Thursday, 13 October 2016

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Are you ready to Meet Brock Wellington?
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Blurb
Jane isn't entirely sure that Cinderella got such a raw deal. Sure, she had a rough start, but didn't she eventually land a prince and a happily-ever-after? Meanwhile, Jane is busy waiting on her demanding, entitled sisters, running her cleaning business, and . . . yep, not a prince in sight. Until a party and a broken shoe incident leave Jane wondering if princes---or at least, a certain deliciously hunky billionaire---maybe do exist.
Except Brock Wellington isn't anyone's dream guy. Hell, a prince would never agree to be auctioned off in marriage to the highest bidder. Or act like an arrogant jerk---even if it was just a façade. Now, as Brock is waiting for the auction chopping block, he figures it's karmic retribution that he's tempted by a sexy, sassy woman he can't have. But while they can't have a fairy-tale ending, maybe they can indulge in a little bit of fantasy . . 
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Excerpt:  Chapter Four
Jane was pressed so tightly against the wall she would have sworn her body was starting to blend into the wallpaper. Most people didn’t give her a second glance. Then again, she wouldn’t give herself a second glance either. 
Women with fake boobs and injected lips mocked her while rich men in three-piece suits completely ignored her. 
She self-consciously tugged at hem of the short black dress. In a last ditch effort to modernize the dress, or at least add a bit of spice, she’d grabbed her mother’s long pearls, wrapped them around her neck twice and called it good. 
But the minute they’d arrived at the party she’d wanted to disappear. Her sisters were already semi-drunk, thanks to the vodka they’d had in the car. Against Jane’s protests they’d taken shots while she drove. And then she’d paid for parking only to hear them whine that she had parked too far away. 
They’d been here for twenty minutes and already she wanted to leave, or at least sit down, but most of the available space was taken by couples talking, eating…kissing. 
She was surrounded by the beautiful and rich. 
The only reason her sisters had even been invited was because they were complete and total social climbers, and had managed to gain an invitation from a friend who was an heiress to some french fry company. 
A waiter passed by with champagne. 
She grabbed a glass and downed the entire thing. It didn’t help her nerves, but at least the bubbles semi-calmed her stomach. 
Her sweaty feet slid in her too-big red pumps as she pressed harder against the wall to alleviate the ache in her toes. 
The music shifted to a loud techno song as the lights went from red to a bright white, and with a gasp she covered her eyes and then blinked a few times to clear her line of vision. 
The jumbled sweaty bodies moved aside as the music changed to a slow song. There was just enough of a break for her to see across the room. 
“Oh.” It was all she could utter, really the only word she was capable of as her breathing picked up. Without thinking, she grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter, suddenly awkward. What was she supposed to do with her hands? 
Thick wavy auburn hair fell in disarray over his forehead. It was lush, shiny, perfect. Were guys born with hair like that? Or was his somehow chemically engineered? His full lips pressed together in a secret smile as the equally handsome man next to him said something, then erupted in laughter. 
The first man stiffened, then shook his head. His broad shoulders seemed to grow tight as a drum. A slight tic in his jaw was the only clue that he was irritated or maybe outright angry. 
And then his shoulders slumped as he was handed another drink and then another. 
Nervous. He must be nervous. But what could a man like that possibly have to be nervous about? 
He easily towered over most of the men in attendance. Suddenly his posture changed, then he smiled. 
Jane felt her mouth drop open in shock. 
Dazzling. 
