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WALKER by LeAnn Ashers
Walker by USA Today Bestselling Author Leann Ashers is releasing April 12th!
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SUMMER:
All it took was one night for my past and my present to collide headfirst.
Consumed by work, I was letting life pass me by. I had reached a point where I found myself merely existing, so I decided to go out and have some fun with my friend, Lynn.
That night brought me face to face with the two men that would become my everything—Walker and Darren. The chemistry and connection between us three were instant and palpable. There was no going back for any of us.
But in one instant, what I thought was the best night of my life quickly turned into a nightmare.
Josh was there.
I couldn’t breathe.
He was supposed to be locked up.
They promised me I’d be safe…
Now, not only was my life on the line once more, but worse, if I didn’t meet his sick demands, he promised to kill the two men that held my heart.
Start the Grim Sinners MC Originals Series Today!
SMILEY #1
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MAVERICK #2
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KONRAD #3
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AUTHOR INFO:
LeAnn Ashers is a blogger-turned-author who spends her days reading and writing. She released her debut novel early 2016, and can’t wait to see where this adventure continues to take her. LeAnn enjoys writing about strong-minded females and swoon-worthy, protective alpha males who love their women unconditionally.
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Moonlighter by JC Jaye
Moonlighter by JC Jaye is releasing on March 9th!
Series: Dirty Boys Do It Better Book 3
Genre: Steamy Contemporary Romance
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This badass bartender is as tasty as the whiskey he pours.
Mitch ‘Moonlighter’ Tirone landed his nickname by excelling at two careers. Hardworking contractor by day, he trades the power drill for a bar apron at night, pouring ʼem strong at his old man’s gin mill. He’s cool as the brews he serves until he spies a flame-haired goddess cruising by on a bright pink bicycle. One gobsmacked glance, and ʼLighter turns loopy as a lush. First item on the gotta-have-her agenda: let’s find out what the beauty likes to drink…
His mystery woman is the town’s sexiest teetotaler.
Substance abuse counselor Andy Lachlan possesses a boy’s name, a centerfold’s figure, and a brutal past. Daughter of a violent drunk, alcohol is her no-go zone, and she’s passionate about assisting addicts while avoiding the liquor lifestyle like the plague. Hours spent advising clients or pedaling off the angst on a hippyish ten-speed don’t leave much time for fun-n-games, but this new girl in the ’hood isn’t about to settle for anyone less than the alpha abstainer of her dreams…
Professional partier, and despiser of all things booze. The chemistry is combustible when bad boy and bohemian meet, but can the star-crossed lovers make it work and find the ‘heavenly mix’?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
It was all Rhett and Scarlett’s fault.
(Talkin’ the grand staircase scene, people.)
Stung by the literary lovebug at a tender young age, JC has been devouring spicy romantic fiction ever since. Seriously… What could possibly be more delectable at the end of a rough day than a big, bad, moody male brought to his alphahole knees by a gorgeous, kick-ass, rock star of a heroine?
Well, besides a hefty goblet of vino and some imported Brie.
Dreaming up “I wish” fantasies while slogging through the woefully Rhett-scarce world, JC invites readers to indulge in decadent escape through her foulmouthed and passion-saturated tales.
You heard foulmouthed, right?
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Tattered Stars by Catherine Cowles
“An unforgettable start to a new series. Atmospheric, suspenseful and crackling with tension and electric chemistry, Tattered Stars is a must read romance for 2022!” —Samantha Young, New York Times bestselling author
Tattered Stars, a beautiful and moving romantic suspense and first book in the Tattered & Torn series from bestselling author Catherine Cowles is coming February 1st and we have the first look!
