave,” Suite Number Two interjects quickly, and just when I think that he’s smart enough to see the way trouble has turned from Ms. Winter to them, he looks at her and says, “We’ll be in touch,” with a not so subtle threat in his tone, before he elbows Suit Number One. “Let’s go.” Suit Number One doesn’t move, visibly fuming, his face red, that white ring thickening around his lips. I arch a brow at Suit Number Two, who adds, “Now, Jordan.” Jordan, formerly known as Suit Number One, clenches his teeth and turns away, while Suit Two follows. Ms. Winter faces me, and holy fuck, when her pale green eyes meet mine, any questions I have about this woman and the many I suspect she now has of me, are muted by an unexpected, potentially problematic, palpable electric charge between us. “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft, feminine, a rasp in its depths that hints at emotion not effortlessly contained. “Please enjoy anything you like tonight on the house,” she adds, the rasp gone now, her control returned. Until I take it, I think, but no sooner than I’ve had the thought, she is turning and walking away, the absence of further interaction coloring me both stunned and intrigued, two things that, for me, are ranked with about as much frequency as snow in Sonoma, which would be next to never. Ms. Winter maneuvers into the crowd, out of my line of sight, and while I am not certain I’d label her a mouse at this point, or ever for that matter, considering what I know of her, I am most definitely on the prowl. I stride purposely forward, weaving through the crowd, seeking that next provocative moment, scanning for her left, right, in the clusters of mingling guests, until I clear the crowd. Now standing in front of a wide, wooden stairwell, my gaze follows its path upward to a second level, but I still find no sign of Ms. Winter. A cool breeze whips through the air, and I turn to find the source is a high arched doorway, the recently opened glass doors to what I know to be the “Winter Gardens,” a focal point of the property, and a tourist draw for decades, settling back into place. Certain this represents her escape, I walk that direction, and press open the doors, stepping onto a patio that has a stone floor and concrete benches framed by rose bushes. No less than four winding paths greet me as destination choices, the hunt for this woman now a provocation of its own. I’ve just decided to wait where I am for Ms. Winter’s return when the wind lifts, the floral scent of many varieties of flowers for which the garden is famous touching my nostrils, with one extra scent decidedly of the female variety. Lips curving with the certainty that my prey will soon to be my prize, I follow the clue that guides my feet to the path on my right, a narrow, winding, lighted walkway, framed by neatly cut yellow flower bushes, which continues past a white wooden gazebo I have no intention of passing. Not when Ms. Winter stands inside it, her back to me, elbows resting on the wooden rail, her gaze casting across the silhouette of what would reveal itself to be a rolling mountainside in daybreak. The way I intend for her to reveal herself. I close the distance between us, and the moment before I’m upon her, she faces me, hands on the railing behind her, her breasts thrust forward, every one of her lush curves tempting my eyes, my hands. My mouth. “Did those men know you?” she demands, clearly ready and waiting for this interaction. “Did you know them?” “No and no.” “And yet they knew the nickname Tiger.” “My reputation precedes me.” “I’ll take the bait,” she says. “What reputation?” “They say I’ll rip my opponent’s throat out if given the chance.” “Will you?” she asks, without so much as a blanch or blink. “Yes,” I reply, a simple answer, for a simple question. “Without any concern for who you hurt,” she states. I arch a brow. “Is that a question?” “Should it be?” “Yes.” “It’s not,” she says. “You didn’t get that nickname by being nice.” “Nice guys don’t win.” “Then I’m warned,” she says. “You aren’t a nice guy.” “Is nice a quality you’re looking for in a man? Because as your evening counsel, Ms. Winter, I’ll advise you that nice is overrated.” She stares at me for several beats before turning away to face the mountains again, elbows on the railing, in what I could see as a silent invitation to leave. I choose to see it as an invitation to join her. I claim the spot next to her, close, but not nearly as close as I will be soon. “You didn’t answer the question,” I point out. “You wrongly