He was…like a duke or a lord or a prince from a storybook. Clearly, she read too many romance novels, but his entire presence demanded attention; screamed authority, importance, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.
Yes, his virility was a tangible thing, as if she could reach out and grasp it with her fingertips. 
“What are you doing?” Esmeralda yelled in her right ear, interrupting her blatant sexual fantasy about a complete stranger. Great. That’s what her life had come to. And sadly? It was the most fun she’d had all night. 
Jane turned to Esmeralda, prayed for patience, and answered. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“You’re so boring.” Esmeralda rolled her eyes. “No wonder you got dumped.”
Another fun fact? Esmeralda was mean when she was drunk. 
The reminder of the breakup burned like acid. 
It had been a year ago, not that it mattered. It still hurt that the last guy she’d dated had told her that although she was cute, she wasn’t really doing it for him anymore. 
Right. Doing it. 
Maybe that was because she hadn’t done anything for him or with him, and he found that lacking. But they’d only dated for a few weeks. Did normal girls do that? Put out after a few weeks? Apparently. 
She wasn’t normal. 
But if that was normal, maybe she was better off being strange. 
“Jane, are you even listening to me?” Esmeralda whined. “Essence needs you to dance next to her for a bit. I’m tired and tipsy. I want to sit. Plus your dress blends in enough that it won’t take attention away from her.”
No way. What? What had she just said?
Jane wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m sorry, what?”
Without warning, Esmeralda grabbed Jane’s hand and jerked her toward the dance floor, causing Jane to lose her footing and crash directly into Esmeralda’s back. Then, like a domino, she slammed back into Essence. 
Jane opened her mouth to shout out an apology, but Esmeralda was already too drunk to listen to reason. With determination in her eyes, she reached for the pearls at Jane’s neck but grabbed the fabric of the dress instead. 
Her poorly sewn dress ripped instantly, causing the fabric to slink past her strapless bra. A diagonal slit split up her thigh almost all the way to her hip. In an  effort to cover herself, she took a step and tripped, thanks to her clunky shoes. 
And then she fell to the floor.
Hard. 
Her sisters watched in horror—but neither of them offered a hand. They were probably kicking themselves for forcing her to come. Esmeralda leaned over but missed Jane’s shoulder by a mile, grabbing her hair and giving it a tug, which only made Jane wince harder. 
Both sisters were completely tanked. 
And she was less than two minutes away from being trampled by the other sweaty bodies around her. 
She glanced up. 
And into the eyes of the man she’d just been lusting after. 
Oh God, the humiliation was complete. 
That one glance told her he’d seen it all. She swallowed back the thickness building in her throat. Of course the only time he’d notice her would be when she’d ripped her dress and nearly took out a few guests on her way down to the dance floor. 
The crowd gathered around her. 
And the sexy man disappeared—probably off in search of a girl with perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect clothes. 
She really should have stayed home. 
Tears filled her eyes as a heel pressed into her right hand. With a jerk she tugged her hand free, struggling to get up to stand on her wobbly feet, when suddenly she was pulled to a standing position and then swept up in strong arms. 
Jane’s eyes were still so blurry from unshed tears she couldn’t make out the man’s face as he carried her out of the crowd. 
He smelled like heaven. 
She fought the insane urge to press her face against his chest and just…close her eyes. 
Because he felt safe. 
Pathetic, when a stranger’s arms provided more safety than her own family. And yet he felt…right. 
In a world where things for the past ten years had felt so wrong. 
He felt right. 
Maybe she’d had too much champagne. 
“Are you all right?” he whispered in a deep voice with a hint of a southern drawl. He’d brought her into a private room where the music wasn’t quite so deafening. 