Prologue Everly
PAST
Be brave. For sixty seconds. Twenty breaths. I could do anything for twenty ins and outs. The springs on my mattress squeaked as I swung my legs over the side of my bed. I froze. And listened. There were lots of things I hated about growing up here. But there were things I loved, too. Things I was grateful for. Like how attuned I was to every whisper. I’d know in an instant if a sound didn’t belong. I waited. Heard the screen door rattle in the wind. The call of an owl. Even the hum of our refrigerator in the kitchen. I didn’t hear my brother or dad. Mom had been gone for days, helping a baby come into the world. But I wished for her now. She was the only one who had a chance of stopping the craziness. But she wasn’t here, and I wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring. I pushed to my feet, praying my mattress would stay quiet and not give me away. The springs didn’t betray me again. I moved to my closet, careful to avoid any floorboards that creaked. Pulling a pair of worn jeans from a shelf, I slipped them on. I tugged the nightgown over my head and reached for a t-shirt. The breeze picked up through my open window. It had been unbearably hot today but just a few hours into the night and a chill had settled. I grabbed a flannel just in case. Slipping on socks, I picked up my boots. I knew better than to put hard soles on this floor. My dad had taught me how to move without a sound to avoid any kind of predator. And tonight, I was thankful for each and every lesson—even the ones where I’d had to roll in mud to disguise myself. I reached for the doorknob, but my hand stilled on the metal. I could just go back to bed. Forget my attempt at being brave and wait for Mom to come home. To bring my dad down from his paranoid state where everyone was the enemy and we were at risk from it all—the government, neighbors, even my teachers. I’d watched as our lives got smaller and smaller, with fewer and fewer people to trust. I didn’t remember a lot of the normal. But I remembered some. The second grade and Miss Christie before Dad had pulled Ian and me out of school. Visiting Mom’s family in Portland before he’d decided they were heathens. The town fair before he became convinced that it was evil. I closed my eyes and turned the knob. Stepping out into the hall, I listened again. Nothing out of place. I created a dance to avoid every problematic board in my path, sometimes tiptoeing, other times stretching my legs to the point I worried I’d tip over. Finally, I reached the front door. Our old dog, Bruiser, raised his head, but I held a single finger to my lips, begging for silence. Feeding him table scraps must’ve paid off because he lay back down and let out a soft snore. I eased open the door and stepped through to the first true rebellion I’d ever embarked on. One that might make me like my older sister—an outcast. I closed the door behind me with a soft snick, but it was deafening to my ears, echoing off the mountain itself. I let the screen door fall closed, too, only a small rattle in my wake. I hopped over the porch steps entirely, knowing each and every one would give me away. I landed with an oomph but held in my cry of pain. Slipping on my boots, I glanced at the shed in the distance. The motion lights on its exterior meant I didn’t dare try for it. So, I started for the barn instead. One of the doors was open a hair to let some of the night air in, and I pulled it a bit more, just wide enough so Storm and I had a path. As I moved down the aisle, our few horses nickered or lifted their heads to see who was about. I paused at the tack room, picked up a bridle, and then continued until I reached Storm’s stall. She must have scented me coming because her head was already over the stall door. I gave her nose a rub and then urged her back. “Gotta let me in.” She did as I asked, and I left the door open, knowing she wasn’t going anywhere…not without me. I eased the bridle over her head, and she accepted the bit without complaint. “What do you say we go for a ride?” She seemed to nod her head in agreement. It would’ve been so much simpler if we were just taking off for one of our afternoon adventures, exploring the mountains. I led her out of the stall and towards the exit. We made our way out, and I hoisted myself onto the fence so I could climb onto her back. She stayed steady as I threw a leg over and adjusted my grip on the reins. “Nice and easy.” I guided her down the path that stayed far away from the house. One that led to the mountain switchbacks. I glanced up at the sky, thanking the heavens for a nearly full moon. I just prayed my sense of direction was as good as I thought. I’d never ridden all the way to town before. It was at least fifteen miles, and several paths ebbed and flowed. But I knew where I was headed. I’d memorized these mountains every day of my life. They were both a refuge and a prison. Solace and tormentor. Tonight, they were on my side. Each trail’s crossroads seemed to give me the next logical step until switchbacks turned to wide, worn paths, the dirt packed by hikers and riders. Soon, I reached the road into town. I stayed just off it, my heart hammering against my ribs as the forests turned to neighborhoods. I adjusted my grip on the reins, seeking out a peek at the lake on the outskirts of town. The moon made the water almost glitter. “Just a few more minutes,” I whispered to myself. I could be brave for a little longer. I moved Storm onto the blacktop, her hooves echoing against the buildings along Aspen Street. Every store was dark with limited streetlights so residents and visitors alike could see the stars. Normally, I loved seeing them, too, but tonight I fought a shiver. Wolf Gap felt like a ghost town. I slowed Storm as we approached the street I knew held my next battle for bravery. I wondered if I was already past the point of no return or if I could guide Storm back up the mountain and go home. I turned her onto Spruce. The light from a building poured out into the night. It wasn’t harsh, more like a soft beacon, guiding me home. Only if I walked inside, I had a feeling I’d never see home again. WANT MORE? Click here for the full sneak peek. >>>https://bit.ly/3KXHwMqSynopsis
Be brave. Just for sixty seconds. Twenty breaths.