assume I am looking for a man, which I’m not,” she says, glancing over at me. “But if I was, then no. Nice would be on my list but it would not top my list, however, nowhere on that list would be the ability, and willingness, to rip out someone’s throat.” “I can assure you, Ms. Winter, that a man with a bite is as underrated as a nice guy is overrated. And I not only know how, and when, to use mine, but if I so choose to biteyou, and I might, it’ll be all about pleasure, not pain.” Her cheeks flush and she turns away. “My name is Faith.” She glances over at me again. “Should I call you Nick, Tiger, or just plain arrogant?” “Anything but Mr. Rogers,” I say, enjoying our banter far more than I would have expected when I came here tonight looking for her. She laughs now too, and it’s a delicate, sweet sound, but it’s awkward, as if it’s not only unexpected, but unwelcome, and an instant later she’s withdrawing, pushing off the railing, arms folding protectively in front of her body, before we’re rotating to face each other. “I need to go check on the visitors.” She attempts to move away. I gently catch her arm, her gaze rocketing to mine, and in the process her hair flutters in a sudden breeze, a strand of blonde silk catching on the whiskers of my one-day stubble. She sucks in a breath, and when she would reach up to remedy the situation, I’m already there, catching the soft silk and stroking it behind her ear. “Why are you touching me?” she asks, but she doesn’t pull away, that charge between us minutes ago now ten times more provocative with me touching her, thinking about all the places I might touch next. “It’s considerably better than not touching you,” I say. “My bad luck might bleed into you.” “Bleed,” I repeat, that word reminding me once again of why I’m here, why I really want to fuck this woman. “That’s an extreme, and rather interesting choice of words.” “Most bad luck is extreme, though not interesting to anyone but the Tigers of the world, creating it. You’re still touching me.” “Everyone needs a Tiger in their corner. Maybe my good luck will bleed into you.” “Does good luck bleed?” she asks. “Many people will do anything for good luck, even bleed.” “Yes,” she says, lowering her lashes, but not before I’ve seen the shadows in her eyes. “I suppose they would.” “What would you do for good luck?” Her lashes lift, her stare meeting mine again. “What have you done for good luck?” “I came here tonight,” I say. She narrows her eyes on me, as if some part of her senses, the far-reaching implications of my reply that she can’t possibly understand, and yet still, the inescapable heat between us radiates and burns. “You’re still touching me,” she points out, and this time there’s a hint of reprimand. “Holding onto that luck,” I say. “It feels like you’re holding onto mine.” With that observation that hits too close to the truth, I have no interest in revealing just yet, I drag my hand slowly down hers, allowing my fingers to find hers before they fall away. Her lips, lush, tempting, impossibly perfect for someone I know to be imperfect, part with the loss of my touch, and yet there is a hint of relief in her eyes that tells me she both wants me and fears me. A most provocative moment, indeed. “Have a drink with me,” I say. “No,” she replies, her tone absolute, and while I don’t like this decision, I appreciate a person who’s decisive. “Why?” “Good luck and bad luck don’t mix.” “They might just create good luck.” “Or bad,” she says. “I’m not in a place where I can take the risk for more bad luck.” She inclines her chin. “Enjoy the rest of your visit.” She pauses and adds, “Tiger.” I don’t react, but for just a moment, I consider the way she used my nickname as an indicator that she knows who I am, and why I’m here. I quickly dismiss that idea. I’d have seen it in those pale green eyes, and I did not. But as she turns and walks away, and I watch her depart, tracking her steps as she disappears down the path, I wonder at her quick departure, and the fear I’d seen in her eyes. Was the root of that fear her guilt? That idea should be enough to ice the fire in me that this woman has stirred, but it stokes it instead. Everything male in me wants to pursue her again, and not because I’m here for a reason that existed before I ever met her, when it should be that and nothing more. It is more. I’m aroused and I’m intrigued by this woman. She got to me when no one gets to me. Not a good place to be, considering I came here to prove she killed my father, and maybe even her own mother.