He set her on one of the black leather couches and shut the door, muffling the music on the other side. 
Blinking, Jane glanced up and gawked, like a starry-eyed teenager. He was the same man she’d seen earlier, the one she’d been captivated by. “Yes.”
“Yes?” He looked confused. His amazing eyebrows drew together, and a small line creased the center of his forehead. Even the line was gorgeous, just as gorgeous as the rest of him. 
His thickly muscled body screamed power. Her hands slid down the front of his chest. Even his shirt was smooth. She didn’t realize she’d been basically petting him until his muscles tensed beneath her palm. Oh crap. 
“I mean, yes, I’m fine.” She tried to stand then fell back down; her stupid heel was broken. “Or I was fine, until I got trampled.”
The line in his forehead deepened. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
Jane shook her head then pressed her hand to her chest and gasped out, “My pearls!”
“Wait here.” He held out his hands. “I’ll get the necklace, I’m sure it’s where you fell and—”
“No.” Jane slumped, defeated. “They broke off when my sis—” She corrected herself, not wanting to claim the crazies in the other room. “They broke apart when I fell.”
The man sighed loudly and ran his fingers through his perfect hair. “I’ll talk to the club manager and see if anyone turns them in.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to give him all the many reasons why they were irreplaceable, but instead she settled with, “That’s really not necessary. It’s not your fault I was a victim of the techno craze.”
His upper lip curled. “I hate techno.”
“Me too.” 
“Is there something I can do? Anything? You promise you aren’t hurt?”
“Careful or you’re going to have me believe you got me trampled on purpose in order to trap me in a private room,” she joked as a smile tugged at her lips. 
“Had I known you were willing, I wouldn’t have had to go to such extremes to orchestrate it.” 
He appeared stunned by his own answer.
Her breath hitched. Was he flirting with her? 
His crystal blue eyes twinkled with amusement. 
“So…” Her voice was hoarse, like an old woman’s. Great. “I should probably get back to the party.” Why did she need to go back again? All the reasons seemed to disappear as he maneuvered around the couch and popped a bottle of champagne that had been chilling in a nearby crystal bucket. 
“Why don’t you and I have a drink first?” He peered around the table. “I’ll need to send for some shoes. It’s the least I can do.” His gaze heated. “Shoes are appropriate to purchase for a stranger. A dress, I’m afraid…” The corners of his mouth tilted into a sultry smile as his eyes slowly raked over the scraps of fabric barely covering her breasts. “Not so much.” 
Did people do that these days? Just send for shoes? Who was this guy? “Really, it’s not necessary. I’ll just stick to the shadows so I don’t scare anyone with my limp and I’ll be okay.” She sounded more confident than she felt, and her lower lip trembled a bit. Next time she was going to hold her ground, stay home, read a book, and be plain boring Jane. This wasn’t her scene. Not by a long shot. 
He leaned in close, so close she could smell his aftershave again. “A woman like you doesn’t belong in the shadows.”
Uncomfortable, she tried to make light of the situation again. “Wow, a hero and good with words. I bet you’re just a regular handful, aren’t you?”
“Me?” He laughed as if the thought was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “No, that would be my twin brothers. They’re the handfuls. I’m…” He seemed to think about it. “Just Brock.”
“Well, Just Brock…” Jane held out her hand. “I’m Just Jane.”
His hand completely engulfed hers as their palms pressed against one another. He was so warm. And big. 
Huge. 
Huge hands. That meant something, right? 
Crap, she was still shaking his hand, and he was grinning at her as if it was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him. And he was looking at her. At her eyes, not at the fact that she was half-naked on a couch, with a broken shoe. 
With a jerk, she pulled her hand back and nervously reached to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. 