One night changed them both forever.
Their lives shattered, beyond repair, with jagged edges and pieces askew.
Now, Everly has a chance to make things right. To bring healing to the place where everything fell apart. But it means facing the family her father almost destroyed, and the boy with the dark eyes—now grown—who still haunts her dreams.
Just one breath away from having your life ripped out from under you.
The last thing Hayes wants is another reminder of all the ways he failed sixteen years ago. When Everly drives back into Wolf Gap, his only mission is to get her to leave. For his family’s sake, and for his own, those demons need to stay buried for good.
But everything about this woman is a surprise, from her spine of steel to the sanctuary she hopes to create with the land her mother left behind. And Hayes is powerless to stay away.
As a careful friendship sparks into something more, someone watches. And they’ll do anything to tear it all apart…
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About Catherine Cowles Writer of words. Drinker of Diet Cokes. Lover of all things cute and furry, especially her dog. Catherine has had her nose in a book since the time she could read and finally decided to write down some of her own stories. When she’s not writing she can be found exploring her home state of Oregon, listening to true crime podcasts, or searching for her next book boyfriend.
Connect with Catherine Amazon: https://amzn.to/2IEQXSw Facebook: http://bit.ly/2Lc4mU0 Twitter: https://twitter.com/catherinecowles Pinterest: http://bit.ly/2RFY7Jv Instagram: http://bit.ly/31TE3rJ Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2xdUZLn BookBub: http://bit.ly/2J3dWWF Website: https://www.catherinecowles.com/ Stay up to date with Catherine by joining her mail list: http://bit.ly/2JZE0DH
Take Me by C.D. Reiss
Mafia King, Dario Lucari spent years planning his revenge. Today, he executes it.
Take Me, an all-new sexy and addictive, dark mafia romance from New York Times bestselling author C.D. Reiss is releasing December 25th, and we have your first look!