ShamelessFinal_4

Book two: SHAMELESS will be out on July 11th!

Pre-Order notification:http://bit.ly/2nocwgZ

GIVEAWAY TIME

ABOUT THE MASTERMIND

LRJAuthorPicNew York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT series. Suzanne Todd (producer of Alice in Wonderland) on the INSIDE OUT series: Lisa has created a beautiful, complicated, and sensual world that is filled with intrigue and suspense. Sara’s character is strong, flawed, complex, and sexy - a modern girl we all can identify with. In addition to the success of Lisa's INSIDE OUT series, Lisa has published many successful titles. The TALL, DARK AND DEADLY series and THE SECRET LIFE OF AMY BENSEN series, both spent several months on a combination of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling lists. Lisa is presently working on a dark, edgy new series, Dirty Money, for St. Martin's Press. Prior to publishing Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by the Dallas Women's Magazine. In 1998 Lisa was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine. Lisa loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at www.lisareneejones.com and she is active on Twitter and Facebook daily.
 

Connect with the Author:

Twitter: @LisaReneeJones
Stay in touch with Lisa by joining her mailing list:

I'm so excited!! :-)

My heart is Under Fire with Aria Cole


That's right, book buddies, if you like your heroes to be firegighters, you're in luck :-)





Blaise Michaels has never met a fire he couldn't tame—or a woman who could cause a fire-alarm blaze in his heart. But the night he meets Brianna Foster is a night that will leave permanent marks on them both.

Brianna Foster wasn't looking for love—in fact, all she was looking for was her grumpy old cat before the building dissolved into ash around them. But when tall, dark, and heroic bursts through her apartment door to save her—and her pussy—from the flames, she never dreams he would light a fire that could incinerate her heart.

Warning: Blaise is a big, growly, alpha male with a hero complex. Saving Brianna isn't enough for him. He wants more than just in her bed. He wants her tied to him for life.





MY OPINION

A firefighter is my go-to hero. This author has created a mature, very heroic man who rescues a young woman and her kitty from a raging inferno. Perfect!

Short and lovely, this novella tells the swift romance between a man with a strong sense of protectiveness and an independent woman who craves to be loved. It is written with pretty words and the relationship that grows is hot and funny.


I really liked the scene where they meet, the grouchy cat, the fear she feels for his safety as a committed firefighter and how they cling to each other for the good moments in life. Grab it for the ardent treat it is ;-)