“So, Brock.” Jane looked down at his shoes. That was safe. Shoes. Nothing sexy about a man’s feet, right? Except his were inside shoes that she ventured probably cost more than she’d ever see in a lifetime. “About those shoes.”
“Shoes.” He repeated the word and then quickly stood. “Right, just wait here.” 
He disappeared, giving her the breathing room she absolutely positively needed, only to re-appear a few seconds later. 
Without shoes. 
She frowned; then again, what had she expected? That he’d bang some plastic Barbie over the head with his cell phone, steal her shoes, and then toss them to Jane? 
Brock studied her. “Your shoes should be here within the next fifteen minutes. I just sent my degenerate brother across the street. Saks is still open. The night is young.”
Saks?
Shoes from Saks?
She’d never owned anything from Saks. Ever. But she knew the store; didn’t every woman? Still, the most expensive thing she’d ever owned had been the pearls. 
“That’s really…” She waved her hand in the air and stood. “Not necessary…you can tell him that—”
Brock reached for her hand and lightly tugged her back. “Sit. It is necessary. And although I typically wait until the third date to buy a woman gifts, I think your nearly getting trampled allows me to break that rule.”
Still tense, Jane nodded and took a shaky look around the small, private room. 
“To new shoes?” Brock grabbed his drink and lifted it in the air toward her. 
She lifted her glass and clinked it against his then took a small sip. The champagne was pink and sweet, with a tart aftertaste. “It’s good.”
“You sound surprised.” Brock’s lips lifted in a smile.
She scrunched up her nose. “I’m not much of a drinker, and I typically don’t like drinks that are the same color as my underwear.”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she froze, barely managing to suppress the urge to clap a hand over her mouth. She wanted someone to run her over with a car. 
With a choke, Brock nearly spit out the sip he’d just taken. Face flushed, he stared her down and then whispered, “You’re making me regret my decision to send out for boring black shoes.”
“I didn’t…I mean, pink is fine.” Stop talking, stop talking. “Not all of my underwear is pink. I have black, too.” 
Brock’s lips parted with a greedy exhale, and he downed the rest of his drink. “Oh?”
Hell in a handbasket. 
Why was she giving him a rundown of her lingerie drawer? As if he were a naughty Santa with a checklist in front of him, putting down little marks on the little boxes that read “red lacy thong”? Check. “Black boyshorts”? Double check. 
“I’m more of a boxer brief sort of guy,” he said smoothly, bringing her back to the present. 
“Huh?”
“Too far?” He chuckled. “I figured if I knew the color of yours…I should at least show you mine.” He leaned forward.
Had he said show? 
Just how drunk was he? Maybe that was the reason his eyes were zeroing in on her mouth. He blinked, and then seemed to sway a bit. 
Was he okay? And why was he still staring at her mouth? Did she have something on her face? 
Self-consciously, she pressed her fingertips to her lips only to have him suck in a breath and lift his right hand from his thigh as if wanting to touch the place where her fingers had just been. 
“Got the shoes!” a male voice yelled as Jane jerked away from Brock. 
What had just happened? 
“Holy shit, you’re hot.” 
She recognized the man from before. He was about an inch shorter than Brock, but had the same perfect auburn hair. “I’m Bentley, and since this one’s about to get married, I feel like it’s only fair to let you know that out of the two of us, I’m the single, available one, who’s also—lucky for you—been given a higher rating in the sack.” 
Married? 
He was getting married? 
And hitting on her? 
Or was she hitting on him? After all, she was the one who’d mentioned underwear. Ugh, she wanted to crawl under the table and die. 
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About the Author:
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Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor. 
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
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Title: Taylored to Perfection