How can I still be here? I clutch the sharp piece of pottery under my glove. It’s a safety blanket. A choice I can make in a situation where my decisions are meaningless. Hovering in half consciousness, my eyes are closed when the door bangs open again and Dario enters, carrying a tall glass of water. He sets it on a dirty counter in front of me, then leans against the table, crossing one long leg over the other. I get to my feet and approach the glass, wary but unable to stay away from it. I’ve never been this thirsty in my life; my eyeballs burn, and my tongue is cracked into layers of plaster. Dario watches me silently, but as I reach out to take the glass, he slaps my hand away. I’m already weak and dizzy, and the force of the blow makes me stumble and spin. “Please!” I cry. I realize I’m on my knees. I had intended to be strong, to refuse to let him see me suffer any more, but I am so, so thirsty. “Take that stupid dress off.” I shake my head. I’m past caring about modesty. I care about the dress. It’s ruined, but it’s mine. I worked on it for months, my fingers numb from stitching, my eyes and back aching as I labored into the night. It may be the only piece of home left to me besides my own body, and I will not take it off. He shrugs and picks up the glass of water. I remain defiant. He turns to go. And when I feel the triangle of clay inside the wrist of my glove, I think, with blinding clarity, I cannot die here. “Okay,” I say. He stops, turns around, but does not put down the glass. I slip the dress off slowly, regretfully, because as awful as it looks, the fabric is still fine, soft and sweet, a reminder of who I was and what I expected so few sunrises ago. The gloves stay and so do the undergarments I wore to please Sergio because Dario just said to take off the dress and I’m weak but not dead. I’m not giving him anything he doesn’t ask for. He places the glass back on the table. Then he sweeps a hand through the dust and dirt on its surface and sprinkles them into the water. I watch helplessly as it clouds over in the sunlight. “Down to the skin,” he says. “Show me every inch.” The suggestion in his command floods my dry veins with resistance. “You said the dress.” I hold out my left hand—the one without the distorting piece of pottery under the glove. “Give it to me.” This time, he takes a discarded nursery container and pinches out white-flecked potting soil. He drops it in the water like a chef seasoning too heavily. “It’s going to be mud soon,” he says. “If you aren’t naked.” “Where’s my father?” I squeak without spit. “Did he give you what you want?” “Haven’t spoken to him since the car.” “I don’t believe you.” “We tried. He won’t negotiate with outsiders . . . so . . . take off all your fucking clothes.” I do everything I can not to keep from crying as I lower my white lace underpants and slip out of my matching bra, hands shaking the entire time. I leave the gloves and garter, hoping they’re beside the point. “I know what you’re hiding in your glove. You’re not going to kill me with a broken flower pot.” “It wasn’t for you.” He nods with understanding but not compassion, as if knowing suicide is on the table adds to a data point and no more, then flicks his finger at me. I peel off the gloves. The shard clatters to the floor. I am now naked except for one thing. “The garter.” “Not that.” I ball my hands into fists and look at the floor. “Please.” He says nothing. I can’t see him, so I let myself hope that he’s considering letting me keep this one strip of fabric and elastic that’s tying me to this earth, to my identity, to the one person who loved me like no other. Maybe he’ll find it arousing. I’ll risk it, even embrace it, for that glass of cloudy water. The sound of a plop and a splash catches my attention, and I look up to see him slowly pouring a thin line of water onto the tile. With a gasp, thoughts of my mother are gone, and I rip off the garter before I lose another precious drop, throwing it at his feet. “There,” I say, finally bare before him, exposed as I have never been before a man. My breath skips, and I finally cry, but I don’t have enough water in my body to make tears or snot over this destroyed moment—the first time a man’s eyes see my skin, my nipples, my utter vulnerability. The moment I took that dress off was supposed to be one of the most beautiful of my life. Instead, it is a violation. He isn’t satisfied yet though. “Stay still,” he commands. He walks behind me, hovering for a moment before grabbing my hair and yanking it back so that I’m gazing up into the camera’s merciless eye. “Can you imagine how good it will feel,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck, “when I let you drink?” He lays his other hand under my chin and slides it down as he speaks. “That cold, sweet water sliding down your throat?” I nod helplessly, gulping what feels like a lump of garden pebbles. “Even with a little dirt, a little dust, you’ll take it all down, won’t you? You’re just about ready to beg for it.” “I’ll beg,” I agree with a voice I don’t recognize. “I’ll do it.” “You need it,” he says, and I can feel the cruelty of the smile