ENJOY AN EXCERPT


Brianna
   “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,”
   I cooed, tossing another treat his way.  
   A low grumble vibrated from somewhere by the bed.
   “Don’t be a bad boy. Come to Mommy.” I tried my best to stay calm as fire alarms rang around my head. “Jinx…”
   I heard the bang of footsteps up the old stairwell.  
   “Jinx! For God’s sake, come to Mommy!” I inched closer, the fire alarms wearing on my last f*cking nerve. “Jinx, come here, boy. Please come here.”     
   The old cat crouched farther under the bed.  
   I could hear more footsteps pounding down the hallway now, doors banging, people running.  
   There’d been a half a dozen false alarms in the last year I’d been living here, but this time, I’d heard the sirens outside. There were a lot of emergency vehicles currently parked in front of my small apartment complex, and something told me this wasn’t a false alarm.  
   “Jinx, goddammit, get your grouchy little ass over here.” I lunged under the bed, the edge of the cheap metal frame cutting into my upper thigh. “F*ck!”  
   I kept stretching, trying desperately to dig my fingers into his soft fur so I could haul him out of here with me.  
   No way could I leave my sweet kitty in a building that was going up in flames.     
   It was probably just Mrs. Avery on the third floor, blind as an old bat and cooking soup. The flames had crawled all the way up the wall and left a trail of soot the last time this had happened, and the super still hadn’t replaced her range hood. She complained about it to me every time I went upstairs for cookies and tea. I hated the tea, she put way more lemon in it than I liked, but I choked it down for her.  
   I hoped she was safe. I hoped everyone, as motley a crew as they may be, was already out on the lawn. I’d grown attached to everyone here, and in a way, we’d banded together over the complete lack of upkeep on the part of our landlord.  
   If it wasn’t peeling paint or heaved sidewalks, it was a leaking pipe or a burned-out air conditioner.  
   I hated this f*cking building. Part of me hoped it would go up in flames, but I knew it was the cheapest rent I could find in this city. Rents were climbing higher and higher every year, and I was barely making it as is.
   If I didn’t have an apartment to live in, where the hell would I go?
  “Jinx…” I tossed him another treat, begging him to inch just a little closer. “Please, boy?”
    A half a dozen loud bangs rattled the door of my apartment. Jinx chose that moment to swipe at my hand, slicing my finger ruthlessly and causing blood to pool between my fingers.
   “F*ck!” I recoiled, not bothering to check the gash on my thigh that was now throbbing, and launched down the short hallway to my front door.
    Just as I reached the kitchen, the door burst open and a firefighter, complete with breathing mask, barged in.  
   A pair of intense dark eyes was all I could see of the stranger, his hand waving me to him rapidly.  
   I shook my head, stubborn tenacity and adrenaline charging through my veins as I turned back down the hallway. I didn’t even give a shit that I was seriously undressed. I had to get Jinx.  
   “Ma’am!” The firefighter pounded down the hall after me.  
   I slid beneath the bed again, stretching to reach Jinx.  
   “Ma’am, I’ve got to get you out of here.” His hand rested at my back. Gentler than I would have expected considering the layers of fireproof gear he wore.
   I shook my head, glancing over my shoulder to find he’d taken off his mask.  
   And then the air was sucked straight out of my lungs.  
   Warm, honeyed skin stretched across a dark, stubbled jaw. The angles of his face inviting, the dark slash of his eyebrows and empathy radiating from his eyes making me weak in the knees. His full lips parted with each breath, the reckless, unkempt dark hair…he was the walking embodiment of a firefighter’s calendar I’d seen a while back. Except this guy was better, features so chiseled I was pretty sure I would spontaneously combust if I stared at him for too long. Why did it feel like something was twisting down deep in my belly with just one look?
   Wait, what is going on again?
   Why is there a gorgeous, rugged fireman in my bedroom?
   Right.  
   Jinx.  “My cat,” I breathed, pointing under the bed, shaking the fireman-induced haze from my brain.
   “Your cat is under the bed?” His throaty voice curled my toes. I gulped.
   “I can’t leave him.” His eyes heated with understanding. “I’ll get him.”
    He stood, walking around the bed, his gait slow and confident. I would have killed to see what he was packing under that fireman’s getup, if the place wasn’t burning down around us, that is.
  “Wait—” I interjected. “He’s been a moody bastard. He might bite you.”
    A crooked smile that made my stomach turn somersaults cracked his lips. “I’ve encountered a lot of mean kitties. That’s why they give me the gloves.” He held up one gloved hand and winked.  
   He winked.  
   He f*cking winked at me.
   I nodded, unable to form a syllable before tall, rugged, and dangerously sexy leaned beneath the bed and swiped up my ornery old cat in one hand. He cradled Jinx in the crook of his elbow, covering his eyes before coming around the bed for me.
   “Let’s go.” He held out a hand.  
   My lips slid open, the way his eyes held mine leaving me completely transfixed. His dominant presence ate up the energy between us and made me a slave to his scrutiny. I couldn’t think straight, could hardly take a breath without feeling his gaze prickle my skin. I felt completely immobile. As cheesy as it might sound, I was a deer in the headlights, those headlights being his intense eyes. I could swear my heart was beating a hundred miles an hour, and at that moment, I was thankful for the fire and the search for Jinx because it hid my embarrassing reaction to this stranger.