Series: Taylor Made Series, Book 2

Author: KJ Lewis

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: November 11th

Cover Artist: Regina Wamba at Mai I Design and Photography

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In true Graham fashion, he does what he knows best to get Emme back. Take control. Show her who is really in charge. As blurred lines slowly gain focus, Graham and Emme both learn what it means to give your whole heart to another. Just when they have it figured out, a crisis brings Emme to her knees and when she needs him in charge the most, Graham’s own past, leaves him paralyzed and breaking his vows to the love of his life - to always take care of her.

Taylored to Perfection is a story of love, loss, family and how giving up control may be the only way to reclaim it.

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KJ is an indie romance/erotica author of the Taylor Made Series. When not writing, you can find her reading at the beach, exploring New York City or enjoying Memphis.  
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Bedwrecker by Kim Karr
Release Date: November 3, 2016
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Design: Shanoff Formats
Cover Model: Robson Costa
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Synopsis:
Every girl has had a broken heart.
Every girl knows love hurts.
Every girl has a story.
This is mine…
My name is Maggie May and I met him under a haze of purple lights. As cliché as it sounds he was tall, dark, and handsome as hell, and I had fireworks in my eyes…literally.
It was New Year’s Eve and beneath the magic of all that glitters and shines, I fell for him and his wicked ways. The way he moved, the way he touched me, the way he brought me to orgasm over and over.
You should know that I don’t believe in love. Fairytales and happily-ever-afters are never anything I’ve dreamed of…until him.
Something changed the moment our eyes met. It wasn’t insta-lust or insta-love, it was simply him and me, and the dance floor at our feet.
The problem is our story ended three days after it started.
But now he’s back.
And he says he’s sorry.
Can I believe him?
Do I want to believe him?
He calls me his bedwrecker…but what if he wrecks me?
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About the Author:
Reader * Writer * Coffeelover * Romantic
Kim is a daydreamer. So much so that if daydreaming could be a hobby it would be her favorite. It's how her stories are born and how they take root. An imagination that runs wild is something to be thankful for, and she is very thankful. :)
She grew up in New York and now lives in Florida with her husband and four kids. She's always had a love for reading books and writing. Being an English major in college, she wanted to teach at the college level but that was not to be. She went on to receive an MBA and became a project manager until quitting to raise her family. Kim currently works part-time with her husband and with the rest of her time embraces one of her biggest passions--writing.
Kim wears a lot of hats! Writer, book-lover, wife, soccer-mom, taxi driver, and the all around go-to person of her family. However, she always finds time to read.
She likes to believe in soul mates, kindred spirits, true friends, and Happily-Ever-Afters. She loves to drink champagne, listen to music, and hopes to always stay young at heart.
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        the-fix-up-kendall-ryanFrom New York Times Bestseller, Kendall Ryan, comes a sexy new standalone novel. My tempting, and very alpha friend Sterling Quinn is someone I consider off-limits. It's not just that we're friends, he's also cocky, confident, and British, which means he's a walking aphrodisiac. But lately he's been giving me the look. You know the one. When he thinks I'm not paying attention, and his gaze lingers for too long. And then we start working together, and that's when the sexual tension between us gets so thick, I want to hack through it with a machete. I want to make all these deep feelings I've harbored for him disappear, because there's no way this can end well. The lines between business and pleasure become irrevocably blurred, and I'm stuck between a rock, and Sterling's very, very hard place. Rather than keep a level head about our growing attraction, Sterling wants to go all in, showing me just how explosive we can be together. But I've been around long enough to know that this British bad boy is more than my heart can handle. I'm not about to be cast aside like yesterday's underwear when he's done having fun. Sterling’s never been told no, and he's not about to put his ego aside and play by my rules. But I never thought he'd fight so dirty.    

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I twist the doorknob, and finding it unlocked, let myself inside. Sterling’s place is compact, but modern and classy. It suits him. After a quick glance around the living space, I spot him on the balcony outside, just beyond the glass doors at the far end of the living room. He’s facing away from me, his hands gripping the railing, his head bowed. My smile from moments ago is gone. Seeing him like this—looking distraught—brings the reality of our situation crashing back. Sterling suddenly turns and we lock eyes. A thousand emotions are revealed in his eyes, but mostly there’s anger. There’s also a sadness in his gaze that I’ve never seen. It’s haunting. I swallow a lump in my throat, wondering what’s going on. “Sterling?” I ask, slowly approaching the balcony. It’s beautiful—plush pillows and twinkling lights, and a chilled bottle of white wine all nestled together in a romantic picnic for two. He lets out a heavy sigh and runs one hand through his hair. “This is beautiful,” I say since he hasn’t spoken, hasn’t even moved from the spot where he’s rooted, and his stony silence is killing me. “Are you okay?” “Just fine,” he says curtly, his gaze looking past me. He doesn’t seem fine. He seems off. Why go through all the effort if he’s just going to act sullen and withdrawn? And what could have possibly changed in the twenty-four hours since we last spoke on the phone? He seemed so excited—like he hadn’t a care in the world. Now it seems he doesn’t want me here. “If this is a bad time, if tonight doesn’t work . . .” I trail off, my voice suddenly shaky. “The meal’s already prepared.” He brushes past me, headed toward the kitchen. Unsure what to do, I follow behind him. He’s acting like an asshole, and I suddenly feel so stupid for getting all done up tonight. I’m not going to stand around and embarrass myself by begging for his attention. “You know what? Never mind. This was a bad idea, anyway. I’ll see myself out.” I turn and head for the front door, anger and rejection dueling inside me. It takes all of three seconds before Sterling’s long strides catch him up to me by the door. His grip around my wrist stops me. “Wait.” I turn and face him. I’m halfway between wanting to flee and staying to hear his explanation. He releases a heavy exhale. “I received a phone call just before you arrived.” With him so near, the combination of his clean soap and his spicy cologne intoxicates me. Memories of our intimate dinner rush back. But apparently tonight is not meant to be a repeat. Waiting to see what he’ll say next, I inhale and hold my breath. When he doesn’t continue, I ask, “Is everything okay?”     tesaser11