in his voice. “Please,” I whisper. “Please… please…” “Say it for the camera.” Who’s on the other side? His boss? My family? The entire world? “Please give it to me.” “Let me swallow it,” he whispers thickly. “Beg.” “Let . . . let me swallow it all. Please.” “I know what your body needs. And what you’ll do to get it.” And then, just as abruptly as he’d grabbed me, he spins me around so that I’m facing him and he pushes me to my knees. “This will go much easier for you if you play along,” he murmurs. I’m so weak and dizzy I almost tip over before he pulls me up by the hair on top of my head. “Steady, principessa.” With his free hand, he opens the fly of his pants, exposing the thick bulge beneath cotton underwear. He’s going to take it out and force me to taste his cock. Take it down my throat. Swallow his come. I’ve spent my life waiting for this, and I don’t want it this way . . . but I want it. My body aches to just give up, taste whatever he puts on my tongue. I look up at him, offering whatever he’s willing to take as long as he gives me something to drink. But he does not release his erection. Instead, he pulls my head into his crotch. The fabric is damp on my lips, heavy and musty on my nose as he grinds into my face. And he’s hard. So hard. He forces the shape of his shaft along the opening between my lips, and I taste no more than an essence of him . . . but it’s enough. My clit fills and drops, weighted by a constant, brutal pulse of arousal that’s timed to the way he pushes into my face, holding my head still. My hands steady me against his thighs, then pull him closer. I want it. I surrender. I’ll suck him for water or a glass of sand. Why is he keeping it behind his clothes? “Yes,” he growls, putting both hands behind my head and pushing me into his crotch so hard his erection feels like stone on my chin. I put out my tongue, licking the damp fabric. He stops for a moment. His growl turns into a gasp, and the clothed organ against me pulses. A warm wetness gathers at my cheek. Then he lets me go, and I fall back on my hands, gasping as I notice the thick wet stain where he came as I licked him. “Okay,” he says, zipping up. He’s bored again, casual as he hands the glass to me by the top. “You can drink now.” I do. I am shameless and desperate. I hold it with both hands and savor every drop, dirt and all. He leaves before I finish, apparently not interested in watching me debase myself further. I lie naked where he left me, legs in the letter K, bare skin on cold tile, the empty glass a few inches from my hand, watching the clouds form in the grid above me. The door clicks and whooshes open. The room spins when I bolt to a sitting position. A tray of food, accompanied by a whole pitcher of water, is pushed across the threshold. The door claps shut again, and the deadbolt smacked home. I glance at the camera. He’s watching. He has to be. I should stand up and walk like a human, but by the time I finish making that decision, I’m already crawling on my hands and knees like an animal. The tray contains a plastic clamshell with a sandwich inside—pink meat spills from a circle of bread split into a pocket. Hushing the raging hunger for a moment, I peek into the pocket and find cheese and the familiarity of mayonnaise. A pink container of yogurt proudly proclaims—next to a bulbous strawberry—that it has REAL FRUIT inside. I rip it open, ready to suck it down, but I stop. I stand carefully, my head still swimming not just from my hunger and thirst and poor night’s sleep, but from what just happened. I walk over to my discarded pile of garments and put them on again: the underwear and bra, the ruined dress, my shoes—one close by and one under the camera. I slide the garter up my leg. I leave the gloves and shard. Then I put the tray on the counter, right a white plastic chair that matches the one on the roof, and—dressed in silk garments that were once a hopeful symbol of my purity but are now nothing more than a painful, ridiculous reminder of everything I have lost—I hydrate and nourish myself, dreaming of the day I escape the man named Dario with shadow eyes and an empty heart.
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Synopsis A dark and twisted mafia romance from New York Times bestselling author CD Reiss. Mafia King, Dario Lucari spent years planning his revenge. Today, he executes it. Kidnapped on my wedding day. Held by a monster who wants vengeance on my father. Married to him against my will. Suddenly thrust into a world of betrayal, lies and deviance, all I have to do to escape is destroy everything I’ve ever loved, and love the man I must destroy.
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About CD Reiss CD Reiss is a New York Times bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick up she’s at the well hauling buckets. Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master’s degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels. She’s frequently referred to as the Shakespeare of Smut which is flattering but hasn’t ever gotten her out of chopping that cord of wood. If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.