   “You gonna make me carry you?” He did that crooked grin thing again that I’m pretty sure had the ability to get me pregnant. I pondered asking him to carry me just because I wanted the feel of his hard, firm body pressed against mine, but my leg chose that moment to throb fiercely, reminding me of the wound I’d gotten earlier. I glanced down, seeing rivers of red streak down my leg. Well, if I pass out from his heat, at least I can pretend it’s from the gallons of blood I am losing from my leg.
   “Shit.”
   He bent over for a closer look. “Let’s get you safe.”
   He pulled me against him in one arm, sliding Jinx into my hands before swooping his other under me and carrying me out of my bedroom. My heart thundered in erratic beats as I felt every inch of him pressed to me, his hands cupping my body, cradling me tight in his rugged arms. My insides churned like butter, my palms prickling with newfound desire. It was not the appropriate moment to feel any of those things, but there was something about the way he handled me, something about the way his eyes had held mine from across the room that caused sensation to flutter through every nerve of my body. He left a lasting impression, like a tattoo on my flaming skin.  
   His eyes caught mine then as we walked through my kitchen.
   “Doin’ okay, sweetheart?”
   I felt a blush crawl up my chest and heat my neck.
   “I—” I paused, struggling to form words when he was looking at me like that—like he could see straight into my soul. “I’m just shocked there’s a real fire.”
   The excuse was lame even as it fell on my ears, but in all fairness, I did not expect to find myself in the arms of a fireman today either.
    “’Course there’s a real fire. Why do you think I’m saving you?” He glanced down to the cat in my arms. “And your kitty.”
   Heat flamed between my thighs. Did he have this power over all the women he carried out of burning buildings? I frowned, the idea that he’d made anyone other than me feel this way not sitting well in my stomach.
   We burst into the hall where we joined more firefighters rushing into the building, long hoses clutched in powerful hands.  
   They shouted orders, made hand gestures, then shot up the stairs to the third floor.  
   “Jesus.” My heart cracked open as I prayed everyone else was okay.
    As if reading my mind, he spoke. “You’re the last one, sweetheart. Guys said they pounded on your door once already, assumed no one was home.”
   I withered at his words. “But, Jinx…”
   “Right. The cat.” He took the stairs two at a time, cradling me in his firm embrace. An odd sense of relief washed over me for the first time in my life. I was so strong and resilient on my own, but giving up the reins and being taken care of felt surprisingly good, even if it was by a stranger for exactly two point five minutes while he whisked me away from a fire.
   “You’re lucky I saved your cute little ass.” He pushed through the creaky front doors of the apartment complex, the night air crisp on my bare skin. A shiver pulsed through me, one he must have felt. “We need to get you covered up. Have that gash looked at. You may need stitches.”
   I groaned, shuttering my eyes closed, thinking that was exactly the kind of luck I had.  
   Rescued by a hot firefighter, check. Scarred by an angry cat while trying to save the little bastard’s life? Check.  
   And then it dawned on me that I’d have no bed to sleep in tonight.  
  No money to rent a hotel room.  
  No family or friends to crash with. Maybe I could call one of the girls at the coffee shop where I worked, sleep on someone’s couch for a few days… And then what?
   I groaned again, louder.  
   “You don’t sound like a girl whose life was just saved from a blazing inferno.”
   I frowned. Was sarcasm a trait among firefighters? I glanced up at him, too weak and suddenly too exhausted for anything but honesty. “I don’t have anywhere to stay tonight.”  
   Or ever.
   His eyes narrowed as we reached the nearest ambulance. He shifted me out of his arms, sitting me on the edge. He took the cat from my hands while a paramedic wrapped me in a blanket. His eyes tore up and down my body, as if searching for more wounds that might need tending. I didn’t know if it was the heat of his gaze on my skin, or the black smoke clogging the parking lot, but something about the way he tended to me made something sweet and comforting unfurl deep inside me.
   I’d never been tended to in my life, but all of a sudden, the idea of being without his attention felt like more than I was willing to bear.
   “Check her leg. She’s got a deep cut.” His voice was authoritative and throaty, sending new waves of arousal spinning through me. He stood at my side, watching with a close eye as the paramedic inspected the gash, cleaned it with antiseptic, and then bandaged it tightly. I’d never felt more loved.    
  I was so consumed with the feelings waging a cage fight behind my ribs that I hardly felt her fingers on me.  
   A tall, broad, sinfully sexy firefighter dominated my thoughts.  
   The one holding my kitty.






ABOUT THE M ASTERMIND


Aria Cole is a thirty-something housewife who once felt bad for reading dirty books late at night, until she decided to write her own. Possessive alpha men and the sassy heroines who love them are common, along with a healthy dose of irresistible insta-love and happily ever afters so sweet your teeth may ache.

For a safe, off-the-charts HOT, and always HEA story that doesn't take a lifetime to read, get lost in an Aria Cole book!
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Enjoy your smut romance :-)