 

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A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of more than two dozen titles, Kendall Ryan has sold over 1.5 million books and her books have been translated into several languages in countries around the world. She's a traditionally published author with Simon & Schuster and Harper Collins UK, as well as an independently published author. Since she first began self-publishing in 2012, she's appeared at #1 on Barnes & Noble and iBooks charts around the world. Her books have also appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists more than three dozen times. Ryan has been featured in such publications as USA Today, Newsweek, and InTouch Magazine.

Visit her at: www.kendallryanbooks.com for the latest book news, and fun extras

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Wednesday, 12 October 2016

endurance-banner     endurance-cover   endurance-coverI’m a doctor. Mobster. Killer. My hands are covered in filth. I don’t have the right to touch anything as clean and pure as Ellison MacAllister.   I distance myself … always remaining obscure, composed, restrained. Careful to never allow my eyes to linger too long. Careful to hide my interest. Careful to keep my burning desire buried beneath the surface.   I do it for her—suffer in silence—because it’s what is best for the woman I love. And she has no idea.   She’ll be initiated as a Fellowship member soon. One of my mafia brothers will go through endurance so he’ll earn the right to claim her. Make her his wife. Kill. Me. Slowly.   I’m running out of time. Only a month remains before she’s beyond my reach forever. I want to taste her. Share sleepless nights. Ride out her storm. I want to give her the kind of nights she will still feel between her legs the next morning. I want us to share the kind of passion that forms on our skin and drips down to saturate the sheets. Between the sweat and the moans and the messy hair, I want her to know how hard she’s been loved.   To have her is to taint her. I should stay away. But I won’t. I can’t. I’m a selfish bastard. A selfish bastard in love.  

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  endurance-print-cover         gaauthorGeorgia resides in rural Mississippi with her wonderful husband, Jeff, and their two beautiful daughters. She spent fourteen years as a labor and delivery nurse before she decided to pursue her dream of becoming an author and hasn’t looked back yet. When she’s not writing, she’s thinking about writing. When she’s being domestic, she’s listening to her iPod and visualizing scenes for her current work in progress. Every story coming from her always has a song to inspire it. Representation: All questions regarding subsidiary rights for any of my books, inquiries regarding foreign translation and film rights should be directed to Jane Dystel of Dystel & Goderich.

Tuesday, 11 October 2016

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        the-fix-up-kendall-ryanFrom New York Times Bestseller, Kendall Ryan, comes a sexy new standalone novel. My tempting, and very alpha friend Sterling Quinn is someone I consider off-limits. It's not just that we're friends, he's also cocky, confident, and British, which means he's a walking aphrodisiac. But lately he's been giving me the look. You know the one. When he thinks I'm not paying attention, and his gaze lingers for too long. And then we start working together, and that's when the sexual tension between us gets so thick, I want to hack through it with a machete. I want to make all these deep feelings I've harbored for him disappear, because there's no way this can end well. The lines between business and pleasure become irrevocably blurred, and I'm stuck between a rock, and Sterling's very, very hard place. Rather than keep a level head about our growing attraction, Sterling wants to go all in, showing me just how explosive we can be together. But I've been around long enough to know that this British bad boy is more than my heart can handle. I'm not about to be cast aside like yesterday's underwear when he's done having fun. Sterling’s never been told no, and he's not about to put his ego aside and play by my rules. But I never thought he'd fight so dirty.    