Connect with Christine Amazon: http://amzn.to/2iwpkPQ Bookbub: http://bit.ly/37rKgNO Facebook: http://bit.ly/2RoX1TL Twitter: https://twitter.com/cdreisswriter Instagram: http://bit.ly/2ROqFkn Website: www.cdreiss.com Stay up to date with Christine by joining her mailing list: http://bit.ly/2NVIehg Sign up to hear exclusively about audio releases and sales: https://cdreiss.com/AudioAlerts
Spider by Ilsa Madden-Mills
“Spider is a delicious, forbidden read you won’t be able to put down.” –Melanie Harlow, USA Bestselling Author
Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills has a surprise just for you! SPIDER has an incredible new look, and to celebrate it’s ZERO PENNIES for a limited time only!
From Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills comes a new standalone romance about a flawed hero and the woman he can’t forget.
“She crossed my path and changed my whole direction.”
He called himself Spider.
I just knew him as the sinfully gorgeous guy with eyes of fire that fate sat next to me on the airplane.
I didn’t know who he really was . . . British rock star . . . my stepbrother.
He kissed me because he thought we’d never see each other again. We would.
Everyone warned me about him. They told me he was ruthless and cold and screwed up. They said he’d leave me with a hole in my heart.
Maybe I should have listened. Maybe I should have built up a fortress to keep him out. But I crumbled instead.
They say an unbreakable thread connects those who are destined to meet. If that’s true, then the moment he sat next to me, we were bound together forever.
He just had to figure it out before it’s too late…
Don’t miss this steal! Grab your copy for ZERO PENNIES today! Amazon: https://amzn.to/3pmkFAf Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/SpiderNC
About Ilsa Madden-Mills Wall Street Journal, New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills is best known for her angsty new adult romances and romantic comedies.
Eight of her eleven novels have placed in the Amazon Top 10 Best-seller List: Dirty English #1; Fake Fiancée and I Dare You #2; I Bet You, Filthy English, and Very Bad Things #6; Boyfriend Bargain #8; The Last Guy, her collaboration with Tia Louise, #4.
A former high school English teacher, she adores all things Pride and Prejudice, and of course, Mr. Darcy is her ultimate hero.
She’s addicted to frothy coffee beverages, cheesy magnets, and any book featuring unicorns and sword-wielding females. Feel free to stalk her online.
Connect with Ilsa Amazon: http://amzn.to/2nY2pxT Instagram: http://bit.ly/35xfNfo Stay up to day with Ilsa by joining her mailing list: http://bit.ly/2ZWaTYh Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2EESfM9 Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2GaR6cni Website: https://www.ilsamaddenmills.com Join her Unicorn Girls Group on FB, the best way to keep up: http://bit.ly/37B6Nay Sign up for phone alert for book releases (max of 4) Text ROMANCE to 21000 *Text message rates apply*
Tristan by LeAnn Ashers
LeAnn Ashers is a blogger-turned-author who spends her days reading and writing. She released her debut novel early 2016, and can’t wait to see where this adventure continues to take her. LeAnn enjoys writing about strong-minded females and swoon-worthy, protective alpha males who love their women unconditionally.
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CRUEL GOD by Bella J.
Bella J is an International Bestselling Author, who loves writing dark and gritty romance with alpha-holes who have absolutely no redeeming qualities…until they do. Maybe.
Some of her bestselling novels/series include:
The Rise of Saint
The Fall of Sin
American Street Kings Series
Royal Mafia Series
She lives in Cape Town, South Africa with her husband, two kids, and a chihuahua who gets treated like royalty.
Bella J’s writing motto: The darker the road to love, the sweeter the HEA.
WEBSITE: https://www.authorbellaj.com
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/BellaJNovels/
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Sutton’s Choice by CA Harms
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Sutton’s Choice by CA Harms
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The One by Fiona Keane
Getting lost in the pages of a book is Fiona’s favorite escape. Bouncing between YA, contemporary, and romantic suspense, Fiona writes about love because she believes the world needs more of it. Writing from the Pacific Northwest, Fiona can be found creating memories with her family, and daydreaming of her next story while wandering the aisles of local bookstores and coffee shops in the rain.
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