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I twist the doorknob, and finding it unlocked, let myself inside. Sterling’s place is compact, but modern and classy. It suits him. After a quick glance around the living space, I spot him on the balcony outside, just beyond the glass doors at the far end of the living room. He’s facing away from me, his hands gripping the railing, his head bowed. My smile from moments ago is gone. Seeing him like this—looking distraught—brings the reality of our situation crashing back. Sterling suddenly turns and we lock eyes. A thousand emotions are revealed in his eyes, but mostly there’s anger. There’s also a sadness in his gaze that I’ve never seen. It’s haunting. I swallow a lump in my throat, wondering what’s going on. “Sterling?” I ask, slowly approaching the balcony. It’s beautiful—plush pillows and twinkling lights, and a chilled bottle of white wine all nestled together in a romantic picnic for two. He lets out a heavy sigh and runs one hand through his hair. “This is beautiful,” I say since he hasn’t spoken, hasn’t even moved from the spot where he’s rooted, and his stony silence is killing me. “Are you okay?” “Just fine,” he says curtly, his gaze looking past me. He doesn’t seem fine. He seems off. Why go through all the effort if he’s just going to act sullen and withdrawn? And what could have possibly changed in the twenty-four hours since we last spoke on the phone? He seemed so excited—like he hadn’t a care in the world. Now it seems he doesn’t want me here. “If this is a bad time, if tonight doesn’t work . . .” I trail off, my voice suddenly shaky. “The meal’s already prepared.” He brushes past me, headed toward the kitchen. Unsure what to do, I follow behind him. He’s acting like an asshole, and I suddenly feel so stupid for getting all done up tonight. I’m not going to stand around and embarrass myself by begging for his attention. “You know what? Never mind. This was a bad idea, anyway. I’ll see myself out.” I turn and head for the front door, anger and rejection dueling inside me. It takes all of three seconds before Sterling’s long strides catch him up to me by the door. His grip around my wrist stops me. “Wait.” I turn and face him. I’m halfway between wanting to flee and staying to hear his explanation. He releases a heavy exhale. “I received a phone call just before you arrived.” With him so near, the combination of his clean soap and his spicy cologne intoxicates me. Memories of our intimate dinner rush back. But apparently tonight is not meant to be a repeat. Waiting to see what he’ll say next, I inhale and hold my breath. When he doesn’t continue, I ask, “Is everything okay?”     tesaser11

 

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A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of more than two dozen titles, Kendall Ryan has sold over 1.5 million books and her books have been translated into several languages in countries around the world. She's a traditionally published author with Simon & Schuster and Harper Collins UK, as well as an independently published author. Since she first began self-publishing in 2012, she's appeared at #1 on Barnes & Noble and iBooks charts around the world. Her books have also appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists more than three dozen times. Ryan has been featured in such publications as USA Today, Newsweek, and InTouch Magazine.

Visit her at: www.kendallryanbooks.com for the latest book news, and fun extras

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Monday, 10 October 2016

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Title: BADD MOTHERF*CKER

Author: Jasinda Wilder

Genre: Sexy Romantic Comedy

Release: October 28, 2016

Cover Artist: Okay Creations



about-the-book-jw

Screen Shot 2016-09-02 at 2.46.23 PM.png 

Your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, right? That’s what they say, at least. I went into that day hoping I’d get the happiest day of my life. What I got? The worst. I mean, you really can’t get any worse of a day without someone actually dying.

So…I may have gotten just a little drunk, and maybe just a tad impetuous…

And landed myself in a dive bar somewhere in Alaska, alone, still in my wedding dress, half-wasted and heart-broken. 

  *** 

Eight brothers, one bar.

Sounds like the beginning to a bad joke, yeah?

I kinda think so.

Wanna hear another joke? A girl walks into a bar, soaking wet and wearing a wedding dress.

I knew I shouldn’t have touched her. She was hammered, for one thing, and heartbroken for another. I’ve chased enough tail to know better. That kinda thing only leads to clinginess, and a clingy female is the last thing on this earth I need.

I got a bar needs running, and only me to run it—at least until my seven wayward brothers decide to show their asses up…

Then this chick walks in, fine as hell, wearing a soaked wedding dress that leaves little enough to the imagination—and I’ve got a hell of an imagination.  
I knew I shouldn’t have touched her. Not so much as a finger, not even innocently.

But I did.


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Pre-order for $3.99 only on iBooks, price will go up on release day!

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giveaway

Want to win an ARC of BADD MOTHERF*CKER by Jasinda Wilder?

In celebration of her Cover Reveal day, you can head over to her Facebook LIKE page to enter to win a limited ARC!


ABOUT THE AUTHOR (2).png

New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal, and internationally bestselling author Jasinda Wilder is a Michigan native with a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women. Her bestselling titles include Alpha, Stripped, Wounded, and the #1 Amazon.com and international bestseller Falling into You. You can find her on her farm in northern Michigan with her husband, author Jack Wilder, her six children, and a menagerie of animals.


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ppr.files.wordpress.com/2016/10/bmf_js.png" width="640" />


BMF_JACKET.png


BUY LINKS (2).png

Title: BADD MOTHERF*CKER

Author: Jasinda Wilder

Genre: Sexy Romantic Comedy

Release: October 28, 2016

Cover Artist: Okay Creations



about-the-book-jw

Screen Shot 2016-09-02 at 2.46.23 PM.png 

Your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, right? That’s what they say, at least. I went into that day hoping I’d get the happiest day of my life. What I got? The worst. I mean, you really can’t get any worse of a day without someone actually dying.

So…I may have gotten just a little drunk, and maybe just tad impetuous…

And landed myself in a dive bar somewhere in Alaska, alone, still in my wedding dress, half-wasted and heart-broken. 

  *** 

Eight brothers, one bar.

Sounds like the beginning to a bad joke, yeah?

I kinda think so.

Wanna hear another joke? A girl walks into a bar, soaking wet and wearing a wedding dress.

I knew I shouldn’t have touched her. She was hammered, for one thing, and heartbroken for another. I’ve chased enough tail to know better. That kinda thing only leads to clinginess, and a clingy female is the last thing on this earth I need.

I got a bar needs running, and only me to run it—at least until my seven wayward brothers decide show their asses up…

Then this chick walks in, fine as hell, wearing a soaked wedding dress that leaves little enough to the imagination—and I’ve got a hell of an imagination.  
I knew I shouldn’t have touched her. Not so much as a finger, not even innocently.

But I did.


pre-order-bmf

Pre-order for $3.99 only on iBooks, price will go up on release day!

red-label_itunes


giveaway

Want to win an ARC of BADD MOTHERF*CKER by Jasinda Wilder?

In celebration of her Cover Reveal day, you can head over to her Facebook LIKE page to enter to win a limited ARC!


ABOUT THE AUTHOR (2).png

New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal, and internationally bestselling author Jasinda Wilder is a Michigan native with a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women. Her bestselling titles include Alpha, Stripped, Wounded, and the #1 Amazon.com and international bestseller Falling into You. You can find her on her farm in northern Michigan with her husband, author Jack Wilder, her six children, and a menagerie of animals.


connect-with-the-author-1

red label_website.png red-white option.png red label_tumblr.png red-label_instagram red-label_goodreads red-label_amazon red-label_you-tube red-label_newsletter


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